The Little Death

by Sarah Till

  I’d managed to get away, back to trying to get boys to do exactly what she had warned against, but over the years I’d thought about what she said. David and I didn’t have the glue, and our relationship was held together by sharp inward facing nails, that hurt you if you tried to escape. I knew it didn’t need to be like this. It could be gentle, like mum and dad, where instead of constant ducking and diving and jealousy, there was an understanding of just how fallible someone else is and taking that into account. That’s how it felt now, with him. Like there was some deeper reason, deeper than something that required a wedding ring or a promise, something primal. It was a belonging.

  I drop the sheet, there’s no one here but me and Gabriel, no one to see my nakedness. The air in the house is cool against my skin and it feels good, the freedom. I walk along the landing and listen at his door for his breath. My nipples are already hard and tingly as I turn the handle, ready for him again.

  The room’s empty. I forget to breathe as I run in, my grace gone and panic setting in. It’s just as it was a week ago, just before David brought up his bag, just before he hung his denim jacket on the back of the door. The bed is made perfectly and I pull back the duvet, just to make sure. His bag has gone, all his clothes are gone. There’s no sign of him. I rush into the bathroom and scan for his toiletries, the organic ginger soap, lined up on the side of the bath. Gone. It’s almost as if I imagined him.

  I sprint into my bedroom and get dressed pulling on the clothes I discarded. Rushing downstairs, I check the shattered door, putting my hand through the hole where the glass was. Just to make sure it hadn’t all been a dream, and that David wouldn’t walk in any minute and I’d still be trapped. I’m in shock. He wouldn’t have just gone off like this, not after last night, would he? Then it dawns on me. Sarah.

  I rush out of the house and over the short moorland between our homes. Right on cue, she comes out and looks normal, not like she’s just stolen my man. I stop and shout at her as she walks towards her car.

  ‘Where are you going? Where is he?’

  She turns round and looks at me.

  ‘Are you alright? Where’s who? David? I saw him yesterday, he looked very angry?’

  ‘Not fucking David. Gabriel. Where is he?’

  She’s frowning now and pulling on her gloves. I realise I’m standing in the middle of the moor in the rain.

  ‘I’ve no idea. What’s he done now? He’s probably on the moor with Polly. Although her car isn’t there.’

  My hair’s dripping over my shoulders now. I study her.

  ‘Well. If you see him, tell him that I want him.’

  She gets in the car and opens the window.

  ‘Oh I will, Patti, I will. But I think it’s fairly obvious.’

  She’s snippy and cool and as she drives off, I wonder if she does know where he is? If she’s hiding him in her house, if they’ve decided, after all, to be together? I sit on her doorstep and think. Maybe he’s just gone away? Got what he wants and gone. But why say all that last night? I feel stupid now, because I’ve heard this story before. ‘He said he loved me’ and ‘he said he’d always be there’. I walk back towards my house and kick the small stones on the drive. Once inside, I make a strong sweet cup of tea and go into the utility room. His tobacco and lighter are still on the side where he left them, and I roll a cigarette and light it. The bitter smoke hits my lungs and I cough before the nicotine rush hits me. I used to live for this, and stronger things, artificial ways to feel good, to hide the pain.

  The tears start, and I sob for him, for him not being here. I tell myself I’m stupid, I’ve known him a week, not long enough to feel like this. I tell myself he was just to fill a gap, and excuse to get rid of David, the catalyst for change. I’m sensible for a second, and wipe my eyes, promising that I’ll be better on my own, building a life for me, then realising I have no choice.

  I go upstairs and change out of the wet clothes, dry my hair, and put on some warm socks. I need comfort, softness, but the world is harsh, and in every corner of this house there’s a reminder of how awful it has been from me, how unbearably sad. I check his room again, the sunshine breaking through the yellow curtains now, and reminding me of the light we lay in yesterday. He really had gone. Not a trace of him left, except a single hair on the pillow. I bend down and pick it up carefully, my one piece of evidence that Gabriel did exist, that I wasn’t mad, that he wasn’t a figment of my imagination after all. I take it the hair into my room and press it between the pages of a book. I pull on yesterday’s jeans, the ones I picked up of the bedroom floor on my way out, and yesterday’s shirt, that still smells slightly of musky ginger. I sit on the bed and the edge of the mobile phone digs into me. I press the button, hardly believing my luck – there’s only one name in the address book. Gabriel.

