By the fire Paddy stirred uncomfortably in his chair, but, worn out, he did not open his eyes, even when the cold draught from the open front door stirred the logs into flame in the hearth.
Still barefoot she stood on the doorstep staring sightlessly out into the snow. Something made her pause – in her sleep some inner guardian directed her to step into boots and jacket – then she was gone, closing the door softly behind her.
In the living room the others slept on.
LXII
Their boots sliding in the snow, Jon and Pete tramped slowly down the track. Pete’s cheerful patter had finally died away and apart from the occasional heartfelt curse as he slipped in the hardening ruts, he had fallen silent. Jon stopped every now and then to stare gloomily ahead. The snow had lessened now, and he could see clearly all round them. The moon, high above the clouds cast a flat, white radiance across the woods. He was sure they were lost.
The track they had been following seemed suddenly to have petered out and they had been forced for the past twenty minutes or so to follow what could have been a rabbit path through the undergrowth. Whatever it was it was narrow and full of brambles, and the thick snow had on several occasions piled in over the top of his boots.
Behind him Pete cursed again. Jon grinned. Stopping, he turned. ‘Can’t be far now.’
‘No? I reckon this place of yours is like some kind of Brigadoon. It only appears every hundred years or so.’
‘Please God, you’re wrong.’ Jon’s reply was heartfelt. He shuddered as a gust of wind tore at his clothes.
A hundred yards further on the woods began to change. The thick oak and hawthorn copse became more sparse. The air grew if anything colder and, turning a bend in the track Jon and Pete found themselves at the edge of the dunes.
Narrowing his eyes against the wind, Jon stared round. ‘Now where?’
‘I can hear the sea.’ Pete cupped his hand around his ear. ‘Just over that sand. Bloody hell, it’s close.’
They scrambled up to the top of the dune and found themselves overlooking the beach. Huge lines of angry breakers creamed up the shore, crashing onto the sand, and over the water they could see racing towards them the brown, bellying clouds which carried the snow.
‘Another five minutes and we’ll have a white-out.’ Jon turned to Pete, worried. ‘Which way do you think?’
‘Left.’ Pete spoke unhesitatingly. ‘You said the farmhouse looked over the estuary. We’ve come too far to the east. We’ve got to the sea for real here.’ Turning he began to tramp along in the lee of the dune. ‘Come on. We’ll get some shelter down here. God help us when that lot hits land.’
It seemed like hours before they saw the cottage looming before them in the darkness. Eyes screwed up against the snow Pete grabbed at Jon’s arm and pointed. ‘Found the bugger!’
Jon grinned with relief. At last. Thank God. Kate.
Hurrying now with new energy the two men fought their way up the dunes and across the snow covered garden, ever aware of the crash of mighty waters behind them. The tide, as the forecast had warned, was going to rise and rise.
Ducking round towards the front door they found themselves sheltered at last from the wind. ‘I hope to God she’s there.’ Jon didn’t like the look of the dark windows. The cottage felt empty. Even from here he was pretty sure that they would find no fire; no one at home. And who could blame her? If he was living here, within spitting distance of the North Sea and he had heard a forecast like the one they were broadcasting today he would have packed and moved out on the spot.
The snow in front of the front door was smooth and clean. No sign of footprints. Raising his hand to the knocker, Jon surreptitiously crossed his frozen fingers.
The door swung open. His heart sank. ‘I suppose this is the right place?’ There should have been locks and bolts. There were locks and bolts. His hand located them on the inside of the door as cautiously, he pushed it open. ‘Hello!’ He called. ‘Kate?’
Silence.
He took a step in. ‘Kate, are you there?’ His searching fingers found a light switch and he clicked it up and down several times. ‘No light.’
Pete had followed him into the hall out of the wind. ‘Bit ripe in here, mate.’ Pete sniffed hard. ‘Somebody’s puked.’ He reached into his pocket for the torch and shone it around the hall. ‘There’s obviously no one here. I reckon your girlfriend moved out – for the night at least.’ Stepping forward, he pushed open a door and shone the light inside. ‘Kitchen. Bloody electric cooker. No electrics.’ He was trying that light switch as well. He turned and made for the door on the opposite side of the hall. ‘Living room. With a wood stove. We could light that at least. Oh my God!’ The roving beam of light was directed at the sofa.
