Page 63 - Contrast2014

back, the can of blue paint they'd upturned before they
could put it on the walls of the room that would belong to
the baby they were trying for.

Now here she was, two years after and seven times
trying again and only almost thirty, a wrung-out husk,
dreading the creaking twist of the tap and the muted
snick of the medicine cabinet as it closed. This was not
the marriage she'd had before - this was someone else's
life, someone else's room, someone else's husband,
someone else's framed memories. She didn't know quite
how she'd gotten here, nor if she'd ever be able to get out.

Shelley had just replaced her slip for a thin nightgown
when Paul finally emerged, his damp hair black in the
dim light. He barely looked at her before turning his back
and shrugging off his dressing gown, standing naked in
the middle of the room. Shelley made no move to reach
for him, and for a moment she could see them both as
though peering down from above, a surrealist domestic
tableau, stretched-out figures propped amongst the
furniture, not a speck of dust in sight, brass placard above
the door engraved "A. GIACOMETTI, 1956."

There was nothing familiar about the way he knelt
over her and cupped her breast over her nightgown, his
touch mechanical where it should have been tender.
Shelley wished he'd have at least turned out the lamp.

contrast I 61