Mayhem by Sarah Pinborough Page A

distracted by thoughts of the stranger throughout dinner I hadn’t paid so much attention to my host’s behaviour; I had presumed his joviality to be his normal good humour. But now, seeing him in this state, I realised that his laughter had been a touch too loud; his jocularity a touch forced. I looked more closely at him in the flickering glow of the firelight. His skin was flushed and his pupils were glazed.
    ‘I dream of blood,’ he murmured. ‘Have I told you that, Thomas? Everything is coated in it. The world has turned red.’ His mouth turned down in a tight frown. ‘Quite horrible.’
    ‘I’m not surprised,’ I said, wanting to reassure him. ‘With all that has filled the news of late, and the violence that has gripped our city, it’s remarkable we’re still functioning at all.’ Despite his dreams, I envied him his sleep. Nightmares I could cope with; this endless exhaustion was something else.
    ‘She’s always in them,’ he said, ‘Juliana. Every dream.’
    ‘She is your daughter, Charles. It is entirely normal for your mind to place her at the centre of your fears. The mind is a strange terrain. It has its own way of dealing with the world while you sleep.’
    Charles nodded, although it was clear he was unconvinced. He muttered something under his breath, the words slurring together.
    ‘What was that?’ I asked. My own tiredness was starting to feel like grit behind my eyes, and althoughI was under no illusion that sleep would embrace me that night, my senses were dull. As much as Charles was my friend, I had little to offer anyone in the way of good humour and support.
    ‘I don’t like to look out of the windows at night,’ he admitted. ‘It’s the glass, and the darkness. It’s as if everything wicked is looking into my house. Into me .’
    I had no answer for that other than a hollow dread in the pit of my stomach. This was not my Charles Hebbert, my cheery friend and colleague. If his thoughts could go to such dark places then what hope was there for mine?
    I drank my brandy quickly, fully intending to make my excuses and leave, but Charles suddenly burst into a smile.
    ‘Don’t listen to me, Thomas. I am fine. Just a momentary bout of melancholy. Shall we have one more drink? I promise to be more cheerful.’ He slapped my shoulder, heading towards the decanter, regardless of my answer. ‘Just one more, and then I shall let you get home to bed.’
    I glanced at the clock to see it was already gone ten o’clock. I would not make the dens tonight, not, at least, in any fit state to speak to the stranger should I encounter him. I forced a smile and took another drink.
    *
    One drink became several and it was nearly midnight when I finally rose from my chair to leave. Charleshad been true to his word, and our conversation had turned to more pleasant talk, of family life, Juliana and James, and then reminiscing on the past adventures of our own youths, but I couldn’t help but feel it was somewhat forced. Charles finally drifted off into a drunken sleep mid-sentence and I left him by the dying fire and quietly headed downstairs. My own head was spinning slightly, despite having tried to avoid matching Charles’ measures, and I was looking forward to lying in my own bed, even if sleep wouldn’t come.
    I had reached the front door when Mary emerged from the drawing room. I jumped slightly, expecting her to be already asleep.
    ‘Thank you, Thomas,’ she said. ‘You must come again. I think your company is good for him.’
    ‘You might not thank me in the morning. I fear he is somewhat the worse for brandy. I have left him asleep by the fire.’
    ‘I shall look after him.’ She smiled softly as she passed me my hat. ‘I’m sorry he’s kept you up so late. You’re both working so hard; you must be tired yourself.’
    My exhaustion and I were such companions now that it was almost amusing to hear someone mention it so lightly. ‘I shall cope,’ I answered, ‘and so will