Dark Places

by Dawson, H A

  Michaela was heading towards him. She looked uncomfortable, maybe even ashamed.

  ‘Are you feeling better?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m sorry. I got a bit carried away.’

  ‘You’ve nothing to worry about. I’ll always be around to look after you.’

  She chuckled. ‘Like that’s a comfort! My big, strong knight in shining armour!’

  Smiling, he removed a strand of hair from her face and then placed his finger to wipe away a smudge next to her mouth. ‘You’ve been at the chocolate again.’

  ‘I needed something to calm me down.’

  So long as it helps. Any plans for today?’

  ‘I’m going to start on the decorating. It’ll be nice to get one room finished.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll join you when I get this done.’

  She inspected the thinned out hedge and the pile near the brick wall, and then, with a hint of annoyance on her face, hurried away.

  His gut tightened. She didn’t have to say what bothered her, he knew instantly. And she was right. He was working near the border in hope of seeing Grace, but in his defence, he had never agreed to her frantic appeal to avoid a conversation. He had merely listened to her rant.

  Approaching Grace to ascertain the truth about the writing on the mirror was the best approach, whether she liked it or not. So, undeterred, he returned to the hedge and continued his pruning. Using the loppers, he stretched up for a branch and snipped it free. It dropped to the ground. He reached for a second, disentangled it from an intrusive length of bramble and placed it a couple of metres away.

  Minutes later, as he continued with his task, Grace called across. ‘Hello Sam.’

  He placed his loppers on the ground and moved to a gap.

  ‘I’m sorry about my mood the other day,’ she continued. ‘I’ve had a few problems of late, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.’

  ‘That’s okay. We all have bad days.’

  ‘You are doing a fantastic job with the house - a few people in the village have been commenting - and the garden is coming on too.’

  ‘Michaela should take the credit for that. She has been working hard. I just fancied a change and thought I’d do some serious pruning.’

  Grace studied the hedge. ‘It needs it. What are you going to do with the waste?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I might have to cut it into smaller pieces so I can take it to the local tip. Where is the nearest one?’

  She told him, and then proceeded to chat about the village amenities. He was glad to listen and hoped that if she relaxed, she may react positively when he broached the subject of the warning.

  The subject changed to debt and expenditure.

  ‘You should only spend what you can afford,’ she said, ‘the young expect as many luxuries as those earning pots of money.’

  He smiled. He had to agree; it was the same reason they were doing the majority of the work to the house themselves rather than paying for builders and gardeners.

  ‘I’m not saying they shouldn’t have the latest gadgets if they can afford them. I just think they should be purchased after the kids have been fed and the mortgage paid.’

  ‘Weren’t you ever a bit frivolous?’

  ‘Heck,’ she said, ‘I certainly was. I used to collect antique dolls. In the early days, I’d spend every penny I earned on them, and that wasn’t much. Then I’d spend what I couldn’t afford on them and I got into huge debt. I was no saint.’

  ‘But you are now?’

  She laughed. ‘I like to think so.’

  He smiled. She was not as stiff as he had imagined and lacked the sternness he had so often witnessed. It was an appealing and unexpected part of her character, one he warmed to.

  ‘Seriously, though,’ she continued, ‘I learned about money the hard way. It forced me to knuckle down and consider a career – at the time I worked in a bar and I had no idea what I wanted from life.’

  ‘What do you do?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m a nutritionist. I work at the clinic in town.’

  ‘That’s interesting. I’ve always believed that food affects your general well-being and mood.’

  ‘Yes, it does, more than you’d think.’

  ‘You must deal with a lot of overweight people.’

  ‘That’s a bit presumptuous . . . but yes I do. Most of my patients have been referred to me because of an existing health complaint, such as diabetes or a heart condition, and I deal with everyday problems such as migraines, irritable bowel syndrome, pre-menstrual tension, and allergies. Even after years of doing it, I still find it fascinating. Every case is different.’

