Fourteen Days(16)

Now he was wide awake and in desperate need to urinate. He could feel his bladder ache as he stared at the darkened landing through the bedroom door that was ajar.

Dying for a piss.

I think I’ll hold it.

Best not disturb Nicky.





Chapter 5


    Day 5: Saturday


Saturday arrived at last, but to Richard it was just another day not at the office. He watched the rain hit the road as he waved Nicky goodbye. Her younger sister had walked out on her husband again, so Nicky had decided to pay her a visit in Worcester.

He hadn’t slept a wink the entire night. His eyes stung and his head ached. Stupid smoke alarm.

Closing the front door, he stepped back into the silent house. The quietness filled him with dread—so much so he almost trembled. But this time it wasn’t just the dread of solitude, it was something else, something that he had not felt in years. And it was barely something he could even admit to himself. The feeling of terror as a child. Believing, without a shadow of doubt, that something horrible lived under his bed. And no matter how many times his father would check, try to reassure him, nothing would douse those awful feelings of vulnerability.

Shaking off the sensation like a cold shiver, he walked into the kitchen.

He stood next to the fridge and glared over at the kitchen chair. The hairs on his forearms began to rise as he pictured seeing the mysterious woman again. He rubbed each arm to flatten the hairs. Grow up, Gardener. What’s wrong with you? She’s not real. There’s no such thing as ghosts.

Turning away in protest, he opened the fridge, reached in, and pulled out a bottle of lager. Unscrewing the bottle cap, he flicked it into the garbage, then walked past the table. Halfway past, he picked up the pace, almost running out of the kitchen into the hallway, humming an unrecognizable tune.

Entering the living room, he sat on the couch, sinking deep into the cushions, sipping his lager. The TV was already on so he scanned the channels, hoping to find something to take his mind off the woman. His search came to an end when he found a topical debate program called Say you, Say me. The subject was religion in schools.

After he had finished his drink, he pondered whether or not to get another from the kitchen. Better not have too many. Especially this early in the morning. But despite his reasoning, he knew that his real motive for not having another had nothing to do with drunkenness, or even health.

Staring at the empty bottle, he longed for another. After a few minutes, his craving got the better of him. He got up and marched into the kitchen, repressing his fears. Opening the fridge, he grabbed a bottle. Just as the fridge door closed, he caught a glimpse of the kitchen table. Even though the chair was unoccupied, he could feel a cold, unnerving sensation creep over his skin—so he opened the fridge again and secured as many bottles as he could carry, then raced past the table, trying not to drop any bottles in the process.

Relief washed over him as he collapsed on the couch, holding six bottles of lager. What the hell is going on? I’m not afraid of anything. Jesus.

Opening a bottle, he took a huge swig. It must be just the loneliness. And boredom. And work stuff. Yeah, that’s it. Nothing else. This house isn’t going to feature on Most Haunted. It’s a mid-terrace house in the middle of Bristol City—it’s not a bloody medieval dungeon.

He took another big swig of lager and swallowed hard. But I did see something. And she did seem so real. Maybe I saw her on TV and dreamed her. After all, she was the same woman from my dream. Maybe I was half-watching something on TV when I dropped off to sleep. And then, for some reason saw her again on the kitchen chair. That makes sense. Perfect sense. He took an even bigger swig and managed to finish the bottle. Yeah, it makes more sense than thinking a dead woman was sitting in my kitchen.

Stupid ghosts—as if.

He opened another bottle and sank back deep into the couch. And I ain’t moving from this spot all day. If she wants me, she can come and get me.

Please don’t come and get me.



Richard walked across a muddy field carrying a large plastic water container, heading toward a tap next to a farm gate. The sky was cloudy and the air winter-cold. It reminded him of caravanning with his parents as a child. The smell of fresh-cut grass mixed with a pungent scent of manure. In the distance he could see the old disused tractors and the loose barbed-wire fencing.

Bliss.

At the tap he saw Nicky wearing a white dress, sitting on a large rock. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “Why aren’t you out with your friends?”