The Men in her Life

crushed beneath him, she had reflected that there had once been a time when she would have found such an act intensely erotic, imagining that the sexual pull between them was so strong it infiltrated his subconscious, driving him to make love to her even when they were sleeping. Now she found it almost necrophilic and it had killed any lingering feeling of desire she had for him.
    She wriggled out from under the weight of his arm and went into Ella’s room where Tom now slept. He was getting too big for his cot, but she had not moved him into the bed yet because she was glad of another bed to escape to herself. But it couldn’t go on much longer, even if Joss continued to believe her story that Tom had woken in the night and needed her there.
    She wondered why she found it impossible to imagine herself telling the man she had loved for so long, I don’t want to live with you any more. Will you please leave?
    People broke up every day of the week. She didn’t think that Joss would really mind losing her, although he would find it inconvenient to have to look after himself. But she knew that he would not easily give up Tom. He had known a long time ago that Ella was lost to him, but Ella had always been a fiercely independent person. Tom was so affectionate, Joss had found it easier to love him, and would fight hard to keep him. In the darkness, Clare tried to imagine what could be the worst possible thing that could happen. In the past few weeks she had suffered a recurring dream in which Joss petitioned to have her judged unfit to look after Tom, and all their friends in Penderric rallied around him, bewitched by his tales of her insanity. And Clare would wake up shaking, wondering how her subconscious could be so frightened of the man she had shared her life with, and thinking that the dream contained its own logical consistency. Perhaps she was mad to have let it get to this point.

    Holly lay on the sofa bed trying to sleep, her head a whirlwind of contradictory thoughts.
    It didn’t make any difference that Clare was about to leave him, she told herself. He was still Clare’s husband and that was that.
    And yet it seemed such a waste. One sister didn’t want him, the other did. Surely they should come to some arrangement? However logical it sounded, she knew that things didn’t work like that. She turned over. Just forget it.
    Anyway, how could you be in love with someone you had only just met? She knew nothing about him and everything she did know was bad. He was moody, difficult and philandering and he was a bastard.
    But so were most men, they just pretended not to be for the first few weeks until they had you hooked, and then they began to reveal themselves. Perhaps all the bastards she had ever dealt with were a sort of practice for this one. With Joss, the only surprises would be good things because she knew the worst already.

    Even with Tom’s benign and peaceful presence a foot away, Clare could not sleep. As dawn broke she went downstairs, put on her gardening gloves and crept through the back room where Holly was sleeping and into the garden. The dawn air was chill, but the ground was moist with dew. The weeds came up easily and the work calmed her, stilling the rushes of anxiety. Straightening up, she watched the sun beginning to break through the damp shroud of mist, then she walked over to inspect the trellises. This year she had planted runner beans and peas with sweet peas in between. The peas were ready. She crept back into the kitchen, then crept out again. Holly turned over and began to snore. Clare smiled fondly at her sister and pulled the duvet up over her shoulders. Then she picked a bowlful of peas for lunch and took them into the kitchen to shell, turning the radio on very low.
    For the first few moments after she had heard the announcement, it seemed to her that she was the only person in the world who knew. It was unreal, another terrifying dream. Then they said it again. Clare stared at the radio, then she nudged the dial. The local radio station was in the middle of a weather forecast.
    ‘Not as warm as it has been and there’s a chance of some rain...’
    Clare breathed a long sigh of relief.
    ‘... And now let’s see if there’s more news about the reports we’ve been getting of the tragic death this morning of Diana, Princess of Wales ...’
    Clare crept into the back room and switched on the television, forgetting to turn down the volume.
    ‘What’s going on?’