And Then She Ran

by Karen Clarke

  ‘Exactly.’ Morag’s heavy eyebrows rose. ‘Better than I ever did in my career.’ Shock mingled with sadness. Her words were so heartfelt, I knew she meant them. I doubted Mum had any idea her sister felt that way. ‘Gail has more patience than I do.’ Morag dabbed the corners of her mouth with a sheet of kitchen roll. ‘Still, at least Skip’s a fully grown dog and doesn’t need training.’

  It seemed a good sign that she’d called the dog by his name. ‘So, will you take him on?’

  ‘I’ve seen him at the farm a few times,’ she said. ‘He’s got a fierce bark.’

  ‘Good for scaring people away.’

  ‘You said that man wasn’t coming after you.’ Her eyes thinned. ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘No, it’s not that,’ I said quickly. ‘It’s just, out there …’ I looked at the window, where only small flashes of the sky were visible among the thicket of surrounding trees. ‘It would be extra security, that’s all.’

  Morag’s shoulders relaxed. ‘We’d have to be careful with the baby.’ Her eyes swivelled to Lily lying on a blanket on the sofa, curling and uncurling her fingers in front of her face. ‘She couldn’t be alone with a dog around.’

  ‘Of course not.’ I thought of Skip and his fierce bark and something loosened inside me.

  Patrick was scared of dogs. He’d been badly bitten as a child by a neighbour’s Dobermann. His calf bore a jagged scar where the dog’s teeth had ripped his flesh. He’d needed stitches that became infected, requiring a stay in hospital. ‘Something like that never leaves you,’ he’d said when I traced the scar with my fingertips. ‘I still can’t be around dogs.’

  ‘My mother wouldn’t understand. She prefers animals to humans these days,’ I’d told him.

  As far as I could remember, it was the only time I’d mentioned my mother. Maybe I’d known even then our relationship wouldn’t last, that it was better to hold things back. But if he talked to Ana … I switched off the thought. Ana knew things had gone bad with Patrick, even if she didn’t know the whole story. She wasn’t stupid. They wouldn’t be sharing any little chats, despite her early optimism that I might have found someone worth cutting down my hours at the restaurant for.

  ‘I could pick up the dog today.’ Morag’s voice brought me back to the moment. ‘He’s used to living outside.’

  Disappointment flowed through me. ‘Oh, that’s a shame. It would be nice—’

  ‘He can’t be in here.’ Morag’s tone brooked no argument. ‘This place is too small to accommodate another body.’

  ‘OK.’ It was probably better that way. No one approaching the cottage would be able to get past the dog without us knowing about it. ‘How do you call for help?’ I said, voicing a worry that had been niggling at me. ‘I mean, if you fell and broke your ankle, for instance.’ We both knew that wasn’t what I meant. ‘You should get a mobile phone and keep it with you.’

  ‘I don’t need a mobile, I’ve got the landline.’ Morag nodded at the ancient phone on the dresser.

  I remembered calling her, the novelty of punching in an area code. Even Mum favoured using her mobile these days. At least there was a way to call the police if necessary. Which it wouldn’t be.

  He doesn’t know where I am.

  We ate in silence, the only sound our forks on plates and an occasional ahh-goo from Lily that made Morag’s features soften and both of us smile.

  ‘That was good,’ Morag said when she’d finished, nodding her satisfaction. I thought she might ask how’d I’d learnt and prepared to tell her that Ana’s uncle had taken me under his wing once he realised I loved to cook, leading me from food preparation to sous-chef in the steamy, stainless-steel kitchen of Julio’s. How, despite the punishing shifts, the accidents – almost slicing off my thumb, spilling boiling water on my wrist – with barely time to sleep in the cluttered apartment above, which I shared with Ana and one of the waitresses for a couple of years, I knew I’d found my calling. How I eventually had the freedom to create my own menus, sourcing fresh ingredients from local suppliers, and was getting great feedback from customers, and glowing reviews like the one that brought Patrick to the restaurant that night.

  But Morag didn’t ask. She scraped her chair back, put our plates in the sink and ran hot water over them before reaching for her jacket once more. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she said, leaving without further explanation.

