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Chapter 44
Thursday 1st April
When Megan’s gone, I quickly tidy up the kitchen and then go back upstairs to find Pete. I don’t really like to disturb him if he’s having a quick nap – itisnearly two in the morning after all – but at the same time I don’t really want him to sleep in his room. I’m already feeling anxious at being awake on my own, still jittery from what happened with Megan and the stream of irrational thoughts it triggered. I tap on his door, softly at first and then, hearing nothing, more loudly.
Come on, Pete. Wake up.
I wait a few more seconds – still silence – then sigh and push the door open. He’s lying on his back on the bed, still fully dressed, eyes closed.
‘Pete. Pete, wake up,’ I say quietly. He doesn’t move, so I repeat the words, a little louder this time, but he’s clearly sound asleep, so I walk over and shake his arm gently.
‘Pete! Come on, wakey wakey!’
He doesn’t move, not even a flutter of an eyelid, and I stare at him, feeling a little tingle of unease. This isn’t like Pete; I’ve had to wake him up many times over the years, and he’s normally bolt upright as soon as I call his name.
What’s wrong with him?
‘Pete. Pete, please. You’re scaring me. Wake up. PETE!’
Nothing. Starting to feel a bit panicky now, I lean over him, taking his hands and squeezing them, saying his name over and over. And then I pause, listening. His breathing doesn’t sound right, I realise; it’s too slow, with long gaps between breaths.
‘Pete! What’s wrong?’
I look frantically around the room, but everything looks the same as it always does.
What’s happened to him? Did Megan do something? He’s not just asleep, is he?
It’s almost as if he’s been drugged, and now I can see that his face is even paler than it was earlier, his skin clammy.
‘What did you do, Megan? You little cow, if you’ve done something to hurt him …’
I scream the words, shaking Pete harder, willing him to open his eyes, but his head just lolls to the side, his mouth slack.
‘PETE. PETE, PLEASE. WAKE UP!’
I’m starting to hyperventilate. I can hear a faint musical sound now, a familiar tune playing, far in the distance, and for a moment I think I’m hallucinating, and then I realise it’s my mobile phone ringing, downstairs in the kitchen. My phone. I need my phone, I need to call an ambulance, but I don’t want to leave Pete. What if he stops breathing? What if he starts choking? His phone; I can usehisphone, can’t I? I whirl around, looking for it, but I can’t see it anywhere, not on the bedside table or on the duvet or on the windowsill.
Where is it?
Pete’s never without his phone; he’s like a teenager in that regard. It’salwayswith him; itmustbe here. In his pocket maybe? I pat him down, running my hands over his jeans, even – with a grunt – rolling him onto his side so I can check his back pockets, but it’s not there.
‘Shit! Where is it, Pete? Where’s your bloody phone?’
He doesn’t reply, of course.
Did he leave it in the lounge, maybe?
I quickly lean over him again, my ear to his mouth, making sure he’s still breathing. Then I run the few steps across the landing to the lounge, checking the coffee table, the sofa, the mantelpiece, but there’s still no sign of it.
I’m going to have to go downstairs and get mine. I’m going to have to risk leaving him up here just for a minute, I think, so I run back, light-headed with fear now, check again that he’s breathing, then race down the stairs, almost falling down the bottom three steps in my haste.
I’ve just grabbed my phone from the kitchen worktop and I’m about to dial 999 when I hear the doorbell ring, and I spin around in panic, the phone slipping from my grasp and falling to the floor.
NO! Not now, please!I think, and a wave of dizziness hits me, so intense I think I might actually fall over. I lean heavily against the counter for support, hearing the doorbell ring again, more insistently this time.
Go away. Please. Go. Away.
I realise I’m sobbing and my heart is pounding, little sparks dancing before my eyes, and then suddenly I hear a voice, calling my name from outside the front door. It’s faint, but it’s a voice I recognise, and relief washes over me.
