State of Grace (Resurrection) (7 page)

‘Can I give you a lift home?’
The lead signer broke into my thoughts.

‘I’m not going home. I’m staying at the Plaza for the night.’

‘I can drive you there, if you want.’

I thought seriously about the
offer, wise enough to know he wasn’t suggesting a mere car ride.

‘Or you could come back to my place?’ He grinned at me
, aiming for an irresistible expression. He was really quite cute. And sexy.

I had never been a on
e-night-stand girl and I wasn’t too sure about starting now, but, dear God, I was lonely. It was a change to feel wanted and he obviously found me attractive. I had been without that kind of closeness for such a long time, and it might not happen again, and… I ran out of excuses. Who was I trying to kid? I was a grown woman, I didn’t need an excuse and no-one would ever know. You only live once, as the saying goes, and as my once was going to be so very short, I might as well make the most of it. I had never had a one-night-stand before, preferring to know and care about a guy before jumping into the sack with him. This would be a first for me, if I decided to go ahead. Oh, what the hell: I had nothing to lose and if I managed a few hours of pleasure (hours? yeah, I know I was being hopeful) who would begrudge me that. I was determined if I went back to his place I was not going to beat myself up over it afterward.

He mistook my hesitation. ‘Married? Boyfriend?’

‘Neither.’

‘Girlfriend
, then?’

‘You wish!’

He shrugged, and grinned again. ‘Every man’s fantasy, right?’

‘Not every woman’s. I don’t like to share.’

‘No?’ His lids were half closed as he looked at me, and I knew what he was thinking.

I took the bull by the horns, so to speak. ‘Your place,’ I decided. He blinked at my forthright manner, obviously anticipating more of a fight.

‘Uh, yeah, sure.’

‘No strings,’ I clarified. ‘Just tonight and no more.’

‘What’s the catch?’ He was suddenly wary.

‘Aren’t you used to girls throwing themselves at you, what with you being the lead singer in a band, an’ all?’ I teased.

‘I suppose. But they’re not usually so matter-of-fact about not seeing me again. They normally want to go steady, get married and have my babies. Or they just want me because of what I do, and I might be famous one day. And anyway, there’s not really that many girls,’ he added, honestly. ‘Just a couple of weird ones. The women I like don’t do any throwing, they normally play hard to get.’

‘And you thought I was the hard to get kind.’

‘Yes. So, what’s the catch?’ he repeated.

‘No catch. I’m in town for one night and I’m lonely.’

He frowned, and I sighed with exasperation. I thought it was him who was trying to get me into bed, not the other way round.

‘Forget it,’ I said and walked out of the door.
The whole situation was more trouble than it was worth.

‘No wait.’ His caught me by the
arm. ‘Can we try again?’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Gavin.’

I deliberated for a second. Oh
, why not, I thought, and I shook his hand. ‘Grace.’

‘Hello, Grace.’ He suddenly smiled broadly, looking like all his Christmases had come at once.
‘Ok, my place it is. Though I warn you, I don’t make a habit of doing this.’

‘Neither do I,’ I murmured.

He had a small apartment in one of the numerous new blocks on
Cardiff Bay. He had driven quickly and well, with little conversation, keeping his eyes and attention on the road, and his hands on the wheel. I liked that.

The flat
was small but well-furnished in muted colours and had French doors leading out onto a tiny balcony overlooking the water, which glittered darkly, reflecting the lights of a city still at play. The doors were closed at this time of year.

‘Wine?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘Red or white?’

‘Red.’

He headed for the kitchen and
I heard the muted pop of a cork leaving its bottle and the soft gurgle of liquid into glass. I took the time to look around me. Two plush cream sofas were at right angles to each other, and instead of facing a TV screen like in many houses they were centred on a state of the art sound system. Racks of CDs were suspended above it and below were shelves upon shelves of old LPs. He clearly took his music very seriously indeed. An enormous oil canvas in abstract red and gold filled the other wall, and thick cream carpet cushioned my feet. I kicked my shoes off and sighed at the simple pleasure of toes wriggling into deep pile carpet. He returned from the kitchen with a glass in each hand and gestured towards one of the sofas. I sat on it obediently. He handed me the wine and I took a sip.

‘Music?’

‘Ok.’ I needed something to counteract the silence and my nervousness.

‘What do you like?’

‘Got any Evanessence?’

‘Sure.’ He was surprised. ‘I would have taken you more for an Adele kind of person,’ he said as he found the right CD and slotted it in.
The music permeated the room.

‘I like Adele, too,’ I admitted. ‘In fact, I like lots of different music. It depends on my mood.’

‘Like what?’ he asked, and we talked about music for a while. He was passionate about his music and knowledgeable. I discovered he wrote a lot of his own stuff, and, like any singer-songwriter, dreamt of making it big. All he needed was that one lucky break. I hoped he would get it: he seemed like a really nice guy. While we were talking he scooted closer to me and draped one arm casually over the back of the sofa as my favourite track, ‘Bring Me To Life’, washed around us. I had no idea, then, how prophetic that song was. He gently took my glass out of my hand and leaned towards me. My lips parted in anticipation as his hand slid around my waist and our lips met, softly at first, then his tongue slipped into my mouth and he kissed me with increasing urgency. I felt the first stirrings of desire as his hand moved slowly up from my waist to my breasts. He cupped one, tentatively.

