Thirty three“Don't worry, please. Honestly, it doesn't matter. Really.”
He stood staring out of the window and she was behind him, head resting on his shoulder, arms curled around his waist. Her words sounded flat; he didn't believe them. And her arms, going through the motions, holding him because it was the right thing to do, to comfort him, offer him support. Closing his eyes, desperate to wish it all away. Noreen. The mother of his child. Both of them dead.
Turning in her arms, he forced a smile before he pushed past her, took up his shirt hanging on the bedpost and dragged it on. From the window she folded her arms, mouth down turned slightly.
“It's not you,” he said, not wanting to get into a debate about why he couldn't make love to her, but realising she needed some sort of expl
