ARC SWAM UP FROM THE embracing depths of an exhausted sleep to the lighter shallows, and then further, resting on the warm surface, not quite ready to leap out into cold wakefulness.
He lay there, drifting, and the noise came again.
Tap, tap, tap, a polite rap on the door.
That pulled him out of his sleepy haze. Someone at the door.
But...no-one knew he was here. He’d arrived late last night, made up the bed with the sheets from the cold, slightly damp airing cupboard, and collapsed straight into it, face down, the faint lavender scent of the cotton bringing back memories of living here with his Aunt Pen as a child.
He slammed on the bedside lamp—it wasn’t properly light yet—pulled on the jeans he’d left on the floor by the bed, and stumbled down the narrow cottage stairs toward the
