Worst Fears
“He was wearing Ned’s dressing gown and nothing beneath it. He had lighter body-hair than Ned’s, and thinner, longer legs, but warm flesh, not marble. He offered comfort, there was no doubt about that: he was good-looking; some essence of Ned was there. The need to keep life going, to overlay death with sex, was strong. She lay still. He sat on the end of the bed. She moved her feet out of the way.
“Anthropologists tell us,” he said, “that in many tribes when the husband dies the brother is expe...cted to take over his role. I can’t sleep. Can you?”
“Yes,” she said. “If left alone.”
“I feel Ned everywhere. I think this is what he wants us to do: to comfort one another.”
“That may be wishful thinking, Hamish.” She sat up. She slept naked, as was her custom. She pulled the sheet up to cover her bosom. Gently, he pushed it down. She could not be bothered to resist. So, she had breasts. What woman didn’t?
“I find your modesty the titchiest bit hypocritical,”MoreLess
“Anthropologists tell us,” he said, “that in many tribes when the husband dies the brother is expe...cted to take over his role. I can’t sleep. Can you?”
“Yes,” she said. “If left alone.”
“I feel Ned everywhere. I think this is what he wants us to do: to comfort one another.”
“That may be wishful thinking, Hamish.” She sat up. She slept naked, as was her custom. She pulled the sheet up to cover her bosom. Gently, he pushed it down. She could not be bothered to resist. So, she had breasts. What woman didn’t?
“I find your modesty the titchiest bit hypocritical,”MoreLess
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