The Doll's House

56

He’d taken the number 76 bus out to Otterbourne, waiting almost until the end of the line before turning on Ruby’s phone and sending the customary tweets and texts. Normally this little charade amused him, but today it made him anxious. Had he tweeted from Pippa’s phone after the police had discovered her body? If so, had they made this connection?

So many questions he couldn’t possibly answer and the not knowing was torturing him. Exhausted by the day’s events, he found no satisfaction in the dance of death today – he just wanted to be home. One stop before the terminus, he got off and crossed the road to take the number 38 back into town.

Stepping inside the old house, he collapsed on to the sofa, sending a cloud of dust into the air. The whole place was in a state of chaos – half-finished bits of DIY, creeping patches of damp and empty pizza boxes everywhere, which the rats visited nightly. Coming home had failed to raise his spirits in the way he’d hoped and he felt curiously despondent. What if Summer was as recalcitrant and hostile as she’d been earlier? He wasn’t sure he could face another round of that. Putting off the moment of their reunion, he grabbed a bin bag from the kitchen and started shovelling rubbish into it, determined to get a grip on a house that was falling down around his ears.

Soon he was dusty, thirsty and even more exhausted than before. His body and his mind were urging him to go to bed, to get some rest. But still he resisted. She was down there, underneath these floorboards, waiting for him. Try as he might he couldn’t resist her pull. She was his drug. The one thing he couldn’t do without.

He paused and looked at himself in the mirror. Where once he had been young and handsome, now he appeared careworn and tired. No wonder she struggled to accept him. But still, was there any need to be so cruel? If she carried on like this, he would have to impose sanctions. He would take away her inhaler. If she needed to be broken, then so be it…

He found he was already halfway to her cell, his feet guiding him there on auto-pilot. It was as if he were in a dream – unable to control his actions or events. Pulling himself back to reality, he slipped the wicket hatch open. For once, she wasn’t lying on the bed, despondent. It was hard to make out details in the gloom, but she seemed to be sitting up, waiting for something.

Sliding the wicket hatch shut, he switched on the main lights and slipped inside. To his surprise, there was Summer, just like he always pictured her, sitting on the bed in her skirt, earrings and top, a pretty smile spread across her face.

This is a dream, he thought to himself. But finally it’s a good one.