As she disappeared into the kitchen, Ben rose from the sofa too, feeling a happy glow in his excitement at what had just happened. Yet he tried to remain calm and not grin like an idiot as he switched on the old-fashioned standard lamp in the corner, then one with a coloured glass shade on the table, before sinking onto his knees before the stereo. As his eyes wandered over the equipment’s controls and the CD shelf, his mind lingered on that kiss. Though it had only lasted a moment, it had made his heart race. His mind recreated the brief sensation of Marcie’s soft lips on his, as well as the warm sense of her being so close, filling his world with the fragrance of her perfume and clean hair. Despite everything they’d said, he wished that she had lingered longer, that they had kissed deeply, like true lovers, perhaps even like those in the golden image hanging over him.

Acting a little numbly, he ejected the disc that had been playing earlier, read its name, and looked for another that matched. He identified one other CD by the same artist, and he put it on, adjusting the large volume dial slightly. He turned to see Marcie coming from the kitchen with a bubbling dish in her oven-gloved hands. The rich aroma made his mouth water, making him realise just how empty his stomach felt.

“Do you want to top up our wine? You could fill a couple of glasses of water for us too while I get the bowls.”

As they moved around each other in the doorway and the narrow kitchen, Ben felt he’d become even more conscious of how close he came to Marcie’s body in her elegant dress. But they’d soon settled at the table, as Marcie offered to serve.

“Do you like Portishead, then?” she asked, perhaps noticing the music.

“I’ve heard them, I guess,” Ben confessed, “But I don’t really know them.”

“So what sort of music do you like? Hmm, cheers!” she added raising her glass, adding, “Do tuck in,” when she realised that Ben had waited until she’d served herself before starting.

Ben took a hot mouthful cautiously, chewing before he explained, “Well, I just listen to mixes mainly, you know, ravey stuff, things with titles like Trance Anthems or Euphoria. It’s good to have on when you’re busy, but not so good for a nice dinner for two. This is really delicious by the way.”

“Thank you. You’ll have to take me to a proper rave sometime.”

“Sure, but like I said, I don’t hit that scene so hard these days. I wouldn’t want to collapse again either. You need some stamina to dance, if you’re not on pills.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to remind you of that. Are you into anything else?”

“Well, I went through a metal phase,” Ben answered sheepishly.

“Cool! What sort of stuff?”

“Well, I started with Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden, Bolt Thrower, things like that when I was at school. Then I got into more extreme black metal, Celtic Frost, Rotting Christ, Dimmu Borgir, stuff out of Norway.”

“I recognised the first two names, but I’ve not heard of any of the others. Rotting Christ? Seriously?”

“They’re good, honestly! But some of it is pantomime stuff, in a way, performing in corpse paint with upside-down crosses, just trying to shock kids’ parents. My brother was more into it than me.”

“He’s older than you then? Are you close?”

“Aye, Adam’s five years older. I must have been that annoying kid brother. He joined the Navy when he left school, and I played his tapes when he was away. He’s in the merchant navy now, somewhere out in the North Sea as we speak, I think. I guess we’re a bit closer now than we were, before Mum died, but still not really close.”

“I feel sympathy for you with that, sincerely, you must know. Can I ask, how did she go?”

“It was cancer, in her pancreas. She was diagnosed late, I guess. There wasn’t much they could do except keep her comfortable towards the end. But you lost your dad too, right?”

“Yes, it was a big shock. He travelled quite a bit, negotiating sales in the textiles business. It was a Manchester company that had made the shift from the local mills to partnerships with manufacturers in India. Anyway, he’d flown out there and, well, I guess he’d got DVT on the flight, you know, a blood clot. He had a heart attack out there. My mum and I had expected him to be driving back from the airport in two days. Instead he came back in a box, a month later.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben said, realising how upset Marcie had become by remembering this. “Let me get you a tissue.” He leapt to his feet, finding the box she’d used earlier and bringing it to the table.

She thanked him, took one, blew her nose and dabbed her eyes. He reached for her hand and she took it. “Oh, I’m sorry. It all happened nearly ten years ago, no, just over ten years. I’m fine really, it’s just that it’s still a bit sad, maybe especially on top of hearing about your mum too.” She squeezed his hand but then released it, “But don’t mind me. Keep eating. Help yourself to more.”

Ben did, asking, “But your mother took it hard too, you said? You stayed with her when you went to university, right?”

