Melanie Rose - Coming Home

Tara returned a few minutes later carrying a pair of denim jeans and a thin sage-green sweater with three-quarter-length sleeves.

‘The jeans are still a bit damp round the waistband.’ She handed them over to me. ‘You can hang them over the radiator in here and they’ll be dry by the morning.’

‘Thank you.’ I took them despondently and she left me alone. Where had I bought this sweater, I wondered as I held the unfamiliar clothes, and who had I been with? Where had I been going when I’d put it on this morning? Tears threatened at the corners of my eyes. More than ever I felt cast adrift—as if I’d been beamed here from another planet.

A floorboard creaked in the open doorway and I turned, expecting to see Tara return, but to my surprise I found Vincent leaning against the doorframe, contemplating me thoughtfully.

‘Tara’s just reminded me that you have nothing with you in the way of luggage. My wife left most of her things when she did her disappearing act a while back and I’ve never really got round to sorting through them.’ He paused awkwardly. ‘Would you like to come and see if there’s anything you could use?’

‘That’s very kind of you.’ I gave him a wan smile. ‘I’m so sorry to be such a nuisance.’

‘Not at all,’ he replied politely.

Clutching the blanket to me, I followed Vincent back along the landing to his own bedroom, ancient floorboards creaking under our feet. He turned on the lights and then stood back to let me pass in ahead of him. It was a beautiful room with a four-poster bed at its centre, elaborately draped with embroidered cream and red silk. The curtains at the window were made from the same material, with crimson tassels and tie-backs that matched the blood-red carpet. It looked like the king’s chamber in a medieval castle, or the interior of a sultan’s palace.

‘Here.’ He pulled open a cleverly concealed door fitted within a faded tapestry wall hanging, which ran the length of the room. ‘You’re welcome to borrow anything you want.’

I peered into a long walk-in cupboard containing a whole range of women’s clothes on hangers and in drawers, rows of shoes nestling tidily underneath at one end, and a man’s closet at the other. I glanced questioningly at Vincent, who was hanging back, watching me.

‘These would be useful, if you’re sure your wife wouldn’t mind.’ I pulled a pair of silk pyjamas and a dressing gown randomly from the first drawers. Picking through his absent wife’s belongings while he watched made me feel distinctly uncomfortable.

‘I’m quite sure she wouldn’t mind,’ he said shortly. ‘If she’d been interested in anything here she wouldn’t have been so quick to abandon us. You can keep them, for all I care.’

‘Thank you.’ At the pain in his voice I lowered my gaze, blushing with embarrassment.

‘I’m sorry if I sound harsh.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘It’s not your fault…If you need anything else, please just take it.’ He turned away and walked towards the door. ‘I hope you find your room comfortable. Good night.’

Walking slowly back along the landing with the borrowed nightwear clutched in the folds of the blanket, I pondered this strange dysfunctional family and wondered if perhaps there was such a thing as fate. I paused outside Jadie’s room and listened to her slightly ragged breathing. Whether it was by chance or design I didn’t know, but I felt deep in my bones that there was some sort of inevitability to my being here where I had no identity and yet felt so strangely at home.

If I had known then how strange things were going to become, I might have wished I’d made a bolt for the front door when I’d had the chance.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.