A Window Breaks

by C. M. Ewan

  How to answer that question? If you want me to explain why we felt so unnerved by what we’d found out in the woods, it would be a hard thing to put into words. It was more of a feeling, I guess. An instinct. Like picking up on some kind of jarring cosmic hum.

  And all right, maybe we were feeding off of each other’s anxiety and spooking ourselves silly. It was only an old campfire and a single snare, after all. But honestly? I think perhaps losing Michael in the way we had and the attack in London had changed our perception of things. You could say it had made us more paranoid, or you might believe me when I tell you we’re more attuned to potential dangers now. And to me – and I guessed to Rachel too – for reasons I can’t wholly explain, finding the campfire and the snare had felt like the twitching of an invisible tripwire in my mind.

  Rachel glanced at me before answering. I saw tiny crinkles of unease tug at her eyes and mouth. ‘Tom is with me. We’ve just been for a walk in the woods. We found . . . Well, it looks like the remains of a campfire?’

  Again, Brodie didn’t reply right away. I got the impression he’d been expecting something else. Perhaps he’d been worried Rachel was phoning up to complain about the way he’d behaved around her earlier.

  ‘Tom thought it could have been yours?’ Rachel pressed.

  ‘Our dog also found what looks like a snare,’ I added, holding Rachel’s gaze. I had the sense I was cradling her heart in my hands.

  ‘Oh aye?’ Brodie said. ‘A snare, is it?’ He sounded more relaxed now. ‘That’ll just be some of the locals setting traps. They know the lodge is empty most of the year. You’ve nothing to worry about there.’

  I paused. ‘Traps for rabbits?’

  ‘Hares, Tom.’

  I raised my eyebrows to Rachel. It made sense, I supposed. But then again, the idea of hunters out in the woods here didn’t make me feel a whole lot better.

  ‘Have you had trouble with them before?’

  ‘Not trouble, no. It’s just that they were here before the lodge and they think that entitles them to come back. Especially with the fence. Some folks view that as a kind of challenge.’

  Speaking of which, the fence was pretty damn big, wasn’t it? And the entrance gate was seriously imposing. Factor in the gate camera and wasn’t it all supposed to add up to something capable of, I don’t know, keeping people out?

  ‘But how would they get in?’ I asked. ‘I thought you said the fence covers all of Lionel’s land?’

  ‘It does. But not the sea. It’s easy enough to kayak in around the coast.’

  I guess that was stupid of me. I should have thought of it before. More to the point, though, maybe Lionel should have thought of it before he spent all that money on a massive fence.

  ‘What about the hut with the mirrors all over it?’

  ‘That’s the stargazing pod. Probably should have told you about it. On a clear night you can see pretty much everything from in there.’

  I sensed I had to be careful here. Rachel’s nerves were already frayed and I didn’t want to freak her out any more than necessary. Neither Rachel nor Holly had mentioned any real concerns about the pod to me, but on this, at least, I was with Buster. There was something about it that bothered me.

  ‘We tried to get inside. The door was locked.’

  ‘Right. With the storm weather that’s forecast over the next few days, I didn’t think you’d be using it. I have the keys with me here.’

  I turned my head and glanced over my shoulder. Outside, rain whipped in off the sea and spit against the big pyramid of glass at the front of the lodge. The sky was dense with cloud. Brodie was right. It was terrible conditions for astronomy.

  ‘Trust me, these people won’t cause you any trouble,’ he added. ‘Word gets around pretty fast up here. They’ll know the lodge is occupied just now and they won’t be back until you’re gone. One thing, though. You might not want to let Buster wander off too far by himself. Sounds like he had a lucky escape with that snare.’

  I winced as an image flashed in my mind of Buster snagged by the neck, his tongue lolling terribly, eyes bulging, paws scrabbling desperately at the ground. I was still trying to wipe the vision from my mind as Brodie ended the call with a reminder that we should feel free to call him for anything else we might need.

  ‘What do you think?’ Rachel asked me. There was a slight grimace on her face and I could tell she was still concerned.

  ‘Are you asking me if I think it’s safe here?’

