Michael, 2nd September
She’s managed to come back to me, like she promised. We’re wandering, lovers in no hurry, passing over the Accademia bridge in Venice. She’s laughing, head thrown back, hair rippling to her shoulder blades. My soul walks beside me.
That’s not right. She was ill already when we were in Venice.
‘Where’s Katy, Michael? Why isn’t she here with us?’ asks Emma.
‘We left her at home, remember? It’s just us for a few days.’ I try to lace her fingers in mine but suddenly she is at the other end of the bridge and she’s holding Kaitlin’s hand. Coppery glints shine in Kaitlin’s bobbed hair and she’s talking earnestly to her mother, a stream of her babbling chatter. She offers her mother a purple iris, Emma’s favourite flower. They’re walking away from me, not taking any notice of my shouts for their attention. I can’t reach them because my legs won’t work.
‘Emma? Emma?’
I feel a hand on my shoulder. ‘Sssh, Michael, it’s just a dream. They’re gone now.’
I open my eyes and it’s Lizzy standing over me. She has the bread knife raised above my chest – the same one as was stabbed in the mattress.
I yell and throw my hands out. They crash onto the bed rail, the IV port in the back of the left hand taking a fierce rap. My eyes really open this time, shocked awake by pain, and I realise I’d dreamt it all – Venice, Emma, Lizzy.
‘Are you all right, Dr Harrison?’ It’s the policeman guarding my room who is asking. Alarmed by my shouts, he has poked his head round the door.
‘Ye… Yes. Just a nightmare.’ I try to reach for the water but my hand is shaking too badly.
‘Shall I call a nurse?’
‘I just… I just want some water.’ Humiliatingly, I can feel tears beginning to fall.
‘I’ll get someone for you.’
I collapse back on the pillows, remembering, as I had in the cellar, that there is no one.