Richard was sitting in the passenger seat of a car; the interior was outdated and scuffed. Christina was sitting next to him. She was staring down at a cell phone in her hand, clearly waiting for it to ring. “Bastard,” he heard her say under her breath. But then the sound of a ring-tone made her wince with fright. She held up the phone to see who the caller was, but lowered it back down to her lap with a look of disappointment. Richard could see the name Sophie Price displayed on the phone’s screen.
She groaned, and then pushed the ‘answer’ button on the display and held it to her ear, forcing a smile. “Oh, hi Sophie, how are you? I was just—oh, hello, Peter. Sorry, I thought it was Sophie.” She shuffled nervously in the seat, seeming flustered. “How you both holding up?” she said, with a sympathetic tone in her voice. There was a long pause as she waited for a response. “Urrr, I can’t right now, I’ve got to get to the office. I can give you Sharon’s number if you like. She’s the on-call today.” Richard watched intently as the muffled sound of Peter’s voice increased. “Calm down, Peter,” she said, “I’m sure there’s—” Richard could faintly hear sounds of pleading through the phone, causing Christina to clench up anxiously. With her mouth away from the phone she sighed. “Listen, I’ll try to pop ’round later for a chat, but—” Peter’s voice cut her off. “All right, I’ll come straight. Just give me ten minutes.”
She hung up the phone and sighed again.
Leaning forward, she checked her face in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes had dried and her mascara had not run again. “You can do this,” she told her reflection. “Don’t let some pisshead of a boyfriend ruin your day. You’re better than that.”
Richard could hear the rumbling of a tired engine as they drove past familiar houses. Everything seemed so real, even the smell coming from the air freshener hanging from the mirror. But yet it couldn’t be real. He was home. Sleeping in his bed. Next to Nicky. Or was he on the couch? He couldn’t be sure. Nothing made sense.
Richard followed Christina across the road to a house. He tried to focus on his surroundings but the image was too foggy. She knocked on the white door and waited, nervously playing with the strap of her handbag draped over her shoulder. That door, Richard thought, I’ve seen it before. I’m sure I have.
As the front door swung open, he suddenly knew exactly where he was.
Peter Young’s tall and chunky frame filled the doorway. He was smiling. “Hi, Christina,” he courteously said. “Thanks for coming so quickly. I really appreciate it. Come in.”
“It’s no problem, Peter,” Christina replied, as he ushered her inside.
“How’ve you been? Everything going well?”
“Urrr… good thanks,” she replied.
He pointed to the living room. “Why don’t you take a seat in the living room and I’ll go get Sophie.”
Nodding, she entered the room. Richard followed closely. Sitting on the sofa, uneasy, she scanned the room. Everything was in disarray. The coffee table was stacked with empty cups, pieces of food, and discarded chocolate wrappers, the cream-colored carpet was covered in dirt and various other spillages, some of the photo frames had been knocked or turned over, and the single sofa chair was piled up with rumpled clothes.
Richard watched Christina fidget nervously on the sofa as the minutes passed. She tilted her head to see through the glass panel of the door for signs of movement—there were none. She checked her wristwatch and groaned, glancing impatiently again at the glass panel. She then stood, but the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs prompted her to remain seated. Peter entered and leaned against the doorframe, still smiling.
“Is Sophie all right?” Christina asked, calmly, clearly hiding her anxiety. “Is she on her way down?”