by Dan Scottow
As she rounds to the back of the cottage, a huge willow sits at one edge of the garden. Its branches hang lazily down, casting dappled reflections onto the ripples of the water below. Two chairs sit either side of a table beneath it, facing outwards, giving a beautiful view of the surrounding outlook. A jetty reaches out into the loch, about twenty metres or so. A small wooden fishing boat bobs about at the end of the pier. Lucy crosses the lawn to the edge of the loch, turning to face the house. A tree-covered slope rises up steeply behind it, into the low lingering clouds. Lucy would call it a mountain, but in reality, it is only a hill. From this angle, she can see how secluded the spot is.
Turning towards the jetty, she steps onto the planks of the structure. It feels sturdy, safe enough. Looks well-maintained. She walks to the end, eyeing swathes of kelp disappearing into the depths beneath the boat. Red paint flakes from the outside. Two oars lay criss-crossed on top of each other inside it. Glancing down into the water, she sees the moody clouds reflected, but as it ripples below her, she notices shapes and movement underneath. The ghostly form of a jellyfish glides past far beneath the inky surface. Crouching, she dips her hand into the water. It is icy cold. A shudder flows through her body. Looking away, she wonders how deep the loch is.
She stands, staring out over to the distant shore. Far on the opposite side, a backdrop of rolling hills and giant trees stretch for miles along the coast, blue-grey hues disappearing into cloud.
Lucy turns, retracing her steps back down to the garden. She treads onto the wet grass, and her foot feels moist. She curses herself for coming out in canvas trainers. She glances to the left and sees a large shed-like structure. This must be Diana’s studio. She approaches the door, glancing from side to side nervously. Tattered sheets hang in the windows, blocking Lucy’s view inside. She edges round the perimeter of the building; the rear side which faces out to the water. The glass at the back is uncovered. She places her hands against the grubby glass, pressing her face into it, peering through. Canvasses are stacked up against the walls, paint-covered rags litter the floor. Light flows in through immense skylights in the roof, illuminating the space. Blue canvasses, black canvasses, unfinished, discarded. So many paintings. Lucy wonders what they are worth.
She makes her way back to the front of the shack, trying the door. Locked, it doesn’t budge.
To her right, between the side wall of the cottage and the studio opposite, is a collection of outbuildings of varying sizes. A large lean-to attached to the end of the house has a wooden door, padlocked. Beyond lies a field of tall ferns. Lucy approaches. They are huge and dense.
You could probably get lost in there, she thinks, shivering.
Returning to the middle of the garden, she stands, inhaling, eyes closed. The abundance of birdsong is beautiful. A sound she is not used to in the city. A drop of rain splashes on her cheek. She glances up, and the heavens open. She sprints back to the house, into the kitchen. Turning to her left, she enters the utility room. Another huge window looks directly out to the lake.
The heavy rain drums against the glass, so she can barely see beyond it. The scene becomes a blur of colour.
An ancient top-loading washing machine sits against one wall. A shelf above it holds various boxes of laundry powder, bleaches, and fabric softeners. Rat poison. Dusty, cobweb-covered cartons.
Her foot knocks against a mousetrap as she edges around the room. A large wooden rack suspended from the roof is draped with bed linen, drying, the space smells clean and fresh. Lucy breathes in.
She imagines there are worse places to have to do housework. Spotting a duster and a can of polish, she picks them up, heading back through to the lounge to begin her chores.
6
Diana
Diana stirs on the bed. As she comes round from her deep slumber, she curses under her breath. Daytime napping is never good for her. She’ll have to take extra Valium tonight to sleep. She reaches to her side, frowning as her hand finds nothing. Sitting up slowly, she glances down to the floor.
Confused, she looks around, spotting her stick over by the window.
‘You old fool!’ she hisses to herself.