  ‘I guess I am, yes.’

  ‘Then I’d have to say, speaking rationally, that everything Brodie said makes sense to me. Plus we didn’t see anyone out there, Rachel. That fire could have been out for a long time. Weeks, maybe.’

  ‘And speaking irrationally?’

  I shrugged. ‘What are you suggesting? We drive Holly out of here? To a hotel or a B&B?’

  ‘Probably not a good idea.’

  ‘She’s going to want to know why.’

  ‘And I don’t want to scare her. We brought her here to feel safe.’

  ‘Then let’s not say anything. Lionel’s never had any concerns here, I don’t think.’

  Rachel didn’t say anything to that. Because how could we know?

  ‘Then how about this?’ I said. ‘I’ll go out for another quick walk. I’ll head behind the carport this time. We still have a little while before it gets dark. I’ll check around. Make sure we’re definitely alone. Would that help?’

  Rachel bit down on her lip. ‘Am I being silly?’

  ‘No. And I fancy a walk. Where’s the harm?’

  ‘Then maybe you should? Just for peace of mind?’

  The dampness in my boots seeped through my socks as I put them on. I took down my big outdoor jacket from a hook on the wall of the laundry room and pulled the hood over my head. The blowing rain swirled in at me as I opened the sliding glass door. Buster watched me from one of the sofas without moving a muscle. Not even he was dumb enough to come out with me in this weather.

  I lowered my hood once I was under the trees. More paranoia, probably, but if anyone was out here, I didn’t want to compromise my hearing or my peripheral vision. The light had faded. It was murky and hushed beneath the pines.

  I hiked around in loops and figure eights for thirty solid minutes. In all that time I didn’t see anything or anyone to be concerned by. My boots sunk deep under mounds of fallen pine needles where it seemed as if nobody had walked for many months or years until, eventually, I tramped uphill with my back to the sea as far as the fence line.

  The open grassland on the opposite side looked grainy and indistinct in the damp twilight. I reached out and took hold of two of the bevelled uprights. There was no give in them at all. The gaps between the uprights were too small for even a child to wriggle through.

  At the top of the fence, raindrops quivered on the splayed barbs. It would be impossible for anyone to climb over them to one of the trees, even with a ladder, and there were no overhanging branches to grab. Above me I could see a pale nub on a pine trunk where I guessed Brodie had got busy with a chainsaw. On one level it reassured me, but I still felt a chill pass over my heart. Because who builds a fence like this for protection unless they believe they have a reason to need it? Right now, ironically, the fence’s very presence was beginning to make me feel less safe.

  I looked down at my toes, where a narrow drainage gully winked with dark moisture. The gully followed the fence line and I tracked it as far as the driveway, then stepped out into a smoky purple dusk and faint evening rain.

  I pulled my mobile from my pocket. Still no signal. I did the holding-it-over-my-head-and-turning-on-the-spot thing. I even stuck my arm through a gap in the fence up to my shoulder. No bars. No reception.

  The gate metal gleamed in the wet dimness when I reached out to touch it. The green paint – looking jet black in the dimming light – was waxy and thickly applied. Over to my right was another short pole with another cigar-shaped camera fitted to it, this time pointed
inwards. I crouched in the damp and pressed the recessed button on the intercom. Then I waited.

  No response.

  I pressed the button again, longer this time.

  More waiting.

  Then a brash static crackle.

  ‘What is it, Dad?’

  ‘Holly? Can you see me?’

  ‘Yes. On the monitor thingy in the kitchen. You made me come downstairs.’

  And she didn’t sound very happy about it.

  ‘Can you open the gate?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’d just like you to open the gate for a second.’

  ‘What are you freaking out about?’

  ‘I’m not freak—’ I paused, shook my head. ‘Holly, can you please just open the gate?’

  ‘Fine. Jeez. Take a chill pill, Dad.’

  There was silence, then the same low electric buzzing as before. The same metallic clunk and the same static hum. The gates trembled and separated and swung outwards on the same tight arcs.

