to move her limbs she felt herself lifting off the ground, her whole torso rising and turning in a languid slow-motion dance that belied a heaving sense of panic underneath. She needed to see where she was falling, but her eyes kept opening onto darkness. Her breath hurt. The air was heavy, fat with moisture, filling up her nostrils and sucking at her skin. She tried to peel it off her, but the movement only caused her to lift farther off the ground again. She knew she wasnât properly conscious; she must be waking from some deep sleep or still embedded within it and only dreaming of being awake, but she could not hold on to that fact, nor work out what it was that felt so wrong.
This time as she slipped away, her body rising and rolling in a glorious defiance of gravity, she heard the crunch of gravel, and for a second she saw somethingâa snapshot of an evening sky, slashes of deep pink against a charcoal-blue wash, like swaths of bright cloth flung out from the bolt across the horizon. Her body felt like the colors, melting and wild. Someone grabbed hold of her arms and she felt herself being yanked back to earth. The velocity of her fall brought vomit to her throat and she knew she was going to be sick.
The darkness returned.
When she opened her eyes again she wasnât flying anymore. It took her a while to work it out. She was lying horizontal, fully dressed, her body leaden and flat, as if the air above were crushing her down. At least now her brain was functioning. The surface under her was soft, a couch or a bed, and the atmosphere was tame, inside rather than out. Gradually the darkness coalesced into a series of shapes, different densities of black. Directly in front of her she made out a bulky mass, some kind of cupboard or large piece of furniture, and to her right, near the ground, a thin slice of dirty yellow light from underneath what must be a door.
Her head hurt and she needed to urinate, badly. It was hard to think of anything else. She pulled herself off the bed, but her legs were like sponges soaked in water and she had to use the wall as a prop to get herself to the door.
Inside it, a ghostly night-light illuminated a cramped bathroom: tiled walls, a bath, and a marble top with a basin; a neat set of white towels and hotel shampoo and conditioner bottles nearby.
She fumbled with her trouser button to get herself undressed. The urine splashed fiercely into the bowl. She only just made it in time, like a child who waits too long at play, then has to rush to go. A child. Lily. Lily . . . The thought was like an electric shock. Lily. She saw traffic lights, a sign for an airport, a manâs face glancing at her anxiously from the driverâs seat. Then she remembered the flash of sunset, and the vomiting. She pulled herself up from the loo. Iâm ill, she thought. Iâm ill. But what? And how? And she felt a rush of fear in the bottom of her gut. Her mouth felt as if she had been chewing on gravel. She gulped down a handful of water straight from the tap, but it didnât help.
In the main room she searched for the light switch, only to be blinded when she found it. She blinked her way back into focus onto a spare, spotless hotel room: single bed, side table, wardrobe, chest of drawers and chairâinoffensive corporate furniture, not unlike the room she had left that morning. One wall was covered by heavy drapes. She yanked them back, half expecting to find a cityscape filled with lights, but instead there was only a window, considerably smaller than the width of the curtains, and blackness beyond. When she lifted the catch the window opened a few inches, then stopped. The air was unexpectedly cool, with a whisper running through it, like the sound of electricity singing through pylon cables. It was as if the world ended behind the glass.
When she turned back, the room appeared less benign. She noticed there was no telephone anywhere, no light by the bed, no leaflets or
This time as she slipped away, her body rising and rolling in a glorious defiance of gravity, she heard the crunch of gravel, and for a second she saw somethingâa snapshot of an evening sky, slashes of deep pink against a charcoal-blue wash, like swaths of bright cloth flung out from the bolt across the horizon. Her body felt like the colors, melting and wild. Someone grabbed hold of her arms and she felt herself being yanked back to earth. The velocity of her fall brought vomit to her throat and she knew she was going to be sick.
The darkness returned.
When she opened her eyes again she wasnât flying anymore. It took her a while to work it out. She was lying horizontal, fully dressed, her body leaden and flat, as if the air above were crushing her down. At least now her brain was functioning. The surface under her was soft, a couch or a bed, and the atmosphere was tame, inside rather than out. Gradually the darkness coalesced into a series of shapes, different densities of black. Directly in front of her she made out a bulky mass, some kind of cupboard or large piece of furniture, and to her right, near the ground, a thin slice of dirty yellow light from underneath what must be a door.
Her head hurt and she needed to urinate, badly. It was hard to think of anything else. She pulled herself off the bed, but her legs were like sponges soaked in water and she had to use the wall as a prop to get herself to the door.
Inside it, a ghostly night-light illuminated a cramped bathroom: tiled walls, a bath, and a marble top with a basin; a neat set of white towels and hotel shampoo and conditioner bottles nearby.
She fumbled with her trouser button to get herself undressed. The urine splashed fiercely into the bowl. She only just made it in time, like a child who waits too long at play, then has to rush to go. A child. Lily. Lily . . . The thought was like an electric shock. Lily. She saw traffic lights, a sign for an airport, a manâs face glancing at her anxiously from the driverâs seat. Then she remembered the flash of sunset, and the vomiting. She pulled herself up from the loo. Iâm ill, she thought. Iâm ill. But what? And how? And she felt a rush of fear in the bottom of her gut. Her mouth felt as if she had been chewing on gravel. She gulped down a handful of water straight from the tap, but it didnât help.
In the main room she searched for the light switch, only to be blinded when she found it. She blinked her way back into focus onto a spare, spotless hotel room: single bed, side table, wardrobe, chest of drawers and chairâinoffensive corporate furniture, not unlike the room she had left that morning. One wall was covered by heavy drapes. She yanked them back, half expecting to find a cityscape filled with lights, but instead there was only a window, considerably smaller than the width of the curtains, and blackness beyond. When she lifted the catch the window opened a few inches, then stopped. The air was unexpectedly cool, with a whisper running through it, like the sound of electricity singing through pylon cables. It was as if the world ended behind the glass.
When she turned back, the room appeared less benign. She noticed there was no telephone anywhere, no light by the bed, no leaflets or
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