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Chapter Text

Stumbling over the threshold of the door to her flat she kicks her high-heels off her tired feet, lets the shopping bag drop to the floor and, as soon as her hands are free, fumbles underneath her blouse at her back until the clasp of her bra pops open, giving her some more space to breathe. She pulls down its front until her breasts are released. Then, with some wiggling within the restraints of the blouse, she manages to slip the straps over each shoulder, finally pulls her bra out from underneath and chucks it on her bed. Closing her eyes, she inhales and exhales slowly, giving her breasts a quick massage. ”I do understand why they burned them on the streets in the 70ties…“ she mutters to herself. 

She puts her maltreated feet into her soft slippers - lined with sheep's wool, a gift from Charlotte. Their warmth makes her sigh contentedly. The next step in her relaxation routine is to tie her hair back from her face into a messy bun. Then she lights a few candles in her kitchen - it’s already dark outside, so why not make this solitary evening a bit romantic. She prepares a simple dinner to eat alone at her kitchen table.

To have a place of her own still feels like luxury. Alison still enjoys being here alone in the evenings, listening to the sounds of the city outside that have nothing to do with her - car tyres on the wet asphalt, the resident homeless discussing loudly with the kiosk owner on the corner, the squeaking breaks of the bus - while she reads a book in the silent safety of her kitchen, surrounded by candles. The pleasure of having her own space has not yet worn out. 

Dear Charlotte had invited her to move in with her of course. But her sister lives in a shared flat where she would have been the third flatmate and so she had insisted on renting her own. Her own 25 square metres of freedom and personal space. 

At eleven, she closes her book, blows out the candles and opens the window to let some air in. Leaning on the window sill, the humid breeze caresses her cheeks.

Thinking back to how it all began, she’s come a long way.

A few months ago, Alison had started her first real job after uni, as an engineer at a consultancy firm. She’d spent all her savings on fancy suits and business dresses in lovely colours - determined to be taken seriously. The first few weeks had been tough. Coming from a farming family where money had never been a huge topic, and certainly no value in itself, she was transported to a world where every minute was divided in “billable” or “useless”. With her background, she felt like she was a soft round sphere, trying to find her place between bland, expressionless cuboids in colourless suits. And the cuboids were forming an impenetrable perfect wall, their sharp edges cutting into her soft sphere-personality, every time she attempted to find a place among them. 

Still leaning on the window sill, Alison takes her phone out and quickly checks her Insta account. Five new dm’s and three new followers after her last post. She giggles to herself at the thought of anybody in the office finding out about that part of her personality while putting her phone away.

She knows how the guys at the office probably saw her in the beginning. Knows herself in her heart that she’s still a spontaneous, silly girl, romantic to the bones and naturally wearing her heart on her sleeve. But she’s determined to learn to subdue this part of her personality in professional life, and maybe in general, now that adult life has begun. Now that she’s playing with the big guys, now that - in her first adult job - she’s being paid more than her parents would ever earn per month, way more than she feels she deserves. But also less than her male colleagues earn, she’s pretty sure of it…

She thinks with some pride that, after a few weeks, she had blended in and perfected her camouflage. All these cuboids wouldn’t find out that she didn't belong there as a sphere.

Her evenings however, and her weekends, are hers, to be herself. Hers to spend in whichever way she likes, sometimes with Charlotte or shooting new videos with her brother Freddy, but mostly alone, without any siblings having a claim on her, surrounded only by her books and the murmur of the city…

—

A tiny movement of his chin. That’s all it takes. It’s his signature move, deciding how the people who have been waiting an hour or so in the queue are going to spend the rest of their weekends. In or out. Allowing them to move towards the black doors behind him and through, into the warm embrace of the bass and of the sweat of the crowd. Or back into the lonely drizzle of a London night.

They probably think he takes some satisfaction from it. From the power of being the almighty keeper of the gates to THE club. The place they all want to be. They’re wrong. 

For him it’s just a job. The job that pays his bills, mostly for the rent for the flat (though he recently started subletting a room), for the money he sends to Dublin each month, for books and for the tattoos that are covering more and more of his body; covering up scars.

From Thursday evening to Monday morning, he’s no monk. He does a few drugs that help him stay awake during his shift, has a few drinks at the end of it at the quietest bar inside. Girls throw themselves at him in his position. But he very rarely indulges them. Only on days when he feels vulnerable, exposed to his ghosts, fearful of being alone. 

That’s the part of his week he lives mainly at night. 

But Monday morning, another life begins. No alcohol, not even caffeine. 8 hours of lying in the darkness, sometimes sleeping, more often staring at the ceiling. 30 minutes of meditation after he gets up. Each day an hour of running in the park. Cooking for Chinaski and himself. 

And lately, unfortunately, more often than not, listening to stories about his flatmate’s sex life. Or even listening to it in real time. But one-night-stands and quickies have no place in this part of his week. He sees enough of that on the weekends and can’t tolerate it in the safe space of his home. 

Only a few weeks after Will had moved in they had to introduce a rule: No girls at the flat from Monday to Thursday. The walls had proved too thin for Declan’s nerves.

Chapter Text

Lap 5 - lap 6 - lap 7 -; His lungs are burning, coming alive in the cool winter air after a long shift in the stuffy air at the club. He’s sweating; steaming in the weak morning sun. He feels the beads of sweat trickling down his back, his white t-shirt clinging to his sticky skin, becoming transparent. He’s a bit disgusted but at the same time it’s liberating. It’s always like this on his first run after the weekend, after his last shift is over on Monday morning. It’s his excruciating detox routine and it’s worth it as it marks the beginning of the healthy half of his week. Healthy, ha.

Lap 8 - lap 9 - lap 10 -; driven on by The White Stripes in his ears, he goes round after round in the park. While he’s running, exorcising the chemicals from his body, Chinaski goes for a walk in the same park at a much slower pace. 

