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It’s out of season and not hard to find a place to stay. We stop at the first one we come to, a bed and breakfast where I give my name and pay in cash. The alcohol is already fading and reality returning as we climb the carpeted stairs, Tricia in front of me clutching the bannister for support. I unlock the door to room 5a and switch on the corner lamp that glows with a strained effort from its energy-saving bulb. Tricia stands inside the doorway. She stares at the double bed with the pale pink blanket, an appliqué rose in its centre, and the matching frilled pillowcases, and she says, ‘My mother had those when I was a kid.’
There’s a musty smell of old wood and threadbare carpets, which is masked only by a cheap perfume I trace to one of those plug-in air fresheners on the wall pumping out toxic fumes that stick in your throat. I switch it off, and cross the room to draw back the net curtain and push open the single-glazed window, cracking the paint on the wooden frame to do so. I hook it open a few inches, straighten the net, and draw the heavy curtains together along their crooked plastic rail, my fingers curling into the velour, my heart jumping, every move screaming one thing at me... What the fuck am I doing?
Something catches in my chest the way it did yesterday on the riverbank with Rumpole and I close my eyes, thinking not here, not now.
‘Steve?’
When I turn, Tricia’s still standing in the same spot, her jacket and bag clutched in her hands like she’s afraid to let go. I look around at our dwelling for the night, then draw my gaze back to her.
‘You take the bed,’ I say, and point to the armchair in the corner beside the window. ‘I’ll have that.’
She shifts the grip of her bag. ‘Or the floor maybe,’ she says. Meaning her or me, I’m not sure.
‘The chair’s fine.’
I smile, and she nods once, turning to hang her things on the hooks by the door. In the wardrobe, I find a spare blanket, and Tricia throws me a pillow from the bed. She goes into the en-suite shower room first, and once she’s done, I go in to splash water on my face, drying it with a pale pink towel. The harsh light above the mirror picks up the lines at the corners of my eyes, the faint shadow of stubble over my chin and jaw, and reflects off the gold band on the finger of my left hand. A stark reminder of who I am, who I’m supposed to be.
Back in the room, Tricia’s under the covers. I say goodnight and switch off the lamp, vision adjusting to the darkness as I feel my way to the armchair and take off my jeans and shirt. I lay them on top of the chest of drawers and try to get comfy in the thinly padded chair, tugging the blanket over me, already knowing I’ve got about a cat in hell’s chance of sleeping in this thing. My room-mate shuffles in the bed and I tell her not to snore. Her laugh is soft and muffled under the sheets, but not long after, the rhythmic rise and fall of her breath tells me sleep comes a lot easier for her than it does for me. I yank the blanket higher to stave off the chill from the window, and shut my eyes. For all the good it’ll do.
*
When my eyes fly open, Craig is there. His face is close to mine, his hands on my throat, and I jump to full consciousness, muffled words coming at me from down a long tunnel. My heart is racing, I can’t breathe, I need air. Clawing at my throat, I find his hands first, then his forearms, and then I have him. He might be strong, but he’s not had the training I have. I pin his arms to his sides and push him to the floor with ease. We both hit the carpet hard, and I’m yelling at him, telling him to stop resisting. At the same time, I’m looking round for something to tie his wrists with when I realise that actually he’s not. He’s not resisting.
My vision pulls into focus in the dim room, the breeze from the open window washing over my back. Goosebumps run down my spine, the chill passing through me to my chest, squeezing hold with ice-cold fingers so that for a second I can’t speak, can’t do anything, only put the pieces together and hope to fuck I’m still asleep. Because even in the darkness, I see Tricia’s eyes wide and frightened as she stares up at me, my hands clamped around her biceps, her breath fast and stuttering, and my knees planted either side of her hips where I threw her to the floor.
