I couldn’t say no to Donovan’s request. Not without seeming unreasonable. And I didn’t want to blow any chance that he might put an offer in.
But the basement . . .
They’re just thoughts, I heard Sam’s voice telling me. And since they’re your thoughts, you’re also capable of controlling them.
And anyway, the basement was the last thing Donovan needed to see. He’d said it himself. If I let him take a quick look around, he could leave afterwards and I would have made it through this. It would be over. I’d have done it.
‘I’m not expecting you to go down there with me, you know.’
I pretended to wipe perspiration from my brow. ‘Phew.’
‘So are you OK with it?’
There was a rapid knocking in my chest. An urgent pulsing in my head.
‘Yes,’ I lied. ‘I’m OK.’
‘Great.’
He took one last look around the bedroom, then spun and set off along the landing, running his hand along the balustrade.
And . . . breathe.
His glove slid against the polished timber. I’d sanded down every spindle by hand, carefully applied undercoat, then added two coats of eggshell white. It had taken me nearly a week, all told.
I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror by the doorway again. It was impossible to say if I looked as unmoored as I felt.
Get it together, Lucy.
Launching myself forwards, I flitted by my reflection, then closed my fingers around the banister and walked woodenly down the stairs.
At the bottom I cradled the newel post and stared wide-eyed at the kitchen, aware of a dry clicking in my throat.
‘Am I OK to move this bin out of the way?’ Donovan asked me.
‘Yes.’
Letting go of the stairs, I made it down the steps towards the kitchen island, grabbing for the countertop, craving the feel of something solid and cool underneath my hands.
‘I’m just going to stay over here,’ I told him.
‘Understood.’
The base of the bin scraped against the floorboards as he slid it to one side. He then flicked aside the metal bolt on the outside of the door and opened it.
Blackness blazed out.
All of a sudden, the floor I was standing on felt much too flimsy, as if it might collapse and give way and I’d find myself down there.
No.
‘Light switch?’ he asked.
‘On your left.’
A second later the stairwell sprang into light. The whitewashed walls glowed. Bracing his hands on either side of him, he began to descend.
A coolness seeped up my legs from my ankles as I watched his torso, shoulders and head disappear.
Then he was gone and I looked away towards the other corner of the room, fixing my attention on the dining table, allowing the vision in my peripheries to blur.
In a few hours’ time Sam would be home and we’d be eating there together. Something quick and easy. Eggs on toast, maybe. Everything would be normal. Everything would be OK.
But right now the house felt oddly silent and cold. My senses seemed strangely desensitized.
Stupid.
It’s fine. You’re fine.
The fronts of my thighs and kneecaps pressed up against the kitchen island. For a second, I had the crazy idea that an invisible tide was dragging at me, sucking me towards the basement.
It’s just a negative thought.
There’s no logical reason to be afraid.
I waited.
The waiting was excruciating.
I was intensely aware of how my toes had curled inside my shoes. Of the dry rasping of my eyelashes when I blinked.
Slowly, I turned my head the other way and stared at the digital clock on the front of the range cooker.
It was almost half past four.
The green digits shone lurid and bright.
The first aid kit was on the nearby countertop, its contents spilled out from when I’d grabbed the antiseptic wipes for the schoolgirl. It looked so untidy against the rest of the kitchen.
This is something you can do.
This is a practical thing you can do.
I moved towards the first aid kit and packed the loose items away inside, zipping it closed.
It’s OK.
Nobody expects you to go down into the basement.
You won’t have to go down into the basement.
Steeling myself, I grabbed hold of the countertop and turned towards the open doorway again.
The air seemed to shimmy in front of me as I waited in silence for him to reappear.