DUPLICITY
I watch the pulse in your neck. Tick. Tick. Tick. Nothing. A pause so long that I hold my breath. This can’t be it; we need more time. We’d planned to learn French and Skype a nice couple that we’d alternately holiday with in France and Australia, stomp grapes and quaff wine, tan ourselves golden on as many nudist beaches as we could notch up. Haven’t done it yet.
You still haven’t breathed. My heart is in my throat – I understand that saying now. I am about to call for a nurse when you take a deep, shuddering breath. And two more. You sigh, and your exhalation brushes my skin.
Looking into your eyes, I stroke your forehead and see that you are still in there. Still with me. My lips make weak upwards curves, and somehow my taut vocal cords manage, ‘I love you, Guy.’
Your mout
