I remained where I was. Or close to where I was.
After gently pushing the front door shut, I lingered at the bottom of the staircase, my hand falling lightly on the banister rail, looking up towards the empty landing.
I could no longer see Bethany and Donovan but I could hear them. They were in the back bedroom, laughing and flirting.
But now I wondered – wasn’t there a slightly unusual quality to Bethany’s laugh? A vague artificiality?
As I thought about it more I began to think that perhaps Bethany’s attraction to Donovan wasn’t as genuine as she wanted him to believe. It could be she was a lot craftier than I’d given her credit for and she was actually much more focused on the commission her agency would take if she sold him our home.
Was that possible? I supposed so. I didn’t know masses about Bethany but I knew enough to suspect she was a bit of a hustler.
And Donovan? How much did Bethany know about him, I wondered? She’d know he was searching for properties in our area and price bracket, but how closely would she have vetted him? I couldn’t imagine any estate agent asking for proof that Donovan – or anyone else for that matter – could actually afford the places they wanted to view. And, sure, there were probably polite questions she’d asked, oblique strategies, though all of that could only go so far.
But still. I was finding it hard to shake the sense that there was something off about Donovan.
I leaned to my side, contemplating the basement again.
He hadn’t closed the door.
He would have known that would bother me.
I shut my eyes for a second.
Swayed.
He’d claimed that he hadn’t heard me calling to him down there, and also that he’d shouted up to me, but deep down I didn’t really believe him. The part I didn’t get was why he might lie.
—click.
That was when I heard it.
The noise in my head.
The one that would never fully go away.
—click.
Like the trigger being pulled on an empty chamber in a revolver.
It came to me whenever I got agitated. When I panicked. When I was in a state.
Not now.
—click.
And in my head I was in that bathroom again with the party music thrashing and pounding, then evaporating suddenly, sucked away into an absolute vacuum as the man who’d followed me inside and locked the door behind him stepped forwards, closing the distance between us, his face disintegrating into shadow as he flexed his hands, grabbed for me.
‘I’ve been watching you.’
Sometimes I could almost get a fix on his voice, but only in my very worst nightmares, and afterwards when I woke, drenched with cold sweat and horrified, I was always amazed by how what had seemed clear and certain became so slippery and vague.
—click.
I flinched.
It got me every time.
I couldn’t rid myself of it, no matter what I tried or how many of Sam’s techniques I applied. I knew Sam sometimes got frustrated with himself that he couldn’t help me more. When it came to my claustrophobia and my past trauma he’d speculated that there was probably a block further back in my psyche, perhaps from my childhood, something we hadn’t yet figured out how to fix. He’d talked about other ways of helping me, more experimental strategies, but lately I’d begun to lose hope of anything working, fearing the click would always be there when I was faced with challenging circumstances, a strange sort of tinnitus, an unpleasant quirk, the same way some people get nervous coughs.
That was when Donovan laughed again, a raucous chuckle, and soon afterwards I heard Bethany mutter something in a sly and humorous tone before they moved along the landing, past the bathroom, with Bethany chattering away about the generous floor space in the main bedroom and the two of them giggling as if they were new lovers hurrying to a hotel suite.
I moved away from the stairs before they could see me . . .
—click . . .
. . . and strode into the kitchen, where I took down a glass tumbler from a cupboard and filled it with ice and water from the dispenser on the fridge.
Carrying my drink to the kitchen island, I dragged back one of the wooden stools and sat on it heavily, placing my phone on the counter in front of me, taking a sip of water.
The glass clinked against my teeth.
I stared at my phone, wishing I could call Sam so that he could tell me everything was under control and would turn out fine, talk me down. Maybe he’d even call me and tell me his support group had finished early and he was on his way back.
—click.
I drank more water, closing my eyes.
I shouldn’t have tried to do this by myself, I realized. It was too much. Too soon.
It has been two years, I could imagine Sam saying. And not in a testy way. In a careful way. Soothing.
Two years in which I’d steadily tried to rebuild myself by sanding over my trauma and papering over the cracks in my psyche, just as I’d sanded and wallpapered this house.
My own form of therapy.
My own way of healing.
Bethany giggled again and I felt my hand tighten around the glass, the condensation cool and slick against my skin.
Because hadn’t I been like that once, too? Heedless. Amused.
Let it go.
Move on.
This was a simple house viewing. Nothing more.
I was projecting onto it with my own experiences. I was making too big a deal out of nothing.
And yes, perhaps Donovan had misled me or fooled with me when he was down in the basement. Perhaps he’d enjoyed testing the limits of my neuroses. Perhaps he was – to put it bluntly – a complete dick.
But . . . so what?
It would be over soon.
He would be gone.
Bethany, too.
And if Donovan made an offer on our house then we could consider it and Sam could make a judgement call. It wasn’t as if there was a rule saying he had to sell our house to someone I liked.
Bigger picture, the thing to focus on here today was that I’d taken a small step forwards. One I never would have envisaged when I’d woken up this morning.
I told myself all that.
I told myself and it made complete sense.
But, somehow, I still found myself picking up my phone and standing from my stool.
Because I was going to go up there anyway and make some excuse for joining them – it was where I lived, after all – and screw it if they didn’t like it or thought I was interfering because—
I froze as a startled yelp interrupted my thoughts, funnelling down from our bedroom upstairs, swiftly followed by a thump.