Lap 11 - lap 12 -; each time he passes by his dog, he smiles. It’s a soothing image, the old boy with his grey, dull fur, taking his sweet time, meticulously peeing over every pee any other male dog has left here in the last three days. As a well known V.I.P in the neighbourhood he can ramble about without a leash.

Lap 13 - lap 14 -; He’s over the worst part now, no more cramps in his calf, no more queasiness and his thoughts begin to wander aimlessly just like Chinaski. The good thing about having a flatmate now is that Chinaski has company during the weekends. Declan doesn't have to keep looking for dog walkers any more, who are all chronically unreliable or unavailable. Declan spends the whole weekend at the club, only getting some sleep on a folding bed in a secluded room on his short breaks. When he comes back home on Monday mornings, still wide awake, but at the same time exhausted to the bones, it’s always a celebration of hoarse barks and little stiff hops on his forelegs. Declan smiles to himself at the memory. 

Lap 15 is his last, and he tackles the ascent at the other end of the park three times, pushing himself to his limits, ignoring the mud spattering his shoes and lower legs. When he reemerges from the shady trees at the park’s western edge, he squints his eyes against the sun, scanning the meadows for his furry companion. 

Finally he spots them. Some little blonde lady in a kind of soft pink… romper… has put a leash on him - her belt? - and is leading him away. 

“Not again“ he mutters and directs his long light strides to catch up with them. It doesn’t happen often, as people around here know his dog by now, but every now and then... He has no patience for this discussion right now. He just longs to get home and have a shower.

“Don’t kidnap my dog, you won’t get far, he’s a celebrity in the neighbourhood“, he growls in a deep voice, directly behind her, making her flinch. 

When she turns around and takes him in, eyes wide, he’s immediately sorry for scaring her. But then, her instincts seem to kick in and she straightens her spine almost imperceptibly.

“Celebrity?“ She looks him up and down. “Excuse me, this dog seems to be as lost as you are!“

He snorts and stares. Sparkling eyes in a tired face directed at him with mirth. She’s…unsettling. Soft yet sharp. Her glowing beauty makes him remember his own state - dark circles under his eyes, muddy and wet with sweat, so he reigns in the smile that threatens to appear on his face and takes a tiny step back.

Crouching down, he clicks his tongue three times. Claws scratch over the gravel, a short trot with head and tail carried stiffly but high and Chinaski’s bad breath hits his nostrils as he gives Declan’s face a quick lick and bumps his flank against him. This is Chinaski’s way of asking him for scratches

Looking up at the woman, Declan turns the big tag on his dog’s harness towards her. He reads it aloud, slowly and clearly, as if to a child:

“I - know - my way around here. - My dad - is not far off. - Please - let me sniff ’n amble - in peace.“

“Oh. Sniff ’n amble in peace. I’m sorry… I didn’t…“ 

“No harm done.“ He interrupts her quickly. “You would have been a lovely couple, the two of you.“

She looks at him like she’s determining if this was an insult or a compliment and he tries hard not to get nervous under that look.

Finally she decides to smile. “Yes, we’re both kind of furry today” she answers and caresses the sleeve of her strange soft pink teddy fleece outfit.

“But I’m sure your breath smells much better…” he can’t help but answer and is delighted at her bright little laugh. What’s wrong with me, why am I so talkative on a Monday morning?

“So how come I’ve never met this neighbourhood celebrity in the last few months since I moved here if he indeed is so famous?”

“Because like most Londoners you probably have the most tedious full-time job, wasting your time in the office all day and usually only coming here in the evenings or on the weekends. And the two of us are only here during the day and on weekdays.”

They stare at each other in silence for a heartbeat.

Shite…this was supposed to be a joke. But she looks as if he had just shoved her. She turns more pale and her shoulders sag a little. 

”Right. I… I… should get back to my bed. With or without a new companion to share it with.“

Damn, that landed badly. He gets up quickly. “I’m sorry, are you quite alright? Can I do anything for you?“ 

She gives him a smile that is so tired it makes his heart squeeze. 

“No, thank you. Deliveroo is my bestie and I’ve been joined at the hip with DocMorris these last four days. I’ll be fine.“ Then she seems to be worried he might find her pathetic and draws herself up, giving him a broader smile that makes him feel he could drown in her dimples. “Seriously, it’s only the flu and I’ll be alright in a few days”, she says.

Then she turns around and walks off.

He grunts in answer, belatedly. But he can’t think of anything he could have said or done without being pushy anyway.

Watching her go, he reaches down to tousle Chinaski’s matted fur. ”Back home alone it is for the two of us as well.“ 

He has a hunch he won’t be able to sleep or concentrate on his writing for the rest of the day.

Chapter Text

There they are! The old dog and its owner, she hasn’t seen them for months. They are walking together on the sidewalk, the old shepherd dog on a leash a few paces behind the guy. 

She quickens her steps to catch up with them, not an easy task considering her high-heels and pencil skirt. Fighting against the constraints of her office armour, she struggles to close the distance between them. 

She’s surprised by her own determination - their first meeting wasn’t exactly promising. Gosh, how I must have looked in my comfy pink fleece onesie and with my runny nose! He probably thought I was a madwoman. She had been on sick leave, leaving the house for the first time after spending four days in bed with some awful virus infection. And, he had hit the nail on the head so hard with his remark about how she was wasting her whole day stuck in a tedious office job that she almost had ended the conversation in tears. But despite all this, she had been thinking about this somewhat rude guy for many days afterwards. His soft accent - Irish?, somehow not matching his coarse demeanour. His stare, slowly changing from a frown to a smirk. And he was actually kind of funny. Anyway, for some reason, I would like to take a second look at him.

