getting home (4)

He lay for a while longer listening to the thump of his heart. His breathing a gasp on the cusp of the noise coming again. Heart beats passed, irregular breaths gathered in the room. He waited and waited and slowly regained his breath and found himself there in the bed after all.
 He was wide awake now and got up and walked through to the living room. There was his van parked on the lit road, the loch and the hills at the far side. He sat on Jess’ chair. He still expected the sound to come again. He stood up and searched out the window. He started noticing the smudges, bird-shit and splats of insects on the window rather than what was beyond. They needed a clean and he was going to do it now.

He went through to the kitchen and put the kettle on. While it was bringing the water to the boil he got dressed. It had been at least half an hour since the last intense wail he reckoned. He opened the front door, looked out tentatively then walked down to the van to get his bucket, overalls, cloths and sponges.
He tripped as he reached the road. He was walking too fast, two steps ahead of himself. He opened the back of the van and tried to get his things out as quietly as possible. Every slight noise seemed to echo massively across the loch. He stood still briefly and listened to the sound of the water flicking at the shore. Without looking round he went back to the cottage, put on his overalls and filled the bucket with water from the kettle. Another kettleful was needed. 

  Outside he put the head of the sponge on a pole and speared it into the scalding water. He trailed the water from the bucket up onto the window in great waltzing curls. It billowed into the chill of the night air. He gave a little smile. He felt the lift that the hot sudsy water steaming always gave him.
 Most mornings it was his hangover cure, enough to get him to the eleven o’clock hair-of-the-dog. When Caitlin was due Carol-Ann told him that he’d have to cut back on the drinking. They couldn’t afford it and she’d need his help in the house. He had tried. Like that piece of paper that he always carried now. He was trying, but he needed his sleep for the early mornings and Caitlin turned night into day in screaming lungfuls. She wouldn’t shut up. He just needed to sleep and let off a little steam now and then that was all.

He fussed over the tiniest crusts and tried to buff the window to a clear shine. He went inside to the living room and turned on the table lamp. He caught the odd expression in his face reflected in the glass. He washed the inside of the window and used newspaper to take off the soap. He struggled to work out whether it was moisture or shadow from the table lamp that he was buffing at. In the end he turned off the light and finished off any missed bits.

He went back to the kitchen and emptied the water, then went through to his bedroom and fell onto the bed exhausted. He was flat out in his overalls. His heavy breathing turned out to be sobs and he let the tears come, finally. His eyes started to close and trickle into sleep.