Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
It first happened on a Tuesday. Looking back Christine could not say whether that was significant or insignificant. It could go either way. Like most of life really. That much she now knew. But back then she knew very little.
He had rung earlier in the day.
“Have you remembered my class tonight?”
“Yes,” she had lied.
“Are you going to stay in work until I finish? I can come and get you later.”
She had considered it. She had a stack of work to get through and the following day was filled with more meetings. She could do with the time to prepare. But the thought of the house to herself for two hours was irresistible.
“No I’m going to finish early for once,” she replied.
“Okay. I’ve made you some food. It’s in the fridge. Have you got money for the bus?”
“Yes I’ve got money.” She realised her voice was stiff. She hated it when he treated her like a child. She felt the usual tightness in her chest. Talking to him brought that on these days. She couldn’t remember when that had started.
“Thanks for making me food,” she said.
“No problem. I need to know you’re eating.”
“I’m eating. I had a sandwich earlier.”
“A sandwich. That's not enough. Christine you're losing weight, you....”
“I know. I know,” she interrupted, “Look I’ve got to go. There’s someone at my desk.” Another lie. “I’ll see you later. Have a good class.”
“Ok. Take care getting the bus.”
“I will.”
She thought about the phone call on the bus ride home. When had it started getting so hard? Christine had met Damien when she was eighteen and he was twenty. They had been together ever since. For both of them it was the first serious relationship. First love. She’d had some boyfriends in school and university but nothing like the relationship with Damien. Within three months they were living together in a barely furnished house in a rough part of town - their parents refusing to speak to them. But all Christine remembered of those early years with Damien was how safe he made her feel. Even when they were at home freezing – no central heating and a coal fire that defiantly extinguished itself every night - he was her rock and her comfort. They loved each other and felt, like most new couples do, that it was them against the world.
“He still looks after me that's all,” she thought as she got off the bus, her bad mood fading. “Why am I so mean to him?”
It was already dark. She waited to cross the busy road. The cars sped by, frighteningly close. She shivered. She just wanted to be home, in the bath, warm. Spotting a gap in the traffic she started to run. She got across the road and took a breath. She hated that road. When she was at the house she realised her hands were freezing. She needed to start wearing gloves. She rummaged in her bag for the house keys. Her hands were tangled in her iPod wire. Eventually she got herself untangled and found her keys. She inserted the key in the lock, opened the door and simply stared.
At first she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. She should have been seeing a dark wooden staircase and polished wooden floor. That was the hallway of her house. Had been ever since they'd moved out of that other house from the rough part of town. But they weren’t there now. What was there instead was a burgundy carpet and a white glossed staircase. She looked again at the front door. Was it her house? Yes there was her door. There was the crooked number six that neither of them had ever got round to straightening. There was the plant pot on the left with the dying remains of whatever Damien had planted back in the spring. She looked back through the doorway. Had Damien decorated today – put in new carpet, painted the staircase? But no – even that was impossible. Their usual staircase had straight wooden posts– twenty of them from the foot of the stairs to the top (she counted them as she walked – for some reason she counted everything). But here the white wood had been carved into swirls, swirls that followed no pattern, swirls that resisted counting, swirls that already left her head feeling dazed and confused.
“Would he have put in a new staircase?” she wondered aloud, amazed.
But no. Even that couldn’t be the case. Because she had just noticed something else. Where in her home there was a doorway into the living room, here there was an arch, an arch leading into a living room that even from this angle was clearly different from the living room she had left this morning.
Everything that was happening suddenly overwhelmed her - the swirl of the staircase, the curve of the arch, the living room that was not her own. She stumbled, nearly falling, just catching herself on the door in time. She felt sick. She looked around to see if everything else in the street looked the same. She even looked for cameras, neighbours, a TV crew all here to witness the outcome of an elaborate practical joke. But there was no one. The street was empty. The only movement was the fall of the rain, glistening in the street lights.
