Boarstall Grange

                                      INVITATION



It was Michaels idea that we should move. He thought a fresh start would be good for us. I know he’s been worried about me, the doctor said it would take time, but I  feel a lot better now.
I’m feeling  stronger every day.
Michael has tried his best and is not unsympathetic. But I can see his patience is wearing thin. Some people cant seem to understand any form of mental illness, think it’s just a case of ’pulling yourself together’ which I’m pained to say was what he used to advise in the early stages. It feels sometimes like we are on completely different wavelengths and he can’t seem to understand what I‘m going through.
I sometimes wonder if he ever has.
I feel lonely which is ludicrous as he never leaves my side apart from when he has to be at work. He’s cut his hours down at the office, works from home most of the time and I know, as he so constantly reminds me, it is for my benefit.
But sometimes I wish he would just leave me alone.
It was his choice to move house. He thinks it will improve things, resolve the problems we have in our relationship but it is just driving us further apart..  He gets impatient and lately has resorted to shouting and swearing, not directly at me usually at some inanimate object but I know it is because he is tired of having to tread so carefully. I know this isn’t  the sort of relationship he envisaged when we  married five years ago.
I refuse to get involved in arguments with him which just seems to make things  worse.
The house is smaller than our last but quieter away from the stresses of city living, which Michael seems to think contributed to my breakdown. It’s a small village and our cottage is on the very outskirts, beyond us are only fields, so I don’t get to see many people. The doctor recommended peace and quiet but this is t too quiet. I go for days without seeing anyone
If I had the strength I would just leave - we are no good for each other anymore, whatever we used to have is now gone and Michael can‘t seem to accept this.
I sit at the window most days and stare at the gates of the house opposite from ours. House is probably too modest a word for it, It is very grand, and Michael tells me it is due to be demolished. A plaque on the brick wall surrounding it has the name Boarstall Grange engraved in fancy lettering. I can’t see much of it from the window, it is hidden by the trees, but I’ve been to the gates and looked through to the drive now sprouting with weeds. I can just about see the corner of on stone mullioned window. But I feel drawn to it. Sometimes when I feel strong enough and Michael is at work, I stand at the gates and rub my hand over the tracery of vines on the wrought iron . As I lay my head against it it feels cool and solid to the touch, permanent, immovable.

  Michael and I argued again last night, it was the worst one we have ever had, he doesn’t like the fact that I am so restless at night,  I am not aware of being restless. Maybe it’s the dreams I’ve been having. I keep having the same dream of someone calling my name, over and over again I can barely hear them but it seems to be getting louder each night. Its a mans voice and there is a note of desperation in it as if he has something important to tell me. I wake up distressed with the bedcovers pushed to the foot of the bed and michaels face shouting down at me. yelling that he has to get some sleep, his face twisted his forehead covered in beads of sweat.  I didn’t recognise him,his features are contorted and ugly. I have never seen him so angry, I thought he was going to hit me I can’t stop shaking as he storms out of the room.
I despise the fact that I am so dependant on him.
For the last week or so I have been hearing  noises at night, in the early hours, two maybe three o clock . it sounds like the muffled background noise of a party, the soft hum of conversation, the sporadic burst of laughter against the sound of an orchestra playing in the background, interrupted only by the clink of glasses and the popping of  corks.
I lie and listen for a while until I cant bear it any longer. I have to go and look. The floorboards creek as I tiptoe across trying not to wake Michael. The laughter and music remain until I get to the window then as soon as I part the curtains and press my face to the glass the music stops and the voices quieten.
The noise seems to be coming from the Grange directly opposite and I can see the moonlight reflected in the  window  .From the grounds illuminating the trees there is a glow as if from an outside light
Each night I have the dream , the mans voice becoming more urgent, more insistent, as if he is trying to warm me of some sort of danger. He tells me I have to hurry, that I’m in danger but I dint understand what he means. Then I am woken again by the noise from the party which seems closer every night. I am surprised my husband can sleep through it all, 
  Today I went into the Grange. I waited till Michael had gone to work and then made my way across the road to the gate. I imagined it would have been locked but it swung open with no more than a gentle push.
I looked left and right along the road behind me before entering, feeling on edge and nervous but there wasn’t a soul in sight .I followed the driveway that swept to the left, almost impenetrable through the branches of pink scented rhododendrons, Their perfume was heady and intoxicating  Each step that took me closer to the house I grew more exhilarated.
I could see the arched wooden door through the overgrown woodland - above a gable roof with parapets. Surely I thought it would be locked. I knocked tentatively on the door, then gently turned the doorknob, it was stiff and corroded, bits of  rust crumbled into my hand  but it turned slowly and I pushed the door open. It wasn’t as derelict as  I first thought. I was immediately struck with the height as I looked upwards to the high ceiling feeling light headed. I walked from the imposing hallway into the main room breathing in years of stagnant stale air.I was mistaken, the party wasn’t being held here, this house hadn’t been used in years.
As I made my way to the door I sensed movement behind me and I turned and  thought I saw something dart quickly into the shadows. It was a house filled with shadows

