by Dan Scottow
‘I need to shoot, else I’ll miss the ferry. Will you be okay?’
‘Of course. I’ve dealt with far worse. I’ll keep an eye on her.’
Valentina pulls a business card from her purse, handing it to Lucy. It’s thick, and soft to the touch, with gold foiling embossed on the letters.
‘If anything else happens, or you need to talk, call me.’
‘Sure.’
She smiles, placing a hand on Lucy’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
‘She’s lucky to have you. Most people would have packed their bags and run a mile after that little performance.’
Lucy shakes her head.
‘I’m sure she’ll feel better after some sleep.’
She shows Valentina out, waving as her red sports car pulls away, crunching over gravel.
Closing the door, she retreats to the kitchen to prepare lunch.
34
Diana
She wakes in the early evening, head pounding. The cluster of bites on her arm has grown again. She scratches at them manically. There must be something living in her bedroom. She’ll need to get Mylo to bring some bug spray.
They’re so itchy… she wants to gouge her flesh away with her nails.
Sitting up on the bed, she looks around for her stick. It’s nowhere to be seen. She leans over the edge of the bed, but it’s not underneath. She tries to stand. Her legs feel like jelly; she can’t focus.
Easing herself around the wall, manoeuvring past furniture, she reaches the door. The urge to puke wells up inside her, but she holds it down. Just. The smell of varnish still lingers in the air. She glances at the floor. To be sure. She can’t really see clearly, but she can tell the boards are clean. Leaning her weight on the wall, she makes her way to the kitchen.
Her stick lies on the worktop. Shaking her head, she limps towards it, grasping the edges to stop herself from falling, letting out a long breath. As she turns to head back to the living room, she sees a handwritten note on the opposite countertop. She hobbles over, picking it up.
Diana,
I hope you are feeling a little better.
I have seen to Richard. He has had his lunch and dinner. If you are hungry, there is some food plated up in the fridge for you. I didn’t want to wake you.
Gone to Mylo’s for the evening, I’ll be back around eleven to put R. to bed.
Lucy x
She crumples the note, letting it fall to the floor. She’s still angry about the conversation she overheard with Val. It feels like a betrayal. And the girl was exaggerating. There’s nothing wrong with her.
Opening the fridge, the smell of food assaults her, taking her by surprise. She slams the door shut, only making it to the sink in time, as a stream of bile spews from her. The foul taste sickens her more. Turning on the tap, she rinses the vile, stinking green spatter away, filling her mouth to rid herself of the remnants. She blinks, looking at the clock. She can’t make it out. Steps closer.
Nine fifteen.
Food is the last thing on her mind. She needs air. She pushes open the back door, stepping out onto the grass, inhaling deeply. The fresh scent is pleasant enough but does little to alleviate her nauseated state. As she passes her studio, the door now firmly closed, she pictures her ruined canvas.
The red. The drips.
She shakes her head, blinking the vision away, continuing down to the beach. Her feet drag through the shingle, leaving a trail in the stones. She heads towards the water, and sits on the edge of the pier, looking out across the loch.
35
Lucy
‘Thanks again for picking me up. I really needed to get away from that house for a bit,’ Lucy says flatly, staring out over the water.
They are sitting at a table outside the back of Mylo’s shop. An empty wine bottle between them, and two clean plates. He lives on the adjacent side of the loch to Willow Cottage, further along the shore. She can’t quite see the cottage, but she knows it’s there. She reflects how funny it seems that when she arrived, she couldn’t get over how tranquil it all was, yet now it fills her with dread to think about it. His boat is moored to a short jetty. A small inflatable dinghy with an outboard motor attached bobs up and down beside it. It was this that he had collected her in earlier after she phoned him. It was quicker than the motorboat, he told her, and cheaper to run.
An enormous hydrangea behind them colours the scenery pink and acid blue. The sweet scent of jasmine fills the air. She inhales deeply and feels her heart rate begin to slow. As if simply being away from Diana, and that place, is making her feel better already.
