Paul decided to go to bed as well. He hated getting into the bed by himself. He had never gotten used to it when Josie was away on her weekend trips with Anna, but at least she came home after two nights. She hadn’t come home for more than a week now, and it wasn’t getting any easier. He wondered whether he should sleep in the spare bed, but dismissed that as being the coward’s way. Life had to go on. His life had to go on. If he stopped he might not start again.
At three in the morning he came out of a vivid dream. He had been chasing Josie through a meadow that seemed to stretch into forever. Each time he almost had his hands on her she had skipped out of his reach. She had been laughing and blowing him kisses, but she had remained just out of reach. Then she had stopped running from him and turned, reached out, touched his face and kissed him. He’d heard her say, I love you, and then felt himself falling, and landing with a thud. He was surprised to find himself lying on his back in the bed. His rapid breathing and the beating of his heart told him another story.
He got up and went to the toilet, and although he went back to bed, he couldn’t go back to sleep. This was his first recollection of having dreamt about Josie since she had been killed. He had spent several long nights feeling sorry for himself and missing her. This was the first time she had shown herself to him, and what she had shown him was the happy, fun loving, Josie of their early years. She was enjoying life where she was. Was that the message? Or was he just tormenting himself?
After tossing and turning for half an hour or so, he got out of bed. He switched off the alarm and went and had a shower. By four o’clock he was back out in the study, with a coffee, working on a pencil portrait of Josie. By seven o’clock, when he heard the faint sounds of Matthew’s alarm, he had the first rough portrait drawn. He decided to head to the kitchen for breakfast.
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