by S M Hardy
I rocked back on my haunches and glared at the lump of dysfunctional metal. ‘Fucking marvellous.’ I was tempted to stand up and give the case a hefty kick, but a broken bottle of aftershave soaking my clothes would just about finish the ‘perfect’ start to my self-inflicted banishment from the City.
I stood and padded along the corridor to a doorway, which I hoped would lead me into the kitchen. Maybe, if I was lucky, there would be something languishing in one of the cupboards I could use to break the bloody padlock open.
It was the kitchen and, if anything, it was even colder than the hall. I was beginning to think my first impression that the place had been empty for some time was more than likely correct. The floral aroma of cleaning fluid scenting the air only just covered the underlying mustiness of abandonment.
First off, I lit the oven and the hob hoping it would take the frigid edge off a bit. I’d thought the estate agent was going to turn on the central heating. She’d said someone would pop in to get it all ready for my arrival, read the gas and electricity meters and give it a clean. Obviously making it comfortable for the incoming tenant wasn’t part of the deal.
I pulled open the drawer closest to the oven; knives, forks and the usual. The next drawer down was lined with cooking utensils all laid out a uniform distance apart; who on earth did that? Either the owner or the cleaner suffered from some sort of compulsive behavioural disorder. I slammed the drawer shut and the clink of the implements colliding together made my lips twitch into a morose smile.
The rest of the drawers and cupboards were either empty or contained pots and pans or cleaning cloths, brushes and sprays. Nothing that would prise open a defective combination lock. There was only one thing for it: a trip into the village to buy a hacksaw – if there was a local store that sold such a thing.
I slouched my way back into the hall and scowled at the object of my misery. ‘One last chance or it’s the hacksaw and bin for you.’ I dropped back down to have one final go. ‘One – four – zero – six. Fuck.’
I took off my shirt – there was no point getting the lining of my coat any wetter than I had to – slipped on my coat and turned to the door just as someone knocked three times, making me jump, and my stomach gave a flip.
Bang, bang, bang. A second volley of knocks echoed throughout the passageway. I took a long, deep breath, kicked my rain-soaked shoes out of the way and pulled open the door.
The man almost filled the doorway. His clay-coloured, long, waxed coat giving him the appearance of a highwayman. The hood flopped over his brow almost touching his bushy, grey eyebrows; the bottom of his face obscured by a salt-and-pepper beard that disappeared beneath his coat’s collar. He took a step towards me and I stumbled backwards away from him. If he noticed, he didn’t say. He stuck out a hand, then, looking down at the water dripping off his fingertips, thought better of it.
‘Mr Hawkes?’ he said, ducking his head and stepping across the threshold, although I hadn’t invited him to come inside.
‘Yes.’
He smiled, showing off-white, tombstone teeth. ‘I’m Jed Cummings. It’s me you call if you need anything fixed. I turn my hand to most things, so if I can help I will.’ He rummaged in his pocket and handed me a card. Plain white with his name and number printed on one side. I turned it in my fingers, but the other side was blank.
‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘I will.’
He looked me in the eyes and his head skewed to one side. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I’m …’ I let out a shuddery sigh and wiped my face with my hand.
He glanced down at the screwed-up shirt on the floor. ‘I’ll go and get the heating going,’ he said, and before I could refuse his help, he’d pushed past me and opened up the cupboard under the stairs. ‘It’s on,’ he said, ‘but the silly buggers probably forgot to crank up the thermostat.’ He pushed the door shut and sauntered into one of the other rooms. ‘Yes, I thought so. The dial is just inside the door. Not very modern, I’m afraid, but it works. You’ll probably find you can turn it right down again once you’ve got rid of the chill.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘you’ve saved me searching around.’
‘Anything else I can help you with?’
‘No,’ I hesitated, glancing down at my case. ‘I don’t suppose you have a hacksaw?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Not on me, but I can bring one by later on. What’s the problem?’
I gestured to my suitcase. ‘The bloody padlock won’t open.’
He squatted down and took a look at it. ‘You sure you’ve got the combination right?’
‘My birthdate.’
‘One – four – zero – six?’
I nodded.
He reached out and then hesitated; his fingers hovering about an inch away from the lock. He glanced up at my face and gave me a strange look before resting his fingers upon the combination wheels.
‘Your birthday, you say?’
‘The fourteenth of June.’
‘Not the sixteenth of April?’
My mouth went dry and I had to swallow twice before I could reply. ‘No,’ I said.
His fingers twisted each of the four barrels and the lock sprang open. ‘One – six – zero – four,’ he said as he got up from his crouch.
‘It can’t be, I checked it. I checked it several times,’ and my legs began to shake and if he hadn’t grabbed hold of my arm I would have fallen.
‘Come on,’ he said, leading me through into the sitting room and lowering me down onto the settee.
I flopped forward, head in hands. What was happening to me? I’d checked the combination at least twice, maybe even three times. Could I really have set it to the wrong date? Was my subconscious trying to tell me something?
‘Here,’ Jed said, handing me a tumbler with two fingers of something amber-coloured in the bottom. He looked at the hip flask in his other hand, then with a shrug took a slug himself.
