by Jave Kavfi
It might not be that accurate – it has been over twenty years and Mavis was half-cut when she related her story. Still, there will be something in this and he needs to find a way to talk to the locals without making it obvious he's researching a possible murder. He gets up to make himself a coffee – or should he have a drink? No. Making too much of a habit of that. He needs to be clear-headed and focus on this. For Evangeline's sake, and to get her off their back.
*
"I'm warning you – this has to stop," Mark is saying through gritted teeth. "The constant phone calls. Coming into the surgery like that."
Sarah staggers towards him and slaps both her hands on her cheeks. "Oh, you're warning me, are you? For a few friendly phone calls and a visit for a little check-up? All I said to the receptionist was that I required an intimate exam, and specified it should be from you. Where's the harm in that? Not like you haven't before. Not like you–"
"Making an exhibition of yourself – you're good at that. You know, I'm beginning to think I should tell you to do your worst. It's not like anyone would believe you, as it's becoming common knowledge you're the town drunk. Getting a reputation as the resident slapper too. You–" He reels back as she hits him across the face and makes a grab for his hair. He pushes her away and she lands in a heap on a chair. "You're pathetic, you know that?" he shouts. "I must have been mad going anywhere near you. Pitiful. Keep away from me and my family. And I suppose it was you who sent that ridiculous note. I'll have you know I did not even attend that bloody picnic, and I put it straight in the bin where it belongs. You're beyond pathetic. I can't believe I wasted time on you."
"A letter? A note about the picnic? I didn't send it. I got one too. I wasn't–"
"I'm not interested in anything you have to say. This is your final warning. Keep away from me and my family. I never want to hear from you again." He leaves the room and closes the front door quietly behind him.
"Sarah – what's that noise? Who are you talking to?"
"I'm coming, Mummy." She quickly gets up, wipes the tears from her face and walks to her mother's bedroom, pausing to put a smile on her face before she opens the door. "Are you all right – you need something? I thought you were asleep."
The older woman is sitting up in bed, looking confused. "I heard voices. Like an argument."
"Oh, that was just the television. One of the soaps. Sorry I had it on so loud. Here, let me fix your pillows." She does, but keeps her face turned away. Her mother's sense of smell has declined since the accident, along with everything else, but she doesn't want to risk her noticing the alcohol. "Would you like something to eat – a hot drink?"
"No, no," her mother says. "I might try to get back to sleep for a while. My back kept me awake last night." She settles down under the covers.
She looks at her mother. A shadow of what she was. This ... all this is unbearable. "Mummy?" she says softly. "If it's all right, I thought I'd go out for a little while. Some fresh air."
"You do that, dear," she hears her mother mummer sleepily.
She goes back to the living room and looks in the mirror. Takes her cosmetics bag from a shelf and applies a fresh coat of make-up. Just some air, she won't be drinking.
Kenzie turns away from the mirrored wall behind her chair. "Why do I have to look like my father and not you?" she says to her mother. "At least three people have been yakking on about the 'beautiful Mortimer girls' since I got here and you can see they think I can't be your daughter. I'm nothing but a big ugly lump."
"Don't talk such nonsense, Kenzie – you're a lovely-looking girl. Where do you get those ideas..."
"I've got piggy eyes and a big nose – just like my father. That's what they called me at my last school. Piggy. I'm horrible."
"Not horrible," Pip says.
"Shut up Pipsqueak – who asked you?" Kenzie gives him a shove.
"Really, Kenzie – do behave," her mother says.
Jonny throws down his napkin. "Yes, that's enough of that. And you'd be much better concentrating on more important things than your physical appearance. Your education, for example. Young girls these days have twisted priorities."
"Agreed," Lucinda says. "I've researched the local school and it has a very good performance report. I'm sure you'll both do well there. That last place, well, let's just say, it left a lot to be desired."
"Take your elbows off the table, Pip, and finish your food. You need to watch your manners, young man. Hey, perhaps what you need is a Miss Patterson type to teach you the rules of etiquette. How about that? We should give her a call – she'll sort you out."
