Undercurrent

by J. A. Baker

  “Don’t worry. I’m all grown up now. I can manage.”

  ....................................................................................................................................................

  Anna savours the silence after the hubbub of teatime and arguments over who would get the first shower are over. Slipping her feet into a pair of battered old trainers she grabs her gilet, no need to get dressed up like a real rambler. She’s only going out to view the sunset for heaven’s sake. Some of the walkers that pass by here carry their lives in the rucksacks that sit on their backs, forcing them to practically bend double under the weight. All she wants to do is have a stroll, perhaps take some pictures. It’s an idea that has rumbled around in her head for a while now - taking up photography. Her OU studies are almost over and she will find herself at a loose end pretty soon. Either that or she goes back to work. And although she has enjoyed being at home for the past few years the idea has niggled at her that she needs more from life. She had kind of hoped that she and Phoebe might hit it off, spend a bit of time together but it looks like that isn’t to be. Phoebe has made it quite clear she would rather be on her own. After that night in her kitchen, when Anna thought she had at last broken through her neighbour’s positively glacial disposition, Phoebe has lived like a recluse. Anna called over a few days later but without the gelling factor of coffee or cakes or all the things Anna likes to do, she found herself at a loss as to how she could connect with her. So she hasn’t. She has left things as they were that evening; mildly jovial and pleasant. In fact if Anna remembers rightly, Phoebe left in quite a hurry. She did wonder if she had said or done something to upset her. They had both had a fair bit to drink so it’s all a bit blurry. She shrugs and pushes a packet of tissues deep into her pocket. Ah well. You can’t win them all can you?

  Slamming the door shut and locking it, Anna scurries down the path and over the village green, gulping in the cold air, savouring its freshness and the clean sensation she feels as it travels down into her lungs. She breaks into a light run until she reaches the undergrowth and is enclosed by conifers and poplars and fir trees. Hemmed in on all sides. Her very own enclave of anonymity. How lovely. It never ceases to amaze her how much being surrounded by nature can lift her spirits. And the deeper she goes into the woods, the more liberated and lighter she feels. She smiles. Mike was right. It is chilly. Not freezing. Just bracing. That’s fine. She can handle bracing.

  Marching on over the sloping green, she stumbles down a stony bank and finds herself on the river path. She looks up. Clouds are gathering overhead but with any luck she might get some decent pictures of the expected sunset before they release their contents. A small surge of excitement wells up in her chest as she sets off at a rapid pace - too fast to keep up for an indefinite period but for now it suits her. She is feeling energetic, full of beans. Her skin prickles and there is electricity flowing through her veins. She finds herself wondering why she doesn’t do this more often.

  Up ahead she can see the giant hogweed already at waist height. Come mid-summer, unless somebody lops it down, it will be the size of a grown man, if not higher, with sap that can blister and burn the skin of anybody unfortunate enough to come into contact with it. Sometimes it blocks the river path and villagers, covered with elbow length gloves and as many layers of clothing as possible, take it upon themselves to cut it down. And then the following year it’s back. Bigger and stronger than ever before. Anna breathes in deeply. Too many smells to differentiate. Her favourite is the Himalayan Balsam that lines the riverbank. Even taller than the hogweed, its overpowering fragrance fills the air and Anna stands stock still, just letting it fill her nostrils until her olfactory system becomes so inured to it, she can no longer detect its powerful scent. On a whim, she turns and follows the path in the opposite direction. She rarely takes the route that runs behind Phoebe’s house as it involves climbing over a number of stiles and getting snarled up in bramble bushes that have been left to grow wild by the local council. But today she feels ready to confront anything. She makes a point of not looking up at the back of Phoebe’s house. Not that it matters. She’s gotten quite used to being ignored of late. She’s completely over it.

  The path is longer than she remembers, uneven and muddy. Her breath comes out in a series of small ragged gasps as she climbs over a stile and fights through the overgrown foliage that has encroached the path to the point where it is almost inaccessible. She refuses to let a few weeds stop her and dips her head, ploughing through the brambles, her hair becoming entangled, thorns snagging at her hands and face.

