Secrets of the Mist

by Kate Ryder

  I peered at the card.

  Nick Corbin

  Carpenter & Joiner

  Bespoke service offered

  Awkward corners a speciality

  No job too small!

  Mob: 07890 538264

  Deep in thought, I stared at the closed door. Suddenly aware of someone’s close scrutiny, I glanced out of the corner of my eye and saw Brian leaning on the bar watching me with a huge grin on his face.

  ‘What?’ I asked, indignantly.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he teased. ‘You’ve got one bloke holed up at your place – admittedly with a new girlfriend, though it looks to me she might wear him out before too long – and here you are but a hundred yards away reeling in another!’ He gave a deep belly laugh.

  ‘I’m not reeling anyone in,’ I exclaimed. ‘As it happens, I do need a carpenter.’

  Despite blushing furiously, I smiled at Brian and attempted to gain some control of the situation.

  ‘Young lady, you have no idea what you’re doing. And you certainly have no idea the effect you have on my customers.’

  ‘I do know what I’m doing,’ I countered in mock outrage. He arched an eyebrow. ‘And the effect I’m having on your customers is, hopefully, encouraging them to come back.’

  ‘Well, that’s for sure. Takings were never so good when Bev worked the bar.’ He winked at me.

  I finished my drink, said goodnight to them all and walked back reluctantly to the cottage. Dan’s car was parked at the edge of the village green. Apart from the porch light, the cottage was plunged in darkness, which meant that he and Lucy had either gone for a midnight walk or had retired to bed. I knew which option they would have chosen.

  Slowly I climbed the stairs. As I passed the door to the guest bedroom, I heard deep, guttural moans within. Sighing deeply, I opened the door to my room and lay there wondering how I was going to get any sleep with all the noisy activity occurring just a few feet away in the adjacent room, let alone survive another day without losing my composure. I thought of the evening and couldn’t help but smile as I recalled my performance as a waitress, and then I thought of Nick Corbin.

  Who was he? Why did he seem so familiar?

  As I recalled his face, particularly those blue-grey eyes, the bubbling excitement coursing through my body took me by surprise. I wondered if there was a Mrs Corbin and any little Corbins, and I berated myself for not checking if he wore a ring. It was something I never remembered to do but plenty of my girlfriends did, and it always seemed a very wise precaution to take. I sighed again, turned over and closed my eyes. Putting a pillow over my head, I tried to block out the noise, though I was resigned to the fact that sleep would not come easily. But the evening’s stresses had exhausted me more than I realised and I was asleep in an instant.

  It was some time later that I came to, disorientated, as the covers moved and a body cuddled up to me. Although the room was in darkness, I was aware of a swirling mist, and from the glow of the digital clock I could just make out Dan.

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ I exclaimed.

  ‘Shhh! You’ll wake her.’

  He kissed my mouth hard and I felt his longing. Despite my confusion, my body rose to meet his and before long we were entwined as one.

  ‘My love,’ he whispered in my ear.

  Dan was behaving uncharacteristically fast and loose; this was so unlike the man I knew. He nuzzled my neck, which drove me wild, and then a deep voice filled with emotion whispered in my ear. ‘Come to me, my love. Come to me.’

  I experienced the same thrill at hearing the intensity in his voice as I had that first night we stayed in the cottage. But the words were not Dan-speak. I tried to focus on him, which proved near impossible as he had me pinned to the bed. As our passion rose, Dan’s body felt more muscular and, once again, I became aware of his altered scent.

  Suddenly, we heard a sound from the next room and Dan instantly rolled away from me.

  In muffled tones, he said, ‘I’ll go to her.’

  Yes, indeed, you go to her! It will be interesting to hear how you explain away your presence in my room to Lucy.

  I lay back and considered what had just happened but an insistent cry from the corner of the room made me sit up. Thinking it must be Storm, I switched on the bedside lamp and couldn’t believe what I saw.

