Wild Fiction

Her mood did not match the weather. She put her thumb in her mouth and chewed at the nail. In her mind, dark clouds were gathering. She wanted to run to the telephone and call it all off but the cold logical part of her brain held her still. The daylight had suppressed what she had felt for the author during the night. It was as if a benevolent vampire woke inside her during the dark hours, only to retire back to his coffin when morning arrived.
She pulled her hand out of her mouth and wiped it dry on the oversized shirt she was wearing. Her night-shirt, when she chose to wear one, was an old soft and worn work shirt of the authors. The blue stripes were faded and a thin line of green paint streaked across the breast pocket. It did not matter that most of the buttons were missing, as she rarely did them up.
She looked back at the bed expecting to see him sleeping there. The scattered pillows, some of them on the floor, and the rumpled duvet made the bed look as if it had been slept in by a rugby team after a match they had won. ‘Where did you sleep last night?’ she said looking at his bedside table. The book he was reading, The Collector by John Fowles, was lying there with a shopping receipt stuck in the middle of it. Next to it, the radio alarm flashed 12:00 in red block digital numbers.

Chapter 39

‘I don’t like it,’ Rebecca said the following morning. She was sitting on the sofa in the cottage with her legs in the yoga Cobbler’s pose. ‘We haven’t heard from the author since he shooed us out of his study yesterday. I think we should go and see what’s going on.’
‘The author will find us when he’s ready. It’s unnecessary to force what should not be. Let nature take her course and you will see the light.’ James had The Tao of Pooh open on his lap and turned his eyes back to it.
Rebecca threw a cushion at him, which knocked the book out of his hands, and onto the floor.
‘Please will one of you listen to me. We’ve promised the author that we’ll keep him alive. It’s in our interests to keep him alive. I have a bad feeling that something’s either gone wrong or is going to go wrong. If neither of you are going to help I’m going to check on him myself.’
Conrad looked across from the kitchen counter where he was pouring over a copy of Loaded. ‘Don’t worry so much. Nothing’s going to happen to him. Isn’t that yoga supposed to be relaxing you anyway?’