The Cottage

by Lisa Stone

  He came out of the hedge and trotted up the lawn towards her. ‘Good boy,’ she said as he came in.

  She was about to close the door when suddenly she heard a woman’s voice cry out in the woods. ‘No. Stop!’

  Jan froze. Someone was out there in the woods at night. A woman. She sounded as though she was in trouble. ‘Who’s there?’ Jan called into the dark. There was no reply. Not a sound. She waited a moment longer, closed the back door, then pressed 999 on her mobile for the emergency services.

  ‘Police,’ she said, as the call handler asked her which service.

  ‘Putting you through now.’

  ‘I live in Ivy Cottage. Wood Lane. It backs onto Coleshaw Woods,’ Jan began as soon as she was connected. ‘I’ve just heard a woman shout in the woods. She sounded as though she was in trouble. Please hurry. I’m sure she’s in danger and could be hurt.’

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Jan paced the living room, phone in her hand, waiting for the police. The officer who’d taken all the details had said they’d send someone straight away. Five minutes passed, then ten. Jan summoned her courage and opened the back door a little, just enough to hear, but the woods remained eerily quiet. There’d been that one cry, then nothing.

  She closed the door and another five minutes passed. Where the hell were the police? Tinder was at her feet staring up at her, concerned. She patted him and he looked back with large enquiring eyes.

  It was now twenty minutes since she’d called the police. They’d said a car was on its way. Surely it should be here by now, together with an ambulance? Perhaps they’d gone straight into Coleshaw Woods, Jan thought, and, kneeling on the sofa, gingerly parted the curtains. She couldn’t see any torch beams in the woods or flashing lights suggesting a police car or ambulance was there. She went upstairs into the second bedroom at the rear of the cottage from where she had a better view. But there were no lights in the woods. That poor woman could be lying badly hurt, even bleeding to death. Jan returned to the living room.

  A few minutes later she was startled by a sharp ring on the doorbell, followed by a loud knock on the door. Tinder shot under the table. The police? She hadn’t heard a siren. With mounting unease, Jan went down the hall and to the right of the door where there was a small lattice window in an alcove. You couldn’t see who was at the front door from it, just the lane in front. She eased back the curtain and saw a police car parked in the lane. She opened the door to two uniformed officers.

  ‘Thank goodness you’re here,’ she said. ‘Have you found her?’

  ‘Yes, she’s fine. We’ve spoken to her,’ the lead officer said.

  ‘You have?’ Jan asked, amazed.

  ‘She was driving out of Wood Lane as we were coming in. We thought you’d want to know she was safe.’

  ‘Well, yes. So she’s not hurt then?’ Jan asked, confused.

  ‘No. She was shouting at her dog.’

  ‘Really? What was she doing in the woods after dark?’

  ‘She was walking her dogs early this evening when one chased after something and disappeared. She’d been searching for him ever since and then caught a glimpse of him through the trees. That’s why she shouted, “No! stop!” She has him now and is sorry she caused you worry.’

  ‘Oh,’ Jan said, relieved. ‘I thought she was being attacked.’

  ‘No harm done. Always best to call us if you hear anything suspicious. You’re isolated out here.’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ Jan agreed, not really appreciating the reminder.

  ‘We’ll be off then.’

  ‘Thank you. Sorry to have wasted your time.’

  ‘Not at all. Enjoy the rest of your evening.’

  They said a polite goodnight and Jan closed and bolted the front door. She returned to the living room deep in thought. Of course she was relieved the woman was safe, but there was something bothering her. The voice she’d heard had sounded panic-stricken, not someone calling her dog. Also, the more she thought about it, the more familiar the voice had sounded. As though she might have heard it somewhere before. But try as she might, she couldn’t place it. Perhaps it would come to her in time.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Tuesday couldn’t pass quickly enough for Ian. He’d posted his and Emma’s DNA tests first thing Monday morning, paying extra for same-day delivery. This came with the option of tracking the parcel online, so he knew it had been delivered and signed for at 3.20 on Monday afternoon. If MyGeneticHistory.com got to work on analysing their samples of saliva straight away, which their website had said they would, then the results could be available later today, Ian thought. He’d been checking his personal email regularly throughout the day even though he was at work. So far all he’d had from the company was a standard acknowledgement that his test kits had been received.

