Lena could see the top of Adam's head above the back of the sofa. He had his headphones on and from time to time his head swayed along with the music.
At the dining table where an hour before they had eaten supper she opened the laptop and logged in. If Adam moved, she would see him. She would still have time to close things down.
Quickly, she read over her email for the last time - the email that she was sure, would end things. Now when she thought of the man who had become her lover it was with undiluted revulsion.
'You're like some creature from the sea', she wrote. 'Like some marine animal. I can't live like this. I don't want you in my dreams. I don't want you in my mouth. I don't want you inside me.'
There was a dizzying moment of stillness. She felt her life balanced over empty air.
She pressed Send and at once felt lighter. She sat for a moment taking deep reviving breaths. The music had reached a climax. Across the room Adam was shaking his head slowly, keeping time.
She could have wept with relief. It was over. Her life could return to normal. Her relationship with Adam would recover. She would learn to sleep again. She would get her life back.
Two days later a reply appeared in her inbox. It was characteristically short.
"Take out 'don't'," he said. "Read it again."
Six words.
As always, she did as he asked.
'I want you in my dreams. I want you in my mouth. I want you inside me.'
Read back the love letter she had written him.
When Lena and Adam first saw the flat they assumed they had arrived too late. The day of viewings was over and the estate agent only reluctantly agreed to show them round. They loved it at once. After the confines of her Victorian terrace the clean open spaces filled with light were like a promise of another kind of life. They had resigned themselves to continuing their search when two days later the agent called to say that the purchasers's finance had fallen through and if they still wanted it the place was theirs. She gave notice on the house, Adam did the same on his flat. Before the month was out they had moved in.
From the outset they were careful with each other. Before the final decision had been taken they had sat across her kitchen table with a spreadsheet between them. They drew up columns for and against the move. Some of the benefits were easy. In practical terms they would have a roof over their heads while virtually halving their housing costs. They would save on living expenses too. There were accommodations to make. He would accept her collection of antique mirrors in exchange for her accepting his music system which seemed to involve far more silver boxes than was necessary. It's an audiophile set-up he explained, assuming, wrongly, that this would make things clearer. Their musical tastes were different but tolerable. Though his Bruckner passion, they agreed, would be confined to headphones.
They spent a morning in John Lewis choosing a bed, tossing and turning fully dressed on a mattress in the showroom, trying to keep a straight face while a Polish shop assistant stood alongside explaining the mysteries of its springs. It was their first joint purchase. Two burly men had wrestled it up the stairs, cursing and apologising at every step. Once they had gone it sat there under its plastic cover unambiguously declaring their new status as a couple. They christened it in the curtainless room surrounded by plastic wrapping. He had asked first, as he always did. Early on in their relationship she had suggested this wasn't something he needed to do each time, but he'd just smiled. It's important, he said.
He was gentle with her as always, touching her as if he was curating some precious object. The first time they made love he had cried. It was something her friends remarked on. His sensitivity. That and his hands which everyone agreed were lovely. Not for the first time she thought how lucky she was.
Together they set about making the space their own.
Adam spent an inordinate amount of time setting up his audio system. As well as the rack full of boxes with winking leds there was a pair of remarkable ugly speaker stands topped by even uglier speakers.
She carried her mirrors through to the bedroom and spent some time arranging them, adjusting the angles of the heavy gilt frames, Others she positioned around the room, on top of a chest of drawers that had come from Adam's flat, a small side table from hers. When she was done, the effect was disorienting. As you walked in, none returned an image of the occupant. Instead they offered fragments of the room so that the visitor seemed to inhabit a world broken into pieces. The first time he saw her new arrangement she had to stop Adam from straightening them. Instead she led him to the bed. As he lay down a smile spread over his face as the reason behind the careful placing of the mirrors became apparent. On the bed the world suddenly became whole. He was looking at multiple images of his prone body.
Slowly the flat accommodated itself to their presence and became theirs. The flat next door seemed to be empty. They became accustomed to the silence of the block and when after almost a month they heard a heavy door closing in the early hours of the morning, it woke them both.
