Page 51 of Take Me Away

‘Come on, Cap. You can’t sleep with Hollywood’s golden girl.’

I laugh a little.

But it hits off key.

I’m not golden anymore.

I’m tarnished.

He closes the door softly behind him, leaving me alone in his bedroom. I sit motionless for several minutes, long after his footsteps have retreated down the stairs followed by the patter of his old dog.

The dog that belonged to his wife.

Something about that makes my chest ache in the worst possible way.

Eventually, I force myself to move, rummaging through my overnight bag for pyjamas – an old T-shirt and soft cotton shorts, hardly glamorous. The bathroom is as simple as the bedroom, clean but utilitarian. No fancy products, just basic necessities. So different from the marble ensuite of my London apartment with its collection of expensive toiletries.

Back in the bedroom, I ease myself under the covers, trying not to think about whose bed I’m in. But it’s impossible not to. This is Kit’s bed. Where he sleeps each night. Where he once slept with his wife.

I’m an intruder, trespassing on a life I have no part in. I stare at the ceiling, listening to the rain against the windows and the occasional creak of floorboards as Kit moves around downstairs.

Sleep eludes me despite my exhaustion. My foot throbs, but it’s the ache in my chest that keeps me awake.

Time stretches, elastic and strange. The wind howls around the eaves, rain lashes the windows. In the distance, thunder rumbles, moving away towards the sea. I count the seconds between flashes and rumbles, just like Maggie taught me during summer storms.

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three…

Chapter Twelve

KIT

It’s the stairs that wake me. The squeak on the tread that never fails.

The storm’s eased off to a steady drizzle, tapping against the windows like an afterthought. The house creaks – old timber and salt-heavy air settling in. Normally, I’d sleep through it. Tonight, it sets me on edge.

A floorboard creaks near the stairs. Light. Hesitant. Then another. Uneven.

‘Maisie?’ I call, my voice rough, still thick with sleep. She’s had bad dreams before – comes padding down the hall, silent until she’s right next to me.

No answer.

I push myself upright, Cap letting out a whine as he slides off my lap and thuds to the floor. Every joint in my back cracks in protest. The sofa’s too short and too bloody narrow.

‘Isla?’ I ask into the dark. The slight hobble has given her away.

There’s a long pause.

‘Yeah. Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.’

She’s just a silhouette at first – blanket clutched around her like a shield, hair loose, half wild. Unsure.

‘Everything all right? Why are you walking around on that foot?’

‘I … couldn’t sleep, and honestly it’s feeling better already.’

She crosses the room, her steps uneven, which makes me not quite believe her ‘better already’ update. The blanket’s one from my bed, and her T-shirt’s too big on her.

She stands there like she’s waiting for permission to sit.