bed.
We slept, but I've no idea for how long. When we woke, it was together, as one, as if we'd sensed each other's rousing, and there was total darkness around us; again, there was no fear in this black void. Midge reached out for me and I moved to her.
Then we drifted back into a deep encompassing sleep.
NOISES
THE SOUNDS OF tapping woke me, sharp noises in various rhythms, breaking into my dreamless sleep. My eyes opened with none of their usual reluctance and I twisted my head toward Midge to find her wide awake and smiling happily. She was peering over me at the window beyond, the source of the tapping.
Turning my head the other way to follow her gaze, I spotted the culprits. Three or four birds were perched on the window ledge and they were pecking at the glass as though indignant that .we were still in bed.
'Oh Christ,' I moaned. 'Did you put in an alarm call?'
'No, they took it on themselves to get us up.'
'What time is it?'
'Just after six-thirty.'
'I don't believe it. You think they're a permanent feature?'
'Likely as not. It's lovely, isn't it?'
I pulled the pillow over my head, although in truth I was wide awake. 'Quiet would be lovelier.'
'All part of country living, Michael. It certainly beats the sound of rush-hour traffic and pneumatic drills.'
'Only just.'
She whipped back the covers and crawled across me to reach the window. I rolled over into the warm space she had left behind.
'Say hello from me,' I told her, pulling the sheets up around my chin.
She stooped close to the window and I relished the sight of her naked little rear. Although there wasn't an ounce of unnecessary flesh on Midge's body, there were delicately sensuous curves there that never failed to delight and absorb me. I wanted her back in bed.
She cooed at the birds and began a conversation with them. Even when she tapped the glass on this side, they didn't fly away. Instead they cocked their heads and chirped all the more loudly, while others fluttered above them, their wings brushing against the panes.
'I think they're demanding breakfast,' Midge called back to me. 'I bet Mrs. Chaldean fed them all the time.'
'Well, tell 'em Gramarye is under new management. No freebies any more.'
I'd closed my eyes for a few moments in case sleep wanted to snuggle back in, and the next thing I knew, Midge's weight was sprawled across me.
'You pretend you're so mean,' she said, tweaking my exposed nose painfully, 'but underneath that rough, grizzled exterior lies a heart of pure . . .' another tweak ' . . . granite.'
I twisted onto my back and she straddled me, her eyes gleaming with mischievous pleasure. It was hard to protest with the pink tips of two small but beautiful breasts hovering only inches away from my lips.
'You're embarrassing the wildlife,' I told her.
She ducked her head to kiss me, her tongue a soft-stabbing probe, her mouth moist and sweet. My hands broke cover and reached out to grasp her hips.
The vixen was only toying with me, though. 'We've got a lot to do,' she whispered in my ear, not forgetting to dampen that orifice with her wayward tongue, just to ensure all my senses were fully alert. 'I'll go down and start the breakfast while you shave and generally make yourself civilized.'
'Hey, it's early,' I whispered back, not wishing to make the birds blush. 'And anyway, we've got a whole month to get ourselves organized. This is our very first morning and it should be celebrated.' By now my tongue was doing its own persuading.
False coyness wasn't part of Midge's nature: what she enjoyed, she embraced. She embraced me.
Lifting the sheets, I pulled her in and her body, cold from the early-morning air, was delicious against mine. Now Midge and I had always been compatible in the fullest meaning of the word—our bodies, not just our personae, seemed to have been made for each other (and I mean that literally)—and our lovemaking had always been
Later, dressed in old sweater, faded jeans and sneakers (my usual uniform), I followed Midge down and found her in her dressing gown crouched on the kitchen doorstep, feeding the multitude. The birds—wrens, blue and great tits, wagtails, chaffinch, a real multiracial gathering it seemed—showed hardly any caution, a few of them actually pecking food from her hand, while others advanced within touching distance. I noted that size had nothing to do with boldness.
Midge was gently encouraging them with words I couldn't hear, and I chuckled when a wren perched on her wrist and dipped into the palm of her hand with its tiny pointed beak. I waited until the last slice of bread had been broken up and the pieces devoured before I stepped from the stairs into the room. An invigorating freshness breezed into the kitchen from the open front door and, although it was still early morning, there was no intrusive chill.
'Heeey, what's this?' I pointed to the table where the breakfast setting included a bottle of champagne and a glass jug of orange juice.
Midge looked over her shoulder and smiled up at me. 'Another part of our celebration. I smuggled the bottle inside a packing case yesterday.' She stood, brushing crumbs from her hands. The birds outside continued their chatter, perhaps demanding a second course. I went to Midge and squeezed her so hard she gasped.
'You're something else,' I said, and my voice was husky-soft.
'The birds have eaten your breakfast,' she responded.
My grip on her loosened. 'Tell me that ain't so.'
She nodded gravely, but didn't stop smiling. 'I was going to give you Buck's Fizz and toast, but what was left of the bread from yesterday went to our feathered friends. There were so many of them I got carried away. Sorry.'
'You're sorry.'
'I'll get to the shops as soon as they're open, I promise.'
'The cupboard's really bare?'
'There's a few stale biscuits left . . .'
'Wonderful.' My voice was flat, but I was only posing and she knew it.
She stood on tiptoe to kiss me. 'You open the bubbly and I'll get the biscuits.'
'You sure your pals don't want the champagne too? Maybe they could bathe in it.'
My nose took a tweaking again and she scurried away to the adjoining room where the biscuits were presumably moldering.
As it turned out, breakfast was terrific. Even Midge, who normally would never touch the grape, had some champagne with her orange juice, and we toasted each other's health and happiness and sexual prowess, and we munched on the biscuits (which were not too bad, incidentally) in between. Our third or fourth salutation was to Gramarye and our mugs clunked together—as yet we hadn't unpacked the glasses—in a most satisfactory way. Those of the birds who were still interested watched from the open doorway, no doubt wondering what we were cackling over.
After 'breakfast' it was all business. Midge bathed and dressed while I washed the mugs and recorked what was left of the champagne (bad form, I know, but I wasn't going to waste it). I took another look at the lintel over the old cooking range while I was in that part of the kitchen, still puzzled by the fact that the hairline crack had apparently sealed itself. Funny how memory can accommodate the mind when things are illogical; I suppose it's a reflexive instinct because we need some kind of mental order to prevent ourselves from going crazy. I began to
