“Your hair.”
She pulled down the passenger sun-visor and stared into the small mirror to inspect herself. “Cheeky bastard,” she said, while trying to fix it with her long fingernails.
“Can’t believe how wet this year’s been. Hope it gets better for summer. I’m sick of all this rain.”
“Me too,” she said, pushing up the sun visor. “Maybe we should go away this year. Somewhere warm. What do you think?”
“Sounds good. Once I’m back in work and I’ve sorted a few things out, I should have some free time.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”
Frowning, he asked, “What are you talking about?”
“Well, you say the same thing every single year, and every year you’re too busy—or we can’t afford it.”
“That’s not true,” he replied, struggling to find conviction in his words. “We’ve been away lots of times.”
She looked at him in bewilderment. “That was our honeymoon, Rich—three years ago.”
The car fell silent. “I know, you’re right,” Richard confessed. “But I have been thinking since I’ve been off work, and I am gonna change. Life’s too short. We will go away somewhere this summer.” He put his hand on her leg. “I promise.”
Subtly nodding, she put her hand over his. “I hope so.”
Silence gripped the car again, so he started up the engine and reluctantly headed back home.
I will change, he thought, as he drove through the heavy rain, windshield wipers on at full-speed. I know I can. I’ll show her. When I go back next week, I’ll be a changed man. And she’ll have to eat her words. Work isn’t everything.
He turned on the radio, hoping to block out his guilt. The station played love songs—which didn’t help. Then he remembered the woman from his kitchen. He had almost gone the entire day without thinking about her, about the possibility of his house being haunted. He tried to shake off the events of the last few days: the TV, Nicky talking in her sleep. But he couldn’t. The closer he got to home, the more his mind raced.
He looked at the digital clock on the dashboard: 10:06 p.m. Straight to bed, he thought. No time to mill about in the kitchen. Nicky’ll be working tomorrow. She’ll need to sleep. Yes, everything’ll be fine.
But tomorrow I’ll be alone again.
He pushed the thought of tomorrow to one side and focused on the road ahead. They hadn’t said a word to each other the entire journey. Pulling up outside their house, he turned to her. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired. And wet. It’s been a long day. But it’s been nice to spend time with you.”
He smiled. “It has been nice. I’m gonna miss you when you go off to work tomorrow.”
She tapped his thigh. “I’m sure you’ll cope without me. You’ll have your new lady friend to keep you company.”
“Very funny,” he replied, fake-smiling. When he opened the door and climbed out of the car, his sock squelched as his foot touched the concrete.
But what if she’s right, he thought, approaching the front door. Would I really be alone tomorrow? And the next day? And the day after that? No. Don’t be stupid, Rich. This is Karen’s fault. You don’t even believe in ghosts. She’s just filled your head with this stuff, and this dark and rainy weather is making things seem worse. There’s nothing in your house. There’s no one in your kitchen. But what about Nicky’s talking in her sleep? How do I explain that?
When he entered the house, the lonely, creepy feelings began to resurface. In a matter of days his home had become a different place. Nothing like the wonderful first home together of five months ago. Nothing like the place they had spent a small fortune decorating to Nicky’s specific tastes.