Fonding and Permission Ch. 03

Felix sensed that a dam had burst in her. He couldn't remember hearing her speech this released, except during those minutes in the library.

"It's also how you respond to trouble," she went on. "You always seem to see the funny side of things while still taking them seriously. It's the way a little grin reliably sneaks into your frown. It's your seriousness and the way you're capable of melancholy without misery. I need that ... And your face doesn't panic much. You keep your composure, but without going cold or grim. I can't remember seeing horror leap into your face. But I've seen laughter do it again and again ... You have grace, Felix."

"I'm not sure it's been tested," Felix cautioned. "We live in a pretty cosy place ... And I don't know what I'd do at gunpoint." But he was touched and awed by her words. He felt her voice in his fingertips as they stroked her head.

"Everything breaks if it's hit hard enough," she said. "But that doesn't mean it isn't real before."

"You keep saying things that need writing all over the sky," he said. "And you really get me."

"I hope I do." Something seemed to catch in her throat, troubling the next words on their way out. "Because I want to."

Felix didn't know how to respond. I can't get much closer, he thought. And if I hug her harder, I'll hurt her.

He felt she was showing him her handmade portrait of him, both familiar and astonishing. He had never seen so much beauty in a mirror. Doubts and insults had been circling him for years. Now she had come to his defence and her words were shielding him from all the abuse ever thrown at him, soft curtains foiling furious missiles. He could almost hear her message to them: Give the boy a break. He's magnificent.

"Felix?"

"Yes?"

"What do you think of the word huglust?"

"Huglust. ... It sounds comfortable. A bit quirky. One of yours?"

"Yes ... It means the pleasure of hugging someone you like very much. The feeling that hugging them is far and away the best way to spend your time."

She laid her left arm protectively across his front and he felt her lock her hands behind his waist.

"I think I'm overdosing on it."

She chuckled and squeezed him, then gave a sleepy sigh. "You can keep giving me more."

Felix sat there with no aim but to hold and guard her side. He turned his head sideways and pressed his lips to her hair, and kept them there, hearing her little murmur of appreciation.

He had wondered what more might happen between them tonight. But he felt in no hurry. This was all he needed now. He didn't want this summit to be immediately dwarfed. Give it some berth, he thought. It's not a transition to anything better. Appreciate things. That's how to live.

"If you're, you know ... missing anything," he began at a whisper.

"I'll let you know," she said just as softly. "I will ... But this is perfect."

***

"Felix?"

"Yes?"

Some time had passed. They were still under the tree, the night about them deeper and quieter now.

"I've been thinking ... there are some things we should talk about."

"Mhm."

"Because you've hit me squarely in the chest."

They weren't the words he would have chosen, but he would remember them now. A car blew its horn somewhere and the motorway hummed in the distance.

Theresa drew a deep breath. "I want to ask you how you feel about freedom."

Somewhere in him, a balloon seemed to touch a pin and shiver. "What do you mean?"

"I mean ... I don't want to tether you ... And I also feel afraid to be tethered myself."

"Do you mean ... you don't want a partner?"

"No. That's not what I mean ... How to say this? ... I watched my neighbour grow old with her husband. They stayed together, but they were ... prisoners to each other. They both had an alcohol problem. I used to hear them yelling at each other through the walls at night when I was ten. There wasn't much laughing. That's never left me ... And I sometimes overheard her talking to my mother about it all: how she used to dream of love and overestimated herself, thinking she could keep up the romance in spite of all the restrictions and disappointments of their marriage ... how she told herself to be strong, refused to see they weren't helping each other until it was too late."

"It sounds like a common story."

"Yes. Some people think it's the only story there is."

"I know. I hope it isn't."

"I don't think it is," she said calmly. "And I don't want to end up like that. The idea that you and I might find each other a necessary nuisance one day is, well, heartbreaking."

Is this normal, Felix wondered. Do people talk about this on day zero? But he understood she was doing something very important to strengthen them. He admired her diplomatic frankness but said nothing, waiting for her conclusion.

