You’re being ridiculous, I told myself, it’s just the way things are in the country; it’s nothing to be afraid of. But most of my not-quite-subconscious mind was entirely preoccupied with keeping that worry at bay all the way home. As the front door closed behind me, my mind dropped its guard for just a second, and I had a momentary glimpse of something appalling beyond words, a vast and unknown world extending like an ocean around me, a memory of another time and place when I’d felt exactly the same way.
Almost immediately it was gone, as my subconscious redoubled its efforts to hold it back. Even so, knowing that it could come back disturbed me. As if in self-preservation, my thoughts twisted away from the idea, focused hard on the powder-blue Fiat I’d seen a few minutes ago in next door’s driveway. You’ll have to pop round for a proper chat, Liz had said. If my car’s here, so am I.
I’d normally have felt very awkward about just dropping in, even though she had extended a sort of invitation—for all I knew, this could be a bad time for her, she might not even have meant it, might have spoken out of politeness alone. But I was driven out by something even deeper-rooted than my fear of intruding. I couldn’t stand being on my own with my fears till Carl came back, feeling them inch in further and further, inexorable, preparing to engulf everything.
I wasn’t sure if you had to lock up here, or if you could just leave the door on the latch, but, deciding it was best to err on the side of safety, I took the key with me, locking the front door on my way out. I went round to Liz’s front door and rang the bell. Distant chimes, a wait of maybe thirty seconds before the door opened, and she was there.
‘Anna!’ She spoke amiably and brightly, as if she’d been expecting me for several minutes. In my mind, she’d faded into near-facelessness—I saw the plump, smiling woman with the grey-blue eyes as if for the first time. ‘What can I do for you, dear?’
Her apparent welcome gave me something close to Petra’s confidence. ‘Oh, nothing. I just thought I’d come round and say hi properly. You’re not busy, are you?’
‘Not at all. Come on through—I’ll put the kettle on.’
I followed her through a hallway crowded with ornaments and framed photographs. As she walked, she turned her head slightly, addressed me briskly over one shoulder. ‘Really, dear, come round whenever you feel like it. It’s the best thing about a little place like this, no need to worry about being neighbourly—everyone’s very nice round here, so there’s no danger of falling in with the wrong people.’
‘Oh, really,’ I said quickly, ‘I wasn’t worried about that.’
‘I wouldn’t blame you if you were, dear. As my late husband always used to say, you can’t be too careful.’
We entered a kitchen as crowded, domestic and welcoming as the hallway: intricately carved pinewood, a library of well-used cookery books, a vague unplaceable smell like flour and nutmeg. ‘Take a seat,’ she said. ‘Would you like ginger biscuits with your tea?’
‘That would be lovely. Thanks a lot.’
I sat down at the table in the middle of the big, sunny room, and a silver-framed photograph on a nearby shelf caught my attention. Two little brown-haired girls smiled out at me side by side, exuding dimpled, prepubescent confidence; I realised Liz was looking at me, and knew I’d have to mention them. ‘Aren’t they pretty! Your granddaughters?’
‘Daughters. Taken a long time ago, mind, but they’ve only got prettier over the years, bless them.’ She bustled across the kitchen with a proprietorial air, and her small, plump hand indicated first one, then the other. ‘That’s Katie, and that’s Alice.’
‘How old are they now?’
‘Katie’s thirty-seven, Alice is thirty-five. I married young; it was the done thing in those days. Neither of them stayed in Britain, more’s the pity.’
Everything about her manner actively invited further questions as she returned to the kettle. Looking at the photograph again, I felt an odd kind of jealousy. ‘Where do they live these days?’
‘Katie’s working as an English teacher in Germany—she’s very bright, always has been. Alice married an American man and went to start a family over there; they’ve got three children now. Come to think of it, she sent me a photo only the week before last—that’s it there, by the fruit bowl.’
It had been framed as carefully as the first, and I picked it up afraid I’d damage it. A tanned long-legged woman in pristine khaki shorts posed in some well-manicured outdoor setting. Three small, wholesome-looking kids surrounded her. ‘I’ve been over to visit, of course,’ Liz went on, making the tea. ‘They’re just lovely. A very happy family, and doing very well for themselves.’
