The Hours in Between

Fenna drove into the village with the window open a little to keep her awake. It wasn't far enough to call a journey, but far enough to leave her own hallway, with its kit bag and work shoes, behind. They'd booked a room on the edge of the woods. Two nights. No sauna, no special package and no photograph of a couple in white bathrobes showing them in advance what was expected. That had counted heavily in its favour when they chose.

Marten had asked whether she could finish early on Friday. She'd thought she could, until the shift planner went through the last weeks of January with her. She was working her agreed hours. Her job there ended at the end of the month; it hadn't been the moment to explain that in her head she was already off. Instead of mid-afternoon, she arrived towards seven.

He was outside when she parked. No visible irritation, which relieved her first and then made her suspect he was making an effort. She got out and went straight to him. He put his arms round her.

'You smell of outdoors,' she said.

'I've checked the woods. Still there.'

She kissed his neck. All she'd wanted on the drive was to arrive, and only now did she realise how much that word held. Feeling him. Not having to look pleasant for someone asking her for one more thing. His hand under her coat, warm against her back.

Upstairs the room was small and lovely. No view demanding that they stand and admire it, just the dark branches of a tree outside the window and a lamp lighting one side of the bed. Fenna sat on the edge. Marten stood by the door.

'How long do you need?' he asked.

'To stop being at work?'

'To eat.'

'I don't need any time for that.'

They could still get dinner downstairs. They ate at a table by the window, their reflections sitting close together in the dark. Marten told her about a man from his old team who insisted at every breakfast that he wasn't superstitious, yet always waited for somebody else to take an egg first. He didn't do the man's voice. He told it so that Fenna started laughing earlier and earlier, knowing where the next bit of stubbornness would appear.

'And you never did anything strange, of course,' she said.

'I didn't have time. I had to take the eggs.'

She asked what all those mornings travelling with the same people had been like. This time she didn't get a summary of poor sleep and a kit bag. He told her about a journey when nobody knew where they were staying and everyone was too proud to ring the youngest, who had written it down. About the boredom, and the strange relief of all being sentenced to the same hour in the same car park. He'd enjoyed it. She could see it in his face.

'I'd like that,' she said.

He looked at her. 'Standing in a car park?'

'Belonging somewhere. Like that. Being there for a while just to do this.'

She didn't point to her bike, upstairs in the corridor to their room, but he understood. He nodded and went on. Fenna left her hand on the table until he put his over it. She loved his stories as long as he didn't try to make them proof that he already knew the life she still wanted so badly to reach.

In the room she pulled him close before he'd found the bedside light. He laughed into her hair. She knew where his mouth was going and was still in a hurry to meet it. Later they lay awake without immediately beginning on tomorrow. She told him how as a child she'd tried to cycle faster than her own shadow because it kept coming back beside her on the bends. He said he'd needed a whole season for that. She felt his chest move under her hand.

The next day only began when he asked what time she had to wake up. 'Half past seven,' she said.

'That early?'

'I have to be at the track at nine.'

Marten turned his head towards her. 'I thought it was a short session.'

'It is. It's just getting there and back.'

She'd told him she was training on Saturday. She hadn't told him how much preparation and waiting surrounded that session, because she'd wanted to believe it took up little time herself. Gita hadn't invented the slot yesterday. It was the time available for the sprint group, and Fenna had signed up when this weekend was already in their diaries.

'When will you be back?' he asked.

'Around lunch. One, I think.'

He looked at the ceiling. 'I'll go for a walk on my own in the morning, then.'

'You could come too.'

'I don't need to watch you train.'

His tone was gentler than the words. She still had to suppress the urge to explain that she'd find it nicer too if he weren't waiting there for hours. That wouldn't bring him any closer. She kissed his shoulder and asked whether he'd choose something good for lunch tomorrow. He said yes. She turned towards him and only fell asleep once he'd put his arm across her.

The next morning frost lay in the grass behind the guesthouse. Fenna drove away while Marten was still upstairs. She'd meant to let him sleep, but he'd said goodbye as she closed the bedroom door. Apparently he'd already been awake.

