He resisted it, burrowing against Kate’s warm back. He felt her reach out, bang the clock, lie in disquieting wakefulness. She said, ‘Tom?’ He burrowed again.She sat up, the sheet slipping from her bare breasts. ‘Do wake up. Listen, I’ve been thinking. I shall have to take you to see my mother.’‘Mmn?’‘You’ll have to meet my mother.’‘Ah. It’s come to that, has it?’‘She keeps asking about you. I can’t put it off any longer.’‘Well, fine, then. When do we go? Who wants to put it off, anyway?’‘Me, I suppose.’ She had got out of bed now, and stood at the dressing-table brushing her hair. He watched her bottom, lovingly. Dear Kate. Splendid Kate. Her hair stood up in a dark wiry frizz all round her head; at her waist opposing pink curves nicely echoed the shape of white knobs on the dressing-table; below, her bottom rose and fell in time with the hair-brushing. He said, ‘What?’‘Do wake up properly, Tom, it’s gone eight. I said we’d better go this weekend.’‘Fine.’ He yawned, clasped his hands behind his head.
