Chapter 4
4
I may be absolutely exhausted, but sleep is firmly refusing to come. I’ve tried thinking happy thoughts, but they’re quickly overwhelmed by images of people in my bedroom going through all my personal stuff. I feel spied on and violated. I remember some burglary victims talking on TV ages ago about how it was the idea of the burglars in their house going through their things that was almost more upsetting than the loss of the stolen items. It seemed odd to me back then, but I fully understand what they mean now. Every time I close my eyes, visions of policemen going through my drawers start playing in my mind and I have to open them again to banish the images.
I’ve also never been this alone in the hotel before. There has always been life around me – guests sleeping (or not, as I’ve learned today) and the reassurance that the night porter is keeping an eye on everything – but now there’s nothing. However, even though Jock and I are the only ones here, it isn’t quiet. The faint hum of traffic below is familiar, but now my heart quickens every time I hear a siren, which happens a lot in London. There are also occasional creaks and bangs within the building, and my imagination starts conjuring up wild interpretations of what they might be. At one point, I manage to convince myself there’s someone tiptoeing along the corridor outside my room and I pull the duvet over my head for protection like I used to do when I was a child. As carefully as I can, I reach for my bedside light, snapping it on with one hand while wrenching the duvet off my head with the other, in the hope of startling whoever I’ve now decided is in my room for long enough to make my escape. Of course, there’s nobody there. My fight or flight impulse has kicked in fully though, and I sit on the edge of the bed waiting for my heart and breathing to slow down.
I glance at my bedside clock; it’s just after half past one in the morning and there’s no way I’m going to be able to sleep at this rate. I’d almost feel safer in the cell at the custody suite, which I know is ridiculous. I decide to make myself a cup of herbal tea. Although our rooms all have ensuite bathrooms, like the guest rooms on the floors below, we also have a communal sitting room and kitchen up here. My heart is thudding again as I carefully open my bedroom door. The corridor lighting is dimmed to save energy, but it’s enough for me to reassure myself there’s nobody else out here. To my left is the door to Madame’s suite of rooms. I’ve never been in there, but Maria told me once that her suite is made up of four guest rooms, knocked about to give her a palatial bedroom and bathroom, with a large sitting room to boot. Apparently, the decoration is so lavish, it wouldn’t look out of place at the Palais de Versailles.
I’m briefly tempted to have a nose, but I quickly realise that would be a suicidal thing to do. If the police come back and find evidence that I’ve been in Madame’s room, that’s going to make me look guilty as hell. I’ve seen enough of those true crime documentaries to know that even a single hair would be enough for the forensic team to place me in there. With a shudder, I turn right towards the kitchen. After flipping on the light and filling the kettle, I select a chamomile tea in the hope it will help me relax and get to sleep. The sound of the kettle heating is deafening in the silence, and I’ve just added the boiling water to my mug when Jock appears in a T-shirt and boxer shorts, looking dishevelled.
‘Are you OK?’ he asks.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.’
‘Don’t worry, I was awake anyway.’
‘Do you want a chamomile tea?’
‘No, you’re all right. I’m more of a builder’s tea man, and I don’t think one of those would do me any good at this time of night. I’ll just grab myself a glass of water.’
I settle myself at the table and watch as he gets a glass out of the cupboard and fills it from the tap, before coming and sitting opposite me. Neither of us speaks for a while, but the silence has a comfortable quality to it, like it does when you know someone so well, you don’t need to speak to be understood. In a way, I’m not surprised. We’ve both been through the same horrible experience, we’re both facing an uncertain future and we’ve both been spectacularly deceived.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with your hair down before,’ he observes after a while. ‘It suits you.’
I run my hand through my hair self-consciously. I always wear it up in a bun with a hair doughnut when I’m working; it’s part of my professional persona. I’m starting to feel mildly uncomfortable under Jock’s gaze; I’m not used to people seeing me out of my work ‘uniform’ of dark pencil skirt with matching jacket and white blouse, so I feel a bit vulnerable in my long sleep shirt with only a pair of knickers underneath. I know I’m perfectly decent, but it feels intimate, somehow, especially as he’s not wearing much either.
‘So, what was keeping you awake?’ Jock asks, diverting me from my mounting unease.
‘Every time I close my eyes, my mind seems to go into overdrive. I’m exhausted but also totally wired.’
‘I know exactly what you mean.’
‘I never realised this building was so noisy either. Did it sound to you like there was someone walking along the corridor earlier?’
‘I can’t say that I noticed, sorry. I was busy imagining myself in prison.’
‘You’re a big guy, I’m sure you’d be able to take care of yourself,’ I tell him with a small smile.
He grins. ‘I guess there’s a compliment lurking in there.’ As he drains his glass and stands up, my eyes are instantly drawn to his thighs, which are as thick as tree trunks and dusted with light-brown hair. Men with totally hairless legs look unnatural, in my view, but the gorilla look doesn’t do it for me either. Jock’s legs are just right. Why the hell am I thinking about his legs? Get a grip, Beatrice.
‘Right, I’m going to try again,’ he tells me. ‘See you in the morning.’
As soon as he’s gone, I feel my anxiety levels start to rise again. I take the chamomile tea back to my bedroom, but I’m no more relaxed by the time I’ve finished it. The clock tells me it’s now two in the morning. What am I going to do? I remember how I used to climb into Mum and Dad’s bed if I got really scared in the night as a child. They always complained, but I’d burrow in between them anyway and feel perfectly safe.
