Page 22 of Rock Paper Scissors
“Adam, I’m serious. Don’t you think this is all a bit weird?”
“Yes and no. They probably just got the idea from the same place as you. Didn’t you buy everything in our bedroom from one company because you got a fifty percent discount in the sale? You fell in love with a picture of a bedroom in their brochure, and literally bought it all. I definitely remember the credit card bill. Maybe whoever owns this place did the same?”
What he’s saying is true. Ididfall in love with a picture of a bedroom in a brochure, and I did buy almost everything in it, despite the ridiculous price tags. I suppose it isn’t beyond the realm ofpossibility that whoever renovated the chapel has similar taste. The place has been beautifully decorated, despite every surface being covered in dust. Which makes me notice that—unlike the rest of the property—the bedroom is spotless. I can even smell furniture polish.
“It’s clean,” I say.
“Surely that’s a good thing?”
“All the other rooms were dusty and—”
“Maybe we should replace our table lamps with these at home?” Adam says, interrupting me and lighting one of the old-fashioned candlestick holders by the bed. He had a box of matches in his pocket, like he knew they would be here. As they start to flicker and cast shadows around the room, I can’t help thinking that they look borrowed from the set ofA Christmas Carol. “They’ve still got the price stuck to the bottom. They look so old, but they must be new,” he says, lifting one.
“It all feels so… unauthentic, as if we’re in a film of our lives, and someone just dressed the set with cheap replicas of the originals.”
“I think they’re cool.”
“I think they’re a fire hazard.”
I open another door and find a bathroom that looks nothing like ours at home. Everything is genuinely old, and there are marks on the wall and floor where I’m guessing a claw-foot bath used to be. It was the same in the restroom downstairs—no bath, just an empty space where one clearly once stood. There is mildew on the wall tiles and sink. When I turn on the taps, there is a strange sound but nothing happens.
“I suspect the pipes might be frozen,” Adam says from the bedroom.
“Great. I was hoping to take a hot shower,” I reply, coming out to join him. The room is now only lit with candlelight, and it does feel cozier. I notice that he’s opened the wine and poured two glasses. I want to enjoy it this time, so go to pull the blinds, still alittle creeped out that someone might have been outside watching us earlier. There is an old radiator below the window, but it’s freezing cold which explains why I am.
“There are other ways I can think of to keep warm,” Adam says, wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing my neck.
It’s been a while since I have slept with my husband.
It was different when we first got together—we couldn’t keep our hands off each other back then—but I’m sure that’s the case for a lot of couples. It sounds daft having been married for so long, but the thought of taking my clothes off fills me with dread. My body doesn’t look like it used to.
“I’m just going to freshen up,” I say, taking something from the overnight bag before retreating to the bathroom. “Check under the bed for ghosts while you wait.”
“Then what?”
“Wait longer.”
With the door closed between us, I start to feel calmer again. More in control. I pretend not to know why I am so nervous about being intimate with my own husband, but it’s one of those little white lies I tell myself. Just like we all do. I stand barefoot on the cold tiled floor in the unfamiliar bathroom, and stare at the woman in the mirror, then I look away as I remove the rest of my clothes. The new black silk and lace nightdress I bought just for this trip doesn’t turn me into someone else, but it might help turn him on. Is it wrong to want to be desired by the man I married?
I open the bathroom door, attempting to look sexy as I step out from behind it, but I needn’t have bothered. The bedroom is empty. Adam is gone.
ADAM
Doesn’t aKEEP OUTsign make everyone want to see what’s behind it? And I’ve always been rather attracted to danger.
I know Amelia will take forever to “freshen up” in the bathroom and I’m bored waiting. So I take a sip of wine, then step back out onto the landing to see if Bob wants to keep me company. But he’s already sound asleep. And snoring.
That’s when theDANGER KEEP OUTsign catches my eye and I just can’t resist trying the door handle it is hanging on. Surely nothingthatdangerous could really be lurking behind it. All the other doors up here were locked, but when I turn the knob, this one opens. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I suppose I’d hoped for something more exciting than a narrow wooden staircase leading upward. I can see another door at the top of it. Bob has opened one eye and grumbles in my direction. But curiosity killed the cat, not the dog or the man, and now I really want to know what’s at the top of the stairs.
There’s no light, so I grab one of the candles from the bedroom, then make my way up. One creaky step at a time. I feel something touch my face in the gloom, and imagine tiny fingers, but it’s justcobwebs. I guess nobody has cleaned this part of the house for a long time either. I’m anticipating that the door at the top of the forbidden stairswillbe locked. But it isn’t. As soon as I open it, a huge gust of wind blows out the candle and almost knocks me off my feet.
The bell tower.
The Arctic air outside feels like a slap in the face, but the view from the top of the chapel is spectacular. I feel like I can see the whole world from up here—the valley, the loch, the mountains in the distance, all lit by a fat full moon. The snow has stopped, finally, and the clouds have parted to reveal a black sky decorated with stars. The bell—which is considerably bigger than it looks from the ground—is surrounded by four knee-high white walls. There is no safety rail and barely enough room to sidestep around the main attraction, but it’s worth the risk to take in the three-sixty-degree view from every possible angle.
As I look up at the night sky, it seems almost inconceivable to me that something so magical is always there. We’re all too busy looking down to remember to look up at the stars. It makes me sad when I think about all the things I might have already missed out on in life, but I plan to change that.
I take my phone out of my pocket to take a picture—the phone my wife thinks is still at home in London. I felt sick when I saw her taking it out of the car glove compartment before we left home, then hiding it in the house. I felt even worse when she lied about where it was, blamingmefor leaving it behind. She’s been behaving strangely for months and now I know I haven’t been imagining it.