“Oh yes, I learnt all about the stages of grief with her. Anger, denial, depression, going around it over and over again in thunderous circles. Her parents or just her mum would come over from Malta to stay with us for a bit, but often that didn’t make things any easier.”

“That’s your Nanna who gave you the necklace? I still have it. I should give it back.”

“No! Keep wearing it for the time being. It’s helping you get well, remember. But no, that’s my father’s mother. I’m much closer to her. My mum’s parents, well, they’ve got a big family still in Malta, lots of grandkids. I don’t know if that made my mum feel more isolated, or if she’d have taken it hard anyway. She would tell you it was her cats that helped her through it in the end.”

“Her cats?”

“Yes, she’s the original mad old cat lady now. Six of them in the house, I think, and she puts a lot of time into the Cats Protection League too, working in their shop, running their fundraisers, that sort of thing.”

“She didn’t think of moving back to Malta herself then?”

“No. I guess my parents were kind of committed to life in the UK from even before I was born. Do you know how it is? You see it in the first generation from India, Pakistan or Jamaica too, I think. They want to be so British, they pick up all the habits and mannerisms that seem almost old-fashioned to the real natives. I learnt Maltese as I was growing up, but we spoke English at home all the time.”

“I don’t know much about Malta,” Ben confessed. “I’d struggle to find it on a map, though I’ve been to the Med, to Majorca and some of the Greek islands.”

“Well, let me show you!” Marcie said enthusiastically, jumping to her feet to pull what was evidently an atlas from the bookcase. “Keep eating,” she encouraged him as she found the page, “Finish it off if you want.” Ben thanked her and scooped the last of the pasta bake into his bowl. She pushed the open map towards him, her index finger on a small speck in the centre of the Mediterranean.

“There, you can just see Valletta, where my grandparents are from. Their families vaguely knew each other, and they got my parents to look each other up when they found out they’d both emigrated to Manchester. There was quite a wave of migration to the UK, after the war you know.”

“I don’t know, really. I didn’t pay much attention in history lessons. I found it boring once it stopped being about drawing Viking boats.”

Marcie laughed lightly with him, then explained. “Malta’s stuck in the middle, you see, between all the great European powers, and North Africa and the Turks too. That cross you’re wearing comes from the crusaders, or at least the knights who fought the Muslim Ottomans. The British had come out on top after Napoleon, and they really wanted to keep it from the Nazis. In the middle of the war it had the crap beaten out of it by German and Italian bombers, and my grandparents somehow lived through all that. It didn’t become independent of the UK until the sixties, after my parents had left.”

“I never knew any of that,” Ben admitted.

“Why would you? It’s just a dot on the map, as you can see.”

“But you don’t feel as if you come from there at all, I mean, having lived your whole life in Britain?”

“No, I’m from Manchester, no question.”

“You don’t sound as if you are,” Ben risked saying.

She laughed lightly, “Blame my parents! Like I said, they wanted to be so English, I’m sure they practised their ‘Received Pronunciation’, their post-war radio announcer voices, when I was young, once I was in bed. And I went to quite a posh school too, Manchester Grammar. But maybe having Maltese roots is like a secret piece of jewellery that I know I’ve got safe in a box somewhere, like the pendant you’re borrowing, but on the inside.”

“Would you let me hear you speak Maltese sometime?” he asked.

“Mhux problema! If you’re here when Nanna’s on the phone, you’ll hear me going at it full speed. But you said something in Gaelic earlier, didn’t you? Do you speak that?”

“Those are the only two words I know,” he confessed, “From nights out in Glasgow and Edinburgh. I learnt a bit of Danish, though, on a training ship.”

“Hey, you mentioned you’d been on ships and boats. Was that like a Navy thing?”

“No, it was a tall ship, with the masts and everything. I applied for an Atlantic trip, and they let me join.”

“You crossed the Atlantic?” Marcie asked in surprise.

“Aye, from Copenhagen to Halifax, Nova Scotia.”

“How long did that take?”

“About four weeks.”

“Wow. And that was long enough to learn Danish?”

“No, not really. I only know a few phrases. Thank you. Where’s the food. Tie that shitting sail down. Do you have a condom.”

Marcie laughed, covering her mouth. “Mother of God! You had sex on a sailing ship?”

“It not very glamorous. There was almost no privacy, so you had to be quick, and nowhere was very comfortable.”

“Still, it sounds romantic. I’ve never done anything anywhere near as exciting. What was her name?”

“Birgitte,” Ben answered her, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable about explaining what had indeed been a bit of a rushed romance all around.

