After two hours of cleaning and scrubbing with the cleaning supplies she had found beneath the sink in the kitchen, she decided to see if she could find a payphone. It was not like Jane to leave without a word, and the niggling worry had gnawed away at her all night, not letting her sleep.
She was surprised to find it warmer outside the house than it had been inside, and she was glad that she had opted to wear a blue knee length skirt and a purple cotton shirt that helped keep her cool.
As she walked down the lane, Chase noticed the grey haired old woman was in her garden again, but she decided to ignore her.
“How are you settling in?” the old woman asked.
Surprised at being addressed by the previous acquiescent old lady, Chase didn’t know what to say. She stared at her, amazed a smile could crack her deadpan veneer. “Erm, fine, thank you. And how are you?”
“Oh I’m tickety-boo.” A mischievous glint sparkled in her eyes. “You’ll have to call in for a cup of tea later, so we can be properly introduced.”
“Oh, I erm ...”
“That’s settled then. Call round at three this afternoon and I’ll have some nice cakes ready as well. Don’t be late. My name’s Belinda by the way, and you’re Chase?”
It sounded more like an accusation than a question. Chase half-heartedly nodded in assent. Suddenly remembering what she had come out for, she said, “By the way, is there a pay phone anywhere I could use?”
Belinda nodded and pointed down the hill. “Bottom of the lane, turn right and it’s on your left.”
“Thank you,” Chase said, turning and walking away.
“Not that it works though.”
“Pardon?” She whirled around.
“I said it doesn’t work.”
“Well, is there another one?”
“No. Just the one.”
“Well, have you got a phone?”
“Oh yes. It’s in the hall.”
“Well, I know it may seem a bit rude, but could I use it? I’ll pay you, it’s just I’ve got to make a call.”
“Of course you can. That’s what neighbours are for.”
Chase opened the gate and started to enter the garden, feeling relieved. She would phone Jane and get to the bottom of all this.
“But it’s broken,” Belinda said.
“Broken. Then why did you say I could use it?”
“Because you didn’t ask whether it was working or not. Just whether you could use it.”
“Well, obviously I only wanted to use it if it was working, not if it was broken.” Chase felt annoyed and slightly confused. Why couldn’t she have just given her a straight answer and told her the payphone and her own phone were broken? Why the verbal cat and mouse?
“See you at three. And don’t be late,” Belinda said, turning back to her gardening.
Chase gave an exasperated sigh and turned away clenching her fists. She slammed the gate behind her and carried on down the lane without looking back. She didn’t want to get into arguments with her new neighbours, but she could make an exception.
At the bottom of the lane she turned right and spotted the red phone box, half hidden by overgrown foliage. Stepping inside she lifted the receiver but there was no ring tone. Slamming it back in the cradle, she went outside and sat on the grass verge, cradling her head in her hands. Her head was spinning and she took deep breaths to calm herself. She felt slightly sick and before she knew it, she was coughing up bile that she spat on the grass. A cold sweat washed over her and she shivered, suddenly cold in the morning sunlight.
A bird whistled in the tree above her. She felt like shooting the blasted thing. It had no right to be so damn cheerful. The noise grated on her nerves and she stood up and walked away. Further along the lane, she came to a large pond opposite the surgery and she remembered Adam asking her to call in. As she wasn’t feeling very well, she thought it was a good idea to see him anyway. He was a doctor, after all.
She walked through the front door to find herself faced with a studious looking brunette receptionist seated behind a small counter. A nameplate on the counter identified her as Miss Patricia Smith.
“Can I help you?” Patricia asked, pokerfaced.
“Yes, Adam – Doctor White asked me to call in. My name’s Chase Black.”
Patricia looked at a book on the counter and ran her finger down it. “Ah yes. He said you would call. If you go through to the waiting room, I’ll call you when he’s free.”
Patricia cocked her head to indicate where the waiting room was and Chase went through to wait. There were three people already waiting. They all looked up as Chase entered (she thought they held her gaze longer than common decency dictated), and she felt embarrassed by their attention as she seated herself. There was a pale old man who kept snuffling, his weathered skin like parchment. Next to him sat a teenage boy who picked his nose. Finally there was a middle-aged woman with her hair swept up in a severe bun dressed in a gingham suit. The woman reminded Chase of a matriarchal headmistress.
Clinical posters adorned the walls and a fish tank sat in the corner of the room, although she couldn’t see any fish among the plastic plants or around the skull which opened at the jaw to release a stream of bubbles before snapping shut. Someone had placed a sticker on the front of the tank: Gone Fishing.
She tried not to make eye contact with the other patients, although she could still feel them looking at her. Scanning the posters on the wall, she caught glimpses of words: report, symptoms, HIV, government, disease, cancer, cure, study, sample, test...