"Stop teasing him, Jonny," Lucinda says, putting her hand on his arm and ruffling Pip's hair. "Pip is doing just fine and his manners are lovely."
"Ooh, Pip's manners are lovely. Pip can do no wrong."
"Now, Kenzie, that is quite enough. Stop–"
"Lucinda? Lucinda Mortimer? Oh, I heard you were back. You look amazing – amazing."
Lucinda is looking up at the red-haired woman, trying to place her. This is embarrassing – she keeps meeting people who know her, but she can't recall even half of them.
The woman pats a hand on her chest. "Sarah. Sarah Fleming. We used to hang out together now and then. Ha – 'hang-out' – that's what they say now, or do they have a new expression? I can't keep up."
"Of course, Sarah. So lovely to see you. You're looking well. Hardly changed." She can barely recall Sarah. They 'hung-out'? She also realises the woman is drunk. "What are you doing now, Sarah?"
"Teacher. Local." She gives a small hiccup. "Yes, infants. Oh, and your lovely children..."
Lucinda introduces them and Jonny. This is uncomfortable. A teacher in this state.
"The little one – what age is he? Five? He might be in my class."
"Going on six," Lucinda says. "We're just finishing, but would you like to join us?" She almost says 'for a drink' but that's clearly not a good idea – the woman can hardly stand as it is.
Jonny gets to his feet. "We're just about to go upstairs. The children. Past their bedtime."
"Yes, yes, of course. I'm ... I'm meeting someone here. We're going for a meal. Not here. Nice to see you again, Lucinda. We should keep in touch. Oh – I know you." She's looking at Jonny.
"I don't think so," he says.
She's circling a finger at him. "No, I never forget a face. I'm just trying to–" She's swaying, rocks on her heels, loses her balance and falls backward. Two men at a nearby table manage to catch her and set her upright.
Lucinda puts out a steadying hand. "Oh dear. Are you all right, Sarah? Perhaps you would like to take a seat?"
Sarah pushes her hair away from her face. "No, I'm fine. Just these damn shoes. I'd better be off." She lurches away and heads for the door.
"She's drunk," Kenzie says loudly. "And got lipstick all over her face. Like a clown. A big fat clown."
"That's enough of that, young lady. Keep your voice down," her mother says. "Poor Sarah..."
Jonny is laughing. "I sincerely hope that one is not an example of the teaching staff around here. So much for the respectable little town. I'm beginning to wonder what we've got ourselves into here."
Chapter 12
He's on his back on a boat, no not a boat – like a raft. The sun is on his face, his body. Floating. Peaceful. And he knows she's there before he turns his head and when he does her face is almost touching his. All the lights in her eyes and they're multi-coloured, not blue but countless blues and he can see each separate lash and every freckle and they're both laughing. Like a giggle but gentler, and this is happiness and being safe and the heat on their skin and it's getting darker and now the rain and the raft rocking and he looks to see swimmers all around. Men and women and kids. Swimming away from what? He's asking Mia but she's gone and the waves are hitting and all the hands are reaching for the raft and he should help them, but they're pulling and it's rocking and tipping. No ... wait ... wait. Who to save? The kids, just little kids. They won't stop
– they all want on the raft. Where's Mia? It's going... Faces and he's swimming just like them but they want him. They want him. Is that Mia shouting 'Caden – help me'? Too many hands grabbing. Dragging him away and down. Stop. Stop – he'll help, just... He's going under. Has to kick them away. Forgive me. Breaking the surface and all is calm. They're gone? Gone. Where's Mia? They – what did they do? What's that? What... No – no – no.
He's awake, sweating and gasping. Heart pounding like he's been running for his life. Oh, god ... not a talking to the dead dream. A sea ... a sea of body parts. Limbless torsos, decapitated heads, lumps of gory flesh. An arm, an arm he thought he recognised.
He gets up, goes into the kitchen, picks up a glass for water, puts it back and reaches into a cupboard for a bottle. Pours himself a large measure of vodka. Downs it in one and refills. He shouldn't have turned Holly down tonight. Trying to do the right thing. He'd be there, with her wrapped in his arms and they would have been fucking each other's brains out all night and none of this would have got in.
