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Catherine’s cool, punk tastes.
    “You’re not going to wear that are you?” Shane asked her.
    She looked at him with sad eyes; in her arms the babies gurgled.
    “Don’t be rude,” said Mother. “Now get out, she needs to make sure they fit.”
    Shane made himself scarce.
    Apprehensively, Catherine tried them on, and the grandmothers told her that it was much more ‘acceptable’ attire than she would have bought. After all, they had been mothers for years and they knew what was best for her.
    That was when Shane lost his beloved sister and was determined to get out of the village before he got turned. It was like The Stepford Wives.

Chapter Three
    July 2006
     
    The food wasn’t doing anything for him. He couldn’t eat in this heat. Shane placed his knife and fork beside the plate and picked up the glass of wine. He stared into the blood-coloured liquid. Why the hell did he order red wine on a day like this? The room temperature in the restaurant was stifling and the wine made him feel sick. He dabbed a napkin at the corners of his mouth. Not that he needed to, it was just a force of habit. Shane was used to dining with ‘important people’ who had high expectations so it was essential that one should maintain a respectable appearance. He downed the last of his wine and pushed his chair back.
    “Excuse me.”
    Catherine looked up from her food to see Shane walk by one of the waiters, his shirt clinging to his back. He always sweated considerably. He disappeared through a door in the back of the restaurant.
    Catherine wondered whether he was in poor health. She would ask him if she thought he’d answer truthfully. She finished the last of her food, determined not to let it go to waste. It wasn’t every day she ate out, but she would have preferred it to be with her husband.
    In the toilet, Shane looked at his reflection in the mirror. His face was red. The heat wave was driving him insane. He longed to be back in the confines of his penthouse office in London with his luxurious air-con and even more luxurious secretary. Should have brought her along , he sniggered to himself as He turned the cold tap on and cupped his hands beneath it. The instant hit of cold water didn’t have the a desired effect he hoped it would have. As he looked back up at the mirror he almost expected to see the water sizzling away on his skin.
    He reached for the little black plug that sat at the top of the sink, jammed it in the plughole and filled the sink with more water. When it was almost full he plunged his whole head in.
    Now this is better, he thought opening his eyes. He enjoyed the refreshing feeling as the fluid eased his fatigue. He could hear his heart beating in his head, in competition with the tinnitus.
    Was it going too fast or too slow? Bubbles of air came from his nose and he watched them rise to the surface like shiny glass pearls.
    An obscure image flashed across his mind’s eye; it was a woman with her eyes sewn shut. Blood trickled down her cheeks. It shocked him so much that he thrust his head up, catching it on one of the taps on the way. He gasped for air and put a hand to the top of his head. When he took his hand away from his head it was spotted with red. He took a few pieces of paper towel, folded them up and held them against the cut. As he checked himself over in the mirror he wondered what the grotesque image meant. He left the toilet with the image as clear as if it was before him.
    He saw Catherine’s eyes widen at the state of him.
    “What happened to you?” she said, looking at the paper towels he was holding to his head. She made to get up but changed her mind and sat back down.
    Shane laughed, “I’m a clumsy oaf; I just hit my head on one of the taps!”
    “You should be more careful.”
    Shane gestured to the waiter and asked for the bill. Catherine stood up and brushed herself down, straightening creases that weren’t there.
    They moved out of the restaurant and in to the early