Almost Perfect

GWEN IS NOWHERE, AND IT’S FOR BLOODY EVER

Around her, the old house creaked and yawned, timber cracking like a weary boat at sea. And she just stood there, feet planted solidly on the off-cream carpet, frozen in time just between the sofa and the coffee table.

Time moved oddly around her, and she recognised the pull in the air of Rift Energy. Which started to explain things. Emma’s little device had reached out and trapped her just outside now. And she wasn’t alone. She could sense other figures, distantly, as though across a vast space. She tried shouting but couldn’t – if she squinted she could somehow perceive about a dozen female figures stood-stock still a long way away… all of them done up to the nines and dressed to kill. She realised she was glimpsing the missing women from speed-dating. They were still there in Tombola’s. She wondered how they were coping after several days outside of time.

It was a place that was, to be frank, boring and very itchy. She was burning with the desire to scratch her left leg. Left leg first, and then definitely right bum cheek, upper back and then her nose. Plus behind both ears. Urgggh.

Her feet ached. She wondered how much worse that would get. And how much more tired she would get. She ached, she felt tired. She wanted to curl up and sleep. But she couldn’t really move. And all around her was the world of Emma’s flat – eternity spread out across the lounge and towards the kitchenette.

And blocking the view of the universe were Rhys and Emma kissing. They were getting ready to go out, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. She screamed herself hoarse, yelling out Rhys’s name with rage and fear and panic and fury. But no. Nothing.

Emma kissed Rhys on the cheek. ‘And where are you taking me? Is it somewhere wonderful? It had better be.’

Rhys leant close. ‘Oh yes. Best view of the Bay, it is. Just you and me.’

‘I can’t wait.’ Emma giggled. ‘Oh, you’re wonderful.’ She kissed him again on the cheek and picked up her handbag.

Rhys held the door open for her and Emma sailed through, glancing over her shoulder to smirk at Gwen.

And then they were gone. And just Gwen, trapped and alone and motionless in this bloody terrible little flat, itch itch itch, and oh god, she’s left the radio tuned to Classic.