She shakes her head, heaving herself to her feet, wincing. She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes. Her brain swims, and for a sickening moment she thinks she might fall down. Steadying herself on the bedside table, she places her good leg forward, bracing herself against the wall. She edges around the room towards the window, stopping halfway. Breathing out steadily, she calms herself, holding back a wave of nausea. She begins her journey once more, rushing the final few steps in the direction of the cane, regretting it immediately. She catches herself on the dresser before she falls, and lowers herself down onto the stool in front of it. She retrieves her stick from the floor, sitting for a second to regain her composure. She can smell something cooking. It is pleasant enough.
As she exits the room, she hears Lucy humming. She is dusting the mantel, lifting each ornament, giving it a wipe, before doing the same to the shelf below it, placing it back down. Diana nods, approvingly. This girl is good.
‘Hi! Did you have a nice nap?’ Lucy calls out to her.
Diana feels groggy, the fug from the cocktail of pills lingers. She tries to speak. Her jaw aches, as it often does when she first awakens.
‘What time is it?’ Diana enquires, aware that her words are slurred a little. Lucy checks her watch.
‘Just after six.’
Diana nods again. Glancing outside, she notes it’s still raining.
‘You managed to find your way around the kitchen?’
Lucy smiles.
‘Yes, no problem at all. We’re on track for seven.’
Diana hobbles towards the door. She pauses, sniffing the air.
‘For future reference, smoking is not permitted in the house. And if you’re going to do it in the garden, can you go down the far end?’
Lucy tilts her head slightly to one side.
‘That’s fine. I don’t smoke.’
Diana frowns, narrowing her eyes.
‘I can smell it.’
‘Oh, can you?’ She sniffs. ‘I can’t smell anything. But it wasn’t me, regardless.’
The woman continues her journey to the kitchen.
‘Do you need something?’ Lucy rushes towards her.
‘Water.’
‘I’ll get it.’
She dashes through the door. Eager to please, Diana thinks. She hears clattering, and the tap running. Lucy returns, handing her a glass. Diana drinks it down in one.
‘Would you like some more?’ Lucy looks at her, eyes wide with concern.
‘No thank you, that’s fine.’
She makes her way to the sofa, stiff from her nap. Lowering herself down, she lets out a lengthy breath.
‘Someone called Valentina rang. She said she’ll try again tomorrow.’
Diana frowns. Was she expecting a call? It doesn’t matter. She pays her agent enough to wait.
‘I’m making a bean cassoulet. I assume you’re vegetarian? I couldn’t find any meat in the fridge.’
‘No, I’m definitely a carnivore. I think we’re running low on supplies; we’ll get more in the morning with our delivery,’ Diana replies. Lucy nods.
She finishes her dusting and heads into the kitchen to dispose of the cloth and tin of polish.
As the door opens, the aroma of the cooking strengthens, and Diana’s stomach growls. She realises she has not eaten yet today. Lucy returns, still humming a pretty little tune.
‘Does Richard come out of his room at all?’ she asks.
‘It’s up to you. I think he’s happy enough at his window. He always loved nature.’
‘Is he Scottish?’
‘No, not at all. We had never even been before I bought Willow Cottage. I saw it advertised, and it seemed perfect for what I needed. I purchased it without having viewed it.’
‘I can see why.’ Lucy smiles.
‘I take Richard out into the gar
den sometimes, rain permitting. I’m sure the smells and sounds stimulate him. That’s what I tell myself, anyway. Obviously, he’s not been out today, but there’s supposed to be some good weather on the way later in the week. This place changes so much with the elements. You’ll be astounded.’
Lucy continues to busy herself tidying things, stacking papers into neat piles.
‘Leave that, come sit with me a while.’ Diana pats the cushion beside her. The girl joins her on the sofa.
‘Tell me about yourself.’
‘What would you like to know?’
‘Just a little about your background.’
Lucy clears her throat.
‘I grew up in Woking, lived there most of my life. I moved into London more latterly and spent a few years there. My parents are still in Surrey. I don’t have any siblings. I was a nurse for the NHS for a while, but I couldn’t cope with the lack of resources, and the money wasn’t great… so I left and became a private carer.’
