by Amy Cross
Chapter Thirty-Six
Lizzie
Thirty years ago
“Just sit up gently,” a voice says, emerging from the silent darkness. “Careful, love. You took a bit of a tumble.”
Opening my eyes, I find that I'm on the floor in the pub's hallway. I've been propped against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, and both the landlady and the strange man are crouching in front of me.
“You fainted, love,” the landlady continues, although I can hear the concern in her voice. “Are you feeling alright?”
“I'm fine,” I stammer, before starting to get up. “My girls -”
“Your girls are fine,” she replies, placing a hand on my shoulder and gently forcing me to stay on the floor. “They don't know anything's up. You're the one we're worried about.”
“We heard a bump just after you came through,” the man says. “I thought nothing of it at the time, but then after a few minutes when you didn't come back from the bathroom...”
“Are you okay?” the landlady asks. “Are you in pain?”
I shake my head.
“Maybe we should call a doctor,” she continues, “just to be -”
“No!” I blurt out, panicking at the thought that this might be something serious. “I'm fine!”
“It wouldn't hurt to get you seen to,” she points out. “Just to be safe.”
“I'm absolutely fine,” I reply, starting to get to my feet. This time I somehow manage, although I've got to admit that I feel a little unsteady. “I'm sorry, I guess I've just been under a lot of stress lately.”
“Raising two young girls by yourself,” the landlady replies, “I'm surprised you're able to keep your bloody eyes open. Still, I really think I should give the doctor a call. He'll be happy to pop by later to give you the once-over.”
“I don't need a doctor,” I tell her firmly. “There's nothing wrong with me.”
“You seem healthy enough now,” the man says. “You've even got some color back in your cheeks.”
“Exactly,” I reply, thankful that he's backing me up. “There's nothing wrong with me that a meal and some sugar won't fix. I just need to take a little better care of myself in future. That's all.”
“If you say so,” the landlady mutters, not sounding terribly convinced. “I'll go and see what we've got in the kitchen. It's on the house, mind. Can't have you collapsing all over the place, can we?”
As she heads through to the kitchen, I take a deep breath. I still feel discombobulated, but at least I'm pretty sure I won't faint again. Not right now, at least. After a moment, I realize the man is still watching me with a hint of concern, and I'm tempted to tell him to leave me alone.
“You're lucky you didn't bang your head,” he says finally.
I nod.
“Those girls have already lost their father,” he adds. “I can't imagine -”
“They're not going to lose anyone else,” I reply, interrupting him before he can finish that sentence. “They're going to be just fine. I promise you, I will not let anything bad ever happen to them, and I'm going to be right here looking after them.”
“But if -”
“There's nothing wrong with me!”
He pauses, and then he nods. I'm not sure he entirely agrees, but at least he knows better than to keep laboring the point over and over again.
“I should get back in there and check on them,” I continue, trying not to sound too flustered. “They're probably wondering where I am.”
I try to step past him, but suddenly he puts a hand on my arm.
“Might I ask you for one small favor?” he says calmly.
“I'm not sure I'm in much of a position to be doling out favors,” I tell him.
“It's something that I'd like you to do for me,” he continues. “I know I don't really have any right to ask, but it would mean the world to me if you could see your way to...” He pauses, as if he's searching for the right word. “I suppose I'm asking to indulge me,” he adds finally. “I have a car, and it seems to me that the town is going to be rather busy all day. If you have the time and the inclination, might you be willing to bring your charming daughters with me on a short road-trip? Just up the coast, to get out of town for a few hours? Perhaps we could have a picnic...”
“That's very kind of you,” I reply, “but it won't be possible today.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
“We're leaving tomorrow.”
“I see.” He sounds disappointed. “Then might you reconsider today? I know a wonderful spot and -”
“I really don't think so,” I tell him, hoping that he'll get the message and that I won't have to be rude. “It's a very kind offer, but we absolutely won't be able to come with you.”
“Are you sure? We could take a drive and enjoy a picnic, and I know a spot with the most spectacular views.”
“I'm sorry,” I say with a sigh, “but we absolutely -”
“Can we, Mummy?”
Startled, I turn and see that Kate has come through from the bar area, and that she's standing in the open doorway.
“Please?” she continues. “I don't want to spend another day sitting around in a pub, and you said we could go for a picnic before we leave.”
“Kate,” I reply, “I'm not sure that I -”
“Please, Mummy? Pretty please? Can't we just do one more fun thing before we go home tomorrow?”
I open my mouth to tell her that we'll do something else fun instead, but I can see the desperation in her eyes and I can't quite bring myself to let her down yet again. This whole trip has been a pretty major catastrophe so far, and I need to find a way to give Kate at least one good memory from the debacle. After all, I want her to look back on this holiday when she's older and remember having a good time. And so, as she continues to stare at me, I feel my resolve starting to crumble.
“Please, Mummy?” she says again. “Can we go on a drive and have a picnic?”
