Fourteen Days(13)

“That’s not true,” he said, rubbing a sympathetic hand across her leg. “Everyone listens to you.”

Chuckling through her nostrils, she replied, “If only that were true.”

“Well, I care about what you have to say.”

Smirking, she turned to him. “Are you sure about that?”

“What d’ya mean?”

Her eyebrows rose. “Didn’t I ask you to do the dishes this morning?”

He bit his bottom lip like a naughty child. “Sorry, forgot.” He paused for a second, and then added, “Didn’t you tell me to take it easy?”

“I think you can manage a few dishes. Which reminds me: some of the spoons are missing from the cutlery drawer. Have you left any in work?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“Well, I haven’t taken them. Are you sure you haven’t? They were a wedding present from your auntie and uncle.”

Frowning, he shook his head. “Of course I’m sure. Why would I take them to work? You’re the one who takes salads and cereal to work. I only eat sandwiches and junk food.”

She pondered for a moment. “That’s odd.”

Picking up the remote control, she pushed the standby button. The half-lit room became illuminated as the television powered up.

“Listen, I wasn’t going to say anything, but—” Richard said, his words laced with severity.

She turned to him with a concerned look on her face. “What’s wrong?”

Holding back his words, he exhaled as if to prepare. “Well, it’s just—”

“Hang on for a second.” She pushed the standby button again and the television died. “Go on—what’s up? It sounds serious.”

“This afternoon, I saw something. At least I think I did. I’m not sure.”

Intrigued, she leaned in close. “Saw what?”

“A woman. In our kitchen.”

“What, a burglar?”

He shook his head. “Not exactly.”

“Then what?” she asked, grimacing.

He braced. “Well, I’m not saying it was a ghost, but…”

Moving away from him, his wife gave out a loud cry of laughter. “A ghost? Is there something wrong with you? How old are you?”

“Look, I said it wasn’t a ghost. I’m just saying I saw something, all right. Probably just my eyes playing tricks. That’s all.”

“And what did this woman look like?” she said, clearly humoring him. “Was she pretty? Or was she one of those zombie ghosts, all rotten with worms coming out of her face?

“Grow up, Nic!” he snapped. “I’m trying to be serious.”

“I’m teasing. Come on—tell me, what did she look like?”

He took a minute to answer, shaking his head as he stared at her. “She was mid-thirtyish, long brown hair. But I know she wasn’t real.”

“And what was she wearing?” she asked, trying to appear convinced.

“Why does that matter? She’s not even real.”

“Come on. Tell me what she was wearing.”

He sighed. “She had a white dress on. Like a summer dress. You know—loose-fitted. Like the ones you wear.”

Pondering for a moment, she put a hand on his leg. “You know what—come to think of it, one of my summer dresses has gone missing. I think the bitch must have pinched it.”

Fake-smiling, he removed her hand from his leg. “Very funny. Look, if you’re going to be like that, then…”

“Oh, I’m sorry, babe. I’m teasing you. Come on, I am interested. Really.”

“Look, I know it wasn’t a ghost, I don’t believe in them, but it was just weird. It gave me such a bloody fright. I even dropped my plate and glass.”

“Maybe it was a ghost.”

“Shut up, Nic. Don’t make fun.”

“Maybe we need someone to communicate with it.”

“Nic, you’re not funny.”

“I think I’ve got Whoopi Goldberg’s number somewhere.”

Richard sighed. “Don’t know why I tell you anything.”

“Don’t go in a mood,” she said, placing her hand on his leg again. “I’m only having a laugh. You saw something ’cause you’re bored out of your mind being stuck in the house all day. You’re not used to it. You’ve been working pretty much every day for the past three years, so I’m not surprised you’re having trouble adjusting. Give it a few more days and you’ll be back to your old self.”