Fractured(64)

Another creak, one further footstep on the betraying beams and then, in the filtered moonlight coming through the flimsy curtains, I saw the handle on my door begin to depress slowly. When the small arc had been completed, I heard the door groan softly as weight was gently applied to open it. The door resisted. The handle was released and depressed again, and this time enough force was applied to make the door grind against its hinges in protest. Still the lock held.

I waited, my breath stilling in my lungs. Scared to stir upon the mattress in case my movements could be heard from the hallway, I bit my lip nervously, wondering how many more times he would try and how sturdy the lock was. It was crazy to feel it might actually have been preferable if it really was a thief invading the house, instead of my fiancé.

‘Rachel?’ Matt’s voice was a low whisper, spoken close to the hinge of the door. ‘Rachel, are you awake? Rachel?’

Time seemed to be suspended for ever. I couldn’t hold my breath for much longer, and if he didn’t abandon his quest soon, he would surely hear the loud expulsion when I either drew breath or passed out from lack of oxygen. Fortunately, neither of those events occurred, for after another anxious minute I heard the retreat of his footsteps down the hallway back to the guest room.


He was dressed and seated at the kitchen table when I went down the following morning. An empty coffee cup and an open newspaper were both before him.

‘Good morning,’ I greeted him lightly, in what I hoped was the appropriate tone for a woman who had locked her fiancé out of her room the night before. For good measure, I bent to place a grazing kiss upon his cheek.

‘Sleep well?’ he enquired politely. My back was to him then, as I poured a large cup of coffee into a mug. I was glad he couldn’t see my face as I replied.

‘Yes. Really, really well, in fact. I went out like a light; dead to the world the minute my head touched the pillow.’

Stop, Rachel, a little voice inside me screamed; that was way too much overemphasis to sound believable.

Apparently he thought so too. ‘So you didn’t hear me at your door in the night?’

I didn’t meet his eyes, and concentrated on stirring my cup so vigorously I was in danger of removing the ceramic.

‘No. Why, was there something wrong?’

He was silent for so long, he forced me to look up. ‘I came to be with you.’

‘Oh.’ And when he seemed to want more from me than that, I added, ‘I thought you were only joking when you said that.’

Clearly not the right response. His look spoke volumes and his silence forced me into saying more.

‘But we couldn’t do anything. Not here. Not with my father just in the next room.’

‘That never stopped us before.’

He was right. I could recall several teenage forays down the corridor, the risk-taking and fear of getting caught only adding to our excitement.

‘Well, it’s different now. We’re older. And besides, you know things are still very mixed up for me right now. You said you understood. You said you’d be patient.’

If he’d looked just a little abashed then, I would probably have softened my tone. After all, he didn’t know for sure that I was awake when he came knocking at my door. He took up the paper, folding it neatly in half before continuing.

‘I think I’m being extremely patient, Rachel. But I’m only human. One minute we have a full and complete adult relationship and the next you don’t remember anything about us and you’re hiding in the dark from me behind a locked door.’

Damn. He had known I was awake. And he’d still let me walk right into his trap, letting me make a complete fool out of myself. I was suddenly angry.

‘Well, I’m very sorry that my getting mugged has been such a terrible inconvenience to your life plan. It certainly wasn’t my intention. Do you want me to apologise for the amnesia too, while I’m at it, or should I just say sorry for not wanting to have sex with someone it feels like I just re-met a few days ago?’

He came to me then, and although I was still mad I let him put his arms around me, but I didn’t relax in his hold, and I’m sure he could feel the tension rippling through me in waves.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered into my hair. ‘It’s just so hard, seeing you, loving you and wanting you and knowing you just don’t feel the same way.’

He sounded so genuine that I felt most of my anger wash away on a tide of remorse. I didn’t remember loving him as a grown woman, but that wasn’t his fault. Quite unbidden, the image of the two of us taken at the Eiffel Tower flashed into my mind. I might not remember the feeling, but there could be no doubt that at the moment that photograph had been taken, I had been completely and utterly in love with the man I was now holding at arm’s length. I gave a small groan and allowed my body to relax completely against him, even putting my arms about his steely torso to hold him close.