by S M Hardy
I couldn’t help myself and started to laugh. ‘I think you’d better try and catch up with her to find out.’
He pulled at the end of his beard. ‘Women! I don’t think I’ll ever understand ’em.’
‘I don’t think you’re meant to,’ I told him.
He gave a grunt in farewell and strode off along the lane after Emma. I was still chuckling when I let myself into the cottage. I had a feeling Emma was perhaps getting fed up with waiting for Jed to make the first move.
The notebook was in the middle of the kitchen table where I’d left it. I ignored it. I didn’t need to read it again and, in fact, it would probably be best if I destroyed it. They were the demented ramblings of a seriously sick mind and I really didn’t want anyone reading them and thinking they were mine. They’d lock me up and throw away the key.
It was a sobering thought and the two pints I’d sunk at the pub had suddenly become as alcoholic as water. I picked up the notebook, opened it and, gripping hold of the first four pages, ripped them out from the spine. I threw the book onto the table and, taking the sheets of paper in both hands, tore them in two, then scrunched them into a ball and threw them in the bin.
‘Good riddance,’ I whispered to myself and slumped down at the kitchen table.
I probably sat there for less than thirty seconds before I was on my feet again and delving into the bin to retrieve my scrawled notes. Tearing them in two just wasn’t good enough. If something inexplicable happened to Emma, Jed or me between now and when I emptied the bin and the rubbish had been collected, I knew exactly what would happen. Inspector Barnaby’s clone would get his sidekick to go through my rubbish, they would find the notes and job done – I was the psycho who had committed whatever foul play they were investigating.
Then I wondered what the fuck I was thinking.
They tried to kill you and frame you once – who’s to say they won’t try again?
I let out a shuddery breath. I knew I was letting my paranoia get the better of me, but the notes had to go. Jed had read them; he knew what they said. He knew what we were dealing with. No one else needed to know.
I threw the crumpled paper in the sink, tore another page from the notebook and turned on the hob, holding the edge of the sheet into the flame until it blackened and flared. Then, cupping my hand around the flame, I took the couple of steps to the sink and held it to the pages until they too caught alight. I added some scrunched-up kitchen roll to the fire and kept it burning until every last scrap was burnt to blackened fragments, then turned on the tap and washed them away.
Even that wasn’t enough. I rinsed the stainless steel bowl around with bleach to get rid of the residue and gave it a good clean, then poured more bleach down the plughole and ran the hot tap until the water steamed.
‘Let’s see you put that all back together again,’ I said, and immediately wished I hadn’t as it was almost as though I was setting my nemesis a challenge. Then I realised how mad that sounded, even to me.
I poured some more bleach down the sink, stomped out of the kitchen and into the living room and spent the afternoon channel-hopping.
By eight o’clock I was sorely tempted to make for the pub, not for a drink – well, maybe for a drink, but mainly to see Lucy. When I was with her all the bad stuff disappeared. With her I felt good about myself. The thing was I didn’t want her to think me too keen. I’d learnt from experience there is a fine line between making a girl feel like you were more than a little interested in a good way as opposed to that you were practically stalking her.
So at eight-thirty I ate baked beans out of the saucepan, had one can of lager while watching a ridiculously awful talent show and was in bed by ten.
Bad move – I tossed and turned and just couldn’t nod off. At eleven-thirty I switched on the bedside light. It was no good, I was never going to fall asleep. I swung my legs out of the bed, pulled on a pair of jeans and stepped into my deck shoes to pad downstairs in search of something to read. There were plenty of books in the living room. I’d given them a cursory look when I’d first arrived, but not much more, though I was sure that there must be at least one novel or biography that would capture my interest.
I was to be disappointed. My first impression when I’d arrived was the right one, most of the books had been provided by the estate agent to make the place look more homely. There were books on gardening, there were books on the countryside, there were books on Devon and the surrounding area, there were books on Devonshire fauna and flora – but not one of interest to me.
