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around to the clock radio. It was gone
eleven.
    James smiled
and kissed me deeply. ‘How about we just pack in the morning?’
    I kissed him
back. ‘Okay, Mr Adams, but we’ll regret it tomorrow.’
    He grinned.
‘It’s been a long time since you’ve said that.’

 
     
    6

     
     
    I lay awake in
the darkness. James had fallen asleep, but I was struggling to find
peace. My mind was racing. James’ decision to book the last minute
break had unnerved me. Not just because of my deep down concern
about what I had thought I had heard over the baby monitor, but
also because I didn’t really like such surprises. I was a planner,
and liked to be strategic about things like holidays. I would spend
at least a week before going away getting things ready in my head;
making sure we had the right clothes, the right equipment, and the
right supplies. Now we had Grace, I was even more meticulous. We
had to think about feeding equipment, changing mats, nappies, bath
wash, her clothes, sheets, baby sleeping bags, and the monitor. The
list went on. So as I stared at the ceiling, I realised that there
was only one way to get to sleep, and that was to surrender to my
nature, get up, and begin planning.
    I slipped out
of bed without James even stirring, and padded out of the room. The
heating had only gone off half an hour ago, but already there was a
chill in the air as I crossed the landing and crept downstairs. I
sat down at the breakfast table in the kitchen, armed with a pen
and my trusty notepad – it was in this that I wrote my daily and
weekly lists. I’d always been a ferocious list maker, ever since I
was little. It was the way I organised my life, and I’d be
completely lost without it.
    I started
listing the items that we would need for the weekend. I cursed
silently that I hadn’t saved the list from our holiday in
September. That would have been the sensible thing to do. But no
matter. I soon had a list that I was happy contained most if not
all of the things that we would need to squash and squeeze into the
car for the long trip across to the South West. I glanced up at the
wall clock – it had only taken me half an hour.
    Tap!
    I stiffened at
the noise from outside. It sounded like something had tapped on the
patio doors, off to my right, shielded by the curtains. I found
myself holding my breath, as I waited for the noise to come
again.
    Tap! Tap!
    ‘My God,’ I
whispered. I didn’t dare move. Was it the wind, kicking up some
stones or sticks against the glass?
    Except I hadn’t
noticed that it was windy outside. Normally when the wind was
strong you could hear it whistle across the top of our bedroom
window. I looked up at the ceiling. I was directly below our bed,
where James was sleeping
    I made to
stand, deciding that I would head back upstairs and assume that the
noise was just something natural. I’d just reached the door, when
it was there again.
    Tap! Tap!
Tap!
    I looked back
again towards the curtains. I could still just turn around and go
upstairs. But instead, I inched towards the patio. I grabbed at the
curtains and hesitated.
    What the hell
was I doing?
    I flung back
the curtains and jumped back at the sight of the creature looking
in from the other side of the glass.
    ‘What
the…?’
    It was a
seagull. The bird tapped twice on the glass, as if wanting to
confirm that it was indeed the source of the noise. I’d never known
seagulls to be hanging around gardens in the middle of the night.
The creature cocked its head, observing me. I must have looked
equally intriguing to it. I wondered whether it was hurt. That
could certainly explain why it was where it was – it could be
taking shelter, resting from an injury.
    Relaxing, I
crouched down and touched the glass just next to the bird. It
brought its beak right up to the glass, and it felt like we were
connecting. But then, as if startled, it shot skywards, arcing into
the air and away.
    It was then
that I saw the cottage.
    I cupped my
hands