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She swallowed. ‘I don't know how.' Her voice was barely a whisper.

‘Then let me show you,' he said, moving closer, so close she could feel the heat off his skin. ‘Slowly, I think we should go very slowly.' Her shirt was hanging loose now, unbuttoned, and Myles slipped his hand inside, his fingers skating across the surface of her skin, making her quiver under his touch. Helen's heart started to pound again as he drew his arm around her, bringing her hard up
against him. She looked up and he brought his mouth down onto hers in an overpowering, knee-weakening kiss, and Helen surrendered to it, her body melting into his. He led her back to lie on the bed. And then he made love to her, slowly, painstakingly, long into the night. Till she was completely and overwhelmingly spent, floating once more with him, drifting on the tide.

When she opened her eyes she could hear Myles breathing in a steady rhythm behind her. He was sound asleep. And suddenly she felt wide awake. It was still dark, she didn't know what time it was. Very carefully she raised herself and turned to look across Myles at the bedside clock. It was nearly four. God, she had to get home, what if Noah woke up and she wasn't there? Myles stirred, shifting onto his back as the arm that had been across her slid away and dropped onto the mattress beside him. Helen took the chance to slither quietly off the bed. She looked back at him; he murmured, then rolled over onto his side, his back to her now. Helen gazed down at him, flashbacks from last night playing out in her head, bringing a rush of feelings – part of her wanted to climb back in beside him and press her body up against his and feel his lips on hers, his arms around her. The other part of her, the part filled with guilt and shame and confusion, just wanted to get out of here and not have to look into those eyes, not have to deal with this. That part appeared to have the upper hand at the moment.

Barely ten minutes later Helen was standing in front of the building, feeling dishevelled in yesterday's clothes and a bad case of bed-hair. Thank God there was no one around, because she might as well have been wearing a sign to announce she'd had sex. She peered up and down the street, dubious about her chances of getting a taxi at this time of the morning after a quiet Monday night in the city. She started to walk in the direction of the Quay, where she would have more chance of finding a taxi, or even a ferry across to Balmain, though she had no idea what time they started up. When she finally arrived at the end of Macquarie Street, Helen was relieved to see three taxis waiting in the rank in front of the station.

It was a quick trip home at that time and it was still dark when she got out of the taxi, though first light was just starting to break in the sky. As noiselessly as possible, Helen slipped inside the house and closed the door with a single click, then crept down the hall to her room. But she stopped in the doorway, somehow afraid to go in. A strange, unsettling sensation came over her as she stared at the bed she once shared with David. She couldn't remember the last time they had made love. It could have been as much as weeks before he died, or longer – Helen just couldn't recall. She'd tried before now, but it was no good; she couldn't remember the actual occasion, any circumstances around it, anything that made it noteworthy. When she thought about sex with David it all blurred into sameness; there was nothing particularly memorable about it. They had it down pat, knew each other's moves, knew what was expected. Maybe that's what it was like for all married couples after a while. She would have remembered if she'd known it was to be the last time they would ever make love. But so many things would have been different if they'd known . . .

‘Helen?'

She jumped, jerking around.

‘Sorry,' said Gemma in a raised whisper.

‘What are you doing up?' said Helen. ‘Did I wake you?'

‘No, Lola took care of that. I was just putting her down when I heard you come in.'

Helen just nodded, she didn't offer anything.

‘So, big night?' Gemma prompted.

‘Ah, yeah, no, sort of . . . yes, it was.'

Gemma was frowning. ‘Is everything okay, Helen?'

Helen could feel them coming on again, tears, spontaneous bloody tears always ready to rise up and betray her. She remembered the days after David died, how she couldn't cry. These days she couldn't seem to stop.

‘Helen,' said Gemma, concerned, ‘what's the matter, what happened?'

But Helen couldn't speak, she was trying too hard to keep the lump down in her throat, stem the tears. She pressed her fingers to her eyelids, holding them back.

‘Come out here for a sec,' said Gemma quietly. She led her down the hall into the front room, away from the sleepers. ‘What is it, Helen? What happened? Where have you been?'

‘I was with Myles,' she sighed, wiping her eyes with her thumb.

Gemma looked at her expectantly. ‘By “with Myles” I take it you mean . . .'