But Marcie had moved on, perhaps picking up on his discomfort, “And ‘Tie the shitting sail down,’ I like that! It’s funny how different cultures have their different swear words. On the Mediterranean - Spanish, Italian, Maltese and so on - a lot of them are religious, Holy Mary or ‘Marelli’ in Malta, ‘hostia’ for body of Christ in Spain and so on. Here it’s mostly about sex, with the F word or the C word having a kind of taboo power. But it seems to me there’s a pattern to northern European expletives in that they’re all about bodily functions, like the way German’s use ‘Mist’ for crap, or their ‘Leck mich am Arsch’.”

“‘Lick my arse’ could be sexual too,” Ben observed, making a confident guess at a translation.

Marcie blushed, even as she laughed, “I can’t believe you said that!”

“You started it,” Ben teased, “But you know those other languages too, then?”

“Yes, a bit. Perhaps I find it easy because I was raised to be bilingual, but I did well at French and German at school, then I learn Spanish and Italian at the university language school. You could do little bonus courses as an undergraduate, and they’re quite similar to each other anyway. I could probably still get by in all of those. Sorry, I’m not trying to sound boastful, but you asked, and that’s the truth. Look, shall we tidy these dishes? You did well, finishing all that pasta.”

“You should be proud of it, of your languages I meant. But be proud of your cooking too. That was delicious.”

“Oh, it’s not much. You were probably just hungry after everything you’ve been through. I wonder though, I might have to scale up my ideas about portion size if we’re going to cook for each other regularly. How tall are you really?” she asked as she piled the dishes in the sink

“Six foot three,” Ben answered, “And I’ll do the washing up.”

“That’s almost a foot taller than me. No wonder I feel short next to you. And thanks. I’ll dry. So how much do you weigh, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Just over fourteen stone, I think.”

“Goodness! It must be all muscle, you don’t seem to be carrying any flab. But that’s nearly fifty percent more than me. I can see I will have to scale up the food in the flat.”

“Well, if I’m not swinging chainsaws and logs around now, and not pounding the kit in the gym, I’d better be careful, cut back on my calories.”

“Hey, don’t worry. We’ll work it out. Wait to see the doctor, then we can worry about your new normal for diet and exercise. I’m sure there’s lots we can do, if we’re careful.”

Ben had noticed how often Marcie was using the word ‘we’, and it reassured him. He also could not help himself from wondering, as he passed the hot wet plates into Marcie’s tea-towel wrapped hands, whether she was deliberately making a double entendre. The first thing that had come to his mind when she’d mentioned doing exercise together carefully was sex. Despite what they’d said before dinner, he thought their conversation over the meal had got quite suggestive at times, as if they’d both been flirting.

“Thank you for doing that,” Marcie said as he finished the washing up by draining the water away and wiping around the sink, “And thank you for sharing the wine with me, for being such good company, even after I’d got all heavy with you.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Ben said, feeling embarrassed, leaning against the kitchen top, “It’s been a lovely evening. I’m glad we can be honest together, like we said.” He paused, but he knew that he was committed to saying more, “And you know, this has felt like a date, a first date for us, even though we didn’t go out, and I think it went very well. So, would you like to meet up again sometime soon?”

“Yes I would! We must do this again. You’ve still got my number, right?” she replied, playing along with him, a dreamy smile on her lips, shaking out her hair again after she’d hung the tea-towel up. “I’m afraid all the wine’s gone, and I’m on first shift again tomorrow morning, so I won’t move onto spirits now. Do help yourself though, if you’d like. But what would you normally do, if you got home on your own in an evening after a date?”

“I’d probably go straight to bed,” he said, deliberately not mentioning what he’d do instead of going to sleep if it had been a good date, “But it’s not that late really, is it?”

“No, but you said you were tired earlier. You must be dropping by now. I’d normally have a cup of tea and read on the sofa, not that I’d have been on a date, just after I’d eaten my tea I mean. Do you want to join me, to relax before turning in early?”

“That sounds good,” Ben agreed.

“Good,” she echoed, then asked, “Could I ask you to just drop the blind through there while I boil the kettle? I’ll bring the mugs through in a moment.”

Ben did as she’d asked, shutting out the growing darkness. The room looked even cosier in just the yellow lamplight. He started looking for his book, then realised the music had stopped a while ago. He called out to ask Marcie if she wanted another CD on, and she suggested Massive Attack because they were a bit like Portishead. Once he’d sorted that, he sat down on the sofa with his new book, but just listened to the singer’s lyrics as they started, “This girl I know, needs some shelter. She don’t believe anyone can help her.” He thought of Marcie, and hoped he hadn’t chosen something that would make her feel sad again.

