by Ruth Harrow
Totally bewildered, I replace the cover. Thinking it is worth a try, I click the main switch off and on again, but to no surprise, it does nothing to help.
I will have to call someone out in the morning. Lie or not, Lisa was right about not getting a plumber on a Friday night.
Once in the kitchen, I double check the patio door is firmly locked. Then I do something I have only done once or twice before and roll down the Venetian blind over the doors.
Even though there is nothing but a surround of dense, dark woodland around the house, I feel as though there might be eyes on me, watching.
In the kitchen, I take some much-needed paracetamol. The cold water slides down my throat, chilling me anew from within.
Desperate for warmth, I make some hot chocolate and take it through to the lounge. I settle on my large fabric sofa, still in James's coat.
If I hadn't had a falling out with Nicole this evening, I would probably go around to her place for the night. Although I can't imagine I would get much rest. She would be giddy, keeping me talking all night.
Right now I am very tired. I close my eyes, but I know I have no chance of sleeping after so much unrest. At the end of a tough day, a retreat into my own house should be safe and comforting. I don't like the fact that such a trivial fault has changed the atmosphere so much.
When my eyelids slide open again, my eyes are drawn straight to the hearth where a dark, red stain stretches over my dove carpet.
I've always thought the sharp edge of the stone fireplace would be a nasty place to have a fall. All too easy to hit one's head.
I really need to get that stain fixed.
14
It is past one in the morning and I'm still wide awake. I've been in bed since I finished my cocoa – it was too cold to do much else.
I've tried to get back into my latest read, but my eyes dart over the words of the same page over and over again, refusing to send them to my brain.
I've scoured countless forums and help-guides on how to fix a boiler, but without knowing what is wrong it is hard to know what to try. And besides, I don't feel like going back outside again in the dark.
There is no sign of drowsiness approaching on the dark horizon and for hours I know what I have needed to do, I've just been putting it off.
It has taken a while, but I've managed to build a layer of heat around me under the duvet, and I am reluctant to leave it. At the same time, I know I can't stay awake all night either.
I'm dressed now in a woolly jumper and leggings and I slip my fluffy slipper-boots over my double socks.
I creep across the landing and downstairs. Flicking on the kitchen light, a warning pain behind my eyes erupts, threatening the return of my headache.
In the medicine cupboard, I move aside the endless bottles of supplements and vitamins and a large bottle of cough syrup which must belong to James. At the very back, my fingers close around what I am looking for.
I pull the small white box out and shake the contents onto my kitchen island.
The last thing I wanted was to resort to sleeping pills, but I have tried everything else. It has never been easy for me to sleep when James is away, but this time it is worse than ever.
In Milan, I don't know how I managed on a few hours here and there. If I did manage to drift off at a reasonable time, then I would simply wake in the middle of the night.
That is the worst time. Awake in the darkness with no one and nothing to distract me from troubling thoughts.
The doctor had prescribed these before I left for Italy, but I have put off using them. My eyes scan the leaflet that contains the usual scary terminology – the side effects and potential allergic reactions.
Severe side effects include memory loss, delusions, hallucinations, depression, loss of balance...
The list goes on.
'Great.'
I discard the leaflet, not wanting to read any more. I have made up my mind, I don't need any further stress.
The dosage slides down my throat with more icy water from the tap before I return to bed.
I return to my phone, trying to wriggle into the same position as before to regain some heat.
This time I scroll through a news site, reading stories about how wrong the lives of others have gone, thinking it might take my mind off my own troubles. But in reality, it only saddens me further, depleting my faith in the human race.
After a while, drowsiness starts to creep in around the edges of my vision.
I tap another link and find myself yawning as I scroll through the article, not really taking it in.
Another headline, another story and my arms are heavy. I lower the arm holding my phone and close my eyes.
A loud snap wakes me up, feeling impossibly close. My blurry eyes try, and fail to focus in the darkness.
More noises.
I'm sure I can hear footsteps on the staircase. My head is heavy, but I manage to turn it towards the bedroom door. There is dim light shining through the gap.
Did I leave the kitchen light on?
I don't remember leaving the bedroom door open either.
I hope it's my imagination telling me that I sense a presence on the other side. Although I can't hear anything, I feel as though there is someone standing on the other side, breathing.
Listening.
I'm trying to summon the strength to get up, but I can't feel my body. I'm strangely numb and feel as if I'm floating.
My eyes slide shut and I know no more.
15
My eyes flicker open long enough to register that the curtains are glowing warm amber.
Sunshine.
I've never been more pleased to see the sun. I feel so warm and comfortable that I can't seem to move. My head feels as though it is made of cotton wool. Thick and heavy.
Somewhere outside some birds twitter, delighted too that the sun is up after a long night.
I still can't move. I can't think of a reason to leave the warmth and softness that surrounds me.
I feel myself slipping into dark unknowing again, birdsong floating far away from me.
