Dark Places

by Dawson, H A

  ‘But that’s not what I saw. She was happy Mary, and in love. Where did it all go wrong?’

  She frowned. ‘If I were you I would let it rest, even if there is the slightest of chance that her spirit still exists.’

  Noticing the determination in her eyes, she shivered at the warning and turned to Sam, hoping for a speck of encouragement. Rather than him offering her a supportive look, she sensed that he was pleading with her to listen to Mary, and it was distressing.

  ‘People say that the bad blood has remained in the Cooper family,’ Mary continued, ‘and their views compounded when they saw what happened to Jim’s lad.’

  ‘But that was an accident.’

  Mary was pensive. ‘Was it?’

  Silence.

  ‘It was an accident that could have been prevented if he’d been paying more attention.’

  Visions of Oliver’s accident raced into her mind. She should have been paying him more attention; she was no less guilty. Clenching her fists and closing her arms into her body, she looked at Sam and imagined his silent words telling her she was blameless. But was she? Was she really? How else could she explain her punishment?

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up about it,’ Mary stated. ‘Like I said before, your house needs love, and the two of you have plenty.’ Her eyes flitted between them. ‘If you’re interested, I have some photos of your place.’

  Michaela nodded.

  ‘They are quite old. Peter, my husband, was a keen photographer in his day and often used to walk along Church Lane to take shots of the views. You must pop around to see them sometimes.’ She glimpsed at the crowd. ‘I must go my love. I mustn’t get caught gossiping.’

  Mary pressed her left hand onto the table and her right hand onto the chair and levered herself to her feet. Before she left, she looked out of her eye corner to something at Michaela’s rear, and with anxiety creeping into her expression, rushed away.

  Her departure seemed sudden, arousing Michaela’s suspicions. Driven by curiosity, she turned around and saw Grace chatting to two women. When Grace’s eyes locked with hers, her neighbour projected a piercing glare.

  ‘Why don’t you go talk to her? Sam said.

  ‘What?’

  He looked at her, blank.

  ‘She didn’t like me talking to Mary,’ Michaela said.

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Didn’t you see the look she gave me?’

  ‘It seemed all right to me.’

  ‘How could you not notice?’

  Silence.

  ‘Mary saw it. That’s why she left so suddenly.’

  He frowned, and started to voice his disagreement when the three women laughed, interrupting his comment.

  ‘They’re talking about me Sam,’ she said. ‘I can feel it.’

  ‘Why would they be doing that?’

  ‘She doesn’t like me. She’s turning everyone against me.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true.’

  His reassurance counted for nothing. All Michaela could think about was her previous argument with Grace - the shame, the disgrace, and her neighbour’s fury - and her heat crept to her face. Unable to tolerate any more, she sped away. Sam’s plea was distant.

  Chapter 17

  Michaela stood a distance away from the border with Grace’s house and stared at the patch of land that needed tending. It was a square metre short of being complete, and in its current state, with knee-high weeds and a straggling hedgerow, it was an eyesore. Despite her desire to do something about it, her courage was lacking. It was too soon after the incident at the village fête, and Grace’s furious stare still affected her composure.

  So much for her seeking forgiveness after making undesirable comments about Jim Cooper, she thought. She should have just told Grace that Jim was her uncle, then Grace would have realised she wasn’t speaking out of turn and was trying to share her enthusiasm with someone she had hoped she could label as a friend.

  She ambled a short distance away, perched on the edge of a large tractor tyre, and looked across the border. There was no sign of movement; Grace wasn’t gardening, the rear room light wasn’t on, which was usually a sign she was out, and her car wasn’t in the carport. Maybe it was safe for her to progress about her business.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Sam asked.

  She spun around. ‘I’m about to garden. I’m assessing what needs doing.’

  ‘You look a bit lost.’ He followed her gaze to Grace’s house. ‘Are you waiting for her to come out?’

  ‘No!’ She tensed. ‘No I’m not! I’m not worried about her. Live and let live I say.’

  Quite right. Her mood, yesterday, was unlikely to have anything to do with you. You may have just got in her firing line over something else.’

  ‘So you believe me now?’

  ‘I just didn’t see her look at you the way you said.’

  She frowned.

  ‘But there again, I didn’t see her look at you at all.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll accept that.’

  ‘You’ll win her around. You always do. Once she gets to know you she won’t fail to like you.’

  Oh, Sammy. You always say the right things at the right time.’

  ‘I’m well practised!’

  She watched him leave then returned her gaze back to the border. Hell, why shouldn’t she do what she wanted to do in her own garden? She should stop being so weak and feeble, and stop allowing a spiteful woman from dictating her day. With a newfound strength, she gathered her tools from the barn, grabbed her wind-up radio, and strode to her patch of garden.

  Eradicating the weeds was satisfying. She yanked them from the soil, tapped the root ball with her spade, and shook free the remaining particles. Then, she flung it onto a pile. All the time she hummed to a tune on the radio. Next up, was a Travis track, one of her favourites, and memories surged. It was a reminder of her life in the city and an afternoon spent at a friend’s barbecue; it was a reminder of her and Sam’s blossoming love.

