Moonlight

by Tim O'Rourke

  The water had almost turned cold before she finally reached up for one of the pure white towels, which hung from the rail beside the bath. Standing, she hugged the towel about her frame and slowly began to dry herself. She fixed her hair, and with a new toothbrush she found in one of the bathroom cupboards, she brushed her teeth. It felt so good, that she brushed them twice. Once she was ready, Winnie stepped gingerly from her room at about eleven, dressed in one of the violet tops and short, neat black skirts that Thaddeus had chosen for her. She had pulled her hair back and fastened it in place with a black scarf she had found in one of the many drawers in her room. In fact, the closets and drawers had all been filled to the brim with expensive dresses, trousers, tops, skirts, shoes, hats, handbags, coats, and lingerie, but she had feared to touch any of these without the permission of Thaddeus. After all, she thought, they could’ve belonged to his dead wife.

  She slipped down the lengthy landing, passing closed doors on either side of her. Winnie figured that Thaddeus must be sleeping behind one of them, and not knowing which one, she dared not to enter any of them. He had asked her not to disturb him for any reason. After tiptoeing down the wide staircase, Winnie found herself once again in the vast hall she had stood in the night before. The light was better now, and she crossed to the portraits which hung on the walls. The wall before her was decorated with oil paintings of men. She couldn’t be sure, but they appeared to be very old, if not hundreds of years old. The last picture hanging from the wall didn’t look so dated. It was a beautifully crafted painting of Thaddeus himself. He stared out of the picture with its silver frame. His dark eyes, scruffy dark hair enclosing his pale face, and his broad mouth set in a nonchalant pose reminded Winnie of how strangely attractive Thaddeus was. He wasn’t the typical good-looking guy, but there was something about him, she thought. Something different, but she hadn’t quite figured out what.

  Winnie passed back along the row, and two things puzzled her. None of the paintings had been signed by the artists, and the men in each painting bore a striking resemblance to Thaddeus himself. Their faces had subtle differences in shape, their hair fashioned in different styles to suit the particular period in time, but all of them had those dark, powerful eyes. Studying the paintings, Winnie decided that they must be his ancestors. She turned on the balls of her feet and crossed to the paintings hanging on the opposite wall. These were paintings of women. Again, all of which appeared to be extremely old. As in the male portraits, the women all bore a striking resemblance to each other. All had a fountain of fiery auburn hair, pale skin, the softest of pink mouths, and green eyes that shone out of the paintings like blazing emeralds. Again, these hadn't been signed.

  Winnie crossed to the centre of the hall and looked from one set of paintings to the other. As she passed between them, she noticed that they sat exactly opposite each other, so that their eyes were locked on one another’s. She stood in the vast hall, looking up at the paintings. Then when her neck began to ache, she clasped the handle of one of the doors which led from the hallway and eased it open. Peering around the edge of the door, she stepped inside. Winnie found herself in a large dining room. Hazy subdued light spilled in through tall bay windows that stood at the far end of the room and lightened her surroundings. There was a long mahogany table which could have seated at least twenty people comfortably down each side. Bookcases lined the remaining walls from floor to ceiling, with a ladder on wheels propped against the shelves at the far end. She noticed that each book was leather-bound in blues, greens, and deep reds. Their spines were adorned with impressive gold binding, as were the edges of the pages. Winnie closed the door behind her and crossed the hall to the door set into the opposite wall. She pushed it open and stepped into the lounge.

  There was another bay window spilling more grey light into the room. Dust moats danced in the slices of grey light. The rain continued to hurl itself against the windows and she wrapped her arms about her shoulders, shivering, and glad to be in the warmth. Squat, leather-backed armchairs and two-seater sofas furnished the room. There was an open fireplace, and Winnie could only imagine how beautiful it would look ablaze on a cold winter’s night. In the far corner was the biggest television set she had ever seen, and she went over and switched it on. Sinking down into one of the luxuriant sofas, the TV screen flickered to life.

