The Thin Place

by C D Major

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow? After the morning show.’

  ‘Great.’ Ava dredged up a smile.

  The door clicked closed and Ava returned to the screen, unease rising, wishing for a moment that Claudia was still in the room. Neil had taken shots of the bridge from below, the soaring arches transporting her back there. Even in the safety of the studio, Ava felt threatened by the moving images. From the top of the bridge, he had filmed the drop to the rocks below. Ava’s stomach lurched as she recalled peering into the gorge.

  She watched again the blur that was Gus’s determined run towards the edge, his hop onto the parapet. The horror on her own face as he passed her, the foot that pinned his trailing lead. Would he have dived over it? She put the headphones back on her head and rewound the footage, fiddling with the volume.

  The crackle was unmistakeable. Her voice loud and disjointed and then disappearing into the roar of water that Neil had insisted would be alright. It was more than just water, though. She had been fifty feet above the gorge. As she strained to listen, she heard the disturbance, her voice lost. She saw lines leap erratically on the monitor in front of her as a low persistent hiss, like a television that had lost its aerial, interrupted the clip. And then, through the white noise, came another sound that chilled her blood.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, plunged into something dreadful. Wishing she could block out what she could hear, fumbling for the volume once more. But it was too late. It had filled her head now. The high-pitched sound of a baby crying, one mewl that bled into the next, on and on, louder even than the distorted thunder of the water.

  Ava pulled the headphones back, pushed herself away from the desk, her chest rising and falling as she felt the room darken around her. She needed to get out, needed the reassuring brightness of the newsroom, the normal noises of the day, not that unearthly sound.

  She must have pulled the headphones from their jack as suddenly the small square room reverberated with the sounds, as if the river was about to burst through the wall in front of her, as if the rocks were around her. Then the high-pitched wail, like a terrible siren. The scream of a baby over it all.

  For a second she imagined the flutter of something inside her own body, inside her womb – something she had yet to feel . . . She put a hand on her stomach, imagining the baby inside her as she stumbled from her chair, surrounded still by the cry that seemed to fill the room, fill her own head. Then it stopped as abruptly as it had begun.

  Chapter 14

  CONSTANCE

  The doctor is coming to see me today and I am to say my leg hurts. It is very important that I say this. I touch the leg that is hurting. If I say it is, I can sleep in the bedroom with Mother. I really want to sleep in her bedroom with the green leaves on the walls. It is so nice in the bed with four poles. I lie on the soft pillows on one side of the bed but sometimes in the night Mother turns and her arm is right next to me so I can snuggle my face next to it and feel the tiny hairs on her arm tickle my cheek. Last time I didn’t sleep for ages, almost all night, waiting for her to turn, trying to remember the shapes of the furniture in the dark for other days, the smell of Mother sleeping, the sound of water gurgling, owls outside, my head full of all the things.

  The view from Mother’s room is different too. It looks out over the walled garden and you can see the big cliff rocks called craigs making the house seem a hundred times smaller. When the sky goes a dark blue, they are completely black, a solid nothing that could suck us all inside. For a second it is like the green leaves in the bedroom are shifting and curling, reaching to wrap around me, to keep me close and stop me disappearing. I’m pleased when Mother pulls on the tasselled rope that draws the thick velvet curtains closed.

  I have my breakfast on a tray as usual, but Mother waits as I eat, her head tipped to one side. My hand shakes as I lift the spoon to my mouth. I hope I am doing it right.

  The porridge tastes different today. Sweeter. And I feel strong enough to put my different clothes on. I don’t tell Mother that, though, as I like when she dresses me, feeling her warm breath on my cheek as she leans over me to button my blouse and help me put my arms in the sleeves of my cardigan. My heart skips when she appears with the shoes with buckles on, as I know I will be allowed upstairs in the house. They feel tight as I squeeze them on, but I don’t mind. My heart beats faster at what lies ahead.

  Mother frowns at me as I hop from one foot to another, my insides not hurting so much. When she lifts one eyebrow, I remember my leg and stop moving.

  ‘How long has your leg been hurting?’ she asks.