  The driveway summit appeared in the opening, looking just as empty as it had in my rear-view mirror only hours before. Beyond it, I knew, was the lonely coastal road. I saw no passing headlights skimming the tree cover. I heard no engine sounds.

  I stood there, my heart beating in the dark hollow of my chest like the wings of a moth in the night. Then the gates clunked and slowed and came to a halt at their widest point and less than a minute later they hummed and buzzed and trundled back slowly together again. I watched the two metal gates form up in the middle and I heard some kind of heavy interior latch thunk into position.

  ‘Dad?’ Holly said, over the speaker. ‘Mum says to come back for dinner now. Before it burns.’

  9

  I caught a puff of cooked pizza dough on the air when I came in through the sliding door fronting onto the deck. Holly was sitting at the glass dining table, biting into a slice of Hawaiian. Buster had his head propped on her thigh, his big eyes pleading.

  Rachel watched me from the kitchen with a glass of white wine in her hand and an anxious look on her face. I shook my head at her quickly and smiled in what I hoped was a reassuring way, then removed my boots and walked towards the laundry room in my socks.

  ‘Dad?’ Holly called. ‘We’re going to watch a film in Lionel’s home theatre.’

  I stuck my head out. ‘What kind of film?’

  ‘Your favourite kind.’

  I groaned as I hung up my coat, then sneaked out and crept up on Holly from behind. ‘You’re talking about one of your random romcoms on Netflix, aren’t you?’ I tapped her left shoulder and, when she looked round, veered right to swipe a slice of her pizza.

  ‘Hey!’

  I took a bite and spun towards Rachel with the dough dripping grease over my fingers. ‘All fine,’ I mouthed. ‘Nothing out there.’ Then, louder: ‘Holly? Is it OK if I give it a miss tonight? Brodie was telling me about a fire pit out on the deck and I have this whole cowboy routine planned out.’

  I was trying to keep it casual but I hoped Rachel understood that I wanted to make her feel as secure as possible here. I thought if I acted like, I don’t know, some kind of lookout for a couple of hours, it might help her to relax.

  ‘Dad!’

  ‘I’ll bring you and Mum movie snacks.’

  ‘What kind of movie snacks?’

  It turned out Rachel had packed toffee popcorn, Maltesers, marshmallows. Once we’d gorged ourselves on pizza, I cleaned away the dishes and tipped the snacks into bowls, then carried them on a tray towards the far end of the corridor and the door with the glass porthole in it that connected with the pool room.

  The home cinema was on my right. The walls were lined with pleated fabric. There was a large screen at the front and twelve leather recliners arranged over three rows of stepped seating. A projector was spraying hot, dusty light towards the screen above where Holly and Rachel were sitting with Buster slumped on the floor in front of them. He got up and started begging as I passed Rachel the tray. She handed me her wine glass in exchange.

  ‘Any chance of a refill?’

  ‘For you? Anything.’

  ‘And a can of Diet Coke for me, Dad.’

  A flicker of contentment sparked in my heart. This was almost normal for us, and more than anything I wished I could savour the moment, but when I got back to the kitchen I noticed Rachel’s iPhone charging on the side. I stared at it, a hot prickle of unease at the base of my neck.

  No. Not now.

  I tried to ignore it as I opened the fridge, taking out a can of Coke and a chilled bottle of white. The spa hotel, though. It bothered me.

  I shook my head and unscrewed the bottle, getting ready to pour.

  And looked again at the phone. For the record, I don’t make a habit of snooping on my wife. Even my phone call to the spa hotel had been an accidental thing. But, right now, it was hard to resist the opportunity to find out what had been going on.

  I checked the corridor behind me. Empty. The neck of the wine bottle rattled against Rachel’s glass. And then in one fast rush I’d set the bottle down, snatched up her phone and jabbed the home button with my thumb.

  My hand shook. The lock screen on Rachel’s phone featured an image of Michael with his arms draped around Holly. I recognized it from our last family holiday together to Cornwall. The kids were pulling silly faces. Michael had his tongue out. Holly’s cheeks and eyes bulged.

  Go ahead or back down?