‘And what made you take a job here, with a couple of old farts out in the middle of nowhere in Scotland?’
Lucy looks down momentarily, a flash of emotion in her eyes.
‘I fancied a change. Something different.’
She pauses. Diana senses there’s more, but she doesn’t push. She simply waits, a sympathetic smile on her lips. Lucy clears her throat nervously, then continues, fidgeting with her fingers.
‘I was in a relationship for years. I thought… was sure he was the one. We were supposed to get married. But it didn’t end well. I needed to get away, somewhere where I don’t know anybody. This place seemed perfect, and the setting sounded idyllic so I thought, why not?’
‘Good for you.’ Diana nods. ‘I often think people are far too tied to places. There’s no need. Life can be wherever you decide it should be. You shouldn’t let a location hold you back.’
‘What about you? Do you and Richard have children?’
Diana smiles, but there is a sadness behind it in her eyes.
‘We have… had a daughter. Claire. She’s… no longer with us.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s fine. It’s been a long time.’
Lucy shifts in her seat, uncomfortable from her perceived faux pas. Diana is used to people becoming awkward when they learn of Claire.
‘Does that boat out on the jetty work?’ Lucy asks, attempting to steer the conversation in a different direction.
‘Well, it floats, but I’m not sure I’d trust it.’ Diana chuckles.
‘Do you have a car?’
‘No, nothing like that. No need. I don’t go anywhere. There’s an old bicycle out in the shed. It was here when we arrived. Probably doesn’t even work. It’s no use to me. You’re welcome to fix it up if you know what you’re doing.’
‘Okay, I might try.’
Lucy stands.
‘I should see to the dinner.’
Diana nods.
‘Before you go, would you mind fetching me some pills from my room?’
‘Of course, what do you need?’
‘If you look in the dresser by the window and see if you can find me two Vicodin.’
Lucy raises her eyebrows, biting her lower lip. Diana blushes.
‘I know, I know. But they help.’
Lucy crosses to Diana’s bedroom, and she hears her rummaging in the drawer. She returns, handing Diana the tablets.
‘Thank you.’
‘That stuff is highly addictive. That’s why it’s not legal here.’
Diana doesn’t say anything. Simply throws them into her mouth, washing them away with a mouthful of water, closing her eyes as they slip down her throat. Lucy stands for a moment, watching silently, then heads out into the kitchen. Diana reclines onto the sofa, letting out a sigh.
7
Lucy
She stirs the stew, inhaling the hearty smell of tomatoes and garlic. She’s attempted to make the best of a scarcely stocked larder. Not ideal for her first meal in her new residence, but she’s sure Diana will understand.
She thought about the earlier conversation. The woman has had more than her fair share of tragedy in life. But who hasn’t?
She crosses to a cupboard by the sink, where she had seen bottles of drink earlier. She assesses the selection.
‘Would you like some wine with dinner?’ she shouts through to the lounge.
‘Why not?’ Diana replies.
Lucy uncorks a 2004 vin du pays, setting it on the counter to breathe. She fetches a glass, then takes both out to the table. Diana is reclining, drifting in and out of consciousness.
‘Won’t be long,’ Lucy tells her, and her eyes spring open.
Lucy enters Richard’s room. He’s awake. Saliva has pooled on his chin, a large wet patch decorates his shirt below.
‘Let’s get you ready for dinner, shall we?’ she says cheerfully.
His eyes wobble in his head rapidly. Lucy undoes his buttons, pulling the garment from him. She tosses it into a laundry basket beside the bed, before fetching a clean one from his wardrobe. She pulls him forwards in his chair, placing the shirt around his flabby body, and sits him back as she fastens it up.
‘There. Much more presentable.’
