Fourteen Days Read online

  “We can’t do that. And besides, that wouldn’t help and we’d need permission high up the ladder.”

  “All right, it was a stupid idea. I just don’t know what else to do.” He sat back down, deflated. “It’s really making my life miserable. I haven’t slept properly in ages. I don’t even feel like myself.”

  Karen sat back on the couch, apparently deep in thought. After perhaps thirty seconds of silence, she said, “You’ll just have to try to make contact with her yourself.”

  He shook his head. “No way. I tried that before when I saw her on my bed, and I nearly had a heart attack. It’s too hard.”

  “I know it must be, but you can’t go on like this. The next time you see her just call out her name, or even Carl’s, and ask her what she wants from you. Maybe that’s all she needs to get through to you.”

  Rubbing a hand over his face, clearly reluctant to follow her advice, he mumbled, “Crap. I really don’t want to do this.”

  She placed a comforting hand on his arm. “You’ve got to.”

  Sinking deep into the couch, he closed his eyes. “Can’t you do it?”

  Nicky waited by the car, watching as Richard locked the front door. “Come on, slow-coach,” she called out, playfully.

  “Coming,” he replied, trying the door handle several times, making sure it was locked. He then crossed the road to the car. When he unlocked the driver side, the passenger side automatically opened and they climbed in. He started the engine and pulled off down the road, heading into town.

  “Where do you want to eat?” Richard asked.

  Shrugging, she replied, “Don’t know. Maybe Italian.”

  His face lit up at the prospect. “Yeah, sounds good.”

  “We could try that new one over by the church. Can’t remember what it’s called now.”

  He thought for a moment, and then answered, “I think it’s called Altalia—supposed to be nice.”

  “Yeah, that’s it. And we can park in one of the streets behind it.”

  Richard nodded.

  Pulling up behind the restaurant, he parked the car and they started down the street, holding hands. Richard couldn’t help but feel a little hopeful. For the next few hours, he could forget about the house, forget about Christina Long, and enjoy a normal evening with Nicky. Which seemed extremely overdue.

  They entered the restaurant and were brusquely seated by the waiter.

  “It’s quite nice here,” Nicky pointed out, scanning the half-empty room. “Quiet though.”

  “Yeah, it’s early. Probably be busy by six or seven on a Saturday.”

  Reaching over the table, she tenderly placed her hands over his. “So, what you been up to this morning?”

  He hesitated, trying to decide whether to mention his visit to Karen’s house. He coughed guiltily and decided against it. “Nothing really—just stayed in the house. Boring as usual.”

  Scowling in bafflement, she pointed out, “But your car was parked in a different place when I left for work.”

  His stomach turned at the idea of being caught out. Suddenly he felt like he had something really important to hide, like an affair. That would be simpler, he thought. “Oh, yeah, sorry—I nipped to the shop to get a few things.” He struggled to look her in the eye, so he rubbed his cheek with his palm. Relief washed over him when the waiter came up to their table.

  “Hello. Welcome to Altalia,” the waiter said with a strong Italian accent. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Yes please,” Richard said excitedly as he pointlessly glanced at the drinks menu, even though he knew exactly what to order. He ran his index finger down the list and said, “A pint of lager please,” still hoping Nicky hadn’t spotted his obvious guilt.

  “And for the lady?” the waiter asked her.

  She smiled, not looking at the menu. “Just a small glass of dry white wine, please.”

  Nodding, the waiter returned a smile and left the table.

  “So, how was working on your day off? Nice?” Richard asked, this time looking her straight in the eye, disguising his guilt.

  “It was nice actually. None of the bosses were in, so it was just me and Sian.”

  “Who’s Sian? Don’t think you’ve mentioned her before,” he asked, desperate to keep the conversation alive.

  She gave a look of disbelief. “She came to our wedding?”

  He looked up as he tried to recall her. “No, can’t remember her. There were loads of people there that I didn’t know.”

