Текст книги "Lost Girls"

Автор книги: Celina Grace

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Chapter Thirty

The calls began again the next day. Luckily, Matt was in the shower when the phone rang the first time. I picked up the receiver and dropped it back immediately. Three seconds later, it rang again and I did the same thing. Quickly I bent down and yanked out the plug. There. Silenced. I quickly walked to the bedroom and did the same thing to the phone kept there.

For a moment, I felt safe. The doors were bolted and she couldn't get me through the phone. I sat on the edge of the bed, twisting my hands together. At some point, I'd have to leave the flat. Would she be there? Would she follow me?

Matt came into the room while I was still sat on the bed. He was naked except for a towel around his waist. He plucked a shirt from the wardrobe and threw it on the bed next to me. It was as if I wasn’t there. For a moment, I thought of asking him if he was angry with me and then dismissed it almost instantly.

Matt reached for the telephone by the side of the bed. I watched in horror as he brought the receiver to his ear and frowned. He pressed the button on the cradle a few times and tutted.

I had to speak up. “I pulled out the plug,” I said, in a faint voice.

He looked at me as if he’d just remembered I was in the room. “You pulled out the plug? Why, for God’s sake?”

“It was – the calls that kept coming...” I trailed away limply as I saw him shake his head.

“For God’s sake, Maudie,” he said. “What’s wrong with you?”

I said nothing. He pushed the plug back into the wall socket with a jerk of his wrist and looked back over his shoulder. “I am really, seriously worried about you,” he said. “I’m even wondering whether I should call your therapist.”

“No!” My voice came out louder than I’d intended. I swallowed. “There’s really no need. I feel fine. Just a bit fluey.”

“But why did you pull the phones out?” he said. He had that helpless look on his face again, the look of someone swimming in unknown and dangerous waters.

“I just wanted a bit of peace,” I said. “I was getting fed up of those calls. That’s all.”

“You didn’t call the phone company?” he said.

I swallowed. “I did, actually,” I said, after a moment. “But they couldn’t do anything.”

I climbed back under the bed covers. Matt stood above me for a moment, hesitating. "I have to go to work," he said. "I need to sort out a few things."

"That's fine," I said. "Don't worry about me."

I saw his jaw clench. “Do you even remember what we talked about last night?” he said.

I rolled over, pulling the duvet up around my ears. “Yes,” I said in a mumble.

I could feel him still hovering above me. I heard him take a deep breath. “Alright,” he said eventually. “I’m going to leave you alone now. I want you to call me if – if you start to feel worse. In any way.”

I had the feeling he wanted to say something else but he didn’t. After a moment, he left the room.

As soon as I heard the front door slam, I threw back the covers and scuttled into the hallway. I locked it behind him, bolts and deadlocks shot home. Then I ran to unplug the phones.

I hadn’t showered, eaten breakfast, or even cleaned my teeth. In fact, I couldn’t quite remember the last time I had eaten something but it didn’t seem to matter too much at the moment. I wasn’t hungry. I went back to the sofa and lay there.

The beep of a text message arriving at my mobile alerted me. I opened the little envelope icon, wary. But it was just a missed call from Mr. Fenwick’s office. No doubt he’d been trying to get through on the landline. I took a deep breath and rang the number back.

“Maudie,” said Mr. Fenwick, when I finally got through to him. “How are you, my dear? I’ve been trying to get hold of you. I’ve just called Matthew and he said you were at home, ill. Did you know you had a problem with your telephone line?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” I said, lying through my teeth. “There’s nothing wrong with me. Thanks for telling me about the phone line, though.”

“Now, nothing for you to worry about but I need your signatures on a couple of documents. Nothing too exciting, just a few bits of paperwork for the estate. Is there any chance you could pop along sometime today to sign them? Do you feel up to it?”

I showered and dressed, yanking my clothes on clumsily, my fingers stiff. I was getting angrier and angrier, though with precisely whom I wasn’t quite sure. It was fury at a host of people; at Jessica, naturally. It was with Matt, for not understanding, for smothering me with his concern, for making me so ashamed of my drinking that I had to hide it from him. It was with Becca, for being pregnant and making me feel things I didn't want to feel. It was with Angus, for everything.

In the kitchen, I looked at the knife block. My hand went out and selected one, small enough to fit in my coat pocket. Just in case.

I banged the front door behind me and went downstairs in the lift, humming a quiet, bitter tune through clenched teeth. As I reached the outside air, I almost wanted her to be there. I was just about ready for a proper, stand up fight.

