The Housemate

by Pattison C. L.

  ‘You do look a bit peaky. What’s up with you?’

  ‘Nothing major, just a headache.’

  ‘There’s some paracetamol in the bathroom cabinet.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Chloe’s gaze drifted over my shoulder to where Pete was lying in bed. ‘Hi,’ she said, raising her hand in greeting.

  ‘Hey there,’ he replied. ‘I’m Megan’s friend, Pete.’

  Chloe’s lips twitched in amusement. ‘Pleased to meet you, Pete.’ Her eyes shifted to me. ‘Sorry, Meg, I didn’t realise you were indisposed. I’ll grab that paracetamol from the bathroom, then I’ll go back downstairs and give you two some privacy.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ came Pete’s voice from behind me. ‘I need to get going anyway.’

  My head snapped round. ‘Do you?’

  He grinned sheepishly. ‘The kids are coming back from boarding school for the weekend. I’m supposed to be picking them up from Waterloo in half an hour. Sorry, I should have said something sooner.’

  Yes, you bloody well should have, you thoughtless bastard, I thought silently.

  As soon as I’d seen him out, I went to find Chloe, who was sitting in the back garden. Her laptop lay open on the bistro table, but rather than working, she was staring straight ahead, apparently lost in thought.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’ I asked, as I stepped through the back door.

  She gave me a wan smile. ‘Be my guest – and sorry about earlier. I hope I didn’t drive him away.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it; like Pete said, he wasn’t planning to stick around anyway.’

  Chloe licked her lips; I thought she seemed slightly nervous. ‘Sammi did say you’d started seeing someone from work. I didn’t realise things were moving along so quickly. Pete’s a surgeon at the hospital, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah, orthopaedics.’ I sat down next to her. I wasn’t surprised that Sammi had blabbed; I got the impression she and Chloe were pretty close these days. ‘I actually wanted to tell you myself; I was just waiting for the right opportunity. It seems like we’ve hardly seen each other recently and I wanted to tell you in person, rather than putting it in a text or an email.’

  ‘I understand,’ Chloe said. ‘So, how’s it going with you two?’

  ‘All right, I suppose.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘Hardly a ringing endorsement.’

  I sighed. ‘I like him a lot – more than I’ve liked anyone for quite a while, actually – but I’m trying to play it cool. It’s only early days and I haven’t got the faintest idea how he feels about me; we don’t really talk about stuff like that.’

  ‘So what do you talk about?’

  I shrugged carelessly. ‘Oh, you know, the usual . . . work . . . his kids.’

  ‘He’s got children?’

  ‘Yeah, they’re eight and thirteen.’

  ‘Really? He doesn’t look old enough.’

  ‘I think he and his ex married young.’

  ‘How long has he been divorced?’

  I took a deep breath. ‘Technically speaking, he’s still married . . . in fact, he and his wife still live together. He is getting divorced, though.’

  ‘Ah,’ Chloe said, nodding slowly. ‘What do people at work think about you two getting together?’

  ‘They don’t know. Pete doesn’t want to tell anyone until it’s all finalised; he’s worried his wife will try to screw him financially if she finds out he’s seeing someone else.’

  Chloe pressed her tongue into the side of her cheek as she digested this information. I could feel the disapproval emanating from her in waves. I decided it was time for a swift change of subject. ‘Sammi tells me the night terrors are back.’

  At the mere mention of them, Chloe’s whole body seemed to go limp. ‘Yeah, it’s been horrible. I think they’re actually worse than before.’

  ‘What do you think triggered them this time?’

  ‘Work,’ she replied baldly. ‘The Neurosis set is doing my head in; nothing seems to be going to plan.’ She looked down and began rubbing at the skin on the back of her left hand in a compulsive fashion. ‘Bryan’s constantly on my case about the budget and the tech guys keep throwing all sorts of obstacles in my way. I’ve come very close to telling them all to fuck off.’

  ‘Oh hon, I’m so sorry I haven’t been there for you lately. I’ve just had so much on. If I’d known you were going through a rough patch, I would’ve made the time.’

  She blinked hard several times. ‘That’s OK, I’m sure Pete’s a much more attractive proposition than me right now.’