‘That’s great.’ But the jealousy came back again, insidious, wistful. ‘You must be very proud.’
‘Oh, I am, dear. If only they could have stayed in the country. They take after their father, I suppose, he was the travelling type, too—he was a pilot before we got married, although he gave it up to go into business soon after that.’ She brought the tea and plate of ginger biscuits over on a tray. Carl and I always made do with mugs, and the delicate cups and saucers with the little silver teaspoons on the side struck me as intimidatingly formal. ‘Next time you come round I’ll have to show you our wedding pictures, but I’m afraid I haven’t got them to hand.’
On our initial meeting, she’d struck me as a woman who’d grow on me very quickly, but I was startled to realise that, if anything, my feelings were going in the opposite direction. While she still seemed essentially kind and well-meaning, her manner was slightly overbearing, as if she’d always existed on the side of the judges rather than the judged. Whether she realised it or not, that drove an immediate wedge between us; I sensed she’d led a sheltered life in every possible sense, and knew that she’d never understand my own past.
‘That’s a shame,’ I said, only half-meaning it. ‘I’d love to see them.’
A moment’s pause before she spoke again, unexpectedly. ‘Do you work at all, dear?’
‘Well, I did in Reading—that’s where we lived before. I was a PR officer for the council.’ Suddenly, I wished she’d carried on talking about her family. I’d come here precisely so I wouldn’t have to think about these things. ‘But here, well, I suppose I’m going to be a housewife from now on.’
‘You’re awfully young for that, I’d have thought. You should get a little job in the area, just to pass the time. I work for a few days each week in Wareham Library, and I keep myself quite busy with the local WI. It’s a very good way to meet people. I’ve made some wonderful friends there.’
If I was young to be a housewife, I was embarrassingly young to belong to the WI—but there seemed no polite way of saying that, and I had to smile back as if grateful for the advice. The slightly ajar back door creaked open and a large ginger cat padded in, plump and plushly furred as an expensive stuffed toy. ‘This is Socks,’ Liz announced. ‘He’s a funny little thing. Do you have pets yourself?’
‘No, I’d like to, but Carl’s allergic to cats and dogs.’ Socks glanced at me with polite indifference and I reached out a hand to stroke him. He acquiesced with a kind of feline shrug. ‘He’s lovely, isn’t he?’
‘He certainly is.’ Socks wandered out into the hallway with a last incurious glance back at me. ‘Would you like another cup of tea?’
‘Thanks very much, but I’d better be off. Carl should be back soon.’ We both stood. ‘Well, it’s been great to meet you properly. You’ll have to pop round yourself, soon.’
‘That would be nice, dear. I do hope you like it here.’
As I let myself into our empty house, I realised that I hadn’t told her anything about my writing. It wasn’t as if I’d deliberately hidden it—the conversation just hadn’t turned in that direction—but I couldn’t help but feel relieved. Ridiculous as it seemed, it wasn’t something I was altogether comfortable discussing with strangers, or even casual acquaintances; as a topic it was too personal, carried too much baggage I couldn’t easily unload.
Still, I was glad I’d conquered my fears and popped over. Suddenly, the nonspecific anxieties of earlier that day had vanished completely. Part of me was aware that they might only be hiding, but, for as long as I didn’t have to face up to them, I could easily convince myself that they weren’t really there. It was, after all, only Thursday, and Monday morning still seemed a comfortable distance away.
Through the living room window, I saw the gleaming black Audi pull up outside about half an hour later. Carl’s expression as he got out told me exactly how he felt about it; I opened the front door and stepped out, smiling. ‘I take it you’re satisfied?’
‘That’s an understatement. Isn’t it terrific? I was like a little kid with a new toy, driving back. Makes the one they gave me in Reading look like a three-wheeled van.’ He leant across to the passenger seat, lifted out a bulky, paper-wrapped parcel. ‘Come on, I know you’re not that wild about cars, but even you’ve got to admit it’s pretty stunning.’
‘I’m getting quite jealous—it’s a car, for God’s sake.’ I found his passion for hi-tech status symbols of all kinds both incomprehensible and oddly endearing. As he stepped towards me with the parcel, curiosity overcame half-humorous exasperation. ‘What have you got there, anyway?’