“I guess it wouldn't hurt,” I say finally, turning to the man. “Just for a couple of hours.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Alice
Today
“Impossible,” the landlord says with a sigh as he bolts the door behind me. “He's been in his room since before you went out earlier.”
“You can't be sure out that,” I point out.
“I can! I've been down here the whole time, and I'd have heard if anyone went out.”
He heads back over to the bar, where towels have been left on top of the beer pumps. It's well past closing time, and the only lights in the pub's main area come from strips on the far side of the room.
“Mr. Goodman came back a few hours ago,” he continues, “and went up to his room. I offered him some food, and he said he wasn't hungry. Since then, I've heard him up there a few times.”
At that moment, as if to underscore his point, there's a faint bump from the room above. I look up at the ceiling and listen to the unmistakable sound of somebody walking across the room.
“He hasn't been down,” the landlord adds. “I'm sorry, but he just hasn't.”
“Doesn't that seem odd?” I ask, turning to him. “He must have heard the scream from the church.”
“He probably doesn't want to get involved. Either that, or maybe he had headphones on all evening. Either way, I'll vouch for his whereabouts since at least ten this evening, so let's not have any speculation on that front. Now, it's late but I can still fix you up something to eat, if you're hungry. It'll only be a baguette, but I can do you a salad on the side and some crisps. How does that sound?”
“I'm fine, thanks,” I reply, heading to the door that leads into the hallway. “Sorry to have asked you so many questions.”
“I understand, but like I said, Mr. Goodman was here all evening. He certainly wasn't out nailing dogs to doors, or anything like that.”
Once I've said goodnight, I head up to the landing and make my way to my room. Just as I'm about to unlock the door, however, I hear another bum
p from the next room along. I look over at the next door and see a patch of light at the bottom, which I guess means that the mysterious Mr. Goodman is still awake. I know I should just go to bed, and that I'll most likely be able to meet the pub's other guest in the morning, but I can't help stepping over to his door and listening to the sound of his footsteps.
Whatever he's doing in there, he seems to be pacing about, walking all around the room and only stopping for a few seconds at a time. The floorboards are creaking almost incessantly, and occasionally I hear a faint bump, as if he's setting something down on a table. Sometimes he walks fast, sometimes he slows a little, but I can't shake the feeling that he sounds agitated.
Finally, even though I know it's a bad idea, I reach out and gently knock on the door.
The footsteps immediately stop.
“Um, hello?” I say cautiously. “My name's Alice, I'm in the room next to yours.”
I wait.
Silence.
“I just wanted to say hello,” I continue. “I heard you up and about, so...”
Again, I wait.
I don't even know what I'm trying to achieve here, except that I still haven't seen this man's face. He seems to have resolutely avoided me ever since he arrived, and I guess I just want to get a glimpse of him.
So far, however, I don't seem to be having much luck.
“I don't know if you heard,” I continue, “but there was an incident in town tonight. Somebody vandalized the church, and also pinned something to the door of one of the cottages. So if you heard voices, or shouts, then that's what was going on.”
I wait, and this time I hear a very faint creaking sound coming from the other side of the door.
And then another.
It's as if somebody is tiptoeing closer, and sure enough I hear a third creak just a moment later.
Looking down, I see that a shadow is now partially blocking the light that's showing from under the door.
“So that's really all I came to say,” I continue finally, feeling a little creeped out by the fact that this guy apparently doesn't want to answer. “I'm sorry if I disturbed you, I just saw that your light was on and...”
My voice trails off. I haven't heard any more creaks, so as far as I know the guy is still on the other side of the door, just a couple of feet from me. There's no peep-hole, so I guess he can't see me, but that doesn't make the situation feel any less weird.
I turn to walk away, but then I hesitate as I realize that there's one thing I didn't mention just now.
“The cottage that was targeted,” I say cautiously, “belonged to a woman who recently died.”
I wait, half-expecting him to finally open the door.
Silence.
“Her name,” I continue, “was Dora Ohme, and -”
Suddenly something heavy slams into the door from the other side, causing it to shudder violently.
I step back against the wall, and now I can hear more footsteps in the room, as if the man is walking away. I listen for a moment longer, but he seems to be pacing about again, and I'm pretty sure he's walking faster than before, almost as if he's annoyed.
To be honest, I'm tempted to knock again and him to open the door, but I feel like maybe I've missed my chance.
“Okay, then,” I mutter as I head back to my room and unlock the door. “Goodnight.”
Once I'm in the room, I stop and listen to the sound of the man still pacing about next door. He's pretty noisy, but I don't feel like I want to go back to his door and ask him to be quiet. Besides, I guess I understand now how the landlord could have been so certain that Mr. Goodman never went out this evening. If he could hear this racket most of the time, there can't really be any doubt that the other guest was here the whole time. No matter how strangely he's acting, then, he can't have been the one who killed those two poor dogs.
Checking my phone, I take a look at Dora Ohme's profile, but she still hasn't posted another review.
