Rubbing her eyes she made her way back to her own bed. The wedge of light was still shining through the door from the landing and for several minutes she stood staring down at him. He was curled up in the same position as his son, his face slightly flushed, relaxed and happy in sleep. Instead of a teddy bear he was cuddling a pillow. Smiling, she reached for the knot securing her bathrobe. As she slipped it off and threw it across the foot of the bed she glanced back at the landing. It was empty. Quiet. Nodding to herself, reassured, she pulled back the covers, ready to climb into bed. On her pillow lay another rose.
Backing away she stared at it in horror. ‘Luke!’ It came out as a strangled whisper. ‘Luke, did you –’ put it there, she was going to ask, but already she knew he had not. None of the roses had come from Luke.
Staring down at it in horrible fascination, she crossed her arms over her breasts. She felt sick and degraded. It was on her bed, her pillow, where earlier her head had lain, defenceless, asleep. For all she knew, he – it – had been standing there, watching her.
Shuddering, she backed away from the bed. ‘Luke!’ She reached for the light switch. ‘Luke!’
‘What is it?’ With a groan he turned over and peered at her, his eyes gummed with sleep, his hair tousled. Like this he looked more like Tom than ever.
‘Look.’ With a shaking hand she pointed at the pillow.
‘What?’ Groaning, he sat up. ‘What is the matter with you? Is it a spider?’ He peered round myopically. She had never been afraid of spiders.
‘Look at the pillow!’ she whispered.
Luke stared at the pillow. He shook his head. ‘Can’t see it. It must have gone. For God’s sake, Joss, it’s the middle of the night!’
‘There. There!’ She pointed.
‘What?’ Wearily he climbed out of bed and pulled the covers right back, exposing the pale green sheets. ‘What is it? What are we looking for?’
‘There, on the pillow.’ She couldn’t bring herself to come any closer. From where she stood she couldn’t see it, but it was there.
Without touching it she knew how it would feel. Ice cold, waxy.
Dead.
‘There is nothing here, Joss. Look.’ His voice had lost its grumpiness as sleep left him and suddenly he was gentle. ‘You must have dreamed it, darling. Look. Nothing. What did you think was here?’
She took a step closer peering at the pillow. ‘It was there. In the middle. A flower. A white flower.’ Her voice was shaking.
Luke looked at her hard. ‘A flower? All this panic for a flower?’ Suddenly he was cross again. ‘Flowers don’t just appear in the middle of the night. They don’t drop onto your pillow from nowhere.’
She flared up defensively, ‘For God’s sake. Do you think I would be afraid of a real flower?’
‘What sort of flower was it then?’
‘Dead.’
He sighed. For a moment he seemed at a loss what to say, then slowly, almost resignedly, he started pulling the covers back across the bed. ‘Well, what ever it was, it’s not there now. You dreamed it Joss. You must have done. There is nothing there. Look. Smooth sheet. Smooth duvet. Smooth, clean, fresh pillows. And I for one am getting into them and going to sleep. I am tired.’
She gave a small humourless smile. ‘I’m not going mad, Luke. It was there. I know it was there.’
‘Of course it was there.’ Irritated he thumped the mattress beside him. ‘Are you coming to bed, or do you want to go and sleep in the spare room?’
‘No. I’m coming.’ Tears of anger and humiliation and exhaustion welled up in her eyes. Quickly, not giving herself time to think, she made for the bed and climbed in. Luke’s energetic stripping of the linen had left the bed cold and pristine. It no longer felt cosy. Reluctantly she lay back and stared up at the tester as he leaned across and switched off the light. ‘Now, please let us get some sleep.’ He hunched the pillow round his shoulders. As he fell asleep he remembered only briefly the rose he had found on her pillow once before. The rose he had accused David Tregarron of leaving there.
Miserably she turned away from him.
Beneath her cheek the hard stem of the flower was cold and very sharp, the petals like soft wax.
17
‘Is there somewhere she could go and stay for a few days – away from here?’
Simon Fraser’s quiet voice penetrated Joss’s brain at last. It was two weeks later.
‘No, I can’t go. I mustn’t. I have to stay here.’
‘Why, exactly, Joss?’ The doctor was sitting on her bed holding her hand. The clock on the bedside table said it was ten minutes to four. Outside it was slowly growing light.
She shook her head. ‘I just want to be here. I have to be here. This is my home.’ Her desperate need to stay in the house was irrational, she knew, but she could not fight it.
‘Your home seems to be giving you nightmares at the moment. This is the second time in two weeks, that Luke has called me out. You are tired and over stressed.’ Simon smiled at her patiently. ‘Come on, Joss. Be sensible. Just for a few days so that you can have a good rest, be pampered, stop worrying about Tom and the baby.’
‘I’m not worrying –’ she could feel the house listening, pleading with her to stay.
‘You are. And it’s understandable. You are perfectly normal, you know. You have probably been sleeping badly and when you do sleep, you dream violently. The weather has suddenly grown hot and the baby is lying heavy on your stomach, as my old grandmother used to say. After all, there’s not long to go now. What are you? Thirty-six weeks? There is nothing wrong with you – or the house – but just at the moment I think it would be a good thing if you were separated. Luke will look after things here, and Lyn will take care of Tom. There is nothing for you to worry about. Lyn has told me it might be nice if you were to go up to London to see your parents. I know things there were not exactly ideal, with your mother ill, but I understand from Lyn that all the tests have been reassuring and she is on the mend and they would be happy to have you, so I think that is a good idea. An ideal solution.’
‘Luke?’ Joss stared at him. ‘Tell him I can’t go.’