  I run downstairs and into the utility room and open the window. In a flash of genius, I form a plan that will tell me if I’m right. Sarah’s upstairs windows are open and on the moorland the air is thin. I can hear her talking clearly most of the time, and if he’s in there, I’ll hear the phone ringing. I highlight his name and press the ‘call’ button. It connects and it’s ringing. I hold the phone away from my ear and lean out of the window, listening for the corresponding sound. And there it is. Faint, in the distance, I can hear it. Suddenly I hear his voice. I rush the phone to my ear, but it’s the answer phone kicking in, I end the call and run across to Sarah’s house, angry and tearful again. I’m banging on the door and shouting.

  ‘Gabriel. I know you’re fucking in there. I can hear your phone. I can hear it.’ I picture him lying in bed, laughing at me, the girl he fucked last night, while he looks forward to Sarah’s sophisticated sexual repertoire. He always had the choice and he fucking chose her. He’s a liar. ‘I’m coming back, when she gets home. You’re not getting away with this. After everything you said.’

  I kick the door and stride back across to my house and slam the door. I’m half expecting him to ring, as I sit sobbing into my own arms. How could he? There’s a knock on the door, and I straighten my clothes and dry my eyes. I’m ready for him, ready to give him a piece of my mind. I open the door and it’s Vera. She’s standing in the rain and she’s wearing a little plastic bonnet, the kind old ladies wear to keep their perms dry, with little robins on it.

  ‘Oh, hello dear. I was just wondering if Gabriel was up yet? Only he said he’d come and help me today.’

  I emit a deep sob and she stares at me.

  ‘Are you alright, dear?’

  ‘He’s not here at the moment.’

  Her hopeful little face peeps up at me – she’s a good six inches shorter than me plus the step.

  ‘Oh. Only he said that he’d help me with these maps. And there’s a bit over there that I won’t be able to get to on my own.’

  I relent a little. She’s dressed in waterproofs but drops of water are dripping from her nose.

  ‘Do you want to come in?’

  ‘Well, just for a minute. Do you know when he’ll be back, lovey?’

  I turn away and sob again. She touches my arm.

  ‘Is everything alright? It’s Patricia, isn’t it? He’s talked about you a bit.’ We stand there and look at each other. ‘I don’t suppose you could help me, could you? Not if you’re too busy. But...’ She gets out a map that’s encased in a plastic cover. There’s an intricate pattern drawn on it and she’s tracing it with her finger. ‘It’s this bit here, I might need someone else there. You know at my age, I can’t really do it with my back and...’

  ‘Yes. Yes, all right. I’ll do it. Just let me get my things on. Please, take a seat.’

  ‘Don’t mind if I do, love, and it’s Polly. Pleased to meet you.’

  She holds out her hand and I take it. It’s funny at first, thinking about her as Polly and not Vera. But it dawns on me that it’s how far I was steeped in my own world, the way I coped, inventing strategies and renaming people to hide behind.

  When I come back
down she’s made a pot of tea.

  ‘Let’s have this before we go, Patricia. You know, I was relying a bit on Gabriel, he said he’d help me. I’m very surprised he’s not here. He seems so committed.’

  Very committed to getting your information out of you, I think. Information for his precious book. But then again, he did seem keen on helping her, for whatever reason. Like he wouldn’t let her down. Which makes him even more of a bastard. I rally a little and sip the tea.

  ‘Don’t worry, Polly, us girls can do it, can’t we?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose we can, until he comes back.’ She smiles a little. ‘Ooh, I’ve become a little bit attached to him, I think.’

  You and me both, I think. Everyone loves Gabriel.

  We leave the house and I lock the door, glancing across to Sarah’s to see if there is any movement. The house is completely in darkness and I think that he must still be in bed. In her bed. My stomach leaps, but Polly’s already over the wall and she’s walking sideways down the slope. I’ve got my walking boots on, but it’s still slippy and she gives me a running commentary.