  Once more, I was left alone. Before Patrick, I was used to being around people, had loved the hum and chatter of work, the banter in the kitchen. There wasn’t much time to socialise, but I’d got on well with everyone at the restaurant and enjoyed having a drink with Ana, or with the staff at the end of a shift, dissecting the day’s events before slipping upstairs to plan menus, or unwinding with something on Netflix.

  There was no television in the cottage, just a transistor radio shoved to the back of the countertop in the kitchen. When I turned it on, I discovered it needed new batteries.

  How did Morag stand it? I’d always thought I was comfortable with my own company but realised now I’d rarely been alone.

  After searching the cupboards of the dresser, I unearthed some battered board games that had come from my grandparents’ house, and a pack of playing cards, but I wasn’t in the mood for solitaire. I tidied the living room instead, shifting the baby items Morag had brought so they didn’t dominate the tiny space, keeping up a running commentary to Lily as I placed her in the bouncy chair.

  ‘This place is a lot smaller than you’re used to isn’t it, sweetheart? At least it’s clean.’ ‘I wonder what your great-auntie does in the evenings.’ ‘Aren’t you lucky, having all these nice new things?’ ‘Shall I fetch your teddy?’ It was the only toy I’d packed; a small stuffed teddy holding a padded heart with her name on that Ana had bought her, and a cloth book I’d picked up in Walmart.

  While Lily tracked a pattern of sunshine on the wall, legs pumping with excitement, I ran upstairs to check my money was still in the pocket of my suitcase. I couldn’t quite rid myself of the image of a figure searching my belongings, however impossible it seemed.

  Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you. Dad used to say that to Mum sometimes. He’d had a quote for most occasions, his favourite being Don’t let the buggers grind you down, even though it was what he’d done to her.

  The money was there, the notes reassuringly smooth in my fingers. Enough to last a while if my outgoings were low, though I intended to pay my way while I was here.

  I knelt and pushed my case back under the bed, then pulled it back when it hit something. Bending, I peered into the dusty space, and to my astonishment saw that it was an air rifle. Stretching my arm under the bed, I tentatively pulled it out, recognising it immediately. It had belonged to my grandfather. He let me use it once when I was eleven, showing me how to shoot an orange on top of a barrel on a patch of land near their home. Mum had been horrified when she found out, especially as the recoil left me with bruising on my shoulder, which I’d worn like a badge of honour.

  Standing up, I weighed the rifle in my hands, testing its weight. How had I even lifted it back then? I broke the barrel open. It was loaded with a pellet. Did Morag have it for sentimental reasons or protection? None of my business. I hastily closed the barrel and thrust the rifle back under the bed.

  A howl from below brought me to my feet. Lily. I almost fell in my rush to get down the stairs, but she was quiet when I got there, one hand clutching the air. The teddy, which I’d propped beside her, had slipped to the floor.

  ‘Here it is, here it is.’ My breath came fast as I slipped it back, looking around as if expecting to see someone duck into the bathroom. ‘This is silly,’ I said in a jolly tone. Lily studied me, eyes wide, as if attuned to my mood. I forced a smile. The last thing I wanted was for her to pick up on my anxiety. There’d been enough of that since she was born.

  ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ I said brightly. I couldn’t stay in the cottage. I had no idea when
Morag was coming back and it wasn’t fair to expect her to entertain us. ‘I can show you some of the country where your aunt grew up.’

  My hands trembled as I dressed Lily in the fox-patterned all-in-one I’d brought with us, pulling the fleecy hood up over her hair before plucking the man’s coat from the back of the rocking chair and sliding my arms into the sleeves. It smelt familiar, of soap and tobacco, and I realised it was my grandfather’s; the one he was wearing in the black and white photo on the dresser. His ‘best’ coat, the charcoal silk lining worn but intact. For someone who professed to have no interest in the past, Morag was surrounded by it.

  Once Lily was strapped in her carrier, she gave a squawk of delight that lightened my heart. It would be good to get out, do something normal, breathe air rich with oxygen instead of traffic fumes. I’d reacquaint myself with the weather, which could turn from sun to rain in a heartbeat. Maybe we’d see the fox.

  I stepped outside and closed the door then paused. I didn’t have a key. I couldn’t leave the cottage unsecured, but couldn’t face staying inside now I’d made up my mind to go out.