  In the corner stood a large, rustic wooden cot, the crying emanating from within. Vaguely, it occurred to me that I might be in the middle of a very strange dream. I climbed out of bed and walked cautiously towards the cot and peered in. A very red-faced, hot and sweating child – a boy, aged no more than four – looked up at me. Crying and whimpering, he stretched out his arms. Immediately, I was overcome with a deep sense of sadness and found it difficult to breathe. My vision blurred and a black tunnel threatened to engulf me. I called out, struggling to stay upright, but my legs gave way and I fainted to the floor.

  Presently, I became aware of Dan lifting me onto the bed. Lucy, dressed in only a T-shirt, which I noticed showed off her long, shapely legs to perfection, stood behind him watching carefully.

  ‘Mads. What is it?’ His voice was full of concern.

  ‘The boy, Dan. He’s ill!’

  ‘What boy? What are you talking about?’

  I didn’t know what to think. I was so distressed. Struggling to sit up, I looked towards the corner of the room but it was empty. There was no cot.

  I burst into tears and sobbed, ‘He’s ill! He needs me.’

  Dan sat on the bed beside me and gently stroked my hair, making soothing noises. Through my tears, I saw Lucy frown.

  Without looking at her, Dan said, ‘Luce, go and make Mads a cup of tea.’

  She didn’t look too happy at being given an order but obediently left the room.

  ‘Hush, Mads, everything’s OK.’

  His hands were cool and soothing and I clung to him for comfort.

  ‘Dan, what’s going on?’

  ‘I think you must have had a bad dream.’

  ‘But earlier…’

  ‘What do you mean earlier?’ he asked.

  ‘Earlier tonight. You and me.’

  He frowned. ‘What do you mean, you and me?’

  ‘You came to me!’

  ‘No, Mads,’ he said slowly. ‘I’ve been with Luce.’

  I felt as if I was going out of my mind. Was he sleepwalking again? My body told me we had made love and, yet, here he was denying it. And what of that child? My heart was breaking. The boy needed me.

  ‘Dan, we had sex,’ I said.

  His hand stopped stroking my hair. ‘Mads, I’ve been next door all night. I think you’ve been in the throes of a very unusual dream.’

  A sound at the door made him look up.

  Lucy walked in holding three mugs of tea. ‘I thought we all needed one,’ she said flatly.

  Feeling exhausted and so sad, as if I had lost something very dear to me, I started weeping again.

  ‘Don’t cry.’ Dan placed a cool hand on my forehead. ‘God, Mads, you’re burning up!’

  ‘Maybe she’s caught a fever and is delusional,’ Lucy added, unhelpfully. Dan frowned at her. ‘It was only a suggestion,’ she said, answering his look.

  His attention once more on me, he said gently, ‘Have a day in bed. We’ll stay as long as we can.’

  Immediately, Lucy said she needed to get back to London in good time but Dan silenced her with another look. At least she didn’t have complete control over him… yet.

  ‘If you’re not feeling better by the evening I want you to book an appointment with the doctor first thing Monday morning. Promise?’

  I nodded weakly. It was so like Dan to take control of a situation and ease things over. This was the Dan I knew so well.

  ‘Now, do you think you can get some sleep?’ he asked kindly.

  I nodded again and he helped me into bed, tucking me in like a child. I noticed with some satisfaction that Lucy was not at all happy.

  I drifted
off into a fitful sleep and found myself in a dark, claustrophobic tunnel, desperately searching for something very important. But, try as I might, I couldn’t remember what it was. Each time I came close to its discovery it turned to dust and I was left worrying, knowing that it was imperative I remembered what it was I was looking for.

  I awoke mid-afternoon to find Dan at the bedroom door with bread and soup. Setting the tray on the bedside table, he sat on the edge of the bed and felt my forehead again, telling me he believed the worst of the fever had passed. He encouraged me to have some food and watched attentively as I slowly dunked the roll into the tomato soup and tried a few mouthfuls. I lay back exhausted.

  ‘Mads, what you said earlier about us having sex…’ He seemed truly uncomfortable. ‘We didn’t.’

  ‘I can’t explain it then,’ I sighed.

  ‘I mean,’ Dan continued falteringly, ‘we couldn’t have. You see, Luce won’t let me out of her sight.’

  I gave him a long look.

  ‘You’re not complaining are you, Dan?’