She came through a moment later with two mugs of tea, holding one out for him to take. “Milk, one sugar. I remembered,” she said. She asked if he’d mind if she burnt an incense stick, just to clear the cooking smells. She seemed a little anxious about his lungs, but Ben was confident it wouldn’t be a problem. It seemed there was a packet of joss sticks and a lighter on the bookcase, as well as a curved bit of wood to hold the incense up at an angle once Marcie had lit it. She blew on its glowing end to check it was burning well, then she picked up a book for herself that had been lying on its side on the bookshelf, something with a tiger in a small boat on the front, Ben noticed. But when she sat down and saw he’d not opened his book, she asked, “Are you not reading after all?”

Ben looked at the book in his hands, feeling foolish. “Marcie, I hope you don’t mind, but I was thinking of asking you for something, on top of everything else you’ve done and given. I’m being selfish.”

“Just ask, for goodness’ sake!”

“You know I’m a slow reader. I’d like to give this book a real go, and I’m glad you showed me how to use the bookmark, but it’s still intimidating, I guess. I really liked it when you read a bit aloud to me. Could you read a bit more like that, do you think?”

“Oh Ben,” she exclaimed with sympathy, “Of course I could! I don’t think I’ve got a very good reading voice. It’s not something I’ve practised at all, but I’d love to give it a go for you, if you’re patient with my shortcomings.”

“I’m sure it won’t be like that,” he reassured her, feeling relief as well as warm anticipation as he passed the book into her hands.

“Let me get comfy,” she said, stuffing a cushion behind her and moving the table lamp so that it cast more light onto the sofa. Then, fidgeting, she said, “Actually, let’s try it like this,” shifting around sideways, putting her legs up on the sofa across Ben’s lap, much to his surprise. He gingerly rested a hand on her knee, his hand sinking into the folds of her dress’s soft cotton. This seemed innocent enough to him, even though he could feel the firmness and warmth of her leg through the fabric under his fingertips, as she found his place and began reading.

They followed the story together as Mort’s father tried to find him a new apprenticeship. Ben wondered about his own life, and what his own new occupation might be. When Marcie read aloud that carpentry didn’t sound very promising, she looked up at Ben with anxiety in her eyes, perhaps thinking along the same lines. But he made a light joke of it, saying, “I can agree with him there.”

Marcie kept reading, and almost without realising it, Ben found his hand was making small stroking movements, rubbing her skirts against her firm thigh. It felt somehow comforting, and she didn’t seem to mind as she continued reading without a pause, so he carried on. As the story unwound, the character of Death made his first appearance. Marcie tried to voice his words in a deeper tone, stopping briefly to show him the book. “It’s always in capitals when he speaks, you see. I think it’s like everything he says is carved on tombstones. He’s Death, you know,” explaining it to him because the author hadn’t yet, before she carried on.

Ben had finished his tea now. Once he’d put the mug down on the floor by his feet, he risked resting his hand on the bare skin of Marcie’s ankle. Again, she gave no outward reaction to this as she went on reading, so he let it rest there for a while. However, before long his fingertips were stroking her skin with tiny movements, even whilst his other hand still rubbed against her thighs. He felt how smooth the skin of her shin was, despite the tiniest hints of roughness from the shaved hairs growing out. He kept listening to the story as Death spoke to Mort and the boy got ready to leave his father.

Suddenly, as his fingers reached a little further around her calf, Marcie wriggled her legs vigorously, interrupting the story to softly exclaim, “Oh, that tickles too much!” She kicked her legs out, forcing Ben to lift his hands, then turned around on the sofa, tucking her feet under her so that she rested against his side. Ben let himself respond naturally by putting his arm around her shoulders, as she buried her head against his, brushing his cheek and chin with her fragrant hair. Ben leant against her, putting his hand on her knee again just beside the book that was still open in her hands.

“Did you want me to carry on?” Marcie asked, with a mocking hint of frustration, “Have you even been paying attention?”

“Oh yes,” Ben reassured her. “I don’t know why, but I like Death. I would go and work for him if it was me.”

“I think he’s meant to be likeable. He’s one of the most popular characters in Pratchett’s books, I think, and there are dozens in the series.”

“This might be a bit heavy again, but it seems… I don’t know. It seems like it wouldn’t be so bad, if someone like that visited you at the end.”

