The Moor

by Sam Haysom

  It’s James that finally breaks it.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asks.

  Matt glances over at him. He’s looking straight ahead at the road in front, and his expression is impossible to read.

  Matt pats the brown bag on his lap.

  ‘Sure,’ he says.

  James nods, and they drive on in silence. As the road unfolds ahead of them Matt leans back against the headrest and stares out of the window. He feels the weight of the bag in his lap and finds his mind drifting back to the winter of last year. January 2014.

  What was it he’d seen scrawled in that letter? The one he’d found in the study upstairs? I know it’s you.

  Yes, that was it.

  I know it’s you.

  Matt closes his eyes.

  The GPS says they’ll reach Rutmoor just after midday.

  2014

  Matt turned the collar of his coat up against the rain.

  He was striding down a long avenue lined with near-identical brick houses, screwing his face in the wind. Tree branches crashed together above him, shaking beneath a marble-grey January sky.

  He felt the brown bag slung over his shoulder, unconsciously patted the front of it for the shape of his umbrella, then stopped himself when he realised he’d left it at home. That was okay, though. In fact he thought it might play in his favour.

  A third of the way down the road Matt took shelter under a bus stop and wiped his eyes. He pulled his iPhone out of his pocket and bashed in the code. Opening his Notes app, he re-read the very top item for perhaps the fifth time since he’d got off the train half an hour before.

  49, Willow Av.

  He glanced up and stared through the murky, rain-soaked glass of the bus shelter at the house nearest to him. A little red door was just visible through the downpour, but Matt couldn’t make out the number. Straightening his collar against his neck once more, he sighed and stepped out into the rain.

  He found the right place a few moments later.

  Number 49 looked exactly the same as every other house on the road. It was high and narrow – two tall floors and an attic space, from what Matt could tell – and stood separated from the buildings on either side by slim brick alleyways that ran down its length. A bay window at the front overlooked a tiny, neat garden and a driveway. Matt was pleased to see the latter was occupied; a small, blue Volkswagen was standing on the rain-soaked concrete.

  Wiping more rain out of his eyes, Matt leaned forward and undid the latch on the tiny wooden gate in front of him. Pushing it aside he stepped over a puddle and made his way up the path towards the wooden front door. The wind howled overhead and the gate banged shut behind him, making him jump.

  It’s okay, he thought. There’s nothing to worry about in here.

  Still, the smile he forced onto his face as he reached out and rapped the metal door knocker felt hollow, and the sound that echoed away into the house caused his stomach to lurch. It was stupid, he thought. A couple of months ago he’d had to phone up the CEO of a large bank and tell the guy that the paper Matt worked for was planning to publish an article on his money laundering activities –that was the sort of thing you were meant to feel nervous about, not a house call with a middle-aged woman. But still…

  Footsteps in the hall cut off Matt’s train of thought. A shadow fell across the frosted glass square cut into the door, and he heard the sound of a bolt being drawn back. A second later there was the clink of a chain, and then a latch turned and the door swung inwards.

  For a moment, Matt thought he’d got the wrong house after all.

  The woman standing in front of him was the right height, but her hair was a glossy, reddish blonde and she looked younger than he’d been expecting. Her dark eyes were scanning his face, though, and after a second the smile she’d been wearing as she opened the door was replaced with a look of confusion. Her eyebrows drew together and old worry lines stood out on her forehead.

  ‘Hello?’ Her tone was light and airy, but her eyes continued to scan Matt’s.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Stevens?’

  The name had the desired effect. The woman standing in the hallway took a step backwards and her eyes widened, and any residual doubt in Matt’s mind was wiped away. He forced a frown onto his face.

  ‘Sorry, have I got the wrong house? This is number 49, isn’t it?’

  The woman in the hallway had recovered. She smiled once more, but her eyes didn’t leave Matt’s face.

  ‘No, I’m sorry, you are right, this is number 49. I don’t go by the name Mrs Stevens anymore, though…’ she tailed off, then cleared her throat. ‘You’re not selling anything are you? Only I’ve got a sign up that says I don’t answer to sales people, and—’

  ‘No, Mrs Stevens, it’s me, Matt.’ He arranged his face into a smile. ‘Tim’s old friend, remember?’