  They hadn’t been together long and their relationship had been new and fresh. Between imbibing wine and munching finger food, they shared moments of intimacy, from secret kisses to private jokes. However, for Sam, it wasn’t enough, and needing a moment of unsuppressed passion, he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her to behind a trellis archway out of view. His gaze was intense, his eyes wild and crazy with love. Cupping her face using the delicacy of his palms, he planted featherlike kisses onto her lips and told her he would love her forever. She had melted in his arms; she had floated into ecstasy. Then the Travis track had played.

  ‘Turn it off!’

  Michaela jolted. Grace was metres away, her face depicting anger. She hurried to the radio and pressed the off button. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think it was that loud.’

  ‘That house should have stayed empty. It was peaceful then.’

  Bewildered, her gaze floated and she wrapped her arms around her middle.

  ‘I have met your city types before - you never have any consideration for anyone else.’

  ‘I said I’m sorry. I’ll keep the sound down.’

  ‘I don’t know what Jim was thinking giving the house to you,’ she said. ‘He should have listened to me.’

  ‘He was my-’

  ‘He was a gullible old fool, that’s what he was. He thought he knew what was best for everyone, but he didn’t have a clue.’

  Silence.

  ‘It was too late for him to make amends. I told him as much.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  She shook her head. ‘Forget it. It’s not your concern.’

  ‘I’m sure he would appreciate the work we’ve been putting in. It’ll be fantastic when it’s done.’

  If it ever gets done.’

  ‘Of course it will. Surely, you’d prefer to live next to a nice well-kept house with a tidy garden rather than the mess that has existed for years.’

  ‘I would prefer living next door to an empty
house.’

  She straightened her back. ‘I’m sorry you don’t approve of us. I had hoped we could have been friends. I thought we were finding commonality.’

  Acting as though the words were inconsequential, her focus slipped to something at her rear, and it caused Michaela to turn around. Sam was approaching and a wave of relief swept through her.

  ‘City folks may like your easy-going chatty demeanour,’ Grace said, ‘but you don’t fool me. I know your type. It is just a pity Jim never met you.’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m meant to be doing wrong.’

  ‘I don’t like your gossiping. I saw you talking to Mary.’

  ‘She’s a friend.’

  ‘You should pick your friends more carefully.’

  Michaela sighed. ‘I haven’t got time for this.’

  She flung her fork onto the ground, and hurried away, passing Sam on the path. Steadying her taut breaths and holding back her frustration, she trotted toward the house.

  ‘What’s this about?’ Sam asked Grace. ‘We’ve not done anything to hurt you.’

  Curious as to the exchange, Michaela stopped, hid behind a large shrub out of view, and listened.

  ‘I don’t like tittle-tattle, and I don’t appreciate seeing my friends in the village and being told things that aren’t true.’

  ‘We hardly know anyone in the village, and anyway, we haven’t said anything about you.’

  No, not directly. Village life is not the same as city life. There are no secrets here.’

  ‘So what have we done wrong?’

  ‘You haven’t done anything wrong.’ There was a pause. ‘Michaela should let the past rest. The village is a close-knit community. Most people are connected, and they have long painful memories.’

  ‘So this is about Michaela looking into Catherine’s life?’

  Silence.

  ‘She’s just curious. What’s the harm in that?’

  Michaela waited for a reply, but none came, causing her to step to her left and peer towards the border. Sam was striding towards her, his head was low and a frown carved into his face.

  ‘She just doesn’t like me, Sam,’ she said. ‘I doubt it’s anything to do with my investigation into Catherine.’

  ‘I’m not so sure. I think we should find more out about this mystery woman.’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’

  The library.’

  ‘That’s a fantastic idea.’

  Progress was slow. The car crawled along the main city centre highway, passing a row of sandblasted nineteenth-century townhouses with wrought iron fencing, and a prestige dancing equipment and attire shop. Growing bored of the journey Michaela glanced at the silky blue ballet tutu in the window positioned next to a pink and white ice dance dress, and imagined a class full of small girls displaying their skills. The car edged forwards.

  The spacious walkways by the roadside were free of mud, plant life, and litter, and they were in pristine condition with no indication of wear and tear. Prosperity beckoned, and a sense of safety emerged. She loved city life, and as she looked towards the tall concrete structures, she reflected upon of the faint smell of pollution, the buzz of the nightlife, and the comforting sounds of the people.

  Despite the drudgery of the heaving city traffic, her adrenaline started to flow, and her joy beckoned. Would she ever learn to deal with the quiet of the countryside? Would she ever feel more comfortable listening to birdsong than to the sounds of mingling voices? But then again, as she thought of their previous accommodation, a poky flat on the edge of the centre, she had to admit that it was not preferential.

  Frequently, the monotonous drumbeat echoing from the upstairs flat had kept her awake, or perhaps it had been an argument in the corridor, tearful children, or exuberant revellers. At first, the sounds made her feel alive and part of something exciting, but over time, they had become wearing. She had wanted to choose her moments of silence and not have them forced upon her at inopportune moments.

