The Cottage

by Lisa Stone

  Ian nodded stiffly.

  ‘Will there be a post-mortem?’ Beth asked. If the baby was full-term it was likely.

  ‘I don’t know. Why? The midwife took him away. We were too distraught to deal with it. We still are.’ He wiped his hand over his eyes.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Beth said again. ‘But you understand we have to follow up concerns like this from the public.’

  ‘Like what?’ Ian asked. He hadn’t suggested they sit down and continued to face Beth across the room.

  ‘If a baby is missing.’

  ‘He’s not missing. He’s dead,’ Ian said tearfully.

  ‘I understand that now. If I could just go upstairs and see your wife, I’ll be on my way.’

  ‘Why do you want to see Emma?’

  ‘So I can say I’ve seen her in my report, and to give her my condolences.’

  ‘Report?’ Ian questioned.

  ‘It’s procedure. I’ll conclude my report by saying I’ve seen you both and close the file.’

  ‘All right, this way,’ he said. ‘Sorry if I was rude. We’ve had a dreadful week, as you can imagine.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Beth followed Ian out of the living room and upstairs to the bedroom at the front of the house. The curtains were half open and Emma Jennings was dressed and lying on top of the bed.

  ‘It’s the police,’ Ian said, going in first.

  Emma immediately looked worried and heaved herself up the pillow as Ian went protectively to her side. The poor woman looked dreadful, Beth thought, with deathly pale skin and dark circles under her eyes. Beth was struck by how much she looked like her husband. She’d read that couples grew to resemble each other over time and here was a perfect example.

  ‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ Beth said. Going over, she showed Emma her ID.

  ‘I lost my baby,’ she said in a small, pitiful voice. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘We received a call from a member of the public who thought a baby had disappeared from this house.’

  ‘It has,’ Emma said, even more upset. ‘He’s gone and I’ll never see him again.’ Tears spilled onto her cheeks.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Beth said again. ‘You understand why I had to check?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll leave you then. Do you have everything you need?’

  Emma nodded.

  ‘Look after yourselves. I’ll let myself out.’

  Leaving Ian to comfort his distraught wife, Beth returned downstairs and left the house.

  She felt very sorry for the couple – their grief was raw. But the mystery of the disappearing baby had been solved. There’d been no foul play, their baby had tragically been born dead. Of course the midwife would have covered its body with the blanket in the Moses basket while she’d carried it out, and then secured it on the rear seat of the car as she drove to the morgue. It was awfully sad, but it appeared no crime had been committed and in this respect Beth was pleased.

  SIX

  It shouldn’t be this frigging difficult to start a lawn mower! Jan cursed.

  Taking hold of the starter cord again, she summoned all her strength and gave it a sharp pull. The engine turned once, the cord sprang back into place, and then nothing.

  ‘Bloody hell!’

  Her right arm was aching from repeatedly pulling the starter cord, and now there was a strong smell of petrol! She’d probably flooded the engine, she thought, with all the attempts she’d been making to get it going. An electric lawn mower, like her parents had, would have been much easier. You just plugged it in and off you went. Chris had said Camile’s mower could be temperamental in damp weather, but the weather wasn’t damp. The day had stayed fine, which was why Jan had decided to cut the grass after she’d returned from the village store.

  She pulled the cord again and the smell of petrol grew stronger. If she had flooded the engine, the only solution was to leave it to dry out. Then, if it still wouldn’t start, she’d have to phone Chris, which might not be such a bad idea anyway.

  She may as well put the time to good use while she waited, she decided. Taking the rake from the shed, she began raking up fallen leaves. Tinder was indoors as he was scared of the lawn mower. Once she had a decent-sized pile of leaves, she scooped them up and dumped them on the compost heap, which was at the bottom of the garden to the left of the shed. The garden had a large central lawn flanked by borders of shrubs, so there wasn’t much to do at this time of year. Camile had written in her notes that if Jan could cut the grass and clear up the leaves that would be great. She didn’t think Camile would be impressed by her efforts so far to cut the grass, but then Jan had never had to do it before.