  Bending awkwardly, I checked beneath a couple of plant pots to see if there was a spare. Morag was probably too safety-conscious to leave a key somewhere so obvious, but it was frustrating to find nothing there.

  ‘Looks like we won’t be going far.’ I nudged the plant pots back into place. Ignoring a niggle of unease, I skirted the side of the garden and carefully made my way up a grassy bank at the farthest side of the cottage, pointing out clutches of buttercups and daisies to Lily. Her head was tipped back, her gaze widened on the view above, where clouds raced across the bright blue sky. ‘Birds,’ I said, pausing to point out a circle of darting starlings – or maybe they were sparrows. There were a lot of sparrows in Manhattan, and I’d once spotted a jay in the yard at the back of the restaurant, but it had been hard to hear birdsong over the cacophony of car horns, roaring planes, rattling trains and buses. Here, there was nothing to dim the joyful sound.

  After cresting the bank, I walked on, enjoying the flex in my thigh muscles, but the unkempt grass seemed to stretch forever, with only more wild grass and towering trees ahead. The mountain view was as distant as ever and as Lily cooed and gurgled, I began to falter. I couldn’t get lost. I hadn’t thought to bring my phone, or any provisions for Lily. What was I thinking? Despite flashes of sunlight between the scudding clouds, the air had a chilly bite and Lily’s cheeks were pink. I had to go back.

  Turning, I half-ran in the direction I’d come, hands cradling the carrier so as not to jig Lily too much, my breath huffing out in bursts. ‘It’s OK, baby, we’re nearly there.’ I wondered whether she could feel the bump of my heartbeat.

  As I carefully descended the bank, I caught a movement in my peripheral vision and froze as a figure came round the side of the cottage. Fear blocked my throat. A man was standing there, staring at me, a skinned rabbit dangling from each hand.

  Chapter 10

  As I scrambled closer, aware no one would hear if I screamed for help, the man spoke.

  ‘Rhaid mai chi yw’r nith.’ His voice was gruff, the words indecipherable.

  ‘I don’t speak Welsh.’ It came out high-pitched. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘A friend of Morag’s.’ As he stepped closer, my arms closed more tightly around Lily. ‘Ifan Jones.’ His words were spiked with a heavy accent. ‘You must be her niece.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  The man’s weather-beaten face split into a friendly grin. ‘Word travels fast around here,’ he said. ‘I know your aunt was in the pub this morning, gathering things for the little ’un from Annie.’

  ‘Right.’ He was a local, not a threat. I took in his tall stooped figure, the collar-length, silver-streaked hair and wiry beard, the piercing blue eyes set beneath straggly brows. He wore a faded donkey jacket over stained overalls tucked into muddy black boots, but his teeth were white and his manner somehow assured. He looked about Morag’s age, maybe a bit older.

  ‘I told your aunt I’d drop these off for dinner.’ He held up the rabbits but then became still, as though sensing my wariness. ‘Apparently, you can cook.’ His smile broadened. ‘I wanted to meet the niece everyone’s talking about.’

  His words pierced me like an electric shock. I knew my presence in a place like this was unlikely to go unnoticed but hadn’t expected people to be gossiping already.

  ‘What are they saying?’

  ‘Not much.’ Ifan’s ragged eyebrows knitted together. ‘She’s happy to see you, is all. Buzzing, she was, this morning by all accounts.’

  ‘Well … that’s good.’ My mind reeled through my internet presence. If anyone looked me up, they’d find me linked to articles about the restaurant, which also had Facebook and Instagram pages dotted with pictures of me in the kitchen, and arty close-ups of plates of food. Nothing personal. I wasn’t a big user of social media, had never been one to post selfies or keep the world updated with my daily thoughts and activities. There were no pictures of me in a couple, just the odd photo that Ana would tag me in from time to time, having a drink with the restaurant crew after hours, or on the beach at Coney Island on a rare day off.

  There was nothing online to tie me to Patrick.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, realising the man – Ifan – was waiting for me to speak. ‘My aunt’s not here right now.’

