Songs of Bernadette

It was beginning to dawn, but it was still dark in the bedroom. They lay peacefully, spooning in each other. She was cradling in his lap, her back close to his chest. His arm was around her waist and hip. Being so much taller, his chin was on her hair, and his eyes were twitching slightly in his sleep, as if he was still wondering what this corn-colored soft tissue was and if it was true that he was entitled to be engulfed in it. In a state between sleep and consciousness, she searched for his hand on her hip and clutched it with a contented snort. The touch made him turn a little, move downwards so that his chin met her neck: his mouth was now resting near her ear. Even though they looked restful, there was a sense of alertness in this embrace. An element of wonder.

The telephone rang. He furrowed his brow, she gave a short sigh. For a moment, there was no movement.

"It's for me," he said.

"No, it's for me. The Johnson baby," she said.

"The old man Allen. For me," he claimed.

"Perhaps we should answer..?" she said.

"No... ," he mumbled while nibbling her ear.

"Yes..., " she insisted while letting her hand run through his ruffled hair without turning around.

"I'll get it," he said.

"No, I'll get it. Yes? Mrs Turner speaking. Okay. Yes. -It's for you." She gave the receiver to him.

"Dr Turner speaking. Yes. Yes. When did this happen? Okay...I'll be there in 15 minutes." He put the receiver down. He got up and started to put clothes on. "I'll just pop out at Allens'- and there is a chance I might get back for breakfast. No, no, don't get up now, it's still freezing cold." He kissed her hastily on forehead, but she pulled him down.

"That tie is not very beautiful ...," she chuckled with a kiss. "Take care with the car ". A further nudge with her nose. "Yes, I remember, Timothy needs money for the school trip . Off you go now. Go..."

"I'll be back in within two hours. Shelagh, my...have to go now."

He tore himself away and moved downstairs fast, in his gangly gait. He was humming by himself when he collected his bag. She was listening, now wholly awake in the bed, finding his eager but a bit out of tune singing reassuring bordering on the ridiculous. Never could she have thought she was entitled to such certainty, of his love and this newfound spontaneity. She remembered the earlier time she had heard that tune, in her mind, alone in bed, anguished, unsure, bristling with the memory of his caress. She fondled the scar, now very light, in her hand.

"Why must I meet you in a secret rendezvous? Why must we steal away to steal a kiss or two? Why must we wait to do the things we want to do? ..."