The Housemate

by Pattison C. L.

  Sammi’s face was etched with concern. ‘You mean they’ve come back?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. I’m under so much pressure at the moment. There’s this huge project I’ve been working on . . . it could make or break my career. I really need to be on my A-game right now, but the night terrors are absolutely exhausting. The next day I’m so tired I can barely function. Then I get even more stressed and—’

  ‘—it’s just one great big vicious circle,’ Sammi supplied.

  I smiled, grateful for her understanding. ‘It’s got to the stage where I don’t want to go to sleep because I’m worried about what I might do.’ I gave a little shudder. ‘I think I actually tried to climb out of my bedroom window the other night.’

  Sammi gasped. ‘Shit, Chloe, that’s really scary; you could do yourself a serious injury if you fell from that window.’ She frowned and began twirling a piece of her long hair around her finger. ‘I bet Megan’s really concerned, isn’t she?’

  I drew my tongue back and forth across my bottom lip. ‘She doesn’t know the night terrors are back. I haven’t had a chance to tell her because we’ve hardly seen each other lately. I don’t know if she’s doing overtime or what.’

  Sammi gave a slow, feline blink. ‘I expect she’s busy with her new man.’

  I frowned. ‘What new man?’

  ‘That surgeon she’s just started seeing.’ She looked at me steadily. ‘From the sound of it, they’re really into each other.’

  I felt as if I’d been stung. Megan and I told each other everything – or at least we did. I was used to receiving blow-by-blow accounts of every date she went on. I couldn’t believe she’d embarked on an actual romance – especially one with a highly desirable surgeon – without telling me. ‘She hasn’t said anything to me,’ I said.

  Sammi’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oops, I hope I haven’t said anything I shouldn’t.’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine. I’m sure she was planning to tell me at some point, but like I said, we never seem to be in the house at the same time these days.’ Which was true enough – but what was wrong with a text? I frowned at Sammi. ‘So when did Meg tell you about this new guy?’

  ‘A couple of days ago; you’d already left for work and Megan and I were having breakfast in the kitchen. She kept getting text messages and every time one arrived, she’d reply to it straight away. Eventually I asked her who it was and she told me it was one of the surgeons at work – Pete, I think she said his name was.’

  I was even more annoyed now. Megan had mentioned Pete a few times and I knew she liked him. Why had she confided in Sammi, a virtual stranger, and not me – her best friend?

  ‘At first, I thought he was contacting her about some work-related thing,’ Sammi went on. ‘But then Megan told me they were seeing each other.’ She spread her arms wide and shrugged. ‘Sorry, Chloe, that’s all I know.’

  She reached across the table and took one of my hands in hers. It struck me as an oddly intimate gesture, but then again I had just spilled my guts to her. ‘Anyway, that’s enough about Megan. What are we going to do about these night terrors of yours? It’s got to be worth another visit to the GP. Now that you’re an adult, they can’t fob you off by saying you’ll grow out of it; there must be something they can do.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. ‘I’d rather find a way of dealing with it myself, to be honest.’

  Sammi gave my hand a gentle squeeze. ‘You know, Chloe, there’s nothing wrong with admitting you have a problem and seeking help for it.’

  Something in her tone made me look up and I saw a shadow cross her face. It was slight – a thin, fine cloud across a spring day – but noticeable all the same. The next moment it was gone. She released my hands and cleared her throat. ‘I get anxiety attacks,’ she said. ‘Not very often, but when I do get them, they can be quite debilitating.’

  I was shocked. Sammi exuded confidence and self-belief; it was hard to imagine her exhibiting any kind of weakness or vulnerability. ‘Oh,’ I said, rather taken aback. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Do you know what sets them off?’

  Sammi picked up her mug and blew on the hot liquid. ‘Pressure at work, relationship troubles . . . the usual things. Over the years I’ve learned how to spot the warning signs and deal with them before they spiral into full-blown attacks.’ Her eyes flickered from side to side, as if her brain was dissociating from the memory. ‘The turning point came when I realised I couldn’t deal with the problem by myself and asked my GP for help. He prescribed an anti-anxiety medication that worked wonders. I rarely have to take it these days, but just knowing it’s there if I need it is reassuring.’