  I rub it; it doesn’t ache more than my other leg really and today they don’t feel weak or wobble and there’s no pain in my stomach that makes me want to be sick. ‘More than a week,’ I say, remembering what she told me and beaming at her.

  The eyebrow is lifted higher and I fix my face again – no smile.

  ‘And your other pains?’ she asks.

  I don’t have to really think hard this time. ‘I still hurt in my tummy on most days and feel dizzy and most days I am sick from my mouth.’

  Mother nods once and I feel pleased that her eyebrows are normal and she looks happy. I know she’ll talk to the doctor because she always does, but it’s good if he asks me a question for me to explain it the right way.

  ‘It’s time, then.’ She moves across to the door and I want to jump up and run straight there with my too-tight shoes and my heart leaping from my chest. But I move slowly, one hand on my leg like she showed me, and I see her nod again and I can’t help smiling now – but she smiles back, and when she does I think it is just the two of us in the whole world and it is wonderful, and I’m going upstairs into the house, across the stripy tiles and into the smart drawing room with the peppermint walls and the babies that smile from the ceiling and the huge windows that show the sun all day and I’m going to spend the day with Mother and not be alone in my room any more looking at the diamond windows.

  For more than a week, this leg, I repeat in my head because the doctor will come soon and I must get it right so I can stay upstairs all day and play and explore more rooms and then spend the whole night with Mother. And maybe, if I am really good, I won’t have to go back to my room on my own any more.

  The bliss of the door opening, the air changing as I step into the corridor, my shoes loud when I normally have bare feet. It is always colder, the air swirling around me in the house, not stuffed into my room with nowhere to go. Ahead is the big brown bear, taller than Mother. I stay close to her legs, afraid he’s not really dead but only pretending.

  I follow Mother into the drawing room and move slowly to the long sofa that’s curved with no back and sit on it with my feet together, my shiny shoes squeezing me, and cross my hands in my lap waiting for the bell to sound in the hallway and the doctor to arrive. Mother is smoothing her hair in the mirror over the fireplace, her blue eyes bright, her movements quicker. More than a week, this leg, I repeat in my head as I rub at it.

  The bell sounds in the hallway and Mother glances at me, nods again. It is time.

  Chapter 15

  AVA

  She had returned to her desk with trembling legs, barely acknowledging another reporter moving past her into the editing suite she had just left.

  The colours and sounds of the newsroom were muted as she lowered herself into her chair. For a moment she simply sat there. What had she heard? The insistent wail of that baby clouded her thoughts. She felt the strange darkness wash over her, the same sensation she had felt when she had stood on the edge of that bridge.

  ‘Ava!’ Garry was crossing the office towards her, a pen and paper in his hand. ‘Ava, have you sent the piece to Alex? Ava?’

  Ava felt herself returning to the room. ‘I was about to email her, sorry. The footage we got, it’s . . . the sound in places . . . it’s . . . not right.’ She licked her lips, feeling silly as she attempted to explain.

  ‘Did Neil screw up?’

  ‘No. No one scr
ewed up.’ Why didn’t she tell him what she had heard? ‘Even if I replaced the bits with voiceover, I’m not sure we have enough anyway – and we never did find a dog owner. I think I’d like to re-film one day . . .’

  Garry’s eyebrows drew together. ‘We could just drop it. A dog hasn’t jumped for a while and—’

  ‘No.’ The word came out sharper than Ava had intended. Something about the place had got under her skin. Despite her body almost instinctively wanting to arch back, she could feel a tug inside her. ‘No, I want to go back there. I don’t mind going on my own. I’ll self-shoot and use some of the stuff from today . . .’

  Garry shrugged. ‘If you like.’ He was always accommodating – the producer Ava most liked to work with. Claudia teased that he let her do whatever she wanted. Ava had always protested the fact. Perhaps Claudia had a point.

  ‘Well, I’d better tell Alex to come up with something else, then.’ Garry tapped the pen on his teeth.

  ‘Great. Would you?’ Ava was already packing up her bag and drifting towards the door. ‘Thanks.’

  She had bought herself time, storing the SD card in her top drawer to use at a later date. She shivered as she thought of returning to Overtoun by herself.

