Free Touched by Malcolm Havard

a new but typically nondescript block built, like so many others to meet the demand from buy-to-let investors during the last property boom. Dan rented it and found it comfortable and practical if a bit soulless.
    It was, at least, a huge step up from his London digs.
    ‘OK,’ she said quietly, shyly even, the confidence seemingly gone. He wondered if he should be asking her in but in the end decided to just to walk up to the front door and open it and use that as the invitation. To his relief she meekly accepted his unspoken invitation.
    In the hall he said: ‘Second floor, I’m afraid, and there’s no lift.’
    ‘Lead on,’ she said. Again he was struck how the certainty had gone out of her voice. Was she scared of him? If so why not just walk away? Dan just couldn’t work her out. Then another problem occupied his mind.
    This was down to the stairs. The stairs and the alcohol. The first flight of stairs he took confidently but, by the second, the stairwell had started to swirl. At his door he was fighting back waves of nausea.
    ‘You OK?’ she asked.
    ‘Sorry, yes, just about,’ he said trying to concentrate, ‘OK, actually I'm not. Not really. Sorry,’ he said again.
    ‘We seem to do a lot of apologising to each other, don’t we?’
    ‘Yeah,’ said Dan, searching his suit pockets for his keys. For a nasty moment he thought he had lost them but found them in his inside jacket pocket. He got them into his lock at the third attempt, opened the door, reached in and turned the light on, then let Tess in first.
    ‘This is it,’ he said when they were in the lounge, ‘It's not fantastic I’m afraid,’ he added.
    It was not false modesty. There was very little in the flat that was his. It had come furnished, that was one of the attractions to him. It saved him from having to buy stuff. The furnishing was OK, a pair of newish two-seater sofas, a nest of chunky wooden tables, a small dining table with four chairs. It was all a bit stark though, bland with its beige carpet and white walls and ceiling. The only things that Dan had added were some framed prints; his own favourite photographs that he had had printed in A3 and A4 sizes on good quality art paper and professionally framed. It had been an expensive luxury that had almost physically pained him when he had got the bill but they did help to brighten the place up a little and gave him an element of ownership. Tess wandered around looking at them.
    Dan would have liked to concentrate on her but his head was really swimming now.
    ‘I should be a good host, make you a coffee,’ he mumbled.
    She turned towards him, a frown on her face.
    ‘Dan, just sit down before you fall down,’ she said.
    He was going to protest but then common sense kicked in. She was right.
    ‘Just for a while then,’ he said, slumping into one of the sofas. The room spun, waves of nausea rolled over him. In sitting he also realised how tired he was. He hadn’t had much sleep lately.
    Tess walked around the lounge looking at the photographs.
    ‘These are really lovely,’ she said. ‘Yours I take it?’
    ‘Yes.’
    'They're beautiful. You really do have a talent.'
    'No I don't. Not really. They're just snaps.'
    ‘Don't be silly. They're really good. Where’s this one?’
    He tried to work out which one she was looking at. It wasn’t easy as the walls of the flat seemed to be shifting. At last though he focused on her and worked out where she was standing and which photograph she was looking at.
    ‘Moscow. I was there last year with work.’
    ‘The light’s amazing,’ she said, walking onto the next one. ‘Wow,’ was all she said. Dan had closed his eyes now to stop the room from spinning but he knew which one that would be which had caused that reaction. It was one of his own personal favourites.
    ‘That’s a sunset just north of Oban. West coast of Scotland. My favourite place on Earth,’ he murmured almost to himself.
    ‘It’s stunning,’ she said, ‘When did