  ‘Forget Pete, you’re my priority now. We need to find a way of channelling that stress. I don’t want to see you getting into the same state you did at university.’

  ‘Sammi thinks I should do more yoga.’

  Something inside me burned. I was the one who had suggested yoga to Chloe as a form of relaxation, but now it seemed Sammi was keen to take the glory.

  Chloe tilted her head to the side and looked at me. ‘Did you know Sammi suffers from anxiety?’

  ‘No,’ I said, genuinely surprised. ‘I didn’t think she was the type; she seems positively brimming with confidence to me.’ Too much confidence, I was tempted to add.

  ‘I think it’s more or less under control these days, but when it gets really bad she takes medication for it.’

  ‘What sort of medication?’

  ‘She didn’t say. I think she only told me so I didn’t feel like I was the only person in the house with a mental illness.’

  I made a snorting sound. ‘You can hardly class night terrors as a mental illness. It’s a sleep disorder, caused by the over-arousal of the central nervous system. Admittedly, it’s pretty rare in adults, but that doesn’t make you a freak.’

  ‘I certainly feel like a freak sometimes,’ Chloe mumbled.

  ‘Well, you shouldn’t,’ I told her. ‘And another thing you shouldn’t be doing is bottling everything up; that’s only going to increase your stress levels. Have you talked to Tom about this?’

  ‘No – and I don’t want him to find out.’

  ‘That’s entirely your prerogative.’ I reached across and patted her knee. ‘Do you know what I think would do us both the world of good? A big night out. We could hit the South Bank . . . have dinner, check out a couple of bars, maybe even go dancing afterwards.’

  ‘Oh yes, I’d really like that.’ Her face brightened and I caught a glimpse of the old Chloe, the free-spirited, fun-loving, easy-going girl I’d met at university.

  I rose to my feet. ‘In that case, let me get my phone and we’ll put a date in the diary.’

  It was the middle of the night and I’d woken with a start. At first I didn’t know what had jerked me back to consciousness, but then I realised it was the creak of my bedroom door opening. I opened my eyes and nearly had a heart attack. Chloe was standing just inches away, at the side of my bed. Her eyes were open, but strangely vacant; the cold, indifferent eyes of an animal. Both her arms were outstretched, as if she were looking for a victim to throttle.

  ‘Chloe?’ I said experimentally. There was no reaction. I sighed; she was clearly having another one of her episodes. Moving slowly, so as not to startle her into wakefulness, I swung my legs over the side of the bed. I barely had one foot on the floor before she lunged towards me, sending us both toppling backwards on to the bed. Her hands gripped my shoulders with surprising force and the ends of her hair dangled into my face, half-blinding me. I had no idea who – or what – Chloe’s fevered imagination thought I was at that precise moment, and I experienced a brief flicker of panic as I wondered if she was capable of harming me. But almost before the thought was complete, I told myself to get a grip, and cool, calm, clear-thinking Megan took control.

  I was taller and stronger than Chloe, so it was easy enough to wrench her hands off me and catch her in a bear hug. I held her like that, arms pinned to her sides, until, after a few seconds, she stopped struggling and went limp. Satisfied that the fight had gone out of her, I g
ently escorted her back to bed, where I laid her down and stroked her hair until her eyes fell shut. As I made my way back to my own bedroom, I thought to myself that these episodes were not one-offs. In fact, I had the strong sense that this was only the beginning. But I wouldn’t say anything to Chloe. There was no point worrying her unnecessarily; it was far better that she wake up in the morning with no memory of what had just happened.

  20

  My head is twisted at a very peculiar angle. I don’t think it’s meant to go that far back because my neck feels as if it’s about to snap. My legs are twisted too, bent at the knees and bowed backwards, over my head. The weight of my feet, dangling off the ends of my ankles in mid-air, is threatening to make me lose my balance, but I can’t . . . I mustn’t . . . my life depends on it. At least I’m not alone; Anouk is trapped underneath me. She’s on all fours like a cat, and I’m holding on to her back for dear life. She’s breathing very heavily, I do hope she’s all right. The seconds are going by ever so slowly . . . tick . . . tick . . . tick. I don’t think I can take much more.

