I remembered the rapping noise in my dream and glanced over at the front door. The bolts, double locks and mortises were in place, the chain secured. I walked over to check all was as it should be and noticed a small white envelope on the doormat, with Rebecca handwritten on the front.

I ripped it open and read the message inside my first Christmas card.

Happy Christmas, Rebecca.

Great to see you’re back. Must get together.

So much to catch up on.

Love, Oliver.

The picture was bland; a church silhouette covered in snow.

I slumped to the floor, sliding down against my heavily fortressed entrance. Someone downstairs must have left the front door open by mistake, and Oliver had been right outside my flat. No amount of locks was going to secure my soul from the torture. I had come back to face my past head on, and the trial was only beginning.

47

Rebecca

I managed, somehow, to get myself ready for my new job on the Monday.

Rush hour, or ‘commuter hell’ as I called it, hadn’t abated in the past ten years. I sat cramped between the silent robots but found solace in the familiar anonymity. The Christmas buzz had begun to infiltrate the drab carriages, infusing the drudgery with a light relief; cautious smiles nudged through the tension.

The welcoming staff at West House Auctions drew me into their frantic work schedule. Marion didn’t waste time on niceties. She marched me through the offices and introduced me to the team members one at a time.

I spent my first day cataloguing items for the New Year sale. Concentration on making a good impression helped the time pass and before I realised it, five o’clock had come around.

‘Fancy joining us for a quick drink? We’re popping next door for a pint.’

Dylan Linton was tidying his desk, shuffling papers into a briefcase, when I walked by.

‘I’ll pass this time but thanks.’ I tightened the belt on my coat and said my goodbyes.

Keeping a distance from my work colleagues was a plan, weakly formulated, but one I meant to stick to, for the time being. There was a small drinks vending machine tucked behind the toilets and as I plied my spare change into the slot, I heard muted voices from the men’s room.

‘She’s a bit of all right. Wonder where she’s been all my life.’ It was Dylan’s voice. I heard the tinkle of water followed by a sudden violent blast from the hand dryer which blocked out his colleague’s response. Then the dryer stopped.

‘Roger Pennington. Remember the guy who killed himself?’

The machine started up again and I rushed towards the exit. I heard a voice behind me as I reached the door.

‘Hey, Rebecca, you forgot your water.’