She wasn’t there. I felt the hot tide that had bourn me out of the door and down the storeys ebb and evaporate. Chastened, I hailed a taxi. I didn’t even bother looking about me as we joined the flow of traffic that pushed and jostled its way towards the city.

“Good God, Maudie,” said Mr. Fenwick as I entered his office. I was startled; he looked genuinely shocked. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” I muttered, taken aback. I caught sight of myself in the mirror hanging on the back wall of his office and nearly jumped myself. I was chalky as a ghost, the rings under my eyes, deep and plum coloured. My scar stood out like a brand.

We dealt with the paperwork quickly – there was very little to do. I could hear Mr. Fenwick begin to make tentative, preparatory enquiries into my state of health and headed them off by pretending not to hear. As decently as I could, I said goodbye and ran from the office.

She was waiting by the steps of the building, ten feet from where I’d emerged. Our eyes locked. She looked as pale as I had just seen myself to be. For a moment, I stood frozen, unable to move. Then I thought I’m damn – I’m fucking well not going to see you. I marched down the steps, not looking at her, not looking away from her. My neck felt stiff from the effort of not turning my head away.

When I drew level with her I thought she was going to reach out and grab me, but she didn’t. I turned my back to her and walked away.

I became aware I was holding my breath and let it out in a giant huff of air. I looked around for a taxi but there were no friendly yellow lights in sight on the roofs of approaching cabs. I could hear the ring of her high heels behind me, like steel pins going into the concrete. I turned blindly, down some side street. Almost at once, I realised this was a mistake. It was quieter on this road and I could hear her clearly behind me; her breathing, the flap and swish of her bloody black coat, the thud-thud-thud of her boot heels. Tears began to leak from my eyes.

Suddenly, she spoke. "Where are you running to?"

I didn't answer. I tried to walk faster.

"Always running away, aren't you?" she said. She sounded amused. "Never face up to anything in your life, do you?"

I stopped dead. I swung round. I pulled the knife from my pocket. She didn't notice it for a moment, not until I lifted it high. Her face went even whiter than it was already. She opened her mouth to say something, closed it, turned away.

"Yes," I said. "Now who's running? Now who's running?"

Her blonde hair bounced as she scurried away. I started laughing; she looked so silly, running away like a scared little rabbit. She was scared of me. I started to run after her, waving the knife like a talisman.

"Not so brave now, are you? Not so brave now! Come back, Jessica! You came back once before... come back again. Come back! Come back! Come back!"

I stumbled over something as I took another step forward. Suddenly the pavement became six inches lower. I fell forward onto my knees, skinning my hands on the concrete. The knife fell onto the ground in a musical tinkle; it span around in a circle, skidding around, and the noise it made was drowned out in a horrible screech, a crescendo of noise that rose and grew and flowed over me like a wave. It must be Jessica screaming, I thought, before something slammed into me hard enough to knock the breath from my body. As I fell sideways I saw the knife on the dirty concrete road, glinting in the winter sun, a yellow star of light twinkling on the blade. The star grew until it filled my eyes, a sunburst of yellow light that blotted out the rest of the world.

*

When I next opened my eyes, white cotton had replaced the glinting knife. I blinked a couple of times. One minute I had been face down on dirty concrete and the next I was... where? I moved my head and a gigantic bolt of pain shot through it.

I may have slept for a little while. When I opened my eyes again, cautiously, I was conscious of time having passed. I managed to move my head a little. I was lying in bed. A hospital bed. For a moment I wondered whether I was dreaming but I could smell that hospital smell; the usual, nauseating mixture of antiseptic floor wash, canteen food and something underneath it all, something rank. Matt was sitting by the side of the bed, looking at me. His eyes were red.

"Door," I said.

He leant forward. "What's that, darling?"

"I said 'hi'," I said. My voice was croaky. "What happened?"

"You got hit by a car, darling," he said, speaking gently. "They think you have concussion."

I shut my eyes, trying to process this. I could hear a gentle creak but I couldn't work out if it was in my head or in the room. I felt as if the entire surface of my skin was covered in bruises and here and there were sharper areas of pain; on my knees, my right elbow, the palms of my hands. I managed to free my arms from beneath the clamp of the hospital blankets and looked at my hands – they were skinned raw.

“Your poor hands," said Matt. "You must have fallen in front of a car. Don't you remember?"