  She continued raking leaves from the lawn, working her way down one side and then across the bottom. How different it was out here in daylight. Peaceful, idyllic – she felt at one with nature. As she cleared away the leaves from the hedge where the shadow had disappeared the evening before, she saw the gap it had gone through and track marks in the mud. There were a lot of prints merging together that could have belonged to anything but suggested there might be more than one animal, and that they had been coming into the garden for some time – not just the last four nights when Tinder had become spooked. The prints seemed rather large for foxes, but she could be wrong. It crossed Jan’s mind that perhaps Camile had been encouraging them in by feeding them, although she was sure she would have included this in her detailed notes: I feed the family of foxes so would you …

  Raking away the last of the leaves, Jan dumped them on the compost heap, put away the rake and returned to the lawn mower. Any excess petrol should have evaporated by now. One last try and then she’d give up and call Chris, although it was a bit late for him to come today. The sun would be setting soon, so it would be dark by the time he arrived, assuming he was free, of course.

  Taking hold of the starter handle, Jan focused, took a deep breath and gave the cord a hefty pull – her very best and final effort. The cord snapped back into place as the engine fired and then amazingly spluttered into life. Success! The engine was running, but raggedly, as though it could cut out at any moment. Moving the lever on the handle, Jan increased the revs until it was running more smoothly, then, releasing the hand brake, she let the mower pull away. The roller was powered so no pushing was required. She began going up and down the lawn and soon found it quite satisfying. She could see why Camile preferred this type of mower. Once it had started it mowed the grass by itself. There was no pushing and no long electricity cable to avoid severing. All Jan had to do was steer it up and down and keep the lines straight.

  The result was starting to look rather professional, she thought. She was pleased she’d persisted in getting the mower started without having to call Chris for help. It was another small accomplishment, giving her confidence a much-needed boost. Silly really, taking pride in cutting the grass, but losing her job and long-term partner in one go had damaged her confidence like nothing else had before. Now she was rebuilding it gradually, bit by bit, slowly adding to her achievements.

  However, the mower was noisy, she had to admit; it blocked out any other sound. Little wonder Tinder preferred to stay indoors.

  It was only when she stopped to empty the grass box that she heard it.

  A noise, a rustle coming from the hedge behind her. She turned, but there was nothing to be seen at the bottom of the garden where the sound had come from. She remained where she was, listening and watching. Perhaps it was one of the foxes coming to investigate. In daylight? Chris had said they were hungry at this time of year and approached homes looking for food when they wouldn’t normally. Or perhaps the noise of the lawn mower had disturbed them. But wouldn’t they have been scared off like Tinder?

  Slightly unsettled, Jan removed the grass box from the back of the lawn mower and emptied it onto the compost heap. As she shook it clear she heard the noise again. The shed was blocking her view. Moving quietly, she came out from beside it. The garden was empty. She went over a
nd looked at the gap in the hedge where the track marks had been. Were those fresh prints? She couldn’t be sure. The air remained quiet and still.

  The sun would be setting soon. She needed to finish cutting the grass. Silencing her unease, Jan returned to the mower and started it again. The engine fired up easily now it was warm. She continued cutting the grass. Up and down, creating neat stripes. But as she worked, she had the strangest feeling she was being watched. It was weird, unsettling and completely irrational, she told herself. Yet the feeling grew so that she had to keep taking her eyes from the lawn in front to look behind her.

  She chided herself for being silly, but eventually the feeling became so strong she stopped the mower and went to the hedge at the bottom of the garden for a closer look. Leaning in, she pulled aside some branches so she could see into the hedge more clearly. Camile’s garden was separated from the woods by shrubs forming a hedge. She looked at the hole Tinder and the shadow had gone through.

  ‘Hello? Anyone there?’ she called, then felt foolish.