  It takes almost an hour of walking and climbing and fighting her way through the undergrowth before she can properly lift her head again and see daylight. She emerges into an open field, into a curious stillness that sends a creeping sensation over her burning skin. She looks up to the sky and notices the clouds are gathering force, blocking the sun. Sinister and draped over the horizon, they will make as good a photograph as any sunset. Anna dips her hand into her pocket and drags her phone out. The flashing battery sign catches her eye. Damn. She holds it up to the bubbling, grey clouds and presses. The screen turns black and a small vibration tells her she has missed her chance. She pushes it back into her pocket with force. Bloody stupid thing. She only charged it last night as well.

  Her feet are rooted to the spot as she scans the area for something that will tell her she’s still on the path. This is fairly big expanse of land with no indicators as to where she should go next. Slowly, she turns her head and stops when she spots a small wooden arrow that tells her to keep going forwards. Of course, she should have guessed really. The path follows the course of the river. This will be worth it, photograph or no photograph. She smiles and feels a tiny flurry of excitement at being out here on her own, being able to discover the world beyond her own front doorstep and be independent - no teenagers, no telephones, no TV blaring in the background, just the occasional caw of the crows circling overhead and the dull drone of insects as they hover over the water, dancing and swaying in its rising mists. Behind her a sudden boom takes her breath away and sends a buzzing sensation through her skull. Anna raises her eyes and watches as a streak of jagged white lightning blazes its way across the darkening skies. The grey, looming clouds have fulfilled their promise. Another crack reverberates overhead. She counts the time lapse between the flashes and each clap of thunder. Ten seconds. The clouds are heading westwards which means the storm will soon be right above her. She huddles down into her collar for warmth as the temperature takes a sudden and unexpected dip. A brief sun shower is all it is. She will be fine. She feels sure of it. She’s a grown up for goodness sake, if she can’t handle being caught out in a storm practically on her own doorstep then there’s something seriously wrong with her. She does however, need some shelter out of the oncoming downpour. A copse of trees at the far end of the field suddenly looks inviting. She can wait there until it all clears. Which it will. That much she is sure of. The wind is picking up. It will all blow over fairly soon. She sets off at a lick but the heavens open before she gets there and by the time she manages to find an area she can hide under she is sodden. Droplets of rain slip between the branches as the downpour gains in momentum and begins to fall in great sheets. Anna shivers and tries to crouch further under the canopy of trees but ends up standing in an area of thick mulch. Almost immediately, the damp begins to seep through her canvas trainers. She looks down at her feet and swears under her breath. Bloody stupid British weather. Always guaranteed to let you down. Water drips on her lashes, misting up her vision, more circles the rim of her collar before running down her back, causing her shirt to stick to her skin like an ice pack. Within a few minutes, the dark clouds have bunched up into a huge, black sinister mass and the remaining daylight has all but disappeared. Cursing loudly, Anna makes the decision to carry on walking otherwise she could end up stuck under these trees all night. After all, you can’t get wetter than wet, can you? The cows i
n the field turn to watch her as she dashes back out into the storm, across the grass into a nearby churchyard. With any luck there might be a doorway she can stand in. The church might even be open and she can go inside and wait.