  ‘Maybe I should make an appointment at the surgery then,’ I said half-heartedly.

  ‘I really think that would be a good idea.’ Sammi’s eyes flitted to her open laptop. ‘Goodness, is that the time already? Sorry, Chloe, I really need to finish this piece before I go to bed.’ She tossed her head back and laughed. ‘Bloody deadlines, eh?’

  ‘Oh God, yes, of course,’ I said, feeling awful that I’d distracted Sammi from her work. ‘I’m going to take a quick shower, then hit the sack, I think.’ I rose to my feet and carried my mug over to the sink. As I threw the rest of my tea away and rinsed the mug under the tap, Sammi came up behind me.

  ‘If you ever need to talk again, please remember that I’m always here for you,’ she said in her quiet, cool voice.

  I turned and smiled at her. ‘Thanks, Sammi, I really appreciate it.’

  16

  Megan

  I groped on the floor for my phone and checked the time: 8.22. I had been trying to get back to sleep for the past half an hour, but there was a godawful racket going on outside my bedroom window. I was feeling rather delicate after last night’s retirement do. My head was thumping and my mouth was dry as a sponge left out in the sun. I hadn’t intended to drink at all, but I must have had four – or possibly five – glasses of wine in the end. I’d only meant to show my face; after all, I barely knew Dr Varma. But then Pete showed up and I ended up staying the whole night. Unfortunately, we didn’t get to spend much one-on-one time together. Pete wanted us to keep our relationship under wraps, just for a little while. There were people at the hospital who knew his wife and he didn’t want her getting wind of our relationship because it might affect their upcoming divorce proceedings. He insisted the situation with Fiona was fairly amicable, but his feeling was that, if she found out he was seeing someone else, she might decide to play hardball. And being a solicitor herself – albeit a probate specialist, rather than a divorce lawyer – she would know how to hit him where it hurt. But that was OK; I didn’t mind waiting. Pete was worth it.

  Despite my crashing headache, I couldn’t help smiling to myself as I remembered the lustful looks he’d thrown my way when no one was looking, and the way he’d furtively squeezed my arse cheek while we were queuing at the crowded bar together. I could have lain there for hours, just thinking about him, especially as my shift didn’t start till midday, but the noise outside was unrelenting. I got out of bed and peered groggily through the curtains. The source of the noise soon became clear – Sammi was mowing the tiny square of lawn at the front of the house. Why she felt the need to do it quite so early in the morning was anyone’s guess.

  I knew I’d never be able to get back to sleep and I was desperate for caffeine, so I got up and headed downstairs to the kitchen. Along the way, I noticed that Chloe’s bedroom door was wide open and her bag had disappeared from the coat stand by the front door. She seemed to be leaving for work earlier and earlier these days. I’d been feeling a bit distant from her lately; we really needed to spend some quality time with each other. I was keen to tell her about Pete and me in person, rather than by message, and I knew she’d be hungry for every last detail.

  I made a strong cup of coffee and carried it into the back garden. Chloe and I had bought a cheap bistro set for the patio and it was perfectly positioned to
catch the early morning sunlight. Summer was on its last legs and it was a bit chilly to be sitting there in just my PJs, but I figured the cool air would help wake me up.

  Despite the droning of the lawnmower, it was peaceful out there and I was enjoying the solitude and the heady smell of honeysuckle. I was barely halfway through my coffee when Sammi appeared at the side of the house, dragging the lawnmower behind her.

  ‘Morning, Megan, how was the retirement party?’ she trilled when she saw me sitting there.

  ‘Good, thanks. My head’s a bit sore, though; I really could’ve done with a lie-in.’

  The barb seemed to go right over her head. ‘Sounds like you had fun,’ she said, walking over to me, a skein of orange electrical cable in one hand, a circuit breaker in the other. ‘Was the surgeon there?’

