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‘I’d feel impoverished.’
She kissed me.
‘You’re all right, really,’ she said, patting my face, running her hand through my hair again, stroking the old dog.
‘Am I?’
‘And anyway, Mum’s not coming for the climate or the cuisine or the people. She’s coming to see us.’
‘Us?’
‘That’s you and me, Bruce. The loving couple.’
‘She doesn’t know me.’
‘I know this may sound strange, but she wants to. She wants to get to know you.’
‘Why would she want to do a thing like that?’ I asked, suddenly feeling myself on the brink of something, not the yawning black ravine but something bigger than me, like a view that goes on for ever to some distant mountains.
‘I’m pregnant.’
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