  ‘Watch your step here, deary, we need to go down this bit together to steady each other.’

  We start on a steeper decline and I realise that I’ve never seen this part of the moor. I’ve only ever stood at the top and looked across the vista to the horizon. I’d never stood on the edge of the valley. The peat seams broke up the flatness as we descend, and Polly is carrying a huge backpack that seems far too big for her. I try to imagine what she might have inside, old lady things like a big brass clasped purse and a spare hat. Old people seem keen on hats, particularly when going walking. The wind changes and it’s blowing straight up the valley, whipping my hair over my face and dampening it. The terrain’s changing and it’s stony, and soon when we’ve been walking up the dale for about half an hour we reach a rocky outcrop.

  ‘Here we are, lovey.’

  She ducks under the ridge, which spreads into a rough shelter. There are some big rocks, and she motions me to sit down. She looks exhausted. The rain has stopped a little and we are looking out across the purple moors, backed by a steep slope, then the horizon. It takes my breath away. It’s a watercolour but in real life, with the colours blurring into each other. The sun appears and throws a small rainbow through a dripping stream off the rocks and I think about how ironic the beauty is, after my own heartbreak. Polly gets a flask out and two cups, and I think that one of them should have been Gabriel’s. She pours silently, I take mine and she balances hers on the rocks beside her. She looks around for a while and then she gets the map out.

  ‘I always have a cuppa here. It’s a natural break spot. Before we start the climb.’ She looks cheerful and I wonder how she can be, with the hand life has dealt her. ‘You don’t say much, do you, lovey?’

  I smile weakly.

  ‘Sorry. Not feeling myself today.’

  She puts the map down and looks at me.

  ‘Is it that poe faced husband of yours? I’d wager it’s somat to do with him?’

  ‘He’s not my husband, we live together. Well we did.’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘Has he left you? Bloody hell. My husband left me, you know. Another woman.’

  I nod. It doesn’t seem right to tell her that I’ve read the story she gave to Gabriel, or that it’s Gabriel that’s upset me. She likes him so much, and he might be back tomorrow. Back to her, not me. Just because he’s chosen Sarah doesn’t mean he’s given up on Polly.

  ‘Well it looks like it. Another woman. But I don’t know for sure.’

  She nods, her face full of sympathy.

  ‘You’ll get over it. You’ll have to. Anyway, I’d better tell you what I want you to help with.’ She fumbles with the map and eventually gets it the right way up. ‘When I first started searching for Jimmy up here, I divided it all up into sections. The moor. I started with the easiest bit, then went on gradually to the rocky bits. And we’re here now.’ She points to the ridge above us. It’s not steep, but it’s littered with loose rocks and reeds. ‘It might be a bit marshy and I need someone with me.’

  I nod.

  ‘I’m your girl. I can walk with you.’

  She empties the last of the tea onto the heather and looks at me.

  ‘You do know what I’m looking for, don’t you, lovey? I expect that bloody Sarah Edwards has told you, anyway. Has she?’

  ‘Well, she mentioned that you were looking for your... Jimmy who disappeared after the... Well that’s all she said. Why? How do you know her?’

  She sniggers.

  ‘We’ve had a little misunderstanding in the past. Least said, soonest mended, love. You’d have to ask her. Anyway, the thing is, we’re looking for any clues, anything that can point us in the right direction. Some ground that looks like it’s been dug up. Clothes. Disturbed rocks. Anything. I’ve marked everything I’ve already found on here.’

  The map has lots and lots of rings, all radiating from where we are now, overlapping until it looks like a giant, many-petal flower. Like something from Super-spirograph. Apart from a very thin strip, it was all coloured in green. There were a cluster of red crosses close together, and a several smaller crosses spread out. I point at the cluster.

  ‘What do those signify? Where you found a clue?’

  ‘Those are where the other bodies were found. Scattered about.’

  I get up.

  ‘I’m not sure I want to do this, Polly. Not sure. I’ve been scared of this, scared of coming out here. You never know what’s out here.’

  She packs the map away.

