Fireside Gothic

by Andrew Taylor

  ‘OK, yes. But if you’d get dressed, we could sort out the—’

  He waved me away like a fly. ‘But I wasn’t alone in the cave.’

  ‘So the rest of the patrol was there?’

  ‘No. Not them. But something was – I could hear it moving. And there was a smell, like rotting meat. It was pitch-black, but I knew it was coming towards me – there was a lot of debris there and I could hear the stones shifting under its weight.’

  It? I thought. Something?

  ‘I had a cigarette lighter … so then I saw it. Just for a moment. It was a cat, a huge cat.’

  ‘What sort of cat?’

  ‘I couldn’t see it properly. Only its shadow, and the size of it. And the eyes. That was the worst thing, the eyes. They reflected the flame.’

  I crouched beside him on the mattress and took his hand. The skin was cold and clammy, despite the exercise we had had. He didn’t just need a doctor for the scratch on his arm. He needed a psychiatrist to help him deal with whatever was going on in his head.

  ‘Listen to me,’ I said. ‘It’s all over. You’re safe now.’ I heard my voice and remembered myself saying the same words when one of the children woke from a nightmare. ‘It wasn’t real. You’re with me.’

  ‘It was as real as you,’ Jack said. ‘So I shot it.’

  I rocked back on my heels. ‘What?’

  ‘What else could I do? It was going to attack me. I couldn’t hear properly for days afterwards.’

  ‘Was it dead? What was it like?’

  ‘I don’t know. I must have fainted – hit my head or something. The other guys got me out. I wasn’t aware of anything until I woke up on the way back to base.’ He touched his forearm delicately. ‘That’s when I found I’d got this. Everyone said how lucky I was. Just a scratch. That’s what they said. Just a scratch.’

  ‘What about the cat or whatever it was?’

  Jack shrugged. ‘No trace of it. There was some blood on the floor of the cave, apparently. Not much.’

  Of course there wouldn’t be any sign of a cat. It was pretty obvious what must have happened: Jack had probably acquired the scratch when the mine went up, and it had become infected, perhaps with something resistant to antibiotics. The blood would have been Jack’s, or possibly the unfortunate Simon’s.

  ‘I don’t know how big the cat was,’ he said, as if answering the question. ‘I couldn’t tell how far away from me it was. And I only glimpsed it for a second.’ He glanced at me. ‘There used to be Afghan tigers – I looked them up – but they’ve been extinct for nearly a hundred years.’

  While he was speaking, I stood up and finished dressing. ‘Come on,’ I said when he had finished. ‘Get dressed. We’ve got to clear up in here.’

  I looked away when he pulled on his jeans. I was suddenly and absurdly overcome by a need to preserve the proprieties, to protect his modesty and mine. I kept my mind on the practicalities, on the need to get a dustpan and brush, and perhaps some water and a scrubbing brush for the blood. The dead bird had been a magpie, to judge by the feathers. This must have been Cannop’s work. He had plucked and eaten it in his usual methodical way.

  A movement caught my eye, and I swung round to the door, which in our haste we had left ajar.

  Cannop sauntered into the room. Jack backed away from him.

  The cat wasn’t alone. Behind him, holding my camera in front of him in both hands, came Gerald.

  8

  It didn’t occur to me to ask the obvious question until later. I was too busy putting on an elaborate pretence that everything was normal, a performance designed primarily with Gerald in mind but also, to some extent, for myself.

  I kept as close to the truth as possible. Jack had come back from the Forest, opened the door of the Hovel and let out a yell that had brought me running. That wretched cat of ours – which had now slipped away from the scene of the crime – had excelled himself. Jack and I had just been talking about how to deal with the mess.

  Gerald listened, nodding in a way that I hoped was sympathetic. He was still in his work clothes, though he had loosened his tie. When I’d finished, he held up the camera.

  ‘What happened here then?’

  ‘That was me,’ Jack said. ‘I’m so sorry – I had it in my hand when I was coming up the steps – I just dropped it when I saw all this.’