  At first, I wasn’t sure what she was getting at. ‘Lots of surgeons were there,’ I said. ‘Dr Varma was very highly regarded.’

  She gave a tinkling laugh. ‘No, silly, I meant did your surgeon go . . . Pete, isn’t it?’

  I was puzzled. I couldn’t remember telling Sammi about Pete. Why would I do that when I hadn’t even told my best friend? I must have let something slip without realising, or maybe she overheard me talking to him on the phone. ‘Yeah, he was, actually, but we didn’t spend that much time together. There were lots of other people I wanted to catch up with.’

  ‘Still, as long as it’s going well.’ She held out the lawnmower cable and the circuit breaker. ‘Do me a favour and plug this in for me, will you? I might as well do the back garden while I’m at it.’

  Holding back the crotchety sigh that threatened to erupt from my mouth, I took the items from her and carried them into the kitchen. When I returned, she was over by the shed, adjusting the height on the lawnmower. Her legs were bare beneath a colourful flared skirt and I noticed she had intensely white skin, through which her veins flowed like rivers on a map.

  ‘Ready when you are,’ I called out, resuming my position on the patio. She waved at me in response and switched on the lawnmower.

  I had to admit it was good of her to tackle the lawn. The grass seemed to grow virulently and neither Chloe nor I were the least bit interested in gardening. I felt slightly guilty as I watched Sammi toiling away. It was a good-sized lawn and sloped up quite steeply at the far end, by the pergola, so it wasn’t a quick job.

  Whenever I cut the grass, it tended to be a haphazard affair and afterwards, the lawn would be dotted with long tufts that I had missed. Sammi, by contrast, took a very methodical approach, striding purposefully up and down the lawn, creating neat stripes in her wake. As she worked, she wore a look of grim determination, lips pinched, chin stiffly set. You’d think she was embarking on a life-or-death challenge that had to be conquered, rather than carrying out a mundane domestic chore. By the time the job was finished, some twenty-five minutes later, her cheeks were pink and there was a sheen of sweat on her top lip. I found myself wondering why she hadn’t removed the pretty pink cardigan she was wearing.

  ‘You’ve made a really good job of that,’ I called out to her. ‘I’m going to make myself another coffee. Can I get you anything?’

  ‘A glass of water would be lovely, thanks,’ she replied, brushing the grass clippings from her ankles.

  When I came back out, Sammi – who, I observed, still hadn’t shed her cardie – was sitting in a patio chair, her head tilted up towards the sun.

  ‘Did you see Chloe before she went to work this morning?’ I asked, handing her the water.

  ‘Only briefly, she was leaving just as I was getting up. We didn’t speak much because she was in a rush; she wanted to catch the seven-forty train.’

  ‘She doesn’t usually leave that early,’ I said, sipping my coffee and enjoying its bitter tang.

  Sammi looked around the garden with a sweeping, hawk-like stare. ‘She’s working on a big project at work at the moment; I think she’s quite worried about it.’

  ‘Oh yes, the play about mental illness; she mentioned it a couple of weeks back.’ I gave a little grimace. ‘I think Chloe sometimes worries unnecessarily. She’s super talented and I, for one, have complete confidence in her creative abilities.’

  As Sammi turned to look at me, I felt the pressure of her gaze. There was something unflinching about it, a kernel of hardness. ‘I don’t suppose it helps that she isn’t sleeping very well at the moment,’ she remarked.

  ‘Oh?’ I replied, frowning. ‘That’s news to me.’

  Sammi stretched her long legs out in front of her and I noticed a large, fading bruise on her right shin. ‘Yes, we had a long chat about it last night.’

  ‘Did you?’ I said, studying her. ‘So what did Chloe say exactly?’

  ‘Just that she’s been having these awful nightmares, where she thinks she’s in some sort of danger and ends up acting out what’s happening – even though it’s all in her head.’

  I looked at her sharply. ‘The night terrors are back?’ I was surprised – no, shocked – that Chloe hadn’t shared this important information with me. I had seen how deeply the night terrors had affected her when we were at university and the thought of her going through anything like that again was almost unbearable.