I flopped down on the settee and let my eyes drift around the rest of the room. Then I noticed a few more books lying on their sides in a pile in a small corner cabinet. I got up to take a closer look. I was desperate now. If one of them was about anything other than plants and the Devonshire countryside, I’d give it a go.
I crouched down in front of the cabinet to take a look. There were three in all, two slim, hard-backed volumes and one paperback that looked like it could be a novel. I reached in to grab all three and rocked back on my heels to balance the pile on my knee.
They had been Krystal’s books, I was pretty sure. The novel was one of the Narnia series. I’d read it as a boy. The two others were illustrated storybooks and well thumbed. Probably her favourites from when she had first learnt to read. I was proven right when I opened the cover of the first storybook. She had written her name in stilted blue crayon capitals at the top of the first page.
My legs began to cramp, so I eased myself to my feet and sat back down on the settee, the three books on my lap, and started to slowly turn the pages.
‘Oh, Krystal,’ I murmured, ‘who was it that hurt you and Benji?’ and I wondered whether I would ever find out and whether I’d be sorry if I did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I awoke to a persistent buzzing sound and the realisation that sunshine was pouring in through the window and I was curled up on the sofa in the living room.
‘What the f—?’
Then I heard the rattle of the letter box and a voice calling my name. Lucy! I scrambled off the sofa and hurried out into the hallway, thanking God that when I’d come downstairs the previous night I’d pulled on a pair of jeans and hadn’t come down in my underpants, or even worse – naked.
‘Coming,’ I called, and when I wrenched open the door after having to faff about with the bolts at the top and bottom of the door together with the chain Lucy took one look at me and burst out laughing.
‘Late night?’ she asked.
I gestured that she come in and moved to one side. ‘Oh, you know, it was one of those when I just couldn’t settle so I thought I’d try and find a book to read and ended up falling asleep on the sofa.’
‘Hmm, I’ll make some coffee, shall I?’
‘You’re an angel,’ I told her, giving her a peck on the cheek and backing towards the stairs. ‘I’ll be down in a jiff.’
‘Take your time,’ she said. ‘I’ll not be going anywhere.’
I probably set a record for showering and cleaning my teeth. I’d been so looking forward to seeing her again and she was probably now thinking I was a prize jerk. Having heard that she’d just finished a relationship with another idiot, it wasn’t exactly the impression I was aiming for.
When I finally made it downstairs, she was sitting at the kitchen table sipping coffee and a second mug was on the table waiting for me.
She looked up with a smile that warmed my cockles and slowly rose up from her seat to wrap her arms around my neck and give me a welcoming kiss, which let me know that I hadn’t blotted my copybook – yet.
‘Shall I make you toast?’ she asked.
‘No thanks,’ I said, hugging her to me. ‘I didn’t eat until late, I was still full up from lunchtime and those chips.’
I reluctantly let her go so we could both sit down to drink our coffee. Had we been a bit further on in our relationship I might have just carried her upstairs. I was hoping if I played my cards right, we
might finish our day the way we had before and, if so, I wasn’t about to complain.
This time her knapsack was pretty light, containing only two bottles of water, a couple of packets of crisps and dry-roasted cashews.
‘We’ll get something to eat in Chalfont,’ she said.
‘Will anywhere be open? It’s Sunday.’
‘There’re two pubs and a couple of tea rooms, so never fear – you won’t starve,’ she said with a chuckle.
‘A bit of abstinence will probably do me good,’ I told her.
She gave me a very slow and sexy smile. ‘That, I very much doubt,’ she said, and I know she wasn’t talking about food.
This time I did wrap my arm around her shoulders as we walked along and never had anything felt so natural. We talked a bit, laughed a lot, and it was like we’d known each other for years.
It was a perfect morning. If there had been a mist it had burnt off long since leaving a bright-blue sky with only one or two puffballs of white chasing each other across the horizon. The sun was hot on the back of my head and I was grateful for my longer than usual hair protecting my neck from getting burnt.