*
In my dream, I'm banging a drum softly with my palm, but an annoying high-pitched chiming is emanating from it instead, interrupting the intuitive stream of rhythm I am trying to swim in.
My eyes open and I'm staring at the ceiling. The room is bright, but my eyes slide closed again.
Then vibration erupts in my hand, startling me. I look down, expecting to see an angry bee, but see only my phone still in my grip from last night.
Last night.
Turning my stiff neck, I look towards the bedroom door – it is shut.
I had closed it to keep out any draughts. But I have a clear mental image of it being open and with light glowing in the gap.
Or had I dreamed that?
My phone buzzes again, at the same time the doorbell rings. I look at the screen to see Nicole's name. I groan and manage to answer.
'Hello?'
Nicole's hysterical voice screeches down the line. 'Heather! What are you doing? You scared me half to death storming off like that and then not answering your phone – or your door! I thought something had happened to you!'
'I'm sorry, Nic.' I swallow. 'I was upset. I didn't mean to. It's just...'
Nicole's voice sounds concerned. 'Heather, are you all right? You sound terrible... Did something happen to you?'
'No, I just. I didn't sleep well, that's all.'
'Are you sure?' She sounds sceptical. Perhaps she has known me for too long, learned how to spot a lie.
I feel a shred of panic as I wonder what else she has picked up on.
'Heather, is someone there with you?'
'What? Of course not. I'm married! Why would you say such a thing?'
There is a pause. 'I don't know, Heather. Sometimes, I just feel that... I don't know. I think you keep secrets from me, that's all.'
I can imagine her shrugging.
'Don't be silly, Nic. Loo
k, are you at home this morning?'
'At home? No – Heather I'm at your front door! Where are you...? Your car is parked outside. Are you sure you're alone? If you met someone–'
'Nicole – I'm in bed! My own bed. And I'm alone.'
The back and forth rhythm of the verbal tennis is waking me up.
I'm grateful and manage force my stiff body to sit up. 'I'm allowed to have a lie in on a Saturday aren't I?'
'A lie in? Heather, it's almost four o'clock in the afternoon.'
I stop trying to pull my jumper off. I've overheated at some point in the night and the hair at the back of my neck is soaking wet.
'Heather? Are you all right? Come and open the door and let me in. I'm freezing out here. Let me look at you.'
I drag myself out of bed with some difficulty.
In the full-length mirror by the front door, I catch sight of myself. I've taken off my oversized jumper, but I'm still wearing an old sweatshirt and faded leggings. My usual flyaway hairs are stuck to my face and neck and last night's makeup is smudged around my eyes.
I flatten my hair hastily, knowing it will make little difference.
On the other side of the door, Nicole is perfectly polished. Her honey-coloured hair is sleek and clean and she is dressed in chic wool and black riding boots.
In one sweep, her eyes take me in and she confirms what I already know. 'Heather, you look a mess. What's going on?'
She steps inside and shivers animatedly. 'It's freezing in here. What have you been doing?'
'The heating has broken down,' I explain, leading her through to the kitchen, thinking of nothing but hot coffee.
As I walk through the doorway, my eyes fall on the box of sleeping pills still out on the island. I sweep forward and grab them, stuffing them into a drawer.
I glance across at Nicole, but she is busy getting water for the coffee machine and doesn't seem to have noticed.
'Thanks, Nicole,' I say as she hands me a cup of coffee and sits down at the island with her own.
She eyes me warily. 'So what happened last night, Heather? You just ran off and didn't answer your phone. What were you thinking?'
'I'm sorry. It was just a shock that you invited someone else, that's all. Especially the old school bully I'm being forced to work with.'
Nicole again looks mortified. 'Heather, I honestly thought I was being helpful. I imagined the ice would melt and you two would just click. You get on so well with everyone else. Usually, you can make friends with anyone.'
'I know. I'm sorry I just went off without you, OK? It won't happen again. Just don't spring any more surprises on me, please. Promise?'
'Promise.'
Nicole smiles but still watches me carefully. 'Is James not around? His car wasn't outside.'
'I told you, he's working away.'
'I thought he might have changed his mind, stopped here before the next seminar.'
'No, it doesn't make sense to do that. The next one being so soon and all...'
'I guess.'
'Are you worried he is going to spring a surprise visit on me? It's a good thing I really didn't bring someone home last night, then isn't it?'
Nicole bursts into one of her girlish giggles. 'I'm sorry, Heather. I didn't know what to think.'
'I'd recommend you don't think that.'
Nicole's face turns serious again and she eyes me strangely. 'You know, Heather, I've been thinking.'
'Oh dear.'
'No, I'm serious. You might want to think about taking a step back from this new project of yours. I've never seen you lose your temper like you did last night. Maybe the pressure is really getting to you.'
'What? No, I'm fine. I won't be working with Lisa all the time. I won't see her again once the job leads onto other things with Jones and Stanton.'
Nicole perks up. 'Have they said you're going to get the permanent work, then?'
'No.'
I want some formal confirmation before I make an announcement to everyone about what John said, even to James.