  Ian conceded he had little idea of what exactly was involved in analysing DNA. But lots of companies offered the service so he assumed it couldn’t be too complicated. At 4 p.m., nearly twenty-four hours after the parcel had been delivered, Ian checked his email again. Still nothing. Their samples were probably in a queue waiting to be dealt with. Perhaps a phone call would help move them up the list.

  ‘Good afternoon, My Genetic History. How can we help you?’ a friendly female voice answered.

  ‘I sent you saliva samples yesterday and I was wondering when we could expect the results. Our names are Ian and Emma Jennings.’

  ‘It can take up to three working days,’ she replied.

  ‘I saw that on your website, but I’m assuming that includes postal delivery time. I opted for the results to be emailed. Could you check where they are in the system, please?’

  ‘Just a moment. I’ll see if I can find out.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Ian then had to listen to a few minutes of The Blue Danube holding music before she came back on the line.

  ‘I’ve spoken to our technician and she says the results are waiting to be checked and should be with you this evening. If not, it will be first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘This evening would be better,’ Ian said.

  ‘I understand, but all our results are double-checked before they’re sent out. We can’t afford to make mistakes. Each DNA sample is analysed at more than half a million genetic markers. It’s very thorough.’ Which Ian had seen on their website.

  ‘All right, thank you,’ Ian said. ‘Remember, email, not post.’

  ‘Yes. It’s noted on our system.’

  Ian continued to check his emails every fifteen minutes or so and then again as he left work at 5.30. Still no results. He’d be the first to admit he wasn’t good at waiting, never had been, especially when it relied on someone else’s efficiency. He hadn’t told Emma the results were expected this evening. He wanted time to read and digest them before he shared what he learnt. She was still convinced that a professional clinic wouldn’t make errors in their record-keeping. Quietly Ian agreed. He knew it was a long shot and he suspected that the results would vindicate the Mollers and he’d have to accept that.

  Emma, having returned to work on Monday, was home just before Ian. As he let himself in, he could hear her in the kitchen preparing their evening meal. The talk she’d had with their midwife and then returning to work had done her a power of good. The last couple of days she’d been in a much better frame of mind, so Ian was looking forward to coming home and seeing her again.

  ‘Hi, love,’ he called as he hung his coat on the hall stand.

  ‘Hi!’ she returned from the kitchen.

  He dropped his briefcase in the living room on his way through to the kitchen where he kissed Emma’s neck. She didn’t immediately pull away, which gave him hope that before too long they’d be completely back to normal.

  ‘Anything I can do?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Dinner will be about a quarter of an hour.’

  ‘I’ll change out of my suit then.’

  Ian went upstairs to their bedroom where he took the opportunity to check his phone again for an email. St
ill nothing from MyGeneticHistory.com. He would look again after dinner and then every so often during the evening, furtively, so Emma couldn’t see. Their relationship was improving and he didn’t want to risk doing anything that might spoil that.

  At 7.30, after they’d eaten and washed up, Emma settled in front of the television to watch a soap, and Ian surreptitiously stole another glance at his phone. A new email had arrived in his inbox from MyGenticHistory.com with a large attachment marked Confidential. Their results! His heart missed a beat. He took his laptop from his briefcase and sat at the dining table. Emma glanced over. ‘Work,’ he said.

  She nodded and returned her attention to the television.

