Fingers.
I look down at my hands. There’s an extra little finger on my right one. I stand there on the landing and almost laugh. I’m dreaming and I know it. The sound of scratching metal fades as I concentrate. I look at the landing door, but I know it’s not the door I want. I turn to the wall where some amateur ugly graffiti tags have been lazily sprayed. I mentally rearrange the lines to form a small door with a round handle like on a kid’s drawing.
The monsters behind me are closing in, but I ignore them as I reach out to open my new door. I think of a beach. Not the one from the crappy holiday we had in Blackpool where it rained nearly every day and Ailsa had teenage tantrums all the time because she hadn’t been able to bring her spotty twat of a boyfriend, but a really posh beach like in travel agents’ windows.
I twist the handle and step through.
My night terror disappears, and I’m on a white beach, warm breeze in my hair, the sand hot between my toes as the warm water laps at them. I’m in shorts and a T-shirt. I’m calm. I want to laugh. I want Adele to see this and then suddenly she appears – a dream-Adele. The water is unnaturally blue but it’s how I’ve always imagined the ocean to be. I add dolphins. I add a waiter walking towards us with tall cocktails. They look odd. I’ve never had a cocktail, but it tastes of strawberry slush, how I think they should. I almost add a needle and a high, but I don’t. In the dream I laugh and then the dream-Adele laughs and then I can’t hold it any more and I wake up.
BUT I DID IT. I can’t fucking believe I did it. I fucking did it! I can be the king of my own dreams. The next time will be better. I know it. I’m too pumped to go back to sleep. It’s four a.m. and everyone’s asleep but my heart is racing. I haven’t felt this good about anything in forever. It was like magic. Real magic, not a drug high. I’m itching to go and tell Adele but the girls are in the other half of the house and I can’t risk getting caught in there. They’d kick me out. When I got here I’d have welcomed that, but not now. I’m totally buzzing. I’m grinning like a twat just writing this. I won’t tell her that I imagined her on the beach with me, that she appeared straight away as if it were meant to be. As if I can’t imagine being happy without her. That freaks me out enough, fuck knows how she’d feel about it.
Nearly halfway through our stay now. What will happen when we leave? Can’t imagine Doctor-David wanting me around. Adele says he’ll love me, but she doesn’t know people like I do and he seems like a control freak to me.
I’m still wondering what that solicitor shit was all about. I haven’t pushed her on it, but she was weird after. She’ll tell me eventually. I’m good at getting people to talk. I do more listening than talking in the sessions now. Everyone wants to talk about themselves. Fundamental. Maybe I should get a fucking job here. (JOKES).
The birds are waking up outside. I still can’t believe I did it. All that pinching and finger counting paid off. I controlled my fucking dream. David can’t do that. This is something that’s hers and mine …
My eyes are blurring and I find myself reading the last sentence twice as the wine makes my head fuzzy. I close my eyes. Just for a second. The book slips from my hand. I need to brush my teeth, I think, vaguely, and then I’m asleep.
24
ADELE
It’s just awful. Awful. There are no other words to describe this morning. The shouting has stopped, but this deathly quiet is worse. I feel sick. I’m shaking. I don’t actually know what to say, or if there’s anything I should say. Or can say. This is all my own doing.
‘I’m moving into the spare room. For now. For a while. I think that’s for the best. Until we decide what we’re going to do.’ His voice is professionally calm, but he’s livid. I know him. All I want to do is cry, but I don’t. I keep my face haughtily impassive. I don’t want him to know how much he’s hurting me.
‘Where’s the credit card?’ he asks, his eyes cold.
The things I’ve ordered from the shopping channel started arriving at 8 a.m. and were all here by nine. I timed them all perfectly, paying extra for a specific time slot. The buying only took an hour or so of dedicated effort, but David’s American Express account is now hyperventilating at the cost of my random purchases. A new coffee machine – the finest model. A new bread maker – the same. Some jewellery. A very expensive camera. A slicer/dicer/steamer with all the accessories. And the pièce de résistance, a top of the range treadmill. Thousands of pounds gone.