“Speech, Rebecca!”
She jumps at the sound of her name.
She was thinking about the house again. Even here, with all the noise and the people, it plays on her mind. She’s itchy about not seeing it tonight.
Shaking her head, Rebecca mouths “no” at Dan, laughing silently so he won’t think she’s being a killjoy.
“I’ll make a speech,” Max booms from somewhere in the crowd, and she looks for him. Her husband isn’t tall but always stands out; always somewhere in the centre of everything.
“I’ll make this quick,” he appears beside her, grinning broadly as the room settles and turns to him expectantly. “We just want to thank everyone for coming, and for the generous gifts.” Max waves vaguely at the table in the corner, brightly wrapped presents piled up. A single envelope has fallen on the floor and Rebecca stares at it as Max continues, thinking how easily things can get lost.
“And so,” he takes her hand and she refocuses. “It’s not just our anniversary. We’re also celebrating Rebecca’s promotion at work. We’re all very proud of you, darling.” He raises his glass. “To Rebecca!”
She smiles again as the room clinks and cheers.
Max kisses her cheek quickly as he’s sucked back into the party. She stays standing completely still for a moment, alone in the crowd, and her thoughts return to the house.
It was about three months ago when she first saw it. She’d decided to start cycling to and from work in a pique of fitness optimism, and stopped for breath on the edge of town, red-faced and panting hard.
And there it was.
Set back from the road and partially hidden behind tall, thick trees, the Georgian manor was big and cold and dark. Walls covered in ivy, the windows huge and blank, it reminded Rebecca of something out of gothic fiction. She stopped on her way home that night to stare again. And then every day after that. For a long time, Rebecca wasn’t sure if anyone lived there – it was always dark; the curtains always shut. It was only recently she’d noticed a light upstairs and occasional movement; a kind of rustling to the whole property. She wondered about it; about who lived there and what kind of life they led. It was hard to put her finger on what it was about the place that pulled her in. It just seemed … lonely. And the more she looked and thought about it, the less real the house became.
At home that night, Rebecca doesn’t sleep well. She creeps out of bed early, and her heart beats faster as she pedals towards the house, the now-familiar fizz of anticipation travelling up her throat. But something is different as she approaches – the gates are open. They’ve never been open before, this is new. She slows right down, and it’s then she sees an elderly woman on her knees in front of the house, clearly in distress.
Unthinking, Rebecca quickly throws her bike to the ground, running.
“What is it?” she shouts frantically. “Are you … do you need …”
The woman shrieks.
Rebecca stops short, a few feet away, the scene coming properly into focus.
The woman was gardening. She was on her knees pulling up weeds – not in distress – and a wild-faced stranger just came running towards her, screaming.
“I’m so sorry,” Rebecca says, her face filling with blood. “I thought you were on the ground. I thought you’d had a fall.”
The woman picks herself up easily – she is around her mid-60s, not elderly after all – brushing herself down. She looks up, regarding Rebecca critically.
“You’re not about to kill me?” she says.
Rebecca laughs, but the mortification is still overwhelming. “No, I promise. I really am sorry, I’ll go.”
“Would you like a cup of tea?” the woman says mildly. “For the shock? I was about to make one for myself anyway.”
“Tea?” Rebecca is surprised. “Well, I’m … I have to … ” She stops and nods decisively. “That would be lovely actually, if you’re sure I’m not interrupting?” She offers a hand to shake and they both laugh as the woman holds up her oversized gardening gloves in response.
“Come in,” she gestures for her to follow and Rebecca holds her breath as they walk in and through the hallway.
And then she exhales. Because it’s not anything like she imagined. It’s bright, modern and airy. She’d always pictured something dilapidated; peeling dark wallpaper steeped in some bleak history. Instead, everything is open-plan, expensive.
They sit and the woman busies herself making tea. She doesn’t ask how she takes it, heaping in sugar Rebecca never usually has and chatting happily about her grownup children.
Children. It really doesn’t marry with anything she’d thought.
The woman sits at last, smiling with her whole face.
“Do you see your children often?” Rebecca asks, and the woman laughs.
“Too much!” she waves her tea around. “They always need something.”
“But the house, it always looks so …” Rebecca doesn’t say isolated. “I wasn’t sure anyone lived here, the curtains are always closed.”
“My dear, I’m retired,” she says. “If you pass at this time of day, I’m usually still in bed. And I close the curtains at six in the evenings, so I can snuggle up with the dogs and watch my soaps.”
“Oh.” This makes sense. Rebecca’s at her desk by eight and never finishes work before seven these days. She suddenly feels a little like crying.
They are silent for a moment and the woman reaches across the table for Rebecca’s hand.
“You’re lonely,” she says, and it’s not a question. There is a long moment before Rebecca nods – and then sighs furiously, frustrated. “But I have no right to be! I have so much. Work, parties, a husband who loves me. It’s everything I thought I was meant to have – what you’re supposed to have, isn’t it?” She swallows hard. “I looked around last night and realised I have no friends. We were surrounded by people, but they’re all Max’s friends. Mine have fallen away over the years. They get married, have families, move away. I feel so very left behind, like I’m always on the outside, looking in.”
The woman nods. “It’s very easy to be surrounded by people and feel alone,” she says quietly. “And it’s tiring trying to be happy and grateful all the time.” She pauses. “You feel shame about your loneliness, but you shouldn’t. We’re all human beings, all trying our best, striving to connect with one another. We can’t always succeed at it and, my dear, you are allowed to feel lonely. Don’t wrestle with it, accept it. You can’t find a light in the darkness while you’re still refusing to acknowledge how you’re feeling.”
She gives Rebecca’s hand a squeeze. “And if you need a friend, you have one here.”
Rebecca smiles at her; a real smile for the first time in a while.
And they drink their sweet tea.
Sleep dreams
The M&S Sleep Shop has everything you need for a great night’s sleep – including a real-life version of the duvet in the picture at the top of this page. To find out more, go to marksandspencer.com/l/the-sleep-shop or visit a Sleep Shop in your local store.