“What’s going on?” she wondered, but could think no more as a pain ripped through her head. She screamed. She couldn’t help herself. The pain was excruciating. And that was when she stumbled again and this time did fall as she mercifully blacked out.
She opened her eyes. She was cold and shivering. The rain had soaked her hair. Her arm hurt. She looked down and saw that it had started to bleed.
Terrified she stood up. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious. She looked around – the street was empty. She dared herself to look back into the house.
Relief swept over her. It was back - her wooden floor, the wooden staircase and the doorway exactly as it was meant to be. She walked in and touched the staircase. Yes it was really there.
She shut the front door and went into the living room. It was dark and cold. Damien hadn’t left any of the lights on as he usually did. She put on the lamp and switched on the heating. What was going on? What had happened out there?
“Have a bath. Relax. Think about it sensibly,” she said to herself as she walked up the stairs. She turned on the taps and noticed that her hands were trembling. She steadied herself as she opened the bath oil and poured in a generous amount. She went into the bedroom and started to undress. As she took her shirt off she noticed the blood on the sleeve. She examined her arm again. The cut was nasty, not deep but wide, and the blood was still pouring.
In the bathroom she dabbed at it with a wet cloth, getting the dirt out. Unbidden thoughts of the carpet and white staircase came into her mind. Had she really seen that?
The bath was full. Slowly she eased her aching body into the bubbles. She realised suddenly that she was scared to close her eyes, scared to close them in case something different awaited her when she opened them.
She lay back and looked instead at the ceiling. What had happened out there? Had she had a turn, as her mother would say? What would Damien say, more to the point? She couldn’t hide the arm from him. He would notice it tonight. And if she told him she had fainted he would worry and make her go to the doctors. And did she need to see the doctor? It wasn’t normal to come home and see something totally different
from what you expected to see was it?
She sighed. She would have to lie to Damien. Otherwise he would make a fuss. He’d probably say she was overworking. And maybe she was. She had been doing long hours lately. Maybe it was stress. Or the onset of a migraine.
She closed her eyes and quickly opened them. The same bathroom light. She relaxed, relieved.
It’s tiredness and stress, she said again to herself, this time more firmly. She took a deep breath and stretched out. A good soak and good night’s sleep would sort her out.
CHAPTER TWO
As it turned out she didn't need to lie to him. By the time he came home from his class she was asleep on the sofa wearing an old long-sleeved nightshirt to hide the cut. If he found anything strange about the nightshirt he didn’t say anything. Instead he woke her – gently shaking her shoulder.
“Ready for bed or do you want a glass of wine?”
“A glass of wine would be great,” she said sleepily, knowing she should go to bed but wanting to spend at least a little time with him that evening.
Damien had been taking an accountancy course for the past couple of months. He had set up his own sports therapy business a few months ago but was struggling with the book-keeping.
“How did the class go?” she shouted out to him in the kitchen as he got the wine.
“Fine. Boring. Hard. The usual,” he said as he came back into the room with two glasses of wine.
“Did you have the exam back?”
“No, she hadn’t marked it yet.”
He sat on the sofa beside her and pulled her legs onto his lap.
“Missed you tonight.”
“Missed you too,” she said, “And work was a pain today.”
“You work too hard. They take advantage.”
She didn't reply. She didn’t feel like the usual work discussion tonight. Her fault though for bringing it up. Suddenly a thought struck her.
“Damien, have you ever thought of putting carpet out there and maybe a different staircase?”
“No,” he said, “Why would I? I thought you liked the wood.
“Yes,” she said, “I do.”
Despite what had happened earlier she slept well that evening and the next day was ready to put the whole experience behind her. It already had the feel of a dream - unreal, all the details blurry. She avoided looking at the mark on her arm.
Throughout the day she was too busy to think about non-work matters anyway. And this was just what she liked. She cleared emails, met with staff, sent through a proposal to her manager. Christine had worked in the council finance department for a number of years. She loved her job – although had learned the hard way not to admit that to many people. They tended to look at her strangely when she did. But Christine had always loved everything about work, about feeling productive and useful. It was when work stopped that she was at a loss. It had always been that way.
