Chapter 41 1964
I can see the bungalow now. A light is on inside. This window isn’t visible from the pool; you can only see it if you ignore the Keep Out! sign and walk down the forbidden path.
The light falls on the heads of two people.
One is a tall man, the other a woman. He has dark hair; hers is fair.
They’re embracing. They aren’t construction workers.
There’s no evidence of construction anywhere: no tools, no cement mixers, no rubble or sand or mortar.
Just a bungalow with two people embracing inside it.
One of them has dark hair. I’ve touched that hair. I’ve kissed that hair.
That hair belongs to a man who’s embracing another woman.
Tenderly.
It wasn’t Flitter on the back of a motorbike. It was this woman.
I was wrong again.
I’ve seen a photograph of her in an album in Theo’s penthouse. Marley, the wife he loved so much that he didn’t marry her, lest she end up dead.
She’s so very alive.
And I am dead.
This, here, is the fire.