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And there was no explanation. None he could think of. There had been no chance to talk to Amy and, considering the state he had been in, it wouldn’t have been a civil discussion. But as he laid back down on the couch and let the drugs carry him back to sleep, he was still asking the question: Why? He didn’t have any answers and he knew that he wouldn’t like them when he got them. A sense of dread made him realize he was dreaming. He was walking down a long hallway towards a glowing door that melted away as he tried to open it. Inside the next room were walls covered with mirrors of every shape and size. Light seemed to come from everywhere and in the middle of the room was a large bed, covered with white sheets. Amy was there, up on her knees near the foot of the bed, completely naked. She smiled when she saw him, crooking her finger in his direction. He knew that smile and her hips swayed back and forth, like she couldn’t hold still. She wanted it bad. Whenever she was in that kind. Told her why. Heard her brief silence, then her cheerful response. Agreed to meet her after work on Monday. Then he headed to Tennant’s for a pint and a look at the Sunday Herald. But he could hardly focus on the paper for wondering what was up with Pat. When she opened the door to him an hour later she was smiling: -Thanks for coming back John. I wasn’t sure you would… He wandered through the huge Victorian hall towards the kitchen, but she took his arm: -It’s warmer in the living room, something’s wrong with one of the kitchen radiators. Um, maybe you could have a look at it later? He always felt a bit uncomfortable in this place now, couldn’t help but remember the year it had taken him to strip it out and totally redecorate it, turn it from a midden into a mansion. There was a bottle of retsina on the coffee table. They’d both acquired a taste for it on a Greek holiday, before the boys were born. Two glasses. His brow arched when he looked at her. They hadn’t shared a drink since.
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