by Rachel Ryan
Now six months had passed, and Bren was trying, tentatively, to breach the distance that had grown between them.
They had an evening in planned for Saturday. Just the two of them. Cody was sleeping over at his grandfather’s, and Bren suggested that he and Georgina “do something nice. We’ll have the house to ourselves. I’ll make dinner.”
Georgina was content with Cody staying at her father’s. Jimmy had bought his grandson the Mega-Power Purple Slinger Machine Gun, and if Cody was going to spend all day shooting tiny plastic penguins and monkeys around, she was happy for him to do so in someone else’s home.
She was less enthused about her and Bren’s plans for the evening. Date night. The very thought made Georgina want to groan and change into her most comfortable, least sexy clothes.
But she tried to appreciate the effort Bren was making. He was cooking. He’d bought candles.
She should meet him halfway.
Before Cody went to his grandfather’s, Bren had a gentle talk with him. “Remember, buddy, while you’re with Granddad, I need you not to mention your pretend Granny game, okay?”
“It’s not a game!” Cody replied indignantly. “She’s real!”
“Okay, buddy. She’s real. But don’t mention her to Granddad. It might make him upset.”
Cody promised. And Georgina, listening at the door, felt that same cold shiver creep through her. It disturbed her to hear how vehemently Cody insisted his “new granny” was real.
But once he was gone, she tried to put thoughts of Cody’s creepy game out of her head. As she showered and dressed, she gave herself a talking-to. Bren was downstairs cooking and lighting candles; the least she could do was try, dammit.
She dug out a dress she hadn’t worn in two years and pulled it on over the matching black underwear she’d bought the day before. “Underwear that makes you feel sexy” had been recommended in many of the articles she’d read.
Her cropped hair was growing out a little, overdue for a trim, but she could ruffle it with her fingertips into a messy style she liked. As she applied red lipstick and slipped on high heels, she felt absurdly self-conscious, like she was playing dress-up. She kicked off the heels, hesitated, then put them back on again.
When Bren saw her, he let out a low whistle. “Wow.”
Georgina was equally impressed. “Bren, this is amazing!”
Every surface was covered in candles, the whole room lit by flickering light.
“You like it?” He looked anxious, and Georgina, feeling a rush of tenderness, wanted to reassure him.
“It’s beautiful.” She sat down at the candlelit table. Visibly pleased, he poured her a glass of wine.
The food was good, the wine light and crisp. Conversation flowed, prickly topics were avoided, and by the end of the meal they were laughing easily together.
But when they moved to the sofa and began kissing, Georgina couldn’t lose herself in the moment. She tried, but… it wasn’t working for her. As they kissed, she was completely in her own head, aware of what was happening and unconvinced by it.
“Even if you’re not 100% in the mood, try and go with it!” one article had recommended. “You’ll get there!”
Bren unzipped her dress and sat behind her, kissing her neck the way she liked, but she still couldn’t feel it. Just as she was thinking she wouldn’t be able to “get there,” just as she was wondering whether she and Bren were permanently broken, his lips began to trace her spine, brushing delicately down her back, sending delicious shivers across her skin—
And suddenly her body was awake and alive and excited and didn’t care about her mind at all.
When he moved her gently onto her back, it felt just like it used to. When they kissed, hard, it was like they were themselves again, if only for a moment. Bren smiled at her, then began kissing his way down her belly. She relaxed into it, resting her head back in anticipation. Candlelight flickered over the ceiling she wouldn’t be able to focus on in a moment, as Bren inched her underwear down towards her knees, and Georgina let her head fall sideways and saw—
Somebody standing at the window, looking in.
Georgina screamed. Bren fell back into a half-sitting position as she lunged forward, pulling her underwear back up.
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s someone in the garden!” She pointed to the window. Bren, who was still wearing jeans, rushed over to press his face against the glass.
“There’s nobody out there,” he said. “It was probably a trick of the light. The candles—”
“No. There was someone watching us, I saw them.”
“Okay,” he said, moving to the back door, “I’ll go outside and have a look.”
“No!” she said, too forcefully. “Please don’t.”
Zipping up her dress, she approached the window cautiously. She could see nothing out there now but darkness.
“I’m not imagining things, Bren. There was somebody there.”
“I’ll just go and check,” he said soothingly.
Georgina didn’t want to be soothed. She wanted to be taken seriously. She stood back, tense, as Bren opened the door, sending icy air through the warm room.
She turned off the low music that had been playing. In the silence, she could hear Bren moving around in the back garden. The scuffle of his feet. The sound of him opening and closing the side gate.
After a few moments, he sauntered back in and declared, “There’s nobody there.”
She sat down shakily on the sofa. Bren eased in beside her and put an arm around her.
“The side gate was locked,” he said. “It was just the candlelight, Georgie.”
“But…”
She’d seen someone. Not clearly enough to make out their features, but there had been a person standing there.
“Hey, hey.” He rubbed her arm gently. “It’s okay. Nothing to worry about. If it was a burglar”—and there was a grin in his voice now—“they must have seen they were interrupting a special moment and left us to it.”