  ‘Hell, no! I mean she’s great and we get on really well.’

  I ignored the voice inside my head that said we, too, had got on really well.

  ‘It’s just, sometimes she…’ He broke off.

  ‘She won’t leave you alone?’ I volunteered. I was amazed Lucy hadn’t already appeared at the door.

  ‘Well yes, that. But, that’s not all. Oh, this is kind of awkward.’ He looked embarrassed and took a deep breath. ‘Luce is extremely fit. I don’t have the energy for anyone else.’

  Dear exhausted Dan!

  ‘Well at least you won’t have to renew your gym membership,’ I said dryly.

  He laughed. ‘That sounds more like my Mads. Are you OK now? We need to be on the road soon. Shall I let Brian know you’re feeling unwell and ask him to keep an eye on you?’

  I shook my head.

  Although still reeling from the sadness I’d felt earlier, I put on a brave face. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll survive.’

  He leant forward and kissed me tenderly on the forehead. ‘My sweet Mads.’ His long fingers gently stroked my hair.

  A clearing of the throat just outside the door announced that Lucy had been eavesdropping. ‘Are you ready, Dan?’ she called brightly.

  ‘Coming!’ He smiled down at me.

  Lucy stuck her head around the door. ‘It was nice meeting you, Mads, and staying in your sweet little cottage.’ I cringed at her sickeningly patronising tone. ‘But, darling…’ she paused dramatically ‘…do take it easy.’

  I was instantly incensed. I hated anyone calling me ‘darling’ – unless, of course, I was their darling – but especially by someone of my own age. She smiled at me, a false, sickly sweet smile, before turning and heading downstairs.

  ‘Bye, kiddo, I’ll be in touch,’ Dan said, trying hard not to laugh.

  ‘Glad you’re so entertained,’ I muttered through gritted teeth.

  Bursting into laughter, he followed his girlfriend downstairs.

  4

  Christmas drew ever nearer and Brian asked me to increase my hours by working a couple of mid-week lunchtime sessions in addition to covering Sunday lunches. I was pleased to have the extra work as the recent experience at the cottage had left me feeling unaccountably bereft and unsettled. I phoned my parents and arranged to visit them in Dublin for a week over Christmas. It promised to be a sociable family event. Our family extended the length and breadth of Southern Ireland and the O’Briens knew how to celebrate. Mo, though, would not be there as she was spending the Christmas period with a boyfriend in New York. I was sad to hear this as I wanted to see her again, but I phoned her and she promised to visit between assignments early in the New Year.

  ‘Are you OK, sis?’ she asked before we said goodbye. ‘You sound kind of flat.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said, in a falsely bright voice. ‘It’s just—’ I took a deep breath and soldiered on ‘—there are some things happening in the cottage and I need to speak to you about them. Not over the phone, though.’

  Mo fell silent at the other end. She was a very sensitive soul, which explained why her photography had a different, ethereal quality to it and her images often captured a unique vision compared to those of other photographers. Being a true Irish family, we children had been brought up on Ireland’s various myths and legends and these had always resonated very deeply, particularly with Mo. We naturally accepted the fact that she was the member of our family who could tap into abilities that the rest of us did not possess. I wouldn’t actually use the word ‘psychic’, but Mo saw the world we inhabited on a different level.

  ‘If these things don’t worry you then you’re meant to be there,’ she said carefully.

  ‘They don’t worry me, as such, but they are emotionally draining.’

  ‘Has anyone else experienced anything?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, I’ve heard rumours,’ I said, thinking of Bill’s sister’s friend, ‘but Dan’s stayed over and he’s never picked up on anything.’ I had already told her about Dan and Lucy descending on me.

  ‘Probably because his mind’s on other things,’ she said in a gently sarcastic tone. I snorted. ‘Can you speak to anyone about this?’

  I thought of all the people I’d met since coming to Walditch and, surprisingly, Nick Corbin sprang to mind. But how could I talk to him? I didn’t know him. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Oh why am I going away for Christmas?’ Mo said in an exasperated voice. ‘Such bad timing.’

  ‘Because you really fancy Jeff?’ I suggested.

