The Cottage

by Lisa Stone

  As Jan waited for the coffee to brew, Chris wandered into the living room, thrust his hands in his trouser pockets and gazed thoughtfully through the patio windows. ‘The grass will need its final cut before winter,’ he said. ‘I can do it if you like.’

  ‘That’s kind of you, but Camile left instructions on how to work the lawn mower. I’ll give it a go. The exercise will do me good.’

  ‘OK, call me if the mower won’t start. It can be temperamental in damp weather.’

  ‘I will, thanks.’

  Jan poured their coffees and added milk – just a splash for Chris, the way he liked it – then carried the mugs into the living room. The cottage was compact, quaint, and Camile’s Royal Doulton mugs suited the décor perfectly.

  ‘Thank you,’ Chris said as Jan passed him his coffee.

  Leaving the window, he settled in his usual armchair while Jan took the sofa. The living room, like the rest of the cottage, was furnished in the style of a country cottage with oak-wood furniture, white-emulsion walls and floral fabrics, giving it a tasteful but homely rustic feel in keeping with its age.

  There was a few moments’ silence as they sipped their coffees, then they both spoke together.

  ‘You go first,’ Jan said, with a laugh.

  ‘I was just going to say, Camile sends her best wishes and hopes you have been able to do some writing.’

  ‘Tell her I’m fine,’ Jan said, slightly embarrassed. She’d confided in Camile in an email that she was hoping to write a novel during her stay at the cottage, but now wished she hadn’t told her. It seemed a bit of a cliché and she hadn’t produced anything except a few scribbled notes. Chris often passed on short messages from Camile, although he knew they had each other’s mobile numbers and email addresses. Jan wondered if it was an excuse to visit her.

  Tinder, having eaten half his breakfast now, barked to be let out. It was his routine to eat a little, go for a run, then return and finish his food. Jan went to the back door and let him out.

  ‘I’ll walk into the village later,’ she said to Chris as she returned, making conversation. ‘While the weather’s good. I need some more milk.’

  ‘Don’t forget the store closes at six in winter,’ Chris reminded her.

  ‘I won’t. I always make sure I’m back before it gets dark anyway.’

  He smiled indulgently. ‘It’s fine. I’ve walked along Wood Lane plenty of times in the dark.’

  ‘I know, but I take the car if there’s any chance of it getting dark before I’m back.’

  He smiled again. ‘Nice coffee.’

  ‘It’s the same one Camile buys from the village store.’ She paused. ‘Chris, what animals live in the woods behind the cottage? Do you know?’

  He stopped drinking his coffee and lowered his mug. ‘The usual. Why?’

  ‘I’ve never lived in the country before, so I don’t really know what is usual.’

  He was looking at her carefully. ‘Grey squirrels, rats, mice, voles, birds.’

  ‘No, I mean larger animals.’

  ‘Why, have you seen something?’ he asked.

  ‘Not exactly. But Tinder hears something outside this window.’ Without realizing it, she’d cupped her hands around her mug as if drawing warmth from it, although the cottage was heated.

  ‘Like what?’ Chris asked.

  ‘I don’t know, but something has been coming up to this window at night, after dark when the curtains are closed. Tinder hears it and gets very agitated to be let out. Last night I saw something disappear through the hedge at the bottom of the garden and into the woods. I don’t know what it was, but it seemed quite large.’ She stopped. She’d decided not to mention that she’d thought it could have walked on two legs because she’d more or less discounted that after seeing the picture of the leaping fox. Neither was she going to say that Tinder had arrived back with cooked meat on his fur. Sitting here with Chris in daylight, it sounded weird, as if she was becoming paranoid being alone in the cottage after dark.

  ‘Perhaps it was a fox or badger,’ Chris suggested, taking another sip of his coffee. ‘Or it could be a dog or cat from the village. Occasionally they get lost and stray this far, but not often.’

  ‘Has Camile ever mentioned anything to you?’ Jan asked.

  ‘She might have done, I really can’t remember,’ Chris replied easily. ‘But it’s nothing to worry about. Forest animals are hungry at this time of year. They get brave and approach houses looking for food when they wouldn’t normally, especially foxes. I have to keep my chickens cooped because of them.’

