by R. H. Dixon
The brooch itself was on the kitchen table. Tomorrow they’d decide, together, what they should do with it.
He lay entangled in sheets. It was a cool night but the window was cracked open, his escape route to the outside world, should he need it. He stared at the ceiling thinking that he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all, but at some point he must have drifted off. When he awoke again it was still grey enough for him to know that it was nowhere near morning, and he could hear the undeniable creak of floorboards out on the landing. Not from the cooling or heating of wooden boards as the house settled, but actual footfalls. Someone was out there.
Surely it couldn’t be Natasha. Why would she come upstairs? The bathroom was downstairs and she knew that. Unless she’d seen Megan and was coming to tell him. But somehow he very much doubted she’d want to share that experience with him.
Or maybe it was Megan.
Or Pamela Tanner.
He eased up onto his elbow and watched with nervous apprehension as the door handle moved.
Please not Pamela Tanner.
Please not one of those nights.
When the door was fully open he was stunned to see Natasha standing there, wrapped in the gold chenille throw from the couch.
‘Tash?’ He sat up fully, self-conscious enough to cover his bare chest with the duvet. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Yes. Well, no.’ She shuffled to the bed. ‘I can’t sleep at all. I don’t know what I’m doing here.’
John didn’t know if it was a generalised statement about her staying in his mother’s house or if she was being more specific about being in his bedroom. ‘You’re upset. It’s been a lot to take in.’
She sat down on the edge of the bed, the soft throw that was around her brushing against his arm. He could feel her heat.
‘Funny how things turned out,’ she said, looking down at her hands.
‘How do you mean?’
‘All our dreams for the future. All the promises we made. It’s hard to believe we were deliriously happy once.’
‘Is it?’
She looked up at him and smiled. ‘Yes, it is.’
‘I never forgot about you.’ He tried to rest a hand on her shoulder, but instantly she shied away from the contact.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you never did. I hope in all these years you’ve been consumed by thoughts of me.’ Her eyes and body language were frosty and John could sense an argument in the offing.
‘It’s late,’ he said, not knowing what else to say.
‘Does it matter?’
He thought for a moment then sighed. ‘No, I don’t suppose it does. I expect you want to shout at me, to say your piece, hit me even, but you’ve had a drink. Do you really want to do this right now?’
‘You think that’s what I want?’
‘Well what do you want?’
‘An explanation.’ He saw now that he’d been mistaken. Her eyes resounded with hurt, not anger.
He closed his eyes and applied pressure to them. Sighing inwardly, he knew he had no choice but to confess. She deserved to know. ‘I did something terrible. I felt that I had to go.’
‘What was so terrible that you had to shun me?’
‘I slept with Chris’s girlfriend. That night. She came to me. I didn’t ask her to. I didn’t want her to. But I didn’t stop her.’
If Natasha was shocked by the admission she didn’t flinch or give any outward sign.
‘I’m really sorry, Tash,’ he said. ‘It meant nothing, nothing at all, and I know I should have told you instead of just running away. I still can’t believe I did…any of it. I’ll never forgive myself, just so you know. And I don’t expect you to either. I don’t expect anything from you at all.’
‘You don’t?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘What could I possibly expect from you?’
She lifted her arm and traced a finger along the knuckles of his left hand. ‘There’s always been a part of me that never stopped thinking about you, John.’
For a moment he couldn’t speak, taken aback by the fact she was touching him. But, also, he was now sceptical about her motive. He expected she’d blow at any minute. ‘I’m sure that’s the wine talking.’
‘And I’m sure it’s not. I only had two glasses.’
He relaxed his grip on the duvet, exposing his chest, and pivoted round so that his body was facing her. Whatever she had planned he wanted to get it over and done with as quickly as possible. He accepted that he deserved every single bit of her wrath, so he’d let her do whatever she needed. ‘What are you doing here, Tash? Why did you come to my room?’
‘Because I want you.’