*
That was a bit of luck, seeing her pissed in the pub. All it took was the offer of a drink and he was suddenly visible. Usually even that doesn't work. Gets nothing but abuse for that. But this one was desperate for attention and he gave her plenty. She doesn't remember him and why would she? All those years ago and he was a skinny little nothing back then. Hefty now and the beard helps. He didn't recognise her at first. But once she cried off all the muck on her face, he saw it. The girl she was. Yes, she's done plenty of crying tonight, at the pub and in the street and then back here.
Extremely helpful information. She'd been talking to Lucinda and was all het up about that. On about how she was no better than her and what she knew about them. It all helps. There's masses of resentment around about the Mortimer girls, even now. So he wasn't the only one who noticed what spoiled little madams they were. She poured out a load of stuff about the things they got up to. About Curtis Mortimer and the wife that topped herself – rumours about what her life was like with him. He was in no hurry to shut her up and it was more than worth biding his time for – after all, he's got all night. He's giving her a couple more minutes in the bathroom – she'll be tarting herself up for him, and, let's face it, she needs all the help she can get. Not exactly a beauty, is Sarah. A whore, yes.
He's getting bored, now he's got the information out of her. Does he want her? No, not really. His urges go towards something more fragile, fragrant, not so easily given. Something he could crush. Aloof even, like the Mortimer girls. Evangeline that day, on the swing. So confident in her superiority. That her life was yet to be lived.
He stands up, the damn screwdrivers are cutting into his ass. Only small ones, that's all you need. A Stanley knife too – it's a highly efficient piece of kit. He moves them to his jacket pocket; they'll still be well within reach.
The door. Someone's at the front door? Shouting for Sarah to open up. He gets behind the bedroom door and listens. Opens it a crack so he can see.
A voice through the letterbox. "Sarah – it's Dean. I've got your phone."
Another voice – an older woman. Sarah had said her old bat of a mother was sleeping. The stupid bitch is opening the door, but giving a nervous glance over her shoulder to where he is.
A cop. It's a cop and she's let him in. He's giving her a phone he says she left in the pub. He's asking how Auntie Pat is and the woman is shouting for him to come in and say hello. What's wrong with these people – it's nearly midnight. He'll have to get out through the window. There is no way he's hanging around with a cop on the premises. She's hardly worth it anyway – too willing, and god knows where she's been. Mark Blake for a start and that makes him want to heave. No, better with something fresh and young, like that pair in the book shop. Both of them. Yeah, nice.
Chapter 13
"Don't use your phone when you're driving," Ana tells Caden.
"You're on speaker phone. I'm following a kid."
"That is never a good thing to hear coming from a man's mouth."
"Exactly. In normal circumstances, I wouldn't even speak to a child on their own, but he's wandering about with no adult in sight. Found him way down the path at the entrance – shouted out to him that he should go back to the house. I take it he's the Mortimer kid – or whatever her husband's name is. Really young – shouldn't even be out on his own. I'm making sure he gets back to the house in one piece. The road's not that busy and the ravine's a fair distance from here, but there are men working with cutting equipment around the grounds. And a bloody great lake – we know what can happen there."
"Is he back yet?"
"Yeah, the door's open and he went in. You all right? That coach party still there?"
"Another one turned up – the café's here must be mobbed out, so they're all coming in here. Holly's helping out – after I moaned the face off her. She's not in a good mood. I could hear you two arguing last night."
"Yeah, well, never mind that... I'll be back as soon as I can – been keeping in touch by phone, but I need to take a look for myself."
"You done the supervising thing before? It's sounds as if you have."
"Various sections of the castle were always getting renovated. Mostly by us, as Lord Huntley was land rich but cash poor. We sometimes got craftsmen or contractors in, and anyone who was available kept an eye on things, regardless of age. We mucked in a lot with the estate gardens too, so I've a rough idea how it works."
"What's Ryden like?"