Especially to James.
Nicole looks sceptical again. 'Heather, you don't seem as enthusiastic about this job as the others. Maybe you should take a break. Find something you are happier working on, with some friendlier colleagues...'
I think of the potential warehouse full of Jones and Stanton products that could have my name on them and shake my head. 'No, this is what I need to do. This is my career. I can't just take time off whenever I feel like it – that's not what professionals do. And besides, I really need the money.'
Nicole's face tilts back up from her coffee. 'Do you? I would have thought James's salary would cover all the bills.'
My accountant friend can obviously do the calculations. She lives just down the road and knows what it takes to keep this house running.
'Well, yes. It does. But it's just that I don't like leaving it all up to James. I like to contribute – I want to. And besides, James could lose his job at any time. He could have an accident and be unable to work. Or his company could go bust or something.'
'Is that likely? I thought he was doing really well, giving these training seminars and stuff like that.'
I take a sip of coffee and shrug, relishing the warm liquid. 'No, I'm just saying, you know what can happen to people. You've seen all sorts of things happen to your clients. What about that handyman that went bust because of that surprise VAT bill? You never know what's around the corner. So as long as I can work, I will.'
Nicole shrugs. 'Fine. I just don't want to see you run yourself into the ground over a bit of money, that's all.'
I glance across at the kitchen drawer I hid the sleeping pills inside, irrationally terrified that it might have slid open, revealing its contents. 'I'm fine, Nic.' I say, using my well-worked fake smile muscles. 'I just had a bad night's sleep.'
16
As soon as an orange beam of sunrise illuminates my bedroom curtains, I get up; I've been waiting for it for hours.
Since taking the sleeping pills on Friday night, I have been determined not to take any more. I suspected they would make me feel drowsy, but not to that extent. I felt like I had to really fight to regain consciousness.
After Nicole had left, I checked the leaflet and learned I shouldn't have taken a dosage after drinking alcohol. But did I really drink so much that night to cause an interaction?
I suppose I must have.
Today I'm meeting John at the holiday apartments to take a tour of the properties. I need to take measurements and submit final designs for the rooms. Since John liked Lisa's take on the bathroom designs, I suppose she might be there today too.
The thought makes me cringe, but I know how important this project is for my future. Mine and James's future.
It's only just beginning to get light and I shower and dress in the carefully chosen outfit I selected yesterday – heels and a trouser suit. As I went through my wardrobe I had the oddest feeling that it was a little sparse. There was too much space between each garment, as though some were missing.
But I shook the thoughts away – there was nowhere the items could possibly have gone.
Anyway, I need to focus on the task in hand – I'm eager to set myself as much apart from Lisa as possible. Choosing my outfit more wisely will serve me well in the future.
I don't want to think that I haven't ventured far from the person I used to be at sixteen.
I need to be as far away as possible.
As long as I look immaculate, I will feel confident. And being confident, I can easily go through the motions of my usual project routine.
Yesterday, I drove into Sheffield and selected a gift for John to present to him today. I wanted to get him something to say “thank you” for selecting me on this project, and quietly too, for the potential business venture he has hinted we could go into together.
In the living room, I look at my latest acquisition set upon the coffee table. I opted for a luxury food hamper filled with British themed treats. It
seemed the most appropriate since John has a love of tradition and whimsy.
Now that I peer closely through the cellophane however, I notice the edges of the oat biscuits are crumbled. I wonder if I can take them out neatly.
As I start to undo the wrappings, I see that one side of the cherry cake is squashed. As I move the jar of conserve, a small shard of glass dislodges and slips out of sight into the straw, leaving the contents of the jar seeping sticky syrup into my hand.
I groan – I can't give anyone a gift in this condition.
Why hadn't I noticed the damage when I picked it up yesterday? Or was it done on the drive home? I'm sure I had it snugly secured in a box in the boot.
Rummaging through the hamper, I conclude that the only thing I can salvage is a tin of clotted cream fudge; not enough of a gift on its own, looking lost in a large hamper. Everything else is either broken, squashed or has been spoiled by droplets of dark damson syrup.
I've always given a gift to a client at this stage of the project. It's a trick I picked up from one of James's work colleagues, Gemma, who apparently spends hours selecting gifts for her clients and superiors. As much as I dislike her, she does have a tendency to win over everyone she meets.
Apart from myself.
She was James's girlfriend in Uni and I've always suspected she still has a thing for him. She has arranged too many late nights at the office involving just her and my husband for me to ever be a good friend of hers. Besides, she always eyes me with a certain level of disdain – even on our first meeting.
I have the feeling she has never approved of mine and James's relationship; I wonder if she has ever told him that during their long working stretches together.
Still, it doesn't worry me any more – Gemma was promoted out of my husband's office and he doesn't see much of her these days.
I check my watch – if I set off within the next twenty-minutes I might be able to drop in at John Lewis on the way and find another hamper before the meeting at the holiday properties this afternoon.