Like coltish creatures, wanting to play, to frolic, but restrained by self-consciousness, by a kind of delicacy – perhaps even by the frightening depth of their mutual longing. He’d been waiting for her all the day, watching the deserted garden world through the cracks in the planking. In the darkness, his heart seemed to heave when he saw her, wheeling the old-fashioned bike along the overgrown path. The dark woollen coat was buttoned up to the neck; the navy beret was jaunty over the cropped hair. He pushed the door open and she stepped inside quickly, lifting the bike so that it made no noise. He took it from her, rested it carefully against the wooden wall. She didn’t quite close the door: they looked at each other in the sliver of light. And the shyness seemed to catch at their hands, root them to the earthen floor. Their bodies bent towards each other, like saplings in a wind. His mouth brushed her cheek and they drew back from each other as though that wind had stirred again.
