You make a good bed,
Sophia said.

I smoothed the top sheet
of Mr H's bed
with a motion
of my hand,
trying hard not
to look at her
by the sink
in the corner.

It's a firm bed,
isn't it?

It's metal framed
for endurance,
I said,
lifting my head,
seeing her standing there
with Vim powder
in her hand
and cloth in the other.

We have ****?

I pulled up the blankets
and duvet,
pretending I hadn't heard.

No one around,
she said,
be safe.

Until Mr H
or some other old boy
comes along
and keels over
clutching their heart,
I replied.

She smiled, turned
and began powdering
the sink and scrubbing
with the cloth.

I looked out the window
at the grounds below;
the grass
was a bright green,
the few trees
in full leaf.

I turned
and she was
standing there
with one foot
on the bed
and her skirt hem
lifted, showing
a fair glimpse of leg.

You sure
we not have ****?

Not here, not now,
I said,
taking the glimpse
of leg inside my head.  

She pouted her lip
and shook her long
blonde hair.

Shame,
it could be good.

I went out the room,
closing the door,
thinking of my next task,
giving Sidney
his morning bath,
and as I walked on,
I heard her
mocking laugh.