  Jan nodded. ‘Yes. We have foxes in the town. They’ve lost their fear of humans and can be seen in daylight foraging in bins. Some even go into people’s homes.’

  ‘But you didn’t see whatever it was that came here?’ Chris asked.

  ‘No. It’s a pity that motion-sensor light outside isn’t working. It would light the patio.’ She nodded to the window behind her.

  ‘It stopped working some time ago,’ Chris said. ‘I don’t think Camile used it, otherwise I would have taken a look at it for her.’ He drank the last of his coffee.

  ‘Would you like a refill?’ Jan offered.

  ‘No, I’d better be going. I’ve got a few jobs to do.’ He stood and took his mug to the kitchen, placing it in the sink as he always did.

  ‘I might email Camile and ask her if I can replace the light,’ Jan said as she walked with Chris to the front door. ‘Would you be able to do it if she agrees?’

  ‘Yes, but speak to her first. As I said, she wasn’t keen before.’

  ‘OK.’

  She watched him go and then closed the front door.

  It seemed slightly odd that Camile wouldn’t want the sensor light working, Jan thought as she returned to the living room. If nothing else, it would show the way to the dustbin in the dark. Having tripped over a couple of times, she now waited until daylight to take out the rubbish. She wasn’t sure if she should contact Camile about replacing the light. Chris hadn’t been very encouraging. But it would be useful to have it working.

  Perhaps she could repair it herself, Jan wondered as she went into the kitchen and poured herself another coffee. There would be no harm in that, as it wouldn’t cost Camile anything. She knew the basics – how to replace a bulb or fuse or spot where a wire had come loose. Her father had shown her. A loose wire could blow a fuse. It had happened to a lamp in the flat and she’d been the one to repair it. Yes, instead of contacting Camile she’d have a look at the sensor light first to see if she could work out what was wrong.

  Setting down her mug in the kitchen, Jan exchanged her slippers for shoes and opened the back door. Tinder stayed on his rug. She stepped outside and felt the fresh air. Even in daylight she was reminded how countrified and isolated the cottage was. Bushes and trees on two sides and a dense wood at the bottom. It was quiet, with only the occasional chirp of an unseen bird or stirring of dry leaves. Camile had said the cottage had been built around 1830. Originally a tenanted farmhouse, it retained many of its original features, although the thatched roof had been replaced by slate tiles.

  Jan stood on the stone patio and looked up at the sensor light. It was on the wall just above the living-room window. She’d seen it before but hadn’t taken much notice. Now as she looked, she could see it was quite new. Why install a new sensor light and not use it? she thought. That was odd. Camile must have felt she needed it, and Chris had offered to look at it to see what was wrong, but she’d refused. It didn’t make sense.

  She couldn’t see an electric cable running from the light, so logically that meant it went straight through the wall behind the light as it did on the sensor light at her parents’ house.

  Returning indoors, Jan took off her outdoor shoes and went upstairs. The cottage had two bedrooms. The main one at the front was Camile’s and she’d cleared it out so Jan could use it. The second, a smaller bedroom, was at the rear of the cottage and Camile used it for storage. Jan had looked in when she’d
first arrived but not since. There’d been no need to.

  She went in. As well as a single bed, a small wardrobe and a chest of drawers, it was full of Camile’s belongings, some from the main bedroom to make space for Jan. Clothes she didn’t need were in sealed polythene bags on the bed, and the storage boxes on the floor seemed to contain books, photograph albums, old CDs, DVDs, china ornaments and other knick-knacks.

  Jan carefully picked her way around the boxes to the window. The sensor light was just below it on the other side. However, the bed was pushed right up against the wall, so she couldn’t see where the cable came in. She pulled the bed away from the wall and the junction box came into view. She squeezed into the space between the bed and the wall. She would need a screwdriver to take off the front of the box to get to the fuse. But then, as she took a closer look, she saw the on–off switch was set to off. Surely it couldn’t be that simple? She flicked it on. Could it have accidentally got switched off when the bed had been pushed against the wall to make room for the boxes? But wouldn’t Camile have checked that?

