‘You can go, Joss. I think you should. Just to give you a bit of a change.’
‘No!’ It came out as an undignified shriek. She struggled to get out of bed, pushing past Simon, who stood up and began to pack his bag. ‘I will not go. I won’t. I’m sorry, but this is my home and I am staying here.’ Barefoot, she rushed past Luke and into the bathroom where she slammed the door. She was hot and shaking, a pain somewhere up under her ribs. Stooping over the basin she splashed cold water onto her face and then stared up into the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, tears still clinging to the spikes of her eyelashes. ‘They can’t make me leave.’ She spoke out loud to her reflection. ‘They can’t force me to go.’
She could still hear her own screams ringing in her ears and feel the waxy imprint of the rose against her cheek – the rose which was never there when she awoke.
‘Joss?’ There was a soft knock at the door. ‘Come out. Simon is leaving.’
She took a deep breath. Pushing her hair out of her eyes she turned and unlocked the door. ‘I’m sorry, Simon.’ She gave him a determined smile. ‘I’m a bit tired and overwrought, I admit it. All I need is some more sleep. I am so sorry Luke called you out again.’
‘That’s OK.’ Simon lifted his bag from the bed. ‘As long as you are all right.’ He gave her one more beetly look from beneath his bushy eyebrows. ‘Keep calm, Joss, please. For the sake of the baby. Stay here, if that is what you want, but don’t let the place get to you, and,’ he gave her a stern look, ‘I think we should consider the idea that you might have the baby in hospital after all. Just a thought!’ He gave a sudden beaming smile. ‘Now, I’m for my own bed, and if you are sensible that’s what you two will do as well. No more alarums and excursions please. No, Luke, don’t show me out. I know my way by now.’ He lifted his hand and disappeared towards the stairs, leaving Luke staring at his wife.
‘Joss.’ Suddenly he seemed incapable of saying anything else. He shrugged. ‘Do you want a cold drink or something?’
She shook her head. She sat down on the edge of the bed, sheepishly. ‘I’m sorry, Luke. I really am. I don’t know what came over me. I suppose I was dreaming. But you shouldn’t have called Simon, you really shouldn’t. The poor man has enough to do with people who are really ill.’ She hauled herself up onto the high mattress and lay back against the pillows. ‘It felt so real, I thought I really did feel something, you know. Another of those dead roses.’ She shuddered.
He sighed. ‘I know, Joss. I know.’
She found it impossible to sleep again. The lights out, the sheet, which was all she could bear over her in the hot room rearranged, she tried to get herself comfortable beside Luke. But sleep eluded her. The house was completely silent, the room still shadowy, but outside as the sun rose out of the sea behind the field she could hear the chorus of birds. She stared at the windows, watching the morning star fading between the mullions behind the half drawn curtains. Beside her Luke grunted and sighed and almost at once began to breathe deeply and evenly. His body, heavy and hot, seemed to mould itself into the mattress, secure, safe, reassuring, while she lay, rigid and afraid, every part of her body aching and uncomfortable. She shut her eyes, screwing them up tightly, trying to focus on sleep.
In the corner of the room the shadow that was never very far away stirred and seemed to shiver, an insubstantial wraith. Near it a spider tensed and fled beneath the coffer which stood in front of the window.
When Luke awoke, to the not very tuneful singing of his small son from the nursery, Joss was fast asleep. The room was full of bright sunshine, and he could hear a pigeon cooing soothingly in the tree outside the window. The first days of June had brought a heat wave and it was already very hot. He looked down at Joss for a moment. Her face was still flushed, pressed against the pillow. There was a frown between her eyes and she looked as though she had been crying in her sleep. With a sigh he slid out of bed, careful not to wake her and padded across towards the little boy’s bedroom.
She was still asleep an hour later when he brought her a cup of tea and the post. Putting the cup down gently on the bedside table he went to stand looking down on the garden. Behind him the shadow in the corner stirred. It moved away from the corner and hovered in the centre of the room. There was no question now that it was anything other than a man. A tall man.
Joss stirred and turned over to face it, but she did not open her eyes. In her sleep her hand went protectively to her stomach and rested there. Luke did not move. With a sigh he rested his forehead against the glass, savouring the coolness of it. His head ached. His eyes were gritty with lack of sleep. When he turned back towards the door he did not see the shadow which had drawn near his wife. Rubbing his face with the palms of his hands he reached for the handle and let himself out onto the landing, closing the door behind him. In the bedroom the shadow bent over the bed. The slight indentation on the sheet was the only sign of where it touched her.
Joss had tried the number four times that week. Once again this morning it rang with no reply. Putting down the phone she put her head in her hands and stared down at the desk top without seeing it. Her sleep after the doctor had gone had been shallow and troubled; she had woken herself twice with her own whimpering, staring up at the bed hangings above her head. When she got up she felt stiff and uncomfortable, unable to eat any breakfast. All she could think about was the need to speak to Edgar Gower. With a shaking hand she dialled his number and at last there was a reply.
‘It’s Joss Grant. You remember? Laura Duncan’s daughter.’
Was it her imagination or was the pause the other end longer and more uncomfortable than it ought to have been.