My memory was going.
That’s what I wanted to believe.
I kept losing time. Two hours, then three, then a whole day.
I would be in one place and then I would be in another with no memory of how I got there.
I talked to my husband about it.
He said I was working too hard.
We should go on holiday, he said.
He went online and found a nice bed and breakfast on the Isle of Wight.
Remote. Picturesque. We would get away from it all, he said.
It was delightful. Fresh air, the sea, endless meadows.
The strain of my London job fell away from me like an old coat.
We went for a walk outside the castle.
I smiled at my husband and heard the sound again, that familiar yet strange sound coming from everywhere and nowhere.
Once again I remembered as I began to float away.