“I know- oh- oh..” A yawn broke the rest of Bella’s sentence. She kissed Jake, a longer, more lingering kiss than she first intended. She managed to pull herself away, reluctantly. Exhaustion was pulling her down into a grey pit.

She brushed her teeth in the bathroom for the first time, wrestled with the controls of the shower for the first time. She stood with her head bent forward, feeling the thunder of hot water against her aching shoulders. She couldn’t quite believe that this was now her house, the home she was going to live in. It still felt as if she’d come for a weekend visit, despite all the hauling of boxes and unpacking of suitcases.

Out in the corridor, she hesitated, still unsure of which bedroom was now hers – hers and Jake’s. Once she’d found it, she stood for a moment in the doorway, looking at the room that was now hers. It was messy and dusty and smelt of him. I'll soon clean this up, she thought. There was an old fawn-coloured carpet on the floor, patched here and there with darker stains. Dust lay in a pale grey line along the skirting board. There was a big double bed with a heavy, thickly carved headboard and a smaller, although no less ornate footboard.  A blue and white striped tie dangled from one corner. It must be Jake's although it seemed strange to think of him wearing it - Bella had only ever seen him in casual clothes. Thinking this made her realise just how little she knew him and how much there was left to discover. She felt a pulse of something that was half unease and half pleasurable anticipation. Other clothes of his were scattered all about the carpet, jeans, socks, a thick woollen jumper that looked so cuddly she nearly picked it up to do just that.

There was a chest of drawers, its surface piled high with slipping stacks of paper, and a large, dark wardrobe that stood in the corner. Bella's boxes and suitcase had been stacked against the one free wall. She felt another enormous wave of tiredness wash over her. She looked at the walls, covered in smudged cream paint. There was a small, framed painting on the wall by the window - a picture of a blue sea and a sailboat, white sail billowing, scudding over the waves towards the shore. She didn't recognise the artist. On the opposite wall there was a cork pinboard, almost bare. She walked closer. The only photograph pinned to it was of Jake and a black man, their arms slung about one another's shoulders, faces split in wide grins. Jake looked younger and his hair was much shorter.

She took a step back and looked around once more. The furniture looked like parental hand-me-downs. Bella wondered a little about Jake’s parents. He’d never mentioned them. Soon, no doubt, she’d have to meet them. She wondered if they already knew about her or if Jake hadn’t so much as mentioned her name.

She flopped down onto the bed, hearing the squeak of the springs that would soon be so familiar, and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. Would Jake want to make love tonight? He’d said he’d let her off but did he actually mean it? For the first time, she didn't feel like it - the pull of sleep was much more insistent. Even now, she could feel her eyelids fluttering and exhaustion beginning to gather her into a grey fog.

Despite her fatigue, she stood for a moment by the bed, uncertain. Which was Jake’s side? Then, too tired to care, she lifted the covers and crawled beneath them, pulling a pillow against her chest. My first night here, she thought, and tried to preserve the moment in her mind, but it was too late and she was too tired. She lay back against the pillows, feeling unconsciousness come in a slow, crashing wave.

She woke early the next morning, the clear golden sunlight bringing her quickly up to the surface. Jake lay beside her, buried in pillows. She went to kiss him and stopped herself. He looked so peaceful, lying there, black curls falling across his forehead, his mouth slightly open, exhaling, inhaling, lost in sleep. Bella slid quietly from the bed and pulled on the first piece of clothing that came to hand, one of Jake’s t-shirts. She was going to make breakfast for them both, bring it back to bed and impress Jake with her domestic skills. She ran lightly down the stairs, naughtily conscious of her nakedness beneath the shirt, feeling the cool morning air move against her in unexpected places. She walked confidently into the kitchen, as if she’d lived here for years, and began to rummage in the fridge.

“Hello.”

The voice made her jump. She turned around, a little too quickly for casualness.

“Er – hello.”

For a second, she thought the man in the doorway was Jake. Time and another look showed her she was wrong. He was like Jake – the same dark good looks, the same height – but there were differences immediately apparent. This man was taller, heavier: his features subtly different, older, harder. He was bare-chested and before she thought of anything else, she was conscious of an almost indiscernible flash of attraction at the sight of his heavily furred, muscled chest. The feeling came and went almost before she was aware of it.

“Hello,” he said again. His eyebrows weren’t pitched upwards, but his voice sounded as though they were. Bella found herself blushing.

“Hi,” she said, wishing her voice was steadier. After that, she couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“Who are you?”

He seemed aware, after a moment, of how rude that sounded, and rephrased his question.

“I’m sorry, you are?”

“Bella.” Her voice sounded steadier now, belying the fact that behind her back, her hand was gripping the edge of the work surface. “I’m Bella. Are you – I’m sorry – er, you must be Carl?”

“That’s right.” He advanced a few steps into the kitchen. He wore a pair of tight-fitting cotton boxer shorts. Bella saw this in a split second glance and then, hotly conscious that he’d noticed her look, brought her eyes back up to his face, his Jake-but-not-Jake face.

“I’m Bella – “

She realised she’d said that before and faltered. He was looking at her in a way she couldn’t decipher. Before she could continue her sentence, he’d come fully into the room and moved to the counter opposite hers. He lifted the kettle from its stand, hefting it in one large hand.

“Nice to meet you, Bella.”

He moved to the sink and the splash of the tap obscured anything else he said. Bella remained where she was, rigid against the opposite counter. She was very aware of the brief hem of the T-shirt she was wearing. It was stupid, but she was struck dumb. Say something, say something, don’t just stand there…

“You must be Carl – “ she stammered, yet again.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

He’d turned to face her and somehow had moved a step closer. Suddenly his physical presence was overwhelming. She wanted to step back, to put some distance between them but the counter was behind her, pressing insistently into her back.

“I’m Carl.”

“Yes –“

“And – you’ve just told me your name.”

“Ye-yes.”

She heard herself parroting her answers and cursed herself for it. Say something else… Her mind was completely blank. She gripped the counter tighter.

“So…”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. For a moment, he looked achingly like Jake.

“So?” she quavered.

“So – “

Whatever he was going to say went unsaid. There was another footstep in the corridor outside and a girl appeared in the doorway. Bella’s eyes went from one stranger to the next. The girl was tall, blonde, milky-skinned. Veronica. She tried to say the name but her throat had dried.

“What’s going on?”

Carl – it was Carl, he’d said so – Carl laughed.

“We’ve got a visitor, V. Her name’s Bella. She appeared from nowhere. She’s a – what’s the word? A changeling?”

“What?”

The girl wore a large, white muslin shirt. Bella could see the shape of her breasts through the pallid material.