Helen nodded. ‘We slept together,' she said gravely.

‘Was it that bad?'

‘No. Yes . . . no, it's not that, it's not him, it's me.' She took a breath. ‘I drank too much, and I threw myself at him, like some kind of animal let out of a cage.'

Gemma shrugged. ‘I wouldn't think that would bother most guys.'

Helen stared down at the floor.

‘Sorry,' said Gemma. ‘So what happened?'

‘After . . . it was over, well, I freaked out.'

‘Freaked out how?'

‘Crying, wailing, general hysteria,' she said, staring blankly in front of her, reliving it.

‘What did Myles do?'

Helen looked up. ‘He just held me till I calmed down. And then he told me he loved me,' she croaked, her voice breaking again.

‘Wow,' Gemma murmured. ‘Though I can't say I'm surprised. I always said he was besotted with you from the start.' She looked at Helen, at the turmoil on her face. ‘So how do you feel about him?'

‘I don't know,' she said in a small voice. ‘I'm confused, it just feels like . . . too much. Like it's not right somehow.'

Gemma was watching her helplessly.

Helen sighed. ‘Sorry, Gemma, I'm not making much sense. I'm just so tired. I think I'll try to grab a little sleep before Noah wakes up.'

‘That's probably a good idea.'

Helen walked back into her bedroom, slipped out of her clothes, and pulled on a loose T-shirt. She climbed carefully onto the bed so as not to disturb Noah. He was curled into a
ball, a tiny bump under the covers. Helen lay there, staring at the ceiling, but all she could see was Myles, feel the weight of his body on top of her, his lips and his tongue sliding across her skin. Her heart started to race, and she felt hot, throwing the covers off. The sheer intensity of her feelings was overwhelming. Helen had never felt like this before. But it was all wrong. She couldn't get Myles out of her head, but she couldn't even remember making love to her own husband. David was becoming nothing more than a shadow from a former life; it was as though every touch from Myles were smudging him out of existence. How could she do that to him, how could she allow that to happen?

Helen stood on the side of the road holding Noah's hand firmly. She didn't know this place; there was nothing around her as far as the eye could see, just the tarmac of the road like a black ribbon unravelling through the desolate flat landscape, dusty and dry. She could see the bus in the distance, gradually approaching till it loomed larger and larger, coming to a stop right in front of them, the doors swinging open with a swoosh. Helen looked down at Noah and gave him a reassuring smile. They stepped up into the bus together.

‘Myers!' Noah exclaimed.

Myles was driving the bus. He smiled at them, waiving the fare. They sat right up front, watching out the large windows as the bus picked up speed. Then she saw him, standing right in the middle of the road ahead. But Myles wasn't slowing down; he kept right on. She tried to call out to warn him, but she didn't have a voice. The bus kept going, getting closer, till she could see David's face.

Helen lurched upright, gasping for breath. Her legs were trembling as she stumbled out of bed and rushed to the
bathroom, dropping to her knees and throwing up into the toilet. She leaned back against the tiled wall, catching her breath. She was still trembling, and she'd broken into a cold sweat. She felt unsteady as she got up onto her feet and turned on the shower. But standing under the stream of warm water, smoothing soap over her skin, Helen's mind drifted again to Myles, and last night, and her heart started to race. Oh, for crying out loud. Helen dropped the soap and turned off the hot tap. She had to pull herself together. She turned the cold water on hard and stood there until she was shivering.

‘Is it Sat-day, Mummy?' Noah asked when he woke up, seeing her dressed in tracksuit pants and a T-shirt. He was obviously getting accustomed to her working full-time.

‘No, sweetie, it's only Tuesday. Mummy's going to stay home with you this week,' she said, trying to sound chipper. ‘What would you like to do?'

‘Can we wake Unka Tony up?'

‘Not yet, we have to let him have a bit of a sleep-in.'

When Gemma got up with Lola soon after, she regarded Helen curiously. ‘You're not going to work?'

‘No, I'm not,' Helen said in a tone that did not invite further discussion.

‘Aren't your in-laws lined up to have Noah today?'

‘God, you're right, Gemma,' said Helen. ‘Thanks for reminding me.'