  ‘Mmm. No you don’t. But if you don’t come out here, lovey, how can you get on with what you’re doing? Gabriel told me what you were up to, and how you’re looking at the moor and that. But how can you do that from up there?’ She looks up the side of the valley. We’re facing each other, the cold biting our bare faces and our hair blowing around in the crosswind. I feel stupid now, with no real explanation. ‘You don’t think it’s haunted, do you? Not really. Bloody hell, lovey, I’m here every day, looking for my dead lover. Do you think I’d be up here on my own if there was something bad up here? No. The worlds full of bad people, but this is the last place they’d come, isn’t it? There’s been enough suffering up here.’

  I nod.

  ‘Yes. I know really. I do. I’ve looked into it. I’ll have a look at my records tonight, and David left some maps behind. I’ll have a look and let you know tomorrow.’

  She pushes my arm now.

  ‘That’s the spirit. We can help each other. You pull me out of the marsh, and I’ll help you with your learning.’

  She begins to walk. We don’t speak along the way, and I turn Gabriel over and over in my head, wondering if he was at Sarah’s or if I had imagined the faint ringing sound I heard. I couldn’t get his face out of my mind, or our conversation last night, when I’d felt alive and vibrant. I was cold and numb now, and my legs were only moving because I needed to keep up with Polly, not because I wanted to. I could just as easily lie down here and give up, but I don’t. And that’s the crucial point. I don’t.

  Two and a half hours later I wave her off down the road. The repairman is waiting in the driveway and Sarah’s car is still gone. I go inside and sit, waiting for the glazier to finish. I pay him and go upstairs, worn out. I check Gabriel’s room again, but it’s true, he isn’t there. Everything is gone, not a trace of him is left now. I’ve still got his tobacco in my pocket and his lighter, so roll another cigarette and smoke it as I gaze over at Sarah’s house. It’s still in darkness, grey against the storm clouds, not usual yellow light steaming out of the windows.

  I sleep for a while but wake and see the ripening moon. Where was he? Where was Sarah? I press the call button on the mobile phone, and I wait for it to go to answer phone.

  ‘Hi. This is Gabriel Smythe. Please leave a message after the tone.’

  I breathe into the answer phone and hear my own weak voice.


  ‘Gabriel? Gabriel? It’s me. Patti. I need to know what happened, why you’ve gone. Don’t worry, David’s not come back, but Polly’s been asking for you.’ Cheap trick, I think. Using Polly. But still. ‘I just wondered if we could talk. Just so I have a reason. Just so I know what happened. Anyway. Give me a call.’

  Click. The call ends and I no longer feel a connection again. I roll another cigarette. Just sadness and loss. All the panic’s gone now and all I feel is a spark that tells me I have to find out what happened. I hadn’t done any real work for nearly a year. The shock jolted my back into reality. I’d been commissioned to write an article about the reproductive cycle of Ericae. I hadn’t done it. Instead, I’d cruised around the library microfiche of newspapers, collecting evidence. Collecting evidence of a closed case. Same with David. The receipts, the diary with dates and times, the secret phone calls. The later developments with Gabriel. I suddenly realised that none of these really had anything to do with me. They were nothing I could affect, and I’d lied to myself when I said they were just interests, pieces of research; I’d been living other people’s lives, finding reasons to not confront my own life. I’d lived with the bees and the butterflies, but not been part of them. Like everyone else in my life, a large part of their day was invisible to me.

  The cigarette has burnt down to my fingers and I can feel the warmth of the slightly alight paper. I wish I could cry, long, deep wails like I imagined I would when I finally found out what was going on. The keening you see on the films when someone is in pain. Instead, I’m like an injured animal, curled up inside, numb and cold. Something deep has died, and I feel a calmness. Maybe I needed that to happen. All my searching for Sam had turned into needing to find Gabriel, needing an answer.

  The Pollination of the Heath

  Bees collect pollen in the pollen basket and carry it back to the hive. In the hive, pollen is used as a protein source necessary during brood-rearing. In certain environments, excess pollen can be collected from the hives of A. mellifera and A. cerana. It is often eaten as a health supplement.