I tipped back a mouthful and swallowed. A burning trail starting on my tongue hit the back of my throat and gradually warmed my chest, then my stomach.
‘Better?’
I gave him a nod. ‘Sorry, you must think I’m an idiot.’
‘I know a troubled soul when I see one.’ I stared up at him. ‘Do you want me to get the rest of your stuff out of the car?’
‘No, it’s OK.’
‘Hmm,’ he said, tucking the hip flask inside his coat pocket and holding out his hand. ‘It won’t take me a moment.’
I pulled the keys from my pocket and dropped them onto his palm. ‘Thanks.’
His fingers closed around the keys and he disappeared into the hall. I heard the front door open and less than a minute later the sound of the car boot slamming shut. He didn’t come straight back and when I heard the thud of feet on the stairs I realised he’d taken my things upstairs to the bedroom; by the time he strolled back in I’d finished the drink.
‘I’ll be off now,’ he said, ‘but if you need anything more give me a ring.’
‘Thanks.’
He peered at me beneath bushy eyebrows. ‘And if you find yourself lonesome you can find me most evenings in the Sly between eight and nine.’
‘The Sly?’
‘The Sly Fox; the village pub.’
I smiled up at him. ‘I guess I owe you a drink.’
‘Be seeing you,’ he said and left, leaving me staring into an empty glass and trying to remember when everything had started to get so weird.
CHAPTER THREE
I gave the pub a miss and spent the evening unpacking my stuff and making myself at home. I ate baked beans out of the saucepan with a wedge of bread I’d brought with me. I’d have to check out the local supermarket in the morning. I washed the beans down with a can of lager and made a mental note to buy some more when I found the store.
Batteries replenished I flopped down on the sofa in the lounge and channel-hopped, looking for something to catch my imagination. The choice was between two soaps, an American
sitcom and a documentary on World War II. The comedy was the best out of a bad bunch. I wanted to lighten my mood not deepen my depression.
Halfway through the programme I found my thoughts drifting to a small, shiny combination padlock. How could I have set it to Kat’s birthday? I know it was a reversal of numbers, but even so, I’d checked it. I couldn’t understand how it had happened.
This brought something else to mind. How did Jed know? He didn’t try several different combinations. He twiddled the wheels straight to one – six – zero – four. How could he have known that? I hefted myself up off the couch and went out into the hallway. The padlock lay where he had left it glinting at me.
For some reason I shivered. It wasn’t because I was cold, I’d actually had to turn the heating down once the unlived-in chill had been chased away. Even so, goosebumps speckled my arms and icy cold fingertips ran down my spine.
I reached out to pick up the padlock and hesitated. The engraved black numbers all in a line were clear enough and the hoop remained open. I took a deep breath and picked it up, the metal cool against my fingers. I pushed in the hoop and spun the numbers. Tried to pull it open and couldn’t. I twisted them back to the combination of numbers that made up my late lover’s birthday. It sprung open.
‘That’s it. You are finally ready for the funny farm,’ I said, then pushed the hoop back into the hole, spun the numbers again and dropped it back on the hallstand. It was time for bed.
I woke to a warm and misty day. Smoky tendrils of grey floated against the kitchen window and when I opened the front door and stepped outside my clothes felt limp against my warm and fast-dampening skin.
The mist followed me into the car and even with the air conditioner going full pelt I had trouble clearing the inside of the windscreen. In the end I had to resort to wiping it with the back of my hand, leaving glistening droplets smeared across the glass.
According to the Internet, the nearest supermarket was on an out-of-town estate about ten miles away. The murky weather made me wonder if I should leave it until another day and perhaps risk the village shop, but I had a larder and fridge to fill plus drinks to buy and that was enough to deter me; I wasn’t yet ready to become the topic of village gossip.
I eased out of the lane, not knowing how busy the main road in and out of the village would be at this time of the morning. It was a little after nine, so I suspected there could be mothers returning from the school run. Even so, I didn’t see one other car as I drove through the village and out the other side other than those blanketed in smog parked at the edge of the road.
I drove out of the village, along a narrow lane onto the main road and into sunshine with not a cloud of mist to be seen.
‘Well, at least I can see where I’m going,’ I muttered to myself as I looked out for signposts directing me onto the road towards Torquay.
The retail park was like most I’d been to before, with stores for practically everything I would ever need, though I wasn’t planning to stay in Slyford St James that long. Hopefully my laptop wouldn’t need to be replaced within the next month or two, nor my wardrobe of clothes, though I pondered on buying a new padlock for my case; one that used a key.
When I turned into the lane leading back to the village the first thing I noticed was that it was still misty, not as bad as when I left, but the road ahead and fields on either side were covered with a thin veil of grey.
This time when I drove through the main street I did see a couple of residents going about their daily business. A man with a blue and white striped, button-straining shirt was outside the local pub chalking up a sign with the day’s menu. He looked up as I passed by and followed me with an empty stare.