  “Well, anyway,” she continued, sounding slightly agitated, “she’s really nice.”

  He could clearly feel an atmosphere had begun to form; the last thing he needed tonight. Relieved, he saw the waiter approach the table carrying their drinks.

  “Thank you,” Richard said, shuffling in his chair as the drinks were placed on the table.

  Richard took a large swig of his pint glass and then picked up the menu. “What do you fancy eating?”

  Opening up her menu, she scanned the page. “Not sure. Maybe the carbonara.” She turned the page. “Or maybe the fish.”

  “Well, I know what I’m having,” he confidently announced.

  “Let me guess—lasagne?”

  He smiled, and then nodded proudly. “Spot on. Lasagne. And some garlic bread.”

  “Sounds nice, babe,” she said, clearly humoring him.

  The couple put down the menus and looked at each other. This time Richard was the one who reached out to place a hand over hers, still sensing a little suspicion from her. “So what shall we do tomorrow?” he asked, stroking her hand with his middle finger.

  She shrugged. “Don’t know. We could go see a film again.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “You’re back in work on Tuesday.”

  He nodded.

  “How’d you feel about that?”

  “All right actually. Glad to go back. Can’t tell you how boring it’s been stuck in the house all day.”

  “Have you spoken to Leah lately?”

  “No. The last time I tried to phone her, she hung up on me.”

  She gave off a small laugh through her nostrils. “Good for her. You shouldn’t be calling work anyway.”

  “I wonder how they’ve coped without me there. I don’t even know if the website is up and running.”

  She sipped her wine. “I’m sure everything went fine. Leah knows what she’s doing.”

  He gave her an unsure look. “Yeah, hopefully.”

  “Well, as long as two weeks relaxing at home has cleared your head—don’t want you fainting again.”

  Relaxing? he thought.

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he reassured her. “It was just a one-off. I haven’t felt anything like that since I’ve been home. No funny turns at all.”

  “That’s good to know. Let’s just hope the doctor gives you the all-clear next week.”

  “Yeah, me too. Can’t say I want to go through that again.”

  “No, me neither. It was horrible seeing you in the hospital like that.”

  Richard nodded, and then took a sip of his lager. “So, are you looking forward to having the house all to yourself again?”

  “No, not really. It’s been really nice having you home when I walk through the door. And I’m surprised by how nice you’ve kept the place. I was worried you’d make a huge mess every day.”

  “Well, normally I would, but I’ve been so bloody bored that there’s nothing else to do. I tell you, Nic, I don’t know how unemployed or retired people cope. It’s only been two weeks and I’ve been pulling my hair out.”

  She smiled. “Couple more days, babe, then back to normality.”

  “Hope so.” He took another swig of his drink. “I really do.”

  “What about this?” Nicky asked, kneeling down and holding up a DVD.

  Richard, lying on the couch, lazily tilted his head and saw the title: Ghost. His face tightened as he shook his head.

  Rolling her eyes, she ret
urned the movie and went back to the cupboard. “What about Pride and Prejudice?” she suggested, with a mischievous expression.

  “Ha ha—very funny,” he said.

  Rolling her eyes again, she sighed loudly. “I’ve had enough of this. You look. My knees are killing me.”

  “All right, let’s watch Ghost then,” he said, defeated. “But tomorrow I’m picking the film when we go to the cinema.” He turned his head back to watch the TV. “And I promise you it’ll be a blood-and-guts action movie.”

  “Fine,” she said. He knew she wasn’t really listening as she excitedly walked over to the DVD player. Crouching down, she slotted the disc into the machine, beaming. “I love this film. Haven’t seen it in years.”

  Nicky climbed beside him on the couch, draping her arm over his chest. He started to stroke her hand as she shuffled to get comfortable.

  Despite its being a movie about a ghost, Richard managed to shut out his problems for a couple of hours, almost annoyed at himself for enjoying such a film.

