withdrawn five hundred pounds in cash, which was very odd. I usually take out about fifty.
I drank some wine and opened an official-looking letter, which informed me that the tax disc on my car was due to run out. This didn't concern me too much because I didn't have a clue where my car was except I suddenly did, because I opened the next envelope and discovered that it was being held in a police pound in Bow.
'Yes!' I said aloud. 'At last!'
I looked more closely at the letter. Apparently it had been towed away from an illegal parking place on Tilbury Road, E1, wherever Tilbury Road was. Wherever bloody E1 was. I could collect it between nine and five. I'd go tomorrow, first thing.
I raced to the kitchen. 'I've found my car!' I said to them.
'Good,' said Guy, a little startled. 'Great. Where is it?'
'In a police pound in Bow apparently. I'll get it tomorrow morning. Then I won't need all those cabs.' I picked up the bottle of wine and poured myself another large glassful.
'How?' asked Guy.
'What do you mean, how?'
'How will you get it? You don't have the key.'
'Oh.' I felt winded by disappointment. 'I hadn't thought of that. What shall I do?'
'You could get a locksmith out,' suggested Izzie kindly.
'No, I know. There's a spare key at Terry's, somewhere, God knows where, though. In a safe place I've forgotten. I'll have to go back again. Shit. I thought tonight was the end of it.'
'At least you'll have your car again. That's something.' 'It's a start.'
I was falling, falling from a great height. Nothing could stop me and there was silent black air all around me and I was plunging through it. I heard myself call out, a wild cry in the night. I heard it echo.
Then I woke with a violent lurch and lay as if winded on the pillow. The pillow was damp from sweat. I felt sweat trickle down my cheeks and neck like tears. I opened my eyes but it was still dark. Quite dark. There was a heaviness over my heart, as if a great weight had been dropped on to me. I was trapped in the darkness, I heard myself breathing, but the sound was hoarse, like a rusty gasp. Something was wrong. I couldn't catch my breath properly; it was stuck in my chest and my throat kept closing against it in spasms. I had to remember how to do it. I had to remember how to breathe. I had to count, yes, that was it. Breathe in and then out. Slowly. One-two, one- two. Pulling air into my lungs, holding it for a second, letting it out again.
Who was there? Someone was nearby. A board creaked. I wanted to sit up but my body wouldn't move, and I wanted to call out but my voice was frozen inside me. Another board creaked. There was breathing. I could hear it, just outside the door. I lay flattened against my pillow. I could feel my mouth pulled back in a scream, but still no sound came, and there was the breathing again, footsteps, a quiet, stifled cough.
'No,' I said at last. 'No.' I spoke louder. 'No, no, no, no.' The words filled up my head. They ricocheted around the room, crashed around my skull, tore at my throat. 'No, no, no, no.'
The door opened and in the slab of light I could see a black shape.
'No!' I screamed again, even louder. There was a hand on my shoulder, fingers on my hair. I thrashed on the bed. 'No, no, no, no. Oh, please, no!'
'Abbie. Abbie, wake up. It's all right. You're having a dream. It's just a dream.'
'Oh, Jesus.'
'Abbie.'
'God, God, God,' I whimpered.
'You were having a nightmare.'
I took hold of Sheila's hand and pressed it against my forehead.
'You're soaked through! You must have a fever.'
'Sheila. Oh, Sheila. I thought.. .'
'You were having a nightmare.'
I sat up. 'It was terrible,' I said.
'You poor thing. Listen, I'm going to get you a towel to put over your pillow. You'll be all right now.'
'Yes. Sorry. I woke you.'
'You didn't. I was going to the bathroom anyway. Hang on.'
She went away and returned a few moments later with a large towel. 'All right now?' she asked.
'Yes.'
'Call if you need me.'
'Thanks. And, Sheila leave the door open, will you? And the light in the corridor on?'
'It's very bright.'
'It doesn't matter.'
'Good night, then.'
'Night.'
She left and I lay back in bed. My heart was still pounding like a drum. My throat hurt from screaming. I felt weak and shaky and clammily sick. The light flooded in through the door. I lay and watched it and waited for it to be morning.
'Where would I have hidden it?'
'No idea,' said Terry. He was still in his dressing-gown, the one I'd given him for his last birthday, drinking thick black coffee and smoking cigarette after cigarette. A blue fug clouded the room, which smelt of ash and the garlic from last night. There was no sign of the other woman, though.
'I mean, it's not in any of the little cabinet drawers. It's not in the wooden bowl that every bit of crap ends up in. It's not in the bathroom.'
'Why would it be in the bathroom?'
'It wouldn't be. That's what I said, it's not.'
'Oh.' He lit another cigarette. 'Well, I've got to get dressed and go. I'm running late as it is. Will you be long?'
'As long as it takes to find the key. Don't worry, I can let myself out.'
'Well, not really.'
'Sorry?'
'You don't live here any more, Abbie. You walked out on me, remember? You can't just come and go like this.'
I stopped rummaging and stared at him. 'Are you serious?'
'I'll get dressed while you look,' he said. 'But, yes, I am.'
I opened all the drawers in the kitchen and living room and banged them shut again, opened cupboards and slammed them closed. Not with the cutlery; not with the bills; not with the tins of food, the bags of flour and rice, the cereal packets, the packets of coffee and tea, the bottles of oil, vinegar, soy sauce. Not on one of the mug hooks. Not on the lintel of the door between the two rooms. Not on the bookshelves, or with the stationery, or in the glass bowl where I put used to put things like rubber bands, paper clips, spare buttons and hair bands stamps, tampons.
Terry came back into the room. He put his hands into his coat pockets and jangled change impatiently.
'Look,' I said, 'you don't want me here and I don't want to be here. Go to work and when you come back I'll have gone. I won't steal anything. I won't remove the things that are mine. You can have them. I might as well start over with a completely blank slate. I won't scribble obscenities on the bathroom mirror with my lipstick. I'll find the key and I'll leave. OK?'
He jangled the coins some more. 'Is this really the way it's going to end?' he asked eventually, which took me by surprise.
'The woman who was here last night seemed nice,' I said. 'What was her name? Sarah?'
'Sally,' he said, giving up. 'OK. I'll leave you to it.'
Thanks. 'Bye, then.'
'Bye Abbie.' He hovered by the door for a few seconds, then was gone.
I made myself a last cup of coffee. I took the mug and wandered round the flat. Part of me was wondering if the key would be hidden inside this cup, that cubby-hole. Part of me was just looking, remembering. I found the key
