She quickly got out of the tub and tried to dry herself as best she could.
‘Give me my clothes!’
‘It’s on the toilet seat.’
She jumped at the closeness of his voice, his mouth sounded like it was pressed against the door outside.
She snatched whatever it was he had put on the seat. Never in her life. Lined and made of a glossy fabric with tufts in the most worn places.
An old flowery dressing gown.
‘I want my clothes!’
‘Do you have to sound so angry? They’re soaking in the sink. Put on the dressing gown now and come out, then we’ll talk about all this.’
His voice was still very close to her.
There was something wrong with him, she had no doubt about that. But how dangerous was he, how scared did she need to be? All she knew with certainty was that she wanted to get out of here, and now she had no clothes. And no one in the entire world would be looking for her. And even if someone actually was trying to find her, nobody knew where she was. She had to leave the bathroom. Go out and talk to him. But to ‘talk about all this’ seemed like a contradiction. They had absolutely nothing to do with each other, and that’s precisely what she had to make him realise.
Disgusted, she looked at the dressing gown. There was a brown ring of dirt around the inside of the collar. Then she managed to get the better of her repugnance and put it on, trying to ignore the odour of age-old filth and a musty wardrobe.
She put her hand on the door handle and took a deep breath.
‘I’m coming out now.’
Not a sound was heard from outside.
She cautiously opened the door a crack. It was dark out there, the hall light was turned off. Out of pure impulse she turned off the bathroom light so she could disappear in the darkness. She opened the door a bit more and when she looked out she saw the glow of a candle from the room. She cast a glance at the front door, well aware that she had heard the keys being turned in all four of the locks. Keys that now lay in the pocket of his trousers.
She took a step towards the candlelight. Everything was quiet. Then she stopped. One more step and she would be visible to him through the doorway. The sudden sound of his voice made her jump.
‘Come.’
She didn’t move from the spot.
‘Please, come. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’
‘What is it you want? Why can’t I have my clothes?’
‘Of course you’ll get your clothes, but they’re wet right now. Come in here and we can talk a bit while they dry.’
What choice did she have? She took the last step and looked into the room. He was sitting on the edge of the bed. From her feet in the doorway where she stood and over to his feet by the bed, an avenue of votive candles. A planned path along the floor which all too obviously visualised his expectations. She was just about to protest and explain that no matter what had happened the last time she was there, it was never going to happen again. But then she saw his face and stopped short. It wasn’t her he was looking at, not her eyes he sought. He was looking at the flowered dressing gown. And suddenly, utterly without warning, his face was distorted in a grimace and his whole body shrank, collapsed. He looked away and she saw that he was trying to hide the fact that he was crying. Her confusion was absolute. What was it he actually wanted?
She didn’t say a word. Just stood there in the doorway watching him, and his whole bearing revealed a failed attempt to defend himself from her unwelcome stare. He sobbed a couple of times and sat looking down at the floor, rubbing his hand over his face. Then he hesitantly glanced at her again, timid and embarrassed.
‘Forgive me.’
She didn’t reply. She realised in the midst of it all that the room had changed. The walls were bare but with black dots from the nail holes where the strange paintings had hung.
He looked down at the floor and the votive candles again.
‘I haven’t dared to light candles for several years, but then I bought some in case you were here.’
He uttered the words like an awkward confession, as naked before her as she had been before him in the bathroom. As if he wanted to reveal himself in return, as an excuse for his intrusion. Her fear dropped away. He had merely read the wrong signals when she came home with him. And could she actually blame him? He had naturally believed that she would call. That their night together was a prelude. Seen her as a possibility.
What if she stayed for a little while and made him realise that she wasn’t, that what had happened was a mistake and that she hadn’t meant to hurt him? He wasn’t dangerous, he had only fallen in love and forgotten to find out if she felt the same way.
‘Why haven’t you lit candles for years?’
An attempt at conversation. Approach cautiously and gradually get him to understand.
He looked at her and smiled slightly.
‘There is so much you don’t know about me, that I haven’t managed to tell you yet.’
Wrong track. She had to try and be crystal clear from the beginning.
He beat her to it before she could start over.
‘I would like to ask you a favour.’
‘What kind of favour?’
He swallowed.
‘I would like you to come and sit next to me while you have that on.’
She looked down at the disgusting dressing gown.
‘Why is that?’
He hesitated a long time before continuing, she could see that the words came from deep inside him, that he had to muster his courage to speak his request.
‘I just want you to let me put my head in your lap for a while.’
Almost inaudible. Embarrassed and with his eyes looking down at his hands in his lap.
It was impossible to be afraid of anyone so pitiful. She might as well tell him the truth right away so she could get out of there.
‘I can understand that you may have thought that I, or that we, when we . . . Well, it wasn’t that it was bad or anything like that, but what happened was a mistake, I was drunk and not thinking. Maybe you hoped we would see each other again, but it’s better that I just tell you the truth. I’m married.’
He sat expressionless. His lack of reaction encouraged her to continue. Why hadn’t she told him the truth from the start? She of all people should know that honesty worked best.
‘Maybe I could borrow some clothes from you and then I’ll send them back later. My husband will worry if I don’t come home soon.’
‘Why should he?’
His voice was suddenly hard and cold. All goodwill gone.
‘Of course he’ll be worried if I don’t come home.’
She could hear the new tone in her own voice. More cautious now.
He shrugged his shoulders.
‘That depends, of course, on what type of marriage you have. Whether you love each other or not. Or if you make a habit of being unfaithful.’
Hurt. Proud and hurt. A dangerous combination. She had to proceed more carefully, his temporary vulnerability had thrown her off the track.
‘I don’t make a habit of being unfaithful. With you was the first time.’
He snorted.
‘What an honour.’
Shit. Wrong again. She had to choose her words better. He was like a minefield.
‘I didn’t mean to hurt you in any way. I mean, we’re two grown people. We were kind to each other for a
