yes, a son as well. He
lives in New York now with his wife and family.”
“ And your daughter?” I ask
tentatively.
“ Well, we don't see her too
often these days. She emigrated to London soon after college. It must
be 10 years ago now.” She still speaks cheerily, although there's a
hint of regret in her voice that's unmistakable.
She goes about setting up the
bed and soon has he fluffy duvet cover folded over for me to step
into. Then she opens a cupboard and pulls out a towel. She hands it
to me and tells me there's a bathroom just next door if I want to
wash after I've had a rest.
The sight of the bed is
incredibly appealing and my drowsiness is now beginning to build
quickly. Since seeing Tara in my apartment I've only been getting a
few hours of sleep here and there. It seems like so long ago, and I'm
amazed when I realize it's only been a few days. I guess all that
emotion, all that rushing around catches up with your eventually. And
here, for the first time since leaving LA, I actually feel safe.
When Marge has left the room I
sit on the edge of the bed to test it out. Her daughter clearly
wasn't lying about it being comfortable. I can feel my limbs aching
as I bend down to pull off my shoes and jeans. The feel of the soft
sheets beneath my bare legs is so soothing as I slide further up.
Then I pull off my top and fling it to the floor, leaving me in my
underwear.
When I lie down and pull the
duvet over me, I feel my body relax completely. Suddenly there's a
calmness inside me, like I'm maxed out on fear and guilt and emotion.
Everything that's gone on over the last few days just washes away,
leaving my mind blank and free to drift off into a deep, untroubled
sleep.
It's not a crash of thunder or a
tapping on the window that wakes me this time. This time I slowly
drift back to consciousness naturally, my eyes flickering open as the
sun begins to descend down below the horizon outside my window. All I
can hear are natural sounds – trees whistling, birds tweeting their
songs of dusk, a light rustling in the bushes below as an animal
forages through the undergrowth.
Smells reach my nose too. The
scent of apple orchards at the back of the house, a slight taste of
mint being cooked in the kitchen below. It looks as though Marge is
cooking. I wouldn't be surprised if she was brilliant at it, given
how delicious her cookies were.
I slide from the bed, almost
begrudgingly, and feel more refreshed than I can realistically have
expected to feel. There's a clock in the corner of the room, ticking
away silently on a table, which tells me it's nearing 8 PM. I must
have been sleeping for over 7 hours.
When I pick up the towel that
Marge placed on a chair beside my bed, I realize just how bad I smell
right now. It must have been sweating in that car during the night.
Then I realize that maybe I've been sweating as I slept right now as
well, adding to my musk. I guess that's why Marge suggested I take
a wash , I think to myself.
I take up her advice and creep
out of the room and into the bathroom opposite. I move as quietly as
possible, hoping to avoid detection until I'm ready to go downstairs.
Something tells me, however, that this lovely old couple aren't going
to be intrusive.
I manage to work the shower in
the bathtub without too much trouble and am soon smelling as fresh as
a daisy. Unfortunately, I've left my bag out in the car, however, so
am forced to dress in the clothes I was wearing. I give them a sniff
before climbing back into them, and find that they're not too bad.
I feel strangely nervous as I
move back down the stairs. It's so odd waking up in a random person's
home, sleeping in the bed their daughter once used night after night.
It's like I'm a stand-in for her for a day, giving these people a
reminder of what it was like to have their girl in the house. The
thought certainly crossed my mind, but I dismiss it, even if it might
be true. I have no right to second-guess these people's motives
lives in New York now with his wife and family.”
“ And your daughter?” I ask
tentatively.
“ Well, we don't see her too
often these days. She emigrated to London soon after college. It must
be 10 years ago now.” She still speaks cheerily, although there's a
hint of regret in her voice that's unmistakable.
She goes about setting up the
bed and soon has he fluffy duvet cover folded over for me to step
into. Then she opens a cupboard and pulls out a towel. She hands it
to me and tells me there's a bathroom just next door if I want to
wash after I've had a rest.
The sight of the bed is
incredibly appealing and my drowsiness is now beginning to build
quickly. Since seeing Tara in my apartment I've only been getting a
few hours of sleep here and there. It seems like so long ago, and I'm
amazed when I realize it's only been a few days. I guess all that
emotion, all that rushing around catches up with your eventually. And
here, for the first time since leaving LA, I actually feel safe.
When Marge has left the room I
sit on the edge of the bed to test it out. Her daughter clearly
wasn't lying about it being comfortable. I can feel my limbs aching
as I bend down to pull off my shoes and jeans. The feel of the soft
sheets beneath my bare legs is so soothing as I slide further up.
Then I pull off my top and fling it to the floor, leaving me in my
underwear.
When I lie down and pull the
duvet over me, I feel my body relax completely. Suddenly there's a
calmness inside me, like I'm maxed out on fear and guilt and emotion.
Everything that's gone on over the last few days just washes away,
leaving my mind blank and free to drift off into a deep, untroubled
sleep.
It's not a crash of thunder or a
tapping on the window that wakes me this time. This time I slowly
drift back to consciousness naturally, my eyes flickering open as the
sun begins to descend down below the horizon outside my window. All I
can hear are natural sounds – trees whistling, birds tweeting their
songs of dusk, a light rustling in the bushes below as an animal
forages through the undergrowth.
Smells reach my nose too. The
scent of apple orchards at the back of the house, a slight taste of
mint being cooked in the kitchen below. It looks as though Marge is
cooking. I wouldn't be surprised if she was brilliant at it, given
how delicious her cookies were.
I slide from the bed, almost
begrudgingly, and feel more refreshed than I can realistically have
expected to feel. There's a clock in the corner of the room, ticking
away silently on a table, which tells me it's nearing 8 PM. I must
have been sleeping for over 7 hours.
When I pick up the towel that
Marge placed on a chair beside my bed, I realize just how bad I smell
right now. It must have been sweating in that car during the night.
Then I realize that maybe I've been sweating as I slept right now as
well, adding to my musk. I guess that's why Marge suggested I take
a wash , I think to myself.
I take up her advice and creep
out of the room and into the bathroom opposite. I move as quietly as
possible, hoping to avoid detection until I'm ready to go downstairs.
Something tells me, however, that this lovely old couple aren't going
to be intrusive.
I manage to work the shower in
the bathtub without too much trouble and am soon smelling as fresh as
a daisy. Unfortunately, I've left my bag out in the car, however, so
am forced to dress in the clothes I was wearing. I give them a sniff
before climbing back into them, and find that they're not too bad.
I feel strangely nervous as I
move back down the stairs. It's so odd waking up in a random person's
home, sleeping in the bed their daughter once used night after night.
It's like I'm a stand-in for her for a day, giving these people a
reminder of what it was like to have their girl in the house. The
thought certainly crossed my mind, but I dismiss it, even if it might
be true. I have no right to second-guess these people's motives
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