A stick insect of a woman with long, greying hair and wearing a cheesecloth shirt and mid-calf, floral skirt she’d probably bought in the seventies was coming out of the village shop, a jute bag over one arm and a loaf tucked under the other. She too looked up and I returned her hesitant smile. Further along the street a ginger and white cat sat washing himself on the pavement. His paw paused mid swipe as I drove past and I could see his green eyes following me through my rear-view mirror. Slyford St James obviously didn’t get many visitors.
The postman had called while I was out. I’d arranged for my mail to be redirected while I was away, but there was only one plain, white envelope, which felt like it contained a card. It was addressed to me at the cottage and, as I’d told very few people where I was going, I couldn’t imagine who it could be from. Intrigued, I slit it open before going back outside to unload the car.
It was a card from the estate agent wishing me ‘good luck in my new home’. A nice thought, I supposed. There was also one of Jed’s cards inside with a note saying I should call him if I needed a handyman. At least now I knew I hadn’t been visited by the neighbourhood nosey parker or axe murderer.
I packed everything away and sat down in the kitchen with a coffee and a local paper I had picked up. It contained mainly news about what was going on in the surrounding area, which was to be expected, though I did find a mention of the neighbouring village, whose pub had apparently only recently had a change of ownership and was offering discounts on meals during its first week of opening.
I folded it and slapped it down on the table with a sigh. I chugged back the last mouthful of my coffee and got up to wash the mug.
Now the mist had cleared a bit I could see more of the garden, through the kitchen window. It was larger than I’d imagined, about a hundred feet long, and it splayed out as it stretched away from the cottage, making the far end probably three times the width of the building. The grass looked as though it was regularly mowed, and I hoped this was something Jed dealt with. Gardening wasn’t one of my favourite pastimes.
Beyond the garden there was a patch of woodland and it crossed my mind that this would be the ideal place to have a dog, a thought I immediately discarded. When I went home I wouldn’t have time for a dog. Then I remembered how much Kat had wanted one.
‘It’ll keep me company,’ she’d said, but I’d said no, selfish as usual; thinking how it would mean no more holidays abroad, no impromptu weekends away. Not thinking about all the evenings and nights she spent alone when I was working or was too pissed to come home or … There was no need to go there and even though she never knew, I still felt it was part of the reason for what happened happening. Stupid, really, though now I really wished I’d let her have a dog.
I let the water run, impressed how quickly the water came through hot. By the time I’d rinsed the mug it was almost too hot. I left the mug to drain on the side of the sink and as I glanced up saw a glimpse of movement at the end of the garden. I squinted at the trees on the other side of the fence, but there was nothing there.
‘Bird?’ I muttered to myself. ‘Yeah, must have been a bird.’
Then there was a thud upstairs like someone had dropped a substantial book. ‘What the f—?’ I said, frowning at the ceiling before striding out of the kitchen, along the hall, then taking the stairs two at a time.
I swung into the doorway to my bedroom and glanced around. Nothing on the floor, nothing where it shouldn’t be. The bathroom was the same. I stopped outside the closed door to the spare bedroom. I’d given it a cursory look around last night, but apart from a double bed, a wardrobe, chest of drawers and a chair it was empty. Still, where else could the thump have come from?
I reached out to turn the doorknob, my fingers barely grazing the polished brass as the door swung open. I swallowed, but it did nothing to clear the tightness in my throat. I was sure I’d closed the door last night.
‘Faulty catch,’ I said out loud, then wished I hadn’t; what if there was an intruder hiding in there? In retrospect, I should have picked up something to defend myself. Then thought, how stupid was that? Like I was going to stab or poleaxe an intruder. If I found someone hiding in there I’d scream like a tiny tot and run for it. I stepped into the doorway. The room was empty. I stretched out and pushed the d
oor right back against the wall to be sure no one was hiding behind it and let out a deep breath.
Did I dare look underneath the bed? If I didn’t, would I sleep tonight? Keeping a safe distance away I got down on my knees and peered beneath the bed, letting out a sigh of relief when there wasn’t some psychopath staring right back out at me.
One more place: the wardrobe. I stood in front of it, building up the nerve to pull it open. On three, I told myself. I stood to one side. One, two, three. I grabbed the door handle and jerked it open. The wardrobe juddered and swayed in an alarming fashion then fell still. I peered around the door. Another empty space another sigh of relief, then another thud from right above my head and I practically jumped out of my skin.
With a racing heart I looked upwards. The attic; I hadn’t thought about the attic. I couldn’t even remember whether I’d noticed a hatch. I padded into the hall, pulling the bedroom door shut behind me, and this time rattling the doorknob and pushing against it to make sure the lock had actually taken.
The trapdoor was about a metre from the end of the passage. There was a small brass ring screwed into the edge, but I didn’t have anything to use to hook it down. Even if I had, did I really want to pop my head through the hole into pitch-dark to see what was up there?
I stood in the hallway listening and was rewarded with silence. There must be a logical explanation. Could it be the pipes clunking? It was a very old cottage, though judging by the heat of the hot water in the kitchen and the shower I didn’t think it could be serviced by the original plumbing.
I waited for a minute and then another. Still not a sound and I was pretty sure if someone or something living was up there, they would have made a noise of some description; a creaking joist, a footstep on boards, a cough or a rasp of material against wood. I waited a bit longer and there was nothing but complete silence.