Mylo watches her from across the table.
‘No problem. So what happened?’
She pulls at a strand of her hair, twisting it in her fingers.
‘Diana… being Diana.’
‘Say no more.’
Lucy scratches at her skin on her ankles, through her jeans.
‘I think something has been feeding on me,’ she says.
‘Midges. They’re all over the west coast. Annoying little buggers. Have you been sleeping with the window open?’
She nods, raising an eyebrow.
‘That’ll do it. You don’t want to do that round here, not so close to the water.’
‘But it’s so damned hot some nights. Stifling. I can’t sleep otherwise.’
‘Get a fan. Or put up with being eaten alive.’
She smirks, not fancying either option, and watches a swallow chasing a butterfly. It darts around, up, down, and back again, before eventually catching the poor creature in its beak and swallowing it whole. She shudders.
‘Dinner was delicious, thank you.’
‘My pleasure. Are you warm enough?’
‘I’m a little cool.’
‘Let’s head inside.’
They stand, and she follows him up some stone steps into a bijou, but cosy apartment.
To the right, a battered brown leather settee sits facing a large picture window that looks out towards the loch. The view is astounding. A small oval coffee table holds a selection of magazines. The far wall is chock-a-block, floor-to-ceiling shelves, crammed with hundreds of books and family photos.
Mylo with his parents, then more recent ones with only his mother. Lucy tries, but fails to ignore a picture in a frame of he and Rose, laughing, pints of beer in hand, sitting on a beach somewhere sunny. She was exceptionally pretty, with a warm, infectious smile. She can see why he liked her.
He sees her looking at it, and glances away, embarrassed.
‘You know about Rose, I take it?’
She nods, and Mylo sighs.
‘Cassie mentioned it at the marina when we were chatting. But just so you know… we don’t have to talk about it… about Rose, I mean. Not if you don’t want to. But likewise, if you do, that’s cool too.’ Lucy tries to sound nonchalant. He nods.
‘I don’t think I knew what real love was until I met her. She was… amazing. And I miss her every single day. Sometimes, I don’t think I’ll ever not miss her. And those are the hardest times. When I think that I may feel like this for the rest of my life.’
Lucy nods. ‘Grief is a funny thing… but it does get better. I promise.’ She pauses, remembering what Cassie had said about Mylo’s suspicions about Diana.
‘Do you honestly think Diana might have been involved?’
He bites his bottom lip, staring out through the window.
‘Sometimes. I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t cross my mind from time to time. Nobody really knows what happened that night. Only her… and she’s been quite tight-lipped about it. Conveniently using her drinking and self-medication as an excuse to not have to talk about it.’
‘That’s common knowledge then?’
‘Not really. Rose used to talk about it, but I don’t think most people have any idea. I mean… nobody sees her, so how could they?’
Lucy lets her eyes drift past the photo, taking in the rest of the apartment. Two doors on the back wall stand o
pen. She sees through to a messy-looking bedroom on one side, and a compact bathroom directly ahead of her, to the right. A third door on the far wall is closed. A small dining table in front of it holds piles of freshly washed laundry, ironed and neatly folded. The room smells of fabric softener. It’s not a tidy home, by any stretch of the imagination, but it is clean, and extremely comfortable, and Lucy instantly feels the troubles of the day begin to fade. He notices her taking in the surroundings.
‘I know it’s not much, but my mother lives next door, so it’s perfect being here, close to her, and above the store. Kills two birds with one stone.’
He shrugs; sounds as if he’s apologising.
‘It’s wonderful. That view!’ Lucy breathes, walking towards the window.
‘Yeah, it’s pretty special, huh?’
And it really is. Even on an overcast evening like tonight, she marvels at it.
‘It’s as if you’ve got your own personal work of art, that’s constantly changing with the light,’ she says dreamily. Mylo gives her an odd look. He seems suddenly distant. Eventually, he slaps his thighs through his jeans.