My head
swam, the feeling not unpleasant, just a bit strange. At first I thought it was the wine, although I hadn’t drank more than half a glass, until I realised what was happening. It was quicker this time, the warning tugging lasting only a fraction of a second before I felt my mind plummeting to somewhere else entirely.

Oh
no. Not now, I begged.

I must have made a sound because the last thing I heard before my treacherous mind slid into another one of my hallucinations was Gavin asking if I was ok.

I staggered and almost
fell, the winding stairs narrow and steep beneath my feet. When I caught my balance I looked down. Yep: I was buck naked again. Oh joy. And it was cold, too. Why couldn’t I hallucinate a nice hot beach! My toes curled in response to the freezing stone beneath my feet and it was also dark like the last times, obviously night. I was slightly relieved: at least it wasn’t broad daylight in the middle of Tescos. That’s what I usually imagined when I thought of your typical ‘got no clothes on’ dream. I hesitated on the narrow staircase, debating whether to go up or down, or to wait here until I was awake again.

It said much
for my state of mind that I didn’t even consider it odd to be able to think so clearly in a dream, or whatever it was I was experiencing. I was almost complacent about it, practically a here-I-go-again blasé attitude. I wondered how many men with – or without – swords would attack me or chase me this time. I also wondered where I was. At least I was inside this time, but it was still cold and dream or not, I was freezing. I vowed to find some clothes, and considered my options.

A faint glow
illuminated the rough stone walls of the staircase. It was narrow and winding, probably only room enough for two people to walk up them side by side, and the walls were rough-hewn stone slabs. I couldn’t see very far in either direction because of the steep curve of the walls. The stairs themselves were wide on the one edge, narrowing into nothing on the other and they were very uneven. The middle part of each step was worn smooth as if it had endured hundreds of feet trampling over its surface. The glow was coming from below me, and as above me was in darkness, I chose to descend slowly and carefully and as quietly as I could. Although the night usually held no fears for me, this was a whole new ball game and I wanted to learn the rules before I decided to play.

I padded gingerly downwards, holding both hands out to steady myself. The stair case reminded me of the steps to the top of Worcester Cathedral tower: they had the same feel
ing of solidity and age and I wondered if I could be in a castle or the bell tower of a church.

The
light grew brighter as I continued turning the never-ending corner until I eventually came across its source: a thick candle jammed into a niche in the wall. Rivulets of solidified wax ran down the stone underneath signifying the niche’s long usage. The flame was small and hissed quietly and I could smell acrid, burning fat which stung my nose. There was a brighter light further on and I slowly inched my way down until I turned a final corner and stopped in surprise. I rapidly backed up a couple of steps, then peered cautiously around the narrow passage.

A huge room
, murky with smoke, opened up in front of me. On the left hand wall was a massive hearth where the remains of a large fire smouldered. The walls were unplastered, bare blocks of stone, a dull grey in the dim light, and were adorned with hanging tapestries. Small shuttered windows ran down the length of the right hand side wall and I guessed even when they were uncovered they would not let much light into the room. There were tables and benches running in two parallel lines down the length of the rectangular space towards a raised platform at the far end, which also had a long table and chairs on it. Candles and burning torches provided the only illumination, but what had caught my attention, though, were the bodies strewn everywhere; slumped over the tables, sprawled across the benches, lying on the floor, wrapped like giant chrysalises in their cloaks. At least thirty people were sleeping in the room, and several large dogs. One, a huge shaggy hound, raised its head curiously, ears pricked, before sinking its muzzle back down onto its paws. The sound of snoring and snuffling reached my ears. Through the gloom I made out bowls and plates scattered on the tables and the smell of cooked food hung heavily in the air, to join the wood smoke and burnt fat, and the reek of unwashed bodies and damp dog.

I looked longingly at the nearest figure, a man I
assumed. He was sitting on one of the low benches, slumped forwards with his arms and head on the table, and underneath his head was a balled up wedge of fabric. I had no idea what it was, but I wanted it anyway. For one insane second I considered creeping over to him and stealing it, but common sense prevailed and I dismissed the idea. I would have to find some clothes elsewhere – I would stand next to no chance of sneaking into this crowded hall and nicking something without one of the sleeping people waking up and seeing me buck naked. That would not be good.

I inched back as quietly as I could
and began to retreat up the steps. There must be rooms further up I reasoned, and I could either find something to wear or I could hide until the hallucination was over. I was so busy looking at where I was placing my feet on those slippery narrow stairs it was a shock when I ran into a wall. In the moment it took me to understand the wall was a person, a hand had clamped over my mouth and a vice-like arm whipped around me, holding me in a firm grip tightly against a hard muscular chest.