"Moderate sized country manor house. Maybe a couple of hundred years old. Good deal of later additions – many not in such great sympathy with the original build. Neglected, but not in such a bad state of repair from what I can see from here. There's a bloody great tower, separate from the main building, a disused stable block, tons of outbuildings, that freaky maze. The place is hoaching with old man Mortimer's statues."
"Anything like Huntley castle?"
"No, this is on a much smaller scale. And Huntley really was falling down around our ears. Look, I need to go. Take it easy. Get Holly to do all the work – ha."
"Hang on – you got that bottle of wine Henry left as a house warming gift?"
"Yeah, got it. Looks like it cost a bomb. That his sweetener, is it?
"Henry knows what he's doing. I meant to ask – still no dreams?"
"Nope. None since I got beat up and shot. The bang to the head might have dislodged something in my brain. Could be I'll have to think of another way of earning a living. Not going to worry about that now. Talk to you later – I have to go."
"What do you think, then?" Tyler is saying.
"Not bad." Caden is checking the fence around the orangery. "We need to get a move on, seeing we've now got that damn maze to break-up. Means we'll still be here after they move in, but just make sure they're not disturbed. You do a good job of this and you might be in with a chance of more work, here and elsewhere. Not sure what the Mortimers are doing, but everything going well, they could be employing some ground staff."
"Hope so, could do with the work. There's something I want you to see. Was going to phone you but I ran out of credit. You got a minute?"
"Sure."
They make their way to the back of the orangery, down a dirt path and through a thicket of trees. "Over there," Tyler says, pointing to an overgrown area surrounded by rusting iron fencing. "I know we're not doing this bit, but I went to take a piss – wanted to get well away from the house."
The gate is off its hinges and the weeds are waist high. Jutting up from amongst the tangle of overgrown shrubs and small trees are more of Mortimer's sculptures. All of animals, but mostly in abstract form. Some not much more than life-sized, others several times that. Barely decipherable names carved into the stone. Caden knows right away what this is. "A pet cemetery," he says.
"Yeah, took me a while to work that one out," Tyler tells him. "Never seen one before. But it was a relief, especially after finding that lot." He nods towards a bun
dle of bones lying in a small clearing.
Caden gets down closer to have a look. Mostly small animal bones and they look as if they've only recently been dug up. Definitely not human – the skulls, at least. But there are some bigger bones amongst them and he's not sure of their origin.
"You lot disturbed the ground in any way?" he asks.
"Nope. Don't think any of the others have been in here. Dug up by some animal, I reckon – a dog?"
"Maybe." He lets out a low whistle. "Look at that." He walks towards a stone wall at the far end of the plot. A hound with upright ears and blank stone eyes. At least twice life size. His fingers are tracing a faded inscription. The stone is badly weathered and covered in lichen, but he can just make it out. "Hybathine."
"Aye. Well creepy. And look at this. Just the leg sticking out. Nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw it."
Caden turns to see the man is holding up something by a leg. "It was buried?"
"Yeah. Who'd bury a doll?"
"Kids copying what happened to a pet? Left to keep a pet 'company'? I don't know. Kids do weird things sometimes. Have their own logic." He takes it and has a closer look. Cloth or felt. Must have been in the ground a good long time. Heavily stained, but the painted features can still be made out. Not the kind of face he thinks a child would want to look at – small pursed mouth, two dots for a nose, disconcerting human-looking eyes. Angry. The yellow matted hair looks like it's been hacked-off at some point. The feet are missing and filthy stuffing is hanging from the stumps.
"This whole place scares the shit out of me," Tyler says. "Almost didn't take the job on, but need the money. Bad reputation in the area. Kept well away from it when I was a nipper, but some of the older kids came in for a dare. You know old man Mortimer went off his head in the end? Was seen wandering the grounds talking to himself. That daughter of his never showed her face here in all that time. I reckon there are spirits about. Not seen them, but I can feel it. My ma's into all that. She always knows when something is about. When she heard I took this job on, she was like – the Mortimer bunch – you stay away from them. Never were no good."