  ‘Never mind,’ I said, which wasn’t very helpful.

  ‘It must be damaged. I’ll buy you another one.’

  But I didn’t want another one. I wanted that one. Gerald had given it to me for my last birthday.

  ‘I hope the memory card’s OK,’ he went on.

  So did I: there were four months’ worth of photographs on there, including my visual working notes for the next exhibition.

  Jack looked from Gerald to me. ‘I got a really good shot of it.’

  ‘Of what?’ Gerald said.

  ‘The wild cat at Spion Kop. It’s huge. You just won’t believe it.’

  ‘I’m going to clear up,’ I said, suddenly sick of hearing about Jack’s phantom cat, and ashamed of myself for what I had done.

  We sorted out the mess in the Hovel. Afterwards, the three of us trailed up the garden to the house. Gerald went upstairs and changed out of his work clothes. While I made tea, Jack ejected the card from the camera. Then he paced up and down the kitchen while Cannop inspected us from the windowsill. Jack and I didn’t talk to one another while we were alone. We avoided meeting each other’s eyes.

  When Gerald returned he had his laptop under his arm. We sat at the table. It was an elderly computer and it took a while to fire up.

  Jack rubbed invisible spots on the pine tabletop. A muscle twitched in his face. The silence between us went on too long.

  ‘You’re back early,’ I said to Gerald, trying to lighten the tone. ‘Given you a holiday, have they?’

  ‘There’s some work I can do at home,’ he said. ‘I can concentrate better without those phones ringing all the time. Or people stopping by for a chat.’ He looked away from me. ‘Sometimes I’d give anything for a bit of peace and quiet.’

  I wondered if that was a dig at Jack.

  The laptop’s screen came alive.

  ‘Let’s have that card then.’

  Gerald held out his hand. Jack hesitated and then gave him the flashcard almost with reluctance. Gerald pushed it into the machine. The two men stared at the screen, waiting for it to register the card’s presence.

  Nothing happened.

  ‘Why isn’t it showing up?’ Jack said, an edge of panic to his voice.

  ‘It’s damaged,’ Gerald said. ‘That’s obvious.’

  ‘But it can’t be,’ I said. ‘All my stuff’s on it. There must be something you can do.’

  He shook his head. ‘I doubt it. I can try, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up. Nothing was backed up?’

  ‘No.’

  He glanced away from me, at the laptop. But he couldn’t quite hide the expression on his face: the hint of triumph. He had been advising me to do regular backups for months, if not years, but I had never seemed to get round to it.

  ‘But what about my pictures?’ Jack said. ‘The ones I took today.’

  ‘You’ve lost them,’ Gerald said. He didn’t even try to sound sympathetic. ‘You’d better get used to it, hadn’t you?’

  For the rest of the day I walked on eggshells, waiting for something to break. Walked? I didn’t walk, I tiptoed.

  The question I couldn’t even begin to think about, let alone ask, was whether Gerald had seen or heard Jack and me before he had appeared in the doorway with my ruined camera in his hand. Gerald was a big man but he moved quietly when he wanted to. Had he heard Jack telling me about the cat and the cave? Had he seen us half dressed? Had he seen us grappling together on that filthy mattress?

  Part of me wanted to tell Gerald, to make a clean breast of it all. I wanted him to understand how helpless I had felt. I wanted him to realize that I didn’t choose this to happen,
how little I had wanted it.

  But I had chosen. In these matters there is always a choice, however much we pretend afterwards that there wasn’t.

  Also, I wanted to tell Gerald in the hope that he would forgive me, which would make me feel better. On the other hand, I argued with myself, if he didn’t already know, then telling him – especially for my own selfish reasons – would hurt him unbearably. So I should simply accept that the consequences of my not telling him were part of the punishment for what I had done.

  On the surface, everything was normal that evening. We made supper together; Jack ate with us. Jack apologized for my camera again and asked for our bank details, so he could transfer some money to our account. Gerald said he thought the insurance would cover it.

