by J. A. Baker
She gathers up the bags of rubbish and dirty bed linen and backs out of the room, closing the door behind her to stop the boys going in there and ruining what she has just spent a good few hours sorting and putting right. Those two barely leave the house in adverse weather and spend most of their time squabbling and complaining about how bored they are while making no attempt to do anything about it. Sometimes, during the winter months, it feels as if the walls are closing in on them all and it makes her jittery and anxious. Spring has arrived just in time to alleviate the growing sense of claustrophobia that settles on her in October with a heavy thud, refusing to leave until spring dawns the following year.
She is on her way downstairs to load up the car with bags for the local charity shop when Callum hurls himself through the front door, nearly knocking her over in the process, a whirlwind of excitement fuelled by uncontrolled teenage hormones charging though his system.
“For god’s sake Callum, slowdown will you!”
She dumps the bags at the bottom of the stairs and rummages in the key box for her car keys. He runs around her, looking sweaty and agitated, an excited sparkle dancing in his eyes.
“Mountain Rescue are all over the place! There’s a huge van parked up next to the village green!”
He rushes past her and throws himself onto the couch with a thump, then kneels up to stare out of the window, his chin resting on his mud stained hands. Anna feels a flutter of apprehension in her stomach as she closes the box and walks over to him,
“Mountain Rescue? What are they here for?”
He glances at her briefly then looks back outside, “Dunno but it looks serious. There’s a load of people there too and a police car. Didn’t see any policemen though.” He is barely able to disguise his disappointment at his last statement.
He points over to the roadside where a handful of people are knotted together talking. Their dark clothes are in sharp in stark contrast to the surrounding countryside and emerging foliage. Buds are starting to appear on trees and bushes, slowly and tentatively as if they’re waiting for a late frost before quickly disappearing again, shrinking away from the biting cold. Behind the throng of people is a huge van with the Mountain Rescue logo on the side. A middle aged man steps out of it and heads over the road towards them. He is wearing a body warmer and a pair of khaki trousers that are tucked into his pale green, thick, woollen socks. On his feet is a pair of well-worn hiking boots. He is carrying a clipboard and has a very serious look on his face as he merges into the crowd who greet him with a series of reserved, clipped nods.
“They’ve been here for ages, knocking on doors speaking to people further down the village near the river,” gasps Callum, barely able to conceal his excitement at the prospect of something out of the ordinary happening near his home. “They might come knocking here if we’re lucky.” He turns to face his mother and lowers his voice, “I mean they might come here and ask us some stuff y’ know.” His face develops a sudden rosy glow as he takes note of her perturbed expression, “I mean, I don’t want anything really bad to have happened or anything like that. . .” His voice tails off and he returns his gaze to the window, the initial lustre of his excitement now tarnished by his mother’s frosty glare.
Anna has a sensation somewhere down in the pit of her stomach that she can’t shake. It isn’t fear or god forbid, any kind of teenage type exhilaration at the thought of what may be going on out there. She doesn’t know what it is. It’s only as she heads outside to the roadside and begins to load the car up with bags of goods bound for the charity shop that she realises what it is she actually feels - dread. She has the strongest sensation that something terrible has, or is about to happen.
Unlocking the car, she gazes over at Phoebe’s house. It looks the same as always. Why wouldn’t it? It’s a quiet, old place with a quiet, dignified family, who, if she is going to be perfectly frank, are bordering on the aloof. People who keep themselves to themselves and appear to all intents and purposes, completely normal. Except Anna knows the heartache that lurks within those walls. She has seen their distress first hand. And she wants to help in some small way. She really does, but she has absolutely no idea where to start.
She stares down at the pile of bags and wonders if she should leave them till another time and instead call over to see her neighbour to offer some support. She is all too aware that the time isn’t right. Would Phoebe want to be seen weeping and helpless? Probably not. But then, perhaps there will never be a good time. Sometimes you just have to do it - bulldoze your way in and do what is required.