‘What is it?’ Jon pushed through the door behind him and peered over his shoulder. ‘Oh Christ!’ Both men stood where they were for a moment, their eyes fixed on the shape beneath the blanket on the sofa. It was Jon who stepped reluctantly forward. Behind him Pete shone the torch onto the battered face.
Jon closed his eyes. For a moment he thought he was going to throw up, but somehow he controlled himself as he turned and staggered out of the room. There was no need to check if the man was dead.
Pete followed him. ‘Know who he is?’
Jon nodded. ‘Bill Norcross. The friend I was telling you about.’
‘Shit.’
‘As you say.’ They moved back into the kitchen and Jon sat down at the counter, his gloved hands to his face. ‘What the hell happened in there?’
‘I’d say he’d been beaten. Bloody hell, Jon, mate. Where’s your girl? Where’s her sister?’
Jon shook his head. Suddenly he was shaking like a leaf.
Pete reached onto the dresser. The fading torch beam had revealed a whisky bottle lying in a mess of earth. It turned out to be empty. ‘You sit here, mate. I’ll take a look round the rest of the place.’
Jon shook his head. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘There’s no need.’ Both men were thinking the same thing. Were Kate and Anne up there somewhere?
‘No. But I’ll come all the same.’
They took the stairs two at a time. It was Pete who pushed open first one door then the other. Both rooms were empty. They stood in Kate’s bedroom and stared round. Sand and earth had drifted across the floor. The bed was unmade – blankets piled in a heap in the middle of it, and there was earth there as well. The room was full of the sweet, damp smell of it. And something else. Scent. The overpowering stench of it had completely blocked out the unpleasant smell that was seeping up the stairs from below.
‘No one here.’ Pete stated the obvious. ‘I reckon they got out all right.’
Jon sat down on the bed. His fingers trailed across the disarrayed sheets and he found Kate’s nightshirt, tangled amongst the pillows, beneath which presumably she had folded it at some point. He recognised it. It was blue with cheerful scarlet stripes. Smart. Almost masculine. He remembered the way her long, slim legs emerged from the indecently high hemline. Oh, God, Kate. Where was she? ‘What do we do?’ Holding the nightshirt against his chest, he found he was suddenly feeling very weak.
‘Go and look for this farmhouse. It shouldn’t be too far away. That’s where they’ll be.’ Pete’s voice was strong. Confident. Not for the first time, Jon thanked whichever fate had dictated that this particular Colchester taxi driver should be with him tonight.
Closing the front door behind them again, they stood outside the cottage and stared round. There was no clue to which direction to go. Any path there might have been had long since been covered by the snow. Pete shone the torch around once and was about to switch it off when he saw the tracks. A set of footprints. Recent footprints which had passed close to the door and went on across the snow back towards the sea.
‘Someone’s been past here within the last ten minutes or so, while we were inside,’ he commented.
Kate? Anne?
The two men bent their h
eads towards the wind and set off the way they had come, heading back towards the snow covered dunes.
LXIII
‘Where is she?’ Roger burst into the room and stared round at the sleepy figures sprawled around the fireplace. ‘Where in God’s name is she?’
‘Who, Dad?’ Greg stretched with a groan. They had all fallen asleep in the end, Anne and Kate and Paddy too. In the hearth the fire had died to cold embers. He shivered violently.
‘Alison. Where is Alison?’
‘She’s not upstairs?’ Greg asked the obvious.
It was Paddy who stood up first, stretching. ‘I’ll go and look.’
He disappeared through the door into the hall. Roger threw himself down in Paddy’s vacated chair and bent forward, rubbing his face wearily in his hands. He seemed to have aged ten years in the last few hours.
