Her curls are like ribbons of dark chocolate, only blacker. Thom follows them around the room and when they’re not there, he imagines their circular pattern curling into the edge of his view like paper burning, dissolving as quickly as it is seen. Everything seems to look like them too – the shadow of the curtain rings against the light, the winding grain of the coffee table, even the shapes he makes in the sky when he joins the stars together...
Thom doesn’t know why he can’t stop thinking of those curls. Even the few seconds when he manages not to, his thoughts turn to the edge of her red underwear he glimpsed beneath her skirt the day they first met. Then, he gladly returns to the curls before he can begin to blush or think of Emma.
Thom hasn’t spoken to Emma in days, maybe even over a week... It’s been eight missed calls, that’s all he knows. He sits in the kitchen and watches the phone dance around the table until it either stops or plummets to the floor. He would almost feel relieved if it smashed apart but it has remained strong, unlike him. That’s why he doesn’t answer her. He can’t think of anything new to say. He could easily listen to her small talk and pretend to care or he could say “Yep. Still grieving here”. And then what? Would that satisfy her? And for how long?
Emma is far away; a distant planet that he knows exists but has no interest in exploring at present. Knowing she exists is enough. Yet if it’s enough for their relationship, he can’t tell.
In a similar vein, Sarah has become almost a fixture over the last few days. Sometimes he doesn’t notice her at all, only her curls, as though they are a completely separate entity. Perhaps his fascination with her curls is only a distraction from his fascination with her. But he can’t think about that right now either. Thom has to admit though, she has been a comfort. Sometimes he has been sitting in the dark without realising it and suddenly the room is flooded with light. Sarah isn’t there but he hears her soft footsteps disappearing from the scene. Thom has ignored his body’s needs at times too and Sarah has carefully deposited food near his door just as his hunger seems to have reached its peak.
Sarah seems to know Thom better than even he does. Yet she keeps her distance. The door to the living room where she sleeps is usually closed with little sound inside, and when she does appear, she helps Aunty Val with the washing or sits on the sofa with her legs pulled up to her chest. She looks like a fugitive, always afraid to be discovered. And maybe she is. He doesn’t even know her; he just wishes he did.
Richard has barely spoken to Sarah. He tells Thom “I’m not sure”.
“Sure about what?” Thom asks and Richard just shakes his head. He is acting like a dog who always barks and growls at someone, with reason or without, no one can ever ask the dog for its opinion. And Richard won’t give Thom one. He can’t mistrust Sarah on such a vague impression from Richard. Although, it’s not like Richard to have a vague dislike for someone, without some foundation at least.
Thom is no closer to Daniel. He often puts out all the objects he found in the lock up on the floor and rearranges them, hoping they will suddenly fit together and unlock something. Yet they don’t. He has re-read the note a million times, until the paper looks a hundred years old, but still it has revealed nothing more than the words written on it. He hasn’t even looked up Mrs Tray yet, the mysterious beneficiary. He will do that soon.
Every morning he wakes up and feels like the world is a rhino sitting on his chest and he loses his determination all over again. It takes him hours to breathe easily again, to function. But tomorrow, he will make some progress. He knows Daniel must make sense to someone and every puzzle must have a resolution. Thom can’t believe that reason will betray him on this one.