in a steep and narrow gully.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she cried. ‘Absolutely beautiful! And to think I’ve lived not far from here all these years and didn’t know it existed.’
‘Not many people do,’ he said. ‘Which is why it’s remained so unspoiled.’
She stood beside him, gazing down into the clear pure water as it crashed between the narrow banks before bouncing into a whirlpool and disappearing underground. It looked so fresh and pure she could almost taste the droplets rising in the fine spray. The steady hypnotic flow was so constant and unfaltering it seemed as if there was no movement at all.
‘My brother and I used to make little boats out of sticks and leaves,’ Mark said, after a moment. ‘We would drop them here, at the top, and see whose survived the longest. It kept us amused for hours.’
‘And who won?’ Aisha asked, happy at the shared memory.
‘Me, of course,’ he laughed. ‘I was the eldest. It had to be me!’
Mark bent down and picked up a large leaf and, curling up the edges so it looked like a small boat, dropped it into the torrent. Aisha linked his arm and they watched together as the makeshift boat rose high on the current of spray, twisting and turning, holding its own, before being sucked into the water and disappearing into the whirlpool at the bottom.
‘Oh well, you can’t win them all,’ he shrugged, straightening.
Aisha continued looking down, gazing into the swirling pool and hoping against the odds that their little boat might yet reappear. But there was no sign of the leaf, it had gone for good, sucked under to decay at the bottom of the riverbed.
‘My father has a saying,’ she said shortly, ‘one of many. He says brooks become crooked by taking the path of least resistance, and people do too. I sometimes wonder if that’s what I’ve done – taken the path of least resistance. The easiest, the most acceptable.’
Mark looked sideways at her with a mixture of humour and indulgence. ‘You say the quaintest things sometimes, Aisha. How could you possibly think that, with everything you’ve achieved?’
She looked up and met his gaze. ‘I’ve conformed though, haven’t I? I’ve always done what was expected of me. The way I met you was the one and only exception.’
‘And what’s wrong with conforming?’ he said. ‘If it’s made you the person you are? You’re perfect, absolutely perfect, as I keep telling you. Though I must confess that makes me feel a certain responsibility sometimes.’
‘For me?’ she asked, surprised. ‘Why should you feel responsible for me? You didn’t make me what I am.’
‘No, but you’re so untouched, unscathed. Vulnerable, almost. I worry that I might harm you in some way.’
She looked at him and then spoke with uncharacteristic sharpness. ‘I’m not an ornament, Mark. I won’t break. Please don’t treat me as if I will.’
He fell silent for a moment. Then, with a small start, he turned squarely to face her. Taking hold of her shoulders, he drew her gently away from the edge of the gully, then placed his fingers lightly under her chin and tenderly tilted her face up towards his. His parted lips came down on hers and Aisha closed her eyes, and felt his mouth, firm and insistent with desire. She felt his body pressing against hers, his tongue exploring her mouth as he clasped her to him. She looped her hands round his neck and clung to him, buried her fingers into his hair, and returned the passion in his kiss. How she loved him, how close she felt to him, how she now yearned for him. She wanted Mark to know that – that if his passion continued and grew, and he wanted her, then she was at last ready to give herself to him, completely. For Mark had always said it must be her decision; that there was no pressure, no rush, and that he would wait until she was ready. Now she was, and she wanted him to know.
His lips left her mouth and moved slowly across her cheek and to her neck; kissing, sucking,
‘It’s beautiful,’ she cried. ‘Absolutely beautiful! And to think I’ve lived not far from here all these years and didn’t know it existed.’
‘Not many people do,’ he said. ‘Which is why it’s remained so unspoiled.’
She stood beside him, gazing down into the clear pure water as it crashed between the narrow banks before bouncing into a whirlpool and disappearing underground. It looked so fresh and pure she could almost taste the droplets rising in the fine spray. The steady hypnotic flow was so constant and unfaltering it seemed as if there was no movement at all.
‘My brother and I used to make little boats out of sticks and leaves,’ Mark said, after a moment. ‘We would drop them here, at the top, and see whose survived the longest. It kept us amused for hours.’
‘And who won?’ Aisha asked, happy at the shared memory.
‘Me, of course,’ he laughed. ‘I was the eldest. It had to be me!’
Mark bent down and picked up a large leaf and, curling up the edges so it looked like a small boat, dropped it into the torrent. Aisha linked his arm and they watched together as the makeshift boat rose high on the current of spray, twisting and turning, holding its own, before being sucked into the water and disappearing into the whirlpool at the bottom.
‘Oh well, you can’t win them all,’ he shrugged, straightening.
Aisha continued looking down, gazing into the swirling pool and hoping against the odds that their little boat might yet reappear. But there was no sign of the leaf, it had gone for good, sucked under to decay at the bottom of the riverbed.
‘My father has a saying,’ she said shortly, ‘one of many. He says brooks become crooked by taking the path of least resistance, and people do too. I sometimes wonder if that’s what I’ve done – taken the path of least resistance. The easiest, the most acceptable.’
Mark looked sideways at her with a mixture of humour and indulgence. ‘You say the quaintest things sometimes, Aisha. How could you possibly think that, with everything you’ve achieved?’
She looked up and met his gaze. ‘I’ve conformed though, haven’t I? I’ve always done what was expected of me. The way I met you was the one and only exception.’
‘And what’s wrong with conforming?’ he said. ‘If it’s made you the person you are? You’re perfect, absolutely perfect, as I keep telling you. Though I must confess that makes me feel a certain responsibility sometimes.’
‘For me?’ she asked, surprised. ‘Why should you feel responsible for me? You didn’t make me what I am.’
‘No, but you’re so untouched, unscathed. Vulnerable, almost. I worry that I might harm you in some way.’
She looked at him and then spoke with uncharacteristic sharpness. ‘I’m not an ornament, Mark. I won’t break. Please don’t treat me as if I will.’
He fell silent for a moment. Then, with a small start, he turned squarely to face her. Taking hold of her shoulders, he drew her gently away from the edge of the gully, then placed his fingers lightly under her chin and tenderly tilted her face up towards his. His parted lips came down on hers and Aisha closed her eyes, and felt his mouth, firm and insistent with desire. She felt his body pressing against hers, his tongue exploring her mouth as he clasped her to him. She looped her hands round his neck and clung to him, buried her fingers into his hair, and returned the passion in his kiss. How she loved him, how close she felt to him, how she now yearned for him. She wanted Mark to know that – that if his passion continued and grew, and he wanted her, then she was at last ready to give herself to him, completely. For Mark had always said it must be her decision; that there was no pressure, no rush, and that he would wait until she was ready. Now she was, and she wanted him to know.
His lips left her mouth and moved slowly across her cheek and to her neck; kissing, sucking,
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