Difficult to account for the guiles of desire. What made her take to him? What made her click? But then what had made her flip, when nothing had changed? That was both the quandary that challenged Kevin's sense and the uncertainty which blew his mind. 

How Byzantine the clouded emotions of a woman - it seemed to him. He was used to nothing more complex than the thermostat intellect of a wall-mounted boiler, the moods and despondencies of a carburettor, or the pseudo-dramas of ball-focused sports!

For example? Here's an example: they had gone dancing, yeah? (he remembered) Bomb-bass thundering through their heads, legs and bodies (in every order); running-beats more than dance. He was sweating through everything he owned whilst she just seemed relaxed; was she pretending? Did she really enjoy anything at all? 'I thought she felt calm and safe and happily contented with me, but what did she feel? I mean, The Nazis ...' (Okay. Here we go.) 'bad example I know but the people who thought themselves safe and took their safety for granted yet lost everything. Down to their teeth. That's how I feel. Completely uncertain.'

Yeah, really bad example; really bad example, sweets.

With him, in his presence, Jennifer had felt tawdry and ragged, dull, and, frayed at the edges, uninteresting and a bore, frozen like water, like a stone. But when he was gone! Oh, the wealth of the earth all around her! The burgeoning earth!

So for her part, after the end, she woke to find herself once again ... exciting and vibrant, intelligent and sensitive, down-to-earth and sensual! He had asked her where she would go if she could go anywhere; but she could only imagine going back to herself. Now the cities of the world beckoned! and the adventures and achievements ... 

Once, when they were walking together by the seaside on a bank of compressed sand next to which the water was clear and deep so you could make out boat machinery submerged beneath; the bank collapsed quite suddenly and she went in (launched more like!), down with barely the time to scream; her face submerged, her hair went out, billowed, in the water! He, calm as anything - there was a wooden jetty parallel to the bank (so WHY were they not walking on it? It was far more solid and more comfortable!), he straddled that with a big step, reached in with a giant's hand, grabbed hers, which was flailing, pulled her out, like a doll, so she was on her knees on the dirt, then stood her up, muddy palms; he helped, just about. 

Then, laughing as well as shocked at the sheer surprise, they hugged. Lucky her phone was in the car! It was a beautiful day but she was soaked. They had to go back to the (cheap) hotel for her to change completely. She could easily have drowned. His strength, surprising (but he was a man and men are strong) made her feel young and light (and stupid for having slipped in the first place – though it was not her fault) (not that it matters) light despite her frame - no longer that of a teenager but of a woman ... 

He hugged her very tight, groping her more like, like he needed no excuse, and felt her fully, turned on by his rescue, took her back quickly (the car seat was sodden) (not that it matters) to that hotel, whisked through the small seedy lobby, up the stairs, hold on, key, into the room and practically without ado – 'Let's get these wet clothes off, Jolls!' - stripped her bare and shivering then held her, and kissed her, him still in his gear, then – 'Let's warm you up!' – grabbed a big towel round her like a life-jacket which he used to rub her, which, one thing then another, had them on the bed and ... one thing then another. 

He did not undress, much (just enough) whilst she, hardly time to think, was (now this IS odd) she was willing, not un-willing, willing, but even so felt strange, as though violated and yet not violated. Strange. She just felt, afterwards, strange, that it had all gone not as expected. His strength – manifested in that life-saving act and then in his reaction, taking charge as he did right through to the huffing discharge between her legs – she thought, 'Wow!', she thought, 'Yes!', she thought, 'Yes, let him!' but when he did, and he had used those words, 'filling you with my babies', gross, (and she came as well) she also thought, 'You fucking bastard! You. Fucking. Bastard.' And she knew, even then, the contraception had not kicked in, but somehow.

But it was a false alarm. 

Not that it is any of your business!

It was like, 'I nearly drowned but you only thought about that one thing! Don't I matter?!' - which was unkind, because clearly she did matter to him, just not for herself but for her, you know, her 'yellow hair' or whatever it was he liked so much about her.

A cup of tea afterwards.

'Are you alright love? You drifted off ...' Then he laughed at the inadvertent joke.

'What are you laughing at?'

'Drifted off! Drifted off? Sunk more like!'

'Oh I get it.' She smiled. It wasn't that funny. 

'Are you alright, Jolly?'

'Yes I'm alright.'

Yes. But she was not jolly.

 David Flybury

Note: This is an excerpt from David's novel Six Miles to Whatawhata.