30

Unafraid of the water, she waded into the sea to release her angelfish, knowing it was already dead. Something pushed her from behind, and she went under. Click. Her body was a rock, sinking.

Click. She forced open her eyes. The room was dark aside from a small, round source of light near the wall. Somebody was standing there. She blinked a few times as her vision adjusted. Aidan. He was in front of the open safe, holding a torch. In his other hand, he held the pistol to his face.

She scrambled to sit up, drew her knees to her chest, banging her elbow against the bedhead. He turned at the sound, lowering the gun to his side.

‘What are you doing?’ Her voice was a hoarse whisper, her heart pounding in her throat.

‘Shh,’ he said. ‘Just checking the gun.’

She rubbed her eyes and pulled the doona up to her chin. The red digits on the clock radio swam into focus: 1.50am.

‘Go back to sleep.’ He returned the pistol to its case, clicked it shut, and placed it in the safe. He reached for the box of ammunition on top of the wardrobe, looked inside with the torch light, replaced it, and then walked out of the room.

She’d thought the night had been silent, but now she heard the ticking of the clock, the humming of the fridge, and the whines and groans of house-settling.

At 3.00am, she was woken again by Aidan, whimpering in his sleep on the couch. At 3.15, she heard him padding through the rooms. It sounded like he inspected all the locks. At 4.03, he checked on the kids and then got a glass of water in the kitchen. The creak of the couch, sighs, tosses and turns. At some stage, she was sure he looked in on her, she felt his presence looming in the darkness. And at 5.00 he took a piss in the toilet.