  As the end-credits rolled, Nicky picked up the remote control and stopped the movie. Yawning, she turned to face him; Richard’s eyes were heavy. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” She told him, patronizingly, like a mother getting her child to eat vegetables. “We should make every Saturday ‘chick-flick’ night. What do you think?”

  Forcing a smile, he shook his head. “No chance. How about Saturday night becomes Schwarzenegger night instead? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Very funny.” She kissed his lips and climbed up off the couch, pressing down on his stomach in the process, causing him to quietly grunt.

  Yawning loudly, he stretched out his arms. “What time is it?” he mumbled.

  Glancing at her watch, she replied, “Five to twelve.”

  “I’m knackered.” He held out his hand. “Help me up, babe.”

  Smiling, she grabbed his hand and attempted to pull him up. “You’re too fat,” she jokingly pointed out, struggling to speak. With no chance of success, Richard reluctantly got up.

  “It’s all muscle, babe,” he retorted, flexing his bicep hard.

  Nicky fake-laughed as she headed for the door. “In your dreams.”

  After turning off the TV and lights, Nicky retreated up the stairs, followed closely behind by Richard.

  Lying in bed, Richard pulled Nicky close. His lips met hers as he stroked her lower back delicately, moving slowly down onto her soft hips. She moved her hand over to his thigh, grazing it gently as she shifted even closer to him.

  This was the first time they had made love in almost three months.

  Shortly after, Nicky had fallen asleep, leaving Richard looking up at the ceiling, completely awake. He was all alone once again.

  Not even sex could bring on a decent night’s sleep. Would he ever go back to the way things were? Or would he have to endure the rest of his time in this house, alone and terrified?

  The wind outside howled against the slightly ajar window. Pulling the quilt up to his neck, he could feel his muscles start to tense up. He explored the darkened room with just his eyes, hoping, praying, that Christina Long wasn’t crouched down in the corner, watching, waiting to pounce.

  As the window rattled loudly, he contemplated closing it. But that meant getting up out of bed, and that seemed like a task too many. Get a grip, Gardener. You can’t live like this. If she wants to talk she’ll come to you. He remembered what Karen had said about communicating with her. The thought sent his body into a cold wince. How am I ever going to talk to her? I can’t do it. It’s too hard.

  The wind worsened, making the noise in the bedroom unbearable. Why couldn’t Nicky be awake? At least then she could get up and close the bloody window. I’m surprised the wind hasn’t woken her yet. I hope it does.

  Five minutes later the noise became too much, so he leaped out of bed and raced over to the window, shutting it in record time. Then, as if on fire and heading for the nearest lake, he sprinted over to the bed and climbed back in, making sure no body part was hanging out—apart from his head; he needed that to keep an eye on any unwanted guests.

  As the night went on and the morning drew near, any hope of sleep seemed futile. He had gone past terror; now all that he was left with was a new routine of insomnia. Could his life get any more complicated?

  Sighing loudly in defeat, he got out of bed and quietly left the bedroom. He made his way down the stairs; each creaky footstep made him flinch for fear of waking Nicky. Reaching the bottom, he quickly turned on the hallway light, his fists clenched high like a boxer, and gingerly entered the living room. Stepping in, he blindly reached for the light switch, and the creepy room came alive with light. He let out a long breath of relief when he saw that Christina Long was nowhere in sight. Walking over to the TV, he switched it on and sat on the couch. When the TV sprang into life, its high volume made him jump with fright and panic. He frantically located the remote control from the side of the couch and quickly turned it down. Scanning the channels, he sat back deep into the cushion, completely exhausted, praying that he would fall asleep eventually.

  He found a TV program about the mafia in the ’70s, and for some reason it had gripped him, even though he had no interest in the subject. Every torture scene in a mafia movie always made him sick to his stomach. He could watch any gory horror without a care in the world, but when the story was based on fact and not fiction, suddenly he became uncontrollably squeamish.