Kate stared at the greyness of his skin, the transparency of his face and she bit her lip. ‘Shall I make us all some tea?’ she said, standing up. ‘And let’s get the fire going.’ She walked across to the window and pulled back the curtain. It was still dark. Thick snow had fallen and judging by the sky, there was more to come. She could hear the wind buffeting against the glass. In the distance the trees were thrashing their branches, and she watched as a cascade of dislodged snow fell to the ground.
She was filling the kettle when Paddy came back into the room. ‘She’s nowhere through there. Her boots and jacket have gone. I can’t believe she came past us in the night, but she must have, while we were all asleep. Sorry, Dad.’ He slumped on the sofa, crestfallen.
‘Sorry!’ Roger roared. ‘Sorry! Is that all you can say?’ Behind him Susie had appeared in the doorway. Her hair was tangled and her face was still crumpled with sleep. The large bruise on her forehead from the car crash had turned a deep blue.
‘Sorry! You know where she’s gone, don’t you! God only knows how long she’s been out there. Go outside, Paddy. See if you can see footprints.’
‘Outside?’ Patrick looked at him doubtfully. He nodded. Dragging himself to his feet again he disappeared and moments later they all felt the rush of cold air as he pulled open the front door.
‘There’s no sign.’ He called from the hall. ‘No tracks at all. Just birds and rabbits and a fox.’
They heard the door slam.
‘Not that it matters. We all know where she’s gone.’ Roger’s face was livid suddenly, the dry skin flushed with colour. ‘To that damn beach. I’m going to have that dune bulldozed. I’ll have it destroyed utterly!’
Was it Kate’s imagination or was there a sudden frisson in the air, a charge of fear – and triumph. With a shiver, she hunted for the tea caddy. ‘That’s what he wants,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘That’s what Marcus wants.’
‘And once he’s got what he wants, perhaps he’ll leave us alone!’ Roger rocked back in the chair, and threw his head back, closing his eyes.
‘He might, but Claudia won’t.’ Paddy came and sat down next to his father. ‘The only way to put an end to this, Dad, is to get the dune excavated properly. Then we’ll know the truth.’
‘And you think that will put a stop to all this horror?’ Diana had appeared in the staircase doorway. She was still wearing her crumpled smock; there were smears of blood on it, but whose, Kate could not remember. She turned to the kettle which was steaming gently, willing it to boil. ‘I can’t believe you are all sitting there, doing nothing, when Alison is outside in all this snow. For pity’s sake is no one going to do anything? I’m going to find her!’
‘No, Ma.’ Paddy staggered to his feet again. The boy was white with exhaustion himself. ‘You’ve got to stay to look after the others. I’ll go.’ He looked mutely at Kate.
‘I’ll come too.’ She found she had spoken automatically. ‘Of course I will.’ She glanced regretfully at the kettle.
‘No, Kate. Drink something first.’ Roger’s voice was suddenly very weak. ‘Both of you. And have something to eat. For all we know she has been out there for hours. Five minutes isn’t going to make any difference.’
‘I’ll go with you, too.’ Anne stepped forward. ‘Safety in numbers, and all that.’ She gave a weak grin.
It was nearly ten minutes later by the time they had all drunk mugs of steaming tea, eaten a wedge of bread and marmalade each and dragged on boots and coats and scarves. As they headed for the door, Paddy glanced at the gun.
‘Take it.’ Greg had hopped after them. His foot was stiff and throbbed agonizingly this morning. ‘We’ll be all right here.’
Paddy looked at his brother. Greg gave a watery grin, then he punched him gently on the shoulder. ‘Take care of yourself, Paddy; and take care of the girls.’ He turned to Kate and touched her hand. She smiled at him, but it was a thin, tired smile. She had no strength left for more. The air was bitingly cold. She wondered how she would summon the strength to go even ten feet, never mind the best part of a mile.
Greg watched them go. All three were exhausted, he knew that. His brother could hardly lift the heavy gun he had so bravely hefted onto his shoulder. He glanced beyond them towards the woods. Was there anyone there, watching them, or were they as deserted as they seemed? He shuddered. The wind was increasing, coming from behind the house, tearing in across the marsh from the sea.