That was the last thing ever he’d have expected her to say. Astounded and perplexed, he shook his head. ‘No. No you don’t.’
‘There were times when I really, really hated you, when I wished you dead. But seeing you tonight, I dunno, I remember now how vulnerable you always were. I knew you had issues, I always knew you were different. But that’s what I liked most about you, aside from your eyes of course. I always loved your eyes.’ She twisted round and climbed onto the bed, so that she was kneeling beside him, staring intently into his eyes. Her skin was flawless in the dawn’s grey tones and he wanted to reach out and embrace her. He wanted to hold her tight against him until she could feel his heartfelt apology pouring out, because he was sure he could make her know, not just hear, how sorry he was for all he’d put her through.
She let the chenille throw slip down around her shoulders and reached out to touch the side of his face. Her fingers were so gentle but her words were scathing: ‘You really don’t know how much I’ve missed you, Gimmerick.’
John tried not to look down at her lithe body, but he couldn’t help it. She wore nothing but black lace underwear. He hardly dared to breathe. ‘I…I really don’t know what to say, Tash. Is this some sort of trick?’
‘Why would you think that?’
‘Because a few hours ago you couldn’t berate me enough.’
‘That’s my prerogative. I can change my mind whenever I like, you gave me the right to do so.’
‘But what changed it?’
‘Seeing you again.’
‘Even after what I just told you?’ He was astounded. ‘It’s not right. Let’s talk tomorrow, in the cold light of day, when we’re both sober.’
‘I have to go home tomorrow.’
‘Exactly, which is why this is a bad idea. We’d be opening a can of worms.’
‘For me the can was never closed. I still dream about you, John.’ She moved her thumb lightly over his bottom lip. He still expected she might slap him at any moment. Maybe even land him a full blown punch to bloody his mouth.
‘What about your boyfriend?’ he asked, desperate for her to stop toying with him like this.
‘What about him?’
John shuffled backwards. ‘I’m not comfortable with this, Tash. Seriously. Please, go back downstairs. Sleep it off.’
‘I’d rather stay here.’
‘Then fucking shout at me,’ he demanded. ‘Go ape. Get angry. Do something!’
Her eyes sparkled at his frustration and she leant forward and made as if to kiss him. But he was quick to avert his face.
‘Go back to bed, Tash! I don’t want you.’
She sat back, her expression wounded as though he’d slapped her. ‘You’re rejecting me? Again?’
‘Yes. Well, no. Definitely no. But I can’t do this. It’s not what you really want.’
‘How would you know what I want?’
‘I don’t. But I don’t think you do either.’
‘Shall I show you what I want?’ She stuck her hand beneath the duvet and grabbed hold of him.
He closed his eyes and leant back and this time, when her mouth closed over his, he responded to her kiss. She ripped the duvet away. Her hands were all over him and she pulled his hair so it hurt. He gripped hold of her and spun her round so she lay on the mattress beneath him, then he hel
d her closer than he thought he’d ever held her before. His shoulder was soon wet with her tears and they both cried as they made love.
Eventually, when they were exhausted by one another, she lay in the crook of his arm. She closed her eyes and slept while he hugged her close and kissed the top of her head. By the time John fell asleep he was content.
_
37
_
John awoke to the sound of rain and a fresh breeze blowing in through the open window. His heart sank when he looked to the empty space in the bed next to him. Natasha was gone. He rolled over onto his back. The moderate daylight in the room stung his eyes and hurt his head with all the intensity of a bad hangover, even though he wasn’t hungover. He squinted and lay still, thinking about the previous night. He wondered how he and Natasha would proceed from here. The fact she wasn’t still next to him now probably meant she regretted what had happened between them. He expected an onslaught of some emotional outburst when he went downstairs. If she was still around and hadn’t gone home to Whitby already.