  ‘Well, yes, there’s that!’ She laughed.

  ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll be all right.’

  ‘Look, Mads, if things get too much move into a B&B or go stay with friends. I promise I’ll come to Dorset as soon as I can.’

  ‘OK, Mo. Thanks. Oh, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do in New York!’

  ‘Well, that leaves me with huge scope then.’ She laughed again.

  *

  Later, I drove into Dorchester and had an enjoyable afternoon visiting various antique shops. I didn’t find what I was looking for but I did find something I wasn’t expecting. As I headed up the main street back to the car park, I passed a passageway leading to a cobbled courtyard. A board secured to the wall listed a selection of shops not immediately obvious from the high street. Always curious, I walked down the alleyway and discovered a collection of interesting craftspeople: a glass designer, a potter, an art gallery, a fabric studio and, in the far corner, a shop selling pine furniture. I gazed through the windows of the art gallery and decided that a picture on display would be a fitting Christmas present for my sister Martha.

  As I entered, a bell above the door announced my arrival. It was bright in the gallery. All the walls and shelf units were painted white and a number of mini spotlights drew attention to the various pictures on display. Occasional, strategically placed, large-leafed plants cleverly broke up the white canvas. A smartly dressed young woman appeared from the depths of the shop and I asked to see the painting. As she lifted it out of the window display she explained that the artist lived locally and was well known for her oil paintings of Dorset landscapes but was now experimenting with abstracts, such as this one, using an acrylic medium. I could already see the picture hanging in my sister’s living room and so, without further ado, said I would buy it.

  While the assistant wrapped the painting, I perused the interesting objets d’art on display and chose a small, bronze moon-gazing hare for my mother. Having paid for my purchases, I thanked the young woman and stepped out into the courtyard with my packages.

  ‘Hello. I thought it was you.’ The voice resonated with a soft Dorset accent. ‘What brings you to town?’

  I turned to my right. Nick Corbin stood in the doorway of the furniture store. My eyes took in the scene in an instant. He was dressed casually in jeans and sweatshirt, which I noticed were covered in a light dusting of wood shavings. />
  ‘Hi,’ I responded, flustered.

  He smiled. ‘So what does bring you to town?’ he asked again, eyes twinkling.

  ‘I— I was looking for something,’ I spluttered, my cheeks burning. Frantically, I hoped he didn’t think I’d come into town to check him out.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘And what something was that?’ he teased, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  I took a deep breath and tried to gain some composure. ‘I’m looking for a bread oven door but none of the shops I’ve visited have had anything suitable.’

  ‘You need to visit Jamie’s reclamation yard,’ he said. In the quiet of the courtyard I was again struck by a familiarity, but still I couldn’t quite place it. ‘It’s just out of town. He always has a number of interesting objects. Come in and I’ll find his card for you.’ He turned and disappeared through the open doorway. Obediently, I followed.

  The shop consisted of two interconnecting rooms. The smaller, front room was set up as a showroom displaying select items, while various pieces of furniture in differing stages of completion were stacked in the larger room. An intense smell of pine pervaded the air mingled with a vanilla scent, which I discovered emanated from half a dozen candles arranged on a large Welsh dresser. The space was light and airy due to the full-width window at the front of the shop. In the room to the rear, a pair of French doors opened onto a small, paved courtyard, in the centre of which stood a wood sculpture about four feet tall – an impression of a woman and two children holding hands and dancing in a circle. Beyond this, on the far side of the courtyard, I saw a further building.

  Noticing my line of vision, Nick said, ‘That’s the workshop where all the sweaty stuff takes place. It keeps these rooms dust-free… relatively!’

  He glanced down at the shavings covering his body and laughed, and suddenly I was filled with unaccountable happiness at the sound.

  ‘Ah, here it is,’ he said, rifling through a drawer.

  My cheeks burned ever more fiercely as he handed me his friend’s business card.

  ‘Are you in a hurry or have you time for a coffee?’

  ‘Coffee sounds great.’ I placed my precious packages on the floor and concentrated hard on the business card. I frowned. It was unlike me to be so ‘at sea’.