Page 5

I better hide fast.

Aware that they will be heading for the master bedroom, I take the next nearest door available to me, ducking into the bedroom of the teenage boy before quickly scrambling to get under his bed. Fortunately, there isn’t too much under here, just a few pairs of waylaid socks and a notebook that is easy to brush aside.

I’m safely in my hiding place, and now I just have to stay here until those two are busy in the master bedroom. Once they are, I could crawl out of here and check on them. With any luck, they will have closed the door behind them, allowing me to sneak past them and downstairs to make my escape. If the door is still open, maybe I’ll have a shot at getting past them without them noticing me, assuming their eyes are too busy exploring one another’s naked bodies. But for now, all I can do is wait.

I hear the two pairs of footsteps ascending, as well as the same creak from the fifth step of the staircase that I heard when I climbed up it. Now I’m just waiting for them to go into the bedroom next door and get on with the business of taking off each other’s clothes, a thought that does nothing to erase the sense of shock and disgust I have right now, but it is simply what is going to happen.

Or at least I thought it was.

But I was wrong about one part.

One very, very important part.

As the footsteps get nearer, I realise they aren’t going into the master bedroom after all.

They are coming into this bedroom.

I hold my breath and grit my teeth as I see the man’s shoes enter the room, followed by the woman in a pair of black heels. But those items of footwear are quickly kicked off before I start seeing various items of clothing being discarded too.

A shirt.

A blouse.

A bra.

All of it is landing on the carpet mere inches away from where I am hiding, but I know this isn’t going to be the worst of it.

The worst will happen when they actually get onto the bed I am hiding under.

No, no, no, I think silently to myself. This can’t be happening.

But it is, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. I’m not going to give away my presence here, so the only thing I can do is continue to hide and hope that this is all over sooner rather than later. But will it be? I heard him say they had the house to themselves until his wife gets home, and that is a very long time from now. Hours and hours. Far too many hours for me to hide here. The dehydration and hunger that will start to grip me will be bad, though it will be no match for what my poor ears are going to have to endure if this pair choose to stay in bed all day, frolicking just above my head.

They are on the bed now, their feet disappearing from view as they ease themselves onto the mattress above my head and even with my fingers in my ears and my eyes closed, my brain still knows what is happening. But I’m refusing to listen or look again until a good amount of time has passed, and when it has, all I want to hear is talking and nothing more.

Eventually, I take the risk of removing my fingers from my ears, and when I do, I hear silence. Have I got lucky? Have they left the room already?

‘That was amazing,’ I hear the woman say. ‘One of our best yet.’’

‘I have to agree,’ he replies, and I could be sick under this bed if it wouldn’t give away my position.

‘I think it’s sweet that you didn’t want to do it in your marital bed,’ the woman says next, and I would laugh at that, but again, same problem as being sick. I can’t.

‘I might hate my wife, but I think it would be taking it too far to have another woman in the same bed where she sleeps every night,’ he replies.

I can’t believe what I just heard. He hates his wife. I guess I knew he couldn’t love her if he was seeing another woman behind her back, but hate is a very strong word.

‘Is it her drinking?’ she asks next.

‘She’s such a nasty person when she’s drunk. She can get aggressive.’

I guess I’ve just solved the mystery of who was drinking the ‘special’ orange juice at breakfast.

‘You need to leave her,’ the woman decides, but then she would say that, wouldn’t she?

‘I worry what will happen to her if I do,’ he replies. ‘She might start drinking more. She might even get violent with me. Or worse, you, if she ever found out you existed.’

‘I’m sure it wouldn’t come to that. Besides, you have to do what makes you happy,’ the woman muses.