Page 48 of The Lucky Winners

Sunday

Merri

My mouth is bone dry. Gritty eyes scrape against my eyelids as I blink, staring at the ceiling above me. A faint glow from the motion-sensor light outside filters around the blind, pooling in odd shapes on the wall. It’s probably just a cat or a fox, but my breathing quickens slightly.

It’s too quiet, apart from Dev’s steady breathing beside me, a sound that grates and soothes in equal measure as the vivid memory of last night breaks through.

Our doomed drinks party. The sharp ache in my chest is familiar now – disappointment, anger, regret all tangled into an ache that refuses to ease.

Sarah . Her pale face, the click of her phone camera, the instant denial when I confronted her.

What was the look in her eyes? Was it guilt?

Or had I imagined that, twisting her emotion into something it wasn’t?

Her shock had certainly seemed real and it was possible I’d overreacted.

If that was the truth I had surely wrecked things with someone who could have been a really good friend.

And goodness knows I’m in short supply of them.

Or maybe Sarah had played me and I’m just too gullible to see it?

I wish I could talk to Paige and get her take on it.

She’d see through the mess of my emotions, cut through the doubt and give it to me straight.

But Paige isn’t here and I can’t get hold of her.

Now I’ve been left alone with my own second-guessing, unsure if I’ve just lost a friend or finally seen the truth of who’s been betraying us.

‘Unbelievable,’ Dev had said, when I came back inside thoroughly drenched. Tilda and Simon had already left, and although I’d texted Tilda to apologize for how the night had ended, she hadn’t yet replied.

I shift on the mattress. My legs feel as if they’re made of lead while my skin is prickly and tight.

The duvet feels suffocating, but without it, the chill in the room after the storm bites a little too hard.

I can’t settle. Dev shifts too, letting out a soft, satisfied grunt before resuming his rhythmic snoring.

How does he manage to sleep? It’s like his super-power, sidelining his worries in an instant to enjoy a good night’s rest. He’s always been the same.

I massage my temples, but the thoughts won’t stop. They chase each other in maddening circles, never getting anywhere but refusing to abate, and now I’m beginning to doubt myself.

What if Jack was right and Sarah really was just admiring the room?

Perhaps, in the cold light of day without alcohol blurring the edges, I should contact Sarah and ask to meet up with her. Tomorrow I’ll ask Jack to arrange it. We can sit down like adults, and talk this thing through.

I don’t want to give in but we can’t carry on with this stalemate. Simon seemed to take Sarah’s side and Tilda was infuriated, and offended by Dev’s comment. We’ll need to speak to them, too. If we’re all honest, perhaps it’s not too late to rescue the situation.

I roll on to my side, staring at Dev’s back as it rises and falls in time with his steady breathing. I swing my legs out of bed, careful not to disturb him. My bare feet find the smooth wooden floor that’s brand new but designed to look old. Nothing is as it seems here.

Pulling on my dressing-gown, I pad to the window and peek through the curtains.

The garden is bathed in shadows, the faint outline of the hedge barely visible against the black.

Then the sensor light flashes on, illuminating everything.

The terrace and garden look still. Too still.

But then I see it. Movement on the terrace.

A figure. Moving so quickly I almost miss it.

I suck in a breath, my pulse thundering in my ears. Then, as I’m about to turn and call to Dev, there’s nothing. No movement, no shadows.

I blink the grit from my eyes, my throat tightening as I step back, letting the blind fall into place. A thousand thoughts collide in my mind. Should I wake Dev, or did I imagine it in my heightened state?

I peer around the edge of the blind again, standing very still for a couple of minutes. Nothing moves. Nobody is out there.

I’ve got to calm down, to get a grip.

In the living area, the darkness feels denser. But I don’t switch on the lights. Instead, I move straight to the glass doors, my fingers fumbling at the lock. When I open the door, the night air rushes in, like a gasp.

I step outside. The cold air is sharp and bracing, waking every nerve in my body. I can smell damp earth and the faint waft of rotting leaves.

I stand completely still. Watching.

The hillside is a mass of shifting shadows under the moonlight. I scan it, searching for the glint of a lens, or the shift of a body among the trees. Any movement where there shouldn’t be any. But there’s nothing.

I stay out longer than I should, the cold seeping into my bones. It clears my head in a way nothing else can. But the silence isn’t comforting. There’s just uncertainty. The steady, open emptiness of the night.

When I finally step back inside, the warmth of the house feels almost unbearable. I pad into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet. Then I slip back into the bedroom, careful not to let the door creak behind me.

The dressing-gown slides off my shoulders and I climb into bed, pulling the covers over me.

Then I stare at the ceiling, still restless.

And I wait for sleep to come.