I shake my head. ‘Nope.’
‘Zoe, that’s awful! Why did it happen to you of all people?’
That’s what I’d like to know. I glance away awkwardly. ‘Bad luck, I guess,’ I mumble.
‘Your neighbours should have called me. I’ve told them all several times–’
‘Mother!’ I’m aghast. ‘I’m not a child.’
She throws me a look. ‘And what would you do in my position?’
I grumble under my breath and change the subject. There’s no point arguing against the stony face and stalwart heart of a mother hen. ‘How was bridge?’
‘The Joneses were cheating.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘Really?’
‘Of course.’
I brew a pot of tea while she explains in great detail. Normally, I’d hang on every word but my mind keeps wandering back to the forest and the strange dark man with more muscles than manners.
‘Zoe, are you listening?’ she asks finally.
‘Yes!’ A beat later, I’m contrite. ‘No. Sorry.’
My mother sighs, reaching out to ruffle my hair. I pull away just in time and exasperation crosses her face. I offer her a tight smile. ‘Mum, when I was little, did I have many bad dreams?’
She freezes, her mug halfway to her mouth. ‘Why? Have you been having nightmares?’
I make a quick denial but still force the issue. ‘Did I?’
‘There were a few.’ She picks at her nail polish. My mother takes great pride in her appearance. She only starts destroying her manicure when she’s feeling stressed. ‘But lots of children have night terrors. And they went away eventually.’
‘Night terrors?’
She sighs. ‘When you were about four or five, there was a period of about six months when you woke up screaming every night.’
I swallow. ‘Really? I don’t remember at all.’
‘You were very young. It’s not surprising.’
‘Did I...?’ I pause, choosing my words carefully. ‘Did I ever say what I’d been dreaming about?’
‘Do we have to talk about this now? It was all a very long time ago, darling.’
‘Please. I’m just curious.’ I have a feeling my face betrays my desperation.
‘A birdman with a moustache.’
‘Birdman?’
‘That’s what you used to say. Now, where’s that cat of yours?’ She stands up.
I ignore her attempts to change the subject. ‘How did the dreams stop?’
‘They just did. You got older. You no longer needed a night light.’ Her eyes shift and I know she’s being as evasive with me as I was with the police.
‘Mum...’
‘Goodness! Is that the time? I must be off.’ She scoops up her belongings and makes a beeline for the door, scrambling to unfasten the locks. Her fingers fumble and she curses.
‘I’ll do it.’ I move past her. Unfortunately, as I do my arm brushes past hers and I flinch. Bugger it.
‘What’s wrong, darling?’
‘I might ask you the same question,’ I answer, still annoyed with myself. ‘You’re in a hurry to leave.’
‘I have a lot to do. I’m sorry. I’d love to stay longer.’
I unlock the door and turn to her. ‘It seems like you’re trying to avoid answering my questions.’
She trills out a high-pitched laugh. ‘Don’t be silly, Zoe! I’ll call you later and see how you are.’ She looks at the carpet. ‘Is that where the man...’
I nod and my mother shivers. ‘He should have had the consideration to die in his own home.’
‘Um...’
‘Sorry, darling. But you’ve been through enough trauma as it is.’ She kisses me on the cheek and this time I let her. After all, the damage has already been done. She leaves in a whirl of flying scarves and Chanel No 5. I watch her go, lost in thought. Once she’s out of sight, I re-bolt all the locks and go and sit down.
***
I fight sleep for as long as I can. Unfortunately by the time midnight rolls around I’m so tired that I know it’s a losing battle. I fall into bed – fully dressed this time – and close my eyes. For a moment nothing happens and I think I might escape but, just when I start to relax, my ears prickle again.
It’s the same forest. I really, really don’t want to come across that man again. Neither have I any desire to be chased by imaginary unicorns and cause them to be caught in the steel jaws of vicious mantraps. So, I take a gamble and walk in the opposite direction to the previous night, hoping no glowing eyes will suddenly appear. At least now that I’m clothed, it’s not as damn cold as it was before.
I tramp through the dry brush. I pay less attention to what’s around me this time; I’m more concerned with finding a way out of this bloody place. I move faster but the density of trees and undergrowth, not to mention the darkness, mean I’m still not as fast as I wish. I march on and on for what seems like an age. I remember my glee from the first night with Hartman and sigh. These hallucinations are no longer any fun.