  ‘And . . . relax.’ As soon as the words are out of Miss Sullivan’s mouth, I let go of Anouk and roll on to the thick purple mat beside her. My heart’s pounding and my hamstrings are so tight they hurt.

  When I look up from my half-sitting, half-lying position, Miss Sullivan is wearing a big smile that shows off her small, perfect teeth.

  ‘Well done, girls!’ she says, sounding like she really means it. ‘That’s a very difficult trick, I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to do it. But you did and I’m very proud of you.’

  I can feel myself going red – but in a nice way; it’s not often I do something right. Anouk and I turn to each other at the exact same time and I hold up my hands so we can high-five. I’m so glad Anouk likes gymnastics as much as I do. She didn’t do gym at her school in France, but Miss Sullivan says she’s a natural. She’s super flexible (her front walkover is AMAZING!), and even though she’s smaller than me, she’s strong . . . strong enough to carry my entire weight on her back. I never used to like doing partner work, mainly because I could never find anybody who wanted to be my partner – but with Anouk it’s different. It’s almost as if we were born to perform tricks together! We both love gym club and we always try to support each other and do our best. Any minute now, we’ll find out whether our best is good enough.

  Miss Sullivan claps her hands together and calls everyone over to the mats. ‘OK, children,’ she says. ‘I’ve had a chance to see everyone perform now. I know you all tried really hard, but unfortunately only one duo can represent St Swithun’s at next month’s Under-Twelves Acro Championships.’

  Anouk’s sweaty hand creeps across the mat and finds mine. I grip it tightly and hold my breath.

  ‘And that duo is . . .’ Miss Sullivan stops and looks at all of us, like she’s a judge on a TV talent show. For crying out loud, just get on with it! I scream silently.

  Then Miss Sullivan points at Anouk and me and says: ‘This very talented partnership right here!’

  I blow out a big puff of air through my lips. My head’s gone all swimmy. I feel as if I’m looking through a kaleidoscope; colours shift around the room, making it spin like a merry-go-round. Then Anouk’s arms are around my neck and her soft hair is tickling the side of my face. ‘We did it!’ she says in a high, excited voice.

  I hug her back. ‘Best Friends Forever?’ I whisper in her ear.

  ‘Best Friends Forever,’ she repeats. Then she pulls away and gives me a smile that almost stops my heart.

  Miss Sullivan is clapping now. ‘Come on, everyone,’ she says. ‘Let’s give them both a round of applause; they’ve certainly earned it.’

  People start clapping, a delicious, hot noise that fills my head and sends me floating up to the sky. I look round because I want to see Eleanor Hardy’s face (Eleanor’s rubbish at gym; she only comes because she likes the spangly leotards). Eleanor is clapping (she has to, Miss Sullivan’s watching) but she doesn’t look happy and her mouth is sucked into a fishy pout. I catch her eye and give her the evils. That’s right, you stupid, fat, ugly bitch, keep clapping; it’s about time you showed me some respect. Sometimes (like right now) I wish certain people could read my thoughts. I expect it’s better that they can’t, because if they knew what went on in my head, they’d probably lock me up and throw away the key.

  21

  Chloe

  I’d looked and looked, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. I knew where it was supposed to be – where it always was – nestling in its velvet-lined case, in the drawer of my dressing table. The case was there, but the necklace had gone.

  My grandmother’s necklace was one of the most precious items I owned – certainly from a sentimental point of view, and probably in monetary terms as well. I was thirteen when my father’s mother died and left me the necklace in her will. It was an eye-catching piece dating from the twenties, a diamond, amethyst and seed pearl pendant, suspended from a delicate rope of white gold. My grandfather, who worked for Rolls-Royce and was quite well off, bought it for his wife on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. I didn’t wear it very often – it was quite an ostentatious item – but when I did, it always attracted a lot of attention.