“Oh Ben, I know just what you mean,” Marcie said, nestling herself more deeply against him. To his surprise, she seemed to be suddenly on the edge of tears again, sniffing and urgently closing the book to dab at her eyes. To his even greater surprise, he found his own eyes smarting too. He wondered if their earlier discussion about losing a parent each had made their grief raw again.

“I didn’t see anyone like that waiting though, when I fell over the gym,” he said, trying to make a joke of it, but he knew that sadness had come through in his voice too. It was as if he’d suddenly realised how vulnerable he had really been, and still was, and how much of a chancy thing it was that Marcie had been there at the right moment to rescue him.

Marcie reactions to his words were immediate. She twisted around, losing the book in the folds of her dress, swinging her arm around him. He was pushed back as he brought both his arms around her shoulders now. She gripped him around the chest, burying her head against his neck, casting her glasses away in frustration, softly sobbing. Ben could feel the wetness from her eyes, or maybe her nose, on his skin. It somehow felt intimate, setting his heart pounding as Marcie’s body shook in his arms. He breathed steadily as they kept hugging each other tightly, bearing her weight on his ribs, but feeling no breathlessness.

Eventually Marcie raised her head, looking into his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I must look a fright. What a mess I’m in! I just didn’t want you to die,” she admitted shyly, finishing almost in a whisper.

Her eyes were indeed red, and her nose too, but it was the first time that Ben had seen her without her glasses. He saw how her long thick eyelashes sparkled with tears and felt nothing but deep sympathy for her, along with an overwhelming urge to comfort her. Without thinking, he bent his neck forwards to kiss her forehead. But Marcie was pushing her face up higher towards him with eager entreatment. He understood what she expected, and stretched down to bring his lips to hers.

They were already wet from her salty tears, or her runny nose, but Ben didn’t mind. And they were also softly parted, so he let his tongue brush them, feeling excitement rise within him. Marcie responded in kind, now almost crawling on top of him as he sunk lower on the sofa. Her soft mouth was making a kind of snapping, chewing movement, and she was hungrily pushing her tongue into his mouth now. Ben savoured it all, lifting his hands to the back of her neck, running his fingers through her thick hair.

Marcie’s hands were suddenly down around his waist, trying to pull his shirt up over his head. Ben wriggled beneath her, assisting her as their kissing broke off momentarily. He felt himself grinning uncontrollably at her as she looked with pleading in her heavy-lidded deep brown eyes, still red-rimmed, her mouth parted and her wine-scented breath blowing across his face.

He had managed to get a few key buttons undone on his shirt, and now he lifted it off. Marcie buried her face against his neck again as he disentangled his arms and lay back, but now she was moving lower, kissing his clavicles, his pectorals, his sternum and his belly. The tingling sensations of her gentle lips on his naked torso were delicious, but he put his hands under her armpits, feeling a warm slippery moistness there, pulling her up so that he could kiss her again.

Once more they had their arms around each other, hugging each other as they kissed passionately, tongues and lips slipping around, messily bumping their cheeks and noses against each other. But now Ben was acutely aware of Marcie’s hands on his bare skin, and the soft cushions of her breasts pressing against his chest through the warm cotton of her dress. He felt her rake her fingernails down his side, and suddenly he was aware that he was not only erect, but achingly hard beneath his jeans.

He urgently squeezed his hands between their chests, pushing past the bare skin of Marcie’s breasts where they were exposed by her low-cut dress, feeling for the buttons beneath the crease of her cleavage.

“There’s a zip down the back,” Marcie whispered in his ear even as he struggled in sensitive excitement, and with that Ben realised she was not only giving him permission, but enthusiastically encouraging him to continue.

He found the zip and pulled it down. She pushed herself up, bracing herself against one arm and then the other, pulling off the shoulder straps of the dress. Breathing heavily but comfortably, Ben saw her reveal her white bra, its straps low and wide in the balcony style, a thick band of lace trim revealing hints of Marcie’s tan skin beneath. Her breasts hung heavily toward his own bare chest, seemingly almost ready to escape completely as they swung with her movements. He found the sight of Marcie like this profoundly arousing, with so much more of the mole-flecked expanse of her chest and deep cleavage revealed. He only had a moment to take all this in, though, as she quickly disentangled her arms and lay back down on top of him once more.

