He avoided all the creaky spots as he descended the stairs. He paused on the landing outside the teenagers’ rooms, but everything seemed quiet, no blue light flickering under closed doors. He crept on, reached the stained glass window and paused again. The house was awake. It was always awake, creaking, groaning, clanking away, and tonight was no different. The boiler in the basement hissed into action; the pipes clanked as the heating came on; wind rattled the glass. Just letting him know it was watching, listening.

He hated this house. But he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth and moving in here when he married Helen meant he could sell the bungalow and save on the mortgage repayments.

He carried on past the judging gaze of the window to the ground floor. He could hear Clive snoring in his bed in the kitchen, the noise loud enough to wake the dead.

He closed the study door soundlessly behind him and lowered himself into his chair. Only then did he start to breathe normally, allowing the oxygen to settle the drumming in his ears. He sat for a moment, his hands flat on the desk in front of him, his eyes closed. Then he reached under the lip of the desk to where a small key balanced in the groove. The key opened the bottom drawer of his desk. Sitting on top of the papers and folders was the photograph that had tumbled out of his pile of marking. He looked at the girl in the photo, his hands shaking. He couldn’t see her face, but her long legs were positioned in such a way that left very little to the imagination. One breast had crudely escaped from the fabric of her costume. He turned the photo over and read the words written on the back again:

YOU HAVE A SECRET.

He tossed it back in the drawer and rubbed at his eyes, as if to dispel the image. He was confused. This, on top of the emails he’d received recently, could ruin him. One sniff of impropriety and his career would be over.

He slammed the drawer shut and stood on unsteady legs. Reaching into the bookcase, he pulled out a weighty hardback copy of War and Peace and grabbed the bottle of whiskey hidden behind it.

20

THEN

The next morning when I open my eyes, she is not in bed next to me. She has left an imprint on the pillow though, so I know it hadn’t been a dream.

I sit up and regret the sudden movement. My head is thumping, my mouth dry, my tongue swollen. I sit for a moment, waiting for a dizzy spell to pass, then swing my legs from the bed. As I take a few tentative steps towards the bathroom, the door opens and Tracey is standing in front of me.