Nocturne Read Online Free PDF Page B

finally settled in the flat. I was still no closer to a solution when I heard a tap on the door. It was Thursday morning. For once, thanks to a mid-series ’ production lull, I didn ’ t have to be at Doubleact until half past ten.
    I opened the door. Gilbert was standing in the hall, holding a white paper sack. Some days he seemed more cheerful, more together, than usual. Today, he was radiant.
    ‘ It ’ s called Science Diet, ’ he said.
    I peered at the sack. Science Diet is hi-tech cat food. Gilbert had happened across the stuff at the local pet shop. I was to see what Pinot and Noir would make of it.
    I thanked him, taking the sack. Then the obvious occurred to me.
    ‘ I ’ m going away this weekend. It ’ s my mother ’ s birthday. ’
    I told him about the arrangements, then I mentioned the cats.
    If I gave hi m the keys to the flat, might he pop in and see they had enough to eat? Change their water? All that?
    He nodded.
    ‘ Of course, ’ he said. ‘ Of course I will. ’
    The weekend, apart from the weather, was a huge success. My mother, who hates getting her feet wet, even deigned to pull on an old duffle coat and a pair of wellies and tramp the path across Tennyson Down to the Needles. By Sunday night, very late, I was back in London, glowing with fresh air and alcohol.
    Next morning, early, I was on the bus to work. After the usual succession of crises, I returned to Napier Road, stopping at an off- licence to pick up a bottle of chilled Chablis. From what little I ’ d seen, the cats were in wonderful nick. I owed Gilbert, and maybe the Science Diet, a big thank you.
    Gilbert was even quieter than usual. We sat in the kitchen with the bottle between us while I told him how my brother ’ s kids had got together and bought their granny an enormous box of fudge. Their present, I ’ m convinced, had been the highspot of her weekend.
    ‘ She was speechless, ’ I said, ‘ for once. ’
    I picked up the bottle and emptied the remains into Gilbert ’ s glass. I could tell from the slightly absent expression on his face that he hadn ’ t been listening. He toyed with the glass, lifting it in a silent toast when I. thanked him again for looking after the cats. I was saying something nonsensical about the Science Diet when - unusually - he interrupted. He ’ d produced my flat keys from the pocket of his jeans, laying them carefully beside my glass.
    ‘ I hope you don ’ t mind, ’ he said matter-of-factly, ‘ but over the weekend, I slept in your bed. ’
    I stared at him, chilled to the bone, not believing what I ’ d just heard.
    ‘ You did what? ’
    ‘ I slept in your bed. ’ He smiled reflectively. ‘ And it was lovely. ’
    I spent that night on a mattress on the floor in the front room, dreading the footsteps that might descend from the flat upstairs, trying to sort out exactly how I felt about Gilbert ’ s little bombshell. At first, more in hope than expectation, I thought I must have misunderstood him, but after he ’ d commented on how nice and soft my new pillows were, and what an unusual pattern I ’ d chosen for the bottom sheet, I knew he hadn ’ t made it up. At the very least, he ’ d been poking around my bedroom, and that - in itself - was sinister enough.
    Gilbert, on the other hand, seemed completely untroubled by what he ’ d done, as if it were utterly routine to borrow a stranger ’ s bed, and the more I thought about it, the more inclined I was to give him the benefit of the doubt. We ’ d been alone together more times than I could count yet not once had he made a move on me. On the contrary, he ’ d been an absolutely model neighbour, k ind, thoughtful, forever inquir ing whether there was anything he could do to help. In these and so many other ways, he ’ d tucked me in and made me feel at home, and if the fault lay anywhere, then maybe it lay with me. I ’ d been over- friendly, over-trusting. I hadn ’ t realised quite how ambiguous some of my