When, eventually, he’d psyched himself to face whatever needed to be faced, he sat up. Every part of him ached. His head pounded with white heat and his guts churned, saliva a sudden tang in his mouth as though he might throw up. He waited a moment for the feeling to pass, then peeled back the duvet. It hurt to do so, his limbs weak and shaky. His fever seemed to have worsened tenfold overnight and the bruise on his chest, he saw, was now worryingly blackish in colour and extremely tender to touch. His feet felt like dead weights as he moved them to the floor and he groaned as he stooped to pick yesterday’s clothes up; every movement an arduous, painful effort.
Traipsing down the stairs, every step pounded his head and jolted his aching joints. He went straight to the bathroom and took a piss, then looked at himself in the vanity mirror. He looked like a corpse. Purple bruising of fatigue discoloured the areas beneath his eyes and his lips were anaemic. His hair was tousled and wild, and two-day stubble reminded him he needed to shave, else he’d lapse back into old ways.
Once the toilet cistern had refilled and fallen silent, he stood listening. Elsewhere in the house he couldn’t hear a thing. He hoped Natasha had left, letting herself out like Pamela Tanner had done.
Only one way to find out.
He went through to the lounge and found Natasha Graham sitting on the couch, fully dressed. Her hair had been combed and she was wearing fresh make-up. She looked discomfited in a sense, but certainly not highly charged with any type of emotion.
‘Shit, are you okay?’ she asked as soon as she saw him. ‘You don’t look too good.’
‘I think I might be coming down with something. Want a cup of tea? Coffee?’ He moved off to the kitchen without waiting for a response, keen to have a task in hand for when things turned awkward.
Natasha stood up and followed him through. ‘Certainly looks like you might be getting something. Did you sleep okay?’
Holding the kettle under the running tap, he looked at her curiously. ‘Er, yeah. No. I mean, I’m not sure. You?’
‘Yeah, surprisingly well actually. I was out like a log.’ Her mouth then became slightly downturned. ‘No sign of Megan though.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry.’ John set the kettle down in its cradle and flipped its switch. Running his fingers through his hair, he took a deep breath. He needed to know what was going on. ‘Tash, did you come up to my room last night?’
She looked instantly horrified. ‘Why the hell would I have done that?’
‘I, er, hmmm…’ He pulled out a chair and flopped down at the table, cradling his head in his hands.
What’s happening to me?
‘John?’ Natasha moved to his side and regarded him warily. ‘Should I call for a doctor or something?’
‘No, I’m fine,’ he said. ‘You’re sure you didn’t come upstairs?’
‘Never more sure of anything in my life.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Jesus, John, why are you pressing the issue? Why would you even think that?’
‘I’m not. It’s just…I dunno. It must have been a dream.’
‘You had a dream about me coming to your room?’
‘Yes. But…Look, is it okay if we drop this? It’s a bit…’
‘Weird?’
‘Yes.’
‘Alright. It’s dropped. But for the record, just so we’re both clear, I didn’t leave the couch last night.’
‘Good.’
‘Good.’
‘Okay.’ He reached across and picked up the cameo, which was mocking him with its presence; the cream-faced Victorian woman seemed to know something he didn’t, her smirk too deliberate. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about everything we talked about last night,’ he said. ‘I’ve been feeling increasingly shit since I arrived here, and strange things keep happening around the house. Maybe this thing is cursed.’
‘Strange things like what?’ The kettle had boiled and Natasha took over making the tea. She poured hot water into two mugs then went to the fridge to find milk.
‘There’ve been some awful smells upstairs that I can’t even describe, and a fly infestation in two of the bedrooms, usually wherever I’ve been sleeping.’
Natasha paused from dunking teabags. ‘Thought about taking a shower?’
‘Funny as ever.’
‘Hmmm. Carry on.’
‘There are strange markings on the ceilings that come and go, usually wherever Seren’s been. And my dreams and waking life have merged into one, so half the time I don’t know what’s real and what’s not anymore.’ He didn’t go as far as to tell her he’d been hallucinating too, because by now she was giving him that look again, as if he might be losing his mind.
