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received a letter saying that she had been accepted for training, to start in ten days ’ time.
    I had my own examination from a board of urbane off icials. She met me outside and we went for an awkward meal, like two strangers, in an Italian restaurant. She had a grey, tired face, and her cheeks looked baggy. I asked her what she ’ d been doing while I was away.
    ‘ Writing a letter. ’
    ‘ To them? ’
    ‘ Yes. ’
    ‘ Saying? ’
    ‘ What do you think I said? ’
    ‘ You accepted. ’
    There was a difficult pause. I knew what she wanted me to say, but I couldn ’ t say it. I felt as a sleepwalker must feel when he wakes up at the end of the roof parapet. I wasn ’ t ready for marriage, for settling down. I wasn ’ t psychologically close enough to her; something I couldn ’ t define, obscure, monstrous, lay between us, and this obscure monstrous thing emanated from her, not from me.
    ‘ Some of their flights go via Athens. If you ’ re in Greece we can meet. Maybe you ’ ll be in London. Anyway. ’
    We began to plan how we would live if I didn ’ t get the job in Greece.
     
    But I did. A letter came, saying my name had been selected to be forwarded to the school board in Athens. This was ‘ virtually a formality ’ . I should be expected in Greece at the beginning of October.
    I showed Alison the letter as soon as I had climbed the stairs back to the flat, and watched her read it. I was looking for regret, but I couldn ’ t see it. She kissed me.
    ‘ I told you. ’
    ‘ I know. ’
    ‘ Let ’ s celebrate. Let ’ s go out into the country ’ .
    I let her carry me away. She wouldn ’ t take it seriously, and I was too much of a coward to stop and think why I was secretly hurt by her refusing to take it seriously. So we went out into the country, and when we came back we went to see a film and later went dancing in Soho; and still she wouldn ’ t take it seriously. But then, late, after love, we couldn ’ t sleep, and we had to take it seriously.
    ‘ Alison, what am I going to do tomorrow? ’
    ‘ You ’ re going to accept. ’
    ‘ Do you want me to accept? ’
    ‘ Not all over again. ’
    We were lying on our backs, and I could see her eyes were open. Somewhere down below little leaves in front of a lamp-post cast nervous shadows across our ceiling.
    ‘ If I say what I feel about you, will you
    ‘ I know what you feel. ’
    And it was there: an accusing silence.
    I reached out and touched her bare stomach. She pushed my hand away, but held it. ‘ You feel, I feel, what ’ s the good. It ’ s what we feel. What you feel is what I feel. I ’ m a woman. ’
    I was frightened; and calculated my answer.
    ‘ Would you marry me if I asked you? ’
    ‘ You can ’ t say it like that. ’
    ‘ I ’ d marry you tomorrow if I thought you really needed me. Or wanted me. ’
    ‘ Oh Nicko, Nicko. ’ Rain lashed on the windowpanes. She beat my hand on the bed between us. There was a long silence.
    ‘ I ’ ve just got to get out of this country. ’
    She didn ’ t answer; more silence, and then she spoke.
    ‘ Pete ’ s coming back to London next week. ’
    ‘ What will he do? ’
    ‘ Don ’ t worry. He knows. ’
    ‘ How do you know he knows? ’
    ‘ I wrote to him. ’
    ‘ Has he answered? ’
    She breathed out. ‘ No strings. ’
    ‘ Do you want to go back to him? ’
    She turned on her elbow and made me turn my head, so that our faces were very close together.
    ‘ Ask me to marry you. ’
    ‘ Will you marry me? ’
    ‘ No. ’ She turned away.
    ‘ Why did you do that? ’
    ‘ To get it over. I ’ m going to be an air hostess, and you ’ re going to Greece. You ’ re free. ’
    ‘ And you ’ re free. ’
    ‘ If it makes you happier – I ’ m free. ’
    The rain came in sudden great swathes across the tree-tops and hit the windows and the roof; like spring rain, out of season. The bedroom air seemed full of unspoken words, unformulated guilts, a vicious silence, like