  Then there was the problem with the living accommodation. The flat was too small for her and Sam, and both craved more space. With the one main living area and the one bedroom, there never had been the option of seeking privacy or solitude. She could not have a girlie night in if Sam was around, nor could she listen to music if he wanted the television.

  The quiet rumble of the engine stopped, and Sam and Michaela exited the car, paid the parking fee, and headed to the city centre. The sun warmed as they strolled along a path, passing the city cathedral, a patch of wasteland, and an empty industrial building.

  ‘Do you miss the city?’ she asked.

  At times. It was convenient.’

  Hmm. I don’t think it was the right place to raise a family. At least not where we were.’

  We could have always bought a house on the outskirts.’

  ‘Are you unhappy?’

  No, not at all. I was thinking of you. You have always been more sociable than me.’

  ‘I fell in love with our house the minute I saw it. I never want to move again.’

  ‘But you must miss your friends.’

  She hesitated. ‘We’ll make new ones.’

  Having crossed the main road, they arrived at the edge of the shopping precinct.

  ‘Do you want to go to the library first?’ Sam asked

  Definitely.’

  They walked by a department store, a shoe shop, and a phone shop while weaving around people who crisscrossed the pedestrian walkway. Michaela made headway while immersed in her solitary world, glancing in windows, many with unappealing displays. The traffic roared, an occasional horn sounded, and voices created a low humming sound. It was easy to disregard such familiar and comforting sounds.

  ‘What do you think we’ll find out about Catherine?’ she asked.

  ‘We should find out exactly how many children she killed, and how she did it.’

  ‘I know it is not unheard of for women to kill their children, but I still find it hard to accept.’

  ‘I think anyone who is sane does,’ Sam said, ‘I’ve heard it’s common for women to do it for revenge purposes, often because of an adulterous husband.’

  ‘That’s a bit extreme.’

  ‘I read there are lots of cases where the mother intended to kill herself as well as her children, but she was the one who ended up surviving.’

  ‘That must be the worst of all . . . to have to live with such consequences.’

  ‘I guess.’

  They stopped on a kerb, waited for a bus and a taxi to pass by, and then crossed the road. Just in view, a short distance from a busy intersection and accessible via a subway was the county library.

  ‘It’s sad that anyone would want to take their own life, let alone their children’s,’ Sam continued.

  ‘If Catherine was guilty of killing her children, wouldn’t she have killed herself at the same time?’

  He shrugged. Maybe.’

  A thought dawned. Oh Sam!’ She gawked at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. ‘Catherine didn’t kill herself. I had a dream when we first moved in. Jack was chasing her, except I didn’t realise who they were at the time. She was trying to get away from him and ran along the coast, heading up a cliff path.’

  ‘What makes you think it was them?’

  ‘I know it was. Catherine was in black, in mourning, and Jack was in smart attire and wearing a top hat. She fell into the water. He was there. He could have saved her.’

  ‘So it was an accident.’

  ‘No . . . kind of. But he could have saved her. It wasn’t suicide, I’m certain.’

  ‘Maybe he couldn’t reach her, or couldn’t swim.’

  She wrapped her hand around her handbag, pulling it closer to her side. ‘I don’t think so. Catherine had been afraid of him. She had been desperate to flee, at whatever cost. The poor woman.’

  ‘They could have just had an argument.’

  She passed him a dark stare. ‘Why are you always trying to defend him?’


  ‘I’m not. I’m just trying to make you look at the other options.’

  She frowned. He was right; she mustn’t be too excited with her notion and forced herself to keep neutral thoughts. So long as the library provided them with the facts, her conjecture would be redundant.

  They entered the subway. She held her breath and increased the pace of her footsteps. They were dreadful places, with stale air and unsavoury characters, and she edged closer to Sam. Greeted by the light, her tension dispersed.

  The library had an impressive structure with an entire glass façade, cascading glass roof, and a glass-framed veranda, and in front was a large paved walkway. She felt as though she was entering an important facility, such as parliamentary buildings or university headquarters, and tried to deaden the sound of her footsteps. They stopped at the information board near the lifts.

  ‘What floor do you think we need to go to?’ she asked.

  Five, local history.’

  They waited for the lift, and then ascended in the airless atmosphere, to the fifth floor. Upon their arrival, they passed through the double doors into the main area and skimmed their surroundings. At the rear were row upon row of shelves, and in front, there were tables and chairs, a comfortable seating area, and an information desk. The few people that were present in the room were either studying reference material or relaxing on the soft chairs. They stepped towards the information desk. A middle-aged woman with small, round glasses and curly hair appeared from a staff area.

  ‘Do you have newspapers dating back to the early nineteen-hundreds?’ Sam asked.

  ‘We have a good selection online. I’ll show you how it works.’

  They strode to a computer and the assistant showed them how to access the documents.

  ‘It might take you a while to find what you are looking for,’ she said, ‘it can be a bit slow at times.’

  ‘As soon as the woman returned to her desk, Sam retrieved a chair from a nearby workstation and joined Michaela. They began their search for references to Catherine Cooper, but forty minutes soon passed, and she was tiring. Her arms and fingers ached, her eyes were blurring, and she had an urge to stretch her back and leg muscles.