"Sort of," I said, vaguely. "I think I was-" I stopped, remembering Jessica's white face. "I must have fallen over."

Matt looked doubtful. "You gave the driver a hell of a fright. They thought they'd killed you."

"Killed me," I repeated. "No, they didn't. They didn't kill me. I wasn't killed."

He looked at me strangely.

He took my hand, carefully. "You poor thing. Listen, I'm going to leave you to get some more rest now, but the doctors say you can probably come home tomorrow. You're very lucky, you know, Maudie. I can't believe you got off as lightly as you did."

He kissed me on the forehead and I tried not to wince.

"Oh, sorry," he said.

"The door's open," I said.

"What?" Matt looked at me sharply. "What was that?"

"I don't know," I said. I was mumbling, falling backwards into sleep. "Doesn't matter."

I closed my eyes again, shutting out the light.

 When we got home, Matt wanted to carry me to the bed.

"I can walk," I said.

"Maudie, you're as white as a sheet," he said. "Just shut up and hold on for a moment, there's a good girl."

I put my arms around his neck. I felt dreadful, limp as a wet piece of paper. My head throbbed. "It's like we've just been married," I said, as he struggled over the threshold.

"Yes," he panted, lowering me to the bed. I couldn't sustain my smile any longer as my head touched the pillow. I felt so weak and awful, I began to cry.

"There, there," he said, pulling the duvet up around me. "Just rest. That's what you need."

"I know," I said, voice thick with tears. "I can't sleep while the door's open."

Matt gave me a strange look but he didn't say anything. He tucked the duvet under my chin and patted my shoulder.

"Just rest," he said. "I've got to pop out now to get some stuff; we've got no food in the house. I'll leave you to sleep. I'll be back later."

I heard the front door shut. Immediately, I pushed back the covers. Despite the pain in my head, I couldn't lie still any longer; I buzzed with adrenaline. I was terribly, horribly afraid.

I made my way to the door, hanging onto pieces of furniture to stop myself from falling. In the hallway, I gave up and went down onto my knees, crawling along the carpet. I reached the living room. I don't know where I was going, what I was trying to do; all I could do was try to get away, to crawl away from the fear. In my head, a door was opening and yellow light began to creep out, at first a narrow ribbon, a chink, widening to a strip that grew and grew and flooded my head with light. I could hear myself crying out. Stop it, stop it, crying out to an uncaring world, stop it, stop it... but it wouldn’t be stopped, it was too late. It was too late now, because the door was open.

It’s the door in the cottage in Cornwall. But it's not the front door with the abyss behind it, is it? It never has been. I creep along the hallway, I open that door and look out at the night beyond; the rolling black sky, the rustling, creeping countryside. And I close that door. It’s the door to the living room that stands half open, faint yellow light spilling into the hallway through the gap. I see the light as I creep back along the hallway. I hear the voices coming from the room; the voices of Angus and Jessica.

Why don’t I open it fully? Am I scared I will get into trouble for being up so late? Is it the tone of Angus's voice that scares me; the unctuous, pleading tone I'd never heard him use before? Is it the way Jessica's voice goes hard and angry, the beginning of a shout, a scream – and then nothing, a choking noise, gasps? I push the door just a little, just enough to see into the room. Enough to see Jessica and Angus. Enough to see his large hand over her face, his large hand on her small neck. Her puff of cornsilk hair shaking back and forth. The monster from the stones is here in this room, all bulging eyes and bared teeth. I watch from the doorway, watch as the black cloud flows over her. Her bare legs buckle. I can see the dirty soles of her feet as Angus lowers her to the floor.

I don't scream. I make no sound. I have to get away before I too am swallowed up, eaten by the monster with a taste for small blond girls. I am aware that my trousers are wet, wet with a warmth that rapidly cools. I am climbing the stairs, not daring to look behind me. I can hear sobs coming from the living room, a terrible, harsh tearing noise that goes on and on. I have never heard my father cry before. I am in my bedroom again, but I am not safe – while that door is open, I will never be safe. I hide my wet trousers and pants in a pile of dirty washing in the corner of my room and put my nightdress back on again. I can hear the monster moving about downstairs now, still sobbing. I pull the covers up over my head. The door is open but I can close it. If I close it, I will be safe. For a moment, it resists but I push it with all my might, inside my head. The strip of yellow light shrinks, narrows. One last effort and the light is gone. The abyss has closed. Blackness surrounds me and I surrender to it gratefully. I am safe now. I sleep.

