Cruel Minds

by Malcolm Richards

  She liked the idea of a retreat, though—going to a place where she was forced to relax could only be a good thing. And surely they weren’t all focused on meditation.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” she said to Jerome, who playfully pinched her arm.

  “I’ve never had a bad idea in my life.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The rest of the week passed uneventfully. Saturday came and brought with it clear sky and warming spring sunshine. Emily headed out of London in a steady stream of traffic. It was the first time she’d driven since selling her beloved VW Beetle, which had been a gift to herself after graduating from university. When she’d moved to the city last year, owning a car had felt superfluous.

  The hire car, a three-door Peugeot hatchback, was easy enough to manoeuvre. It was the other drivers that were the problem. Negotiating London roads was like competing in an off-road rally where laws had no meaning. Cars pushed in front of her. They tailgated to make her speed up. Horns blasted at her to get a move on even before traffic lights had switched from amber to green. Anxiety levels rocketing, Emily focused on her breathing.

  Reclining in the passenger seat next to her, Jerome flipped through the apps of his phone and emitted occasional heavy sighs.

  “Weekend drivers,” he tutted as the car slowed to a halt. Up ahead, a gridlock of traffic blocked the road. “What time are we supposed to be at this place?”

  “Last night.”

  “You didn’t have to wait, you know. You could have gone without me.”

  Having to endure Jerome’s current mood was beginning to make Emily wish that she had.

  “What’s this place called again?” He tugged the seatbelt away from his neck.

  “Meadow Pines.”

  “Well, I hope Meadow Pines has an internet connection.”

  “I thought the point of a retreat was to get away from all that.”

  “For normal people, yes. But now that I face a life of waiting tables yet again, I need to keep my ear to the stage floor.”

  “Yes, about that...” Emily began.

  “You don’t have to say another word on the subject.”

  “I was just going to say I’m sorry.”

  Two days ago, the cast of The Devil Wears a Red Dress had learned that Friday’s performance would be their last. Scathing reviews, social media backlash, and pitiful audience numbers had left the theatre with little choice but to close them down. Emily had managed to book Jerome the one remaining room at Meadow Pines, the countryside retreat they were now travelling to. It had meant missing out on the opening evening, but in spite of Jerome’s foul mood, she was glad to have a familiar face coming along.

  Eventually breaking free from the exodus of traffic, Emily navigated the car onto the A3 and headed towards southern Hampshire. Jerome switched on the radio, blasting rock music from the speakers.

  Ninety minutes later, they were crossing over the River Test and heading into the New Forest National Park—five hundred and sixty-six square kilometres of unenclosed pasture land, heathland, and forests.

  Jerome stared out at the sweeping landscape of meadows. He’d abandoned his phone a few miles back, complaining that he couldn’t get a signal.

  “I hate the countryside,” he grumbled.

  Emily eased her foot down on the brake pedal. Ahead of them, a young pony with dappled hide stood at the roadside, grazing on grass.

  “Look at that!” she said, smiling.

  Jerome shrugged a shoulder. “Shouldn’t it be in a field or something?”

  Further along, a chestnut mare and her young foal stood in the centre of the road, unconcerned by the vehicle and its passengers.

  “They’re New Forest ponies,” Emily said, enthralled by the gentle beasts. “They’ve lived here freely for thousands of years. In fact, that’s why there’s so much heathland—because of all the grazing.”

  “Great. Try not to hit them on the way around.”

  Giving Jerome a sideways glance, Emily rolled the car forwards and drove in a wide arc around the ponies.

  “There are all sorts of wild animals roaming around,” she continued. “Deer, donkeys, even cattle. In fact, the New Forest has a very interesting history.”

  As heathland disappeared and thick forest grew up on either side of the winding road, Jerome muttered under his breath and sank further into his seat.

  Emily cleared her throat, eager to share her findings from her internet research. “The forest was established in 1079 by William the Conqueror as a reserve for the royal hunt. What the tourist board doesn’t tell you is that he destroyed over twenty small villages and farmsteads in the process, making their inhabitants homeless.”