  Did she expect an animal to reply? Unless it wasn’t an animal. Perhaps there were scouts camping in the woods or a homeless person living there, she wondered, as she had before. Now she’d cleared the leaves and parted the shrubbery she could see the gap was big enough for a child to get through, or even an adult if they crouched down and crawled through. Was that what was making those marks? Someone crawling through?

  Jan pulled aside more branches and saw another cluster of prints, which again could have belonged to anything. Whatever had been here had gone now, as had the feeling of being watched. It could have been her imagination all along. She needed to finish cutting the grass before sunset. The light was failing fast. If she didn’t finish cutting it now, she’d have to go through all the palaver of starting the mower from cold again tomorrow.

  Returning to the mower, Jan started it without a problem and finished cutting the lawn. She emptied the grass box again and then wheeled the mower into the shed where it was stored. As she returned across the now freshly cut grass to the back door of the cottage, she heard a noise again. She spun round. There was nothing to be seen. Whatever was out there was well hidden on the other side of the hedge.

  With a shiver, she quickly continued indoors. If the sensor light was working, once it was dark it should show her what was coming into the garden and hopefully put her fears to rest.

  Tinder appeared from the living room ready for his dinner. Jan fed him and then checked her phone. There was a missed call from her mother – she’d speak to her once she’d made herself a hot drink. The temperature outside had dropped while she’d been cutting the grass and her fingers were cold. She cupped her hands around the mug of steaming tea and stood at the living-room window looking out onto the garden. The sun continued on its descent and at 6.30 Jan thought it was dark enough to test the sensor light.

  She opened the back door and stepped out. To her disappointment, the light didn’t immediately flash on. But when she took another couple of steps across the patio and moved into its range, light flooded the area. It was working and it would cover the patio just outside the living-room windows.

  Pleased with herself, Jan returned indoors as Tinder went out for a run. Closing the back door, she picked up her phone and texted Chris.

  Hi! Success! I got the lawn mower and sensor light working! It was switched off. Just waiting to see who my nocturnal visitors are. Jan x

  Making light of it helped ease her disquiet.

  Five minutes later Chris replied, not congratulating her as she thought he would, but raising some concern.

  Camile might have switched it off for a reason so maybe leave it off.

  She texted back, feeling she should justify her actions: I thought it might have accidently been turned off.

  His response was: I think you need to ask Camile before you change anything in her cottage.

  She felt the censure of his words and was sorry. He was right: of course she should have checked with Camile first.

  SEVEN

  ‘Do you think that police woman suspects?’ Emma anxiously asked Ian.

  ‘No,’ he replied a little wearily, glancing up from his laptop. ‘She has no reason to.’

  ‘But supposing she contacts Anne?’

  ‘She doesn’t know who our midwife is, and anyway Anne will know what to say.’

  ‘You’d better warn Anne the police have been here,’ Emma persisted. ‘I wouldn’t want her getting into trouble. She’s helped us so much, seeing to everything, even though she shouldn’t have.’

  ‘I’ve already spoken to her,’ Ian replied.

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘That what we told the officer was right. But if she comes back, it’s probably best to pretend we’re out so we don’t have to answer any more questions.’

  ‘Comes back!’ Emma exclaimed in alarm. ‘I thought you said she went away satisfied. Why would the police come back?’

  Ian sighed. ‘I don’t think she will, I’m just telling you what Anne said, as you asked.’

  Emma fiddled nervously with the sleeve of her jumper as Ian returned his attention to his laptop. It was evening and they were in the living room, but she couldn’t concentrate on the book she was supposed to be reading. She felt even more wretched now, with the worry of the police visit on top of the trauma of losing the baby. She’d been in bed all day, but Ian had persuaded her to come down for dinner, which he’d made. Now she was regretting it. Sleep gave her some respite from the horror of it all, but when she was awake it was full on. All she did was sit and remember – right from the start, when she’d first found out she was pregnant again and the baby was damaged the same as the first one. Day after day, week by week, until the unimaginable horror of giving birth. Thank goodness it hadn’t been full term and thank goodness for Anne, she thought. She wouldn’t have managed without her. It had shot out, she remembered grimly, as pleased to be rid of her as she was of it. Her stomach clenched at the recollection.