Click-clack, click-clack. As she approaches, she realises the man with the dog can’t be the same guy as back then. Less lean, less tall. She does recognise the dog though - the limp, the stiff left hind leg. But why on a leash? She slows down her steps, almost ready to turn away again. But at the sound of her heels, the guy turns around. It’s not him. This guy doesn’t wear a frown on his face, but the cutest smile she’s seen in a long time. 

Slightly disconcerted, she wavers, then says:

”Hi! I just wanted to say hello to my old buddy here!“ She bends down to greet the dog that has turned his friendly grey snout to her, forgetting for a moment that her cleavage in this particular dress is not meant for such actions.

Looking back up into beautiful blue eyes, she gives the guy an innocent smile. “I remember someone else walking him last time? A tall athletic guy with blond reddish hair?” 

His eyes return to her face as he quickly answers:

“Ah, that would be Declan.“

Gifting her with a broad smile he states, “I’m Will. So… you’re into animals and stuff?”

“Animals and stuff, yes.” She laughs. “I grew up surrounded by dogs and farm animals.”

He nods and studies her. His straightforward gaze is almost offensive but at the same time it sets Alison’s core on fire like a rag drenched in oil.

“The other guy is the sitter. This dog is mine, his name is…Willy. I rescued Willy here while I was posted to Greece on a Europol mission. Found the poor guy on the street all on his own. It was a hell lot of paperwork to bring him back to the UK with me.”

Wow, what an impressive story! Rescuing dogs while on a foreign mission, that promises real depth, Alison thinks as she looks at him more closely. 

She likes what she sees.

Chapter Text

Sunday evening Alison is lying across the three cinema seats in her kitchen like a fish out of water. She had disassembled, transported and reassembled the seats with Freddy, from an old cinema that had let the curtains fall for the very last time and was selling its interior furniture. It is a happy memory. But today, with them being in her kitchen only means that there is no space for a real sofa and her back hurts from lying on their uneven surface. 

Sunday evening has become the moment of the week when she feels her beloved flat is not a sanctuary of freedom and peace, but a lonely, rented space that has nothing to do with her. 

Yes, she could get on the tube and travel 40 minutes to sleep at Georgie’s and Charlotte’s place. But she’s supposed to be an adult, right? She can handle this. She can handle the delightful combination of heartache and being close to burnout. Anyway, she feels too dull-witted to move. 

So instead, she lets her thoughts wander into the past, as she has done far too often in recent days. 

When Alison first moved to London, Charlotte had felt compelled to give her some “older sister advice” concerning life in the big city and living away from home. As if she was still a student of 18 and not the 23 year old proud and mature electrical engineering graduate, preparing to start a professional career. “Relationships in the city can be different. There’s less strings attached. It is difficult to figure out who is seriously interested. Many just want to enhance their own pathetic personalities with you or optimise the function of their sex glands.“ When Alison had only rolled her eyes at her, she had taken her hand and added “Alison, I just think you should take care to protect your romantic little heart.” 

Well, that had failed spectacularly. 

With a grunt, Alison finally sits up. From where she sits, she can just reach the kettle, fill it with water from the tap, push it back onto the base and press the lever without getting up.

She’s got nothing against mutually beneficial relationships with no strings attached and had had some of those in her first months in the big city. But the cards had been openly on the table with those men. Both of the concerned parties had known what it was about. But with Will it was different. With his romantically arranged dates, his complete frankness about his past, his stories about his life as a police officer, posted to different European countries, often starting with some item she would pick from his shelves and ask him about - a piece of rope, a ticket for a show or a festival in a foreign country, a sketch on a snippet of paper - and with his hints about a common future, he had always seemed to imply more. 

When the water boils, she gets up, grabs the last clean cup from the cupboard, throws a tea bag into it and pours the water in, not without spilling half of it because she’s so annoyed. By… she looks around her. By everything, really. 

First, she had fallen in love with his flat. She thought she knew immediately only from his taste and style and the books on his shelf that they were a perfect fit. Next, she had fallen in love with him. And then he had turned out to be the exact picture that Charlotte had painted. 

Charlotte had doubted him from the start and had tried to give her gentle warnings. When Alison had told her how they had bonded over his cute dog that he had  “rescued while he was working on a Europol mission in Greece“, Charlotte, always well-informed and terrifyingly rational, had just raised her eyebrows and said “Why should a UK policeman be part of a Europol mission? Is he Irish? Or is he old enough to have been there before Brexit?”

Well, whatever Charlotte had said couldn’t stop her from falling for him and being very happy about it in the beginning. Finally, there was romance in her life! 

Until he moved on to the next, evidently more exciting girl, without thinking an explanation was necessary. As if it had been clear from the start that this had only been a casual fling, no strings attached. Well, not for her.

She carelessly drops the squeezed tea bag on the floor and shuffles into bed.

—

Getting back on track after the weekend is hard. Each time she feels like she has to peel off her own skin and put on armour.

This Monday, it is costing her an unbearable amount of energy to get into her pretty office shoes, sitting on the floor of her flat next to the entrance door. She feels like she’s constantly getting too little air. She tries to tell herself that a heart metaphorically broken into sharp little pieces cannot literally pierce her lungs. 

When she finally makes it to the office she tries to be interested in earning the commission that the next deal promises. 

On her way home on Tuesday, she makes an effort to take pride in mentally comparing her pay check with that of the rest of her family members. 

By Wednesday her thoughts have become more abstract. Staring at the same excel spread for twenty minutes, she wonders if she can carry on hiding that she is, in fact, a sphere among all the cuboids around her. Hiding that she has other values, that she finds the ones of the consultancy’s partners ridiculous, living for the day when they can buy a bigger house, a bigger car, win more clients than the other partners. 

On Thursday she makes the shocking mental discovery that her own life doesn’t offer any higher values than theirs, doesn’t serve any greater good. The volunteering at the local asylum centre she does every odd Sunday doesn’t change anything about it. 