The thought comes to me totally unbidden and I dismiss it straight away. The problem with thoughts like this one is that they’re not so easily fobbed off. I can’t do it; Jock would think I was either coming on to him or a lunatic. The idea is ignoring my objections though, and pretty soon I can’t think of anything else. With a growl, I grab my pillow and walk out into the hallway, knocking gently on Jock’s door.
After a second or so, he opens it a crack and peers out at me.
‘What’s up?’ he asks.
‘This is going to sound crazy,’ I tell him. ‘In fact, it is crazy. Forget I came.’ I turn to go back to my room.
‘Why are you holding your pillow?’
I sigh. ‘It’s stupid. I was just thinking about how I used to sleep in Mum and Dad’s bedroom if I got scared in the night when I was little.’
‘And you’re scared tonight.’
I nod.
‘You’d better come in then,’ he says, holding the door open.
‘This isn’t a sex thing. You know that, right?’
‘It’s fine, Beatrice. Are you coming or not?’
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’
‘I wouldn’t be holding the door open if I did.’
I step into his room. Normally, I’d be consumed with curiosity and want to take in every detail, but it’s hard to see much in the dim glow of his bedside light.
‘I normally sleep on the left,’ he tells me.
‘That’s handy,’ I say self-consciously. ‘I sleep on the right.’
‘Jump in then.’
I slip under the duvet and lie down on my back, averting my gaze as he clambers in next to me and turns off the light. This feels very strange and uncomfortable and I’m just contemplating getting up and going back to my room when his hand finds mine in the darkness and gives it a squeeze.
‘You’re safe now,’ he whispers. ‘Close your eyes and go to sleep.’
I roll over onto my side and I’m fast asleep within seconds.
OK, this is super awkward. I slept like a baby with Jock beside me but, when I wake the next morning, we appear to be spooned together and Jock’s arm is around my midriff. His breathing is deep and even, which tells me he’s still asleep, so I start to plan how I can escape from his grip without waking him up. Very slowly, I start to ease my way out from under his arm, but he obviously senses the movement because he pulls me back in.
To be fair, there are worse places to be. I haven’t shared a bed with anyone since I was at university so it’s a long time since anyone has held me like this. I’d forgotten how nice it feels. Maybe I’ll just stay here for a little while longer. After all, it’s not like there’s anything urgent I need to be doing. There’s no breakfast service to supervise, no guests to check out. I can’t even start job hunting until I know whether I’m going to prison or not.
The thought of prison sends a shudder down my spine, and I have to give myself a shake to get rid of it. Jock yawns behind me and stretches his legs. There’s no bedside clock on my side of the bed, so I have no idea what time it is.
‘Oh shit, I am so sorry,’ Jock’s says as he hastily removes his arm and shuffles his body away from mine. I take the opportunity to roll over and look at him. He’s puce with embarrassment.
‘It’s fine,’ I reassure him. ‘In fact, it was probably what I needed. I can’t remember the last time I slept so solidly. Did you sleep OK? I hope I didn’t fidget too much.’
‘I went out like a light. I really am sorry though. I don’t know what came over me.’
‘Don’t blame yourself. After all, we don’t know who spooned who. It might have been me, and you just put your arm round me as a reflex. The point is that I felt safe, so thank you for taking me in. I know it was a bizarre request.’
This seems to cheer him up, and he rolls over to look at his bedside clock.
‘Bloody hell, half past seven,’ he announces. ‘I haven’t slept in this late for years.’
‘Me neither.’
An uneasy silence falls, and I feel we’re both searching for a phrase to lift the awkwardness of being in the same bed when we really don’t know each other that well.
‘Umm, I suppose I’d better go back to my room and think about getting up properly,’ I say eventually, as I swing my legs out of the bed. ‘Thank you for having me.’
To my surprise, Jock bursts out laughing.
‘What?’
‘Thank you for having me,’ he parrots. ‘It’s just so… formal. Are you going to write me a thank you letter as well?’
‘Piss off,’ I say, but I’m laughing too. ‘What should I have said then?’
‘Something about how sharing a bed with me was a life-changing experience would have been nice.’
‘Is that what all the girls say?’
‘Not exactly, but a boy can dream.’
‘OK, let me try again,’ I tell him as I swing my legs back into the bed and lean over towards him.
‘You, Jock, are my knight in shining armour,’ I tell him, laying it on as thick as I can. ‘I was a damsel in distress, and you gallantly came to my rescue. Alas, I have no fortune, but I hope you will accept this kiss as a token of my undying gratitude.’
I lean in further and plant a kiss on his cheek.
‘Is that better?’ I ask.
‘I prefer it to “thank you for having me”, even though you were blatantly taking the piss.’
‘Good. Right, I’m going to love you and leave you.’
‘Shall we meet in the main kitchen in half an hour? I could make us some breakfast.’
I grin. ‘That sounds like an excellent idea.’
As I cross the corridor, I glance again at Madame’s door and I realise that, although Jock’s and my freedom is hanging in the balance, our situation is considerably more promising than hers and Maria’s. The thought gives me a lot of comfort, and I’m smiling as I undress and step into the shower.