Chapter Thirty One

I sat there on the floor, my legs stretched out in front of me, floppy as a rag doll. The light gradually faded from the sky and the room became darker; the air inside gradually thickening until I couldn’t see my hands lying limp in my lap. I wasn’t aware of much, really; just the gradual darkening of the room, the draining of the light, the quiet rasp of my breathing.

I became aware of a figure standing in the doorway.

“What’s going on?” said Matt.

The sound of his voice roused me. I managed to move my head up, wincing. For a moment, I thought I wouldn’t be able to speak, that my voice would have been lost completely.

“Why are you sitting here in the dark?”

I dropped my eyes to the floor again. “I don’t know,” I said. I cleared my throat. “I think it’s because I’ve gone mad. Again.”

Matt didn’t say anything. I listened to the swoop and hiss and thud of my blood, pulsing inside me. My temples felt as if they were shut in a vice that was slowly closing. “Mad,” I said, once more.

I was aware of Matt moving towards me. Dimly, I felt his hands under my armpits, pulling me up gently.

“Up you come, Maudie...”

I was on the sofa. There was a rustling at the side of the room and then a warm bloom of light. I recoiled, blinking. Matt had drawn the curtains more firmly and switched on one of the table lamps. He stood in front of me, looking down on me with a slight frown, looking very tall and dark in his tweed jacket.

“What’s going on?” he said.

I managed to look up at him. Strangely, I felt like laughing. There was no Jessica. There never had been. I should have known, I thought, I should have known. All the signs were there.

“I’ve gone mad,” I said, once more.

Matt sat down next to me, quite lightly, as if he were about to spring off the sofa at any moment. I scare him, I thought. He put his hands out to my shoulders and then drew them back.

“Maudie, darling,” he said. “Tell me what’s been going on.”

I felt a warm, breaking wave of relief. I was going to tell him, finally, at last – I was going to tell him everything I should have told him from the beginning; Jessica, what had really happened in Cornwall, my hopes and doubts and fears – everything. I’d kept the door shut for so long; I’d kept that memory locked away, my ten-year-old mind trying to protect me from the awful truth. But I’d always known, hadn’t I? Because the door was in my head and I carried it around with me. The constant fear I’d felt in the presence of my father, the nervous breakdown, the drinking... all a direct consequence of the door in my mind, and what lay behind it.

Matt was watching my face, very carefully. I raised my eyes to his. “Angus killed Jessica,” I said.

He said nothing. He blinked once, twice. “What?” he said.

“You heard me,” I said. “Angus killed Jessica. My father killed her. In Cornwall, when we were both ten.”

He was silent for a long moment. “What do you mean?” he said eventually.

“I mean what I just said. Angus killed Jessica.”

“But-” he licked his lips and tried again. “What do you mean, he killed her? He really killed her? How do you know?”

“I saw him.”

“You saw him?” He put his hands out to my shoulders again and drew them back, again. “How could you have seen him?”

“When I went downstairs to meet Jessica. She was already there in the cottage. I saw him do it but I – I made myself forget it, I repressed it–”

“You forgot it?” He looked sceptical. “How could you just forget something like that?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know how I did it, but I did. It was like I had a room in my head and the memory went there, and I shut the door on it.”

Matt had been facing me but he slowly turned away. He was staring at the floor but then he looked back sharply. “Are you sure?” he demanded. “Are you sure you’re not just...”

“What?”

“Well-”

“I’m not making it up, if that’s what you mean,” I said. I didn’t speak sharply. I couldn’t summon up any kind of emotion.

He looked in my face again and he must have seen something to convince him. His face contracted a little.

“Why?” he said.

I closed my eyes. “I don’t know,” I said. “I couldn’t hear what they were saying before it – before it happened. Perhaps Jessica was – oh, I don’t know – threatening him over his affair with her mother. Oh yes–” I paused as Matt looked up sharply, “-he was having an affair with her mother. Perhaps he just went mad for a moment.” I gave a small laugh which was half a sob. “It runs in the family, don’t you know? Both sides, it seems.”

Matt black eyebrows were drawn together in a frown.

“Or perhaps there was another reason,” I said, softly. I said it almost to myself. “Perhaps he was – he–”

I had to stop. Did my fear of the open door go deeper than I remembered? I had a vision of myself as a small child, lying in bed, waiting wide-eyed with fear for the opening of the bedroom door. A vision or a memory? That was something I couldn’t face, an abyss too deep to ever climb out of. That was one door I would never open. I swallowed and thrust the thought away.