On Friday she leaves the office late in the evening and heads towards Sanditon. Charlotte has requested her presence at Heyrick Park for a weekend among friends and her advice on the renovation of the electrical installations of the old house. As she crawls out of the city in stop-and-go traffic, she looks at her face in the dark side window. She can hardly bear her expression, tense and irritated. Have I lost weight? It must have been a while since I last really looked at myself in the mirror. 

—

Slamming the door shut behind him, Declan jogs over to Alex’s rental car on the other side of the street. Relief is washing over him as he drops into the seat behind Charlotte, Alex’s smart and fun girlfriend. Fortunately, he has been catching up with Alex regularly again for a while now. His gloomy friend from the old days has been transformed since he started dating Charlotte. He couldn't imagine having better company tonight than them. He is definitely not spending his free Friday night - the only one in this quarter - at his flat. Not since it’s no longer really his. Something will have to change soon, he thinks as they merge into the traffic leaving the city. I can’t go on doing everything possible to avoid my flatmate forever. 

–

Judging by the full parking space, she’s the last one to finally arrive at Heyrick Park, Alex’s grand but neglected and rarely used family heirloom. She squeezes her little Cinquecento into the very last space and gets out, trying not to scratch anyone’s paintwork with her driver's door. How wonderful the night air smells so close to the sea. How many stars are visible without light pollution. 

She lingers outside for a while, mentally shaking off the fatigue of the week and gathering all her positive energy for her friends and family. Tonight isn’t about her, so she mustn’t let her foul mood show.

She’s so good at it when required, that she enters the kitchen like a ray of sunshine, greeting everybody with a broad smile. The room is full of laughter and warmth, the air a bit stuffy with ten people talking, drinking and moving about and fresh pizzas coming out steaming hot from the oven.

Is there anyone I know except Alex and Charlotte? Ah, Arthur and Georgie, fortunately! But… wait…

Her eyes land on a reddish-blonde guy, even taller than Alex. He looks at ease, joking with Alex as he cuts one huge pizza in the middle of the table with his pocket knife, a genuine smile on his face. 

A heartwarming hug from her sister envelops her and Alison closes her eyes for a moment. Charlotte seems to sense what she needs and holds her much longer than she would for a mere greeting hug. Alison takes a deep breath in her sister's arms and then looks back at the guy over her shoulder.

Yes, it’s the jogger from all these months ago. What did Will call him? It’s with him, with his dog, with me running after them that it all started with Will.

There’s a growing knot in her stomach. She can’t really tell what she’s feeling. Curiosity? Excitement? Uncertainty? Sadness about how everything had gone wrong from that moment on?

When his eyes finally fall on her, he becomes very quiet and pauses in his movement. This is strange. Charlotte releases her from her embrace and pulls her over to him to introduce him as “Declan, Alex's oldest friend”. His face breaks into a crooked smile as he says, “Come to kidnap someone?” But Alison doesn’t feel witty tonight. She only swallows drily and lets Char lead her away to be introduced to Lucy, hearing him mutter something like “Pleasure to see you, too, Alison”, as she turns away. From that moment on, every time their eyes meet, he blushes and shyly looks away. His behaviour does not fit at all with his coarse appearance, tattoos and everything else. This is even stranger. 

But then she gets it. The realisation feels like a punch in the gut. Of course. He knows. He must know about her and Will. The two men must be friends after all, at least close enough for him to be Will’s dog sitter. Probably, right now, behind those grey unreadable eyes, he’s either pitying her or remembering how Will bragged about their sex life. A mixture of shame and anger makes her face flush. Take a deep breath, Alison, you can do this.

—

On Saturday, Alison roughly checks the condition of the electrical installations with Freddy's advice over the phone. It quickly becomes clear that little of it can be saved and that it would be better to replace all the cables and fuses. The beautiful old building will take up a lot of time and money and need a lot of attention. And there is so much more that could be done than just modernising the electricity… As she looks at the faded wallpaper or crumbles a little plaster between her fingers, her DIY enthusiast’s heart literally begs her to restore this house to its former glory. 

In a pause from her work, she comes to the open entrance of the doorway to sip her drink. She runs her hand over the beautiful wood of the door frame. It could do with being sanded down and repainted. She can feel somebody watching her. Turning around, she catches Declan looking at her from the table on the terrace. She bravely withstands his fierce gaze and raises her glass in his direction. But he quickly looks away.

Confused, she averts her gaze as well and concentrates on the busy birds in the treetop. She starts counting birds to distract herself from the feeling in her stomach, like a flurry of many tiny wings. Where the hell is that coming from all of a sudden? At eight, she’s calm enough to close her eyes for a moment, breathing in the clean air, feeling how the sea salt on her skin from today’s early morning dip is now itching a little bit. It's so soothing listening to the birdsong in the garden. For her wounded heart. For her soul, exhausted from all the pretending. 

And if I took some time off... A sabbatical? Get away from my consulting job and the city and spend a few months here? I could oversee the renovation of this treasure. They need a professional, after all. All these couples here, and especially Char and Alex, are so blindly in love, they’ll never run this project efficiently. 

—

If Alison is one thing, it's undaunted. Quickly inspired, quickly jumping to action.

That’s why, on Sunday evening, before she leaves for London, the decision is made and she’s already talked it over with Alex and Char. 

For now, she drives back to her tiny flat. Back to another daunting Monday morning. But there is hope on the horizon. The hope of soon having time to take off her armour and her camouflage for a while. She turns up the radio and sings along.

Chapter Text

The gravel crackles under the tyres of her trusted old Cinquecento as she drives towards the house, stomach fluttering. It seems to loom larger and larger as she comes closer, until the trees in front look like insignificant saplings in comparison. After parking, she stays seated behind the wheel for a few moments. She can’t help but look in awe at the mansion again. The mansion she would be living in all by herself for the next two months. The windows are greeting her like many curious eyes, gleaming in the morning sun.

