Katherine’s question catches me off guard. I sip my tea again, if only to give me a moment to wonder how to answer it.
‘I’m not fishing for gossip,’ Katherine assures me. ‘I just enjoy realism in writing, as you know. I’ve never seen that level of devastation up close. I wondered if you had any pearls of wisdom to describe what it was like?’
‘Terrible,’ I reply bluntly. ‘I watched a man realise his wife might be dead.’
‘Yes,’ Katherine says softly, lowering her head. ‘Yes, that must have been awful.’
The atmosphere swells, an unexpected level of sadness filling the air. The way my body shifts tells me I’m not comfortable describing the worst time of Otis’s life like this.
‘Do you mind if I use the bathroom?’ I ask.
Katherine startles at my sudden derailing of the conversation. ‘I don’t have one on the ground floor, and I’m not sure using the stairs with that ankle is wise,’ she replies.
‘My only other option is to go here, and I don’t think either of us want that,’ I joke.
‘Still,’ Katherine says, reaching for my arm. ‘I’m not sure using stairs when you’re injured is a good idea. You don’t want to hurt yourself more.’
Even though the words were said with care, something about them makes me shiver. Pulling myself from Katherine so she can’t feel the thrum of panic in my pulse, I use the table to haul myself upright.
‘You seem to be in a lot of pain,’ Katherine says, but when I manage to stand, she falls silent.
‘I’ll be in more pain if I don’t go to the toilet,’ I reply, trying to keep the hitch of fear out of my voice. ‘Do you not want me to go upstairs or something?’
Weakly, Katherine smiles. ‘Of course not. The bathroom is the second door on the landing.’
‘Thanks,’ I reply, tensing at the throbbing in my ankle as I walk.
‘Come straight back down,’ Katherine calls after me. ‘You don’t want to stand for too long. And remember, it’s the second door!’
Using the wall to support myself, I limp to the foot of the stairs. Beads of sweat prickle my brow as I climb the stairs – but halfway up, I notice the strangest thing. The smell has changed. The pungent florals are there, but something else is mingled with them. A sour undertone that makes my eyes water. With each step, it gets stronger.
Slowing my ascent, I look around for the source of the odour, but all I see are floral carpets and ornately framed paintings.
‘Did you find the bathroom okay?’ Katherine calls after me.
Her voice nudges me back to life. I set off again, shouting over my shoulder, ‘Almost there.’
The summit is near when I spot the second door, ajar to unveil a porcelain sink and intricate tiling. Heaving myself over the final step, I pause to catch my breath, but the odd smell distracts me. My nerves sizzle, but I order myself to be calm. I’m at Katherine’s house. There is nothing to fear here.
Suddenly, I hear her moving on the floor below me. The sound is so unexpected, I take a step backwards and almost tumble down the stairs. Gripping the banister to stop myself, I fight to steady my breath.
‘This bathroom is gorgeous,’ I shout.
I hear Katherine laugh, but the closeness of the sound is a shock. It sounds as though she is directly underneath me, not in the dining room where I left her.
‘Glad you made it,’ she calls. ‘I was worried you were stuck on the stairs.’
Katherine’s footsteps ring out as she heads back to the dining room. A prickly panic ignites my skin. It warns me to go back down the stairs, but as putrid air fills my lungs, I can’t fight my curiosity.
Turning away from the bathroom, I shuffle down the landing and hunt for the source of the smell. Gently, I push open the first door to unveil an impressive master bedroom next to the bathroom, complete with a four-poster bed. The door after that opens to another bedroom, this time one that clearly belonged to a teenage boy. After that is an office, with dark oak furniture and shelves crammed with books.
My lips part in wonder at its old-fashioned beauty. Everything about it is opulent and antique, as if each piece of furniture has its own story to tell. The engraved wood desk is commanding and authoritative, and there is a burgundy leather chair perched behindit. Part of me wants to comment on how beautiful the room is, but Katherine cannot know I’m snooping.
Although it feels akin to reading her diary, I step inside, flinching as the floorboard creaks beneath my foot. I freeze, waiting for Katherine to call out to me, but the house is silent.
When I’m sure she’s not coming, I step deeper into the room and study the books filling the shelves. I catch sight of a spine that reads,Kick Writer’s Block… For Good!
You’ll have to borrow that, I think before coming to a stop beside Katherine’s desk. A framed handwritten note is perched beside her laptop. Picking it up, I read the treasured words.