“I want something for my head,” she whispered.
He went to his trunk and got his bottle of good whiskey. He always had one. This one was about a quarter empty. He pulled out the cork and handed the bottle to her.
She sat up and drank.
“More,” he said.
She gulped down a mouthful and wheezed and sucked in a breath to cough, but then warmth spread through her belly and her mind dulled and she relaxed. He had a swig from the bottle, and then they lay down together.
“I don’t want to lose you too,” he said. “Don’t walk into their problem when we haven’t even started to talk about ours.”
“I can’t talk about him.”
“I want to. He was mine, too.”
“I can’t.” She moved her body towards his and turned just her head, and her lips were against his shoulder.
“Not tonight, then.” He pressed his leg against hers and put a hand on her ribcage. It was the only safe place.
Just bones, she thought, and the wind whistled past the window and round the chimney top.