The fine weather had the yachting brigade out in full force and from the cliff top we could see a steady stream of boats making their way along the coast and further out to sea. Closer to the shore there were a couple of lads on jet skis darting back and forth and it crossed my mind that, if I should stay on in Slyford, having a boat or some watercraft might not be such a bad idea. Lazy days spent with Lucy out at sea, swimming and fishing. Then making love below deck and being rocked to sleep by the gentle rhythm of the waves. That would be an idyllic way to spend my self-imposed retirement from the City. It was something to think on.
Then I realised I was actually planning a future for myself that had both Lucy and Slyford in it.
‘What?’ Lucy said, studying my face.
‘Sorry?’
‘Your expression – you were obviously thinking of something good.’
‘Just thinking.’
‘About what?’ she asked and punched me on the arm.
‘About you and me on a boat, actually.’
Her expression became slightly puzzled. ‘On a boat? Doing what?’
‘What do you think?’
Then she gave me that full-on sexy smile she was so good at, which had all the senses I was born with travelling down south. ‘Have you got sea legs?’
‘You don’t need them when you’re lying down,’ I replied, and I figured it must have been a good answer as she stopped walking to pull me into a long, deep kiss that had me thinking that maybe we should skip lunch and head on back home.
‘Hmm,’ she said when she finally pulled away, ‘at this rate we’ll never get to Chalfont.’
‘Maybe we should …’ and I gestured with my head back the way we had come.
She pressed her fingers to my lips. ‘Huh-uh, mister. I promised you a trip to Chalfont and a trip to Chalfont you shall have. Anyway, didn’t you say something about abstaining?’
And so, it went on. She teased me, I teased her back and by the time we reached the end of the path and stepped out onto the lane leading down to Chalfont I was more than a little in love.
Lucy told me that the best pub was at the far end of the village and suggested we walk down one side of the road and return on the other so I could investigate the village shops. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d already visited Chalfont a couple of times with Jed and once on my own. We stopped at the window to the toyshop. I would have walked on, but Lucy pulled on my arm, drawing me to a standstill.
‘I loved this shop as a kid.’
‘I thought your parents didn’t get the pub until about ten years ago.’
She pulled a face, her expression a little sheepish. ‘I was almost thirteen when we came to Slyford St James and really too old for looking in toyshops, but this one always had such wonderful displays. I mean, look at it.’
She was right, it was a great display and I thought of Krystal’s reflection next to mine. Krystal had been only six when she died, and she would have looked in this shop window with the wondrous eyes of a child.
‘Do you want kids?’ Lucy asked, and it was such an unexpected question for a moment I was dumbfounded.
‘I … I …’ Then instead of making a complete twat of myself I stopped and thought about it for a bit. ‘A few months ago, I would have said no – definitely not. Now I’m not so sure,’ and Krystal’s sweet little face floated through my head.
‘Why do you think that is?’ she asked, and I squeezed her hand.
‘I was selfish. A typical self-centred, career-obsessed male.’
‘Was it losing your partner that made the difference?’
‘No,’ I said, shaking my head and suddenly feeling really small and ashamed; for two years it hadn’t made any difference at all. ‘It was coming here.’
I think she realised she had touched on a nerve, as she went very quiet as we continued our way along the street, and I was beginning to think I must have blown it big time. Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it was running through my head and I had no idea of how to unfuck it.
She squeezed my hand. ‘I think most people are, at some time, not the person they’d wish to be,’ she said very quietly.
I stopped to look down at her bowed head. ‘Lucy?’
When she looked up her eyes were overbright. ‘At least you’re trying to turn your life around. Some people never do,’ and I was pretty sure she was talking about her ex.
‘Want to talk about it?’
Her smile was more of a grimace. ‘I never want to talk about it again and I certainly don’t want to spoil our day.’
I stroked the hair away from her brow. ‘What’s past is past,’ I told her.
Her smile returned, maybe not so bright, but it was at least a smile. ‘When we get to the pub, I’m going to make a toast to new beginnings.’