  David, they’d decided to call him, which meant loved one. He would have been so loved had nature not played another cruel trick on them. A baby that wasn’t viable was the clinical term, but it had only been confirmed when it was too late for a termination. Ian seemed to be doing better than she was, Emma acknowledged, and was able to concentrate on work. But then he hadn’t been pregnant, carried it all those months, hoping for the best but fearing the worst. It was easier for him.

  ‘I think I’ll go back to bed,’ Emma said, and closed her book.

  ‘No, don’t, please,’ Ian said imploringly and, standing, went to her. ‘Don’t shut yourself away any longer. We need to talk about what’s happened and discuss what we’re going to do in the future.’

  ‘I’m not trying for a baby again if that’s what you mean,’ Emma said sharply, tears springing to her eyes. ‘You said lightning never strikes twice in the same place, but it did for us. And this time it was worse than the last.’ Her face crumpled and she dissolved into tears.

  Ian put his arm around her and held her as she wept. ‘I would never put you through that again,’ he said gently, stroking her hair. ‘Never. It’s too much. I’m hurting too. I love you. But before we give up completely on our dream of starting a family, there’s something I want to talk to you about.’

  ‘What?’ she asked, looking at him through her tears.

  Ian took a tissue from the box and gently wiped her eyes. ‘I wouldn’t want us to try again for a child unless we could be certain it wouldn’t happen a third time.’

  ‘But we can’t be certain!’ Emma cried. ‘That’s the problem. We don’t know until it’s too late. Anne told us we shouldn’t try again because the same thing was likely to happen.’

  ‘I know, but please hear what I have to say. I’ve been doing some research on the Internet.’

  ‘Go on then, tell me.’

  ‘You remember when we were told about how David would be, after the scan?’

  ‘Yes, vivid
ly,’ she said. ‘It was awful and I was hysterical.’

  ‘I know. You kept saying over and over again that there must be something wrong with you. I reassured you there wasn’t.’

  ‘I remember. Are you saying now you’ve found out there is something wrong with me after all, so it’s my fault?’

  ‘No, listen, please. It’s not your fault any more than it is mine. But supposing there was something in our genes that’s causing the problem? Lots of conditions can be passed down through genes without anyone knowing, and then it suddenly appears.’

  ‘But what happened to us has never happened in my family before,’ Emma said.

  ‘Neither in mine, but supposing there is something a long way back we don’t know about?’

  ‘Like what?’ Emma asked. ‘You’re scaring me.’

  ‘I don’t mean to scare you, love. But if we could find a reason for what’s happening then it would reassure us, and there might be a chance it could be corrected. Medical scientists are doing wonderful things, manipulating DNA so babies can be born healthy, without inherited conditions.’

  ‘It was more than a condition,’ Emma said, grimacing. ‘But how could we find out?’

  ‘I’ve been researching and a good place to start would be to look at our family trees. It’s pretty easy now online. Then we can apply for death certificates, which will tell us what our relatives died of. I’ve already started on my family. Let me show you.’

  Emma watched as Ian fetched his laptop and returned to sit next to her on the sofa. She hadn’t seen him so enthusiastic about anything in a long while.

  ‘What made you think of this?’ she asked him.

  ‘I watched a programme on television a few nights ago about the way information is passed down through our genes. It was fascinating. It said marrying a cousin is often a bad idea because inbreeding can lead to genetic conditions and mutations. It got me thinking about us. I know we’re not cousins but there could be something in our families that has lain dormant for generations and would have continued to do so had we not met and tried to have children. Many inherited conditions are only passed on if both parents are carriers – cystic fibrosis, for example. Do you see what I’m getting at?’