Anna stalls and considers her options, then picks the bags up and shoves them in the boot of her car and slams it shut wearily. Her conscience may punish her for it later but right now she has to focus on Toby’s visit. Phoebe will be close by every day; her brother’s time with her is brief. A slight breeze suddenly hits the back of her neck. She stands completely still, sensing somebody close by,
“Afternoon. Lovely village you have here.”
The soft voice doesn’t fit the large frame of man who is stood so near to her she can see the pores on his nose and a few stray hairs on his eyebrows that jut out at divergent angles. He smiles and steps to one side to let her past.
“Hi there. Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No problem,” she says and smiles back at him swallowing hard. What is it with situations like this, when something major is going on? Why does it make her feel as if she has carried out some terrible crime? Mike would blame her catholic upbringing. Ridden with guilt for simply existing he would say. “I was just loading up the car. I’ve been having a bit of a sort out ready for my brother coming to stay.”
She feels her face flush up and stops talking, aware that she is rambling. This man is a perfect stranger. He doesn’t need to know any of what she has just told him. She suddenly feels clumsy. Stupid and out of place. As surreptitiously as she can, Anna wipes her palms down the sides of her trousers and offers him her hand to shake.
“You’ve probably spotted that there’s something going on,” he says quietly, staring over his shoulder at the crowd of people gathered on the village green behind them, “I feel like apologising actually for ruining the peace and quiet. Lovely little place here isn’t it? Tremendous views.”
Anna is immobile, suddenly not sure how to react. Should she wait for him to offer information or should she just go ahead and ask? She looks down at a piece of paper that is hanging limply from his hand. An A4 printed sheet. Anna stares at it, willing him to tell her what is going on right outside her doorstep.
“Ah right, yes sorry I should explain.” He holds up the paper and straightens it out for Anna to read, “Not quite with it today I’m afraid.”
He waits while Anna reads it, her head swaying slightly as she scans the text. She stares at the picture on it and reads it again, her head beginning to throb slightly. This is awful. Worse than she first imagined. Much worse.
“So as I was saying, I’m not quite firing on all four cylinders. Nancy is a close friend of mine and we’re all really concerned. Not like her at all this. Totally out of character.” His lip quivers softly as he speaks.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers and without thinking, Anna reaches out and touches his arm.
He stops for a second, lowers his eyes and takes a series of small, erratic breaths before continuing, “If it’s not too much trouble, we’re asking local people if they have seen her and if wouldn’t mind putting these signs in their windows.”
“Of course,” she murmurs then falls silent. What is there to say? Except how sorry she is and how the hell did all this happen right outside her house? She nods mutely and takes the poster, studying the woman’s face, desperate to summon up any memories from yesterday. Her mind remains stubbornly blank. It was an unremarkable day. She ironed, watched the telly, made the beds. A day full of nothing.
“We’re over the far end of the green if you do remember anything,” he says quietly, “That’s h
er car.” he points over to a small red vehicle next to the growing mass of people. Anna nods and gives a half smile before heading back inside. Suddenly she doesn’t feel like driving into town to get rid of her charity bags. Truth be told, she doesn’t feel like doing anything much at all.
Nine
I wake up groggy, like I’ve been drugged. My eyes feel as if I’ve been in a sandstorm and I ache everywhere. Shafts of light filtering through the blinds are arranged in tiny parallel slivers on the bed beside me as I try to adjust my vision to the early morning glow. The house is silent save for Tillie’s snuffling as she turns over on the rug outside my door. I hear her claws scraping against the carpet as she rolls about and am able to visualise her laid on her back, paws facing up over, tongue lolling sideways out of her mouth, eyes darting around for any signs of movement nearby. I close my eyes and mull over the events of the last twenty-four hours. They are too painful and horrible to even think about. I shiver and slink back down under the duvet hoping to block it all out. Yesterday was not a good day.
Martyn didn’t sleep in our bed last night, which is just as well under the circumstances. I roll over into the still taut sheets on his side, enjoying the feel of the cool sensation on my skin. My face burns as images from last night force themselves into my mind. I press my balled up fists into my eyes and try to blot it all out. Outside I hear the sharp trill of birdsong. Spring has finally arrived and the birds have now found their voices. Robins, terns, finches. I welcome them all. At the minute I welcome anything that will take my mind off yesterday’s terrible affair.