"I don't want to make promises unless I'm sure I can keep them," Theresa said. "No matter how much you discipline yourself, it's impossible to know how you'll feel in five years ... So if I said You will always make me happy or You're the end of my adventures, I'd be saying more than I know --I mean, it really feels like that now, Felix, and I want to hold onto that ... but maybe one day I'll fail."

Felix pondered this. The pin had withdrawn a little and he knew where it was. He felt steady now. "I'm not sure I need too many promises," he said. "The truth is, I know I can live and be happy all alone ... Or could until recently. I hope I still can ... It's just warmer with you. Much warmer ... But I don't want commitment that isn't heartfelt."

"So you're not scared to ... let me go?"

"I don't want to overdo the promises either," he began. "But I'm not scared, no ... I mean, I'd love you to keep coming back ... I'd love to be something like home for you."

She was quite still in his arms. "Yes," she said eventually. "We could be each other's home.

They paused for a little, letting it sink in.

"And," she went on quietly, perhaps out of respect for the moment. "If one of us wants a holiday."

"Just tell me. That's what matters most ... I want you to trust me. I want to know you."

"Thank you ... Because the thing is, I know I love a holiday ... if you know what I mean."

"You mean you'd like the freedom to ... explore intimacy elsewhere?"

"Mhm," she said quietly. "I mean," she added quickly. "I want you to have this too --if you want it ... And I don't demand it. I'll try to give it up if you ask me ... I certainly don't need it right now ... But I know myself and if you want to know me too, well, I'd probably miss it one day."

"I ...," Felix began and stopped. "Give me a moment. I want to be sure what I feel before I say anything."

"Of course. Take your time."

Silence seemed to expand between them. Should she limit herself for me? he thought. I thought I'd do it for her, sacrifice and suffer nobly ... deprive myself to prove my love, trust and commitment and gain hers. Why? Don't I believe in them already?

"We don't have to sort this out today," she interjected.

"No, it's coming," he said. "I'm getting there."

We keep suffering for joy without checking the final balance ... Life's hard enough. Can't there be a comfort zone somewhere, where we can be weak, catch our breath and have fun? Let's give that to each other ... Yes, deprivation helps you relearn joy, but doesn't she know best what makes her happy? Why ask her to deprive herself beyond need? If she's wrong, she'll find out ... Do I need this sacrifice? Why ask for a proof of love that gnaws away what it proves? Better to have more love and less proof. ... Have faith in her. Trust her back.

"I think you should try it," he said finally.

"Are you serious?" Somewhere well beneath her caution she sounded elated.

"Yes," he said, surprised at how certain he was. "If you're really hungry for someone, see them. It's all right with me." Perhaps the deep relief and satisfaction of this night had guided him here, because he was sure that not so long ago he had viewed things rather differently. But he could vivdly see the ten year old girl lying in bed, listening to the grown-ups hating each other. He imagined how she must have feared love. And he was simply happy that she had quietly dodged all those bullets and found a path to joy that so many others missed, guided by her sensitivity, her weakness and strength.

"You really don't mind?"

"No," he said honestly. "Well, if I found out you'd badmouthed me behind my back ... or something else showing you don't think much of us, that would hurt. That would feel like betrayal ... But just enjoying yourself with others ... Why not?" He looked at her and laughed. "I want you to enjoy stuff."

"When you say enjoy ..."

"Whatever it takes," he said, grinning. "No habiliments required."

She went stiff as a board for a moment, then burst out laughing, and he felt her tension vanish as she shook. "Felix, thank you. Really, you're the coolest. You have a way of making molehills out of mountains. You do realise plenty of men would have ditched me right here, don't you?"

"Oh, I think quite a few would take my view, actually ... And the others, well, maybe they've got the wrong end of commitment. In my book it means being there when you're needed, not never going on a journey ... And," he paused and smiled. "Maybe jealousy blinds them."

"How do you mean?"

"You don't think they might be missing an opportunity?"

Even in the dark he felt the long look of wonder she gave him.

***

"Tessy?"

"Yes."

"Is there anyone else, then?"

She said nothing for a moment. When she spoke, she sounded deliberately calm. "I'm single. Or I was this morning, anyway ... But I did get to know someone about half a year ago."

"You mean know as in And Adam knew his wife?"