‘More wine?’
‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’ she replies through a laugh. His cheeks flush as he stands, looking embarrassed.
‘You sit down! You made dinner. I’ll get it.’
‘You’re my guest. And I hardly think heating up a packet of shop-bought tortellini warrants making dinner.’
‘Nonsense. Sit!’ she commands.
He perches obediently on the arm of the sofa, drumming his fingers on his knees.
‘Okay! Kitchen’s through there. Wine is on the side. Have a rummage for cups. You’ll find them. It’s not that big.’
He points towards the door opposite. She slides her handbag strap over her shoulder, and disappears through, returning a few minutes later with two large, full glasses and the remnants of the bottle, carried expertly like a waitress. Handing one to Mylo. He shifts from the arm of the settee onto the seat. She sits beside him, looking out through the window as she places the bottle by their feet.
‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’ he says softly.
She bites her lip, shaking her head.
‘No. I don’t think so.’
He takes a mouthful of the wine, swallowing, before he speaks again.
‘I’m used to Diana’s nonsense. Believe me.’
‘Really. It doesn’t matter. Let’s just enjoy the evening. I don’t want to talk about her.’
Mylo nods, taking another swig as he shuffles along the sofa, closer to Lucy, topping up both their glasses.
She smiles, sipping her drink.
36
Diana
Sitting on the shore, watching the waves lap against the beach, things begin to feel a little more normal. As she recalls ranting about Rose to Valentina, she blushes, feeling foolish. She sees Lucy’s terrified face as she accused her of destroying her painting.
But someone did.
She stands, shaking her head, brushing some loose stones from her bottom. As she turns, she glimpses Richard sitting in his wheelchair in his room, looking out towards the water as usual, and she smiles. Something in the corner of her eye catches her attention. A fleeting movement in an upstairs window.
The house should be empty.
She tilts her head upwards to Lucy’s bedroom. The grey evening light reflects in the glass. A darker shape behind it troubles her. A figure? She cranes her neck, trying to change the angle. The glare bounces back in her eyes, but it’s definitely there. A woman stands in the window, staring down at her, but quickly steps away out of view.
Frowning, Diana walks towards the house, assuming Lucy is home earlier than planned. She takes her time to walk back to the cottage, still feeling slightly dizzy. Her limbs are sore from sitting for too long. She crosses the kitchen, entering the hallway, and leans on the bannisters at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Lucy?’ she calls up to the landing.
No reply. She stands, listening, holding her breath.
‘Lucy, are you here?’
Still no answer. She places her foot on a step. A creak from within the lounge draws her attention, head snaps to the side. She steps in. The door at the opposite end of the room through to the kitchen creaks and slowly swings as if someone has just passed through. A cold draft blows through the passage, making Diana shiver.
‘Lucy?’ she calls again, less confident this time. She crosses the space as quickly as she can, pushing the door. It creaks open in time for her to see a silhouette pass the window outside.
She shudders.
A flash of evening sun had reflected from the girl’s hair. It was blonde. Not Lucy.
Hand trembling on her stick, she limps across the kitchen. As she steps outside, she sees the figure disappear round the side of the house, between her studio and the lean-to, a white nightie blowing in the cool air.
‘Hello? Who’s there?’
Still no reply. Although the night is fairly warm, Diana feels icy cold. Tiny goosebumps raise up on her arms. Crossing the lawn, she passes her studio. Nobody there.
Opposite the cottage is a field of tall ferns, much taller than Diana in places. Heavy and overgrown. It’s a forest of fronds. A flash of movement within causes her to take a step backwards. The tips of the foliage sway, as something moves through, out of sight.
She edges closer to the perimeter.
‘Hello!’ she calls, voice wavering.