  “Nice guy.”

  “Yes, well some say King William was punished by the forest for such cruel behaviour. Cursed you might say.” Emily’s voice had taken on an overly dramatic tone, remnants of a teaching career. “Both of William’s sons lost their lives while hunting within those trees. First Prince Richard, who died after inhaling a pestilent air. Then Prince Rufus, who was killed by a misdirected arrow. No sooner had William mourned his sons, tragedy struck again. His grandson, Henry, was pursuing deer through the forest when he was suddenly torn from his steed. The huntsmen found him hanging above the ground, choked to death by tree branches—quite literally slain by the forest.”

  Emily smiled to herself. The children had always enjoyed her gruesome tales from the annals of history, particularly if they involved beheadings or burnings at the stake.

  “You can take the teacher out of the school but you can’t take the school out of the teacher,” Jerome said. He looked up at the tree canopies whipping past overhead.

  A twinge of anxiety broke through Emily’s excitement. She didn’t want to think about school or being a teacher. That part of her life was over and she had no business revisiting it.

  As they drove deeper into the forest, she refocused her attention on the surrounding greenery. Living in London had its merits but she still missed the unpolluted air of the countryside. The pace of life was so different as well. While London was in constant motion, a great machine where its millions of inhabitants were the cogs that kept it moving, the countryside was governed by nothing and no one. It was alive; a living, breathing entity that had existed long before people and was likely to continue existing long after they’d faded into the ether.

  The trees began to fall back, replaced by grassland and roadside cottages with thatched roofs. Minutes later, they came upon the ancient village of Lyndhurst, which had stood for at least a thousand years and was known as the New Forest’s capital. The high street was busy. Scores of tourists ambled along the pavements, cameras snapping pictures of the Tudor and medieval architecture. Others had their phones out, taking selfies next to the village’s other visitors—a small herd of cattle trotting along the road, snout to tail.

  Emily drove on, leaving the sights of Lyndhurst dwindling in the windscreen mirror. In the passenger seat, Jerome shook his head. They passed more cottages. Then, as the road passed by Emery Down, it narrowed into a single lane. Trees grew up again, immersing the car and its passengers in a shadowy expanse of greens and browns.

  “Do they at least have a TV at this place?” Jerome asked. They were the first words he’d spoken in fifteen minutes.

  Emily shrugged. A car was approaching from the opposite direction. She slowed, pulling over to let it pass. “You didn’t have to come along if you didn’t want to. I just thought it would be nice.”

  “I know. But look what happened the last time you were left alone.”

  “I don’t need a chaperone, thank you very much. I’m twenty-seven years old.”

  The forest grew thicker, the light darker. The coolness of the shade prickled Emily’s skin, distracting her from the irritation burning in her chest like indigestion. By the time she turned off the road minutes later, that irritation had given away to determination. She was going to have a relaxing weekend, even if it killed her. Although
his current expression said otherwise, she was sure Jerome would too; just as soon as he’d rid himself of his hangover.

  Pulling into a small stretch of gravel that served as a car park, Emily wedged the Peugeot in between two other vehicles and killed the engine. In front of them was a large, flat meadow where families of fallow deer, many of them with unusual white coats, grazed on feed left by local park keepers. Jerome stared up at the large sign that stood at the car park entrance.

  “Bolderwood Deer Sanctuary? If I knew we were going hunting, I would have brought my trapper hat.”

  To the left of the parked vehicles, clusters of visitors stood watching on a purpose-built viewing platform. One young boy leant over the railings, shouting and jeering at the placid-looking creatures while his family clicked away on their phones and cameras. All around the deer sanctuary, the ancient oak trees of Bolderwood rolled out as far as the eye could see.

  “This doesn’t much look like a retreat to me,” Jerome said, wrinkling his face.

  Emily nodded. “It’s our meeting point. Meadow Pines is a little tricky to get to by car, so we’re getting picked up.”

