The Hay relay story so far: Chapter one by Beryl Bainbridge Chapter two by Rose Tremain Chapter three by Thomas Keneally Chapter four by Dave Eggers Chapter five by Louisa Waugh
Chapter six
"That was so embarrassing," George said, unbuttoning his shirt. Next to the wardrobe hung a spectacularly inept painting of a beach at sunset. Why were hotel rooms always furnished with bad art?
"It was meant to be embarrassing," Maria called through. "Such an odious man. Did you notice how he referred to the poor girl? 'My client,' Hah!"
Waves broke gently in the distance. From the bathroom came the flurry of Maria unzipping her skirt, running water, brushing her teeth. As always, her energy exhausted him.
"But a graveyard plot - what a thing to ask for," he said.
"He did say anything - and no one's been buried in St Botolph's for a hundred years."
"He thought you were bonkers. You frightened him."
"He's frightened because I've rumbled him. He knows I know he's a pimp."
"Anyway," George said, pretending not to hear (Maria's lurid fantasies were always best ignored), "what do you want a grave for at your age?"
"I was always told to plan ahead," she said, suddenly naked beside him. She stroked his hair a moment before slipping between the sheets. "Come to bed, darling. All this talk of graves makes me feel sexy."
He touched his brow where her fingers had been. It felt cold and clammy, like freshly turned soil.
"A man offers you the earth," he said. "And you ask for your own burial plot."
"What makes you think it's for me?" she said, reaching for his hand.