Georgina was so far from finding this funny.
Bren put a hand on her leg. Was he actually expecting to pick up where they had left off? She stood up abruptly.
“I’m going to check the front of the house,” she said. “Would you blow out the candles, please? They’re freaking me out.”
Leaving Bren to his disappointment, she marched off to look out the front window.
The street was still. Deserted. The flower beds and parked cars all moonlit with a silver glow.
That night, Georgina lay awake long after Bren began to snore. Listening to the creaks of the house. The pipes in the walls. The far-off shriek of a fox screaming somewhere in the night. It took her a long time to fall asleep.
Chapter 8
The table was scattered with the debris of a family morning—coffee-stained mugs, crumbs, a half-eaten bowl of cereal. The book Cody had been reading lay facedown on Bren’s newspaper, abandoned in the Monday rush to school.
Usually, Georgina used the mornings to catch up on college work. But today she hadn’t been able to concentrate. Now she simply sat there, nursing a cup of chamomile tea as it turned cold.
The figure at the window was still vivid in her mind.
“There was nobody there, Georgina.” By the broad light of day, Bren’s assertions had sounded far more convincing. Intellectually, Georgina knew he was right, and when Bren and Cody were filling the house with chatter, it was easy to believe it in her bones.
But when she found herself at home alone, her bones weren’t so sure.
A bird fluttered in the garden, black wings flapping, and Georgina’s head jerked around sharply.
Stop it, she told herself firmly. She’d been spooked by Cody’s stories; that was all. She wouldn’t have overreacted like that on Saturday night if the memory of him giggling on the phone hadn’t been so fresh in her mind.
If there was just some way to put the matter to rest, once and for all…
&
nbsp; After a moment’s thought, she picked up her mobile, Googled the customer service number for their phone provider, and called it.
“Hi,” she said to the smooth-voiced customer service adviser who introduced herself as Nina. “I was wondering if you could post me out a record of all incoming calls to my landline.”
“Your handset will keep a record of all incoming calls, ma’am,” said Nina. When Georgina explained that her house phone was so dated it did not, in fact, do this, Nina replied with a touch of impatience: “Well, then I suggest upgrading to a modern handset. Telecom companies don’t provide customers with a log of inbound calls.”
“Please,” said Georgina. “The information must be in your computer system somewhere, right? I just need to see who’s been calling my landline. I realize this is unusual, but… it’s to do with my son. I just want to make sure he’s safe.”
There was a pause. When the woman spoke again, it was in a different voice.
“I’m sorry. But you’d need a court order or a warrant to access those records.”
“But,” said Georgina hopefully, “if the information is there, couldn’t you find it and send it to me?”
“I’m sorry,” said Nina again, and she sounded like she meant it. “I can’t. But if a child is at risk, perhaps you’re in a position to get a court order.”
For a brief moment, Georgina imagined trying to explain this to a judge.
“Hello?” said Nina. “Are you still there?”
Suddenly embarrassed, Georgina thanked Nina for her time and ended the call. She stood up, threw the dregs of her tea down the sink, and set about tidying the kitchen.
It was a relief to leave for work. The morning was bright, the street busy. The Brazilian couple from number 24 walked past, hand in hand, beaming, the woman’s free hand resting on her bump. Georgina wondered where they were off to—the hospital for a scan, perhaps? They looked far too happy to be going to work.
Gray-haired, broad-shouldered Anthony from next door was also on his way out to start the day.
“Morning, Georgina.”
“Morning, Anthony.”
Anthony could be grouchy, but on a good day, you could get him to soften up. When he softened up, he sometimes stopped to chat, usually about his granddaughter, Lily, whom he adored. Georgina had heard a lot about Lily (seven years old, same as Cody; loved school; wanted to be a pirate when she grew up). Anthony had a tendency to go on and on once he’d started, and today Georgina hoped to escape his small talk.
“How’re you getting on, Georgina? How’s your little fella?”
Anthony only ever asked about Cody as a method of segueing Lily into the conversation.
“He’s good, Anthony, thanks.”
“Yeah? That’s great. Lily’s doing great too. She got top marks in her spelling tests, d’you know that? Knows how to spell all these words, long words, at her age! She’s bright as a button…”
Then followed a dull litany of long words Lily could spell. Georgina nodded along politely, her mind elsewhere.
As he grew enthused, Anthony gesticulated, and that was what drew Georgina’s attention to his injury.
“Anthony! Your hand!”
On his right hand were several deep red gouges.
He looked down at his hand, and chuckled. “Oh, that,” he said, taking a pair of black gloves out of his pocket and pulling them on.
“What happened?” Georgina asked.
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
“Try me.” She was intrigued.
Anthony paused, a twinkle in his pale blue eyes.
“It was my pet rabbit.”
“Your rabbit?” Gruff, burly Anthony was the last person she would have expected to have a fluffy pet.
“I know,” he said wryly. “I bought her for Lily, for Christmas. Lily’s all excited, right? Brilliant! A rabbit! I was the best granddad in the whole world—for five minutes. Because what does the bleedin’ thing do when I pick it up to give it to her? Bites me. Hard. First thing Christmas morning.”