‘Okay, it certainly sounds bizarre,’ she said, placing the teaspoon in the sink. ‘So what happens in your dreams exactly? They might be a clue as to what’s going on.’
‘I hardly think so.’
‘But it’s possible. What did you dream about last night? What did we do?’
‘I’d rather not say.’
‘Jesus.’ Natasha plonked a cup of tea before him. ‘You had a dirty dream about me, didn’t you?’
‘No! Well, yes. Maybe. I suppose.’ John’s face coloured, but only to the extent that his complexion looked normal.
She pulled out a chair and sat down next to him. ‘Shit, and that’s why you asked because you really thought we’d actually…’
‘Hey, I was just as appalled by the idea,’ he interrupted.
‘Sounds like it.’
‘Hey, I might have been in love with you when I was nineteen, but you didn’t exactly stir up old feelings when you walked in here last night, so don’t flatter yourself.’
‘Well it seems like I stirred something up,’ she said, her eyes now seething.
John knew he’d spoken out of turn, retorted too defensively. He took a sip of tea and said, ‘Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Well, I did, but…never mind. It’s just that, well, it’s not just you.’ He pulled a face of distaste. ‘I keep dreaming about one of my mam’s neighbours too.’
‘You mean in the same context?’
‘Yes. But if you saw her you’d understand why I take such issue with it.’
Natasha raised her eyebrows. ‘Explain.’
‘Let’s just say she’s got to have twenty years on me. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s alright for her age and all, but I certainly wouldn’t go there.’
This time Natasha looked embarrassed. ‘So is any of this actually relevant? I thought something weird was going on in your dreams, in an out-of-the-ordinary sense. When I drove up from Whitby last night the last thing in the world I thought I’d be doing was counselling my estranged ex on a few smutty dreams he’s been having about people he really shouldn’t be having them about.’
John cocked an eyebrow. ‘I’m not some hormone-riddled teenager, Tash, I’m pushing forty for chrissakes, I was actually getting to the point.’
‘Which
is?’
‘I dreamt that Pamela Tanner, my mam’s neighbour, bit me, then when I woke up I had this.’ He pulled his t-shirt up to show her the bite.
Natasha sucked in air through her teeth and grimaced. ‘Ugh. That looks infected, maybe that’s what’s making you feel unwell. You should get it checked out.’
‘Maybe.’
‘So how did it really happen?’
‘I just told you, I dreamt about it and then there it was.’ He could see the disbelief in her eyes and when she opened her mouth to speak, he said, ‘Don’t bother suggesting it was self-inflicted or give me that look you keep giving me as if I’m losing the plot. Emily saw it before it turned black, there were definite teeth marks.’
‘I don’t know what to say to that, John.’ Natasha drank from her cup, her eyes cautious, watching him.
‘I don’t think you need to say anything. In fact, it’s probably best if you just go home once you’ve finished your tea.’
‘No way.’ She slammed her palm down on the table, making both of the dogs jump. ‘I’m involved in this now.’
‘But I don’t want you to be. I want you to go.’
‘Megan is my daughter, you bastard. I showed interest in your dreams because I’ve had a couple of odd experiences myself lately.’ She reached up and touched the bump on her head.
John’s uptight manner eased in an instant. His shoulders slumped and he nodded. ‘Okay. So what do you suggest we do?’
‘Go to Eden Vale. See if Sissy’s still there.’
‘Seriously? You really think she might still be pacing about? After all these years? She looked old then, she’d be ancient now.’
‘We won’t know till we check, will we? And I’d say it’s the best starting point we’ve got.’
‘Okay. Let’s go to Eden Vale.’
John went off to shower and shave. He changed into clean clothes and put on some aftershave. On his way back to the kitchen he saw Emily and Seren walking down the garden path. He opened the back door for them and Emily called, ‘Hey, you survived the night then?’ When she stepped into the kitchen she saw Natasha sitting at the table and her eyes widened. ‘Oh, I didn’t realise you had company.’