  ‘So I suppose you must have the perfect diet.’

  She chuckled. ‘That’s what everyone says. I aim for a balanced diet, but I am just as guilty as the next person when it comes to luxury foods.’

  ‘Michaela loves sweet things. I can’t keep her off chocolate. She’s been under a lot of pressure recently and says it calms her down.’

  She nodded. ‘Sugar stimulates the adrenals, giving a false impression of energy.’

  ‘I’m all for it, even if it is temporary. By the way, did you see anyone hanging around our house last night?’

  ‘No. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Someone scrawled a message on an old mirror in the barn.’

  Her eyes flitted. ‘Oh dear, that’s not good. Was it written in paint?’

  ‘Yes, red paint, but it disappeared before I could clean it off.’

  ‘It’s happened before.’ She paused. ‘It sounds like one of Catherine’s old tricks.’

  Sam shuddered. ‘I don’t believe in ghosts.’

  She gave him a cold stare. ‘What other explanation do you have?’

  Pressing his lips together, he forced back the accusation. ‘It must have been someone from the village.’

  ‘Well I was home all last night, and I didn’t see anyone come along the lane.’

  He frowned. ‘Michaela thought she saw you at the supermarket last night.’

  Really?’ She held his gaze. ‘No, like I said, I stayed in.’

  Grace was convincing. What reason would she have to lie? There again, what reason would Michaela have to lie?

  ‘Is everything all right? You look anxious.’

  Sam cleared his throat. ‘It’s Michaela. She’s . . . she’s not herself. She’s acting odd.’

  How so?’

  ‘Do you see clients who are stressed?’

  Regularly.’

  ‘What about people who see things?’

  ‘Hallucinate?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I have done in the past. Is it bad?’

  ‘Not really, but it’s enough to worry me.’

  ‘Jim was the same. He’d hallucinate and would swear people were out to get him.’

  Really?’

  ‘Oh yes. That’s why some people thought he was mad. People can be cruel.’

  ‘You must miss him.’

  ‘I do. He was a pain in the backside but he had his caring side and was always on the go. He was hyperactive in fact, and could get twice as much done as anyone else when he was in the mood.’

  ‘That sounds like Michaela. I work the same hours as her, but she operates at twice the speed.’

  She looked towards his house. ‘Yes, they do seem quite similar. I just hope this house agrees with her.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Jim loved living there but the remoteness made him edgy . . . especially when he lived alone.’

  ‘I don’t mind the silence, but Michaela’s a city girl at heart and is used to having friends around her. Since we’ve been here, she’s shunned them.’

  ‘The renovation work must be stressful.’

  ‘She’s had invitations to meet up with them, but each time she’s made an excuse.’ He glimpsed at her cautiously. ‘I don’t know what to make of it.’

  ‘Is there anything else bothering her?’

  ‘She’s . . . she’s just had a mi
scarriage.’

  Grace nodded. It was a knowing nod, as though she had already guessed. Could she be that perceptive? Perhaps it came with her job.

  ‘That’s going to be the reason for her behaviour. It could take her a while to get over it.’

  A sound alerted him to something behind. He turned around and caught a glimpse of Michaela’s tormented face a short distance away. She turned and fled.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Grace said, ‘she doesn’t look too happy.’

  ‘No, I must go.’

  Driven by surging guilt and an overwhelming sense of betrayal, he hurried after her. But Michaela had already fled, and by the time he arrived indoors, she was nowhere around.

  He called out her name.

  There was no reply.

  He searched the downstairs rooms in turn and headed upstairs. He found her sat on the bathroom floor with her knees close to her chest and her eyes fixated on a spot straight ahead.

  ‘We were just talking,’ Sam said, ‘It’s not anything to get upset about.’

  She did not respond.

  ‘She apologised for her bad mood the other day and praised the work you’ve done in the garden. Actually, she’s very nice.’

  ‘She’s sucked you in!’