"I ..." A note of suppressed pleasure entered her voice. "I'm not sure how much I can say without betraying confidences. But basically yes. Yes."

"Ah," he said with interest. "So you've ... tasted that."

"Yes," she said. "Very well put ... Have you?"

"No," he said calmly, deciding on the spot that honesty would place him best in both their eyes. "I've never been closer than with you."

She bowed her head a little. "It was my first time this summer."

"And ... have you seen him since?"

"Not since July ... We've been in touch, though. Intimately." She paused, leaving him to surmise what it meant. "I think I can say this much: we found there are things we do brilliantly together. The Eve and Adam thing, mostly ..."

They both laughed nervously.

"But," she went on. "We chose to let our paths diverge."

"So you have no plans together."

"No ... I mean, we left things a bit open. We said we might have too little in common for everyday life. He doesn't really share our sense of humour ... But we didn't rule out, you know, an occasional ... holiday ... if our lives allowed it."

"Ah ... well." Felix grinned. "I stand by what I said."

"Thank you, Felix. Deeply."

"Speaking of Adam and Eve," he said after a moment. "Do you dream of a Cain or Abel?"

She leant back, thinking hard. "No," she said eventually. "But at times of an able cane."

She looked at him and they suddenly both burst out giggling, her body shaking as though about to fall apart.

"Put that in your diary," he managed through his own fit. We're talking about it, he thought. And if you keep talking about something ...

Eventually, when she had composed herself, she raised a hand to her neck. "The man I met this summer," she began.

"Oh. Yes?"

"He also made me this scarf."

"I can't see what you're wearing."

"Hang on."

A moment later her phone lit up and the dark half of the rainbow leapt at him.

"That's beautiful ..." he said slowly. But there was more than beauty. Some other feeling had struck him at the sight. Something entirely unexpected, but he wasn't sure what ...

"I love it, too," she said. "The colours most of all."

"I thought you didn't like yours too garish?"

"No, I know ... But I love the way the ultramarine frames the spiral of violet ... and the red in the middle ... it's like a snaking crack of fire in the ocean."

"Yes ... But ..."

"What?"

"It looks familiar, somehow."

"Oh ..." He felt her tighten in his arm again. "Where from?"

"No idea."

She seemed to need a moment to summon her next question.

"Could it have been a picture?"

"I really don't know ... I don't think I've seen any pictures of you lately. Maybe never."

"You don't?" She sounded startled.

"No. Should I?"

"I don't know ... Maybe not."

They were only five words, so Felix couldn't be quite sure, but he thought that some of the lightness her voice had sustained since the mention of mountains and molehills had suddenly gone.

***

Felix only knew he had dozed off when he awoke, feeling vaguely that something had prodded him. The night had again grown colder and quieter. The ground felt uncomfortably hard through his thin trousers and his arm, caught between Theresa and the tree trunk, had half numbed.

He tried to rearrange himself at a snail's pace, so as not to wake her, watching and feeling her as he moved. But her only motions in his arm were the steady ebb and flow as she drew slow, regular breaths. How long had they slept under the tree for?

Pale light was coming through the leaves and branches from a nearby streetlamp. He had taken no notice of it before, but fuzzy, little patches of it were spread across her, leaving the rest of her invisible. A few of them were moving languidly as the late foliage swayed in the breeze, little ghosts weightlessly dancing over her shape.

He stopped. Maybe it was the sleep in his eyes, but one of the ghosts swaying back and forth across her midriff looked strangely bright and smooth. He raised his free right arm and carefully approached it. It vanished under the shadow of his nearing fingers, but as he touched the spot they told him what he had guessed. Skin.

He took a moment to digest this, a single fingertip still quivering somewhere near her navel. It had been dark from the start, but she could hardly have left her body open to the cold all along ... Without haste, he raised his hand again and moved it sideways, first left then right. He met only thin air across the width of a foot. Her coat was wide open, and so was the blouse underneath.

A second, soft touchdown higher up found thin, taut fabric. And a whispered glissando across it told him his fingers were walking on something round. He traced its contours with his middle and index finger. After a little exploration, they caught on a little bump. He took time to pause there ... Then, taking a shot in the dark, he moved maybe half a foot to the left and found he had alighted on a second roundness and ... yes ... a second little bump.

