The Therapist(6)

‘I know it’s weird, but people generally put a lot of thought into choosing cards so I can never bring myself to throw them straight into the bin.’ I give my body a stretch, then stand up.

‘Where are you going?’ he says, reaching a lazy hand towards me.

‘To make a salad to have with the steaks.’

He gives a contented sigh. ‘Sounds wonderful.’

I’m woken by a sudden movement, Leo sitting upright in our bed.

‘Who’s there?’ he shouts, his voice loud in the quiet of the night. It’s late, the shadows sitting heavy in the dark of our bedroom.

‘What’s the matter?’ I whisper. It feels like I’ve only been asleep for ten minutes. What time is it, anyway? I try and pull him back down but he shrugs me away impatiently.

‘There was someone here.’ His voice is sharp, urgent.

‘What?’ My heart jumps. I sit up, wide awake now, adrenalin surging. ‘Where?’

‘Here, in the bedroom.’ He fumbles for the switch on his bedside lamp, and the artificial white light momentarily blinds me. I blink rapidly a few times to re-focus my eyes, then scan the bedroom quickly. There’s no-one there, just the built-in wardrobes with their slatted doors and the chair in the corner of the room, piled with our clothes from the day before.

‘Are you sure?’ I ask doubtfully.

‘Yes!’

I raise myself onto one arm and squint through the partly open door into the bathroom, my mind already visualising someone hiding in the shower, a long-bladed knife held high above their head. Leo throws the covers back, startling me, and swings his legs from the bed.

‘Where are you going?’

He stands naked, his body tense. ‘To put the light on in the hall.’

He reaches through the partially open bedroom door and flips the switch on the wall. I listen for the sound of someone leaving the house in a hurry, disturbed by the light now flooding the landing and stairwell. But there’s nothing.

‘Shall I call the police?’ I ask, grabbing my phone from its charging pod.

‘Wait a moment. I want to be sure before we do anything,’ he says. ‘I’m going to check the other bedroom.’

I get out of bed and grab my cotton dressing gown. I feel less vulnerable now that I’m covered, but my heart is racing as I move to the door behind him.

‘I’m coming with you.’

‘No. Stay here, and if you hear anything, call the police.’

‘Wait.’ I hurry to the bathroom, quickly checking there’s no-one there, and grab a can of hairspray. I prise the lid off and hand it to him. ‘If you see someone, spray this in their eyes to disable them.’

At any other time, he’d laugh at this, a stark-naked man with a hair product as a weapon. But he takes it, holding the can by his side, his finger on the nozzle as he moves along the landing. I watch as he searches the guest bedroom, then his study, anxiety prickling my skin, my phone primed to dial 999.

‘Nothing,’ he calls. ‘I’ll check downstairs.’

‘Be careful!’ I wait a moment. ‘Can you see anything?’ He doesn’t answer, so I move to the banisters and look down to the hall below, where he’s disappearing into the sitting room.

He’s back in a few minutes. ‘The windows and doors are still locked and nothing seems to have been disturbed.’

‘Did you actually see someone?’ I say as we go back to our bedroom.

‘Yes… no… I don’t know,’ he admits. ‘It was just a feeling I had, of someone being in the room.’

‘It could have been a dream.’

He looks a bit sheepish as he puts down the can of hairspray. ‘It probably was. Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. What time is it, anyway?’

I check my phone. ‘Three-fifteen. You’d better get some sleep, you need to be up in three hours.’

We climb into bed and soon, he’s asleep. But I lie awake, grateful that Leo is here beside me, remembering all the times I’d start awake in my cottage, disturbed by the noises that would echo through it at night. I love that I have him to share things with, that I no longer have to face everything alone. Leo bumping into the back of my car was the best thing that had happened to me for years.

‘Do you know, that’s the first time you’ve shown the slightest bit of interest in anyone,’ Debbie had said, when I told her what had happened.

She was right. I was thirty-five and although I’d had three fairly long relationships, they’d all come to an end, not in an abrupt manner, but in a slow, I’m-not-actually-sure-where-this-is-going kind of way. I’d begun to think that I wasn’t cut out for long-term relationships and although there was a slight sadness that I might not find someone to spend the rest of my life with, it had never become a serious preoccupation of mine. But once Leo was in my life, everything changed.

After six months of the weekend commute, because Leo lived at his flat in London during the week and only came down to Harlestone at weekends, we both began to want more. One evening, we went out to dinner, and when he ordered champagne, my anxiety levels quickly rose at the thought that he might be about to propose. We had never talked about getting married and I didn’t want to spoil things between us by telling him that I needed time to think. As the waiter struggled to get the cork out, I wondered if maybe I should say yes. Spending the rest of my life in Harlestone with Leo suddenly seemed a lovely prospect.