  “Exactly where are you taking me?”

  Smiling, Emily pushed open the driver door. “Come on, grumpy. Let’s grab our bags.”

  Stepping onto the gravel, she took in a breath and let it out steadily. The air was heavy with forest smells. The sun was warm against her skin. Any anxiety she’d been feeling was brushed away. She watched Jerome shut the car door, then adjust his sunglasses. He looked around, lips curling in disapproval.

  “It’s not even a proper car park,” he complained, kicking at the loose gravel.

  “Toto, we’re not in London anymore.”

  “You may jest, but at least London feels safe. Anything could happen out here.”

  “Safe? Have you seen the latest crime statistics?”

  “I bet they don’t include being eaten alive by a herd of ravenous ponies.”

  As they pulled out their backpacks from the boot of the car, Emily’s gaze wandered over to the deer. They were beautiful; their white coats giving them a mystical, ethereal appeal. She couldn’t understand why Jerome found the natural world so unnerving.

  A loud grumble of an engine unsettled the animals. A few of the young looked up, ears twitching, snouts sniffing the air. An olive-green Land Rover, encrusted with mud, pulled up onto the gravel. The words Meadow Pines were stencilled across its doors.

  Emily and Jerome waited for the driver to turn off the engine and climb out. She was a pale-skinned young woman, perhaps in her early twenties, with wavy red hair that she wore tied behind her back. She opened up the folder in her hands, pulled out an A4-sized card, and held it up. Handwritten in black ink were the words: EMILY SWANSON & JEROME MILLER.

  “Be nice,” Emily whispered to Jerome as they strolled towards the Land Rover. He nudged her in the ribs.

  “Hi, I’m Marcia Hardy. I’m the assistant manager at Meadow Pines,” the young woman said as she returned the name card to her folder. She shook Emily’s hand, then hesitated slightly before shaking Jerome’s. “You came from London?”

  Emily nodded. “That’s right.”

  “One of our other guests is from there as well. I’ve never visited, although I’d like to.” Marcia shifted from one foot to the other. Her gaze flitted from Jerome to the ground, then back again.

  “You’re better off here in the peace and quiet,” Emily said. “And peace and quiet are exactly what I’m looking forward to. Have we missed much?”

  “In terms of activities, not really. Pamela will explain more about that. You missed our welcome dinner last night but you still have plenty of time to get to know the other guests—if you choose to, that is.”

  She stared at Jerome again.

  “Who’s Pamela?” he asked.

  “Pamela owns Meadow Pines. She’s also my mother. Well, if you’d like to put your bags in the back, I’ll drive you to the house. It’s a few miles into the woods and it’s a bit of a bumpy ride down an old dirt track, so please watch your heads.”

  “What about the car? We just leave it here?” Jerome said, casting a suspicious eye over the tourists on the viewing platform.

  “Our guests leave their vehicles here all the time. We’ve never had any trouble. No one ever comes out this way at night and during the day it’s just tourists.”

  Peeling her gaze from Jerome’s face, Marcia turned and opened up the back of the Land Rover.

  “I think you have a fan.” Emily nudged him in the arm.

  Jerome narrowed his eyes. “Oh my God, he’s not white! Run for the hills!”

  Both smiling, they threw in their bags, then climbed into the back seat of the Land Rover. Marcia started the engine, pulled out of the parking area, and headed north.

  ***

  A hundred metres along the road, the forest disappeared. Heathland speckled with grazing ponies filled the view.

  Spinning the wheel, Marcia took a sharp left. The Land Rover skidded, almost turning a hundred and eighty degrees. In the backseat, Jerome slammed into Emily’s side. The smooth asphalt road came to an end and merged into a narrow gravel track that was barely wide enough to contain the Land Rover.

  “Sorry about that,” Marcia called from the front. “It’s going to be a bit of a rough ride from here.”

