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of sight.
    There wasn't a sound from the house. I looked at
my watch; it was a quarter to three and I had no idea where I was. I'd just
decided to take my chances on hobbling back down the road when the front door
opened and Catherine appeared looking flushed and apologetic.
    “Sorry about that,” she whispered. “Come in.”
    I stepped inside and caught sight of Martin,
surveying us both, stony-faced, from the top of the stairs. I followed
Catherine into the front room.
    “Don't worry, he'll be all right in the morning,”
she said in a strange voice as if talking to herself and, gathering up an
armful of cushions that were scattered on the floor, she patted the sofa and
disappeared out of the door. A few minutes later she reappeared with a pillow
and a blanket, which she handed to me without a word before she left again,
switching off the light and closing the door behind her.
    Moonlight was streaming in through a gap in the
curtains, casting a shaft of light across the carpet. I lay back on the sofa,
pulling the blanket up to my chin. Through the silence and stillness of the
room came the heavy sound of footsteps pacing up and down overhead and Martin’s
voice, booming through the plasterwork in didactic tones. Every now and again I
could hear the faint sound of Catherine, responding, wheedling, coaxing, and
finally sobbing. I pulled the blanket over my head and stayed that way with the
blood rushing in my ears long after the noise had stopped.
    Slowly, I became aware of another presence in the
room. Opening my eyes tentatively, I blinked in the darkness, seeing nothing but
the shadows of the furniture. I lifted my hand slowly from under the blanket
and reached for the table lamp beside me, found the switch and pushed. It
clicked, but nothing happened. I lay rigid, my heart pounding in my chest. I
wanted to get up, get out but I was too afraid to move. I screwed up my eyes
tight and prayed. Sensing something at the foot of the sofa, I slowly opened
them again. In an instant, the blanket was whipped away from me. I screamed. Then
I felt my body rolling over as the sofa creaked and sank beside me.
    “Shhh,” said Martin, putting his hand over my
mouth.
    “What… what are you doing?” I whispered, pulling
his hand away.
    “You screamed. You were having a bad dream. I came
to see if you were all right.”
    I blinked and moved my head. “What time is it?”
    “Early still. Around six.” I realised he was
right, that it was now morning. A shaft of early morning sunlight now beamed
into the room through the gap in the curtains and specks of dust were dancing
through the air. I saw that the blanket was still over me, after all. My body
was stiff and aching.
    “Are you okay?”
    “Yes. I think so.”
    “So what were you dreaming about?”
    “Nothing. Like you say, just a bad dream.”
    Martin reached out and stroked my hair back from
off my forehead. “Poor thing.”
    This didn’t feel right, but I didn’t know what to
say.
    “I’m okay, really,” I sat up slightly. I was
relieved to remember that I was still fully dressed. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”
    “You didn’t. I was up anyway. I was about to go
for a jog.”
    I glanced up at him and saw that he was wearing
tracksuit bottoms and a sweat top. “Don’t let me keep you.”
    “It’s okay.” He made no move to leave.
    I shifted away from him slightly and tried to
think of something to say, before he could touch me again. “Where do you go? Jogging
I mean?”
    “Just round the block. Up to the shops, round the
park, back again.”
    “Sounds good. I would like to say I’d join you,
but… I don’t think I’m going to be jogging for a while. Or swimming, come to
that.”
    “That’s a shame.” Martin paused. “I used to
compete, too, you know. Nationally. I was on the verge of turning professional,
until I injured my back. That put paid to a lot of things.”
    “Like?”
    “My career for a start.”
    “I’m sorry. That’s tough. What