Richard Chivers absently pulled off his black tie and undid his top button, kicked off his gleaming new black shoes that had been pinching his feet all day [Put those away Richard! Don't leave them lying in the hall like that] and wandered in his stocking feet into the kitchen in search of a drink. [Not another one, darling. Take it easy!] He found the whisky at his third attempt. Half a bottle. Was it half full, or half empty, he wondered ironically? Right now, he decided, he'd call it half empty. But at least that wasn't as empty as his home, or his life.
A tear welled up and ran down his cheek. Funny how he could keep it in check when there was anyone around. He'd always been easily distracted. One or two of his friends had even made some half-hearted attempts at humour throughout the day and he'd caught himself laughing a couple of times. How quickly he had forgotten, for a moment, that he had nothing to laugh about.
He poured himself a glass, filling it almost to the brim [Take it easy, I said! Are you trying to drink yourself to death?]. When was the last time he'd drunk whisky? They must have had this bottle ten years. It never did him any good. He walked back into the living room, his gaze falling on a photo of himself and Ruth taken during last year's holiday to Belize. [Look at that sagging jaw line] She looked even more beautiful than when they'd married, only the year before. The sun over there had a different quality. It sparkled in her eyes. Who had taken that photo? [Jim] Jim, that was it. They hadn't even known Jim and Karen were holidaying at the same time as them, until they met at the check in.
He took a sip from his glass, and turned the photo onto its face on the bureau. He shivered. An unseasonal chill had settled on the room. He stared at the glass. The amber liquid sloshing gently as he moved, leaving an oily film inside the glass that separated and fell languidly back to join the rest. Richard realised he wasn't enjoying the drink. He set the glass down on a table [Use a coaster Richard! You'll leave a ring!] and walked upstairs. He was suddenly tired -- the emotion of the day, the lack of sleep for the last three nights, and the strain of keeping up appearances for in-laws and friends had finally caught up with him, and with the unexpected coldness of an empty house surrounding him all he wanted was to crawl into bed.
*
Richard slid between the cold covers and lay on his back. An owl hooted in the copse outside his bedroom window. Moonlight filtered in through a crack in the curtains, but it was a half-moon and the light was an even paler imitation of pale than usual. He turned over and buried his head in Ruth's pillow. It still held her scent. He grabbed it with both hands and pressed it against his face, breathing deeply. Sobbing quietly. After a while he became accustomed to the faint perfume and could no longer smell it. He turned over the other way.
The tiled floor of the en-suite creaked. Just the way it had when Ruth would walk through after cleaning her teeth. The heating going off, Richard told himself. Willing himself not to turn over again and check. It couldn't very well be her, could it, so what else could it be but the mundane creak of contracting copper? The bed dipped behind him with a rustle of sheets. Richard's spine tingled. He tried to keep his eyes tight shut, but failed. He realised he'd been holding his breath and released it. Against the moonlight from the window it steamed in the sudden chill of the room. As he breathed in he caught another whiff of Ruth's perfume, stronger this time. Much stronger than on her pillow. How...?
From close behind his back an icy coldness crept up to his shoulders and around his buttocks, while a heavy chill slipped like an unseen arm around his waist.
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