Late afternoon everyone started getting ready to go home. Everyone but Christine. Slowly the office became quieter and darker. She realised she was getting chilly and pulled on a cardigan. For some reason the cold and the silence was making her uncomfortable.
Suddenly it felt as if the air around her had shifted. She knew someone was standing behind her. She turned around and saw one of her colleagues, Matt, standing and staring at her.
“Hello,” she said, “Are you ok?”
It was a genuine question. He had the strangest, most intense look on his face, making her feel uncomfortable. In the back of her mind she wondered how quickly she could call security if she needed to.
But that was ridiculous. She had worked with Matt for around five years, not closely admittedly, but they knew each other well enough. They had been in meetings together, had some conversations. They weren’t friends but there was nothing to be scared of. Still, the look he was giving her was quite unlike anything she had ever seen from him before.
“Matt. Are you ok?” she repeated, this time standing up and taking a step towards him.
He carried on staring at her without a word. But then, without warning, he grabbed her hand. She jumped and tried to pull it back but he held on firm.
“Have you started seeing her yet?” he whispered.
“What do you mean?” she replied.
Her words changed something in him. A look of disappointment crossed his face. He dropped her hand quickly and without another word turned and walked away.
She stood frozen in space, shocked, hot, flushed. What had happened? He had never done anything like that before. No one had.
She looked down at her hand. Her fingers were tingling. It was the cold. She drew her cardigan closer around her and went back to her seat. What should she do? Should she report him? No. She dismissed the thought. Matt was a good person. She liked and respected him. She didn’t want to make too big a thing of this.
But what had happened? And what had he meant by “Have you started seeing her yet?” The thought of the incident the night before came fleetingly into her mind but she quickly dismissed it. No - he could not have meant that. He said her. And yet… and yet… that was something she had seen – something new?
No, it could not be that. She looked behind her again. There was no sign of him. What had he meant? Why had he done that?
She couldn't carry on working now. Her mind was all over the place. She started packing her things away and switching her computer off. She wondered what she would do if she saw him tomorrow. It was possible - he was sometimes in the same meetings as her. Would she say something? What could she say?
And should she tell Damien she wondered as she left the building and made her way to the car park where he was waiting for her. Again she dismissed the thought. There was no way she could tell Damien. He'd probably insist she report it and she'd already decided she was not doing that. No, she wouldn't say a word. And after all there was nothing to say. Not really.
“How was your day?” he asked as she got into the car.
“Fine. It was fine.”
She stared out the window all the way home. She could feel him stealing quick glances at her as he drove but he knew better than to push her for conversation after a long day in work. She needed time to come round.
So they drove home in silence. When they pulled up outside the house she realised she didn’t want to go in. She didn’t want to see some strange burgundy carpet and white staircase staring back at her and right now, for some reason she couldn't explain, she felt certain she would.
“Let’s go to the pub for food,” she said to him, “I could do with a treat.”
“I’ve already made a curry,” he said.
“We can reheat that tomorrow. Come on, let’s go out.”
He smiled. “Ok, do you want to change first or go as you are?”
“As I am. If you think I look ok?”
“You always look beautiful,” he said smiling.
She smiled back at him. “Come on then – let’s go.”
When they entered the pub she had a horrible thought for a second that Matt was there. A tall dark-haired man of similar build was standing at the bar, but when he turned to see who had come in she saw that he was different with a beard and a fuller face.
“Are you ok?” asked Damien. He had caught her staring in the direction of the man at the bar.
“Yes I’m fine. Just thought it was someone I knew,” she said. “Shall we sit here?”
She sat down at the table nearest to them and took off her coat. Damien went to the bar and after a few minutes came back with a bottle of red wine and the menu.
She looked at it quickly. The usual. She realised she wasn’t hungry.
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