  The hours slowly passed and the sun began to ascend, bathing the room in a dark blueish color. Although his eyelids started to feel heavy, a slight panic washed over him at the thought of morning coming and still no sleep. Getting up off the couch, he made his way over to the cupboard at the other side of the living room. He reached in and took out a thin blanket, and carried it back over to the couch. Lying down, he pulled the white blanket over his body, still watching the TV, and squirmed, trying to find a comfortable position. He could feel sleep was just around the corner. But the idea of the morning light seeping through the curtains prevented him from dropping off.

  About halfway through yet another mafia documentary, he closed his eyes, only to open them almost immediately. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I just fall asleep like a normal person? He closed his eyes again, only this time he managed to keep them shut for nearly five minutes. But his head was filled with thoughts of work, and Nicky, and anything to do with the last two weeks of hell. Frustrated, he fidgeted, trying to find a better, more comfortable position. Finally he settled. And sleep seemed plausible.

  The sound of the door handle turning startled him, sending him into a cold sweat. Turning his head to face the door, eyes wide, his breathing increased, he could see the door quietly open. He clenched the blanket tightly as his body tensed up. Please be Nicky. Please be Nicky. Please be Nicky…

  It wasn’t Nicky. Christina Long entered the living room.

  He tried to scream but his vocals froze, and his grip on the blanket started to tighten as she slowly turned to face him. As if nothing was amiss, she began to walk toward the couch. He couldn’t breathe. Any thoughts of being able to communicate had vanished, and were replaced with a need to pass out. But the idea of closing his eyes seemed impossible. When she reached him—her eyes still reddened from tears—she tilted her head down to face him. His head began to feel light, as if he were about to faint. Watching as she slowly raised her blood-soaked hands, he cowered as she reached for his head.

  Suddenly she screamed out in agony as her palms met his cheeks.

  He had gone beyond fear, beyond terror.

  This was something else, something new.

  Something that no one could ever prepare for.

  His eyes began to close as the coldness of her hands pierced his flesh. He was no longer sprawled out on the couch in his living room with the TV on in the background. Everything around him, including his wife, his job, his friends, had vanished. All that remained was Christina Long’s tortured expression and her
screaming at the top of her voice.

  There was no fear where he was, no pain. Just the two of them.

  And then there was only silence.

  “Look, I don’t need this shit right now!” Richard heard someone scream from behind a closed door. “I’ve got enough on my bloody plate!”

  He could see Christina Long standing with her back against the door, her eyes filling with tears. He watched as she began to take in deep, drawn-out breaths, trying to compose herself. “Look,” she said, clearly disguising her anguish, “we can’t keep doing this. It’s not fair to both of us.”

  There was no reply from inside the room.

  “Carl?” she called out.

  The door suddenly opened, causing her to nearly fall backwards into a bathroom. Moving over to the side, Richard saw Carl Jones storm past her. “Where are you going?” she asked, as he reached the staircase.

  “Out,” he coldly answered.

  Richard followed her over to the banister as Carl made his way downstairs. “Where’s ‘out’ meant to be?” she asked.

  Stopping in his tracks, he glared up at her. “Look, I’m going for a drink. So why don’t you just nag someone else?” He continued his route toward the front door.

  “You can’t keep leaving me like this,” she shouted, a sob in her voice. “It’s not fair!”

  “Yeah, whatever,” he mumbled, opening the porch door.

  “Carl!” she yelled, now crying. “If you walk out that door, I won’t be here when you get back.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

  “This time I mean it!”

  Carl stopped for a moment, as if to reconsider—but then opened the front door and left the house, slamming the door hard behind him.

  Standing on the landing, still peering down, Christina sobbed.

  Sniffing loudly, she walked away from the banister and headed for the bathroom. Richard followed.

  She ran the tap, splashing cold water over her face. Leaning against the sink, she sighed. “He’s a bastard,” she said to her reflection in the mirror. “You don’t need him. You don’t need anyone. You’ve managed this far on your own. You don’t need that wanker.”