  Quickly now, I tapped the home button again and this time the passcode screen appeared. I typed in Rachel’s code. Six numbers. The month and year of Michael’s birth.

  The screen shook. The speaker buzzed. The phone vibrated in my hand.

  Huh?

  I tried again.

  And got the same result.

  My heart beat painfully in my chest.

  Rachel had changed her passcode.

  Another time, in other circumstances, it would have been a small thing. But now . . .

  Rachel has been using the same code for years, for her bank cards as well as her phone. So why had she changed it? Was there information she wanted to keep from me? Calendar entries or texts she was worried I would see?

  Or was the switch entirely innocent? A simple security update? Maybe even a healthy step towards moving on from Michael’s death?

  My thumb twitched. I almost tried again, this time with a different code. But I didn’t because I was worried of locking Rachel out of her phone and I didn’t want her to know I’d been prying. I sloshed wine in her glass instead. Ignorance is bliss. Isn’t that what they say? But just then, it didn’t feel so blissful to me.

  10

  That crack about being a cowboy. Even as I’d said it I knew it was a dumb thing to say. But sitting out by the fire in the night, with the flames guttering in the breeze coming in off the ocean and the mist of rain and sea spray on the air, I couldn’t escape the feeling I was on some kind of frontier, keeping watch over my family.

  Such as it was.

  I opened another of Brodie’s beers and hunkered down in my coat, and since I was trying very hard not to think about why Rachel had changed the passcode on her phone, I started thinking about what she’d asked me to think about instead. I dared to imagine how it would feel to forgive Michael, to believe in him again. To know he’d been a good kid on the threshold of becoming a good man. To see that he’d simply been unlucky and that I shouldn’t blame him for that.

  How would it feel? It would feel like finally swimming to the surface of the deepest, darkest ocean after being submerged for too long. It would feel like breathing clean air again.

  But it was only a fantasy. A fairy tale Rachel had spun for herself. Because the truth was Michael wasn’t blameless. And neither was I. And that left me down in the depths, choking on the black water that had filled my lungs.

  Oh. And did I mention that my wife had changed the passcode to her phone?

  ‘Hey, Dad.’

  Holly appeared next to me with Buster
sniffing the air alongside her. I hadn’t heard them approach. Some lookout.

  I patted a space next to me and waited for Holly to sit down while Buster went off to the treeline to pee.

  ‘How was your film?’

  ‘It was OK. Mum’s gone to bed. She said to ask you to make sure all the doors and windows are locked before you come up. You know, because of the high crime rate around here?’

  Holly bumped my hip and I half smiled, staring into the fire. But still, it burned me that Rachel felt so vulnerable here and that I couldn’t do much to change that. If it was this bad at the lodge, how much worse would it get when we returned to London? I wondered if I should suggest some kind of therapy or grief counselling again. I’d tried to talk Rachel into it following Michael’s death but she’d always refused point blank, as if by resisting help she was somehow showing more loyalty to Michael. I thought that was pretty dumb, but then again, I hadn’t taken my own advice and gone for counselling either, so who was I to talk?

  ‘Can I have one too, Dad?’

  ‘One of what, Holly?’

  ‘One of those cigarettes you’re trying to hide from me.’

  ‘Huh?’ I raised the cigarette in my hand and did a double-take as if it had materialized out of thin air. I used to smoke all the time when I was younger but Rachel had made me quit when Michael was born. Lately, I’d flirted with the habit again. A classic distraction, I suppose. ‘Are you going to tell Mum about this?’

  ‘I guess that depends on you, Dad.’

  ‘Blackmail? Really?’

  ‘I just want to have a go.’

  I peered at her, as though I was actually considering it. And you know what? It was tempting to say yes, because it had been too long now since Holly had asked me to share something secret with her. But then again . . .

  ‘Sorry, but you know Mum would kill me.’ I took a hit on the cigarette and hacked up a cough for effect, then tossed it into the flames.

  We watched it burn for a long moment before Holly spoke again.

  ‘You don’t have to worry about me so much, you know?’

  ‘Parent’s prerogative, sweetheart.’