‘Well, I was just walking out of Bournemouth Station when I passed this little antiques shop, and something in the window just caught my eye.’ He walked past me into the house and through to the kitchen, and I hurried after him. ‘You know we were talking about buying a new lamp for the living room?’ he said, starting to unwrap the package at the table. ‘I thought you’d like this one. I must admit, I quite liked the look of it myself.’
He peeled away the last layer of Bubble Wrap and I stared, delighted. ‘My God, Carl, that’s just beautiful. Never mind the car, that’s something I can get excited about.’
‘Hey, it’s not that thrilling.’ Pushing the discarded wrapping to one side, he set the lamp upright. ‘It’s pretty nice, though, isn’t it?’
It was a Tiffany-style lamp: an intricate steel framework held glass shards of varying shapes and colours, deep, vivid primary shades of blood red and jade green and midnight blue. The wrought-iron base was curved, fluted, delicate. ‘Well chosen,’ I said, kissing him impulsively, ‘I love it. I have to see what it looks like switched on. Where did we put those spare bulbs the other day…’
I bent down and opened a cupboard at random. It was entirely empty apart from a dark shape at the back. ‘Looks like the old owners left something behind for us,’ I said, peering in.’ Now, what have we here…?’
I pulled it out, and frowned at the studded leather dog collar in my hand. ‘Well, that’s not much use to us. I didn’t know they had pets here, did you?’
‘Maybe they didn’t. Maybe they were just into hardcore S and M, you never know.’ I laughed, and Carl went over to the cupboard beneath the sink. ‘I was sure I put the bulbs in this one… Yeah, here we go.’
He took one out as I looked at the collar again dubiously. ‘Do you think we should throw it out?’
‘We could give it pride of place on the mantelpiece, I suppose… Come on, just bin it, Annie. I don’t think they’re likely to turn up demanding it back.’
‘Consider it officially binned.’ I went over to the swing-bin and dropped it inside. As I turned back, I saw he’d put the bulb in and plugged the lamp in temporarily next to the kettle. Even in the bright sunshine, the quality of its light was atmospheric—luminous carnival colours both vivid and muted, seeming to set a final seal on our residence here.
CHAPTER FOUR
ON MONDAY, there had been a reassuring infinity of days ahead of us—even by Thursday, we’d seemed to have more than enough. But the days ran out like cigarettes, from five in the packet to one in the blink of an eye. By Saturday night, I’d begun to understand that this was home now, and that most of the time, I’d be here alone; Carl would soon be spending his days far away from me, in a distant office.
I woke early on Sunday morning; the bedside clock said it was seven a.m., and Carl was fast asleep. I lay awake beside him for some time, flat on my back with eyes wide open, breathing slowly and deeply. Feeling the future suspended above me like a dead weight. The uncertainty that had whispered to me on Thursday afternoon now spoke again, horrifyingly louder and closer as if it had first filtered through from a distant room, and now came from directly behind my shoulder.
Inactivity seemed only to make that feeling worse, and I got out of bed quietly, hoping Carl wouldn’t wake up until I had it under some kind of control, not wanting to ruin his last day of leisure with a worry that didn’t even have a name. Heading into the bathroom, I opened the window to let in the crisp greenery-smelling morning air. While the fittings around me were new-looking—mixer taps and power-shower pristine and shiny as if fresh out of the showroom—they seemed incongruous with the room itself. Its sense of age lingered like a smell. I couldn’t rationalise that feeling beyond its low ceilings and doorway, the odour of decades piled on decades, of a house that had already been standing perhaps fifty years when my mother was born. Colder than it had any apparent right to be, and the merest hint of damp on the air that evoked claw-footed tubs streaked with rust, carbolic soap, one bath a week whether you needed it or not.
The view from the window only reinforced it. Looking out, an involuntary shudder ran through me. Beyond our large but undistinguished back garden, a dense dark-green cluster of trees swept over the horizon, beneath an empty sky that was the white-blue colour of sun-faded ink. Nothing moved. My thoughts turned back to the Reading flat with unexpected longing; if you’d opened the tiny frosted-glass bathroom window there, you’d see reassuring hints of strangers’ lives from two storeys up: the bus shelter and the phone box and the kebab shop that attracted such an infuriating stream of drunken, noisy, late-night custom. Even if there was nobody walking past, you knew that someone would be, soon…
For the first time, I allowed myself to open my ears and mind to the silence. With Carl drowsing peacefully in the next room, it was deafening. I couldn’t help but wonder how loud it would become when he wasn’t around.
