21
That evening Brian lay on his bed.
He had the radio playing but he wasn’t listening. He kept thinking about Helen and the fit of giggles they had shared at lunch.
He remembered the spilt water.
In her room Helen pressed her hand against herself where both the water and Brian’s gaze had rested.
She felt a smile as it forced itself onto her face causing her expression to lift as if lit by a warming candle.
She sighed; he had only looked because she was wet. Probably her shirt had gone a bit see through or maybe in sticking to her he could make out more of her than was normally visible.
It didn’t mean anything. It was probably no more than the normal reaction of a man who is suddenly presented with more of a view than he expects.
No, it probably meant nothing at all.
Brian shook his head as if to shake the picture from his mind. But it was lodged firmly in place.
He clicked the radio off and reached for his book on Egypt.