Still frustrated, he took his coffee outside and sat on the patio. The sun was out again with no sign of rain. The heat felt good against his face as he leaned back on his plastic chair.
Sipping his coffee, he tried to block out thoughts of work. Instead, he focused on other things, like maybe taking Nicky away for the summer. Someplace warm—away from this house. He imagined lying on a nice deserted beach, drinking ice-cold beer, watching the blue sea crash against the rocks. He thought of Nicky beside him, her smiling face, her slender body, her deep blue eyes. And then a sudden feeling of sadness and guilt washed over him. They hadn’t been away on holiday since their honeymoon, almost three years ago.
How could I do that to her? After all she sacrificed to follow me to Bristol, leaving her family, friends, and job behind just so I could start a new job. How selfish is that! What’s wrong with me? No, it’s not selfish, it’s for our future. She knows that. Best to get some money behind us before we start a family. No point struggling. It’ll be worth it in the long run. And besides, I don’t plan to work there forever.
Staring at the wooden fence in front of him, he couldn’t shake off the remorse in his stomach, despite his best efforts to convince himself otherwise.
He checked the time on his cell phone. 12:14 p.m.
Lunchtime.
Walking back into the house, he went straight to the freezer and pulled out a frozen lasagne, kicking the door shut as he walked through to the kitchen. He popped the ready-meal into the microwave and waited. God, I miss my computer. I’d be screwed on a desert island. Can’t cope with much more of this. Wonder where she’s hidden it. Probably not in the house. Maybe at her mum’s. Or at Julie’s.
After the microwave pinged, he removed the piping hot container and scooped its contents onto a plate. Filling a glass of water from the tap, he carried both outside.
He tucked into his food, trying to read his book at the same time, still with work on his mind. Page after page failed to sink in, so he found himself repeating sections just to keep up with the storyline, even though it wasn’t a difficult piece of fiction. It was one of Nicky’s thrillers that she had gone on about for the past six months, almost forcing him at gunpoint to read.
He closed the book just a quarter of the way through and sighed. Yawning, he massaged his eyes with his palms. “God, it’s warm.” He pulled off his tee shirt and threw it onto one of the other patio chairs. Leaning back, he set his feet up on the table. After just thirty seconds, he dropped them back down to the concrete floor. He had the urge to urinate.
He made his way back inside the house carrying his empty glass and plate.
In the utility room, the freezer door was hanging wide open. He stopped for a moment and frowned, trying to recall whether or not he had already closed it from earlier. Unable to remember, he shrugged off the doubt and pushed the door shut with his heel. Listening to it shut, he continued on through to the kitchen.
Still hungry. Maybe I’ll fry up some chicken nuggets. And some chips. Could even have a beer. Why not? I’m meant to be relaxing after all. Doctor’s orders.
As he entered the kitchen he saw a woman.
She was sitting on the far corner kitchen chair. Her dress was white, covered in stains, her face a mask of torture, and her brown, sweat-soaked hair in disarray.
“Fuck me!” he screamed, dropping both the plate and the glass, smashing them. Shards scattered across the tiled floor.
And then she was gone.
Almost hyperventilating, his skin crawling with goosebumps, Richard held a trembling hand over his pounding heart. Was it just a trick of the eyes, a flash of light from something outside? Or had he just seen a ghost in his kitchen? Impossible, his rational mind said, as he tried to slow his racing heartbeat. It was just the heat, and the boredom, and the light. Ghosts aren’t real. Don’t be so bloody stupid, Rich. What’s the matter with you?
But she seemed so real. So vivid to him.