  Barely able to contain himself, Ian opened the email. Dear Mr Jennings, I have pleasure attaching your results … Then there was a paragraph stating that the results should be read in conjunction with the explanatory notes. Ian saved the attachment before opening it. He began to read. Emma’s results first – gradually making sense of the graphs, numbers, estimates and percentages. So Moller had been right on that count, at least. She didn’t carry any genetic condition. He then looked at his results. Ten minutes later he’d concluded that neither did he. Moller had been telling the truth. The last two pages were the results of their paternity tests. He scanned down to the conclusion and that needed no explanation. His heart stopped. There was a 99 per cent chance that he and Emma shared the same biological father, which meant they were half brother and sister. Ian felt physically sick.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Jan had decided she needed proof. Something she could show Chris, Ruby and the police. Firm evidence that there was something living in the woods. Evidence that wouldn’t disappear like the ball of twine and couldn’t be misinterpreted as the muddy footprints on her car had. She needed a photograph so there was no doubt.

  The ball of twine had appeared and then vanished again and Jan found she wasn’t really surprised. Whoever, whatever was out there was tormenting her, toying with her like a cat playing with a mouse, maybe even having a laugh at her expense. They were trying to make it appear as though she was imagining things and losing her mind, but she knew she wasn’t. She was still sure Chris had seen something on the night he’d taken her out, even though he wouldn’t admit it. And Ruby had been convinced she’d heard one of them at the window, although she was now trying to rationalize it.

  She’d texted on Monday: Sorry for my hasty departure. I feel a fool. I expect it was nothing. Just the wind in the trees x

  No, it wasn’t the wind in the trees, Jan thought. She’d seen how scared Ruby had been. She hadn’t been able to get out of the cottage quickly enough. Ruby would receive a photograph once Jan was able to take one. She had a plan.

  Chris and Camile had both said that whatever was coming into the garden was probably hungry and looking for food. So the obvious way forward, Jan decided, was to entice them into the garden with food and then take a photograph. But what did they eat? She had no idea. Were they carnivore, herbivore or omnivore? She’d leave out a selection of what she had. If they didn’t take the bait this time, then she’d buy other foods – but not live prey. With a shudder, Jan wondered if they’d been trying to hunt Tinder, but dismissed that idea as they would have got him by now if that was their intention. They’d had plenty of opportunities.

  Jan hadn’t heard them on Sunday night and neither had Tinder. If they had come into the garden, they must have been very quiet. But then last night, as she’d been watching a film, she’d heard a noise outside the living-room window. Tinder had immediately pricked up his ears and shot off the sofa, a sure sign there was something out there. But by the time she’d opened the back door they’d gone. Tonight would be different, though. She was going to summon all her courage and stay downstairs, all night if necessary, to get the photograph she needed.

  At seven o’clock Jan let Tinder out for his evening run. It was still quiet in the garden. He returned straight away after doing his business. Jan then gathered together a selection of food, including some fruit, and put on her jacket. She wouldn’t switch on the motion-sensor light as it might scare them off. Taking the torch from its hook in the hall and, making sure Tinder didn’t follow her, Jan went outside. She began arranging little piles of food on the patio, right outside the living-room window. As she worked, she listened out, but there was nothing to suggest they were close by.

  Returning indoors, Jan switched off all the lights, opened the living-room curtains and then lay on the sofa where she couldn’t be seen from outside. She had brought down her duvet, and her phone, with the camera engaged, was ready beside her. Thankfully it was a calm night with no wind or rain so there was nothing that could put them off or spoil the photograph.

  Pulling the duvet over her, she lay still and listened. The minutes ticked by. Eight-thirty came and went. Nine, nine-thirty. Tinder slept at her feet. Another hour passed, but no sound from outside. Jan felt disappointed. She should have asked Ruby what time she’d heard them. They were usually here before now. Was it possible they knew she’d set a trap and was lying in wait to photograph them? She’d never left food out before, or had the curtains open after dark. Were they really so clever that they could see her intention by a change of routine? An icy chill crept up Jan’s spine and she pulled the duvet closer around her.

