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cup.
    ‘Sugar?’
    ‘Two please.’
    For good measure I add a second pill with the sugar. I give the tea a good stir before handing it to him.
    We sit and sip our tea on the bed next to one another. It should be a lovely moment, like the ones we shared last night but it’s spoilt by the way he keeps glancing over towards the door,
as if he’s nervous, as if he can’t wait to finish and get out of here.
    It doesn’t take long for the drugs to take effect. I’m surprised at their efficiency. I had half thought nothing would happen, that I should have to let him walk away from me. But
quite quickly, his eyes grow heavy, he murmurs that he feels too sleepy to finish his tea, puts his mug down and lies back against the pillows. I stare at him. He struggles to open his eyes, his
lids flicker. His mouth tries to form a word. He lifts his arm, as if reaching for something he thinks I’m offering him, but then he drops it down as if the effort is too much. His eyes close
and his head falls to one side. I’m alarmed by my own audacity. And yet I feel an incredible calm sweep over me that I’ve got him. He’s mine.
    I put my cup down and lean over him. The light outside has almost gone. He looks like someone in a black and white movie, the dusk accentuating the shadows on his face. He’s even more
beautiful than I first thought.
    I bend over and kiss him on the lips. Not a deep kiss; my lips rest lightly on his, feeling the tender newness of them. I barely exert any pressure, just let our mouths touch gently without
moving or making any sound and I cherish the exquisite softness. I’m back there, with Seb, when the world was laid out in front of us, like a vast, eternal playground.
    I pick up one of Jez’s feet. It’s so big I have to hold it in both my hands. I remove his trainers, his socks. Even here there’s nothing unpleasant. Only babies, I’d
thought, had this natural perfume. I marvel at the delicacy of the skin. What I’d like to do is take each of his pink, fresh-smelling toes one by one in my mouth. I imagine the way the flesh
would feel, the scrape of his nail against the roof of my mouth. But the taste would be something new and tender.
    However, there’s a sweetness in saving some things for later. To savour the anticipation. Now Jez is here, in the music room, I have all the time in the world again.

 
CHAPTER FIVE
Saturday night
    Helen
    Headless and legless pregnant torsos on plinths punctuated the gallery. Helen leant on a pillar, one hand clutching a wine glass. She adjusted her stance, tried to look casual,
and took another gulp of wine. Her palms were damp.
    In addition to the torsos was a centrepiece, a pool of water with ultrasound scans of foetuses projected above it. There was also a series of vivid orange paintings entitled ‘Variations on
the Svadhisthana’.
    ‘They are to do with the sacral chakra. The centre of fertility and creativity.’ Nadia’s voice in Helen’s ear made her jump. ‘I’m convinced orange agate is
what helped me get pregnant. That’s why I’ve used the colour so liberally.’ At forty-five Nadia had fallen pregnant for the first time and it was as if no one had ever had a baby
before.
    ‘I see,’ said Helen. ‘But why the casts?’
    ‘Not very original, I know,’ said Nadia. ‘Everyone has them done these days. But I wanted to capture every stage. I use Modroc. Get it off the internet. It’s an
extraordinarily versatile medium.’
    ‘They’re very realistic,’ Helen said. ‘You can see every tiny wrinkle and bump in the skin.’ She noticed that her damp hand had left a dark print on her skirt where
it had rested. She moved to hide it. Glanced over at Pierre, Nadia’s partner, who was circulating with a tray of wine.
    ‘Do you know anyone here?’ Nadia said. ‘Want me to introduce you?’
    Helen opened her mouth, closed it, then took an in-breath.
    ‘You didn’t invite Ben and Miranda?’ The words sounded forced, too loud.
    ‘Oh,