A tune was circling in her head, a senseless jingle that was somehow full of menace. Then she was falling, falling … Suppose he hadn’t gone after all, but was waiting, just out of sight, to catch her?
A scream clogged her throat as she scrabbled frantically for a finger-hold – but too late! Her arm was seized in a tight grip and shaken, gently at first, then with increasing urgency.e
‘Freya! Freya! Wake up – it’s all right, honey, it’s all right!’
Slowly, fearfully, she opened her eyes to see, in the dim light from the uncurtained window, Matthew’s concerned face looking down at her.
‘Thank God!’ she said shakily, feeling the sweat coursing over her body. ‘Oh, thank God!’
‘Welcome back. You frightened me to death with that blood-curdling shriek.’ He smoothed the damp hair off her face. ‘The dream again?’
She shuddered, gripping his hand. ‘It was – annihilating. I was falling …’
‘Well, you’re not falling now, you’re safe in bed with me. So turn over, there’s a good girl, and I’ll rub your back for you, then we can both get some more sleep.’
But she was sitting up, swinging her feet to the floor. ‘You go to sleep, Matthew,’ she told him, reaching for her dressing gown. ‘I daren’t – not yet; I might drop straight back into the dream. I’m going to make myself a drink.’
He sighed resignedly. ‘All right – I’ll come with you.’
‘There’s no need,’ she protested, though not, he thought, convincingly. He shrugged into his own robe, taking her arm as they went down the narrow staircase. These nightmares were becoming a pain; this was the third she’d had in a week, and he couldn’t imagine what had kicked them off.
The little kitchen looked alien at this hour, Freya thought, as though they were somehow trespassing. Or perhaps her vision was still distorted by the dream. She shivered, watching as Matthew filled the kettle and switched it on. ‘I’m sorry to keep waking you,’ she said contritely. ‘If you like, I’ll sleep on the sofa for a while.’
‘Then I’d have even further to dash to your rescue!’ But the disturbed sleep of the last week was starting to tell, clouding his concentration during the day. He spooned chocolate powder into two mugs, filled them with the boiling water, and brought them to the table.
‘What exactly do you dream?’ he asked as he sat down. ‘Might it help to talk about it?’
She was silent for a while, staring down into her mug. Then she lifted it and sipped gingerly at the hot liquid. ‘It’s always the same,’ she said at last. ‘I’m falling – I’m not sure where from, and—’
‘That’s one of the most common nightmares,’ he interrupted, in an attempt to reassure her. ‘Everyone has it at some time or other. No doubt Freud would have an explanation for it.’
Freya shook her head. ‘It’s more than that. There’s this tune going round and round in my brain.’
‘What tune?’
‘I can never remember it afterwards. And someone else is nearby, someone who mustn’t know I’m there.’
‘A man?’
She considered. ‘I think so.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Not really.’ She gave an embarrassed little laugh. ‘It sounds pathetic, I know, but at the time it’s terrifying, believe me.’
‘Worth seeing the quack, d’you think? For something to help you sleep through, just till you break the pattern?’
‘I’m not taking sleeping pills,’ she said positively. Then she smiled, putting her hand on his. ‘Poor Matthew! You didn’t expect this when you asked me to move in with you.’
He smiled back. ‘I’m prepared to take the rough with the smooth,’ he said.