There was a strange atmosphere, a sensation that someone had just this moment left the room.  A sharp smell of men’s cologne  permeated the  stuffy air and then was gone. I walked slowly  trying to take in every detail, old furniture riddled with woodworm stacked against the walls. The room was enormous, high vaulted ceilings and oak panelled walls  with a massive chandelier hanging from the centre of the ceiling, its crystal teardrops dusty and chipped from the fallen masonry. There was a musty damp smell that reminded me of rotting vegetation I press my hand against the faded floral wallpaper and it comes away clammy and damp .  through cracks in the window frames  tendrils of foliage pushed their way inwards as if nature was trying to reclaim the building. At the far end of the room was a stone arched stained glass window throwing multi coloured prisms of light across the room.
I felt heavy with sadness that it should just be left like this, abandoned and forgotten.
I knew I couldn’t stay long, Michael would be back from work and expect an explanation. I didn’t want to leave, I felt a peacefulness here that I hadn’t felt for a  long time.
I retraced my steps and looking back longingly as I shut the iron gate, I felt now as if I had some sort of claim on the place, it was my refuge.
Michael was monosyllabic when he got home, he seemed distracted, his mind elsewhere. I really feel that I don’t know him any more, he seems to be getting more and more angry with me. He never used to have a temper.
Maybe it was problems at work but I was too scared to ask.
I heard the voices drifting through the open window first then the music, I waited for Michael to wake but he was sound asleep  He hadn’t moved for a while now, his breathing had regulated. I slid my legs from beneath the covers and crept across to the window, then stopped halfway there. It would just stop again wouldn’t it, as soon as I got to the window. I hesitated then opened the bedroom door quietly I went downstairs, the music and laughter were muffled but still there. I slipped my shoes on and an old coat and closed the door behind me praying that Michael wouldn’t wake. The full moon shone straight down on the grange where I could hear the chatter and clink of glasses, the music had stopped, between songs I think, and the voices more distinct. I opened the gate and walked along the side of the path  undercover of the trees so no-one would see me. .
The music started up again and I made my way towards the house. I stood to one side of the window and glanced through. The room was filled with people and the inside of the room looked in pristine condition, expensive rugs thrown across the polished parquet floor, heavy  curtains draped and festooned across every window, there was an air of opulence to the whole room. I was stunned, nobody could have done all of this since I’d been here this afternoon. It would have taken weeks to get this room looking like this. I couldn’t understand it. Most of the women seemed to be dancing in pairs where the rugs had been pulled back from the wood floor, the men standing around the edge of the room or round a makeshift bar at the far end. The music wasn’t modern music, it sounded old from the twenties or thirties. They all look so happy, so carefree. Suddenly I smelt cologne again and had the strongest feeling that someone was standing right behind me. I could hear  breathing. I spun round  and came face to face with a young man, dressed in a tuxedo, his hair gelled back  a polite smile on his face.
He took my arm and guided me towards the door  and we entered the main room. Everyone stopped , the music came to a  halt and every face in the room turned towards me. I couldn’t speak was struck dumb.
The crowd parted and walking towards me came the man from my dream, . He walked towards me smiling  gave a small bow then took my hand and kissed it. In a voice like velvet he said. ’Lydia I’ve been expecting  you.’ I took his hand and realised I’d come home.