  By midnight Jan was struggling to keep her eyes open. She dared not get up and make a coffee, for if they were out there watching they would see her and bolt. They never stayed once they’d been seen; but always ran away. She would need them still for a few moments to take the photo – hence the piles of food.

  She shifted position and willed herself to stay awake. As one o’clock approached, her eyes closed. Then suddenly she was awake, startled by a noise outside. Senses tingling and her breath coming fast and shallow, she felt for her phone.

  Keeping low and out of sight, Jan carefully slid the phone from beneath the duvet and slowly began to raise it. Just high enough over the back of the sofa so she could take the photo. At the same time she carefully drew herself to her knees. She’d only get one chance. But at that moment Tinder heard it too and, leaping from the sofa, ran towards the back door, barking loudly. Jan took the picture anyway but knew even before she looked at it she’d been too late. Just a view of the reflection of the flash on the glass. Tomorrow she’d try again, shutting Tinder in her bedroom first, and with the flash turned off.

  FORTY

  Ian was still awake in the early hours of Wednesday morning, angry, upset, confused and agitatedly trying to decide what to do next. Moller had lied. The DNA results had shown that while he and Emma didn’t have any inherited genetic conditions, they did share the same biological father. Little wonder they looked similar, Ian thought bitterly. They were half brother and sister! It was the worst possible outcome and Ian was struggling to cope.

  He lay in bed, a small light coming from the street lamp outside, plagued by thoughts of what he’d learnt as Emma slept beside him. She was in a deep sleep and her breathing was soft and shallow. Lucky her, Ian thought bitterly. He hadn’t told her yet. When he’d finally come to bed shortly after 1 a.m. she’d stirred, turned over and cuddled up to him, wanting to make love. He’d recoiled and feigned sleep. Now he knew they were related he wasn’t sure what he felt towards her. Not his wife, more like a friend, or sister, which he supposed in some ways she was. Clearly there would be no more children. This was the end of the road for their hopes of a normal family life, and Ian had no idea how he was going to tell Emma.

  He moved his legs away from her and tried to relax. He really needed to get some sleep. He had work tomorrow, but his anger persisted. Moller had ruined their lives and Ian wanted him to pay one way or another. He’d go to the clinic tomorrow and have it out with him. But then, on reflection, Ian wondered if that was a good idea. He doubted he was going to get any more out of Moller than he had the last time. Moller had lied, so why would he tell the truth now? Also, if Ian lost his temper – which he could e
asily do – he might do something he later regretted. Perhaps it would be better to report him to the police and let them take care of him. Yes, that seemed to be the best plan.

  But then again … Ian could picture going into Coleshaw Police Station and having to explain to the duty officer about the clinic and donated sperm. How embarrassing that would be! Especially if others were there. Added to which, the moment he began talking about their dead babies, he knew he would cry and make a complete fool of himself.

  Emma stirred beside him and, giving a small groan, mumbled something in her sleep, which gave Ian another idea. The detective constable who’d come to see them already knew about the death of their last baby. He wouldn’t have to go through it all again with her. She’d seemed clued up and sensitive, and as a detective could investigate. It would be easier talking to her than going to the police station. But what was her name?

  Ian tried to remember. She’d introduced herself as … what was it? She’d shown her ID, but he’d only glanced at it, not long enough to remember her name. ‘I’m Detective Constable … from Coleshaw CID,’ she’d said, but what name had she given? Her first name began with B, he thought, and it was only a short name. Not Bella, Babs, but something like that. B … B … Beth. Yes, he was certain her first name was Beth. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember her surname. But there couldn’t be too many detective constables called Beth at Coleshaw CID. He’d telephone the station in the morning, although he wouldn’t tell Emma about any of this, not yet. Once he had all the facts, he’d have to sit her down and break the news to her as gently as he could. She’d be distraught, of course, just as he was. The longer he could postpone it, the better: that dreadful moment when he shattered her life.