  The midday news was just beginning, and she was surprised that it had gotten so late. She sat before the television more bemused by its size than the World events that were being read by the newscaster. The first story was about the failing economy, and how many more months the country was going to be in a double-dip recession. Winnie had never before concerned herself with such troubles, the life she had led on the streets of London were where her own survival had been her main concern. The second story did grab her attention, as the newsreader began to recount the details of the brutal murder of a student in London. The body had been found in a bedsit, not too far from King’s Cross Railway Station. She remembered too well the bitter nights she had spent huddled up there, begging for money so that she could buy food. Winnie listened to how the police were appealing for witnesses. The story cut to a police press conference, where a balding police officer sat behind a large table crammed with microphones. The shoulders of his smart black tunic were covered in crowns, Winnie noticed. He didn’t look like the average copper who would hassle her to move on or arrest her for begging; he looked way more important than that.

  The police officer had a stern look on his face, and Winnie thought he looked uncomfortable sitting in front of the press before him. As he started to make his statement, Winnie understood why he looked so gaunt and stressed. He started by explaining that he had over twenty-five years of service within the police, but never in that time had he come across such a vicious and horrific crime.

  “What is the victim’s name?” one of the reporters shouted off-camera.

  “That is information I need to withhold at this time, until we have confirmed the identity of the victim.”

  “So you still don’t know who the victim is?” another reporter asked.

  “We believe it is the woman who rented that particular room, but we don’t want to commit to anything until we have carried out DNA tests on members of the victim’s family, to confirm or deny if it is indeed the woman who rented the room.”

  “The murder took place two nights ago,” another reporter reminded him. “How is it you are still yet to identify the victim?”

  The police officer, in his neatly-pressed tunic and blazing crowns on his shoulders, looked sombrely at the reporters. He took a moment as if preparing himself for what he had to say next. When he was ready, he said, “The attack was so ferocious that it has as of yet, not been possible to properly identify the victim,” the officer explained.

  A buzz of excitement swept over the news-hungry reporters, the TV flickered with white light as a burst of cameras all went off at the same time. The officer blinked in the sudden glare of flashing lights.

  “So what are the injuries?” a reporter asked.

  The officer sat quietly for a moment, his Adam’s apple rising slowly in his throat as he swallowed. Then looking at the reporters gathered before him, he said, “It would appear that the perpetrator performed cannibalism on the victim. Either that, or the deceased was attacked by a pack of wild animals.”

  Hearing this, the horde of photographers and reporters couldn’t contain themselves any longer as they hailed a wave of questions at the now-dazed officer. Winnie lent forward and snapped off the television. She didn’t want to hear about what was going on in London. She was away from that place now and didn’t want to be reminded of it. More than that - she didn’t ever want to go back. Maybe she had done the right thing by coming down to Cornwall with Thaddeus. It couldn’t be any more dangerous than the risks she had taken to survive over the last few years. As she sat and wondered on the life she had led, and how she had never known what dangers each day might have brought, Winnie slowly
gazed up where Thaddeus now slept in one of the rooms above her. As her thoughts turned to the man who had offered her a new start, she knew in her heart that she had taken another big risk.

  Chapter Seven

  Scaring herself with the news bulletin, and filling her head with paranoid thoughts about Thaddeus's motives for bringing her to his secluded home on the coast, Winnie knew she had to break the destructive train of thoughts which were now gnawing away inside of her. If she didn’t stop listening to them - shut them out - she would go mad for sure. So switching the TV back on, she sat for the next hour and watched Sesame Street, trying to unburden her troubled mind with the company of Big Bird, Bert, and Ernie, Elmo, and the Cookie Monster. It wasn’t a programme she had watched since being very small, and she enjoyed feeling like a little kid again.

  By the end of the show she had counted to ten with the Count and discovered the letter 'E'. Winnie was in a much brighter mood. As the end credits rolled, she switched off the TV again, and passed through the lounge to the kitchen. It was huge, and like most of the other rooms in the house, it was furnished with all the modern appliances which were assured to make your life easier. A wooden table sat in the centre of the room surrounded by four chairs. Winnie crossed to it and found fifty pounds. Under the money, Winnie discovered a note. Scribbled across it were the words, Buy something nice for dinner - Thad.