Just as I'm about to put my phone away, however, I realize that maybe there's one way I could gently nudge this particular reviewer, and in the process I might even be able to get some more specific information. I hesitate, trying to work out whether I could really do something so crazy, and then finally I grab my laptop before setting it open on the table next to the window.
It's gone midnight and this feels insane, but I bring up the short story I've been working on. It's almost finished, and I've already gone through it a few times. Scrolling to the middle, I search for a particular paragraph, and then I type an extra line of dialogue so that one of the characters discusses an incident in which a church was ransacked. I even throw in a comment about a soul auction.
And then I upload the story to an account I already opened a while back, and I self-publish the story under my own name, complete with a cobbled-together clip-art cover. It'll take a few hours before the story goes live, but if I'm lucky Dora Ohme – or the person pretending to be Dora Ohme – will read what I've written and leave another review. And maybe that review will tell me a little more about what's happening here.
Too wired and awake to sleep, I bring up another old short story and start looking for ways to get it ready for publication. I need to put a few up, and I need to include elements that prompt Dora Ohme to tell me more about the soul auction, and about things that happen here in Ohme. And maybe even about the day my mother died.
Outside in the night air, spots of rain are tapping at the window.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Lizzie
Thirty years ago
“You were right,” I say as I stand next to the car, looking out across the bay, “it is beautiful.”
After a forty minute drive from Curridge, we're at the most spectacular, secluded little bay. There's not another soul in sight, and Kate is already running along the beach toward a stone pier that juts out into the glittering blue sea. I honestly don't think I've ever been to such a beautiful place in my life.
“I come here sometimes when I want to think,” the man says, opening the boot of his car and taking out an old-fashioned picnic hamper. “Of course, invariably I end up thinking that it's too nice a spot to sit here all alone. I bump into the occasional rambler, but I've always wanted to bring somebody here and show it off to them. I'm very glad that you agreed to come.”
I watch Kate as she stops at the end of the stone pier. Silhouetted against the water, she looks like a normal, happy little girl.
“I don't know your name,” I say suddenly, turning to the man.
“No,” he replies, “you don't, do you?”
He sets the hamper down before coming over to me and holding a hand out.
“Anthony,” he says finally.
“Anthony?”
“Or Tony, I suppose,” he continues. “It's up to you. Most people call me Anthony.”
“Mummy!” Kate shouts from the pier. “Look!”
Turning, I see that she's pointing toward the horizon, and a moment later I see that there's a sailboat in the distance. As if the view wasn't already perfect, I watch as the sailboat bobs on the glittering blue water, and then I hear a gurgle from the car's back seat.
“Excuse me for a moment,” I say to Anthony, before heading over and checking on Alice. She's still on her back, and she smiles as soon as she sees me. For a moment, I can't help feeling as if everything is perfect, but then I feel a flash of guilt as I realize that there's something I briefly forgot.
I forgot my dead husband.
For the first time in six months, I actually forgot that I'm still mourning Rob.
“Are you hungry now,” Anthony asks, “or would you like to wait a while?”
Turning to him, I realize that I feel ashamed. There's a part of me that could genuinely enjoy this little trip to the bay, but I quickly tell myself that I'm not in a position to have fun. I'm here for my children, so that they can have a good time, but I can't allow myself to really relax. If Rob could see me now, spending time with another man, he'd p
robably think that I've forgotten all about him.
“It's up to you,” I say finally, making sure to sound a little disinterested. “I really don't mind. We can't really stay for too long, anyway.”
“I think little Kate is enjoying herself.”
I look back toward Kate and see that she's now sitting on the end of the pier, with her legs dangling over the edge. Sunlit water is glittering in the bay, and Kate genuinely looks relaxed and happy.
“We still can't stay too long,” I say after a moment, turning back to Anthony.
“I thought -”
“We just can't,” I add. “It's our last full day in Curridge, and we have a lot to do.”
“Of course.”
He seems disappointed, but I guess there's nothing I can do about that. I should never have agreed to bring the girls out here with him in the first place, and I'm starting to wish that I'd simply been stricter with Kate. Still, we're here now, so I focus on changing Alice's nappy while making sure that I don't talk to Anthony too much. I keep imagining Rob watching from nearby, and the last thing I want is to break his heart. Finally, once Alice is all set, I lift her out of the car and cradle her in my arms, while trying to think of an excuse to stay away from Anthony as much as possible.
“I think I might take Alice for a walk,” I say, turning to him, “and -”
Stopping suddenly, I see that he's already laid out a lot of sandwiches and packets of crisps. It's clear that he's gone to a lot of trouble.
“See?” he says with a faint smile. “We don't need wine to have a good time. In fact, I rather think I should be training myself to not -”
“Yeah, we have to go for a walk,” I stammer, trying not to panic as I carry Alice around to the other side of the car.
I'm on a date.
Sort of, anyway.
How did I not realize that I was leading this guy on?
The drunken kiss should have been a big red flag, but somehow I went sailing straight past that and now here I am in the middle of another fine mess. Honestly, I knew I could be a little oblivious sometimes, but I had no idea that I could get myself into the same problem two days in a row.