You’re being ridiculous, she tells herself. But that doesn’t stop her shaking. She pushes the greenery aside and steps in. Her foot sinks in soft earth, moist from recent torrential rainfall. The air smells musty, the sunlight unable to reach the ground here. Nettles sting her ankles as she passes deeper into the dense foliage. She curses under her breath. In parts, it’s clearer, almost like a path. She sticks to that. It’s easier with her cane. She moves forwards. A twig cracks to her left. She turns. A wood pigeon flutters into the air, making Diana jump.
The top of a blonde head passes quickly, a few metres away.
‘Who’s there?’ she shouts, pushing deeper and deeper into the mass of greenery.
Another noise, this time from the right, and she turns towards it, undergrowth scratching her face.
She can’t tell where she is anymore. Doesn’t know which direction the cottage is in. She knows that if she goes too far wrong, she’ll fall from a low cliff edge into the loch.
Heart pounding, she spins in all directions. All she can see is a sea of green. The light is beginning to fade. She pushes her way to a small clearing, breathing heavily. She leans her weight on her stick. Perspiration soaks into her clothing, her fringe is stuck to her face.
And then she sees it. A few metres away, in a gap in the ferns. Obscured by the vegetation, but very definite.
A girl, standing with her back to Diana. Blonde hair, long and matted. Tattered white nightie. Dark-red stains on the grubby white fabric.
Despite herself, she shivers. She wants to be strong, but in reality, she is utterly petrified.
‘Hello…’ she says, voice shaky with terror. She holds her breath, as if that will prevent her from being seen. The figure turns slowly around to face Diana, strands of hair hang limply down, covering the face.
And she knows she must try to run. It’s going to hurt, but she feels her life is dependent on it.
She backs away, too afraid to look from the apparition. It doesn’t move. Diana spins and begins to rush. She hears movement behind her.
It is following. Twigs crack, leaves tumble.
‘Help me!’ Diana screams. ‘Get away!’
Not sure if she is even heading in the right direction, but unable to look back, she pushes on. She trips, falling into nettles and roots of the undergrowth. She claws her way through, abandoning her stick. Hands raw from the surrounding flora. Finally, she is at the edge of the field, and she pulls herself out to the grass of her garden, rolling over onto her bottom. She slides aw
ay, dragging herself backwards.
Her limbs are in agony, but she doesn’t care. She keeps crawling until she is close to the house, a few metres back from the ferns. Nobody emerges.
She sits staring, too scared to move for a while. Breathing heavily, watching. Her clothes are soaked through now. Leaves and nettles are tangled in her hair. Her arms and face are raw. Angry red blotches begin to swell up on her skin. Blood trickles from deep gouges all over her.
No figure exits the forest. No ghostly woman.
She still does not go back for her stick. She abandons it, crawling to the cottage, locking the kitchen door firmly behind her, and sobs.
37
Lucy
Mylo wakes before her. His eyes open, slowly, groggily. Two bottles of wine between them, and they are flat out on the sofa. Lucy’s head rests in his lap. She looks so… peaceful. He strokes her hair gently, and her eyelids flutter.
‘Oh my God, did we fall asleep?’ she asks, voice croaky as she straightens up in her seat. Reaching her arms up above her, she stretches, yawning.
‘Yeah. I guess it’s been a long day for both of us. I guess two bottles of wine didn’t help.’
‘What time is it?’
Mylo checks his watch.
‘Wow, eleven fifteen. Must have been sleeping longer than I thought.’
‘Shit! I told Diana I’d be home by eleven. Damn, damn, damn!’
She jumps up, pulling on her shoes. She rakes her fingers through her tousled locks, straightening out the tangles.
‘I need to go, sorry.’
‘Relax, I’ll take you in the dinghy. You’ll be there in less than ten minutes. She won’t mind.’
‘I’m not so sure. I don’t want to cause any further problems.’
They hurry out the front door, and jog down towards the jetty. Hopping into the dingy, Mylo pulls the cord on the outboard. It takes a few yanks, but the engine eventually sputters to life, and they speed off into the darkness.