  Winnie had spent the rest of the day preparing Thaddeus's and her own evening meal. She had found little in the cupboards or freezer, so after cladding herself in a waterproof coat she had found hanging on the back of the kitchen door, she ventured out of the house in search of some shops. On her journey down from the house, she discovered that it occupied land which led down to a jagged-looking coastline and the sea. Looking out over the edge of the cliffs, with icy rain driving into her face, Winnie knew she had been correct the night before. The house was set high on a hill, surrounded by a dense crop of trees. As she looked out at the waves which crashed against the cliffs, she could see St. Ives stretched out before her and the continuing rugged coastline. Although the new world she found herself in was bleak and cold, she couldn’t help but see its beauty. With the wind nagging at her hair, and rain running the length of her face like tears, Winnie followed the narrow coastal path below. In town, she came across a small supermarket. With some of the money Thaddeus had left on the table, she bought their dinner and made her way back up the hill to the house.

  Winnie stood in the kitchen as the night soaked up the remainder of the day. She laid two places at the kitchen table, a knife, fork, and a spoon for each of them. A vase stood in the centre of the table filled with heather, which she had gathered on her return journey from the store. The meal was cooked and warming under the grill. Pleased with herself, she waited for Thaddeus to wake.

  Her wait wasn't a long one as she heard movement from above, then the sound of his footfalls on the stairs. For the first time since arriving at the house, Winnie began to feel nervous. Not of the man himself, but of the little things. Like would they find enough to talk about, and were there going to be any of those agonising drawn-out silences? What would he be like to work for? Would he be an arsehole? She wondered.

  As she heard him approach, she pulled the scarf from her hair, and with a quick flick of her head, sent her auburn hair cascading over her shoulders like liquid copper. She smartened her top and straightened her trousers with the palms of her hands. Winnie stood before the table as Thaddeus entered. He stood in the doorway, his hair more of a mess than she remembered. His eyes shone brilliantly like two glowing coals in his pale face. He wore a white shirt which was open at the throat, revealing just the brief glimpse of his chest. His legs were hidden beneath a pair of faded blue denims, and he wore loafers on his feet. Out of his suit, he looked younger - relaxed somehow.

  Thaddeus smiled and said, "Good evening, Winnie."

  Smiling back, Winnie gestured to a seat. "I've cooked your dinner, Thaddeus." It had been a long time since anyone had trusted her with any kind of responsibility. Okay, so she had only chosen the meal, cooked it, and prepared the table. To most, these were just a series of menial and mundane tasks, but it had given her a sense of self-worth and a glimmer of purpose. It had been a long time since she had felt either of those things.

  Thaddeus eyed the table curiously as he took his seat. Winnie turned to the grill, and covering her hands with a towel, she plucked two plates out and placed them on the table. She took her seat. Winnie looked across at Thaddeus, who sat staring down at the plate of fish fingers, oven-ready chips, and a mound of baked beans.

  “Is everything okay?" she asked.

  “I hadn’t realised I had employed you for your sense of humour,” he said, not once taking his eyes off the meal before him.

  “I’m not sure what you mean?” Winnie said.

  Ignoring her question, he prodded one of the fish fingers with his slender fingers. “What is this?”

  Winnie remained silent, her own knife and fork poised over her plate of food. “I don't know what you mean, Thad....."

  “Are you trying to be funny?” he asked, cutting over her and fixing her with a dark stare.

  Winnie felt flustered. "No, Thaddeus, it’s your dinner. I cooked it for you. Is there something wrong?"

  He scoffed a cynical laugh and pushed the plate back towards her. “I’d say there was something wrong, wouldn't you?"

  Seeing the rejection of her meal and all her hard work, she, too became annoyed. "I'm not sure I follow.”

  "This isn’t a meal,” he sneered.