  Gerald and I watched TV for a while afterwards, with Cannop purring quietly on my lap and occasionally digging his claws deep into my leg with the luxurious deliberation of a cat enjoying a well-deserved pleasure. Gerald went upstairs, while I tidied up.

  The bedroom was in darkness when I came up, so I slid into bed beside him as gently as possible. I lay there for a moment and listened to his slow, regular breathing. I was relieved he was asleep.

  But he wasn’t. Without warning, he turned towards me. ‘Clare? I’m going to have a word with Jack tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘What about?’ My fists clenched of their own accord.

  ‘He’s been here quite a while now,’ Gerald said. ‘It’s time he moved on.’

  ‘Yes. Maybe.’ Relief made me overenthusiastic. ‘It – it’d be nice to have the place to ourselves again.’

  I listened to Gerald breathing. I could feel his breath on my cheek.

  ‘When will you say something?’ I said at last.

  ‘Tomorrow evening at supper. There’s no great rush.’

  ‘I wonder where he’ll go.’

  ‘He’s got a flat in London,’ Gerald said.

  ‘Has he? I didn’t know.’

  ‘It belonged to his parents.’ He hesitated. ‘I think we’ve done all we can for him.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I said, too quickly.

  ‘And more. Besides, he’s got to get on with life sooner or later.’ He fell silent for a moment and I listened to his breathing. Then: ‘He needs help that we can’t give him. He’s more than odd. Spending all his time in the Hovel or in the Forest. And this thing about the cat. It’s not normal.’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  The mattress rocked as Gerald leaned over to peck my cheek. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight,’ I said.

  I lay there listening to his breathing until a faint grey line appeared between the curtains.

  9

  Jack came in for breakfast the following morning before Gerald had left.

  ‘What are you doing today?’ Gerald asked him, and his casual tone sounded false to my ears.

  ‘I’ll go to Spion Kop again, I think. I’ll see if I can get a better picture on my phone.’

  He was rubbing his arm as he spoke. I couldn’t help asking him if it was OK.

  ‘It’s fine. Just healing.’

  ‘Do you want some disinfectant? A dressing?’

  ‘No, no,’ he said, pushing back his chair. ‘I’ll be off then.’

  He said goodbye and left by the back door. The cat came in as he left.

  Gerald topped up his coffee. ‘What’s wrong with his arm?’

  ‘He’s got a scratch on it. It looked quite nasty the other day, but he keeps saying it’s fine. He’s had it for months, and he won’t have it seen to properly.’

  ‘At that age, they still think they’re indestructible,’ Gerald said.

  I thought it must be a good sign that Gerald went off to work at the usual time. Surely he wouldn’t have left us so easily if he had known what had happened in the Hovel yesterday? If he had had even the slightest suspicion, there would have been some trace of it in his manner.

  Gerald had been gone for less than five minutes when the kitchen door opened. Cannop came in first, tail in the air, followed at a safe distance by Jack.

  I must have shown the alarm I felt in my face.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Jack said. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. ‘I just wanted to tell you that I think I’d better go.’

  ‘What? You mean leave?’

  He nodded. ‘Can’t stay here for ever, can I?’

  ‘Has Gerald said something?’

  ‘No, but – you know – after yesterday – maybe it’s for the best.’ He looked steadily at me, though I knew he couldn’t see me properly without his glasses on. ‘Don’t you agree?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, feeling a mixture of relief and sadness wash over me. ‘Maybe it is for the best.’

  ‘Could you take me to the station? Or I could phone for a taxi.’

  ‘Today? That soon?’

  ‘Why not?’ he said. ‘I haven’t got much packing to do. I thought perhaps this afternoon, if it would suit you.’

  ‘But you won’t see Gerald if you go then. I’m sure he’d want to say goodbye.’

  Jack was still looking at me. ‘I’d rather go now. If you don’t mind.’

  ‘Of course. We could look up the train times. When would you like to leave?’

  ‘About three?’

