What seemed like a nightmare turns out to be only that. I sat up, putting my hand to my face. An awful feeling rested in the pit of my stomach. My bedroom was deathly quiet, even the birds outside seemed to have stopped singing. It felt like an omen. Thudding heart. I pushed back the duvet and got out of bed. I caught sight of myself in the mirror; my hair was like a dark haystack, the backcombing wasn’t a good look in the cold light of day. I grimaced and undid the zip on my dress. When it was off, I tossed it to the other side of the room, repelled by it. Creeping down the corridor to the attic staircase, I hesitated at the foot of the stairs, not wanting to see him, but knowing I must. An old feeling, one of loneliness and isolation, was settling back deep down inside me. I pushed open the door to his bedroom, half expecting to find him lying there in his bed with Polly draped over him. I shut my eyes, preparing myself. And only as I heard the door creak wide open did I let myself open them.