The teenage boy stood up and began pacing to and fro, his hands behind his back. He had a serious demeanour and his lips were peeled back. As he paced, he kept clicking his teeth together like a wind-up set of false ones sold in a joke shop. Chunks of his long hair were missing and his eyes were dark and soulless.
Averting her eyes, Chase noticed the pale old man. He was fastidiously playing with something in his lap. At first, Chase couldn’t make out what it was, but then she realised that it was his flaccid penis and she covered her mouth with her hand, shocked. She couldn’t believe it. The old man looked across at her and grinned, revealing yellow teeth.
Chase felt sick.
“Miss Black, the doctor will see you now.”
Relieved to see Patricia standing in the doorway, indicating she could go through, Chase quickly stood up and shook her head. What the hell was wrong with these people? As she crossed the room, she felt the patients’ eyes watching her and she shivered. Behind her, the old man snorted loudly and coughed up phlegm and Chase hurried into the hallway to a door with Adam’s name stencilled on it. With a rapid knock, she entered without waiting to be invited and closed the door rather too quickly; it banged loudly and she winced.
Momentarily blinded by bright light streaming through the slatted blinds, she felt the nausea return.
“Chase, nice to see you.”
Rubbing her watering eyes, she was unable to make anything out too clearly. Objects were unfocused, blurry, like a Rorschach test she had to interpret. The air was tainted with a stringent aroma that didn’t help as it stung her nostrils. Slowly the shapes sharpened in clarity, became recognisable forms and she saw Adam seated behind a desk. He indicated a chair and she sat, grateful to take the weight off her feet.
“So how are you feeling today?”
“Actually, not too good.” Should she mention the weirdoes in the waiting room? Or did he already know about them? Was that why they were here?
“Oh.” He leaned forward with his elbows on the desk, his eyebrows arched. “And what’s the matter?”
“Well, I’ve been feeling a bit sick. And I keep feeling dizzy.”
“Anything else? Any pain anywhere?”
“No, well, just a little tender around my bosom.” She blushed, embarrassed.
“I see. Well, I’ll take your blood pressure and a blood sample.”
“Blood sample.” She didn’t like needles. It was her only phobia.
Chase smiled sheepishly. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to me. I see it all the time. But come on, roll your sleeve up and we’ll start with the easy stuff.”
Chase hesitated. “Hold on. Before we start ... I don’t know how to put this, but outside in the waiting room ...” she felt her cheeks flush with colour and she bit her lower lip.
Adam stared at her expectantly.
“Well, there’s an old man, and he’s, you know, playing with himself.”
Adam shook his head and tutted loudly. “Wait there a minute.” He stood and walked out of the room.
Chase sat with her hands in her lap, wondering whether she had done the right thing telling him what she had seen.
A few minutes later, the door opened and Adam stepped back into the room.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “That was Mr Grimshaw. He suffers from a chronic brain illness and doesn’t even know what he’s doing half the time. I’m sorry if you found it disturbing, but he can’t help himself.”
Chase shrugged. “Well it’s not as if I haven’t seen one before. Oh god, I mean ...” she blushed again. “I’m not making a very good job of this, am I?”
Adam laughed. “Don’t worry, I know what you meant.”
After taking her blood pressure and temperature, he had her lie on a padded bench to take a blood sample. Chase couldn’t look. She felt the needle invade her body, sucking like a steel vampire as he siphoned her blood. She felt the room begin to spin, felt as though she was passing into another plane of reality, one where nothing was solid, where her brain was spinning inside her skull, disjointed; her eyes wouldn’t focus, she was falling from the realm of the physical to the metaphysical but she fought it, sure that if she let herself pass through, she would be lost.
“There you go. All done.”
Chase put her hands to her face. She looked as pale as she felt.
“Sit up and put your head between your legs,” Adam said as he transferred her blood to a phial.
She glimpsed how much he had taken and the room began to spin again. Head between her knees, her equilibrium eventually returned and she felt well enough to stand up. Adam stood beside her, a concerned look on his face.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
“A bit.”
“Well, take your time, there’s no rush.” He returned to his desk and made some notes. “I’ll have the results in a couple of days, if you want to make another appointment on the way out.”
Although he had said she could stay to recover, Chase took that as her cue to leave.
She stood and walked toward the door.
Adam said, “If you would like, we could meet for a drink tonight.”
Chase felt her heart skip a beat and she smiled before turning back to look at him. “Yes, I’d like that.”
“About seven in The Slaughtered Dog?”
“Okay, that would be nice.” She walked out to make her next appointment with Patricia and even the sight of poor Mr Grimshaw couldn’t wipe the grin off her face as he stared at her.