They simply held each other close now, cheeks brushing, Ben’s nose sinking into the fragrant cloud of Marcie’s hair as he tried to breathe calmly. But suddenly there was a muffled bang from above. They both started, and Marcie murmured, “Shona or Ali must have dropped something.” But the sound had somehow brought Ben back to the reality of their situation.

“Marcie, I’m sorry. I don’t know if we can carry on.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, lifting her head to look anxiously into his eyes.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, you must be able to see that. It’s what we said earlier, and my lungs too.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, was I squashing you?” Marcie was wriggling around now, and in a moment they were sat side by side on the sofa again.

“No, it’s not that. But I think we both knew where we were heading.” Ben could not help himself from looking at Marcie’s impressive bust, beautifully held by her elegant bra.

“What do you mean?” Marcie repeated, but she had recovered her glasses and was putting her arms back through her dress’s straps to cover herself now. Perhaps she was embarrassed, Ben thought anxiously, or perhaps she had recognised that he had already backed out of their intimacy by using the word “were”.

“To say it honestly, we were beginning to make love. What we’d started, I think we both wanted it to end with sex. I would really like that, you must believe me. But the doctors in the hospital said I mustn’t get out of breath.”

“We could go slowly,” Marcie said in a hopeful tone, and Ben was deeply reassured. Not only had he been right that they had wanted the same thing, but Marcie was still keen to go through with it.

“It’s not just that,” he began confessing, “You know I said earlier that we should give ourselves time, that we should pace ourselves. Well, part of that is about what I promised Shona too. She knows you’ve not been treated well by men, by Richard. She didn’t want me to take advantage of you, I think. I promised to her, and to myself, I won’t do that. I want to be kind, to be the gentleman. I don’t want to push it, you know. I don’t want you to think I’m putting pressure on you, to get you into bed,” he finished guiltily.

“Oh, bollocks to Shona!” Marcie quietly cursed in frustration. “I know we’ve only just met really, but from what you said earlier too, you must have got into bed with other women who you’ve just met. Holy Mary, I already feel we know each other really well, that we’re close.”

“Yes, but perhaps that’s it. It would be different with you.”

“What are you saying, Ben?”

“It feels like it wouldn’t just be a physical thing with you. I’m massively attracted to you, obviously. But again, to be honest with you, and myself, it’s like this,” he took a deep breath before pressing on, “I think it’s love, Marcie. I think I’m falling in love with you. And I think we’re falling in love together. If we made love, it would be for real. It wouldn’t just be a bit of fun. It would bind our paths together, our unknown future paths.”

Ben had rambled on because Marcie had been silent. He’d seen that her eyes were glistening again, and now she gave a kind of choking sob. “Oh Ben! Thank you for saying that. I’m so sorry, I’m crying again.” She pulled a tissue from a pocket in her dress where she’d stashed it earlier and blew her nose. “But I’m so happy. Oh, I think you’re right, but it’s crazy! We mustn’t rush, just like you said. We need patience.”

Ben held out his arm, and she nestled up against him again, putting her arms around his bare chest. “It’s all good, then,” he said, cherishing the sensation of her warm pressure against him, “We can enjoy taking our time, courting, as you said, wherever that leads. And tonight I can sleep on your camp bed, just a friend staying over, like you so kindly offered.”

“Oh, I’ve been so selfish!” Marcie berated herself, pulling back again, resting her small hand on Ben’s cheek as she looked sympathetically into his eyes, “You said you were tired earlier. You must be on your knees by now. Why don’t you get ready for bed straight away? I won’t keep making demands of you.”

Ben still thought of protesting, but instead he simply said, “Thank you, for everything. It’s been a magical evening. And tomorrow, you’re working in the morning, right? But the afternoon can be our first adventure together, to the Dene maybe, our first nice adventure out, that is.”

“Yes,” Marcie agreed simply, then leant forwards to give him a little kiss on his lips, just as she’d done before they’d eaten, before pulling away to let Ben stand up.

He went to pick up his toothbrush and toothpaste from the spare room, turning the lamp on and dropping the blind in there too. Marcie, straightening the throw on the sofa, gave him a shy smile that might have been a bit sad as he passed her on his way to the bathroom. When he came out, after emptying his bladder and washing his face as well as brushing his teeth, Marcie was putting their mugs in the kitchen sink. He put his hand on her shoulder and she turned to give him a hug, burying her cheek against his collarbone. It was just a quick squeeze, though. As she let him go, she asked if he wanted a glass of water, then poured it for him, before saying shyly, “Good night. Sleep well,” as she handed it over.