He watched until they were out of sight, then turning, he closed the door. Shooting the bolts across seemed a terrible act of treachery with them outside, but there was nothing for it. He hobbled back into the living room and stared at his father, shocked. Roger was lying back against the cushions, struggling to catch his breath. His face was blue and he was sweating profusely. Diana was bending over him.
‘Ma – ’
‘It’s all right, Greg.’ Her face was as white as a sheet. ‘Your father has had a bit of a turn, but he’s OK now.’ She stroked his face gently. ‘Rest. love. She’ll be all right. They’ll find her.’
‘They will, Dad.’ Greg knelt by his father’s knees. The syringe, empty now of painkiller, was lying on the arm of the chair. ‘They’ll all be fine. It’s broad daylight now, and the weather is a bit better.’ It was a lie but he doubted if his father would know it.
Roger managed a slight grin. He patted Diana’s arm as she pulled a rug over him. ‘Better now, love,’ she whispered. She kissed the top of his head. He had relaxed visibly, lying back against the cushions and his colour was better. Taking Greg’s arm she pulled him towards the kitchen end of the room.
‘I’m fairly sure he’s had a slight heart attack,’ she whispered.
Greg started back towards his father but she caught his sleeve. ‘No. I’m sure he knows, but don’t say anything. Can you go upstairs and wake Joe? He’s got to try and go for a doctor.’
Greg nodded. With a glance at his father’s white face he dragged himself across to the door and pulled it open. The staircase was dark. Putting his hand on the rail he set his teeth grimly and somehow he hauled himself to the top, sweat pouring off his face as he dragged his injured foot up, step by step, after him. Joe was snoring loudly when Greg limped into the darkened bedroom and shook him awake but it took him only a few minutes to shake off the deep sleep and climb to his feet. ‘Right. Don’t worry. I’ll get there.’
He too was fortified with a marmalade sandwich and a mug of scalding tea before letting himself out into the cold.
‘I hate to see you going out on your own, Joe,’ Greg murmured as he stood with him on the doorstep. He was leaning heavily on his stick.
Joe smiled grimly. ‘Don’t you worry about me.’ He carried his gun, broken, beneath his left arm. ‘You take care of the others. Your Dad and Cissy and Sue. I don’t like leaving you on your own here – ’
‘We’re safe here, Joe.’ Greg did his best to sound confident. ‘Don’t worry about us. Just get us some help for Dad.’
Joe nodded. Pulling the collar of his coat up around his ears he stepped out into the dark.
LXIV
The footprints were filling up as they watc
hed, disappearing beneath a new layer of snow. Pete was slightly ahead, walking fast, his head down against the wind. Around them the landscape was uniformly white: shore, sea, sky, a formless, cold frame without definition.
‘She went this way,’ Pete had slowed almost to a standstill. He was casting around him, like a dog searching for a new scent. ‘Then the footsteps seem to stop.’ They stared around desperately, both men doubled over, studying the snow. ‘I can’t see …’
‘Here.’ Jon had walked closer to the sea and suddenly he spotted the tracks again. Lighter this time, and scuffed, as though she had been running.
Kate.
He shaded his eyes against the imagined glare and stared past the dunes towards the sea. The beach stretched in both directions, the shape of the dunes flattened by the snow, and in the cold emptiness nothing moved.
‘Kate!’ His shout was swallowed by the wind, muffled by the snow. It had no resonance, as though he had shouted through several layers of cotton wool. The sound would not have carried more than a few yards. ‘Kate!’
Pete made no comment. He had moved on, head down against the wind, his face immobile now with cold, trying to see new footprints through the whirling snow.
‘She was heading towards the sea,’ Jon shouted at him at last. ‘Why?’
‘Lost her sense of direction? Panic?’ Pete had stopped, his hands rammed down inside his pockets. ‘Poor woman must be in terror of her life.’ He shook his head. ‘Shall we go on?’
‘Of course we go on.’ Jon was shaking. ‘We go on until we find her.’
He plunged on, across the snow, sinking now and then through the white blanket into softer sand. ‘Kate!’ His voice rose and dissipated into nothing, whirled to shreds on the wind. ‘Kate!’
Midnight Is a Lonely Place Page 40