  I cast my mind back to the last time I’d seen it, several weeks earlier. I’d worn it to the wedding reception of a friend of Tom’s and I remember thinking how beautifully it set off my beaded, flapper-style dress. A sudden blade of alarm pierced my gullet; I couldn’t have lost it as we danced at that stately home on the Surrey-Hampshire border, could I? No, of course not, I would’ve realised as soon as we got home. I closed my eyes, trying to recall the sequence of events that evening, after the cab had dropped us off at Bellevue Rise. Tom and I were both fairly drunk, but I distinctly remembered taking the necklace off and placing it carefully back inside the case. At least, I thought I did. I had noticed that, just recently, I got muddled about all sorts of things with frightening ease.

  If I had lost the necklace – and quite frankly I couldn’t see how that could have happened – I would be absolutely devastated. My grandmother had been an eccentric character, prickly at times, but I had been fond of her and she of me. I knew how much the necklace meant to her, especially after Granddad died, and she had entrusted its safekeeping to me. Even as a little girl, I had already made up my mind never to sell it, but to pass it on to my children one day.

  Realising that I still hadn’t checked under the bed, I dropped to my knees and squinted into the narrow space under the divan . . . there was nothing, just a solitary hairclip among the dust balls. As I staggered to my feet, I was forced to steady myself on the headboard. I wasn’t feeling too good. It wasn’t just my anxiety over the missing necklace; I felt physically unwell. I had shocking heartburn, as if I’d swallowed drain cleaner; everything inside me stung. I was tired too; I couldn’t stop yawning and a scratchy veil of fatigue hung over my eyes. The tattered shreds of last night’s dreams were still hung high on the masts of my unconscious, like ragged sails, flapping after a storm.

  I resigned myself to picking up the search later on; Tom and Sammi were downstairs, cooking dinner, and would be wondering where I was. Dinner had been Sammi’s idea; there was a new lasagne recipe she was keen to try out. Unfortunately, Megan wouldn’t be joining us, as she was working another one of her interminable late shifts. Earlier on, I’d helped with the meal prep, chopping onions and tomatoes, while Tom made a white sauce under Sammi’s supervision. It’s funny, but I hadn’t realised Tom was so interested in cooking; whenever I went to his, we always got takeaways. But then Sammi came along and it was as if she’d brought out the latent gastronome in him.

  Once the lasagne was safely in the oven, I’d excused myself and popped upstairs to get some Gaviscon for my heartburn. I kept it in my dressing table drawer, and as I moved the jewellery case to one side, I thought it seemed unusually light; that’s when I discovered the necklace was missing. With any luck, Tom would be able to shed
some light on its disappearance.

  I could hear them laughing as I made my way downstairs. I was surprised they’d hit it off so quickly – almost from the first time they met, in fact. I liked Sammi, but she was an acquired taste and I couldn’t see that she and Tom had that much in common. I must say, she was looking particularly fetching that evening, in a figure-hugging black bandage dress that very few women over the age of twenty-five could get away with – a bit dressy for a simple supper at home, but I guess if you’ve got it, why not show it off?

  When I reached the bottom of the stairs I hesitated, I don’t know why. The lights in the hallway were off, making the scene up ahead, in the well-lit kitchen, appear particularly vivid. I watched from the shadows as Sammi lifted a wooden spoon to Tom’s lips, her hand underneath it to catch the drips. She was still laughing about something or other and this was making her hand shake. As Tom took the end of the spoon in his mouth, he had to hold her wrist to steady it, an act that seemed to cause even more merriment between them. In that split second, I had a sudden, sharp feeling that this would be one of those moments that would be forever caught on a loop in my mind . . . a marker on the way to the point of no return. I stood there for perhaps a minute more, before coughing loudly into my fist and walking down the hallway towards them.

  ‘You have got to taste Sammi’s chocolate ganache,’ Tom said when I entered the kitchen. ‘It’s for the gelato sundaes; they’re going to be amazing.’ He took the wooden spoon from Sammi’s hand and went to dip it back in the saucepan.

  ‘Maybe later,’ I said, tasting bile in the back of my throat.

  ‘What were you doing upstairs for so long?’ Tom asked me. He walked towards me and I thought he was going to give me a kiss, but he was just reaching for the oven glove that was hanging from a hook on the back of the door.

  ‘I was looking for my necklace, the one my grandmother gave me; I think I’ve lost it.’