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time that Rupert hit Molly she was so astonished that she didn’t feel the pain of the blow. Rupert had been working hard and the little time they had together was dominated by rows and tension. It seemed to Molly that the slightest thing she did would make her husband angry. Everything from leaving a fork in the sink to Molly spending ten minutes longer than the allotted hour at the supermarket provoked raging outbursts, followed by prolonged, punishing periods when he would say nothing to her at all. Max, who had turned four and had just started reception class, was old enough to be puzzled by his father’s erratic behaviour; sometimes smothering him in kisses and bringing home outlandishly expensive toys, then becoming impatient at the slightest noise his son made. Some days, just the sight of Max bouncing on a sofa or running down the hall would be enough to send Rupert into a black, terrifying rage. Once, Molly found Max under the bed in his room. He was hiding because he had knocked the wastepaper basket over in his father’s study and he was scared about what Rupert would say.

      Molly thought that some Cretan sun and a fortnight together might help Rupert to relax; they hadn’t had a holiday abroad since Max had been born. She attributed a lot of Rupert’s moods to the fact that he had mentioned potential redundancies at work. He was clearly stressed by the idea that even if he kept his job he was going to have to do more work to cover the gaps.

      ‘Where did you get the money?’ he asked, looking away from the picture of the villa she was trying to show him and continuing to cut his toast into four neat squares.

      ‘I sold a couple of paintings and I have been putting a little money aside every month,’ she explained. ‘It will be lovely, it’s a bit inland, but has a pool and we can hire a car.’

      ‘We can’t go,’ he said. ‘Get the money back. I can’t get the time off work.’

      But by the evening he had changed his mind and came back from work with a guidebook of Crete. He sat showing the pictures to Max and marking certain pages by bending the corners.

      ‘Look, Knossos,’ Rupert said. ‘That’s where King Minos imprisoned the Minotaur. It was his child but it was born half cow and half human.’

      ‘Is it still alive?’ asked Max. Molly laughed more loudly than his question warranted because she was so relieved that Rupert had agreed that they could go after all.

      The villa was beautiful and overlooked the White Mountains and a sliver of sea. During the day the three of them explored hot hillsides thick with ancient stones and thyme and then swam in a warm, wavy sea. Each evening they ate bread and salad on their veranda, watching the headlights flickering on and off as the cars rounded the bends in the narrow road that snaked below them. They went out on a snorkelling boat to a place where the sea was such a deep blue you felt you could cut a slice of it. Max was scared to jump out of the boat at first, but Rupert managed to persuade him into his arms. He held him in the water and pulled the mask over his eyes and nose. Father and son swam holding hands, their flippered feet moving in unison. Later Max wouldn’t stop talking about the new place he had discovered.

      ‘It’s just like our world,’ he said, eyes shining. ‘It’s got hills and valleys and trees and everything, but it’s underwater and it’s secret. It slides away downwards under you and makes you feel dizzy.’

      Molly bought him his own snorkelling mask and he spent the rest of the holiday with it clamped to his face, only peeling it off to eat and drink, his skin water drenched and his face marked around the eyes with the ridges left by the rubber. On the last whole day of their holiday they went into Hania and wandered around the shops in the narrow lanes close to the harbour. Rupert bought Molly some earrings in the shape of tiny mermaids. They sat at a café with cane chairs and a raffia awning and watched the silver fish moving quickly in thick clumps through the water.

      In the evening they finished the last of their bottle of supermarket ouzo. Max had gone to sleep, hot and open mouthed, his snorkelling mask packed away in his red suitcase along with a sea urchin shell wrapped in layers of toilet paper. Molly had found Rupert standing looking at his sleeping son. ‘He’s great, isn’t he?’ he said turning to her, and she saw he had tears on his face. He spread the mosquito net carefully so that it covered Max’s feet.

      ‘I’m so lucky to have you both,’ he said, and Molly felt that maybe it would be alright between them after all. Maybe their little family had a chance. Maybe they could even think again about having another child. She stroked her husband’s face and led him out to the pool. He pulled the cushions off the sun loungers and they lay down together. He began at her feet, and worked his way slowly up her body. He made her wait even though she was arching against him. She held his thick, dark cock in her hand and rubbed it against the inside of her thigh. He took her breast into his mouth and worked at her nipples with his dry, rough tongue, and still he took his time, pushing into her a little way and then out, holding her head in both his hands, watching the way her mouth moved. Afterwards they swam naked, the water on her body making Molly feel free and young again, and then sat close together wrapped in towels looking across the mountainside. There was a smell of jasmine and chlorine.

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