Jean considers. She’s not hungry. There won’t be enough room for her to begin sifting through the rubble Marianne left with Ava at her side. Yet, alone in bed, there will be nothing at all to distract her from that wreckage. Her fingers lock around the empty mug, and its fading warmth gives Jean an idea. ‘A bath,’ she says. ‘I’d like to take a bath.’
‘Okay. Whatever you need.’
Jean leads the way upstairs, and it’s as if she’s wading through treacle. Every step saps at a strength she doesn’t have. When they reach the bedroom Ava guides her to sit on the ottoman, and it’s a relief to simply let her take charge.
Ava whistles, taking in the bathroom. ‘I still can’t get over this place. It’s like something out ofIdeal Home.’
And Jean stays silent, unwilling to admit drawing inspiration from their articles; the relief of being told what she ought to like and the simplicity of being able to procure it. She twists to rest her head against the doorframe, watching as Ava sets both taps running and inspects her shelves of toiletries. In the end she settles on Ambre Vanillé, shaped like a humble pot of honey. With a child’s delight Ava takes the wooden dipper and drizzles it into the bath. Then Ava grows self-conscious as she catches Jean looking, rinsing off the dipper and returning the set to its place in the line-up of toiletries.
‘I’ll take the mugs back to the kitchen, if you want to get ready.’ Ava drops a kiss on the crown of Jean’s head as she passes.
The moment her footsteps recede Jean enters the bathroom, inhaling tangerine and rich brown sugar as she turns off the cold tap. She takes off both shoes and peels off her clothes, down to her blouse and pants by the time Ava returns, taking off her own blazer as she steps into the steaming bathroom.
‘Look at those bubbles! I know that brand’s bougie enough to cost the same as my weekly shop, but that’s some quality foam density.’ Though her tone is light, the concern remains in Ava’s eyes, unmistakable as her gaze meets Jean’s.
‘You aren’t asking me about it.’
Ava’s brow furrows. ‘I figured if you wanted to tell me about it, you would. And you’re welcome to share. But I’m not going to pry; that wouldn’t be fair.’
Even now she holds on to those binaries. Fair and unfair. Right and wrong. Just and unjust. Jean faces the wall, unbuttoning her blouse.
‘Do you want me to give you some space? I ca— FUCK!’ There’s a splash, and Jean whips round in time to see Ava yank her elbow from the water. ‘Sorry, I thought I’d put enough cold in.’
She reaches for the cold tap, and it’s as if Jean herself is doused in icy water. ‘No! I’m sure it’s fine.’
‘Don’t be silly, it’s boiling.’ Ava reaches for the tap.
‘I don’t mind.’ Jean shuts the cold back off. And her attempt at light-hearted lands like a bowling ball between them, smashing through Ava’s confusion.
‘Fine.’ Ava nods, the speed of her compliance rousing Jean’s suspicions. ‘Make it as hot as you want. But I’m getting in too.’
‘No way.’ Jean would as soon dunk a newborn in the searing heat. She blocks Ava’s path, perching on the tub’s rim and stretching across it.
‘Watch me.’ Ava yanks the shirt over her head, not bothering to undo the buttons. The top trio ping free, clattering against the tile, but Ava ignores them. She wriggles out of her damp trousers and kicks them into a heap with the abandoned shirt.
Ava advances in a mismatched bralette and boyshorts, hair frizzing into a nimbus in the steam. And Jean’s heart leaps, desperate and flailing, at the sight of all that warm tan skin exposed.
‘You’re being…’
‘What, Jean?’ Ava’s eyes shine, overbright and zealous. ‘What am I being?’
Jean winces.Crazyhangs in the air between them, reverberating louder than if it had echoed against the tiles.
Ava doesn’t back down. ‘Either we both burn, or neither of us do.’
It’s the perfect stalemate. Wordless, Jean concedes defeat, twisting the cold tap. Before her the foam multiplies, iridescent bubbles connected by a web of suds. And Ava shifts to stand behind her, an arm looped around Jean’s shoulders.
She ducks to bury her face in Jean’s hair, breathing deep. And though her voice is quiet, the words are firm. ‘You don’t deserve to suffer. Whatever Kate says.’
‘You don’t know the first thing about what I deserve.’
‘Alright, then.’ Ava’s thumb finds Jean’s cheek, brushing away tears even as more take their place. ‘Try me.’
The water is a warm caress against her skin. And though Jean yearns for more, a heat that obliterates every thought and feeling, its absence is undisputable proof of Ava’s care. Cocooned in such tenderness, the tension ebbs from Jean’s body… and with it her resistance.
‘I was twenty-five years old when the firm hired me. I read law at Oxford and graduated with a first. But for any of this to make sense I’d have to go back to the beginning.’
‘I’ve got time.’ Ava settles down on the bathmat beside the bath, still clad in underwear. ‘I’ve got all the time in the world for you.’
