her centre, but she felt his body falling, separating from her, dissolving into water in her arms. At last her lungs gave out, and she turned her head to gasp a breath.
When she opened her eyes again, she was alone in the pool. She floated in zero gravity, staring straight up into the falling rain.
Eventually she stood, waist-high in the water, letting the rain stream over her. Her feet tangled in her bra and panties, and she picked them up with her toes. Holding the damp fabric against her chest, she made for the edge of the pool, striding slow-motion through the cooling water.
Her clothes were soaked through from the rain by the time she got back to the pavilion. Light spilled out onto the deck from inside. Hugging herself, she leant against the window. Her breath misted the glass.
Alice and a couple of the other men and women were inside, sitting in armchairs with coffee mugs, walking shoes kicked off. Erin saw the warm connections that were building between them, saw them clearly: soft orange lines chalked across space, tentatively linking each to each. Alice was laughing and leaning towards Michael. None of them was very young, none perfectly beautiful. Erin saw the lines on their faces, the first strands of grey, the excess weight. Their caution, their worldliness. But still they seemed hopeful, game, ready to try. Could she enter there? She crossed her arms tightly, about to turn away.
“You must be freezing,” said a voice behind her.
It was the man from the night before, the dark one who’d looked straight through her. Now he seemed to see her. Or was it perhaps just the wet T -shirt effect of her sodden clothes? He offered a cardigan. “Did you fall in?”
She laughed and shook her head, and he held the jersey while she poked her arms into the sleeves. It was much too big for her, porridge-coloured and smelling of tobacco, but she was glad to cover herself.
“Doug,” he said, holding out a hand. “We didn’t really meet last night.”
Blunt fingertips, coarse hair on his wrists. But his grip was warm and dry. “Let’s go inside,” he said, and she let him put a palm against her back to steer her in. “You’re shivering.”
But she wasn’t, really. She wasn’t trembling at all.
The Boulder
When the boulder came down from the mountainside, it must’ve made a sound like the end of the world, rocking the ground with each thunderous landing and recoil. It must’ve sung through the air, thrashing the bush on the slope into a sappy pulp with every bounce, on its way to embed itself in the lawn of the luxury holiday home below.
Dan did not hear or see this passage. He slept deeply, as teenagers do, waking only when the last impact shuddered the foundations of the house. He knew immediately what it was, though. Not an earthquake, not a bomb. His first thought on waking was this: the mountain is falling on top of us.
In the ensuing silence, he didn’t even sit up. It was not his house, after all, not his place to investigate. The two collie dogs that had slept in the room with him both went to sit at the closed door, as if expecting a visitor, but they didn’t bark. No other footsteps in the house. Dan lay very very still, playing dead, until the trick seemed to work and he slipped back under, into sleep.
It was late morning when he woke again. He dressed and walked through the house and opened the glass sliding-door into the back garden.
Half the lawn had been replaced by a grey-brown boulder as high as the house.
The rock was two-tone, raw side up, stained brown where the earth had held it. It looked like something from another planet, bearing traces of a different world. A few crushed fronds were trapped in its crevices, and the sharp, sweet smell of high mountain places.
The more nervous dog trembled at his heels, while the other snuffled around the base of the boulder. Dan was trembling too. The rock seemed precarious: the lawn, at a slight rake, was on the verge of tipping it towards
When she opened her eyes again, she was alone in the pool. She floated in zero gravity, staring straight up into the falling rain.
Eventually she stood, waist-high in the water, letting the rain stream over her. Her feet tangled in her bra and panties, and she picked them up with her toes. Holding the damp fabric against her chest, she made for the edge of the pool, striding slow-motion through the cooling water.
Her clothes were soaked through from the rain by the time she got back to the pavilion. Light spilled out onto the deck from inside. Hugging herself, she leant against the window. Her breath misted the glass.
Alice and a couple of the other men and women were inside, sitting in armchairs with coffee mugs, walking shoes kicked off. Erin saw the warm connections that were building between them, saw them clearly: soft orange lines chalked across space, tentatively linking each to each. Alice was laughing and leaning towards Michael. None of them was very young, none perfectly beautiful. Erin saw the lines on their faces, the first strands of grey, the excess weight. Their caution, their worldliness. But still they seemed hopeful, game, ready to try. Could she enter there? She crossed her arms tightly, about to turn away.
“You must be freezing,” said a voice behind her.
It was the man from the night before, the dark one who’d looked straight through her. Now he seemed to see her. Or was it perhaps just the wet T -shirt effect of her sodden clothes? He offered a cardigan. “Did you fall in?”
She laughed and shook her head, and he held the jersey while she poked her arms into the sleeves. It was much too big for her, porridge-coloured and smelling of tobacco, but she was glad to cover herself.
“Doug,” he said, holding out a hand. “We didn’t really meet last night.”
Blunt fingertips, coarse hair on his wrists. But his grip was warm and dry. “Let’s go inside,” he said, and she let him put a palm against her back to steer her in. “You’re shivering.”
But she wasn’t, really. She wasn’t trembling at all.
The Boulder
When the boulder came down from the mountainside, it must’ve made a sound like the end of the world, rocking the ground with each thunderous landing and recoil. It must’ve sung through the air, thrashing the bush on the slope into a sappy pulp with every bounce, on its way to embed itself in the lawn of the luxury holiday home below.
Dan did not hear or see this passage. He slept deeply, as teenagers do, waking only when the last impact shuddered the foundations of the house. He knew immediately what it was, though. Not an earthquake, not a bomb. His first thought on waking was this: the mountain is falling on top of us.
In the ensuing silence, he didn’t even sit up. It was not his house, after all, not his place to investigate. The two collie dogs that had slept in the room with him both went to sit at the closed door, as if expecting a visitor, but they didn’t bark. No other footsteps in the house. Dan lay very very still, playing dead, until the trick seemed to work and he slipped back under, into sleep.
It was late morning when he woke again. He dressed and walked through the house and opened the glass sliding-door into the back garden.
Half the lawn had been replaced by a grey-brown boulder as high as the house.
The rock was two-tone, raw side up, stained brown where the earth had held it. It looked like something from another planet, bearing traces of a different world. A few crushed fronds were trapped in its crevices, and the sharp, sweet smell of high mountain places.
The more nervous dog trembled at his heels, while the other snuffled around the base of the boulder. Dan was trembling too. The rock seemed precarious: the lawn, at a slight rake, was on the verge of tipping it towards
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