It wasn’t long before he heard the floorboards creaking on the landing outside. Her shadow obliterated the sliver of light beneath the door.
“David,” she said softly. “You can’t stay in there forever.”
He looked at his watch but the LED display was blank. He glanced up at the clock on the wall but it said seven-fifteen, the time he had been leaving the house. At least half an hour had passed since then. Or was it longer?
“David, please come out and talk to me. I don’t understand what’s happened. Honestly, I don’t.”
He stared at the door and realised, for the first time in their marriage, that he was absolutely terrified of her. Whatever had happened, she had caused it. She had made the world disappear. It was insane, but the evidence was all around them. She had never shown any signs of being special; Portia Scarsdale, nee White, was as plain as they came, which may have been part of the reason he married her.
Never marry a looker, son, Dad had said. They’re nothing but trouble.
Dad . . .
He recalled the real reason for wanting to leave her this morning and felt a sudden swell of anger. He stared at the door again, sending all his hatred out into the space she occupied on the other side.
“David?” she said. “Please talk to me.”
But he said nothing, and in the end she shuffled away.