The shadow moves, quiet and nimble as a cat, reaching the door just as a car drives by, casting patterns on the ceiling and I catch a glimpse of black leggings and a dark top.
It’s not Holly.
My mouth goes dry, and I realise I already knew that. Wrong height, wrong shape. I open my mouth to scream, but the sound is lodged in my throat, and the shadow is gone. I throw the blanket off and jump out of bed, my heart like a drum. On the landing I catch a moving shadow on the wall downstairs, barely there.
I fling open Holly’s bedroom door. She’s fast asleep. I can hear her breathing softly. She’s fine. Thank God.
I hurry down the stairs in my bare feet. I don’t switch on the lights. I don’t call the police. I go straight to the spare bedroom because I know exactly who was standing there silently reaching into my wardrobe.
And I know why.
The door to Teri’s bedroom is ajar. She’s in bed, asleep, or pretending to be.
In two strides, I’m standing next to her, my chest heaving with outrage. I grab the edge of the bed covers and yank them away.
Teri screams. ‘Fuck, Kate! What the fuck! You scared the shit out of me!’ she cries, sitting up, gathering the sheet against her chest to cover her nakedness.
Her nakedness.
‘What are you doing?’ she shrieks.
‘I-I know it was you!’
‘Me what? What the hell?’
‘Just now, you were upstairs, in my bedroom. I saw you!’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Kate.’ She smooths her hair out of her face. ‘Jesus! You gave me a heart attack.’
I stand there, wringing my hands together. Maybe I dreamed it. I must have. One of those lucid dreams you hear about.
I’m going mad. It’s the stress of everything. I’m at the hallucination stage of stress. Soon I’ll be taking my clothes off in the street.
I take a step back. ‘I’m sorry… I thought…’
She narrows her eyes at me. ‘Are you all right, Kate?’
‘Sorry. I had a nightmare. I’m sorry I woke you.’
‘That’s all right.’ She lets out a breath. ‘Go back to sleep.’
‘Yes. Yes. I should do that.’
22
I can’t sleep a wink after that. I’m losing my mind. I need my head examined. I was dreaming, that’s all. I’ve become paranoid on top of everything else.
Of course she’s not Max’s lover. Just because she said, ‘That doesn’t sound like Max,’ doesn’t mean she knows him. She said it herself. It’s the way I’ve been talking about him. But then she’s asked so many questions: How long ago were we married? Why did we move to Brookford? Why did we even marry in the first place? She was particularly interested in the affair, stressing that it wasn’t his fault, and then telling me that I had to let him go, that I had to let both of them go, because it wasn’t fair on Max.
I’m going mad. I don’t know what’s happening anymore.
But I know this much. She has to leave. Because, let’s face it, I don’t know this woman at all.
Holly is in her bedroom getting ready for school when I open her door. ‘Do you want some eggs?’ I ask.
‘No thanks – just some muesli. I’ll get it myself.’
‘All right.’