  Her eyes widened once more, and for a fraction of a second – so quick it was barely even there – Matt thought he saw something like fear dart across her face. Then she was smiling again.

  ‘Oh Matt, of course! I thought I recognised you but it’s been such a long time, and I wasn’t…’ She trailed off again and her eyes flicked past him to the road behind, as though she was checking to make sure he was alone.

  ‘Of course, no worries at all,’ smiled Matt. ‘Sorry to turn up like this out of the blue, only I was back home for the weekend and I thought I’d pop by to see if Tim was about.’

  Mrs Stevens looked doubtfully at Matt’s sopping hair and rain-soaked jeans. ‘Oh, have you spoken to Tim then?’

  ‘No, nothing like that,’ said Matt. ‘I haven’t spoken to him in a little while, actually, but as I was down I thought I’d swing by to see if he was around. I know he sometimes comes home for the weekend, and I just…’

  Matt forced himself to stop talking. Despite the cold and the rain, his back felt hot. He was rambling, speaking too much, and from the look on Mrs Stevens’ face he was doing little to convince her. He took a breath, then counted to three in his head. Then he laughed.

  ‘Sorry, I’m waffling,’ he smiled. ‘The truth is, I was feeling a bit bad. I haven’t seen Tim in ages, and the last time he phoned me I missed his call. I’ve tried ringing him a couple of times since to arrange something, but I can never seem to get through. I knew it was a bit of a long shot, but I thought I’d pop round seeing as I was home for the weekend. I’m guessing I’ve missed him again, though?’

  Mrs Stevens still wasn’t smiling, but the look of doubt had gone from her face. ‘I’m afraid he’s not down this weekend, Matt, no. I think he’s based up at some firm in Edinburgh at the moment, although he’s so busy I lose track.’

  Matt grinned. ‘I know the feeling. Since everybody started work we don’t seem to see each other half as much as we used to.’

  Mrs Stevens smiled back, and Matt saw his opening.

  ‘I’m really sorry to be a pain, but would you mind if I pop in quickly to use your bathroom?’ He made a point of wiping more water from his face. ‘I stupidly forgot my umbrella, and I can hardly see where I’m going.’

  Mrs Stevens’ eyes widened. ‘Oh goodness, I’m so sorry! Yes of course, absolutely, I think I’ve got a spare towel you can use, and—’ She paused for a second, then seemed to make a decision. ‘And you should come in for a cup of tea at least, get yourself dry. It really is terrible out there.’

  She stepped back and held open the door. Smiling, Matt followed her into the darkened hallway.

  *

  He could hear cups clinking from the kitchen.

  Matt was sat in the lounge at the front of the house, staring around and trying to take in as much as he could. He was sitting on a large sofa that faced the door leading back into the hallway. On his left was the bay window, a shaft of light leaking through a gap in the curtains. A packed wooden bookcase stood to the left of the door, and on the right was a mantelpiece above an old fireplace. Matt’s eyes searched the marble shelf for photos, but there weren’t any.

  He closed h
is eyes and tried to picture what he’d seen before Mrs Stevens ushered him through into the lounge. There was a long hallway that led back to what Matt assumed was the kitchen, and a staircase on the left that rose up into the shadows of the second floor. Matt imagined walking up that staircase, and what the layout might look like above him. Two bedrooms, or three? Maybe one at the back and one or two at the front, and in the middle a bathroom, surely…

  Matt heard footsteps and opened his eyes. A second later, Mrs Stevens was standing in the doorway holding two steaming mugs. She moved into the room and placed them on a rectangular coffee table in front of Matt, a smile fixed on her face.

  ‘So, how have you been, Matt?’ She said, sitting down on a smaller sofa in front of the bay window. ‘I was just having a think in the kitchen, and I seem to remember Tim telling me you were doing something like – PR, was it?’

