Blue Comes Through

Chapter Seven

I don't delete his number. After I drink my tea poured from a teapot into a tea cup, I find my mobile phone and scroll through the contacts. Scroll's a bit of an over statement as there are now just two. It is strange to see his number there, just beneath Clare's. My thumb hovers over the delete button, but with a sigh I toss the phone aside and go and swap my tea for a glass of red.

I relive the whole episode which was probably less than half an hour in duration and squirm. I was more or less mute the whole time and although in my head I screamed from the steps, like some deranged harpy, I'm pretty sure the expletives left my mouth in an exasperated normal tone rather than a scream. I've never been a shouter or a screamer. It was a bit unladylike though. Do I care if he thinks I'm a lady?

My recollections of him during that half an hour skip from my memory in a string of snapshots. The mental pictures contain a lot of his blue eyes, square stubbled jaw and that dimple. I sigh again. This could be dangerous. I consider calling Clare, but dismiss the idea immediately. She'll think I've had some sort of breakdown. It's less than forty eight hours since she dropped me off at the train station. I just need to put it out of my mind; I've enough to think about. If I bump in to him again, I'll be casual and friendly and slightly off hand and it'll be fine. I will speak though. I will use words. I need to demonstrate some level of articulacy.

I prick a couple of holes in cellophane and microwave a meal and sit and search job sites on the internet. There are not many options. The jobs pay about a third of my previous salary and I'd need a car. By the time I pay for a nursery place for Will and rent, there won't be a lot of money left for other essentials, food for example. I shut the lap top despondently and push the half eaten Cajun chicken jambalaya around my plate. It sounds tastier than it is and I sit gloomily for a few minutes, sipping my wine. I'm going to have to think out of the box on the job front, unless something incredibly well paid comes up.

After I've tidied the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher, I make up a couple of bottles for Will in case he wakes in the night and take myself off to soak in bubbles and read my book. A spell of escapism with my favourite man is just what I need.

***

I wake with a start. I can hear a persistent banging which must have  woken me. I have lain awake for the last three nights and the heavy thud of a hand repeatedly hitting the door, disturbs my precious sleep. I glance at the clock. It's gone midnight. He's late tonight. I can hear my name interspersed with the steady thuds.

This has to stop. I have to make this stop. My neighbours will be calling the police. Let them call, I tell myself. Do not open the door.

I slide out of bed with a rustle of bedclothes and pad barefoot along the corridor to the front door. The heating clicked off a while ago and I wrap my arms around myself. I'm trembling, but it's not just the cold. Can he not just give up?