At the track it was impossible to keep thinking about the room. Gita had a clear aim for the session. Fenna had to stay focused on her own decisions under pressure, not just the moment when she could finally go flat out. Madelon came to stand beside her wearing an expression that said she wasn't handing out free confidence boosts today.

'Did you sleep badly?' Fenna asked.

'No. You?'

'Fine.'

'You look as if you want to lie about it.'

Fenna laughed. Then they were working. There was nothing casual about Madelon's riding. Fenna had to stop treating the session as something between two appointments. She came here for this work and, once she managed to keep her attention on it, discovered how much pleasure it still gave her. No restaurant, no room, no nice man could replace this kind of concentration. That wasn't a judgement on any of those other things. It was her own body having something to do here.

When she finished, Gita wanted to return to a moment in the last section. Fenna listened and asked a question. It became a proper conversation about her sport. She only checked the time when Madelon said goodbye. She had to shower, load her things and get back. It was later than she'd suggested to Marten.

She rang before starting to drive. 'I'm on my way. I'll be there about half past one.'

'Good. I'm back.'

'How was the walk?'

'Lovely.'

She wanted to hear more. He didn't volunteer anything and she didn't ask again because the car behind her was already waiting to get out of its space. She ended the call and drove back, watching the road. The good session was still there under her skin. She hadn't expected to feel guilty about that.

Marten was downstairs with a book she hadn't seen him reading before. His finger held his place. She kissed him and sat opposite.

'Are you far in?'

'Far enough to know I suspected the wrong man.'

'Maybe he only works it out at the end too.'

He smiled. She wanted to ask him to keep that smile until they were through lunch. An unpleasant urge; she recognised it and made another joke anyway. About the guesthouse website not offering a special package for people waiting for their partners. His smile disappeared.

'You don't have to make a joke of it,' he said.

She nodded. 'I'm late. Sorry.'

'Yes.'

They ordered food. Fenna asked about his walk and now he did tell her. About the wide path where he kept passing other people, and the narrower turning where suddenly he'd seen nobody for almost an hour. She wanted to go there with him. He glanced outside, where the afternoon was still bright, and said they could if they went now. She finished the last of her bread and stood before either could think of something else.

In the woods she walked too fast for the first ten minutes. Marten let her go ahead, then said he'd left his race number at home. She looked back and laughed. She moved beside him. Their hands touched a few times before he took hers.

The path ran beside a hollow with water among the trees. They stopped to watch a dog searching for a stick on the wrong side of its owner. It kept returning with unwavering faith to a spot where nothing lay. It cheered Fenna up. She pointed, called something softly that the dog couldn't hear and made Marten laugh by predicting it would bring back the whole tree next.

They sat on a bench for a while without needing to look at anything. The air was cold enough to make her nose run. Marten said he hadn't come this way this morning. He'd only spotted the path on the way back. Fenna was unexpectedly glad there was something left for them to do together this afternoon that he hadn't already done alone.

'I want to go away with you again,' she said.

'We're still here.'

'I know.'

He looked at the trees. 'I don't want to spend the whole time waiting for it to start.'

She squeezed his hand. She had an answer that was true: they were here, she'd cleared two nights and they still had tomorrow morning. It would only sound as though he couldn't count. She stayed beside him and tried not to improve the afternoon straight away by adding up everything she had done.

When they stood, he drew her close. She kissed him, her hands under his open coat, the cold tip of her nose against his cheek. A walker greeted them in passing. Marten replied without letting her go. She laughed against his mouth. It was wonderful not to have to be ready somewhere a minute later.

Back at the guesthouse she looked at her bike in the corridor. In their room she saw his coat hanging over the chair. Then she showered while he booked a table downstairs. She wanted them both in her life. That had been no less true during training this morning than now, with warm water on her shoulders and the prospect of him lying beside her again later.

Over dinner she asked what he wanted to do tomorrow. 'Take our time over breakfast,' he said. 'Then we'll see.' She heard his caution, but also that he still wanted to make something of it. She rested her foot against his leg. They ate slowly. It was a good evening. Later, in the corridor, Marten called her name. She turned and he kissed her as though he was nowhere near finished with her.