  ‘Sorry if I scared you.’ He waved an arm so the rabbit he was holding swung in an arc. I was glad Lily’s face was averted. This wasn’t the kind of wildlife I’d envisaged her seeing. I wasn’t squeamish about meat, was in favour of the customer knowing its journey to the plate, but I’d never cooked rabbit – something to do with Watership Down and feeling sentimental about them. ‘You’ve nothing to fear,’ he added.

  If you only knew. ‘Does Morag mind you being here while she’s out?’ Maybe he had a spare key, was used to letting himself in.

  ‘She trusts me.’ There was a pulse of silence while we weighed each other up. ‘I get it,’ he said at last, raising his shoulders. ‘You don’t know me from Adam. I’ll go away and let you get on.’

  Something about his openness, his willingness to back off, made up my mind. I was a normally a good judge of character – or had been, before Patrick – and Ifan seemed decent.

  ‘We’ve just been for a walk and got a bit cold,’ I said, stepping past him to open the door. ‘Come in and have a hot drink.’

  By the time Morag returned, we’d worked our way through a pot of tea and the rest of the biscuits. After finding a plate to put the rabbits on and sliding it into the fridge before scrubbing his hands, Ifan had bonded with Lily.

  ‘Reminds me of my daughter Rhiannon with those big eyes,’ he’d said, holding Lily with ease, chuckling when she smiled, her fists punching the air. ‘Now my Rhiannon’s expecting a babby herself.’

  He chatted easily, telling me about his three grown-up children, how he still missed his wife who’d died six years ago. He talked about the gamekeeping job he’d done for nearly thirty years and loved, before bringing me up to speed with village life, which sounded like something out of a film set in gentler times, when people looked out for each other and community was everything. ‘You’ll be welcome in Fenbrith,’ he said. ‘Practically one of us.’

  I was happy to listen, letting his words wash away my tension, content to sit, bouncing Lily in her chair with my foot, relieved she seemed content.

  Ifan asked me about myself but didn’t push it when I said I’d come to Morag’s for a fresh start and was focusing on the future. ‘Your aunt’s a bit of a mystery too,’ he was saying, just as she walked through the door, trailed by a prancing black and white dog wagging its tail, tongue hanging out of its mouth. Ignoring Morag’s half-hearted command to stay outside, he instantly sat at Ifan’s feet and looked at him adoringly.

  ‘Hey, you.’ He ruffled the dog’s silky head while Morag rolled her eyes.

  ‘I’m regretting this already,’ she sai
d, seeming unsurprised to see our visitor. I guessed Ifan must drop by often and I wondered whether they were more than friends, despite her insistence that there was no man in her life. ‘He won’t do a thing I say.’

  ‘He’s a big softie,’ Ifan said, letting the dog lick his chin. ‘I’ve seen him up at the farm. Terrible work dog, but he’ll be a good pet.’

  ‘Just what I didn’t want.’ Morag looked so rattled I couldn’t help laughing.

  ‘He’s gorgeous.’ I crouched to pluck Lily from her bouncy chair before sinking my hand into Skip’s soft fur. When he squirmed with pleasure, I felt a rush of warmth. I’d longed for a pet, growing up. ‘Look, Lily, it’s a doggy.’

  Skip tipped his head to one side as if weighing her up and Lily eyed him solemnly then waved her arms.

  ‘He likes you.’ Tears pricked my eyes. Patrick was missing this. He’d never hear Lily’s first word, see joy spread over her face, watch her take her first step; bank memories, like I was. He wouldn’t take her to school, read her a bedtime story or comfort her when she cried. One day, I’d have to explain about him.

  For a split second, the enormity of it struck me like a punch. Then I remembered the look on his face the first time he saw her; the quickly concealed disappointment. The way he’d hand her back after a cursory cuddle, claiming he couldn’t stay long because he had an important meeting. He didn’t deserve to be Lily’s father.

  Morag grabbed Skip’s collar and attempted to heave him towards the door. He resisted with a mournful look until she let go, shaking her head as Ifan chuckled at her efforts. ‘I bet my friend here gave you a fright, turning up out of the blue,’ she said to me. ‘I should have warned you he might pop round, but I’m out of the habit of telling anyone my business.’

  It wasn’t a dig, just a matter of fact. ‘It’s OK.’ I didn’t want her to think she had to modify her routine for me. ‘We’ve been getting on like a house on fire. He brought rabbits.’