Don't Be Afraid by Daniela Sacerdoti Page B

and the woman stroking my hair. How could it be?
    Suddenly, though most of me was terrified – a stranger at the door waiting to come in – part of me was curious . A little part of me.
    But it couldn’t be possible.
    Angus and I had established it had been a dream, and someone from a dream couldn’t possibly be standing at my door.
    â€œLook, we’re on the doorstep,” Angus called. “Please, come and open the door.”
    I couldn’t resist the plea in my husband’s voice, and the sheer shame of the whole situation overwhelmed me. What would the woman think? That I was deranged.
    A side effect of my illness: humiliation.
    â€œAre you okay?” the woman called again, and again I trembled inside.
    I walked downstairs, slowly, and unlocked the door.
    â€œYes. I’m fine,” I said, peeking from the stairs. She was wearing jeans and a cobalt-blue top, and her brown hair was folded on top of her head.
    â€œIs it a bad time?” she asked, a warm smile on her face. Really, genuinely warm , like she was happy to see me. I couldn’t help responding to it, so I smiled back and, to my surprise, my lips actually stretched. A successful smile. Something that hadn’t happened in a long while.
    â€œI think you were in my dream,” I said.
    Angus looked from me to the woman as I slowly opened the door further.
    â€œWhat dream?” Angus asked.
    â€œRemember? I told you. The woman I saw. I think . . . No, it can’t be. Sorry,” I said to Clara, and I blushed. That was absurd. And she’d think I was delusional, on top of everything else.
    Once again, Angus looked from me to Clara. I think he was at a loss for words. I had just said that someone from a dream had walked out of my mind and was now standing in my hall. Maybe he thought I really was losing it.
    â€œSorry,” I repeated.
    I had been delirious when I dreamt of that woman, my blood full of chemical poison. I couldn’t even remember her features.
    But I could remember her words.
    â€œBell? Can we go to the kitchen and make some coffee for Clara?”
    Angus stood beside me, while Clara hovered outside the door; Clara would not stop smiling like she was bursting with joy – was she really so happy to see me? I stood awkwardly, uncertain as to what to do next, unable to make small talk. Being terrified of going out and terrified of letting people in, I hadn’t talked much to anyone in a couple of years; I had forgotten how to. I wanted to let her in and close the door, but I was frightened to actually have her inside the house. A cold breeze was blowing in.
    Clara read my mind.
    â€œIf you’d rather not let me in, it’s fine, really, we can have a chat here.”
    â€œOh. Yes. Sorry. It’s just . . .”
    â€œShe—” Angus began to explain, but Clara interrupted him, looking me straight in the eye. Like this was something between me and her.
    It felt good. It felt empowering. That for once I was being treated like an adult with a will of her own, not like an invalid that needed to be taken charge of.
    â€œI understand. Really. Are you cold?” she asked thoughtfully.
    â€œA bit. You?”
    Angus’s gaze was still moving between us during this conversation he had no part of. Things were clearly going differently from how he had thought. Well, how could I have predicted that the person chosen by him to keep an eye on me had come out of a dream?
    â€œNo. But if you are, maybe I could step in and close the door?”
    â€œOf course, sorry,” I said, and let her in, and closed the door, and for a moment it simply felt like the sensible thing to do, before my fears got in the way and started screaming at me.
    There she was, inside my house. And I wasn’t shaking, I wasn’t panicking.
    â€œPlease don’t worry, I’m happy to stay here,” Clara said. “We can go at your pace.”
    But standing on the doormat,