Fourteen Days(22)

She looked at him in bewilderment. “That was our honeymoon, Rich—three years ago.”

The car fell silent. “I know, you’re right,” Richard confessed. “But I have been thinking since I’ve been off work, and I am gonna change. Life’s too short. We will go away somewhere this summer.” He put his hand on her leg. “I promise.”

Subtly nodding, she put her hand over his. “I hope so.”

Silence gripped the car again, so he started up the engine and reluctantly headed back home.

I will change, he thought, as he drove through the heavy rain, windshield wipers on at full-speed. I know I can. I’ll show her. When I go back next week, I’ll be a changed man. And she’ll have to eat her words. Work isn’t everything.

He turned on the radio, hoping to block out his guilt. The station played love songs—which didn’t help. Then he remembered the woman from his kitchen. He had almost gone the entire day without thinking about her, about the possibility of his house being haunted. He tried to shake off the events of the last few days: the TV, Nicky talking in her sleep. But he couldn’t. The closer he got to home, the more his mind raced.

He looked at the digital clock on the dashboard: 10:06 p.m. Straight to bed, he thought. No time to mill about in the kitchen. Nicky’ll be working tomorrow. She’ll need to sleep. Yes, everything’ll be fine.

But tomorrow I’ll be alone again.

He pushed the thought of tomorrow to one side and focused on the road ahead. They hadn’t said a word to each other the entire journey. Pulling up outside their house, he turned to her. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired. And wet. It’s been a long day. But it’s been nice to spend time with you.”

He smiled. “It has been nice. I’m gonna miss you when you go off to work tomorrow.”

She tapped his thigh. “I’m sure you’ll cope without me. You’ll have your new lady friend to keep you company.”

“Very funny,” he replied, fake-smiling. When he opened the door and climbed out of the car, his sock squelched as his foot touched the concrete.

But what if she’s right, he thought, approaching the front door. Would I really be alone tomorrow? And the next day? And the day after that? No. Don’t be stupid, Rich. This is Karen’s fault. You don’t even believe in ghosts. She’s just filled your head with this stuff, and this dark and rainy weather is making things seem worse. There’s nothing in your house. There’s no one in your kitchen. But what about Nicky’s talking in her sleep? How do I explain that?

When he entered the house, the lonely, creepy feelings began to resurface. In a matter of days his home had become a different place. Nothing like the wonderful first home together of five months ago. Nothing like the place they had spent a small fortune decorating to Nicky’s specific tastes.

Get a grip, Gardener. Focus! There’s no such thing as ghosts.

With the hallway lit up, he could see the kitchen blackened in the distance. He imagined the woman still sitting on the dreaded chair, waiting for him to walk in. Fighting off his anxiety, he headed straight upstairs, almost running. Nicky followed.

After drying off, they climbed into bed. The room felt cold and drafty, prompting him to check to see if the window had been left open. It had been. Nicky hadn’t seemed to notice the cold. She lay facing him, hugging the quilt with her eyes closed. “Good night, babe,” she whispered.

He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. “Night, Nic. See you in the morning.”

After a few minutes she had dropped off to sleep, leaving Richard alone once again, with the rain hitting the bedroom window hard, the chill in the air, and the woman in the white dress still on his mind.

And tomorrow was yet another day to be tormented by his own kitchen.





Chapter 7


    Day 7: Monday


The noise of the front door slamming shut woke Richard. Yet another almost sleepless night. He lay on the bed for a few minutes, trying to gather himself before climbing out. He sat on the edge of bed exhausted, his elbows pressed against his bare thighs, his palms rubbing his eye sockets. Groaning, he got to his feet, slipped on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, and left the bedroom.

Walking downstairs, he noticed the smoke detector. Stay bloody quiet, he thought, and carried on down into the kitchen. He poured himself a bowl of corn flakes and contemplated whether or not to sit at the table. Even though the dreaded chair was empty, he couldn’t get the woman’s image out of his head. So he took his breakfast into the living room and sat on the couch instead.