Two whole months. Her boss had looked at her as if she had lost her mind, probably realising at last that she didn’t have the “right spirit” after all. The negotiations had been tedious, but in the end her boss and HR had given in. She reckons they just let her go because it would have been her first year to create profit, the first year she would’ve had the right to a bonus. Now, with a two month absence, she’s going to lose it for sure, meaning the other employees will get a bigger slice of the cake between themselves. 

But that job was a problem for a past and future Alison. For now, with the sun tickling her face and the bustling sounds of all the bird life hidden in the huge garden invading her ear, she felt nothing but excitement to spend her summer here at this place. She would finally be working with her own hands again, something she had missed after moving out of her family’s ancient farm house, which had always been in constant need of repair. She would oversee the renovation work, supervise when family and friends came to help on the weekends, and work hard herself during the week. And of course, she would be producing new videos for her Instagram channel to wake it up from its slumber. Surely she would gain new followers in this setting? Nothing creates higher engagement rates than romantic venues. Well, yes, boobs do... 

Alison sighs and shakes her head at her own thoughts. The tool boxes weigh heavy in her hands as she pulls them from the trunk and makes her way towards the entrance door. But their weight doesn’t bother her. She feels so light that she almost dances her way to the room on the ground floor, the former study. Being the coziest and best kept in the house, it is meant to be her residence while she stays here. 

–

Her admiration for the place only grows as she discovers room after room on the first day, mapping the old ducts and opening the walls in a few places to test them, planning the weeks ahead. It is going to be a hell of a lot of work renewing the electricity installations. But by noon, she has set herself even more ambitious goals. In at least some of the rooms, she will not only repaint the walls she had to break open, but also paint the entire room in a historically inspired colour palette and repair the beautiful stucco work on the ceilings. She wants to give this precious building, in which she is privileged to spend her time, a real makeover and it will make Charlotte so happy! She beams at the thought and returns to work.

After this long day of satisfying work, she sets about cooking a simple pasta dish for dinner. Alex doesn’t pay her for what she’s doing, she’d never accept that. But Char and Alex have left the fridge well stocked for her with basic supplies. And he’s given her permission to get absolutely anything she wants from the cellar, a treasure kept well stocked over generations, until it became his own. She’s not planning on drinking much during the week. But she’s going to celebrate her first evening with a fancy drink.

Full of anticipation, she plods down the uneven stairs. The vaulted cellar is cold and humid. The racks are only illuminated by one single old light bulb. Scanning the contents of the racks, mostly whiskey or port and some bottles of red wine, she doesn't find a single bottle that Alex could have bought himself; everything looks incredibly old and valuable. But hey, Alex doesn’t drink and it seems he doesn’t want to sell what’s in here, so… let’s not let these treasure’s go to waste!

But the first bottle of port she grabs to take with her - I’ve seen tonic water in the fridge, it should make a great drink - slips from her hands and shatters. 

How on earth…? Well… I’ve held tools the whole day, maybe my hands are just tired… Letting out a short hysterical laugh, Alison grabs a wine bottle without really looking at the label and hurries back upstairs. 

In the storage room next to the kitchen stands a fine old cupboard containing elegant crockery and glasses she’s been longing to use and feel posh. Opening the Pinot Noir then and there, she selects a beautiful wine glass with an elongated slender stem and pours for herself. The perfume of the dark red liquid is very promising. She takes a sip – amazing. She sets the glass down to let the wine breath some more while she cooks.

But when she turns her back to return to the pot of pasta in the kitchen, she jumps with shock from - again! - the sound of shattering glass on the stone floor. The bottle has fallen to the ground without any apparent reason. 

Did I... touch it when I turned away? I must have… Of course, because there’s nobody else here with her. Of course, right? 

Feeling something moist on her leg, she leans down to check and sees blood on her calf where a shard must have hit her as the bottle exploded on the floor. Licking her finger, she cleans the tiny wound with her saliva. But something feels terribly wrong. She straightens up again. The air around her crackles with an angry vibe. It makes the hair on her forearms stand up. 

With stiff steps and lips pressed together, she walks into the kitchen and quickly turns off the stove. Telling herself not to run, don't bolt!, she tries to walk normally to her room to shut the door behind her. With shivering hands, she opens her water bottle to carefully wash her hands and the tiny wound on her leg. 

It was as if someone was angry with me! As if the walls of the room were still holding their breath after hurtful words had been hurled at someone during a screaming argument.

She opens the window, letting in the refreshing air. Slowly, her heart rate returns to normal as she breathes in the night air. Her impulse is to call her brother. But I can’t tell anyone that I’m already freaking out during my very first night alone in the countryside… The silence around her is interrupted by a loud growl of her stomach. I shouldn’t have started to drink with an empty stomach…I probably imagined all of this due to low blood sugar. After a while she’s talked down the evening’s events. Her empty belly demanding food helps her to pretend that nothing has happened and she ventures out of her room again.

First, she turns the stove back on. Then she goes to clean up the mess in the storage room. At some point, I’ll have to clean up in the cellar as well…but not now.

She glances suspiciously at her wine glass. Is it still standing where she left it? She can’t tell, but tries to push away the thought. 

While she’s trying to get them clean, the large-pored stone tiles seem to soak up the dark red wine. Never again will I open a bottle of red here… next time it’ll be something stronger… 

Just as she finishes this thought, a reflection catches her eye, like light or something else suddenly glimmering in the elegant wine glass. Her heart skips a beat and she reaches for it clumsily, spilling wine over her hands. No more broken glass tonight, please.

Alison looks at her red-stained hands and shakes her head. Without further ado, she goes into the kitchen and pours the wine down the sink.

Finally eating her overcooked pasta with only a glass of water, she wants nothing more than to be in bed already.

