by S Williams
Mary grimaces.
Right.
Mary taps out a nervous staccato on the steering wheel of her rusty Nissan Micra, staring at the pub. She’d spent a long time awake last night thinking about Athene. It was driving her crazy. The girl was like a scratch in her mind; she didn’t understand it. And then the dream…
Mary shudders and focuses on the pub.
Other than Jamie coming out for a smoke, and a couple of shifty teenagers – breakfast staff or cleaners, she supposed – she hadn’t seen anyone.
What the fuck am I doing here?
Absently, Mary bites her nails.
And if the mention of Blea Hall was like a punch to the head, then seeing the photo was an explosion in her heart. The photo, of how the house was before the fire; before the fire… and then Athene had mentioned Heathcliff…
‘Fuckbunnies.’ Mary rubs at the plastic steering wheel with her thumbs, staring at the entrance to the pub, willing Athene to come out. She doesn’t. Mary swears again, thinking.
It wasn’t just that the girl had brought memories of the past. There was something about Athene herself; something unnerving.
There was a stillness about her. A sadness, deep under the skin, like the words in a stick of rock. And Mary wasn’t kidding herself. She recognised it because a word ran through her too. If she were to cut herself open, she knew what the word would say, all the way to her centre.
Guilty.
Mary blinks and shakes her head slightly, dislodging the past. She concentrates her thoughts on Athene.
She was the sort of girl someone could become obsessed with, and Mary was too old to become obsessed.
But then when Athene had phoned her this morning, the itch just got worse.
‘Fuck it.’
Mary gets out of the car, the door creaking as she pushes it open. She stands by the vehicle, unsure what to do. She takes a quick look about.
The village is quiet today. Unsurprising; the season over and the place closing down, tick by tock. The two cafés other than hers had shut, and wouldn’t open again until March. The trees that line the beck are losing their leaves to the wind, sending them swirling through the air; slips of letters addressed to the winter to come.
She rarely comes into the village, preferring to do most of her shopping online, rather than visit the little grocery store. The store is, like in all villages, a meeting hub for the social members of the village; a place where they can gossip, and make their pronouncements of what’s occurring in the area.
Mary can’t stand the scrutiny. Even after all this time. Because, she thinks bitterly, time in a village doesn’t mean anything. If you’re still alive, then everything in your life is fair game; there’s no moving on. The only way to escape village gossip is to either move out of the area, or be dead.
And sometimes even death isn’t enough.
Mary feels her throat contract, like it wants to stop her heart from running away.
‘Fuck it,’ she repeats.
Mary pushes herself off the car and strides purposely to the pub. Before she can change her mind, she opens the door and walks inside.
As soon as she is in, the memories hit her. Of her and Bella and Trent, in the games room at the back of the pub, playing pinball. Smoking and drinking and laughing. The landlord knew that she and Bella were underage, but it didn’t seem to matter. With it being a hotel there were always younger people in there, and as long as they didn’t actually order any drinks he could deny all knowledge, even though his son was in their year.
Mary felt a shiver just being in the building.
And then later, when Trent was gone. Her and Bella and–
‘Mary!’
Jamie walks toward her from the saloon bar, a grin plastered on his face.
Although Jamie hadn’t been part of it, hadn’t been in their circle, he had always been there. Either working for his dad in the bar, or skulking in the corridor at school. Somehow he had always been around, just on the periphery. Bella had always found him a bit creepy. Mary had thought he was sad. She thought he was the kind of boy who didn’t know how to talk, but knew a great deal about how to watch.
She glances at his scar.
And sometimes, how to do more than watch.
Mary looks at him, stitching a smile onto her face. ‘Jamie, hi! How’s it going?’
Jamie shrugs, his eyes flicking to her breasts, then to the corner of the room, then to her face.
‘You know; end of the season and all that. Thanks for the extra guest though!’ The grin hasn’t left his face. Mary wonders if he practices it in the mirror. She feels her own smile sitting on her face like a slug.
‘No problem. I was in the village, and I thought I’d pop in to see how she was. It was a real piss-down last night, wasn’t it?’
Weak, she thinks. How fucking weak does that sound?
‘Right!’ Jamie performs the flick again; Mary is grateful for the baggy jumper she had thrown on that morning. ‘Sure, she arrived fine. Quite late though; she must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.’ Jamie’s grin widens. ‘She was absolutely sodden when she came in!’
Mary thinks of Athene, soaked; and of Jamie’s special flick, and gives another little internal shudder. ‘Right, well, happy to help.’