I uncurl myself and reluctantly drag the covers back to sit up, a slight chill brushing over my skin. My back clicks painfully as I reach over for my dressing gown and slip my feet into my moccasins. Keeping my head down is today’s plan. Staying out of Martyn’s way and trying to make it through the day is about all I’ll be able to manage. I drag the blinds to one side and stare out at the sky. It’s a pale blue colour, warm looking and spring-like but that’s no indication as to the temperature outside. This is the UK after all, not the Mediterranean.
I shiver and shuffle off to the bathroom where I listen to the wood pigeons as the sound of their cooing filters through the extractor fan like a surround sound system. It puts me in mind of a store I visited in Yorkshire many years back where murals of the countryside covered every wall in the ladies toilets and the background music was chattering birdsong. It was so absurd and out of place, I’ve never been able to forget it. I let my mind wander back there, allow myself to be coated in the warmth and happiness of the memory. I had been shopping that day, looking for a birthday present for Tom. I enjoyed the challenge of finding that all elusive gift that would surprise him and bring a huge smile to his face. In the end I had settled on a mini helicopter from a shop that sold gadgets for men. It was a small piece of machinery but could fly at a fair old height and I just knew, after much searching, that it would perfect. As it turned out I didn’t even get a chance to give it to him because shortly afterwards Martyn had his accident and our lives were altered irrevocably. The warm glow and happiness leaves me and a murky veil of fury begins to descend. I drag my fingers through my knot of morning hair. If I’m not careful the downward spiralling mood will shroud me and keep me within its clutches for the rest of the day. That’s how it goes sometimes. Especially this morning. And today is a very dark day indeed. The darkest for some time, and given our lifestyle and circumstances, that’s saying something. I stand up and rub at my eyes. Firstly I’ll walk Tillie and after that - well I will wait to see what the day brings. All plans are on hold for the present. But as I have told myself many times before, this too will pass.
I shower and dress and sit for a while in the quiet of the living room, going over yesterday’s events time and time and time again until my head throbs and my stomach is a tight ball and I can think no more. I blow my nose and wipe away the tears then head into the hallway, grab my coat and clip Tillie on her lead. Just a short walk today. Only far enough for her to stretch her legs and relieve herself and then back here. I don’t feel like seeing anyone today. And Martyn had best make himself scarce too. I am not in the mood for any more of his antics. I have just about had enough.
We walk down to the river from the garden and along the footpath. It’s silent, nobody else around. I stand and watch the ripples, mesmerised by the way the morning sunlight bounces over them, swirling and disappearing only to be replaced by more. Suzie face appears in the water. She is always there, flitting around, dancing on the periphery of my thoughts. I think of her constantly; that day down by the river, how perfect her skin looked and how the sunlight bounced off her hair; her dying screams as she sank beneath the surface of the water. Fighting back yet more tears, I lean down to stroke Tillie, then straighten up and head off through a clearing in the bushes. That’s when I see them, knocking on doors, asking questions, looking for her. My pulse quickens and a hot, angry glow spreads over my skin. I can’t think of any way I can escape from this. I suddenly feel helpless. Trapped.
“Come on Tillie,” I murmur as I reach down to run my fingers through her short stubby ruff. Sticky buds are tucked under the fur and I gently drag them out one by one as we continue walking past the group of people gathered by the roadside. “Let’s get back and get a late breakfast eh?”
I walk just a little too quickly, Tillie’s tiny legs struggling to keep up as I march home at a lick. I hurry inside and lock the door behind me, my head swimming as I bend down to take Tillie’s leash off.
Martyn is nowhere to be seen. Probably still in bed, his memory erased, his conscience clear. I take a couple of seconds, try work out what to do for the best, then I go from room to room angling the blinds so it’s almost impossible for anyone to see inside. They would have to cross the gravel drive, their feet crunching over the stones, and stand to one side to peer in. It would be in such an obtrusive and calculated manner, it would be obvious to anyone watching exactly what they were doing. Today is a day to hide. I am not in the mood to see anyone and certainly not up to a barrage of questions from strangers.
