I stare, feeling awkward. Does this man know I can see into his apartment like this while he walks about half naked? But I guess that as mine is in shadow, he has no way of knowing there’s anyone home to observe him. That makes me relax a little and just enjoy the sight. He’s so well built and so beautifully put together that he’s almost unreal. It’s like watching an actor on the television as he moves around in the glowing box opposite, a delicious vision that I can enjoy from a distance. I laugh suddenly. Celia really does have it all – this must be very life-enhancing, having a view like this.
I watch for a while longer as the man across the way chats into his phone, and wanders about. Then he turns and disappears out of the room.
Maybe he’s gone to put some clothes on, I think, and feel vaguely disappointed. Now he’s gone, I turn on the lamp and the room is flooded with soft apricot light. It looks beautiful all over again, the electric light bringing out new effects, dappling the silver lacquer panels and giving the jade ornaments a rosy hue. De Havilland comes padding in and jumps on to the sofa, looking up at me hopefully. I go over and sit down and he climbs onto my lap, purring loudly like a little engine as he circles a few times and then settles down. I stroke his soft fur, burying my fingers in it and finding comfort in his warmth.
I realise I’m still picturing the man across the way. He was startlingly attractive and moved with such unconscious grace and utter ease in himself. He was alone, but seemed anything but lonely. Perhaps he was talking to his girlfriend on the phone. Or perhaps it was someone else, and his girlfriend is waiting for him in the bedroom and he’s gone through there now to take off the rest of his clothes, lie beside her and drop his mouth to hers. She’ll be opening her embrace to him, pulling that perfect torso close, wrapping her arms across the smooth back...
Stop it. You’re making it all worse.
My head droops down. Adam comes sharply into my mind and I can see him just as he used to be, smiling broadly at me. It was his smile that always got me, the reason why I’d fallen in love with him in the first place. It was lopsided and made dimples appear in his cheeks, and his blue eyes sparkle with fun. We’d fallen in love the summer I was sixteen, during the long lazy days with no school and only ourselves to please. I’d go and meet him in the grounds of the ruined abbey and we’d spend long hours together, mooching about, talking and then kissing. We hadn’t been able to get enough of one another. Adam had been a skinny teenager, just a lad, while I was still getting used to having men look at my chest when I walked by them on the street. A year later, when we’d slept together, it had been the first time for both of us – an awkward, fumbling experience that had been beautiful because we’d loved each other, even though we were both utterly clueless about how to do it right. We’d got better, though, and I couldn’t imagine ever doing it with anyone else. How could it be so sweet and loving except with Adam? I loved it when he kissed me and held me in his arms and told me he loved me best of all. I’d never even looked at another man.
Don’t do this to yourself, Beth! Don’t remember. Don’t let him keep on hurting you.
I don’t want the image but it pierces my mind anyway. I see it, just the way I did on that awful night. I was babysitting next door and had expected to be there until well after midnight, but the neighbours came back early because the wife had developed a bad headache. I was free, it was only ten o’clock and they’d paid me for a full night anyway.
I’ll surprise Adam, I decided gleefully. He lived in his brother Jimmy’s house, paying cheap rent for the spare room. Jimmy was away so Adam planned to have a few mates round, drink some beers and watch a movie. He’d seemed disappointed when I said I couldn’t join him, so he’d be delighted when I turned up unexpectedly.
The memory is so vivid it’s like I’m living it all over again, walking through the darkened house, surprised that no one is there, wondering where the boys have got to. The television is off, no one is lounging on the sofa, cracking open cans of beer or making smart remarks at the screen. My surprise is going to fall flat, I realise. Maybe Adam is feeling ill and has gone straight to bed. I walk along the hallway towards his bedroom door; it’s so familiar, it might as well be my own house.
I’m turning the handle of the door, saying, ‘Adam?’ in a quiet voice, in case he’s sleeping already. I’ll go in anyway, and if he’s asleep, I’ll just look at his face, the one I love so much, and wonder what he’s dreaming about, maybe press a kiss on his cheek, curl up beside him...