  ‘No . . . that’s not how it is.’ He forced shut his mouth. It wasn’t the time to try to persuade her otherwise.

  ‘I knew you’d turn against me - just like Jack turned against Catherine.’

  Sam sighed. ‘You have to stop thinking about Catherine.’

  ‘Why? It’s not wrong to sympathise with someone. Our lives are following the same path. We both moved in after we married, and both lost our babies. Then Jack turned against her, and . . . and he started having an affair. Just the way you will. It’s happening all over again.’

  ‘What makes you think I’d want an affair with anyone, let alone Grace?’

  ‘You will.’ Her eyes filled with disappointment. ‘Why the hell do you think I’m not going to have children?’

  Chapter 24

  Dressed in old faded jeans and a bubbled cotton blouse, and with a headscarf covering her hair, Michaela examined the freshly painted ceiling for missed patches. The coating was thick and textured and disguised the small cracks and pitted plaster surfaces, and even without the walls decorated, it brightened the room. Satisfied, she took the tub of paint and the tools outside, cleaned the roller and tray, and returned with the paint for the walls.

  Her desire for a themed room was lost, her energy and motivation lacking. A couple of days ago Sam had tried to inspire her by presenting her with ideas selected from the internet and magazines. All she could think of was his conversation with Grace, and neither his suggestions nor the animation in his tone created inspiration.

  Using a screwdriver, she levered off the lid from the paint, reached for a long stick propped up against the wall, and started to stir. Driven by anguished thoughts, she rushed and a little spilled over the edge. Not wanting to clear more mess than necessary from the floor, she calmed her twitchy muscles and tried to think of something more pleasant. Regrettably, her thoughts returned to her dispute with Sam.

  After her outburst, he had smothered her with questions and tried to make her realise the foolishness of her comments. Rather than focusing on his intended compassion, she felt more isolated than before and remained haunted by Sam and Grace’s easy chatter and gentle humour. Clearly, he was on Grace’s side, but worse still, he had betrayed her by speaking to her. In his defence, he had said that their conversation was irrelevant and counted for nothing.

  Maybe it shouldn’t bother her, but it wasn’t easy to disregard. Grace hated her, and on top of that, she was plotting with her mother. They both knew more about Primrose Cottage than they let on, and they both kept her in the dark. Now they included Sam in their secrets. Her exclusion twisted her gut.

  She puffed out. For the sake of her sanity, she had to trust Sam. Forcing the positive, she admitted that her suggestion that he was interested in Grace as a lover had sounded extreme. It was not as if she had a sparkling personality or good looks, nor would she be a thrilling catch. Hence, she tried to banish such nonsense from her head.

  ‘You’re doing a great job.’

  She spun around. Sam stood in the doorway.

  ‘Do you need any help?’ he continued.

  ‘No . . . thanks.’

  He hesitated in the doorway, not appearing as though he wished to speak or at the same time leave. Unwilling to be drawn into a conversation, she poured some paint onto the tray and coated the roller.

  ‘Do you think Grace was Jim’s mistress?’ he asked.

  Her face lit up. Of course! That makes sense. Why didn’t we think of it earlier?’

  ‘I don’t know. It seems obvious now.’

  ‘It explains why Grace was so upset when I suggested Jim got what he deserved.’

  ‘You did what?’

  Ashamed, she lowered her head. ‘I just made a passing remark about Jim. It wasn’t much.’

  He had a look of disappointment on his face.

  ‘I didn’t know that she was his lover!’

  ‘Well, we do now.’

  ‘How did you work it out?’

  He shrugged. ‘She didn’t say anything . . . it just came to me.’

  ‘Did she tell you anything else useful?’

  Quite a bit. Jim had mental problems and didn’t like living here.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. He had seen his child drown.’

  He agreed. ‘Grace also said he used to hallucinate. He would hear voices and see things that weren’t there.’

