Into the Darkest Corner Read Online Free Page B

ogling him, I watched him slide into the water and kick off the wall into an easy, gliding front crawl. The water barely moved as he slipped through it. I watched him do two laps, hypnotized by his rhythm, until someone almost fell over my gym bag and broke the spell.
    In the locker room, I stowed the bag in a locker and pulled out my iPod, strapping it to my arm. As I headed for the gym, I caught sight of myself in one of the mirrors. My cheeks were flushed, and the look in my eyes made me stop short. My God, I thought, unable to wipe the stupid grin off my face, he really is fucking sexy.

Monday 12 November 2007
    After work this evening something out of the ordinary happened.
    Out-of-the-ordinary things are never good for me. Sometimes, if I’m having a good day, I can look back on them and smile, but at the time it’s never good. The day the pipes burst and the plumber had to come into my flat caused the biggest panic attack I’ve had.
    I still don’t know how I survived that one.
    I’m wondering about this evening, because at the moment I’m okay. I’m half expecting a panic attack to hit me later on, just when I’m least prepared for it, but at the moment everything is okay and I feel all right.
    I had just finished eating, and there was a knock at the door.
    I froze, my whole body tense. I don’t think I even breathed. My door buzzer hadn’t sounded, so it was either someone in the house, or the door had been left unlocked again. Whatever—even if my life depended on it, my body wasn’t going to let me move an inch. I felt tears sliding down my cheeks.
    Another knock, slightly louder. Nobody has ever knocked on my flat door before.
    I had a clear view to the door from where I was sitting on the sofa, stared at it and at the peephole. The light from the hallway, which normally shone through like a little beacon, was blocked by whoever was on the other side and all I could see was a round dot of darkness. I stared with such fierce concentration, it was almost as though I could make out the bulky shape of him through the solid wood, and I held my breath until my head pounded and my fingers started to tingle.
    Then I heard footsteps retreating, going up the stairs, not down, and the sound of the door to the top-floor flat opening and closing.
    So, it was him. The man upstairs.
    I’d seen him come and go a few times, from the living room window. Once he was coming in just as I was about to leave the flat for work. I noticed that the front door was firmly shut, which made me feel a bit better, although I still had to check it, of course. The bike hadn’t appeared in the hallway, and I hadn’t seen him in the yard, so maybe he was parking his car outside after all.
    He seemed to come and go at irregular hours. Mrs. Mackenzie was reassuringly predictable since she didn’t go out at all, at least not as far as I’d noticed. She’d appear in the doorway of Flat 1 most evenings when I came home, say hello and go back inside. I heard the sounds of her television coming up through the floorboards. Other people might find that difficult, but not me. I liked it.
    And now, upstairs, Mr. Unpredictable.
    I wondered what on earth he wanted. It was nearly nine—not a very good time for a social call. Maybe he needed help?
    After a while, my breathing calm, back to normal, I wondered if I should go upstairs and knock on his door. I found myself having the conversation in my head:
    Oh, hello. Did you knock? I was in the shower . . .
    No, that wouldn’t do it—how would I have known it was him?
    Again, I heard my mantra coming unwanted into my mind: This isn’t normal. This isn’t how normal people think.
    Fuck off, world—what the hell is normal anyway?

Sunday 16 November 2003
    Even before I saw him, I knew where he’d be.
    He was in the coffee bar, reading a copy of The Times , looking smart in an open-necked white shirt, freshly showered.
    I hesitated, wondering whether it would be a good thing to stop and say hi,