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

  Jack cleared his throat. ‘I’m going for a walk. I want to go back to Spion Kop this morning. It’s my last chance of getting a decent picture of the cat, even if it’s only on the phone camera.’

  He paused. I wondered if he hoped I would offer to come with him. But at that moment Cannop jumped up to my lap and butted his head against my hand, demanding attention. Jack moved nearer the open door. He waited.

  In the end I said, ‘I’ll see you at lunchtime. It’ll just be bread and cheese or something.’

  ‘Great,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you around midday probably.’

  Cannop was purring now. He and I watched Jack walking down the garden towards the Hovel and the Forest beyond.

  His going left a void. I found it hard to concentrate on anything, let alone on work. I wasted almost an hour on vacuuming and dusting. I went into the studio but frittered away the time in tidying up rather than working. I had Radio Three on and, almost before I realized it, I found myself weeping quietly at the sadness of the music.

  I had lunch, such as it was, on the kitchen table by twelve thirty. (I had fought the temptation to do it before, in case Jack turned up sooner than expected.) I’d done my hair again, too, and checked my face and changed out of my working clothes. Vanity is a strangely persistent and pointless impulse.

  One o’clock passed, and he still hadn’t come. I waited until then before I allowed myself to go to the Hovel. I climbed the steps and banged on the door. There was no answer.

  I tried again and, after a moment or two, tried the handle. The door was locked.

  ‘Hello?’ I said. ‘Jack? Are you there?’

  I returned to the house. I tried phoning him but there was no answer. Perhaps he couldn’t get a signal at Spion Kop. I made myself eat some lunch, but the food tasted like cardboard. Ten minutes later I went back to the Hovel with the spare key in my hand.

  There was no answer to my knock. I called Jack’s name. The only sound was birdsong. I unlocked the door and pushed it open.

  The room was empty. A dark feather fluttered across the floor, driven by the draught. I tried to avoid looking at the filthy mattress propped against the wall. His backpack was leaning against the solitary chair, with his rolled-up sleeping bag attached to it. The camping mattress had been deflated and stowed away in its bag. To all intents and purposes, he had already left.

  The speed of it took my breath away. It wasn’t any use telling myself that I had no reason to feel surprised, let alone hurt or deprived in a mysterious way I didn’t want to analyse. But I felt all of those things.

  In a while I left the Hovel, locking the door behind me. Cannop was waiting for me at the kitchen
door, demanding food. After I had fed him I didn’t know what to do. An hour crawled by. I wasn’t hungry. I made myself tea but left it to go cold. If Jack wasn’t back soon he wouldn’t have time for lunch before he left. If he was much later, he wouldn’t have left before Gerald returned.

  I thought about walking to Spion Kop but there was more than one way to get there and I was afraid of missing him. Besides, I couldn’t be sure he would be there. I tried phoning him again, but as before my call went straight to voicemail.

  At about half past two, I became gradually aware that there was a faint clattering outside. The sound wasn’t loud and it fluctuated in volume. I paid no attention at first. Then, suddenly, I was irritated by it.

  I went into the garden. The sound was much louder outside. It came from the Forest.

  I knew what it was and I could not understand why I had not recognized it sooner. The noise increased and I saw a dark speck tracing an invisible pattern in the grey sky. It was the Police Air Service helicopter. There was no reason to connect it with Jack, I told myself. But all the same I knew beyond all doubt that something had happened to him.

  I had to ring the police. I should have done it sooner. First, though, I needed to contact Gerald, just in case Jack had been in touch with him, because the police would want to know that. And also, I reminded myself, because Gerald had a right to know what was happening.

  In the house, I dialled his direct line. It wasn’t Gerald who answered but the PA he shared with two colleagues. I knew her voice quite well – I had met her often at office parties over the years, and she had been here for lunch once or twice.

  ‘Alex? It’s Clare. Is Gerald around?’

  There was a silence on the other end of the phone. Then: ‘Isn’t he with you?’

  I felt cold fingers squeezing my heart. ‘Of course he isn’t. He’s at work.’