Outside, the fresh air came as a welcome relief after the stringent aroma and she walked across to the pond. Marginal iris’ and grasses rustled in the breeze while Angels Fishing Rods arched out over the water. A clump of gunnera on the opposite bank shaded the water like large, primordial umbrellas. A white water lily had just flowered and Chase noticed a small frog sitting on one of the lily pads like a living piece of John Ditchfield pottery. As she watched, movement caught her eye and a shape glided across the water. Turning to look, she recoiled in horror. It was a snake. She had never seen a snake in the wild before, never mind swimming. She knew they were out there, but she never expected to see one. But then she never expected to move to the country.
She watched it zigzag across the surface of the water, sleek and shiny.
It had a green back with vertical black bars along its sides and a yellow neck patch. Slowly and silently it approached the frog before striking with such speed and agility that Chase stepped back in shock, her hand at her mouth. It swallowed the frog in two gulps, constricting its throat to accommodate the meal before gliding away into the marginal plants like the memory of a bad dream.
There were serpents in Paradise.
CHAPTER 10
The episode with the snake and the frog had upset Chase more than she realised. She knew it was only nature at work, performing the cycle of life, but she didn’t like it. It was too brutal. Combined with Mr Grimshaw in the surgery and her distress at not being able to contact Jane, she felt sick.
She couldn’t understand why she hadn’t heard Jane leave. A light sleeper at the best of times, even Mat used to joke that he was scared to fart in his sleep in case it woke her.
Perhaps she had been too hasty deciding to move out here. She considered going back to the house and reading through the contract before she remembered Moon hadn’t given her a copy. There was no proof of anything.
There had to be a telephone somewhere that she could use. She tried to recall whether she had seen one in the public house the night before, but it had been so dark inside the building that she hadn’t been able to see much of anything. She considered the church hall, then remembered the vicar – if anyone could help her, it would be the vicar. Weren’t they the pillars of the community?
Walking through the lanes toward the church, she heard something rustling in the hedge; she imagined the snake (absently wondered if it was poisonous) following her and she increased her pace, her eyes alert for any movement.
The church was a small stone building with a spire that reached up to the heavens. You had to walk through the small cemetery to reach it, and as she walked toward the church, Chase absently regarded the tombstones. She noticed some of the older graves were covered in weeds, the gravestone inscriptions weathered and hidden by lichen. Some graves contained generations of families, all piled on top of each other in a macabre genealogy ladder. Other graves were more recent, the soil freshly tilled. The graveyard was unkempt, left to grow wild. The smell of grass filled the air, but there was also the putrescent aroma of decay, as if something had been left to rot.
She could see the fog hanging on the perimeter of the graveyard like a curtain, a barrier from the world, and she had the uncanny feeling someone was watching her from within its cold embrace, and the hairs prickled at the nape of her neck. Hesitating, she thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and she spun around to see strands of fog stretching tentacle-like from the main mass, as though someone had run out of the ethereal cloud. Narrowing her eyes, she scanned the area, but couldn’t see anyone. She trembled. Suppose it was a ghost? But that was stupid. There was no such thing. She laughed at her foolishness, but the fog was now losing its charm, becoming something sinister.
Eventually she put the movement down to the wind, fully aware that her mind was capable of playing tricks on her, especially as she was alone and vulnerable at the moment.
With a shake of her head, she carried on walking.
The door to the church was ajar, and Chase pushed it and stepped inside. The interior was cool and she trembled at the sudden climatic change, rubbing her arms to warm herself. It’s no wonder the congregation’s fallen, she thought. Perhaps if they had a bit of heating ...
At the back of the church a stained glass window depicting the crucifixion of Christ cast shards of colour across the wooden floor. The blood dripping from the wounds looked too red and vivid, as though it was real blood, and not just coloured glass. Chase looked away. Walking between the pews, her footsteps echoed eerily from the eaves. At the front of the church, the altar was adorned with two white candles and a large, gold cross. The candles were lit, the guttering flames causing shadows to dance around the walls; a white linen cloth hanging from the front of the altar billowed slightly.
Chase frowned as she studied the altar cloth. She couldn’t feel any discernible breeze,
certainly not enough to stir the heavy cloth, so why was it moving? As she cautiously approached the altar she heard a noise, a soft sigh. Her heart missed a beat. Something wasn’t right here. Standing in front of the altar, she steeled herself and grabbed the cloth. Heart in her mouth, she quickly tugged it aside and a figure fell out and rolled across the ground. Chase jumped back in alarm before she recognised the vicar. An empty whisky bottle rolled out with him.
What the hell was he playing at?
The vicar looked up at Chase with bloodshot eyes. She was sure there was fear in his gaze. Mumbling to himself, he scuttled away, crab-like, sending the bottle spinning.
New Title 1 Page 9