Page 29 of The Retreat

Talia was lying on the floor of the small room in her uncomfortable makeshift bed.

Her mind wouldn’t stop. Every moment replayed itself in loops: the glances, the gestures, the performance. Was she really pulling this off? The question circled endlessly, but it danced with a second question. An even more troublesome one. What the hell was happening between her and Imogen? And then a third brain teaser. Was Talia fighting it hard enough?

The answer to that last one was, maybe a little too hard. One moment in particular was front and centre.

‘It’s what people will expect. And for ten grand…’

Talia flinched at the memory, her face heating in the dimness. God. She hated how that had come out. It had sounded cold. Like she’d reduced Imogen to a number, to a service paid for and owed.

Talia didn’t see it that way. But it had come out because it was easier than saying something honest. So she’d gone for the easy line. A jab about money.

Talia didn’t want to be that person. The one who weaponised money, who turned vulnerability into debt and obligation. That wasn’t who she was. Or at least, it wasn’t who she wanted to be.

She glanced up at the bed. Imogen’s figure was curled beneath the covers, still and quiet, her breathing low and even. She was out. It should have irritated Talia how easily she was sleeping. A day ago, it would have. But now…

That was half the problem. The hatred she’d always felt for Imogen, comfortable and familiar, was slipping. And she didn’t like that. Not one bit. She didn’t know what was replacing it, not really, but it was something softer, something frightening.

Talia shifted onto her back, the light from the window casting faint shadows across the ceiling. This is ridiculous, she thought. I need to get my head straight. But the truth was, nothing felt straight. It all felt like it was bending under the weight of something she didn’t have a name for.

She listened to Imogen’s breathing. It soothed her, despite everything. That quiet, steady rhythm.

What a mess. She’d wanted control, and now she couldn’t even trust her own feelings.

She shuffled again, wondering how many hours of sleep she’d get tonight. Her insomnia didn’t need much to keep her mind racing, replaying every mistake of her day. It certainly had plenty of material to work with tonight.

She braced for it. The endless circling, the restless toss and turn of thoughts refusing to quiet down. But instead, she found herself listening to Imogen’s breathing again. Soft. Steady. Grounding.

And somehow, without quite meaning to, she focused on that. Just that.

She didn’t notice the moment her thoughts stopped spinning. She didn’t notice when the tension in her shoulders loosened. She only noticed, much later, if it could even be called noticing at all, that she’d fallen asleep to the sound of Imogen’s breath.

***

Talia was standing at the edge of a road. It was busy. Trucks and cars zipped by, honking their horns.

Across the road was a playpark. Talia knew that was where she wanted to get to. She was an adult; she knew that. But still, she needed to be there.

Talia took a step onto the road.

No one slowed down. Horns blasted. A blur of red and chrome shot past close enough to ruffle her clothes. But she kept walking. It was like wading into a current.

Halfway across, everything changed. The sound dropped out. She was floating, carried across to the park.

She walked through the gate, and Imogen was ahead of her, sitting on a swing that hung from nothing.

‘You found me,’ Imogen said, smiling with delight.

‘I wasn’t looking,’ Talia said. But she sat down on the swing next to her anyway.

‘Is Flora here?’ Talia asked.

‘I haven’t seen her,’ Imogen replied, swinging lazily.

Talia looked around her at the park. And there, on the roundabout, was Flora, as she’d looked the last time Talia had seen her in that street, sex dishevelled. She was spinning around on the roundabout without a care.

‘She’s here,’ Talia said.

‘Let’s not play with her,’ Imogen said.

‘OK,’ Talia said with a nod.

Now the roundabout was empty.

‘Will you push me?’ Imogen asked.

Talia hopped off her swing and walked around to Imogen. Suddenly, her body felt heavy. But before she could push her, Imogen had a change of heart.

‘You can get on with me if you like,’ Imogen said. ‘You can swing better like that.’

‘How?’

‘It’s a two-seater,’ Imogen said confidently.

Talia realised then that it was. And she climbed on. They pushed with their feet, swinging away together.

The metal chains creaked gently. The swing slowed.

Imogen leaned her head on Talia’s shoulder.

***

In the real world, Talia, now in the bed, pressed her forehead to the back of Imogen’s neck. Her breath moved softly against Imogen’s skin.

Neither of them woke.