Neil’s shoulders dropped a fraction. He didn’t need this.
‘What do you mean?’ he said, more irritated than questioning.
‘In the dream. I hurt someone.’
Neil looked around for his suit jacket, checked himself in the mirror again.
‘What do you mean?’ he said again. ‘Who did you hurt?’
I turned my back to him and looked into the mirror as well. Looked at us both. I spoke to myself in the mirror.
‘It was a child, I think. Maybe a teenager, maybe younger. I think it was a girl. Everything was so hazy and unclear. There was a fight between us, but I don’t know why. I heard a sort of screaming noise — a screech or something. It was frightening. I think that’s what woke me — that noise.’
‘It was just a bad dream, Chris. God knows I’ve had some nasty dreams in the past. Ones where you feel you just can’t shake them off once you’re awake. They seem so real.’
His hand moved to his tie again, and he looked like he was smirking. Perhaps it was the mirror.
‘It is horrible,’ he said, ‘when you get dreams like that. And after what you’ve been through it’s hardly any wonder.’
I watched him in the mirror still. His eyes flicked left and I knew he was checking the time on the bedroom clock. When he spoke again he sounded distracted.
‘You should mention it when you see the doctor for your checkup tomorrow. The dream I mean.’
I knew what he meant.
‘The checkup is the day after,’ I said.
‘Yes, of course.’
He wasn’t interested. He wanted to get off to work. Deal with the “wife crisis”, come up with a solution and move on.
I turned to face him.
‘Neil?’
His eyes met mine.
‘I don’t think it was just a fight between me and this girl.’
He frowned.
I struggled with what to say. Searched for the right words. It was only a dream, perhaps, but the monster had been me. The girl had been my victim.
‘I think … I raped her.’
The frown vanished from his forehead and I could see that “getting off to work” had been temporarily overshadowed. He smiled. A sort of crooked kind of smile. Was I joking? Was I being serious? He was on dangerous ground. Say the wrong thing and he could start me off crying again. Or get me angry. Again. He had to handle this just right.
‘Raped?’
Good move. Put it back to me. Perhaps he did still know me after all.
‘I can’t be sure,’ I said. ‘But I think I raped her. Or at least smothered her with my body and forced myself down on her. Pinned her to the ground. It was all so grey. Swirling and grey. And the screeching screaming thing.’ I swallowed hard. I wasn’t going to blub anymore. My eyebrow itched again, probably something to do with the nerves running down from the wound on my forehead.
Neil wanted to say something. I could see that. He felt like he should say something. Probably something profound. Something to make everything better.
‘Chris, I don’t know what to say.’
In truth, I didn’t know what I wanted him to say either. Even in a dream it was inconceivable that I could have raped a young girl. It was too horrific, too unreal. It wasn’t possible, physically or mentally.
‘I don’t know what to say either.’
I felt a rumble in my stomach, and a gathering of bile or liquid, burning inside me.
‘I think I’m going to be sick.’
I made a dash for the loo in the en-suite and sat down in front of it. I was burning hot and sweat prickled the back of my neck. My stomach went into spasms and I threw up into the toilet. Something splashed back onto my face and I tried to wipe it away with my hand. My eyes started to water and I thought I wasn’t going to be able to breath again. Whenever I was sick, I always thought I was going to die, that I would suffocate, or choke and not be able to breath back in.
I gripped the rim of the toilet and realised that the seat had already been up when I had come in. I swore at Neil under my breath.
I sensed him behind me, keeping his distance. I hated being touched when I was being sick, I didn’t want anyone rubbing my back or stroking me, trying to make me feel better. I waved my hand behind me, shooing him away.
Every breath brought more sick. My stomach felt as though it had been torn inside. I was happy to die. Happy to choke and to not breath again. Bring it on.
Below the en-suite, in the kitchen, something smashed. It would be Michael. Although he was eleven years old, he was outclassed in the kitchen by Rose. I hoped it wasn’t one of the plates Neil’s mother had given us.
But it took my mind away from retching. I started breathing again. I relaxed my grip on the toilet rim and sat back on my haunches. I was exhausted. Not even an hour had passed since I’d woken from the dream and already it felt like a week.
The school would have to do without me for an extra day. Neil would be at work, the kids at school. I would be fine tomorrow. All I really needed was sleep. And maybe a small drink, just to relax me, help numb some of the residual pain. It had certainly helped during the previous two weeks.
Neil’s voice drifted up from downstairs. He had obviously heard the smash too. His voice was muffled and I couldn’t work out what he was saying. I wondered if he’d bother coming back up again, or just head off to work. The school minibus would be arriving any minute, and he always liked to have left before then.
I stood up and filled the sink with cold water, splashed it onto my face with cupped hands. I dried off using the back of my arm and stepped out of the en-suite just as the bedroom door squeaked open.
‘Chris, are you OK? I’m really sorry, but I have to go. I’m running late as it is. I don’t think you should go back today,’ he looked at his watch, ‘and they wouldn’t expect you to anyway. Just give them a call and go back to bed. You’re not ready yet.’
He kissed me on the cheek and I went to put my arms around him, but was just too late. He practically ran down the stairs and out of the front door.
The young girl floated back into my mind. Me, smothering her with my body; bearing down on her with more than my weight; her screaming. Was it the screaming that had woken me?
I tried to think of something different. Tried to drag my mind away from where it was going.
I knew what was happening. My mind wasn’t just replaying what had happened in the nightmare — it was clarifying it.
And then recording it.
07
Inheritance Page 6