  Jan went downstairs. The more likely explanation was that the light had broken and Camile had switched it off at source. Without bothering to change out of her slippers, Jan stepped outside and looked up at the light. She stared in amazement as the small infrared light flashed, suggesting it was working. The real test would come after dark. She’d check it as soon as the daylight faded, but now she had to go to the village shop for the milk she needed.

  FIVE

  Detective Constable Beth Mayes sat at her desk in the open-plan office at Coleshaw Police Station. It was Saturday and she was doing overtime alongside a few colleagues. With no major incident currently under investigation, most of the others were at home with their families. Beth was catching up with some administration work, form-filling and report-writing, which was mainly done online now and stored digitally.

  The door to the office opened and closed behind her and then Detective Sergeant Bert Scrivener appeared at her side.

  ‘A Mrs Angela Slater has just telephoned in,’ he said, placing a report form in front of her. ‘Can you follow it up, please? It’s probably a misunderstanding, but it needs checking ASAP as it’s about a baby. Mrs Slater says her neighbours Mr and Mrs Jennings had a baby, but it’s disappeared, and the mother hasn’t been seen for a while either.’

  ‘Perhaps they’re staying with relatives,’ Beth suggested, feeling she was stating the obvious.

  ‘Exactly. The PNC checks have come back negative so neither of them has been in trouble before. There are no children registered at that address and no child-protection issues. I’ll leave it with you.’

  As the DS left, Beth saved the file she’d been working on and picked up her desk phone. Drawing the report form towards her, she keyed in the telephone number for Mrs Slater. The phone was answered after a couple of rings. ‘Mrs Angela Slater?’

  ‘Speaking.’

  ‘I’m Detective Constable Beth Mayes. You contacted Coleshaw Police Station earlier today.’

  ‘Yes, I did indeed. I live at fifty-five Booth Lane. There’s something very suspicious going on next door. Emma and Ian Jennings are the couple who live there, and they seemed very nice to begin with. Didn’t make any noise and were polite when I spoke to them. She was expecting a baby and I think she’s had it, but it’s disappeared.’ Beth could tell from the mounting excitement in her voice that Mrs Slater enjoyed a drama.

  ‘Do you know for certain your neighbour has had the baby?’ Beth asked as Mrs Slater paused for breath.

  ‘As certain as I can be. She told me she was going to have a home birth because they’d had a bad experience in the hospital with their previous baby. It died. She used to talk to me, but then three months ago she stopped. Her husband used to speak to my husband, but he began avoiding us too. I can’t think of anything I said that could have upset them. I’ve caught glimpses of her hanging out her washing, but that’s all.’

  ‘When was the baby due? Do you know?’ Beth asked, making a note.

  ‘Not for a few months, I thought. It must have come early. On Tuesday morning I was looking out of my bedroom window and I saw a woman leave with a Moses basket. It was about eight o’clock.’

  ‘Did you see a baby?’ Beth asked.

  ‘No, the blanket was pulled right up over its face, which struck me as odd. I mean, I wondered if it could breathe. From the way she was carrying the Moses basket – careful, like – I’m sure there was a baby in it. Then she spent some time strapping the basket into the back of her car. If it was empty you wouldn’t bother, would you? Then, about two hours later, I saw her return without the baby or the basket. She was in their house for an hour. I think she’s a nurse or midwife.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ Beth asked.

  ‘When she left the second time she was carrying a black bag like midwives use and an oxygen cylinder.’

  ‘Perhaps Ian or Emma has a lung condition,’ Beth suggested.

  ‘Not when I used to talk to them. They were both very healthy. I remember Emma telling me she couldn’t understand why she’d had such a damaged baby the first time as she was fit and well, and had done everything right, like taking iron tablets and not drinking alcohol. I told her sometimes these things happen and it wasn’t her fault.’

  ‘No, quite. When was the last time you saw them?’

  ‘I haven’t seen her this week, but he has been in and out a couple of times, carrying shopping.’

