The Bed I Made by Lucie Whitehouse

Author:Lucie Whitehouse [Whitehouse, Lucie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

When she hung up, I put my head on the steering wheel and let them come, the images which I had fled here across the Solent to escape. They crowded down on me now like gulls in the wake of a trawler, screeching and triumphant: images of the last time I’d seen him, that final morning in the flat when I’d walked through the open door and heard him on the phone, so obviously talking to a child. Had I made a sound, let the breath catch in my throat? I didn’t know but suddenly he had been aware of me in the doorway, had told the little voice that he would call back. ‘Katie,’ he’d said, standing, seeing the look on my face, taking steps towards me which I’d matched with steps backwards. ‘I can explain.’

I can explain. It wasn’t that the floor moved beneath my feet; it was more that the floor had ceased to exist and I was there, three storeys above the pavement, without anything to keep me from crashing to the ground. I was unanchored, waiting to fall. I heard my voice telling him to get out. It seemed to come from somewhere outside me, from yards away, perhaps even from the other side of the communal garden whose trees I could see dappling with the autumn light that had matched my spirits and warmed me through my coat only minutes before. I had the post in one hand, the bag of breakfast things in the other, and I gripped them. ‘Get out,’ I said.

He took another step towards me but now I was backed up against the table in the hall. His hands were on my coat collar, pulling me towards him. I dropped the bag, heard it hit the floor. His breath was sour, his teeth not yet brushed. His eyes seemed huge, the pupils black and enormous, ringed with that strange toffee colour. I looked at them, mesmerised. They were expressionless – utterly blank.

‘What did you say?’ His voice was almost conversational.

‘Get out of my flat.’ I twisted, trying to jerk free of him. ‘Leave me alone.’

He changed his grip and suddenly there was pressure on my windpipe. I took a quick breath, tried again to pull back. Then without warning, he yanked me up from the table and thrust me away from him. I fell backwards, my head cracking against the wall beneath the coat rack, my back jarring as I hit the floor. Pain jolted up my spine. I stayed there, momentarily stunned. He reached down and grabbed me up by the shoulder, lifting all my weight, then pushing me backwards into the coats and shoving himself against me, his tongue forcing itself into my mouth. I moved my head to one side but found his arm already there, blocking it. His fingers held my jaw, pressing it open. I clamped my teeth down and bit his tongue.

He pulled back and looked at me a moment, as if he was amused.

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