  The heavy, ornate lych-gate lets out an almighty groan as she pushes it open, dips under the overhanging bramble bush and into the graveyard. The church and its grounds are slightly elevated and as she peers over the fence in the far corner, she recognises her home village in the distance and the trajectory of the river. She sucks in her breath. It is miles back. Much farther back than she expected it to be. She shivers, suddenly aware of how wet her clothes are and how cold she is. And now she has been starkly reminded that she is a long way from home. Once she loses all the light, she could easily get lost and stumble into the water. She stares up again. The sky westwards is almost black and this weather is just getting started. So much for a brief shower. Battling the small, still voice that is telling her set back off home, Anna grasps the large handle of the church door. She stops and issues herself an ultimatum. If it’s open, she will go inside, wait a bit, see what happens with the weather. If it’s locked? Well if it’s locked, she will turn right round and head back home. With slippery, freezing hands, she rotates the huge metal handle that is almost twice the size of her fist. Nothing happens. She leans against it and pushes hard with her shoulder. Nothing. Definitely locked. Damn. It’s a lovely old church, dainty and pretty and she really did want to stay. Another thunderclap sounds overhead and a huge drop of rain catches the side of her face with a smack and traces its way down her neck. Reaching her hand round her back, Anna flicks her hood up only to realise that it too, is soaked through and contains a puddle of water which slaps the back of her hair and pours over her neck and down her between her shoulder blades in huge rivulets. A quiver pulses at her stomach. It looks like the decision has been made for her. Glancing over to the village in the distance, Anna shudders. How is that possible? It seems even further away than a few minutes ago. At least two or three miles. Maybe even further. Her eyes close as she concentrates on her breathing. All of a sudden she feels rather scared. She kicks at the ground angrily sending a spray of water up over herself. This is stupid. She is a grown woman for god’s sake. All she has to do is brave the elements and follow the path back the way she came. How hard can it be?

  The water has risen a huge amount even in the short time she has been out. Anna tries to stem the quiver of mild panic that is tapping at her insides as she heads back over the field and into the woods. The light is almost gone save for a slash of burning sky that straddles the horizon. Her sunset. Her reason for being here. She laughs. There has to be some irony in that.

  Huge puddles litter the path as she sets back off home. Stumbling through the bracken and foliage, Anna waves her arms about to bring down any low lying branches that could tear at her skin or get snarled in her hair. Her brisk walk breaks into a trot and before she knows it, she is running through the darkness, suddenly desperate to get home. She lowers her eyes to the ground. One wrong step and she could lose her grip on the path and be down on her backside or worse still, break a bone. The thought of being stuck out here in the dark and the rain almost makes her physically sick. She thinks of the missing lady and has to stop to overcome a bout of dizziness. Out here. In the pitch black. Alone. Thirsty, cold and dying. A small sob escapes from her throat as she picks up her pace again and breaks into a run. She is now so very, very cold. The temperature has plummeted in the last few minutes even and is continuing to drop. Bad idea. This was such a bad idea. Her saturated trainers slip and slide along the wet path, her legs scissoring wildly as the rain hammers down onto the ground turning it into a mud bath. Not daring to stop to catch her breath, she continues on, clambering over stiles, her freezing hands slipping on the slimy, wet wood, staggering through the dark. She forces herself on, head down, determined to get home. Stepping to one side to avoid a pile of logs and a huge pool of water, Anna feels herself sinking, her entire body leaning over to one side as she slides down an embankment. She leans forward, grabbing at anything she can find to stop her fall. A searing pain stabs at her fingers and runs up her arms as she inadvertently seizes a hawthorn branch, the spikes violently tearing at her skin. As if burnt, Anna shrieks and lets go, hanging onto the branch of a larger nearby tree to stop her inevitable slide down to the river. Her breath shudders out of her chest with a deep rumble and she does her best to clamber back up before realising one of her feet is firmly lodged, trapped under something solid. She tries to look backwards but it’s so dark and the shrubbery is so dense, she can’t see what is stopping her from moving. Turning to one side, Anna manages to twist her foot and extricate it but the trainer remains firmly jammed. She brings her leg up and massages the ball of her foot. What now? If she had thought to charge her phone up before leaving, she would at least have some light and be able to retrieve her shoe, perhaps even call for help, but as it is, she risks falling further into the thickets and darkness by leaning too far down to get it. Shit! Her head is fuzzy with fear and for a second she thinks she may even pass out. Hauling herself up on to the path, Anna tentatively puts her foot down on the mud. It’s bearable. Wet and deeply unpleasant but bearable. All she needs to do is watch out for stones and gravel and she will be fine. She needs to just keep going. She needs to get home. Her untidy house, her husband, her children - all the things that normally irritate the life out of her, are now all she can think about. Putting all her weight on her shoe covered foot, Anna hobbles on, careful to avoid any raised areas that may have stones embedded in them. Her gait is unsteady and she slips, the floor coming up to meet her as she lands on her hands in the thick sludge. As rapidly as she can, she hoists herself back up, frightened that if she stays down there for too long, she will never get back up. She can’t stop. It is now really dark and she absolutely must get home no matter what. She sets off and once again finds herself down on her knees in the middle of a filthy, cold puddle. Tears get the better of her and begin to roll, her small gasps and sobs filling the silent night air. Tears and snot mesh into each other and drip off her chin as she grabs hold of a clump of wet grass and hoists herself upright.