I push the door open. A lamp is on, the one he likes to drape in a red scarf when we’re making love so that we’re lit by shadows – in fact, it’s glowing darkly scarlet right now, so perhaps he’s not asleep. I blink in the semi-darkness; the duvet is humped and moving. What’s he doing there?
‘Adam?’ I say again, but more loudly. The movement stops, and then the shape beneath the duvet changes, the cover folds back and I see...
I gasp with pain at the memory, screwing my eyes shut as though this will block out the pictures in my head. It’s like an old movie I can’t stop playing, but this time I firmly press the mental off switch, and lift De Havilland off my lap onto the sofa next to me. Recalling it still has the capacity to floor me, to leave me a sodden mess. The whole reason for coming here is to move on, and I’ve got to start right now.
My stomach rumbles and I realise I’m hungry. I go through to the kitchen to look for something to eat. Celia’s fridge is almost bare and I make a note that grocery shopping will be a priority for tomorrow. Searching the cupboards, I find some crackers and a tin of sardines, which will do for now. In fact, I’m so hungry that it tastes delicious. As I’m washing up my plate, I’m overtaken suddenly by an enormous yawn. I look at my watch: it’s still early, not even nine yet, but I’m exhausted. It’s been a long day. The fact that I woke this morning in my old room at home seems almost unbelievable.
I decide I’ll turn in. Besides, I want to try that amazing-looking bed. How can a girl not feel better in a silver four-poster? It’s got to be impossible. I go back through to the sitting room to turn out the lights. My hand is on the switch when I notice that the man is back in his sitting room. Now the dark trousers he was wearing have been replaced by a towel tucked around his hips, and his hair is wet and slicked back. He’s standing right in the middle of the room near the window and he is looking directly into my flat. In fact, he is staring straight at me, a frown creasing his forehead, and I am staring right back. Our eyes are locked, though we are too far apart to read the nuances in one another’s gaze.
Then, in a movement that is almost involuntary, my thumb presses down on the switch and the lamp obediently flashes off, plunging the room into darkness. He cannot see me any more, I realise, although his sitting room is still brightly lit for me, even more vivid than before now I’m watching from the dark. The man steps forward to the window, leans on the sill and looks out intently, trying to see what he can spy. I’m frozen, almost not breathing. I don’t know why it seems so important that he doesn’t see me, but I can’t resist the impulse to remain hidden. He stares a few moments more, still frowning, and I look back, not moving but still able to admire the shape of his upper body and the way the well-shaped biceps swell as he leans forward on them.
He gives up staring and turns back into the room. I seize my chance and slip out of the sitting room and into the hall, closing the door behind me. Now there are no windows, I cannot be seen. I release a long sigh.
‘What was all that about?’ I say out loud, and the sound of my voice comforts me. I laugh. ‘Okay, that’s enough of that. The guy is going to think I’m some kind of nutter if he sees me skulking about in the dark, playing statues whenever I think he can see me. Bed.’
I remember De Havilland just in time, and open the sitting-room door again so that he can escape if he needs to. He has a closed litter box in the kitchen which he needs access to, so I make sure the kitchen door is also open. Going to turn out the hall light, I hesitate for a moment, and th
en leave it on.
I know, it’s childish to believe that light drives the monsters away and keeps the burglars and killers at bay, but I’m alone in a strange place in a big city and I think that tonight, I will leave it on.
In fact, even ensconced in the downy comfort of Celia’s bed and so sleepy I can hardly keep my eyes open, I can’t quite bring myself to turn out the bedside lamp. In the end, I sleep all night in its gentle glow, but I’m so tired that I don’t even notice.
About the Author
Sadie Matthews is the author of six novels of contemporary women's fiction published under other names. In her own work, she has described decadent worlds of heady escapism and high drama. FIRE AFTER DARK was her first novel to explore a more intimate and intense side of life and relationships, and SECRETS AFTER DARK is the much anticipated sequel. She is married and lives in London.
Find Sadie Matthews on Twitter at www.twitter.com/sadie_matthews
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