Matt hadn’t noticed my recent silence. He looked as though he was thinking ferociously hard. His gaze hadn’t moved from the floor.

“I’ll tell you about what’s been happening,” I said, when I was able to speak again. “I should have told you a lot earlier.”

He looked up at that. “Tell me what, Maudie?” he said.

“I need to tell you about Jessica,” I said. “Or someone I thought was Jessica. But it can’t be, because I know that Jessica is dead. I thought she came back, you see. Perhaps she did. Perhaps she is real, or as real as a ghost can be.”

He was staring at me again. “Maudie–” he said.

I went on, talking over him.

“But she’s not real,” I said. “She’s a figment of my imagination. I should have guessed it from the first – the black coat she wore, the way she just appeared from nowhere. I’d been through it all before. She isn’t Jessica, because Jessica is dead. She’s a hallucination. She’s a symptom of my mental illness.”

It took a long time. I had to keep going back over my story, filling in the little details, wondering what to include. He didn’t say much, just nodded, or asked me to repeat a few things. He didn’t touch me; he reached out a couple of times but his hands never quite connected with mine. But he scarcely took his eyes from my face. He had never paid such... such ferocious attention to me, not even at the start of our relationship.

Eventually, I stopped speaking. I felt limp, wrung out; leached of colour. I was spent. That summed it up for me; spent. I had nothing left in me.

After I finished speaking, we sat in silence. Matt had turned his face away again and stared into space. Then he got up. He moved like a man much older than his years.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “And I know this is normally something you’d say – but I need a drink.”

I didn’t watch him moving about the kitchen. I let my eyes go soft and unfocused, and stared into the middle distance. I listened to my heartbeat and my breathing. I’m still alive, I thought. Despite everything. I’m still here.

He came back and stood looking over me again, a brandy glass in his hand. “Have you told anyone else about this?” he said.

I shook my head.

“Seriously Maudie – you’re really sure? You haven’t told Margaret? Or Becca?”

“No.”

Matt leant forward and put his free hand under my chin, tipping my face up towards him. His eyes searched my face.

“Are you certain?” he said.

I shook my head, dislodging his fingers. “Yes.”

He left me again and walked into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. I didn’t blame him. I was just grateful he was still here. I leaned my aching head against the back of the sofa and closed my eyes.

After a while, I was again aware of Matt’s presence. I opened my eyes to find him holding out a bottle of my pills, and in the other hand, a brimming glass of brandy.

“Here darling,” he said, “drink this.”

I realised he still had his gloves on from when he’d come in from outside. He must have been shocked to forget to take them off – Matt never did silly things like that. I took both things from him. It was odd, but for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like drinking. I felt oddly calm, peaceful even. Whatever had festered inside me for so long had been lanced, the poison drained away. Despite my aching head, and my injuries, I felt cleansed.

“Go on,” said Matt, “Drink it up.”

I took a sip.

“Ugh,” I said, almost gagging. “It tastes foul.”

Matt sat down next to me again, rather gingerly.

“Well, it’s supposed to. Spirits aren’t supposed to taste nice.”

I took another sip and grimaced.

“I’ll have it later,” I said, and put the glass down on the floor.

Matt looked annoyed.

“You’ve had a shock,” he said. “Drink it.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You don’t want a drink? You don’t? That must be a first.”

I felt a sob start to come up through my chest. “I’m sorry, Matt, but I just don’t want it.”

“Well, at least take your pills, then.”

I stared down at the little brown bottle in my hands. “These are sleeping pills.”

“I know,” said Matt. “I think you need a rest.”

I fumbled with the cap of the bottle. My hands felt weak as water. Eventually I managed to open it and took out one of the little white capsules.

“You’ll need more than that,” said Matt.

I stared at him. “What do you mean?”

He smiled, a gentle, sorrowing smile. I couldn’t see his eyes behind the opaque lenses of his glasses. I thought for a second of reaching out and removing them from his face. My hand reached out to do so, but I stopped it. “I’m sorry, Matt,” I said.

He shook his head, still with the same smile on his face. “Don’t you think this has gone on long enough, Maudie?”

“What do you mean? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before–”

He shook his head. Then he must have read my mind. He reached up and took off his glasses, folding them and putting them down on the side table. “I can’t do this anymore,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I whispered. I felt a coldness creeping through me. “What do you mean you can’t do this anymore?”