*

Water…water pouring out of the dark skies… A pale looking woman, shivering in the rain. She’s sitting on the wet, muddy ground, wearing only her long white night gown… 

*

Alison awakes disorientated, her limbs feel heavy and her mouth is dry. What was that strange dream? She remembers feeling the deep despair of the woman. She would have liked to help her, take her hand and lead her back to a warm hearth and her loved ones. 

Slowly, Alison stretches her limbs and tries to shake off these images. It was only a dream…

To clear her head, the first thing she does is stumble out of bed and to the kitchen to prepare coffee. Hugging her steaming cup to her chest, she climbs back into bed. 

To cheer herself up, she fluffs up the pillow behind her back and begins to view and edit the video footage she has recorded over the last few days.

She sends a preview to Charlotte, together with an audio message, teasing her about how insupportable the summer heat must be in the city. Charlotte answers with an audio immediately, making her laugh with her comments about her overly serious face in the video and telling her how she envies her for being close to the sea. Yes, why on earth haven’t I been to the beach yet? For a second, her body tenses with anticipation, ready to jump up and gather her towel and bathing suit. But then she sees the dark grey cloud outside. Well, maybe not today.

The day gets hot and humid. In her work breaks, Alison watches storm clouds gather in the leaden sky outside. 

She tries to be cheerful and whistles while preparing her evening meal. But with the first lightning strike outside, it dies on her lips. Thunder and lightning continue while she eats, making her jump several times. Why is a thunderstorm so much more horrifying when you're all alone in an old house? To be on the safe side - she knows the roof isn’t a hundred percent reliable, like the old electricity cables in the house - she switches off the master fuse before she goes to bed. Traipsing through dark corridors and staircases with only the light of her phone, she listens as the pauses between the thunderclaps grow longer and longer.

Back in her room, she’s relieved to find a stock of candles and lighters in the drawer in her bed stand. On a night like this, she doesn’t want to rely on the battery of her phone only. While she prepares for bed, the thunder subsides and is replaced by pouring rain. She sinks into the cushions. The drumming of the rain against the tin window sill accompanies her to sleep.

*

Rain… rain pouring down. Blue lips in a pale face… a soaked nightgown. Shouting men, striding through high, wet grass… Barking hunting dogs pulling on their leashes… A search party? 

*

Alison rubs her face to fully wake up. What… was this a continuation of last night’s dream? What is my subconscious trying to tell me?

Like before, she plods to the kitchen in her pyjamas to return to her bed with a cup of coffee, trying to shake off the thoughts about the mysterious dream. 

–

When Charlotte and Alex arrive for the weekend she’s finally able to sleep in  peacefully and everything that seemed spooky in the house during the week disappears. 

They cook and eat their meals together, they go swimming early in the mornings and  work together during the day. The work is progressing nicely; by Sunday midday all the cable ducts in the upper floor are laid open. Next week,  a local company will replace the old fuse box with a modern circuit breaker panel and then Alison will be able to remove the outdated wiring on the upper floor and start rewiring.

On Sunday evening, Alison accompanies her sister and Alex to the door and hugs them fiercely. Watching them drive off, her gaze is drawn to the grey summer storm clouds, hanging low in the sky. I'd better switch off the master fuse again...

*

Heavy rain pouring down…a flash of lightning bleaching the night white for an instant - A woman in a long white nightgown, soaked through, the fabric clinging to her as if the rain is trying to drag her down. Her hair is plastered to her face… Men with dogs, striding through tall grass at night... The woman creeps deeper into a kind of undergrowth. She…seems to be… hiding. 

The search party must be for her and…she doesn’t want to be found!

*

Alison wakes up in the middle of the night to the sound of rain outside. Why doesn’t she want to be found? 

“What are you trying to tell me?” she says into the dark. “And why do you only come when I’m alone, so I can’t talk it over with anybody? It’s not fair!” She can’t fathom why her overexcited brain is playing these tricks on her every rainy night.

With a groan, she sits up and reaches over to the light switch. But of course it doesn’t work - the fuse. Okay, no reading then… Frustrated, Alison tries to go back to sleep. It finally finds her in the early morning hours.

She wakes up to the bray of the neighbour’s donkeys. Even though the garden’s big, it’s not big enough to always keep this noise at bay. But the green outside seems to be glowing, refreshed from the nightly rain and gleaming in the morning sun. The birds seem to be trying to outdo one another with lovely or at least loud singing. The day seems to be doing its utmost to make the lonely inhabitant of Heyrick Park forget the night.

Alison gets up quickly. Determined not to overthink things and focus on her task for the day, she prepares coffee, eats a hearty breakfast and goes to work on the far end of the ground floor. I love what I’m doing here after all. Won’t let any spooky lady in white or any donkey get in my way. She puts on some music for the ambiance, even though she won’t hear it as soon as she starts using her noisier tools. With the ladder tucked under her arm instead of an air guitar, she dances down the corridor.

When her playlist brings on The Vaccines she sings along at the top of her lungs:

“All My Friends Are Falling In Love 

All My Friends Are Falling In Love 

All My Friends Are Falling In Love 

All my friends are falling, falling…”

—

Declan feels his nerves. Breathe in, breathe out. He knocks. Waits. Then knocks again. How long has he been standing there at the door? Was it a good idea to consent to spend his summer in the same house as Alison? A woman he’s been ridiculously shy around when he had met her for a second time? But according to Alex, she was fine with it. The house is so big, they would barely meet, Alex had assured him. So why the nerves, why the hiding? All will be well.

He knocks again, louder this time. After counting to ten, he finally uses the keys that Alex gave him for the front door. For now, his room would be a small room at the back of the house, probably an old servant’s chamber. Smaller and darker than the rooms on the front, but nice and cool in summer.