Georgina began to laugh. Anthony was grinning too, shaking his head.
“Didn’t realize rabbits could give you such a bite,” he said, warming to his story. “But this one’s vicious, right? Blood goes everywhere. Lily’s bawling. ‘I don’t want a rabbit anymore, Granda,’ she says. ‘I don’t like the rabbit, take her away.’ So that’s it. I’m stuck with the bleedin’ rabbit now.”
He gave his head another rueful shake, then glanced at his watch. “I better run, Georgina. I’ve got to go pick my ma up at the hospital.”
My ma.
Those two small words hit Georgina like a punch to the gut.
“Oh,” she managed to say. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”
“Just a routine thing,” said Anthony. “She’ll be grand. I better leg it. Catch you later, Georgina.”
He walked off, leaving Georgina reeling. Anthony must be pushing sixty, but he still had his mother. Thirty years older than she was and he could still refer casually to his “ma” like a little boy. Would she even remember Rose’s voice by the time she reached his age?
The wave of grief blindsided her. She stumbled to the car, got in, put her head on the steering wheel, and sobbed.
During every difficult period in Georgina’s life, her mother had been by her side, unfailingly frank, funny, and forthright. “You can’t fall apart now,” she’d told her during those dark months after Cody’s birth. “Mothers don’t have the luxury of falling apart. There’s too much bloody housework to be done.” Rose had been the kind of person you could always depend on to answer the phone. How impossible it seemed that that number didn’t work anymore.
When the tears subsided a little, Georgina sat up.
She had to pull herself together. She had work.
As her mother had always told her: “Focus on the small things, one at a time.”
She checked her makeup in the rearview mirror and wiped the mascara smudges from under her eyes. Taking several deep breaths, she turned the key in the ignition and set off for work.
Chapter 9
“Georgina. Georgina.”
She jolted upright to find herself at the kitchen table, laptop and notes spread around her.
“You were asleep,” said Bren.
“What time is it?”
“Seven a.m.”
There was a small patch of saliva on the page in front of her. Georgina groaned. She must have fallen asleep within minutes of making her way downstairs at five a.m. Dammit. She’d missed out on a whole two hours of study time.
The rest of the day dragged. Georgina yawned her way through her shift at the bookstore. She collected Cody from the after-school club he attended on the days she worked full shifts, took him grocery shopping, and then went home to cook dinner.
It wasn’t until half past six that she finally got to sit down and open her laptop again. She was determined to use these last days of the Christmas break to catch up on college work. To prove the little voice in her head wrong. The one that whispered: You’ll drop out again. You’re not cut out for it.
Georgina had been in her second year of art college when the panic attacks and depression she was struggling with became too much. The loss of the college course she’d loved had been with her since—that, and the sense of failure. Gathering the courage to go back had taken many years and a lot of encouragement from Bren. She had to stay on top of things this time around. She had to.
After a solid hour’s studying, the knot in her stomach had eased somewhat. She was able to relax during dinner. They ate as a family, around the kitchen table, in the warm light of the crooked lamp. Happy and laughing. Bren opened a bottle of wine. The fiasco on Saturday night, the figure at the window, seemed far away, silly. A trick of the light, like Bren had said.
After dinner, Bren cleared up, allowing Georgina to go back to her studies. By the time they were undressing for bed, she felt more relaxed than she had in a long time.
Bren
pulled his T-shirt off. Georgina, sitting on the side of the bed, watched him. He’d been going to the gym a lot lately. He looked good. She wished she could convert her objective appreciation of this fact into a more sexual response.
Try, she told herself. As he walked around in his jeans, Georgina tried to see him with fresh eyes, as if she were a new lover sitting on the side of his bed for the first time.
Bren caught her staring. “What?” he said with amusement.
She met his gaze without speaking. They looked at each other steadily, and the atmosphere of the room changed.
“Come here,” she said.
Wordless, he walked over and stood in front of her. She leaned forward, kissing his bare skin. At his sharp intake of breath, she felt the beginnings of real arousal inside her—tempered by uncertainty.
Did she want to do this? She wasn’t sure.
She stood up.
“Where are you going?” He looked schoolboy-hopeful.
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
In the bathroom, she looked at herself in the mirror. Try. As she brushed her teeth, she imagined finishing what they had started on Saturday night. Her desire felt like an elusive bird that had chosen to perch on her shoulder. Now that it was there, she had to be cautious, mindful not to let it flutter away. She tried to stay focused on the pulse of excitement that had moved through her and settled in her lower body when Bren’s breathing changed—
It was then that she heard something. A strange, scraping noise in the back garden.
The bathroom window was textured glass. Georgina opened it to look outside. Cold night air blew in. Had she imagined the sound?
No. There it was again. Louder, now that the window was open.
A steady scrape—scrape—scrape.
Their back garden was small enough to take in at a glance, and it was deserted. So unless the noise was coming from their side gate—
Then she saw something moving.
Not in their garden. In Anthony’s.