  ‘Can you give me a description of the woman you saw leaving their house with the Moses basket?’ Beth asked.

  ‘She was around fifty, I guess. About five foot six inches tall, dark, chin-length hair, a bit on the dumpy side, like she could do with losing a few pounds.’

  ‘And the car?’ Beth asked as she wrote. ‘Can you give me a description of that?’

  ‘It was a grey Vauxhall Corsa. The only reason I know the make and model is because my sister has one the same. I didn’t get the registration, but if I see it again, I’ll make a note and call you.’

  ‘Thank you, that would be helpful.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Mrs Slater said. ‘I mean, you hear of such strange things happening. I wondered if they’d sold their baby or maybe she was a surrogate mother. But that didn’t seem to add up as she wanted the baby. They’d even chosen a name for it, David.’

  ‘I suppose it could be ill and in hospital,’ Beth suggested.

  ‘I wondered that, but wouldn’t the parents be with their baby if it was sick? I’m sure Emma’s at home, and he’s certainly in and out. Parents who have a sick baby usually stay with them in hospital. I know I did with mine. I never left her side.’ Which Beth supposed was true.

  ‘I’ll look into it, thank you. You’ve been most helpful.’

  ‘Will you be visiting them?’ Mrs Slater asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What time? I’ll arrange to be at home in case you need me.’

  ‘That shouldn’t be necessary, but thank you anyway. I have your phone number. I’ll contact you if I need anything further.’

  Beth wound up the conversation and Mrs Slater said a reluctant goodbye.

  While Beth would certainly investigate the disappearance of the baby, she didn’t share Mrs Slater’s enthusiasm for it being a mystery with sinister undertones. The most likely explanation was that mother and baby were in hospital after a home delivery had developed complications. She would visit Mr and Mrs Jennings, but first she needed to check the register of births online.

  Beth stayed at her computer and a few minutes later she had the information she was looking for. The birth of David Jennings hadn’t been registered. But parents had forty-two days to register the birth of their baby, so there was still plenty of time.

  Twenty minutes later Beth parked the unmarked police car in the road outside 57 Booth Lane. There was a car on the Jennings’s driveway and a small window was open on the second floor, suggesting someone could be in. All the houses in the road
were built in a similar 1980s terrace style with a driveway at the front just long enough to take a car. As Beth got out she glanced over at Number 55 where Mrs Slater lived. There was no sign of her, but Beth noted that if she stood at her front-bedroom window, she would have a good view of the Jennings’s drive and the road outside. It was different on the other side, Number 59; their view was obstructed by a tree.

  Beth went up the path of Number 57, pressed the doorbell and waited. No one answered, so she pressed it again, waited some more, and then the door opened.

  ‘Mr Ian Jennings?’ she said, showing her ID. He nodded. ‘I’m Detective Constable Beth Mayes from Coleshaw CID.’

  ‘Yes?’ he asked sombrely.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Why? Is something the matter?’

  ‘It would be better if we discussed it inside.’

  He moved aside to let her in and closed the door. Of average height and build, Ian Jennings was dressed in blue jeans and a navy sweatshirt. His only distinguishing feature was his blond hair. Beth followed him into the living room, which was at the front of the house and minimally furnished, with a long sofa, television and bookcase. Beth saw there was no sign of any baby equipment.

  ‘Is your wife Emma here?’ Beth asked.

  ‘She’s resting upstairs. She’s not well.’

  ‘Oh dear, I am sorry. What’s the matter with her?’

  Ian hesitated. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you here?’

  ‘We’ve received a phone call from a worried member of the public. I understand your wife was expecting a baby?’

  He looked shocked. ‘Yes, she was, but I don’t understand what that has got to do with anyone else.’ He was clearly struggling to contain his emotions – a mixture of anger and upset, Beth thought.

  ‘Has she had the baby?’ Beth asked.

  ‘Yes, but that’s our business, surely?’

  ‘Where is the baby now?’

  ‘It was born dead,’ he said bluntly, and his eyes filled.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ Beth said. ‘Please accept my sincere condolences.’