He looked away from me. He had his hands folded on his lap, as if he were in church, his head tilted to one side, as if listening to a far-off sermon.

“It’s the end of the road, Maudie,” he said. “I’ve had enough.”

“Oh–” I said, but that was all I could say without my voice breaking.

He looked back at me then. “I can’t take it any longer.” Unmasked by glass, his eyes were beautiful. I couldn’t look away from them.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered.

He leant forward and put a gloved finger to my cheek. I felt the cold leather pass over my lips and move up to my hairline, tracing the ridge of my scar.

“Take them all,” said Matt, very softly.

I stared at him. I put my hand up to touch my mouth, to touch the place his finger had traced.

“What?”

He smiled at me. “Take them all, Maudie. Stop fighting it. Can’t you see this is a sign?”

I drew back. Again, I had the weird feeling, as if I were dreaming awake. I put a hand out to touch him but he drew back.

“What?” I said, again.

There was a creak of floorboards that made me look over at the door. There was no light in the hallway. From the darkness, into the dim light of the living room, came a tall, thin figure. She coalesced out of the inky air, as if her components parts were drawing themselves together. Her black coat moved around her like mist. I shrank back in my seat with a terrified moan. Not here, not in my house, my one refuge... I could feel myself gasping in air, anything to get my frozen body to start working again.

“No,” I said. “You don’t exist. You’re not really here.”

Jessica moved forward slowly, one step into the room, another step. Her face was pale. I could hear my high, terrified breathing. It was the only sound in the room. “I don’t believe in you,” I said. “You don’t exist.”

Matt looked at me. Then he turned his head to look in the direction I was staring.

“What are you doing here?” he said.

There was a moment’s silence. I turned my head towards him, creakily, moving like an old woman. I couldn’t think of how to answer him.

He said it again. “What are you doing here? I told you never to come here.”

“I–” I said, with no knowledge of what I was going to say. Then I realised he wasn’t talking to me.

Jessica moved another step forward. Her face was chalky-pale, her eyes black-shadowed. She wasn’t looking at me either. She was looking at Matt.

“I know,” she said.

It was like watching a play in a foreign language. Like listening to music underwater. I could feel myself screwing up my face and shaking my head, as if to clear my ears.

“I told you never to come here,” Matt said, again. Jessica stopped moving towards him. She hadn’t looked at me once.

I took in a gasp of air. “What’s going on? Matt – Matt – can you see her?”

He ignored me. He wasn’t looking at me either. I had a sudden, terrifying thought; Jessica and I had swapped places, perhaps even bodies – she was the one everyone could see and hear and speak to, while I had become the ghost. I grabbed at my own arms, pinching the gooseflesh.

“Matt, Matt, can you see me? Can you hear me? Tell me I’m the one you see, I am, I’m the one you see – don’t tell me it’s her, tell me you can’t see her–”

He got up from the sofa and looked at me. At last he looked at me. Something strange was happening to his face. It was lightening, gradually, undergoing a subtle transformation. He looked like himself, but different, somehow; as if he were gradually shedding a mask, or gaining one, revealing a face that looked almost the same.

“Would you, for once, just shut up?” he said. “Every time I think you can’t say something stupider than before, you continue to surprise me.”

The shock was beginning to hit me now. I didn’t understand, not everything, but my body knew. I could feel prickles of sweat breaking out all over my face, as if I was about to be sick.

Matt turned to face Jessica, the woman who said she was Jessica. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? I told you never to come here.”

“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” said Jessica. She walked a little further into the room. She pulled off her gloves as she did so. Finally, she swung her gaze towards my face, looking at me with a frown.

“Put those back on for a start,” said Matt. “You had no right to come here. I told you I’d handle it.”

Jessica – I had to call her that, what else could I call her? – stood in the middle of the room. She hadn’t taken her eyes from my face; she hadn’t looked at Matt once since he spoke. She kept frowning.

“I was worried,” she said.

“Worried?” said Matt. “I told you I’d contact you afterwards. Get out of here, you’ll fuck the whole thing up.”

Jessica didn’t reply. She brought her arms up across her body, as if she were cold. I felt the same. I was shivering so hard my body was making the sofa vibrate.

She looked at me, properly at me. Our eyes met. Her hand went up to her throat and I saw she was wearing the necklace I’d bought her.