She pauses, taking a shallow breath as she mentally winds herself up, then says casually, ‘Is she about, by any chance? Only she was asking me about something earlier, on the phone, and I’ve had a thought.’
‘Sorry.’ Jamie cocks his head slightly. ‘You just missed her.’
Mary tries not to let the disappointment show on her face. ‘Oh, right. She phoned me about half an hour ago, so I thought she’d still be here. Well, no worries.’
‘She hasn’t taken her stuff yet though, so I’m sure she’ll be back.’ Jamie looks at her, an odd expression on his face. ‘In fact, I’ve offered her a deal, so I think she might book in for the week. You could stay if you like?’
‘I’m sorry?’ Mary looks at him, unsure what she had heard.
‘Wait for her. We could have a cup of tea or something.’
‘Oh! I see. No, you’re all right, Jamie; thanks anyway. It wasn’t that important.’
‘No problem.’ Jamie’s voice, although still friendly, has become slightly harder. A little bitter, even. ‘Do you want me to give her a message?’
Mary thinks, then shakes her head.
‘Nah; but tell her I called, yeah?’
Jamie nods. ‘Sure thing.’
‘Cheers.’
Mary turns to leave.
‘Bummer about the holiday cottage,’ Jamie says behind her, trying to keep the conversation going.
Mary turns slowly, and looks at him. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘The cottage? The one that doesn’t exist?’ He grins. ‘Some people will scam anything, right?’
Mary checks to see if he is joking, but his face is open. Or at least as open as it ever is. She shakes her head and takes a step towards him.
‘Don’t you know which one it was, Jamie? I thought I told you.’
Jamie looks at her blankly. Mary blinks.
‘The holiday cottage. Didn’t you ask Athene?’
‘No.’ Jamie shakes his head. ‘Didn’t want to sound like I thought she was stupid. Showing her up as an outsider, you know?’ Jamie raises his eyebrows. ‘Why, which one was–’
‘It’s Blea Fell, Jamie,’ Mary cuts across him. Jamie’s eyes snap to her face. Mary is bizarrely pleased to see panic there.
‘What?’
‘Blea Fell,’ Mary repeats softly. She can see the confusion and brittle old fear staggering in Jamie’s eyes. And behind his eyes. ‘Bella’s house.’
‘Blea Fell? But how… I mean the place has been a wreck for years!’
‘Years and years,’ Mary agrees.
‘Who’d want to go and rent a shell?’
‘Here’s the thing, Jamie, in the picture Athene had. The one in the brochure scam, or whatever, the house isn’t
a wreck.’
Mary stares at the man. She can see the creeping fear in his face. Not just the face he is wearing now, but his older face. The face he had when he was younger.
Jamie keeps shaking his head; he’s not scoping her breasts anymore.
‘That’s impossible,’ he says, eventually. ‘Why would they get a picture, or even how would they…?’
Jamie’s sentence peters out.
‘Exactly. The only pictures of that house that went into the public domain was after the fire.’ Mary leans forward, compressing the air between them with the past. ‘After the fire and after the crash. And it doesn’t look like those. It looks like…’ She didn’t finish her thought, but the widening of Jamie’s eyes, coupled with the fear, tells her she doesn’t need to. He looks at her urgently.
‘Wait a minute, Mary. You don’t think…’
Mary continues to hard-road Jamie with her gaze, and his sentence dies in his mouth.
‘I’ve got to shoot, Jamie. Tell Athene I called when you see her, yeah?’
There is an awkward pause, and then Mary nods and leaves. As she walks out through the little archway she pauses and cocks her head, listening. After a second she continues to the door.
She doesn’t explain what she was listening for. She doesn’t have to: Jamie already knows.
‘You won’t hear it,’ he whispers, something cold and wet slithering in the back of his mind. Something he thought was locked up and hidden forever. ‘You won’t hear it because it was never there.’
The front door closes shut with a prison click as Mary leaves.
Mary feels a weight lifting from her as she steps out into the sharp, clear air. The rain from the previous night has swelled the beck that runs down the centre of the village, and its fell waters have given the air a limestone edge; a taste on the wind that is almost salty. Which of course it is, she thinks, walking to her car, limestone being made up of millions of fossils of sea creatures from millennia ago.
All this was underwater, once, Mary muses, opening the door and shaking off the pub – the noises from the past – out of her head. In an odd way, she finds it quite a comforting thought.
13
Athene’s Phone