  ‘It certainly seems that way. Poor Chloe, I think she thought she’d seen the last of them when she was at uni.’ Sammi flashed me a narrow smile. ‘I hear you were a great support to her when she was doing her Finals.’

  I shrugged. ‘I just did what friends do.’

  Sammi leaned towards me and lowered her voice conspiratorially, even though there was no one around to hear her. ‘To be honest, Megan, I’m actually quite concerned about her.’

  I turned away, my cheeks blazing with self-reproach. I hadn’t been there when Chloe needed me, too caught up in my burgeoning romance with Pete. In desperation, she had turned to Sammi instead.

  ‘I told her she ought to see a doctor; there must be something they can do. I expect you’d know what treatments are available, wouldn’t you?’ Sammi said, in a tone that sounded vaguely haranguing.

  ‘There are various drugs that might help,’ I said. ‘Cognitive behavioural therapy has also proven to be quite effective; it’s just a matter of trial and error really. It’s possible that Chloe might be able to conquer it herself, though, just like she did when we were at uni.’ I sighed, remembering what a difficult time that had been – for both of us.

  Curiosity simmered in Sammi’s eyes. ‘Do you think Chloe’s told Tom about the night terrors?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. They haven’t been together very long; she might not feel comfortable talking to him about it.’

  ‘Oh, but Tom seems like the sort of man who’d be very understanding,’ Sammi said with an odd little smile. ‘It would be nice to get to know Tom better. We don’t see him at the house very often.’ She ran a hand through her long hair and shook it so the ends fell around her shoulders in a sexy, tousled heap. ‘Perhaps I should speak to him myself about it.’

  ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea at all,’ I said firmly. ‘It’s really Chloe’s decision whether or not he finds out.’

  I was beginning to feel uncomfortable; it was as if Sammi and I were engaged in a competition about which one of us was best equipped to tackle Chloe’s problem. I rubbed my forehead and told myself to stop being so silly. I had a hangover and I was feeling oversensitive, that was all. There was nothing untoward about my housemate’s motives; she was just trying to help.

  ‘I really appreciate you letting me know about this, Sammi, but leave it with me. I’ll talk to Chloe and we’ll work something out between us.’

  Sammi said nothing for a long while, but looked at me instead with an eerie blankness – eyes still, mouth tight shut. When she did speak, her voice sounded flat, almost robotic. ‘Of course, Megan. You are Chloe’s best friend, after all.’

  17

  It’s the day of the school trip. We’re going to visit a castle on top of a hill and then we’ll have a picn
ic and play rounders on the beach. I spent ages last night deciding what to wear. Miss Pickering said shorts and T-shirt were best, but the only shorts I’ve got are the ones I wear for PE, so I decided to make some by cutting the legs off a pair of pyjama bottoms. One leg’s a bit longer than the other one, but I don’t think anyone will notice.

  Dad never did pay for the trip, even though I reminded him a gazillion times. Luckily, Miss Pickering gave me the money out of her own purse, just like she promised. I took it to the school secretary and said it was from my parents, like Miss Pickering told me to. It’s really not fair that she had to pay, because I bet a teacher gets paid less than a surveyor does. But I’m glad she did because otherwise I would’ve had to stay behind in the classroom, all on my own, and that would have been sooo embarrassing.

  As soon as we’re all here, Miss Pickering makes us line up in twos (I’m in a two with Anouk, of course!). Then Miss Pickering and our classroom assistant, Mr Wylie, take us outside to where the coach is waiting. Anouk looks gorgeous as ever in denim shorts, a cute, cap-sleeved top and a red sun hat with a frill round the edge. Her skin is golden and perfectly smooth all over, not like mine, which is the colour of skimmed milk and covered in scars from when I had chicken pox. I bet I look horrid next to her, like some kind of spiny creature, who lives on the bottom of the sea and never sees the light. I notice that Miss Pickering has a camera in a case around her neck, and as we stand in line, waiting to get on the coach, I ask her to take a photo of Anouk and me. That way I’ll be able to remember this day forever.