But I was too afraid to, so I let it go.
And now here I am, my coat thrown over my pyjamas, my phone torch held out before me, once again letting myself into Iris’s room.
I didn’t come here on an impulse. I considered it for a long time before I finally slipped out of bed. The prospect of heading up to this haunting silence was hardly comforting, and actually quite terrifying, but in the end I couldn’t resist. And I’m glad now that I didn’t. It’s better being here, doing something, than tying myself in knots downstairs.
There’s a glow coming through the window. I assume it must be security lights, but when I get to the cobwebbed glass, I see that a series of flares has been lit, apart from the set, outlining three runways, just as they would have during the war: to guide the planes off, and beckon them home. The black air around their flames shimmers with heat. There must be crew down there, I realise, preparing for the night shoots we have scheduled after the weekend. I can’t see anyone though. All I see, beside the flares, are the slumbering shapes of the planes, huts, and control tower, silhouetted against the distant woods.
Eerie, isn’t it?
It really is.
And, as I stare at it all, the oddest thing happens.
It’s fleeting, gone in a second. But the second stretches, my throat constricts, my gritty eyes swim, and the shimmering around the flares spreads, until everything is wavering. It’s like the night itself has become a veil; it shivers, the flares spark, suddenly brighter, and, for a beat, the blanketing silence fractures, and I hear the static planes roar.
Then, the flares disappear, the set’s security lights flash on, illuminating everything in a flood of white, and all is solid again; all is quiet.
I swallow.
What the hell was that?
I have no idea.
Exhaustion?
I should go back downstairs, I tell myself; take an Ambien, knock myself out.
But I’m too shaky to move.
So, I sit on what I seem to have decided was Iris’s bed, and, at its creaking softness, am overcome by the same urge I had earlier to lie down. This time, I give into it, lowering myself sideways, resting my head on the thin pillow.
Just for a minute.
But I sleep for a lot longer than a minute.
For the first time since rehearsals, I sleep deeply, without interruption.
When I wake, it’s to watery sunlight, and the sight of Ana standing over me, looking amused.
‘You gone off central heating?’ she says.
I blink, groggily, and touch my icy fingers to my icier face. ‘What time is it?’
‘Almost eight. Nick’s been trying to call you.’
‘Really?’ I grapple for my silenced phone. It has seventeen missed calls. ‘Oh. God … ’
‘Yeah. He was about ready to mobilise the search parties. I told him to give me five. What have you been doing up here? Other than snoring … ’
I sit up, rolling my neck. ‘I was looking at the flares.’
‘What flares?’
‘The runway flares. Effects had them on … ’
‘What?’ Her face moves in bemusement. ‘No, they didn’t.’
‘They did … ’