  ‘Journalism,’ smiled Matt. He leaned forward and took a small sip of the scalding tea, then made to stand up. ‘I’m really sorry to be a pain, Mrs Stevens, but—’

  ‘Anne.’ She cut across him, frowning. ‘I don’t go by Mrs Stevens anymore. It’s Ms Sherling, now. But please, Matt, you can call me Anne.’

  ‘Sorry, Anne,’ he smiled, ‘I don’t suppose you’d mind if I pop to your bathroom quickly?’

  ‘Oh yes, of course! I’m so sorry, I meant to get you a towel. Yes absolutely, please do, there are spares in the cupboard below the sink, you’ll want something to dry your face at least…’

  Matt was already up and halfway across the room. ‘That’s perfect, thank you!’

  He walked back into the hallway once more and headed straight for the staircase. His heartbeat quickened in his chest, and that hot, prickly feeling had spread across his back again. His foot was on the first step when he heard movement behind him.

  ‘You’ll want the downstairs bathroom.’

  Matt stopped and turned around, his hand on the bannister. Anne was standing in the lounge doorway, watching him.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The downstairs bathroom. If you head through the kitchen and into the laundry room, it’s the door on the right. The upstairs bathroom is having work done on it at the moment, I’m afraid.’

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Matt kept what he hoped was an indifferent grin on his face as he thanked her and stepped back into the hall. As he walked deeper into the house and through into the kitchen, he could feel her eyes on him.

  Well, what do you expect? he thought. She barely recognises you, hasn’t seen you in about 10 years. And the last time she did—

  He shook the thought off as he headed through the laundry area and into the little bathroom. Locking the door behind him, he ran the tap and then glanced around. As promised there were towels lining the cupboard beneath the sink, but apart from these, a toothbrush holder and a few bottles of shampoo and shower gel on the rim of a white shower/bath combo on the left, there was little in the room to hold his attention.

  He glanced up at the mirror above the sink. The young man staring back at him looked older than someone in their mid-twenties should look. He already had a few grey hairs creeping in, and his forehead was mapped with frown-lines.

  Noticing the hinge at the edge of the mirror, Matt leaned forward and opened what he now saw was a small medicine cabinet. A neat little row of bottles and cardboard packets lined the interior. He ran his eyes along the labels – Ibuprofen, contact lenses, Vicks Vaporub, Co-dydramol – and was about to shut the door when he spotted a cardboard packet half-hidden behind a bottle of perfume. He nudged the bottle aside and read the label: Citalopram.

  Matt looked at it for a moment, then reached out to straighten the perfume and shut the door. He turned the tap off, dried his face on a hand towel and left the bathroom.

  *

  ‘So, have you seen much of Tim lately?’

  Matt took another sip of his tea and placed it back on the table. Outside, the rain continued to hammer against the bay window. The noise of the wind thrashing through the trees hadn’t stopped but it was softer in here, almost muted.

  Anne watched him over the rim of her cup as she lifted it to her face. She really did look good, Matt thought. The last time he’d seen her she’d had flecks of grey in her hair and bags under her eyes. She’d walked with a bit of a shuffle, and hadn’t met anyone’s eyes when she spoke to them.

  ‘I see him now and again,’ she said. ‘As I mentioned, though, he’s so busy all the time.’ She cleared her throat and put her mug back on the table. ‘And you said you don’t see him much?’

  ‘No, nowhere near enough, really,’ said Matt. ‘I thought I would when I moved to London and Tim was based there too, but it’s difficult. Such a big city and everyone working really long hours. And Tim’s obviously away on work trips a lot of the time.’

  Matt took another hasty sip of tea to fill the silence. His mind was racing. When he put his mug back on the table, he realised it was almost empty.

  Outside, a large gust of wind shook the trees closest to the house. Rain hammered against the window.

  ‘Did you need to borrow an umbrella?’ said Anne suddenly. ‘You can’t go back out there in this weather, it’s ridiculous.’

  ‘Oh, no I should be fine, I—’

  ‘Nonsense, you can’t go back out with no cover! I’m sure I’ve got a spare.’

