Page 8 of Someone For Everyone

‘That’s what people like you usually want.’

‘People like me?’ His frown deepened. ‘What does that mean?’

The shaking in her hands increased. ‘I know you’re only doing your job, but you have no idea how intimidating it is to have people forcing their way into your home.’ All the bad experiences she’d encountered over the past two years came flooding back and her chest started to contract.

‘I’m not forcing anything.’ He looked down the landing, as if searching for backup.

‘Only because I haven’t opened the door. The minute I do, you’ll stick your foot in the gap and prevent me shutting it. I know how it works.’ Beads of perspiration began to trickle down her face. She tried slowing her breathing, but she began to feel dizzy. This wasn’t good.

The man rubbed his forehead. ‘I’m here because I need some information about the lease on the flat.’

Kate paused. Was it a trick? ‘I don’t believe you.’

He lifted his hands. ‘Why would I lie?’

‘To get me to open the door. I’ve fallen for lies like that before.’ But a slither of doubt crept into her psyche. He didn’t look like the men who usually showed up here – he was too trendy for one thing. ‘Who do you work for?’

‘No one. My name’s Calvin Johnson. My late uncle owned the freehold for this block of flats and I’m trying to find out who owns the individual leases.’

She tried to compute what he was saying, but the rushing in her ears made it hard to focus. No one would make up such an elaborate lie, surely?

Holding herself steady, she cracked open the door a fraction and peered out. ‘Do you have any ID?’

He removed an expensive-looking leather wallet from his back pocket and produced a driving licence. She noticed a designer watch circling his wrist and an Armani logo on his top. He was definitely not from the mortgage company.

Regret began to surface. ‘You’re not a bailiff, are you?’

His eyebrows lifted. ‘You thought I was a bailiff?’

‘I’m sorry, I made an assumption.’ She opened the door, stung by mortification. ‘It’s just…’ She knew what she wanted to say, but the words got stuck in her throat and a fresh batch of tears exploded. ‘Bailiffs keep… showing up… and demand letters arrive… and then the court hearing…’ Her chest grew tighter as she tried to explain. ‘I was attacked… and it’s all got a bit much…’ The room grew darker and she realised she was about to pass out.

She slumped against the door frame, struggling to breathe, unable to exhale.

Closing her eyes, she tried to stem the onslaught of a panic attack, but the throbbing in her head and the sense of nausea that washed over her overrode any attempts to quell the inevitable.

The next thing she knew, she was falling. She braced herself, but before she hit the floor with a thud, she was caught and half-carried, half-dragged over to the sofa.

‘It’s okay,’ the man said, lowering her onto the seat. ‘Try to relax. You’re safe.’

A warm hand gently rubbed her back as she fought for breath.

‘Slow breaths, that’s it. Relax your hands.’

Her hands? Her nails were digging into her palms. Right, hands. Relax. She loosened her grip and stretched them out.

She conjured up an image of sitting in front of an open fire, her feet curled under her, reading a historical romance as the snow drifted down outside.Focus on your happy place, she told herself, like the mental-health nurse had instructed.

As her breathing slowed, her senses slowly sharpened… which would have been fine, had she not been sitting on the sofa of her repossessed flat with a man she didn’t know, who was continuing to rub her back.

He must have sensed her tense under his touch, because his hand suddenly disappeared, leaving a cold void where it had once been.

He stood up and moved away. ‘Keep breathing slowly,’ he said, disappearing out the door as if he’d been an apparition.

Silence descended and she was alone again.

She should have felt relieved.

The man had turned up uninvited and spooked her. She had every reason to feel aggrieved. But did she really? He’d done nothing wrong. She’d jumped to the wrong conclusion and assumed he was from a collection agency. Why hadn’t she apologised? Or explained? Instead, she’d burst out crying, hyperventilated and collapsed in a messy heap. She was officially a disaster.

---