Sarah Waters - The Night Watch

She would never again, she thought, cross a floor, never switch on a wireless, never put a poker to the fire-never do anything at all-without thinking of the lovers who might be embracing in rooms close by.

She moved her hand to Julia's collarbone-not to the skin itself, but to a place in the air about an inch above it.

'What are you doing?' asked Julia, without opening her eyes.

'I'm divining you,' said Helen. 'I can feel the heat of you, rising up. I can feel the life of you. I can tell where your skin is pale, and where it's sallower. I can tell where it's clear and where there are freckles.'

Julia caught hold of her fingers. 'You're unhinged,' she said.

'Unhinged,' said Helen, 'by love.'

'That sounds like a book. One by Elinor Glyn or Ethel M. Dell.'

'Don't you feel a little crazy, Julia?'

Julia thought about it. 'I feel shot at by an arrow,' she said.

'Only by an arrow? I feel harpooned. Or- No, a harpoon's too brutal. I feel as if a small sort of hook had been plunged into my breast-'

'A small sort of hook?'

'A crochet hook, or something even finer.'

'A button hook?'

'A button hook, exactly.' Helen laughed. For at Julia's words a very clear image had sprung into her mind-something from her childhood, probably-a tarnished silver button hook with a slightly chipped mother-of-pearl handle. She put her hand across the place where she imagined her heart to sit. 'I feel,' she said, 'exactly as though a button hook had been plunged into my breast, and my heart were being drawn from me, fibre by fibre.'

'That sounds frightful,' said Julia. 'What a morbid girl you are.' She took Helen's fingers to her mouth and kissed them, then held them to examine their tips. 'And what little nails you have,' she said vaguely. 'Little nails, and little teeth.'

Helen grew self-conscious, though the light was so dim. 'Don't look at me,' she said, pulling her hand away.

'Why not?'

'I- I'm not worth it.'

Julia laughed. 'You mutt,' she said.

They closed their eyes, after that; and Helen, in time, must have fallen into a light sort of sleep. She was vaguely aware of Julia getting up again, putting on a dressing-gown and going down the hall to the lavatory; but she was in the midst of some absurd dream, and only came properly awake at the closing of the door, on Julia's return.

'What time is it?' she asked. She picked up Julia's alarm clock. 'God, it's quarter to one! I have to go.' She rubbed her face, then lay back down.

'Stay until one,' said Julia.

'Fifteen minutes. What's the good of that?'

'Let me come with you, then. I'll walk you to the flat.'

Helen shook her head.

'Let me,' said Julia. 'I'd rather walk than be left here, you know I would.'

She began to dress. Her clothes lay tangled on the floor: she stooped and caught up a bra and knickers, stepped into trousers and drew on a blouse-tucking in her chin and frowning while she fastened up its buttons. She stood at the mirror and smoothed her face.

Helen lay and watched her, as she had before. It seemed extraordinary, that she should be able to-incredible, that Julia should offer up her own beauty like this, to Helen's gaze. It was marvellous and almost frightening that, an hour before, Julia had lain in her arms, had opened her mouth, parted her legs, to Helen's lips and tongue and fingers. It seemed an impossible thing that she would, if Helen rose and went to her now, let herself be kissed…

Julia caught her eye, and smiled in pretend exasperation.

'Don't you get tired of looking at me?'

Helen lowered her gaze. 'I wasn't looking, really.'

'If you were a man, I'd say you ought to leave the room while I dressed. I'd want to stay a mystery to you.'

'I don't want you to be a mystery,' said Helen. 'I want to know every part of you.' Then she grew slightly sick. 'Why did you say that, Julia? You wouldn't rather a man, would you?'

Julia shook her head. She was leaning closer to the mirror, pushing out her mouth, putting lipstick on. 'It's no good for me, with men,' she said absently. She worked her lips together. 'It doesn't work for me, with men.'

'Only with women?' asked Helen.

Only with you , she wanted Julia to say. But Julia said nothing: she was tugging a comb through her hair now, looking critically at her own face… Helen turned away. She thought, What the hell's the matter with me? For she found she was jealous of Julia's reflection. She was jealous of Julia's clothes. She was jealous of the powder on Julia's face!

Then she thought of something else. She thought: Is this how Kay feels, about me?

The thought must have shown in her expression. When she turned back to Julia she saw that Julia was watching her, through the mirror. She'd stopped the comb in her hair, but her hands were still raised. She said, 'OK?'

Helen nodded; then shook her head. Julia put the comb down, came to her, and put an arm across her shoulders.

Helen closed her eyes. She said quietly, 'This is dreadfully wrong, isn't it?'

'Everything's dreadfully wrong, just now,' Julia answered, after a moment.

'But this is worse, because we might put it right.'

'Might we?'

'We might-stop. We might-go back.'

'Could you stop?'

'Perhaps,' said Helen, with an effort. 'For Kay's sake.'

'But then,' said Julia, 'the dreadfully wrong thing would still have been done. It was done, before this. It was done, almost, before we did anything at all. It was done- When was it done?'

Helen looked up. 'It was done the day you took me to that house in Bryanston Square,' she said. 'Or even, the time before that, when you bought me tea. We stood in the sun, and you closed your eyes and I looked at your face… I think it was done then, Julia.'

They held each other's gaze, in silence; then moved together and kissed. Helen was still not quite used to the difference between Julia's kisses, and Kay's-to the relative strangeness of Julia's mouth, the softness of it, the dry pull of her lipstick, the tentative pressures of her tongue. But the strangeness was exciting. The kiss, being inexact, quickly became wet. They moved closer together. Julia put her fingers to Helen's bare breast-touched, then drew the fingers back; touched again, drew back again-and again-until Helen felt her flesh seem to rise, to strain after Julia's hand.

They let themselves sink back, awkwardly, on to the bunched-up blankets. Julia moved her hand between Helen's legs and, 'Christ!' she said softly. 'You're so wet. I can't- I can't feel you.'

'Put your fingers inside me!' whispered Helen. 'Push inside me, Julia!'

Julia pushed. Helen lifted her hips, to meet the movement with a movement of her own. Her breath caught. 'Do you feel me now?'

'Yes, now I feel you,' said Julia. 'I can feel you gripping me. It's amazing-'

She had what must have been her four fingers inside Helen, up to the knuckle; but her thumb, outside, was rubbing at Helen's swollen flesh. Helen raised and lowered her hips, to keep pushing against her. The blankets were rough against her bare back, and as well as the pressure between her legs she could feel Julia's dry, trousered thigh bearing down on her own naked, damp one; she could make out separate points of discomfort-the chafing against her of the buckle of Julia's belt, the buttons on her blouse, the strap of her wristwatch… She stretched out her hands behind her head, wishing with some part of herself that Julia had bound her, fastened her down: she wanted to give herself up to Julia, have Julia cover her with bruises and marks. Julia began to push almost painfully inside her, and she liked it. She was aware of herself growing rigid, as if really pulled by tightening ropes.

She lifted her head and put her mouth to Julia's again, and when she started to cry out, she cried into Julia's mouth and against her lips and cheek.