‘He was quite popular in his day,’ interrupted Joanna.
‘You’ll have to excuse my wife,’ Daniel said apologetically. ‘She’s not very good when it comes to judging the mood of a room.’ Sinéad’s eyes sank to the table like a scolded dog. ‘She only listens to songs past their sell-by date. And nobody wants to keep something that’s past its sell-by date, do they?’
He draped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer for a hug. Sinéad rarely enjoyed the guitar-heavy songs Daniel favoured but he had an encyclopaedic knowledge of music and therefore, he assured her, a better taste. But his music brought with it dark colours and she’d been surrounded by enough of those to last a lifetime.
She’d attempted to explain to him several times what she saw when she heard music, how notes unintentionally evoked colours in her mind’s eye. She told him it was no different to him listening to a familiar song and it reminding him of a special moment in time. ‘Back in the day, you’dhave been put in an institution for admitting things like that,’ he sniffed. She hadn’t mentioned it again.
‘How’s your apartment coming along?’ asked Joanna. ‘You were renovating it when I last saw you.’
‘Just cosmetic things like painting and wallpapering,’ said Sinéad. Her mind flashed to one room in particular. One that she couldn’t bring herself to enter no matter what the decor.
‘I love moving house and starting afresh,’ Joanna continued. ‘It drives Tim mad but I’m never happier than when I’m in the middle of a redesign.’
‘Daniel makes our decorating decisions. He’s quite specific with his taste.’
‘You surprise me.’ Joanna curled her top lip as if a sour taste had crept up her throat and into her mouth. That and the tone in which she said it took Sinéad by surprise. Everyone who knew Daniel seemed to adore him. They were drawn to his enthusiasm and determination. He possessed an ability to talk people around to his way of thinking. It had been part of his appeal in their early days together. It was rare to find someone who didn’t like him.
A waiter appeared and Daniel signalled for his attention. ‘I’ll have a rum and coke. Joanna?’
‘A red wine, please.’
‘I’ll have a gin and tonic,’ said Sinéad.
‘Perhaps it’s best if you stick with the soft drinks, now?’
‘It’s my song,’ said Joanna as the opening bars of an Amy Winehouse track played. ‘Do you remember her?’ Sinéad nodded – Amy was a favourite of her late mum’s. ‘Come on then,’ continued Joanna. ‘Let’s relive our youth.’ She grabbed at Sinéad’s arm and as they stood up, Sinéad caught a glimpse of her husband. His disapproving expression marred her enjoyment of the moment. She felt self-conscious with each twist of her arm or move of her foot. She couldn’t wait for the song to finish but as she hurried back to Daniel, he blanked her and walked towards thebathroom. Sinéad felt Joanna’s hand on her arm again as she reached the table.
‘You don’t have to put up with this shit,’ she hissed.
‘With what?’
‘You know what. You are not the idiot he wants everyone to think you are. I’m sorry if I’m stepping over the mark but I can’t hold my tongue any longer. Every time I see you together at one of these functions, he behaves in the same patronising manner and it really pisses me off. Daniel belittles you in front of everyone at every given opportunity. Over the years I’ve watched you transform from this warm, confident woman into someone who processes everything she thinks before she says it in case her husband doesn’t approve. He is a bully and you are not yourself when he is around. You yearn for something more; I can see it in your face. You just don’t know how to find it. There is more to you than what he allows you to have.’
Sinéad opened her mouth, ready to defend herself and her husband; to explain how Joanna didn’t know the real Daniel; how he’d remained by her side through the single worst moment of her life. And for that she owed him everything. Yes, sometimes his words were cruel but that was just his way. He didn’t mean it. He wanted the best for her. But for the first time in their relationship, she couldn’t bring herself to defend him.
‘There is a life to be had away from your husband,’ Joanna continued. ‘And you need to find it because mark my words, if you don’t, he will grind you down to nothing. It’s not too late to start again.’
Chapter 4
EMILIA
Emilia’s body convulsed as if someone had plunged something sharp and electrified into the crown of her head. Her eye sockets pulsed as she arched her back, threw her head to one side and tried to emit a scream. But her throat was too hoarse to make a sound.
She attempted to lift her arms to protect herself from whoever was hurting her but they were too weak to move and flopped by her side. It felt to her fingertips like she was lying between the sheets of a bed. She unpeeled her eyelids; they were bone dry and the bright lights made everything surrounding her dazzle and blur. Only when she opened and closed them in rapid succession did they moisten.
When the room started coming into focus, Emilia realised she was alone. Nobody was attacking her despite the excruciating pain she’d felt. Her arms were weak so it took several attempts for her hands to reach the top of her head where she’d felt the initial throb. There was nothing attached to it, no wires or electrical current. Had she imagined the electrocution? Because it had felt so real.
Overcome by an urgency to pull herself around, Emilia began pushing her body up the bed, centimetre by centimetre, her feeble wrists tingling with pins and needles.When she reached close to a ninety-degree angle, she clenched and unclenched her fists, trying to encourage the blood to circulate and help her regain feeling. Her fingers trembled as she reached for a clear bottle on a bedside table. She drew it to her nose, sniffed it then sipped the water until her thirst was quenched and her voice progressed from a croak into something audible.
Her mind raced as she cast her gaze across the unfamiliar surroundings.Where the hell am I? How have I ended up in here? What is this place? Do I even know my own name?‘Emilia,’ she said in a husky voice.
A new, all-consuming fear spread through her when she realised this was the only thing she knew for certain about herself.
Emilia moved to feel the gap under the bed: there was enough space for her to slide beneath it and hide if necessary. She caught herself as she felt the urge to search for something to use as a weapon to defend herself.Why do I feel threatened?She had no answer, it was just her intuition warning her she was in trouble and that’s all she could rely on.
Her accommodation resembled a private hospital room yet there was none of the equipment she might expect to find in one. There were no seats for visitors. A single monitor sat on a table in the corner of the room, the screen facing in the opposite direction. Translucent patches were stuck to various sections of her arms, legs and torso under her grey hoodie and jogging bottoms. She felt around for wounds, bandages or laparoscopic incisions but there were none to be found, indicating she had not been operated upon.
Have I been in a coma?Her mind raced with possibilities. She remained convinced about just one thing: something about that place was a threat to her safety and she must leave immediately. But when she tried to recall where home was, she drew a blank. Likewise, when she tried recallingwhat it looked like, who she might share it with, or her career, her family, her friends and her interests, there was nothing. It frightened her more than the room itself.
