Denny.
Grace
yawns and rolls her neck. “Nah. It’s gone now. I’m sure it won’t
come back.”
“ Does it have something to do with your –” He mouths
'therapy', as if it’s a secret not to be overheard.
“ Maybe,” she says. “And you can say it out
loud, Den. The-ra-pee. It’s not a dirty word and it’s nothing to be
ashamed of.” Harsh. She pats his knee. “Sorry babe.”
Chapter 6
Alone in
the flat in the quiet of the afternoon, an exhausted Grace drops
onto the sofa.
“ Just a little nap. Forty winks and I’ll feel much
better.”
No
sooner has she closed her eyes than she is back in the same garden,
walking the same path, coming to the same stone slab in the
sunlight. Déjà vu all over again, except this time if the voice
comes, she’ll be ready for it.
Warm
sunshine, the gentle twitter of birds and the scent of honeysuckle
heavy in the air all have a soporific effect, lulling her to more
than half way asleep.
“ I asked ye who ye are and how ye got in here. Speak will
ye?”
The
strong Scots voice jolts her wide awake again and she squeals.
“Wha’?”
A dark
man-shaped shadow is standing menacingly over her, blocking out the
sun’s light and heat.
“ Well?”
The line
of questioning is unbroken, as if she’s never been away. “I’m
Grace, and I came in through the gate in the wall,” she
says.
“ Did ye now? And who gave ye permission ta do
so?”
“ I don’t need anybody’s permission.”
“ Is that so? This is private property and wi’oot permission,
ye’re trespassing. Ye have ta leave, so away wi ye.”
She’s puzzled. How can she be trespassing? This is her place. She made it. It’s all in her head. She owns it
and she can’t trespass on her own property can she?
“ I’m not going anywhere and you’re blocking my sun. Please
move.”
“ Did ye no' hear me? I said –”
“ I heard you fine, and I’m staying put until I’m good and ready to
leave.”
A scowl
hoods his eyes. “I think no'. Ye canna be here.”
“ I beg to differ . I can be wherever I like!”
And
before she can ask herself why on Earth she is arguing with someone
who isn’t really there at all, he has taken her by the elbow, his
fingertips digging into her flesh, trying to force her from her
seat.
“ No, ye can’t!” he barks. “Allow me ta escort ye back ta the
gate and ye can be oan yer way.”
“ Hey! That hurts!” She prises his fingers from her. “There’s
no need to get physical.” Once they are separated, she rises of her
own accord. “If anyone’s entitled to be here, it’s me,” she says,
cupping her painful elbow. “And while we are on the subject of who
belongs where, who, pray tell, might you be, mister?”
“ None of yer business.”
He takes
a step back, widening the gap between them, and she can see him
better now without the sun in her eyes – tall and lean, with a
strong lined face, tanned from outdoor work, a pale scar running
from his chin and down his neck, under the kerchief he has tied
there. A mop of curly brown hair pokes out from under his cap, its
peak shading large deep set eyes the colour of dark oak. Quick eyes
that won’t meet hers.
“ It is very much my business if I decide to report you for
grabbing hold of me and manhandling me like I was a sack of
tatties,” she says.
Report to whom, you silly cow. He’s not real!
“ I’m sorry, but ye have ta leave. I need ta be alone here,”
he says, his voice turned quiet, pleading almost.
The
sudden change in him only piques her curiosity. “Why is it so
important I leave? I’m not doing any harm.”
He looks
down to the table-like slab. “I canna tell ye. Ye have ta
go.”
Why won’t he look at me? Is he embarrassed for grabbing me?
No, it’s more than that. I’ve seen that look before. He’s scared of
something. Not me though. Surely not.
“ Alright I’ll go, for now,” she says. “But I’d like to come
back and have a proper look around. Some
Grace
yawns and rolls her neck. “Nah. It’s gone now. I’m sure it won’t
come back.”
“ Does it have something to do with your –” He mouths
'therapy', as if it’s a secret not to be overheard.
“ Maybe,” she says. “And you can say it out
loud, Den. The-ra-pee. It’s not a dirty word and it’s nothing to be
ashamed of.” Harsh. She pats his knee. “Sorry babe.”
Chapter 6
Alone in
the flat in the quiet of the afternoon, an exhausted Grace drops
onto the sofa.
“ Just a little nap. Forty winks and I’ll feel much
better.”
No
sooner has she closed her eyes than she is back in the same garden,
walking the same path, coming to the same stone slab in the
sunlight. Déjà vu all over again, except this time if the voice
comes, she’ll be ready for it.
Warm
sunshine, the gentle twitter of birds and the scent of honeysuckle
heavy in the air all have a soporific effect, lulling her to more
than half way asleep.
“ I asked ye who ye are and how ye got in here. Speak will
ye?”
The
strong Scots voice jolts her wide awake again and she squeals.
“Wha’?”
A dark
man-shaped shadow is standing menacingly over her, blocking out the
sun’s light and heat.
“ Well?”
The line
of questioning is unbroken, as if she’s never been away. “I’m
Grace, and I came in through the gate in the wall,” she
says.
“ Did ye now? And who gave ye permission ta do
so?”
“ I don’t need anybody’s permission.”
“ Is that so? This is private property and wi’oot permission,
ye’re trespassing. Ye have ta leave, so away wi ye.”
She’s puzzled. How can she be trespassing? This is her place. She made it. It’s all in her head. She owns it
and she can’t trespass on her own property can she?
“ I’m not going anywhere and you’re blocking my sun. Please
move.”
“ Did ye no' hear me? I said –”
“ I heard you fine, and I’m staying put until I’m good and ready to
leave.”
A scowl
hoods his eyes. “I think no'. Ye canna be here.”
“ I beg to differ . I can be wherever I like!”
And
before she can ask herself why on Earth she is arguing with someone
who isn’t really there at all, he has taken her by the elbow, his
fingertips digging into her flesh, trying to force her from her
seat.
“ No, ye can’t!” he barks. “Allow me ta escort ye back ta the
gate and ye can be oan yer way.”
“ Hey! That hurts!” She prises his fingers from her. “There’s
no need to get physical.” Once they are separated, she rises of her
own accord. “If anyone’s entitled to be here, it’s me,” she says,
cupping her painful elbow. “And while we are on the subject of who
belongs where, who, pray tell, might you be, mister?”
“ None of yer business.”
He takes
a step back, widening the gap between them, and she can see him
better now without the sun in her eyes – tall and lean, with a
strong lined face, tanned from outdoor work, a pale scar running
from his chin and down his neck, under the kerchief he has tied
there. A mop of curly brown hair pokes out from under his cap, its
peak shading large deep set eyes the colour of dark oak. Quick eyes
that won’t meet hers.
“ It is very much my business if I decide to report you for
grabbing hold of me and manhandling me like I was a sack of
tatties,” she says.
Report to whom, you silly cow. He’s not real!
“ I’m sorry, but ye have ta leave. I need ta be alone here,”
he says, his voice turned quiet, pleading almost.
The
sudden change in him only piques her curiosity. “Why is it so
important I leave? I’m not doing any harm.”
He looks
down to the table-like slab. “I canna tell ye. Ye have ta
go.”
Why won’t he look at me? Is he embarrassed for grabbing me?
No, it’s more than that. I’ve seen that look before. He’s scared of
something. Not me though. Surely not.
“ Alright I’ll go, for now,” she says. “But I’d like to come
back and have a proper look around. Some
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