Page 34 of We Live Here Now

33

Emily

I finally drift into sleep as night turns to day, and I’m dead to the world when the phone rings, dragging me blearily back into reality, and when I glance at the clock it’s already ten.

“Hi, Dr. Canning.” My mouth is dry but I try to sound as peppy as possible. “How are you?”

There’s nothing wrong with sleeping until ten, especially for someone just out of the hospital, but suddenly I don’t want to share. I don’t want to explain that I was awake all night raging at my absent husband over a nail. Now, in the beautiful daylight, I can’t really understand why I was so angry. Why did the nail bother me so much compared to the awful smell and the slamming windows and doors? They freak me out way more.

“Emily?” Dr. Canning’s been speaking and I haven’t been paying attention. I sit up and flinch as my hips spasm slightly.

“Sorry, the signal’s not great. You cut out.”

“I was asking if everything was okay? No problems?”

“No, I’m good.” I sit up straighter, not sure why, but suddenly alert. Something in his tone. Something worried. “A bit tired but I’m actually doing better than I expected.”

Outside a thick, dark cloud spreads across the sun, washing the room in a sudden cool gray. Maybe it’s not such a nice day after all.

“Okay, that’s good.”

“You sound surprised.” He does. Why does he? He has no reason to.

“Oh, it’s just not uncommon for there to be adjustment issues. Migraines. Visual abnormalities. You’ll be dealing with a lot of sensory overload after such a long time in the hospital on top of the illness itself.”

“Well, nothing to report but tiredness here.” I’m cheery as the first heavy splatters of rain hit the window. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. He’s not due to call me today. A little coincidental that Freddie and I fight and I tell him about the smell and then my specialist calls the next day. It’s ten in the morning. If Freddie rang him first thing, that’s about right for them to have spoken and then for the doctor to be calling me. I don’t feel that awful strange rage I felt in the night, but something else. Something hollow. Sadness maybe? A sense of betrayal. Freddie talked to my specialist without even telling me.

“I’m fine, honestly.” I have to give him something. If I’m too effusive that everything is perfect and Freddie’s rung to say he’s worried about me, that’s going to be odd, and it won’t be me he believes.

“I’ve had the occasional strange smell but nothing lasting,” I say reluctantly. “If I’m honest, it was a bit freaky in the moment, and I probably overreacted, but like you say, these things will probably happen for a while.”

“Ah yes, that’s quite common.” He sounds relieved. “But try not to get too worried about it or let your imagination run away with you. You’ve not only been through a health crisis, you’ve also moved house. Your brain is sorting everything out, but there will be glitches in the matrix for a while.” Freddie must have mentioned what I said about the smell. Maybe he’s mentioned the haunting stuff, but Dr. Canning’s obviously not about to bring that up.

“Yes, I need to think of it that way. But honestly, I’m good.”

“You certainly sound well. And call me anytime, Emily. Okay?”

We say our goodbyes and I toss the phone back on the side table, staring out at the smeared gray. The sunshine I’ve only just woken up to has been swallowed by a heavy rain that’s almost hail, landing icy sharp against the windows. The weather seems to change in an instant on these moors, the wild land’s moods swinging violently from one extreme to the other, and it’s so gloomy that I don’t bother getting dressed but instead go downstairs, take some pills, make a cup of tea, grab more pills, and head straight back to bed. My whole body aches from too much activity, and I refuse to feel guilty about crawling back under the covers, especially when the world outside is so uninviting.

I found it, but I didn’t use it. I put it back. I should go up to the top floor and search, but I can’t. I just can’t. I don’t want to think about that, and I really don’t want to think about those awful words, You will die here.

I stare at my phone again. No texts from Freddie. Is he annoyed at me about our fight last night? I can’t remember exactly what I said, but I know I was mad, the events of the night now like some hazy dream. I remember feeling rage though. I guess fear brought it out in me. Seeing that nail again.

The wind races around outside, whistling through any tiny gaps in the bricks as the rain lashes the building, and I feel like I’m on a boat on stormy seas, but the sounds are soothing, reliable, and known, not creaking doors or the thud of moving books, or doors slamming shut by themselves. Today, everything is perfectly normal in the house.

My eyes are heavy and after barely a few sips of my tea I pull the duvet up close around my chin even though the bedroom is toasty warm and find some old episodes of Modern Family on my phone to play in the background so I don’t think about ghosts or poltergeists or ominous threats.

No wonder Freddie is worried about me, and he doesn’t even know about all of it. I wish something would happen around him. Just so he’d know I’m not imagining it all.

Just so I’d know I’m not imagining it all.