He pushes open the front door, Chinaski following closely. He can feel his warm breath in the hollow of his knee. Once inside, he knows why Alison didn’t react to his knocking. She must be in the corridor to his right, an indie rock song is playing at high volume and he hears her singing along in a way nobody ever does when they know that someone is listening - 🎶 “all my friends are falling in love! All my friends are…”🎵 He smiles and listens. How should he enter without embarrassing her? 

But it is one of the rare occasions when Chinaski’s reactions are still quicker than his. With claws on lazy toes scraping over the parquet, the old dog jogs down the corridor. 

🎶 “…falling, falling!” Over the music, he hears his dog’s husky barks, a shriek and then a sharp clatter and a thud. His smile freezes. This definitely wasn’t a good entrance. He breaks free from his daze and sprints after his dog.

Chapter Text

The blood freezes in his veins. 

Alison lying on the floor, a collapsed ladder and some tool - a circuit tracer? - next to her. Chinaski, standing over her, is licking her face. She seems to be - sobbing? Laughing? He can’t really tell. 

His emergency training instincts take over. Rushing to her, he pushes Chinaski away, sharply ordering him “down” and kneels down next to her, checking for blood or limbs in unnatural positions. “Alison, are you okay?” 

When she doesn’t reply immediately, he continues, his worry making the words bubble out. “I’m so sorry to have startled you. I knocked and waited, but you didn’t hear me.” 

She looks at him now, frowns and then looks back at the dog, dreamily reaching a hand towards it. She reaches a paw and begins stroking it.

All the time The Vaccines keep screaming from the bluetooth speaker at a deafening volume:

🎵 “I hear that when people know then they know

And that you can't even put into words

But then sometimes you should go with the flow…”🎶

How is she supposed to hear and answer me with this noise… Muttering a curse he gets up to shut it off, calling out to Alison, “Don’t move! Let me check if you’re hurt first.” 

Vaguely he perceives a smartphone on a tripod in the corner - did she record this? He turns the volume down to zero. 

Phew... Without the blaring music he can hear his own rapid breathing. He takes the time to take a deep breath to clear his head before moving back beside her. 

He lightly runs his hands over her hair and carefully lifting her head, checks the back of her head for injury. At his touch, she closes her eyes and he can hear her breath hitch.

By that time, Chinaski has sneaked back into her vicinity and is tenderly licking her outstretched hand. “I recognise your limp, your stiff left hind leg! You’re Willy! It’s so, so good to see you buddy, I’ve missed you too…!”, she mutters to the dog. 

Even though he can’t detect any blood or bump he’s now seriously worried about her head. “Alison. Look at me, talk to me. Did you hit your head?” 

Slowly opening her eyes, she stares at him wearily and finally addresses him directly, “What do you mean? What the hell are you doing here?” She props herself up on her elbows. Before she can move further, Declan softly grips her shoulders. “Whoa, easy there. First tell me if you’re hurt.” 

Her eyes drop to where he’s touching her shoulder, then trail up his arm back to his face. He can feel the trace of her gaze prickling his skin. He clears his throat and moves a few centimeters back, giving her more space. “Please Alison, talk to me. Are you alright?” 

“Yeah… I… guess? Though you’re making me doubt my own judgment. You’re the dog sitter. And Alex’s friend. I remember you. Willy here and I are good friends, but it's been a few months.”

Declan takes a deep breath. Obviously she’s delirious. It must be a concussion. A fall from that height can be treacherous. He won’t contradict her for now, to not make her worry, but he needs to get her head checked. 

“Alison, this may sound strange but I hope you trust me. I am Declan, Alex’s friend, and I need you to come with me, okay?” He shifts to kneel parallel to her upper body. “May I touch you to help you get up?” 

She looks at him with a deep frown, as if she’s thinking… “Why are you talking to me like I’m a baby? Yes, please help me up.” He doesn’t hesitate for a second and sliding both arms under her head, neck and shoulders, lifts her up to stand on her feet in one swift movement, leaning her against his chest. “Why… why do I feel that I am being handled like a severely injured..?” she stutters. 

Her slightly sarcastic tone interrupts his emergency routine. “You… you think you can walk?” Her frown deepens. She’s so close he can smell the scent of her skin and it makes his own head spin.

Still making her lean against him, he helps her navigate down the corridor, towards the exit, his arm still supporting her around her back.

—

She’s so amazed at the way he’s handling her - determined, yet with soft and respectful touches. It feels good to hand herself over to someone’s guidance, someone who’s being so careful and serious and so… aware of her. Nevertheless… “Where do you think you’re taking me?“ she finally asks, once they have left the house, shaking off the sensations he’s invoking; too warm, too trustful. 

“I believe it’s best to have you checked at the hospital after this fall.”

“But… Nothing’s hurting?”

“Trust me, sometimes people realise too late that they have a concussion. It doesn’t always hurt immediately.”

Alison frowns as he opens the passenger door of his car for her. She’s very sure that she did not hit her head. She had landed on her side and elbow when she fell off that darned ladder after losing her balance from the shock of the barking dog running towards her. When she had recognised Willy, then she had rolled onto her back to let him lick her hands and face to celebrate the reunion and to catch her breath. 

“Declan. I’m not entering that car.”

He lets his arm fall away from her and his head drops. “Sure, I’m sorry, you… you don’t know me at all.” 

She already misses his warmth around her back and scolds herself for it. What’s wrong with you Alison, wanting to throw yourself at the first guy to appear on your doorstep after Will?  

Running a hand through his already tousled hair, he steps away from her and starts dialing on his phone.

When she hears him say his full name and explain that he needs an ambulance her mouth falls open and she steps forward, taking his wrist to pull the phone from his face, shaking her head. “Declan, what the actual fuck? I don’t need an ambulance, I don’t need to see a doctor! Why…. I did not fall on my head!” He doesn’t protest when she takes the phone to explain that this was a misunderstanding and hangs up.

“Ok, Alison, please let’s sit down for a sec. I need you to explain what happened and why you’re so sure that you’re okay.” Very carefully, he approaches her again and leading her by the elbow (which actually hurts a tiny bit), sits down with her on the step in front of the door.