There was a moment's unevenness in her breathing as he drew the edge of a fingernail over it. But still she did not stir. He let his knuckles travel up and down the curve, feeling it yield a little as they explored the fabric in a lazy, criss-crossing trance. Her breaths seemed to quicken a little, then deepened again, no longer troubled by the change of circumstances ... I could do anything, he thought. How did this happen? But for once he chose not to question the situation.

His next thought was that she would catch a cold if he did nothing. He found he was deeply reluctant to close her coat but thought it would probably be for the best. How to do it without disturbing her? Start from the outside. He lowered his hand, trying to find the coat's ends, and stopped dead.

He had found two ends, just inches apart. But they were not her coat's. They were rigid, perhaps made of something like denim ... One of them had a button on it. The other had a button-sized slit. He found rows of little teeth beneath both and followed one downwards with great care until they converged in a cold little chunk with a loose attachment. There was a tiny chink as he raised and dropped it, surely too quiet to wake a healthy sleeper ... Lowering one finger he again encountered thin, taut fabric. Warm fabric. He felt steam rising through it before he made contact. So that was where he was now ...

Her breath caught as he touched it, and she gave a little tremble. He felt himself prickle and his own low heat stir in answer. He listened to ten of her breaths, then exhaled, lifted his finger from her, held it quickly to his nose and drew one long breath through it. Shades of mustiness ... He did it again. The third time, after a moment's hesitation, he laid his finger lightly on the tip of his tongue.

Presently, he remembered his duty. Reaching about, he found one end of her coat and, ever so slowly, made to draw it across her front. At this, she shifted, straining away from him. She seemed about to awake, and he drew back. But a moment later she had resettled, her breathing quiet again, her coat still open. He made to close it once more and again met the same resistance. Well, he had tried ...

An idea came to him, warm and urgent. Would it be to her liking if he looked for ways past the fabric? He remained quite still while the idea expanded before him, feeling his caution give way to curiosity ... He lowered his hand onto one of the low-lying ghosts again, then moved slowly downwards. Presently he hit a polite barrier: a choice. Over? ... Or under?

Very cautiously, he pressed his fingers down, trying to raise the fabric with his fingernails. She gave a sleepy squirm and he withdrew upward a little, but left his fingers on her skin. She acquiesced. So, not that way then ...

Would the other path find her consent? He slid towards the barrier again, feeling her tense up as he did so, ready to respond. Then he mounted it with three fingers and felt her half relax ... Was this a yes? ... Slowly, almost as a consequence of the tides of her breathing, he let his fingers slip incrementally down over the fabric, until the bottom of the zip closed over them. He descended further still, following her heat until he felt warm skin on the sides of his outer fingers. Her legs drew together like a crab's scissors, capturing his hand and holding it tight for a moment. Then they seemed to give in, parted slowly and fell wide open.

Freed, he inched back up over the fabric, down again, then up again, sometimes pressing a little with his fingertips as in a slow-motion massage, now and then spreading his palm across her to feel all her heat. She did nothing to protest, appeared quite calm, but he heard a constant tremolo in her breathing, a shiver as though from the cold. And raising his hand a little further, he felt goosebumps on her skin above the fabric.

Minutes passed. He recalled her words, You can touch me, as he did so. It seemed that he could also give her benevolent little rubs and pats, could scratch her as he might scratch the arched back of a cat to tease it.

He did not want more. He could not remember more fascination, more pleasure with less effort. Maybe she would let him do this for hours ... If she and his own sleepiness allowed, he would indulge her until the sun rose on the deserted schoolyard. No matter how old the night was, they would not let it end soon ...

Another Canada goose call reached his ears, and he felt her twitch ...

He had little idea how much time had passed when he made to remove his hand from her for a moment with a parting squeeze. She made a little sound of discontent, then spoke in a whisper.

"Don't stop."

But for the gentle request in her voice she sounded utterly placid.

"OK ..." He laid his hand between her legs again. She wants me to want her, he thought. And he suddenly knew a right moment. "Do I get a wish too?" he said.