She called them right away, and though the disappointment was plain in Noreen's voice, she didn't push it. She simply said to call any time this week if Helen needed them. When she hung up the phone, she wandered out to the back room and leaned against the doorway, watching Noah playing with Lola. Not playing
with
so much – Lola wasn't really up to that. But Noah delighted in pulling faces and making silly noises, singing selections from his preschool repertoire with all the accompanying hand actions, shaking her toys and rattles. Any reaction from Lola, even though at this stage they were mostly involuntary ticks, was enough to keep him going. Helen wondered who would tire of it first.

The phone began to ring. ‘I'll get it,' she said, turning up the hall. She picked up the handset from its cradle on the wall.

‘Hello.'

‘Hi, Helen.'

Her heart leaped into her throat and stuck there. It was Myles.

‘When did you leave? I was worried about you.'

‘Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you,' she said. ‘I just wanted to get back before Noah woke.'

‘So why didn't you wake me? I would have driven you home.'

‘You were sound asleep . . . I didn't want to disturb . . .' Her voice trailed away.

There was a pause. ‘Is everything all right, Helen?'

‘Sure.'

‘So, I'll see you soon?'

‘What?'

‘At work.'

‘Oh, I'm not coming into work today,' she stammered. ‘I can't, sorry Myles, didn't I mention that?'

‘No, you didn't,' he said, his voice flat.

‘Oh, well, it's just after working so hard, I wanted to have some catch-up time with Noah. I thought you'd understand . . .'

‘Of course I understand.' She heard him sigh. ‘Helen, what's going on? Last night was . . . last night was amazing, Helen. What's happened in the last few hours? Talk to me.'

She ducked into her bedroom and closed the door, breathing hard as she leaned back against it.

‘Helen?' he prompted. ‘Tell me what's wrong?'

‘What's wrong is that I'm married,' she said finally.

‘What?'

‘Don't worry, I'm not crazy, I know he's dead. But the thing is, Myles, one day I had a husband, and the next I didn't. Nothing happened between us, we didn't have a fight, he didn't get sick, we didn't even say goodbye. I still feel like I'm married, or tied to him somehow.' She took a breath. ‘And so now, after last night, I feel guilty, and ashamed . . .'

‘Helen,' he chided gently, ‘you have nothing to feel ashamed about.'

‘But I do, Myles, and I don't know how to get past it.'

‘You get past it by getting past it, Helen. And I'm not saying that'll be easy, but do you think we shouldn't even give this a chance because it might be hard? I think some things are worth it.' He paused. ‘I think you're worth it. I guess you just have to work out if I am.'

‘Myles –'

‘No, I'm serious. You have to work out if I'm the guy you want to do this with. Because you're going to have to do it sometime, Helen.'

She didn't say anything. She didn't know what to say.

‘Take your time,' he said tenderly. ‘I'm not going to stop loving you. And I'm not going to give up.'

He hung up, and Helen flopped back onto the bed with a heavy sigh. But as soon as she was lying there, staring at the ceiling, she got the mental picture again of Myles, looming above her, lowering himself to kiss her . . .

She groaned, lifting herself up again. What had she turned into overnight? The genie was out of the bottle, and Helen didn't know how to put it back in. She took a deep breath and stood up; she had to keep busy, occupied. She walked to the door and opened it, just as Tony did the same from his room across the hall. He smiled sleepily when he saw her.

‘Hey, Hel, what time did you get in last night?' he said, yawning.

‘Oh, um, why do you ask?'

He considered her sceptically. ‘Why are you getting defensive?'

‘I'm not getting defensive. I got in . . . late, if you must know. It was late.'

He nodded, leaning against the doorjamb. ‘Where'd you go?'

‘Oh, um, out, just out . . . we wanted to listen to music.'

‘“We” being –'

‘People from work,' she said quickly.

He frowned. ‘People? I thought you were with department-store guy.'

‘Who?'

Tony was rubbing his eyes. ‘Myers,' he said finally. ‘You know, the guy who bought out an entire florist to wish you a happy birthday? Completely platonically, of course.'

Helen looked at him, shaking her head. ‘You always were prone to exaggeration, Tony.'

‘Who, me?'

‘Unka Tony!' Noah had spotted him from down the hall and was running straight for him, giving Helen the chance to slip away and out to the kitchen, avoiding any further interrogation.