“Why do you think I’m not okay? You’re totally overreacting.” At the painfully serious look on his face, she understands she has to elaborate to make him believe her. “I wasn’t up on the highest step when I fell… I swear I did not hurt my head. I just… laid back for a moment to greet Will’s dog. I remember you from back then. You’re his sitter, right? Well, as you probably know, I… I got to know Will afterwards and spent many weekends at his place. So Willy here and I became close friends.” She reaches out her hand to stroke the fur of the dog, who has followed them outside and now sits beside her like the image of a faithful guard dog. She realises she’s blushing and probably already talking too much. Must be my loneliness at Heyrick... Nevertheless the words keep flowing. Looking at the dog, who earnestly looks back at her, she continues. “I couldn't believe at first how someone who’s called Will could name his own dog Willy. But then, he did adopt him as a stray and I guess the old fellow already had his silly name back then and Will didn’t want to change it.”

From the corner of her eye, she sees Declan squint at her during her little ramble, his face slowly turning to stone. When she finally leaves Willy’s fur in peace and turns to look at him, he suddenly looks to the ground, clearing his throat several times.

Now that he’s sitting close on the step next to her, with his legs bent, his elbows on his knees, she realises how tall he is, even in this crouched position, how long his limbs are. The tattoos on his neck and upper arms don’t look as imposing from this close. Are they covering all of his back and shoulders as well?, she catches herself thinking as she waits for him to answer her, to say anything. But he only snorts and shakes his head without looking at her. Okay, that’s… rude. 

“And would you mind explaining why you’re here? Why you broke into Alex’s house without a warning?”

This finally makes him look at her again, though he’s still frowning. “They didn’t tell you I would come?” 

As her face shows nothing but innocent unawareness, he straightens up. “They didn’t. I can’t believe it.”

Standing up, he makes his dog dart to his heel with a click of his tongue. With a grumbled “later”, he leaves her sitting alone on the doorstep. 

—

Charlotte folds her hands in a pleading gesture in the video on her screen. “I’m so sorry Alison…. The day I tried to call you the landline didn’t work. And then it seems I… quite simply forgot, with the deadline for handing in my first draft to my supervisor and all…”

“The landline? Why on earth did you try to use the landline instead of just texting me? Which century do you live in? I remove the master fuse when there’s a thunder storm, so I have been off the grid sometimes.” Alison retorts.

At least, Charlotte looks appropriately downcast. It is really uncharacteristic for her to forget to tell her sister something important like this and Alison can tell she’s angry with herself for it. 

“You know, I really thought, as there’s so much space in the house that you need only share a kitchen and nothing else…  I hoped it would be fine with you. And Alex wanted to do something for Declan, wanted to care for him in a way, he’s his only close friend. For some reason Declan wants to spend as little time as possible in his own flat right now and he hasn’t any family here, they’re all in Ireland, so Alex wanted to help.” 

Rolling her eyes for a bit of a dramatic effect, Alison sighs, even though the knot of irritation in her chest is quickly dissolving, as it always does with Charlotte. “I guess Alex is allowed to do whatever he wishes with his house and hand over keys to as many people as he likes. I only would have liked to know beforehand…” But she can no longer help smiling to reassure her rueful sister. “I had planned on not wearing a bra for the whole summer, thank you for ruining my boobs-liberation-holiday!”

Charlotte giggles, relieved. “And why should you change your plans? I don’t think you have to hide from Declan. He’s not that kind of guy. Just be who you are. And I hear he’s quite the outdoors type anyway, romantic soul Alex calls him.  He's probably gonna wander around all of the glades there, composing poems about flowers for whole days, so you won’t ever meet.”

“Poems…? I don’t know… he looks more brutish than romantic with all the black ink on his skin. And he’s been so quiet, so reticent around me, almost shy. The only time he talked more was when he thought I was knocked out.” Both sisters snort at this.  “It’s strange. Whatever are we going to talk about?” 

But the thought that Alison might not be able to find a topic of conversation with anybody just makes Charlotte laugh at her. 

They continue talking about other things, but before they finally hang up, Charlotte says, "By the way, Alex told me that Dec trained as a police officer in Ireland. Big sister will always be big sister... I find it somehow reassuring to know that there is someone reliable with you in that bloody big, remote house. And as for topics of conversation, well, around Alex and me he’s not quiet or reserved at all. Maybe just get to know him better.”

–

In fact, when she lies in bed later that evening, Alison can’t help but feel a little relieved to know that another living soul is here with her, only one staircase away, in this mansion obviously inhabited by the souls of the dead. Of course she could never tell this imposing guy that she’s afraid. A guy, too, who must know that I was stupid enough to fall in love with Will. They’ve probably  been making fun of me. Or he thinks I’m a slut. Or maybe not, being a nightlife person and bouncer? But Charlotte said he’s an outdoorsy and romantic type? 

She doesn’t know what to make of him at all.

Nevertheless, his concern for her earlier and his honest shock at her not being informed that he was to come had stirred something within her. He seems to be so…no-nonsense. Honest. Protective. He seems like the biggest possible contrast to Will. She likes it, she admits to herself, before she drifts into sleep.

—

At the other end of the house Declan is staring at the ceiling wide awake. 

With a sigh, he finally turns to reach for the light switch. Darkness and silence surround him like it never does in his London flat. He can almost hear his own heartbeat. He can’t help but strain his ears to perceive something of her existence alongside him here in this house. A shuffle of feet, water running or a door clicking. But there’s nothing; she must be asleep already. 

With another sigh, he rubs a hand down his face and turns to his side, still not sleepy at all. He might as well get up and get his notebook and pen. 

He’s now sure of what he had suspected all along. 

He could never share it with a living person, but he can share it with a page in his notebook.