  "It looks like food to me,” she shot back.

  “Surely you don’t expect me to eat this?” he said, looking down at the food again. “This isn’t food.”

  “It is where I come from,” Winnie said, trying to hide her growing anger. Then pushing her chair back from the table, she stood up. With tears burning in the corners of her eyes and feeling useless, she looked at Thaddeus and said, “When you’re freezing cold, tired, and starving hungry, you would eat anything. I guess you wouldn’t have the faintest idea how that would feel. I know people back in London who would sell themselves for a meal like that tonight.”

  Thaddeus looked at her, his face impassive and said, “I’m sorry; perhaps we should Fed-Ex it to them.”

  Drawing a deep breath, Winnie clenched her hands into fists by her sides. She couldn’t believe what she had just heard him say. With silent tears now streaming down her face, she looked at Thaddeus and said, “You prick.”

  Without waiting for him to reply, Winnie raced across the kitchen to the door. As if realising how much he had hurt her feelings, he dropped his head in shame. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Please forgive me.”

  “Screw you!” Winnie hissed, yanking open the door.

  But before she even knew what was happening, Thaddeus was beside her, his hand gently falling upon her arm.

  “I’m truly sorry,” he whispered.

  "Fuck off!” she blurted out through her tears. Thaddeus removed his hand but stayed standing beside her. Then leaning in close to her, he whispered in her ear.

  "I'm sorry, Winnie. It was thoughtless of me. Please forgive me."

  Covering her face with her hands, Winnie bent forward and began to sob. His apology seemed to have sent her into a new flood of tears.

  Then reaching out, Thaddeus placed a hand lightly on her shoulder.

  "Shhh, Winnie," he soothed, "I'm sorry, I never meant to make you cry."

  She continued to sob, and through her tears she began to speak.

  "Not...not your fault...I'm a thick...bitch...." Winnie sobbed. Perhaps she was thick? She wondered. After all, he wasn’t paying her two hundred pounds a week to cook fish fingers. Why had Thaddeus found it necessary to be so cruel, though?

  He removed his hand from her shoulder. It felt odd being so close to her. To be standing so close to Winnie was like betraying his wife in some way. The smell of Winnie’s hair and skin stirred feelings in him. It
reminded him of what his wife had once smelt like, and he wished now that he had got Winnie a different shampoo. It had been a mistake to buy the same one. However much he wanted to stand next to Winnie and convince her he was sorry for hurting her feelings, Thaddeus had to walk away.

  “You're not thick, Winnie. You did your best under the circumstances. I should have realised that and been more understanding and less fussy. It won’t happen again,” Thaddeus said, going back to the table.

  Winnie drew her head up. A thin line of snot trailed from her right nostril and she cuffed it away with her sleeve. She realised what she had done and knew that old habits were the hardest to break. She wasn’t on the street anymore. It was more than that. Thaddeus had shown a flicker of cruelness she hadn’t expected. What had she expected? She didn’t know him. She knew nothing about him. Only what he had cared to tell her.

  Staring at him, she spoke softly without any malice in her voice and said, “I know it won’t happen again, Thaddeus, because I'm leaving. You don't need a stupid tramp like me hanging around, cluttering up your beautiful home and cooking you naff meals."

  Thaddeus looked at her, and for the second time since she had met him, Winnie saw desperation in his eyes.

  "Please don't leave, Winnie. We can work things out. Don't go back to London. It isn't safe for you there. You can stay here. I’ll teach you to cook. We'll be good for each other."

  Winnie looked upon his face. She felt confused. “What’s the point of employing me to cook and clean for you if you’re going to cook all the meals yourself?”

  “I didn’t say I was going to cook all the meals - I said I would teach you,” he tried to smile, but that look of desperation still darkened his eyes.

  "But what do you get from this deal?" Winnie asked with a shake of her head.

  "Like I said in London, Winnie, you take care of my home and put up with my eccentric ways, and I’ll give you a home, a wage,” he said. “I’ll even teach you to cook.”