Now that my fear is fading, I feel something else. Free. Released. I have no weight. I almost go to Adam’s room, but worry that somehow he will see me. Where can I go? How far can I go?
Next door. Laura’s flat. I somehow expect to be there in a flash, as if I’m some kind of fairy godmother waving a magic wand, but nothing happens. I focus harder. I feel for Laura’s flat. The wholeness of it. The oversized TV that takes up most of one wall. Her awful pink faux leather sofa that I should hate but which makes me smile. Her cream carpet, the kind you can only have when you don’t have small children. The sofa, the carpet, her marshmallow colour scheme. I will myself into it. And then, as if propelled on a gust of wind, I’m there.
Laura’s sitting on the sofa, in jeans and a baggy green fleece, watching TV. A re-run of Friends is on. Laura breaks off a chunk of Fruit and Nut chocolate and puts it in her mouth. She has a mug of coffee beside her – a mug with little pretty flowers on it. I wait for her to notice me, to look up in shock and ask me how the hell I got into her sitting room, but she doesn’t. I even stand – for want of a better word – right in front of her, but nothing. I want to laugh. This is crazy. Maybe I am crazy. Maybe David should be giving me some of those pills he’s trying to fill Adele up with.
David and Adele. Their kitchen. Could I go as far as that? I focus, and for a moment, as I picture their granite surfaces and expensive tiles, the unused calendar discreetly hung on the far side of the fridge so it doesn’t disturb the lines of the room, I feel something change, the breath of wind rising to carry me there, but nothing happens.
At the core of this strange invisible me I feel as if I’m at the end of a stretched elastic band. I try again, but I can go no further, as if my body is tugging me back like a toddler. I move more carefully this time, out into Laura’s kitchen, where I take note of the unwashed dishes on the side, not too many, but enough to prove she’s having a lazy day, and then I go through the door to the external walkway between our flats. I feel no temperature change, even though it was chilly outside when I collected Adam from his party.
You can’t feel it because you’re not actually here, I tell myself. You just walked through a door.
I feel wonderful, as if all the stresses and strains have been left behind and I am entirely liberated. No hormones, no tiredness, no chemicals adjusting my mood; I’m simply me, whatever that is.
I try once more to get to Adele’s house, to check that she’s okay, and although I find myself at the far end of the walkway this time, that’s it. The elastic feels stretched to breaking point and it’s slowly pulling me back, despite my resistance. I move back, enjoying the height, the almost flying of it, towards my own front door, and then I’m inside my home.
‘Mummy!’ I hear him before I see him.
In my bedroom, Adam is beside the bed, tugging at my arm, my mobile phone in one hand.
‘Wake up, Mummy! Wake up!’ He’s almost in tears as he shakes me. My head has lolled sideways, and my hand is dead in his. How long has he been here? How long have I been gone? Ten minutes at most, but enough to worry my baby boy trying to wake me. I’m alarmed to see him so upset and I panic and I—
—sit bolt upright with a huge gasp of breath, and my eyes fly open. I feel the sudden weight of every cell of my being, and my heart goes like a jackhammer with the shock. Adam has stumbled backwards, and I reach for him, my hands cold against his warmth.
‘Mummy’s here,’ I say, over and over, when the world and my body have settled back around me. ‘Mummy’s here.’
‘I couldn’t wake you up,’ he says into my shoulder. A tremor has run through his safe world, an almost-death he doesn’t understand. ‘You wouldn’t wake up. Your phone was ringing. A lady.’
‘It’s okay,’ I mutter. ‘Mummy’s here.’ I don’t know who I’m trying to convince; him or me. My head is spinning slightly as I settle back into the weight of my limbs, and although his bottom lip is still wobbling slightly, he holds out the phone to me. I take it.
‘Hello?’
‘Louise?’
It’s Adele. Her voice is soft in my ear, but it brings me back to the moment. Adele never calls.
Adam is still watching me, almost distrustful that I’m actually alive and well, and I smile at him and mouth to get some juice and put some cartoons on. He’s a good boy and he does what he’s told, even though he’s unsure.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask Adele. I shiver, cold from lack of movement.
‘I wanted – well, I wanted you to forget about all the stuff I told you the other day. It was stupid. Just ridiculous thoughts. Put them out of your head.’ She sounds cooler, the tone of someone who’s regretting sharing a secret and now wants some distance.