It was cream-coloured, or maybe tan. She was cleaning, slowly, a counter or a table, perhaps in a kitchen. She and the place were unfamiliar to him. The light was tinged with yellow—lemon yellow, not sunshine. He didn’t know why he was there. Her hair was long and dark; it was morning hair, not all shiny and styled. As he walked by the doorway she turned to him, and she was naked under the housecoat. He saw the outline of her hip, the soft skin of her belly, the black tuft and puffy lips below. She made no move to cover herself or turn away. Neither of them spoke. He stepped slowly through the doorway, and somewhere a phone rang. As he reached out to touch her, the phone rang again. He put his hand inside the housecoat and let it slide along her hip to the top of her thigh. The phone rang again. He let his palm glide over the thigh and up to her navel, where he gently circled its hollow and bump with his thumb. The phone rang yet again, and MacNeice woke up. Turning quickly, he grabbed it, using his elbow to raise himself slightly.