The pub was more for locals than tourists. It was small and quaint with a very limited menu. Oak beams darkened by age had me ducking my head, and the white paintwork still had a patina of nicotine despite the smoking ban. I had the feeling this was the type of place that probably had late-night lock-ins for locals, when all the rules and regulations went out the window.
‘Hello, Lucy, my love.’ The buxom, young barmaid lifted a hand and waved as we pushed our way past a group of old boys to get to the bar. ‘How are you keeping, my darling?’ she asked, leaning across the bar to give Lucy a hug and air kiss. Her eyes darted to me and back to Lucy. ‘And who might this be?’
‘I’m good, thanks, and this is Jim,’ she said, gesturing to me. ‘Jim – Rose.’
We swapped the usual ‘nice to meet you’ and Rose asked, ‘What can I get you?’
I ordered a lager for me and a white wine for Lucy in between the two girls making small talk. There were too many customers for them to chat for long, and as soon as we’d been served Lucy led the way to an empty table in the corner.
‘It gets busy in here.’
‘Mainly locals.’
‘I guessed as much. You come here often?’
‘Nah,’ she said. ‘Rose and I went to school together and our parents being publicans gave us something in common, so we used to hang out a bit.’
‘Nice place.’
‘The choice of food’s pretty basic, but it’s good.’
We both opted for a ploughman’s and I went and put the order in.
‘You local?’ Rose asked as she scribbled down what we wanted. ‘I’ve not seen you before.’
‘I’m renting a cottage in Slyford St James.’
‘Nice place.’
‘I like it.’
‘Some of the locals are a bit weird, don’t you think?’ I just looked at her. ‘You know, there’s that fellow that talks to dead people. Then there’re those batty sisters.’ She gave a shiver. ‘Them two really give me the creeps.’
‘You mean the Garvins?’
‘Hmm, that’ll
be thirteen-ninety.’
I gave her the money and tried to think how I could get her to elaborate without being too obvious. ‘Why do they give you the creeps?’
‘I suppose that’s a bit unkind. It’s not so much them as their whack-job cousin.’
‘Cousin?’
‘Rose,’ a voice boomed.
She glanced over her shoulder at the portly man squeezing past her. ‘Well, he is, Dad.’
‘The poor chap is as good as dead, so show a bit more respect.’
Rose rolled her eyes as she handed me my change and moved in close to whisper, ‘Total whack-job.’
I headed back to the table with my head spinning. So, it was their cousin who was in Goldsmere House. Some things started to make a good deal of sense.
All through lunch I had to make a conscious effort to concentrate on what Lucy was saying to me as all sorts of things were whirring around in my head. A couple of times she had to repeat what she had said, but it was getting loud in the bar, and pretty much packed to capacity. Had we arrived twenty minutes or so later there would have been standing room only.
On the way back I forced the Garvin sisters out of my mind. I was not going to mess things up with Lucy. No way.
If she noticed I was a bit quiet she didn’t say anything, but then she was too, and I hoped it wasn’t anything to do with our previous conversation outside the toyshop. I had put my arm around her shoulders and she hadn’t pulled away, so I took that as a good sign. When we reached the point, we stopped to look out to sea at all the sailing boats that were scattered across the horizon.
When I glanced down at her she was smiling at me. ‘What?’
‘Penny for them?’
‘I was just thinking this is perfect – you, me, here, the weather.’ I wasn’t exactly lying, all those things were true − what I was really thinking was I hope I haven’t blown it with her because it was perfect – or as perfect as it could ever be.
She reached up to hook her hand around the back of my neck and stood on tiptoes to kiss me. It was then that I knew I hadn’t blown it yet and if I did so in the future, I was a fucking idiot. She was the one. Kat’s face skittered through my head and I knew I should feel guilty. Damn it, I did feel guilty, but I had to move on. I might have behaved badly, I mightn’t have treated Kat as well as I should, but I didn’t make her kill herself. It was a choice she’d made – if it was true – and in my heart I’d never really believed it. Kat was too strong. She would never have taken her own life. That’s what I hoped, that’s what I wanted to believe.