She wheels him out to the living room, positioning him at the end of the table, pulling a seat beside him, before returning to the kitchen to finish the meal. Leaving the pot bubbling on the stove, she ladles a serving into the liquidiser. As she turns the dial on the front of the blender, the blades whir into action, making light work of the beans. The casserole whizzes round the jug, turning to a red-brown mush. She pours it into a bowl, placing Diana’s onto a plate, carrying them through to the table. Diana takes her seat at the opposite end. Lucy sits beside Richard, picking up his spoon from the tablecloth. Diana touches the rim of her dish.
‘You haven’t warmed them?’
‘No.’
Diana shakes her head, and Lucy feels dejected.
‘I’m sorry. I’ll do that from now on. I didn’t think.’
She fills the utensil with Richard’s gruel, lifting it to his mouth. She pushes the edge to his lips, forcing them open, pouring the liquid in. He swallows. Some spills onto his chin. Lucy picks up a napkin, dabbing at his face, before spooning in another mouthful. Diana has barely eaten three spoonfuls, before pushing her food aside. She raises her glass, taking a large gulp of wine.
‘Is it okay? I can make you something else if you don’t like it.’
‘It’s fine. I don’t have much of an appetite.’
Lucy can’t imagine why Diana would insist on eating at seven and then tell her she’s not hungry. Perhaps it’s more for Richard’s benefit. She’s unsurprised that Diana doesn’t eat, having seen the various containers of medication in her bedroom. Most of which were clearly obtained without a prescription.
She finishes feeding Richard, watching as Diana pours another large glass.
Lucy clears up the dishes, taking them to the kitchen. She returns to the table, wheeling him back to his room. Diana grabs the bottle, and retrieving a bunch of keys from the hall, heads outside without saying a word. Lucy retreats through to the sink to clean up. As she washes the dishes, she hums.
She glances out of the window and sees Diana stumble through the door of her studio, tripping on the threshold, sloshing wine from the bottle down herself.
Lucy finishes the plates, leaving them to drain on the worktop, and heads back to see to Richard.
He is in his usual spot, staring out across the loch. She stands by his side, watching through the glass. The swallows skim the surface of the water in the evening light. The rain has cleared, and the day is quite pleasant now. The sun hits the foxgloves, making them appear to glow. Lucy crouches beside the wheelchair.
‘Hello, Richard,’ she says cheerfully.
No reaction. She turns him slightly towards her.
‘I’m sorry about dinner. I didn’t have much to work with. I promise I’ll do better from now on… once w
e have more supplies.’
She leans closer to his face, waving her hand in front of him.
‘Can you hear me?’
Saliva bubbles on his lips.
‘I don’t care what Diana says, I think you are taking it all in, aren’t you?’
Smiling, she turns the chair back to the window, and glances around the room. An electric harness, for lifting him, sits beside the bed. A painting hangs on one wall. Lucy approaches it, leaning in to view the signature. DD is scrawled in the bottom right corner; Diana’s, she assumes. Blacks and blues swirl together, muddying in parts, clearer towards the centre. Splatters of white adorn the canvas, angrily flicked from the side. An arm, painted in pale blue, protrudes from the thick swathes of colour. Lucy stands back, her eyes darting about the picture. It occurs to her that Diana’s painting is similar to Richard’s which hangs above the fire. She wonders if Diana has taken inspiration from her husband.
Stolen his ideas, now he is no longer able to produce them himself.
She exits the room, deciding to go for a walk, with a few hours to kill before she needs to put Richard to bed. Grabbing her jacket from the chair where she left it earlier, she slips out through the front door.
8
Diana
She hears the front door, and hobbles to the window of her studio. Pulling back the grubby makeshift curtain, she sees Lucy emerge round the side of the house, carrying a denim jacket. She looks around before heading off into the woods. Diana returns to her chair in the corner, gulping more of the wine from the bottle. The meal had been largely bland. Had smelled far better than it tasted. Lucy is clearly not a cook. Diana would need to remember to leave some of her cookery books out on the worktop in the kitchen. Hopefully the girl would take the hint.