  She stumbles on for what seems like hours, slipping, falling, getting snagged by thorns, squinting in the darkness, sobbing. Her shoeless foot is so cold and wet, she can no longer feel it, all sensation gone from the ankle down. By the time she spots a dim light in the distance she is practically slipping and sliding along on her hands and knees, her hair a mass of knots and tangles from the shrubbery and her face covered in god knows what. She lets out a small, dull grunt of relief at the tiny glowing window. A beam of hope, its radiance so magnificent and so welcome she has to stuff a dirt covered hand over her mouth to stifle the scream before it escapes unchecked. Slowly and painfully, she shuffles towards it, not entirely certain where the light is actually coming from. She no longer cares. It’s a window and a window means a house. And a house means safety and warmth. She is determined to crawl towards it no matter what. That light is her saviour, her beacon. At this moment in time she would haul herself over hot stones to reach whatever it is that lay beyond that pane of glass.

  There is a rustle a few feet ahead. Anna stops, her heart fluttering around her chest like a small caged bird. She waits until the sound comes again. Tries to work out what it is. A pigeon perhaps or maybe some type of small predator like a kestrel or a hawk? No, it’s too late and too dark. A badger or a stoat even? A person? Her throat closes up at the thought. Nancy’s face flashes in her head. Oh Jesus, what the hell is it? She desperately wishes there was more daylight. What on earth possessed her to even do this? Her breathing vibrates through her ribs in short, jerky bursts as she hauls her leaden legs along, doing her utmost to remain silent. Her eyes ache as she shuts them momentarily to gather her thoughts. She has never been so frightened. One wrong move and this thing hiding in the bushes could spot her and they may even have a weapon and. . . She stops herself. This is stupid
. She can’t think like that. This is a safe place. A tiny village in the north of England, not Los Angeles for god’s sake. The noise is louder, closer, moving towards her. She wants to scream but something inside her stops it from erupting out of her throat like hot lava. A flicker to the side causes her to turn. She is met with a pair of staring, amber eyes. This time the shriek finds its way out and Anna watches as a small fox trots out of the bushes and swaggers on up the path, completely unruffled by her presence. Almost gasping with fear and relief, her head aflame with a hard, intense buzzing sensation, Anna staggers the last few paces to the quadrangle of light, suddenly realising she is behind Phoebe’s house. Her laugh borders on the hysterical. She has made it. She is home. At long last, she is home.

  “Who is that? What are you doing out there?”

  Anna’s knees buckle and an icy tremor runs down her spine before realising she recognises the voice.

  “Phoebe? Is that you?” Her words come out as a whisper and her throat contracts, closing up like a tightened fist. She fears she may burst into tears again at any minute.

  A thin, conical beam of ochre light travels over her head and circles on the trees in the distance before coming back and illuminating the right hand side of her saturated and filthy body. Anna looks over to its source and can just about make out Phoebe, standing on the patio. The tears escape and she begins to sob hysterically. With no way of stopping it, a deep howl forces its way out of her gut and into the dense, eerie blackness of the surrounding woods.

  “Anna? Oh my word, Anna you poor thing! What on earth has happened to you?”

  Within a matter of seconds, Phoebe is by her side, propping her up, holding her steady as they both slide about in the quagmire beneath their feet. The path is almost swamp like as Phoebe holds Anna’s arm and half shuffles, half drags her up the garden and onto the patio which with the flick of a switch, lights up a football stadium. They are suddenly drenched in its luminosity. Too tired and distraught to speak, Anna allows herself to be led inside into the warmth of the house. The door clicks closed behind her and she slumps to the floor in a deluge of hot unchecked tears.