Fractured(63)

To quieten my chaotic thoughts, as though the source of all my problems was merely due to inactivity, I began to frenziedly straighten and tidy my room and belongings, finally bending to pick up the case I had taken to London the night before. I unzipped the holdall and allowed the contents to fall in an untidy heap upon the bed covers.

It took only moments to put away the smaller items, which left only the cotton nightdress I had worn at the hotel. I reached out to the garment, fully intending to wear it again that night, but the moment I touched the soft fabric, a violent and vivid snapshot filled my vision. I could no longer see my own bedroom and was suddenly transported back to the hotel. I could feel the heat of Jimmy’s lips on mine, feel them as strongly as if he were there beside me. I had never believed in psychometry – didn’t believe in anything psychic really – but the sensation of Jimmy removing the nightdress slowly from my body was replayed in excruciatingly exquisite detail. Convulsively my fingers held tightly onto the folds of cotton, reliving the moment when I had finally opened my heart to a truth I had denied for so long, and then the moment too which followed, when all hope was taken away.

I gave an angry cry and threw the nightdress away from me across the bed. It lay in a crumpled heap, an innocuous scrap of material, but I could almost see the heat of Jimmy’s fingerprints burned into the fabric. To me the garment would be for ever branded and I knew I could not wear it this night, not with my fiancé sleeping fifteen feet away down the corridor. In fact, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to wear it again.

I dreamt vividly again that night, my subconscious still in as much turmoil as my waking mind. In my dream I was bizarrely asleep – not here in my own bedroom, but somewhere strange I didn’t recognise. But I guessed I must live there, because my dad was there too, close enough for me to hear his voice, but not so near that I could make out the words. And in my dream I knew I had an important appointment to keep. The nature of the assignation wasn’t clear – it might have been with the amnesia specialist, or it could have been something else altogether – all I knew was that my dream was filled with a dire foreboding that I would oversleep and miss the very important meeting.

I had had similar dreams before, when something important was looming, like examinations, or a holiday, and while this dream was similar to those in the past, it felt altogether far more urgent and imperative that I did not oversleep. In my dream I knew there would be catastrophic consequences in missing the appointment; that this was not something that could merely be rescheduled for another date. It was crucial that I didn’t oversleep, and as if to further endorse this, I could hear my father whispering to my dreaming self.

‘Time to wake up, Rachel, it’s time to wake up now.’

I wanted to answer him, to let him know I was awake, but sleep held me down in its grip and I couldn’t shake off the manacles of slumber to reply. The impotence of not waking up and getting to the appointment on time was beginning to frighten me now, and I could feel my heart start to quicken in frustration.

The beeping began slowly, filtering into the dream like small sharp stabs from a needle. It pierced through the cloak of sleep, its sharp insistent tone commanding that it not be ignored. What was that sound? In my dream I could hear it really clearly, and as the tentacles of sleep began to weaken their hold, I realised it was an alarm. As I blinked myself awake I could still hear the beeping. Dazed, I reached out my hand to the bedside table. It must be an alarm clock, which I had inadvertently set before going to sleep. But my groping hand found no such clock beside the bed.

I lifted my head from the pillows. The fog of sleep lifted a little more and I realised the beeping was getting fainter and fainter and a moment later was gone. I blinked stupidly in the darkness, totally confused by the dream, and then, as though carried on a small eddy of breeze, I caught the familiar odour of my father’s favourite aftershave. That brought me more awake than even the imaginary alarm clock had done. This wasn’t the first time I had detected this fragrance in the night, and as my father was nowhere to be seen it clearly proved that he hadn’t been checking up on me when this had previously occurred. But what did it mean? Was it even possible to hallucinate a smell?

My jumbled thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a small noise coming from the direction of the corridor. I froze, straining my ears to catch the sound. After a moment I heard it again: the faint creak of old floorboards giving up the presence of an intruder. My first frantic thought was ‘burglar’. And I can only blame the fact I was still half asleep on the crazy illogicality that made this my initial conclusion.