29

Dislocation.

The word filled her mind, each syllable crouching on her tongue, behind the bars of her teeth. She was a human being, but apart from everyone else. Alone. Who could possibly understand what was happening here?

The very idea was ridiculous.

But.

How she made it home she had no idea. But somehow she got there and even managed to get upstairs to her bedroom, where she threw herself fully clothed on the bed. Mercifully, darkness overtook her exhausted mind and she fell into a troubled sleep.

Thomas was in that restaurant. He was telling her he loved her while wearing that smile that turned her stomach to liquid. Then he faced a waiter who was in the action of placing a plate of food in front of him, picked up a knife and stabbed it through the young man’s hand, pinning it to the table top.

Paula’s scream was so loud it woke her up.

She sat up in bed, momentarily confused. Her breathing was loud in her ears and she was uncertain where she was. Then with the help of the streetlights –coming in between the open curtains she recognised the outline of the door into the hallway, the chair to the right of it, and Thomas’s dressing gown bundled over it.

How long had she been asleep? She got home, what, around four p.m.? This was late autumn so it got dark early. It could be the middle of the night for all she knew. If she could reach her phone she could check, but she didn’t have the strength to move, so she allowed herself to fall back down onto the plump pillow with a loud sigh. It felt, simultaneously that she’d been asleep for minutes and for hours. Should she get up, or should she get herself into her pyjamas and turn in for the night?

Thinking about her phone, she realised that she hadn’t had a silent phone call for a few days now. Thank God that had stopped, she thought. But then she couldn’t help wondering why. Would it start again? Would something else happen?

There was a crash from another part of the house.

She sat up, adrenaline sparking all over her body.

‘Who’s there?’ she asked in a tiny voice. Every cell commanded that she find somewhere to hide. Under the bed? In the wardrobe?

Another noise. A loud bang as if something had fallen.

‘Who’s there?’ she asked again, this time louder.

Nothing.

Her phone. If she could remember where her phone was she could call the police. It would be in her bag. Where had she dropped it when she returned home? She looked to the side of the bed and the space there was empty.

Silently, she slid off the bed and moved to the doorway, alert to every sound. There was the slight drone of a passing car outside. Then another. A child’s laughter on the street outside. A father’s shout of warning. Then more laughter.

Rapid footsteps inside. Just down the stairs. In the hallway?

Recalling what happened to Kevin and Elaine, her anxiety fired up. She could run to the window, open it and shout to the people she’d heard outside to call the police. But she was unable to move. She was frozen with fear.

More movement inside: drawers being opened in the kitchen.

And the chatter from the father and child faded into the distance. No, she felt like shouting. Come back. But when she opened her mouth, nothing came out.

No. This was not good enough, she told herself. This was her home. Hers and Thomas’s, and if she could survive his passing she could face up to anything and anyone. All she needed was a weapon. If she had something heavy and she made a lot of noise as she went downstairs, maybe the burglar would take fright and run for it.

Frantically, she looked around the room. There was nothing but soft furnishings. She made a mental inventory of what was in the study across the hall. The only suitable thing she could think of was a silver paper knife in Thomas’s desk. The blade was blunt, but the point could possibly do some damage.

She heard more drawers being opened and closed.

Right. That was enough. She grew indignant, and fed it with her fear. This was her home. How dare they, whoever they were?

With every muscle in her body charged with fear and certainty she stomped through to the study, making as much noise as she could, and picked up the knife. Inside the small room she could see that every desk and cupboard drawer had been opened. She gasped at the realisation. While she was sleeping, whoever it was had been up here, riffling through this room. She steeled herself. And as she moved, she talked loudly, pretending that she was on the phone.

‘Police,’ she said. ‘This is Mrs Paula Gadd. I have an intruder. And if they don’t leave my house this instant I won’t be responsible for what happens.’ Why on earth did she say that? Where had that come from?

But her strategy worked. She heard the hurried slap of shoes on the wooden floorboards in the hall corridor as someone made a run for it.

The fact that they were in retreat lent Paula strength and energy. ‘Get out. Get out!’ she screamed. ‘How dare you come into my house? How dare you?’ She charged down the stairs, fear and fury firing in all her limbs.

There was a rush of noise as her front door was pulled open. Still wielding the knife, she made it to the ground floor.

‘Aye, run. And I hope you can run fast enough,’ she shouted down the hallway. ‘Cos the police will be after you.’

The door slammed shut.

Without thinking about what she was doing she ran for it, and pulled it open. A man was outlined in the streetlight. But Paula struggled to compute what he was doing. If he was the intruder, shouldn’t he be running away? But he was moving towards her, arms wide in greeting as if he had just arrived and was surprised to see her on her doorstep.

His features were blurred by the strong light behind him. With a start she realised that she would know that shape anywhere. It populated her dreams.

‘Thomas?’ she asked, before she fell to the ground in a faint.