Suddenly, urgently, I needed the reassurance of his company, and hurried back into the bedroom and under the duvet, movements now the exact opposite of stealthy, trying to wake him up without speaking a word. The sharp creak of the mattress made him turn, shift sleepily, reach out for me.
‘Morning, Annie. Well…looks like it’s our last day of doing nothing…’
I held him a little tighter, and we kissed—drowsy companionship blurred into the kind of lovemaking that felt more than anything like the natural progression of a morning cuddle. I tried to lose myself in it, at least partly succeeded; only when it was over and we were lying side by side did my worries come creeping back, shadowy in the half-light that filtered through the curtains. At first, his caressing hands were idle and reflective, then his touch changed, and I felt it focus on specific muscles with a physiotherapist’s concern.
‘What’s the matter? You feel so tense! You’re all knotted up.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing.’ But I’d always been as honest with him as I was with myself. ‘I just went into the bathroom earlier, when I couldn’t sleep, and… I don’t know. It feels so quiet here. So old.’
‘It’s a quiet area. It’s an old house.’
‘I know,’ I said reluctantly, ‘but it’s all so different. I never really thought about that before, not till now. Everything’s going to be different, here.’
‘Not us.’ His voice was reassuring as he held me a little closer. ‘We’re still the same, aren’t we?’
There was no arguing with that, and I knew it. He was unquestionably right; I was being silly. Still, as the minutes passed, I found it impossible to relax or fade back into sleep. Restlessness gripped me, a longing to explore, to come to terms with the simple fact of living here, to reassure myself that our surroundings held nothing essentially alien.
‘Listen,�
�� I said, sitting up abruptly. ‘I’m wide awake now. Think I’ll get washed and dressed and pop down to the local shop. Don’t know if it’ll be open, but it’s worth a try. I’m almost out of cigarettes, and it’s about time I saw what it was like.’
‘Jesus. It’s early, isn’t it?’
‘For a Sunday. It’s past half-nine.’ His vaguely apprehensive look made me laugh, and I spoke again quickly. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not hassling you to come. I wouldn’t dream of ruining your lie-in.’
Cautious, slightly guilty hope in his eyes. ‘You sure? I don’t mind—’
‘Of course I’m sure. Just call me an intrepid explorer.’
‘You may be gone for some time,’ he said, lying back down. ‘Well, if you’re not home by noon, I’ll send out a search party.’
I showered and dressed quickly, and left the house walking along the grassy roadside verge that was the nearest thing to a pavement. While our address was Four Ploughman’s Lane, the impression it gave of a wider community was entirely misleading, and it was a good five minutes before I passed another house. I tried to enjoy the peace and the beauty around me, but, despite myself, irrational panic was taking the place of delight; it was far lovelier than Reading had ever been, but there was too much space to be alone, and think, and worry.
I approached the village square, which had a kind of wooden bandstand in the dead centre, brightly coloured notices posted on one side behind clear glass. Pretty terraced cottages faced onto it from two sides. My watch said it was approaching ten o’clock, and the sky had darkened to a vivid blue. As Abbots Newton Stores came into sight, I saw a car pull up outside the Bull Inn and quickened my step, somehow reassured by the evidence of other life here.
A bell jangled sharply as I came in the shop, but there was nobody behind the counter where the cigarettes were kept. Inside, everything was musty-smelling, twilit with shadows, crowded as I’d never known a shop could be. I saw baskets of shrunken, elderly looking vegetables piled on top of each other on a waist-high glass-fronted fridge that served as the off-license. Beside it, cardboard boxes of crisps had been stacked into a precarious Tower of Pisa. The shop didn’t seem to sell papers or magazines, but other, stranger things exploded from random corners—balls of wool and knitting needles, boxes of candied fruits, assorted arcana that seemed to have no place here.
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