Making a Move

Helen had been talking for a while, recounting one of her long stories,
she loved to have all the attention to herself. I laid back on the
grass and looked up at the sky.The blue was so intense I closed my
eyes. I had drunk far too much of the intoxicatingly cold wine to
quench my thirst. Why didn't I order a glass of water? Helen's tinkling
laugh sounded far away. I felt strange, somehow displaced, like I
should not have been there, lying on the warm grass in front of the
Lamb and Flag on a hot summers Sunday with the two of my very best
friends. Something was happening to me, the realisation that had been
creeping upon me stared me coldly in the face. I tried to shake myself
awake and sit up to catch the end of the conversation, but the feeling
kept me still forcing me to accept it. It was true, I was sure of it. I
had to go. It all made sense, I didn't feel angry, I could see how it
had all happened. I understood. I didn't want to understand, I wanted
to lose control and rage and destroy but it wasn't in me. Helen and
Cissy fussed over me and offered to look for aspirins for my headache
from their cavernous handbags, but I said I needed to go home. I walked
to my car and drove home without being aware of doing it. It wasn't
aspirin I needed. It was revenge. Mark came home at seven. He came
straight upstairs and looked surprised to find me in the darkened
bedroom. I asked how his mother was, and looked at his face curiously.
I wondered whether his face was any different now that I knew he was a
liar and a cheat. His face was tanned and handsome, and his eyes honest
and loving as he smiled at me. He sat on the edge of bed to untie his
shoelaces.