‘Ben Butterworth, are you saying you want to marry me?’
He laughed. ‘As if you didn’t already know.’
Later, she’d have fun regaling friends and family with his lacklustre, unromantic proposal. But right then, she couldn’t have asked for anything more.
At first, on waking, she wondered where she was. Her back ached and her limbs felt heavy and unrested. Turning over, she could feel the mattress beneath her sink onto a hard surface below. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she remembered. She was on an airbed on the floor of the largest bedroom in her new house.
The sun streamed through gaps in the shutters and shot across the room onto the back wall – highlighting air that was thick with dust particles. Outside, she could hear the cheering sound of birdsong and the rumble of a car or two on a distant road.
It hadn’t been a restful night. As evening had come on and the area around the house had fallen into silence, she’d suddenly felt more aware of her isolation; of the fact that she was alone in an unfamiliar house in the middle of nowhere. Darkness had set in by the time she’d pumped the mattress – purchased quickly from the supermarket where she’d driven to buy a few provisions yesterday afternoon – and as she’d settled down to try to sleep, she’d felt as if she was seven years old again and afraid of the dark.
With no other furniture, her bags sat in the corner of the room, spilling their contents onto the dusty floor. She’d collected them from Chloé’s but hadn’t had the energy to do much more than rifle through for the few bits she needed.
She’d never lived alone. Sure, she’d had her own small room in uni halls when she was eighteen, but it was on a corridor filled with similar rooms, each with its own occupant. Nights had been filled with the sound of voices passing on the street outside, the purr of traffic, drunken students stumbling back to bed after a night out. She’d known that if she’d opened her door at any time, there would have been someone within easy reach.
Then she’d lived with Mum for a while, before moving in with Ben. A few years later, Ty had come along and filled any empty spaces with noise and activity and a variety of different smells – some good, some not-so-much.
Now, entirely alone in a place where passers-by were rare and genuine silence fell once local residents went to bed, she’d realised what it was to be isolated, what darkness – unpolluted with the constant flicker of streetlights – really looked like. It had fallen across the house like a blanket over a birdcage at around 11 p.m. and she’d felt suddenly as if she might be the only person left in the world.
Some of her fear had melted away when she’d stepped outside to deposit a rubbish bag on the front step, in an attempt to rid the kitchen of its stench. She’d glanced up, then stared, her mouth open like a caricature. The stars – distant flickers in the night sky back home – were bright and close and enormous and magical. There were thousands of them, their glow uninterrupted by light pollution, making them seem both beautiful and alien. They’d shed a dull light onto the scene and somehow made her feel that, despite being alone, she was part of an incredible universe. That she could do anything.
She’d stood for a minute, rubbish bag in hand, and gazed upwards, drinking in the unfamiliar sight. And realising that when humans are removed from the equation nature is able to step into the breach and show itself fully.
It had been somehow reassuring.
The thought of the stars, the evenings she might spend gazing upwards in wonder, had faded again later as she’d laid on her uncomfortable mattress under a thin blanket and willed sleep to come. The house had settled as the temperature had dropped, each creak or click making her hyper-aware. Childhood fears of monsters and ghosts she’d thought she’d left behind had resurfaced, and it had taken every ounce of rationality she had left to ignore the urge to get up and switch on the light; to get in her car and seek out safety. The door was locked, she’d reminded herself as she’d closed her eyes.
Sleep had finally come, to her relief. But now, lying in the semi-darkness she wondered whether she’d benefited at all from the rest. Everything ached, from her head down to her feet. Her back was sore and every time she turned, her elbow would sink into the half-deflated bed and bang the wooden floor beneath.
She sat up, then gingerly stood, stretching out her limbs and feeling her muscles ache with relief. One thing was for sure, if she was going to stay in the house while the transaction went through, she was going to have to invest in a decent bed.