There was a patter of arrival behind him (she moved lightly for so large a woman) and she got in and snuggled up to him with wincing and puffing noises.
"Ooh! It's freezing. It's supposed to be the middle of April and it's like January."
"Would you like to turn the other way?"
"No, this is fine for me. Had you heard of comfort eating before?"
"What?"
"Comfort eating. What Dr Thing said I'd been going in for because of feeling sexually inadequate. Had you heard of it?"
"I think so, anyway it's dear enough what it's supposed to mean, which is all balls. If there's anybody who feels sexually inadequate it's me and I haven't started eating my head off. Just another example of thinking that if you name something you've explained it. Like .... like permissive society."
"I don't think you're always meant to go in for comfort eating when you feel sexually inadequate. And in any case what makes you think you're the one who feels it so terrifically you leave everybody else standing, how adequate do you think I feel when I think about things and look back, that's what I'd like to ...."
Brenda, who had started talking at some speed, stopped altogether because a jet was passing and even at this range she would have to shout rather and she was bad at shouting. A part of the window-frame buzzed for a short time as it always did on these occasions. Eventually Jake said,
"My fault. I just got fed up and guilty and ashamed. Of course you must feel inadequate if we have to use the word, but I can tell you there's no need for you to, it's all me, we went into that."
"I know we went into it, but we decided it must be me as well as you."
"You may have thought so, but it wasn't what we decided."
"Well I think it was. And of course it is, it's obvious. Anyway I'm warm enough now. Hadn't we better get on with it?"
"All right." Grunting, Jake turned over so as to face his wife.
They intertwined their legs in a friendly way.
"Tell me again what we're meant to do."
"We take it in turns to stroke and massage each other anywhere but what you used to call down below."
"Did I? Anyway I bags you start."
"Okay. Lift up..... Put your arm..... That's right."
He started stroking the back of her neck and her left shoulder and upper arm. She sighed and settled herself more comfortably, moving her head about on the pillow. A minute or so went by. "Is that nice?" he asked.
"Yes. Are we meant to talk?"
"He didn't say we weren't to, the doctor, so I suppose it's all right."
"Good."
But neither did any more talking for the moment. With his glasses off, Brenda's face was a bit of a blur to Jake but he could see her 'eyes' were shut. By his reckoning, the second minute was just about up when she said.
"Did the doctor say we weren't to have a kiss?"
"No.,
"Let's have one then."
He couldn't have said how long it had been since they had kissed each other on the mouth, probably less than twenty-four hours, but it was longer since he had noticed them doing that. Their mouths stayed together for a time, again showing friendliness, this time roughly of the sort that, on his side, he would have shown an amiable acquaintance in public at a New Year's party. He thought Brenda was putting about the same into it. The kiss ended by common agreement.
"Well, that was all right ..."he said.
" .. as far as it went. We'll get better, darling. Lots of ground to be made up."
"Yes—your turn now."
"To what?"
"Stroke me the way I was stroking you."
"Oh yes. Will the same sort of place suit you? Round here?"
"Fine."
"I'm sorry I'm so fat," said Brenda after a moment.
"That's all right, I mean you couldn't help it and you've started doing something about it."
"Yes. Do you think I ought to do something about my hair?"
"What's the matter with it"
"Matter with it? It's all grey, or hadn't you noticed?"
"Of course I'd noticed. It's a very nice grey. A, an interesting sort of grey."
"Wow, you make it sound terrific. I could have it dyed back to something like what it used to be. They do jolly good dyes these days."
"Oh but you can always tell."
"Not if it's done properly. And supposing you can tell, what about it, what's wrong with that?"
"Well, it looks a bit...."
"A bit what? A bit off? A bit bad taste? A bit not quite the thing? A bit mutton dressed up as lamb?"
"Of course not. Well yes, a bit, but that's not really what I .... I just think it looks ugly. Because it's unnatural."
"So's make-up unnatural. So's shaving armpits. So's you shaving."
"All right, just ugly then."
"I wasn't going to have it bright red or bright yellow or bright purple, just something like what it used to be like, which was brownish mouse if you remember. No I think you think it's sort of out of place."
"I doubt if we're supposed to talk as much as this."
"Not that you care."
Jake looked mildly startled. "What do you mean?"
"You're not enjoying this are you, me stroking you? Your face went all resigned when I started. Are you?"
"I'm not disenjoying it."
"Thanks a 'lot,'" said Brenda, stopping stroking.
"No don't. What else could I have said? You knew anyway.
And it isn't you. With this it really isn't you. You said we'd got a lot of ground to make up. We've only just started."
"All right, but I reckon it's your turn again now."
"Fair enough."
"Did the doctor say you weren't to stroke my tits?"
"No."
"Well, you can stroke them then, can't you?"
"I suppose so."
"Only suppose so? They aren't down below are they?"
"No, but they're sort of on the way there. Put it like this, if down bellow's red and your arm's green, that makes your tits amber."
"Yes, I see. Perhaps we'd better be on the safe side and not."
"On the other hand of course, it's be a natural mistake to make, so if it is, if it would be a mistake you'd think he'd have made sure of saying so, you know, oh and by the way nongenital includes tot's, excludes them rather, I should say breasts. No, mammary areas."
"You mean we can?"
"I don't see what harm it could do, do you?"
"Fire away."
He fired away for a full two minutes. She stayed quite passive, eyes again shut, breathing slowly and steadily, giving an occasional contented groan. No doubt what he was doing, or how he was doing it, bore a close resemblance to its counterpart of a couple of years before, but there was no means of comparison because he had felt so different then, in particular felt more. What he felt now was an increasing but still never more than mild desire to stop doing what he was doing. In itself each motion he made was unequivocally if only by a little on the pleasant side of the pleasant/unpleasant borderline; the snag was there were so many of them. Patting a favourite child on the head or indeed stroking a beloved animal (to single out two activities he had never felt much drawn to) became unnatural if continued beyond a certain short time, however willing child or animal might be to let things go on. My God, another twenty-five minutes of this?—it was a good job he was such a faithful doer of what doctors told him to do. Hadn't Rosenberg told him to carry on with this bleeding sensate-focusing carry-on for up to half an hour? Twenty minutes was that, wasn't it? So was ten. And five. But to argue so was to use advertiser's mathematics. Amazing reductions at Poofter's, up to twenty per cent on all furnishings. Daily brushing with Bullshitter's fleweridated toothpaste reduces cavities by up to thirty per cent, in the case you happen to be looking at by only point-noughtone of one per cent but what of it, and also of course helps fight (not helps to fight) tooth decay, alongside drinking things and not eating toffee all day long. Daily brushing with candle wax or boot-polish would also reduce cavities by up to something or other and help fight tooth decay. There were enough laws already but surely there ought to be one about up to, restricting it to, oh, between the figure given and half of it. Helping fight things would be rather more of a—