I quietly pad upstairs and see that Martyn is indeed still asleep in the spare room. He is laid on top of the covers and the curtains are wide open, light flooding into all four corners of the room. Unless you knew otherwise, you would think the place was unoccupied. I stare at him, at his lined face and greying tousled hair, the way his eyes flicker occasionally as he sleeps and I feel sickened by the very sight of him. It’s all I can do to stop myself from striding over and slapping him hard across his stupid face. I close the door and head downstairs, my heart beating a rapid, uncomfortable rhythm as the thought of what happened yesterday jumps into my head. I quash it, blank it out. I have no choice. It’s the only way I’m going to be able to keep going, to make it through the day.
Breakfast consists of toast and coffee whilst reading the papers online. I have to act normal. I absolutely must. My routine is all I have. The toast sticks in my throat and I have to force it down, swallowing rapidly and taking long slurps of my cappuccino to aid its journey. Tillie sits patiently at my feet waiting for any crumbs. I finish eating and continue to read, the words blurring as I stare at the iPad. None of it makes any sense to me. Usually a keen observer of the political pages, today I have no interest. I push it across the table and sit in silence. No movements from upstairs. Nothing happening anywhere.
My skin suddenly prickles as I hear a light, but definite rap at the door. I flinch and creep towards the living room, blood surging through my ears making me light headed and slightly nauseous. They are here. I know exactly what this will be about. From the hallway I can see that a stranger is standing outside - a large male outline. Probably somebody involved in the search, possibly even a police officer. My stomach wants to heave. I swallow and head towards the kitchen, fear blinding me. Tillie starts to run around in circles at my feet. Gently I pick her up and put her in the utility room with her crate of toys. Thank god she isn’t a barker.
I shut her in and tiptoe back into the kitchen where I sit to one side, away from the window. I’m tempted to close the blinds completely. But then what if they decide to walk round the back? They can easily access the garden via the walkway. Another thought occurs to me. What if they continue to knock and wake Martyn? I can’t let that happen but then I can’t answer the door to them either. I simply can’t do it. The problem is, of course, they probably saw me walk past them and come in the house. They know I’m here. My breath begins to pump out in small, hot gasps and I have to take deep breaths to still my racing pulse. I tap at my temple with my fingers and out of nowhere a plausible idea implants itself in my brain. Upstairs. I need to get upstairs as quick as I can. With robotic movements I make my way up there and into the bathroom where I turn the shower on full blast. The water thunders onto the tray blocking out the insistent rapping from below. Hopefully they will see the steam coming out from the extractor fan, hear the hiss of the boiler and leave me in peace. I sit on the edge of the toilet seat and think through it with as much rationality as I can muster. They have no reason to think I know anything about what went on. I’m just another resident living a quiet life in a sleepy village. Why would they want to talk to me about it anyway? A middle aged woman with a disabled husband to care for, and new to the village to boot. Hardly a suspect. I feel a sudden rush of blood to my head and place it in my upturned hands on my lap to stem the overwhelming sense of nausea. I’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing at all. It was Martyn you see. And I can’t let anything happen to him. As much as I hate him at this moment in time, he is still my husband. He needs protecting from it all and he can’t possibly be held responsible for his actions with all the horrors and demons he has whirling around in his brain. So much turmoil. So much misery. He’s disabled, mentally ill - call it what you will, but he isn’t able to control himself sometimes and quite frankly, it just isn’t his fault. And anyway when things like this happen, I have to help him because his current predicament is partly my doing. He wouldn’t be in this state if it hadn’t been for the fall on the cliffs. We’d been arguing you see, and he lost his footing and slipped. I’d like to say that I can’t recall what the argument was about but that would be a lie. I remember it very well. As if it was yesterday actually. It had been an ongoing argument. The whole thing escalated and before I knew it, Martyn was laid on the rocks, his body twisted at a painful, awkward angle, a low guttural moan emanating from his throat. Such a horrid day. A throbbing sensation settles itself behind my eyes as I do my best to blot out the memory. It taunts me, so vivid and unforgettable with its clarity and before I know it, the throbbing has developed into a migraine that I know will stay with me for the remainder of the day.