  She stiffened. Could her vision of Catherine pleading for help in the barn have been a hallucination? And what about the screaming at the pond? It was possible that she wasn’t psychic after all, but rather suffered from mental issues.

  ‘Jim also had a caring side and was hyperactive,’ he continued. ‘It’s a pity you never met him. It sounds like you may have had something in common.’

  She nodded, pensive. It did seem that they were similar. Her father never mentioned having premonitions or such-like, nor had he ever hallucinated, at least not to her knowledge. His character traits had been the opposite of hers; he was mentally stable, experiencing few highs and lows, and difficult to arouse.

  ‘It proves Mum was right about Dad and Jim never getting on.’

  He folded his arms. ‘Maybe Jim left the house to you as an apology to your dad for all the fighting.’

  ‘What about his children?’

  ‘They must have got something else . . . another house perhaps. He must have lived somewhere. You should ask your mother about it.’

  She looked to her feet. Her mother would be evasive, as usual. Sam was more likely to be able to extract the truth from Judith than she was.

  She looked up, nervously catching his eye and asked him if he had mentioned to Grace that they had seen her in the supermarket. When he hesitated and averted his gaze, she sensed a negative response and wished she could retract her question.

  ‘Grace said she wasn’t there,’ he replied.

  ‘But I saw her.’

  ‘I know you did.’ He folded his arms. ‘She said she was at home all night and never saw anyone come along the lane.’

  ‘So she sits by the window and stares at the road.’

  He frowned. Michaela . . . why would she lie?’

  ‘Because that’s what she does. Why are you siding with her?’

  He turned and stepped to the outside door. ‘Let’s not argue.’

  ‘Sam! Don’t walk away!’

  Resisting her desire to chase after him, grab him by his arm, and yank him backward, she watched him exit the house and stride towards the drive.

  ‘I’m going to find out the truth, whether you like it or not,’ she yelled.

  He stopped and turned. ‘I hope you do.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Nothing Michaela! Nothing!’

  Having switched
off the car engine, Michaela looked across to the small, detached dwelling on the edge of an estate, and prayed that today her mother would be agreeable. She did not hope for excessive kindness and understanding, she just wanted Judith to be less judgemental and listen to her concerns without criticism.

  Her earliest memory of her mother’s critical eye was at a school play when she had not performed as flawlessly as her mother had hoped and stumbled over her words mid-performance. At the time, she shrugged off her humiliation with a spontaneous joke, and whilst the audience had been appreciative, Judith glared, later making her feelings known. ‘I want a daughter to be proud of, not a clown,’ she had said. That memory tightened her stomach.

  Not all memories were bad. Her mother had been prone to fads and would start fitness campaigns and other hobbies, often without any forethought or commitment. Together, they would make fruit juices, wines, lace doilies, and knitted scarves, and they would learn Tai Chi and Yoga. However, her mother’s enthusiasm never lasted for long, and without warning, she would claim disinterest, leaving her helpless and frustrated. Experience told her not to persist with her persuasion to continue their new hobby, as her mother’s word was final; Judith rarely reversed her decision, and instead criticised her daughter for the aggravation.

  Her mother could be a hard-hearted woman, but she had never been cruel or pitiless, and occasionally her sympathies had emerged. There had been times a consoling word or tender gesture surprised, like when she had received a lower than expected grade on her French test. However, there had also been times when she had been desperate for her mother’s sympathy and the comforting words never came. She remembered how she used to cherish the rare expression of approval or flattering remark and cling to it as though it was her salvation. As Michaela grew older the compliments became less necessary, and she became hardened, although not immune, to her mother’s lack of praise.

  Unable to put off her entrance any longer, she left the car and knocked on the door. It opened within seconds, and straight away Judith subjected her to a full body scan. As her mother’s eyes looked to parts of her body she wished could remain private, her need for offloading her woes lessened. She had planned to discuss Grace, Sam, and the blood-red warning; instead, she imagined she would be criticised for delving into something that was not any of her business. Why had she ever thought otherwise?