  She got up and walked out into the hall, and Matt could feel his chance slipping away. He’d outstayed his welcome already, he could feel it. He got up to follow her, and as he walked past the wooden bookcase on his left his eyes fell on a small collection of DVDs grouped together on the bottom shelf.

  ‘Oh, Mrs St– er, Anne – while I’m here, I just remembered that Tim still has a couple of films I lent him a while back.’ He walked out into the hall and saw her halfway down, her head out of sight as she rummaged beneath the staircase. ‘I don’t suppose you’d mind if I pop upstairs and grab them, would you? I’ll only be a minute.’

  Matt watched her back as he spoke. He thought he saw it stiffen for a moment and was sure she’d say no, but when she next spoke her voice was calm.

  ‘Oh, yes, I shouldn’t think that’ll be a problem,’ she called. ‘Tim’s room’s the one upstairs at the back, right above the kitchen. Do you need a hand?’

  ‘No that’s okay!’ Matt was already at the foot of the staircase. ‘I know what I’m looking for.’

  Before she could say anything else he was off, taking the stairs two at a time, his heart thumping in his chest once more. His back was hot and sticky.

  As he reached the top of the staircase, he forced himself to slow down. The lights were off and the upstairs hall was dimly lit, but Matt could make out the door directly in front of him that must be Tim’s room. Climbing the last few steps he stared around himself. There were three other doors leading off the hallway. The one next to Tim’s was ajar, and Matt could see a glimpse of white porcelain standing out in the grey murk through the crack. The upstairs bathroom. Behind him, in the shadows at the opposite end of the hallway, was another door that Matt assumed must be Anne’s bedroom.

  You can’t risk it, he told himself. She’ll hear you, and there’s no way you can blag that one.

  That left the final door, which stood just to the right of the bathroom in the middle of the hall. It was shut. Matt took a final step onto the landing. Moving forward he grabbed the handle of the door to Tim’s room and opened it, trying to make as much noise as possible. As the door swung inwards he crept across the wooden hallway, this time treading softly and praying the floor wouldn’t creak, and stood in front of the middle room, holding his breath.

  The rain and the wind were even more distant up here. The inside of the house was silent, but Matt could still make out the sounds of Anne moving around on the floor below him. He reached out and slowly twisted the door handle.

  The room beyond was small and cast in shadow. Opposite Matt, above a large, dark shape that he took to be a desk, was the only window. It led on
to the small alley between Anne’s house and the house next door, letting in minimal amounts of grey light and adding to the room’s cramped feel.

  Easing the door open wider, Matt crept over the threshold.

  Don’t fucking hang about, he thought to himself. It doesn’t take long to look for DVDs.

  With the door open wide, light from downstairs spilled through and gave Matt a clearer view of what was clearly a study. The left-hand wall was bare, and the right was lined with a tall wooden bookcase.

  Matt’s eyes scanned the titles; it was mainly novels, with a few non-fiction books with titles like Keeping a Healthy Mind and Body and Being Your Best Self tucked in a corner. A collection of National Geographic magazines ran along the top shelf. Matt took a step into the room, being careful to tread as lightly as possible on the wooden floor, and looked around.

  Aside from the large desk and the bookcase, the study was empty.

  Matt took two more steps across the room – a floorboard let out a small creak on his second, causing him to wince – and came to a stop by the desk. This, he thought, looked more promising. An old, chunky PC stood in one corner, but it had a layer of dust over the screen and Matt barely gave it a second glance. His eyes were more drawn to the cluster of notepads and books that littered the desk’s wide wooden surface.

  Piled on the left-hand side was a small stack of lined WHSmith writing pads. The cover of the top one was down so Matt couldn’t read anything at a glance, but they all looked as though they’d been used. On the right was an even taller stack of red Moleskine notebooks.

  And, directly in front of him, was an open, bound A4 notepad. A blue biro was lying next to the pad, and the lined page was crammed full of neat, slanted handwriting.

  Taking out his phone, Matt swiped the screen and activated the little yellow light built into the back. The page in front of him lit up. Leaning forward and placing one sweaty palm on the edge of the wooden desk, Matt saw something that he at first mistook for a diary.