The Horse Dancer
“The silence of the countryside seemed oppressive, the proximity of Mac and Sarah too great in the confines of the cottage. Downstairs, she could hear the creak of the sofa when he shifted, the diplomatic pad of bare feet to the bathroom as Sarah crept to the loo in the small hours. She thought she could even hear them breathing, and wondered if that meant Mac could hear every move she made too. She slept, and woke from brief, fitful dreams of arguments with him, or hallucinatory imaginings that... strangers invaded her home, until finally, as the blue light and Arctic orange sun rose above the distant trees, she stopped trying to force her eyes shut. A kind of peace descended, as if her mind had been persuaded by physical circumstance to be still. She lay there, staring at the lightening ceiling, until she pulled on a dressing-gown and climbed out of bed.
She wouldn’t think about Mac. Allowing herself to get upset about the house was foolish. Dwelling on the touch of a hand was the road to madness.MoreLess
She wouldn’t think about Mac. Allowing herself to get upset about the house was foolish. Dwelling on the touch of a hand was the road to madness.MoreLess
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