  The vehicle’s passengers bounced up and down as its wheels ran in and out of large potholes. Emily couldn’t hide her amusement as Jerome held onto the passenger door, the barrel of red wine he’d sunk the night before now threatening to resurface. The road, if it could be called that, plunged back into the forest. Marcia shifted gears and threaded the steering wheel between her hands. The Land Rover slid off the gravel and dove head on into the trees. Soon, they were weaving between towering trunks, following a muddy track.

  “Have either of you visited a retreat before?” Marcia asked as she expertly steered the vehicle around a large fallen branch.

  Emily shook her head. “It’s our first time.”

  She was suddenly thrown forwards as the vehicle headed down a stony incline. All around, the forest stirred.

  “Well, Meadow Pines isn’t your typical retreat,” Marcia said when they were on flat ground again.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Pamela will explain when we get there.”

  “How many other guests are staying?”

  “We have a full house, so including the both of you and one other latecomer, that makes nine.”

  A flurry of birds whipped past the front of the Land Rover and arched up towards the branches. The deeper the vehicle moved into the forest, the less light there was. It was like being underwater, Emily thought.

  Of all the retreats she’d researched, Meadow Pines had been one of the remotest. It wasn’t easy getting away from people in a country as small as Great Britain. Sometimes, she wished she lived somewhere like America, where it would be easy to travel to places so remote that you could go weeks without seeing another face. Short of scouring the country for a cave to dwell in, hiding out in the heart of the New Forest seemed liked the most viable alternative. But now, as they drove closer to their destination, Emily wondered about the other guests. Seven wasn’t a huge number to contend with, but they would all be staying under one roof. It would just take one of them to recognise her from the newspapers and then, any chance of a peaceful weekend would be blown.

  As if reading her mind, Marcia said, “It’s a big house with plenty of room, so people manage to stay out of each other’s hair. Plus, we have forty acres of private land for you to explore. It’s mostly forest but we also have our own lake. Either of you like to garden?”

  Tightening his grip on the passenger door, Jerome glared at Emily.

  “I used to, before moving to London,” she said.

  “Well, we grow all of our own vegetables at Meadow Pines, so we always appreciate any help out in the field. In fact, we’re getting pretty self-sufficient. If Pamela had her way we�
��d be living fully off the grid, but we can’t afford the initial expense of providing our own power sources. At least, not yet.”

  Emily watched the trees whistle past as the Land Rover continued its journey. “It sounds beautiful.”

  A few minutes later, just as Jerome’s nausea was reaching uncontainable levels, Marcia brought the Land Rover to a halt but kept the engine running. A wide field gate blocked the way. Marcia fished out a bunch of keys from her jacket pocket, selected one, and handed it to Emily.

  “Would you mind?”

  Taking the key, Emily hopped out of the Land Rover. All around her, birds sang in choruses. She moved up to the gate, unlocked the padlock that kept it secure, then waved the Land Rover through. Once she’d locked the gate again, she jogged up to the vehicle and jumped in. A few minutes later, the track opened up onto a wide, grassy clearing.

  Marcia hit the brakes and killed the engine.

  “We have to walk from here,” she said. “It’s not far.”

  Heaving their bags onto their shoulders, Emily and Jerome followed their guide across the clearing.

  “How are you enjoying yourself so far?” Emily whispered, a wry smile on her lips.

  Jerome gave her a sideways glance. “I hate you.”

  Through the undergrowth, they saw another path trailing into the distance.

  “This way.” Marcia indicated with a nod of her head.

  Emily and Jerome followed her, hiking along a dusty path that had been worn into the ground by hundreds of pairs of feet all making the same journey.

  Emily looked up at the jade-coloured canopy. Sunlight pierced through the leaves and shone in dusty spotlights on the forest floor. Insects buzzed. For the first time in months, she felt the muscles in her shoulders begin to unravel. Beside her, Jerome looked around with wide, anxious eyes.

  The path became narrower. Trees leaned in on both sides. Then, as the path turned, the three of them emerged from the forest.