  She didn’t remember the drive home, her mind catching up with everything that had happened. The flat was immaculate. If Fraser was cleaning, he was definitely bored. The thought left her head as soon as she kicked off her shoes and slumped onto their pale grey sofa. Taking out her phone, she had a thought and then started to type. Thin places . . . Celtic myths . . . fairy circles . . . jumping dogs . . .

  She didn’t hear Fraser walk up the stairs and push open the door to their flat, but he called out and she glanced up, the sky outside now streaked with cloud.

  He was laden with shopping bags and started pulling cupboard doors open and closed. ‘Have you been back a while?’

  ‘Hmm . . . what’s that?’ Ava was back to staring at the small text on her phone.

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’ Fraser poked his head through the hatch between the two rooms. ‘I thought I’d do a barbecue?’

  ‘Hmm . . .’

  ‘Thought I’d make that sauce.’

  ‘Hmm . . .’

  ‘The one your mum always makes.’

  ‘Really?’ Ava mumbled, not quite concentrating.

  Fraser’s voice was closer now. ‘Yup, because I’ve always really fancied her . . .’

  ‘Great.’ Ava scrolled down her phone, opened up new windows and made random notes on a pad.

  Fraser put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Ava!’

  She jumped, the phone slipping from her grip. ‘Fraser, what the hell?’

  He laughed as she fumbled to retrieve it. ‘I knew you weren’t listening. Angry Twitter rant? Who’s done what?’

  Ava had momentarily misplaced her sense of humour. ‘I’m working.’ She waved the phone at him.

  ‘Alright.’ The laughter fled from his eyes. ‘Well, I was just saying I thought I’d make that barbecue sauce your mum makes.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Ava squirmed, her eyes still drifting back to the information on her phone. She didn’t move from the sofa as Fraser moved past her to open the double doors to their small iron balcony. He lit a round barbecue they hardly ever used and soon smoke was billowing into the air, the charcoal smell filling the flat. She was barely aware of him moving back and forward from the balcony to the kitchen, lost in local council reports, historical houses, photographs of ancient stones, trying to make sense of her day.

  The amateurish blog about Overtoun Bridge contained theories about why the dogs jumped: a strange scent; a terrifying frequency only dogs could hear; they were lured to it by the ghost of a White Lady; and, lastly, a brief mention of a thin place. What were those? She discovered more articles about thin places, nodding to herself as one writer described them as mesmerising.

  That bridge.

  The air, the atmosphere had been different. Other. She trembled as a little glimmer of how she had felt by the bridge returned to her.

  ‘Could you grab the plates and things?’ Fraser hollered sometime later, the sizzle and spit of the meat behind him. ‘Ava?’ She eventually dragged her eyes away. ‘Plates!’

  ‘Coming, coming. Sorry.’ She went into the kitchen and loaded a tray with plates, cutlery, a cloth and carried the tray outside, itching to get back to her trawling for more information. A baby’s cry made her start, the tray wobbling before she steadied it. She felt an icy chill in an instant. ‘Do you hear that?’

  Fraser looked around, confused. ‘What?’

  ‘The baby?’

  ‘Oh yeah, think they’ve been trying to get the poor thing to sleep for a while.’

  Ava felt her shoulders slump with the relief that the noise hadn’t been in her head. Fraser had turned back to the barbecue, prodding at the meat, the delicious smell drawing her towards him. She encircled his body, solid and familiar. He put one hand on hers.

  ‘Thanks for cooking,’ she said into his T-shirt.

  ‘That’s alright.’ His voice was gentle as he removed her hand. ‘I need to check on the sauce.’ Fraser rarely stayed annoyed with her for long, quick to forgive.

  She started to wipe down the white wrought-iron table and chairs and lay the table for them, still thinking of the White Lady: a figure wandering those grounds. She shivered as she thought back to that desolate spot beneath the bridge.

  The sun sank from the sky as they ate. It was ribboned with bluish purple hues and a couple of stars had emerged. Ava smeared a chunk of bread in the dark sauce on her plate. It was thick and tangy.

  Fraser rested back in his chair. ‘You seem quiet.’

  She almost didn’t say anything, was unsure how to put her disjointed thoughts into order. ‘It was a weird day,’ she said, finally.

  ‘How so?’ He chewed on a last mouthful, his eyes searching her face.

