I can just about buy that she heard him snoring from another room. But how would she be able to tell that he stopped breathing altogether? Surely you would assume that the person was just breathing more quietly? Andy reckons he's got sinusitis but he doesn't appear to have any of the symptoms so I'm sticking with sleep apnea. And so, this.
Note: I googled to get ideas for the title. So the title is from the lyrics of a song called The Sound of Your Breath. I advise you not to look for it, it's pretty awful.
"You don't have to stay, I'll be okay."
"I'm staying. No big deal, I'll get my head down in your spare room and we'll both be happy, yeah?"
Frankie lay awake for well over an hour. She was physically drained by the long day and the stress of the intruder, but every time she closed her eyes she would find them open again a moment later. There were so many thoughts swirling around her head it felt as though they were leaking out, becoming manifest and dancing around her bed in the dark.
She loved Ian, she really did, they had a history, and he was funny and comfortable and understood her devotion to her job. At least, he used to. When she thought back, Frankie realised that he had been asking more and more of her, going back perhaps a year. He told her where he was going and when he was coming back because he wanted her to care. He wanted her to think of him as she was driving between patients. But she had been happy with what they had. Clearly he had not.
And yet. For him, she had stopped wearing nail varnish. She had let her ear piercings close up. She had accepted curry stains on the carpet and hungover coppers in her bath. And he had disapproved so thoroughly of her joyous dancing. Had it really been so perfect?
Somewhere in the back of her mind was Liana and Joseph Corden. Could she really picture herself and Ian in that situation?
As she lay there, every creak of floorboard made her start, made her heart hammer for a few seconds. She realised she was glad of the soft snoring emanating from the next room – glad that Andy had stayed with her. Not because she could not take care of herself, but because she was learning to like the feeling that someone wanted to act as back-up.
The clock showed 1AM when Frankie turned over to look at it. Restless, she huffed in exasperation and threw the duvet off as she swung her legs out of bed.
"For god's sake," she muttered as she pulled on her orange and black cardigan to ward off the night's chill. She wandered around her bedroom, peeking through the curtains briefly to see the orange glow of streetlamps against the blue-black sky.
Out in the hall, Andy's snoring was louder. She let the sound of it wash over her as she leant against the doorframe of the guest bedroom. He had pushed down the duvet at some point and lay on his back with the duvet over his legs, one hand on his stomach with his head facing the other way. Her eyes were wide as she watched his chest, covered by the t-shirt she had lent him to sleep in, rising and falling. It felt strange to be able to watch him; after the other night, when she had invited him to stay, Frankie had been unconsciously avoiding eye contact with him. Her suggestion had reminded them both that she was a single woman now and somehow that had been loaded with implications that she had not been expecting.
He had left then, of course. Frankie pondered what she would have done if he had agreed. She was not even sure what she had been suggesting.
Andy had stopped breathing. Frankie went cold all over, gripping the doorframe to keep her upright as she stood to attention. She found herself halfway across the room towards him when finally he took another breath, and she stilled, hovering in the middle of the room. A few minutes later, he went quiet again and Frankie held her own breath until Andy snorted and resumed the slow and soothing cycle of inhalation and exhalation.
A rebellious sort of thought surfaced: when she danced in front of Andy, he just grinned.
When she finally returned to her bedroom, it was quarter to two. She had stood paralysed in her own guest bedroom for a solid half hour, terrified each time her best friend stopped breathing that it was be the last time. It had taken that long for her to trust that he would carry on.
Why was he here? For a moment Frankie wondered if he really expected the stalker to creep through her door in the middle of the night and murder her in her sleep. She shuddered a little at the thought as she pulled her duvet over her and curled up on her side.
He was just trying to keep her safe and happy, Frankie realised. She might even let him.