  ‘It was a piece we were doing . . . on an estate in Dumbarton. Supposedly dogs died by suicide at a bridge there.’

  ‘Suicide?’ Fraser’s fork hovered over his plate.

  Ava nodded. ‘They jump. There’s a sign there warning people.’

  ‘That sounds horrible.’

  ‘It was.’ A bolt of hatred for the place coursed through her and yet, underneath it, that familiar current that drew her further in. ‘It was the creepiest place – a thin place. Have you ever heard of thin places?’

  Fraser shook his head. His lips screwed up.

  ‘I’ve read a bit more about them. It seems there are some places where two worlds sort of . . . merge.’ Fraser’s face twitched. She knew he was sceptical about anything supernatural. Perhaps her tone was serious enough for him not to interrupt her. ‘So normally the real world and the eternal world are far apart but in thin places they cross over.’

  Fraser moved his arms up and down. ‘Woooh.’

  Ava found a smile lodged somewhere inside her. ‘It’s just . . . this is going to sound odd, but I did feel something. Something I’ve never felt before.’

  Fraser’s arms dropped. ‘OK.’ He seemed to select his next words carefully. ‘Maybe you felt things because you were expecting to be scared, your body already reacting. Like when it’s dark and we see things in the shadows?’

  Ava bit her lip. ‘Maybe.’ How could she explain what she had seen and heard? Out loud it would sound absurd. Crying babies . . . quivering air . . .

  ‘It does sound like a weird day, though.’

  She smiled weakly. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Hey! I bought us ice lollies!’ Fraser stood up. ‘And then I thought we could talk about this weekend?’

  Ava was already glancing back into their living room, wanting to resume her research. ‘That’s great,’ she mumbled. ‘Cool.’

  Fraser went inside, taking their plates with him. Ava stared out at the sky, looking north in the direction of Dumbarton, flinching as a moth brushed her cheek. She stood up, her chair scraping. As she left their balcony, she heard the baby c
ry once more.

  Chapter 16

  AVA

  Her mum had barely messaged her of late. Usually she sent something almost daily: animal GIFs, links to websites, photos of the watercolours she had painted in her weekly classes or pictures of Gus in over-sized sunglasses or a perky bow tie. Now the messages were perfunctory, polite. Ava had asked to meet her after her next midwife’s appointment. She couldn’t refuse that.

  They met in a cafe around the corner from the GP surgery. It was a miserable day, unseasonably cold, and Ava scurried inside for protection from the north wind. The cafe was full of families with the same thought, kids on their holidays scribbling in colouring books as their parents looked on.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’ Ava felt a pang when she saw her. She had dressed in a navy top and cream cropped trousers. Only one eye was properly made-up, as if she had left in a hurry. It made Ava’s hug that little bit tighter.

  ‘I got us a table by that wall,’ her mum said. ‘I had to ask the girl to wipe it down.’ Her voice sounded a little too high.

  ‘I’ll get the coffees,’ Ava said. ‘You sit down.’

  Her mum didn’t fuss or argue and Ava felt the unusual awkwardness between them. She returned carrying mugs and a slice of carrot cake with two forks.

  ‘So how did it go at the doctor’s? All alright?’ Her mum’s knees looked a little too high as she struggled in the bottle-green velvet armchair.

  ‘Just about.’ Ava removed her denim jacket and flung it over the back of her own. ‘Pretty standard, I think. She told me about some prenatal vitamins I might want to take and I had a urine test. Everything was normal.’ She didn’t mention her blood pressure – a little high. Her mum would worry or attach some meaning to it and Ava couldn’t face defending herself.

  ‘Did Fraser not want to go with you?’

  ‘He’s staying with his dad.’ She didn’t reveal that she had also wanted the excuse to see her mum on her own, fix whatever it was that had broken down between them. Fraser had gone to spend a couple of nights with his dad in Perth. Fraser was more aware of a need to get up there to see him these days; since Fraser’s mum died, his dad had struggled a bit. Fraser had messaged Ava to tell her he was sticking around an extra day or so. The washing machine had packed in and his dad had thought he could fix it. Fraser had ordered him another one and wanted to be in to sort the delivery and installation.