by S. Bryce
‘So-kay,’ he mumbles. He rises from the stool and taking aim, tosses his apple core into the flames.
Alden brings over the mugs of tea and a plate piled high with iced fairy cakes.
Tosh shifts excitedly in his stool.
Every once and a while mum used to let us make fairy cakes. I’d measure the ingredients out into a bowl and mix it with a wooden spoon, the way they taught me in my Home Economics class at school. With mum’s help, Ellie would spoon the cake mixture into the paper cases. Tosh would lick the leftovers from the bowl and later complain of belly ache.
Tosh’s mouth is like a fathomless pit. He crams not one fairy cake into his mouth, but two.
The cake I’ve chosen has a big dollop of white icing on it. I start to nibble at the icing and watch Alden with trepidation. He sighs contentedly and eases himself into his red armchair.
‘Tell us about how you became a woodcutter,’ Tosh says thickly, reaching for his third cake.
‘My dad was woodcutter as was his father, and his father before him,’ Alden says, taking a sip of his tea. ‘I never thought about doing anything else.’
Tosh nods enthusiastically. He’s hoping to hear an enthralling story. He’s bored with the ones I tell him. He’s looked at all the pictures in Jane Sinclair’s Willow’s End and said they were boring, so the story must be boring too. I’d be inclined to agree with him, if I knew what the story was about.
I peel the paper case off my fairy cake and pop it in my mouth, relishing the sweet icing. It melts on my tongue like snow. They’re good, though not as good as the ones we used to make.
A bird calls from outside the window. I find myself clawing at my neck and glancing up at the broken clock, willing it to tell me when half an hour has past. How far away does Alden live from here? How much can he see? How much does he know? These are my questions. Where are his?
Alden observes me watching the clock.
‘It’s all right. I’ve set the time there,’ he says, pointing to the egg timer. ‘I dropped that clock six years ago. I always meant to get it fixed. Never did.’
I notice a gold ring on the finger of his left hand
‘Are you from around here?’ I ask. That’s not what I meant to ask. The churning feeling rapidly returns to my stomach. ‘I mean do you live around here?’
‘I was born in Medswell,’ he replies. ‘I’ve lived here my whole life.’
‘Have you got any children?’ Tosh asks, idly swinging his legs back and forth.
‘I did have a little girl, but she died a long time ago,’ Alden says.
Tosh stops swinging his legs. He lowers his eyes, and prods at his fairy cake with his thumb. ‘That’s sad.’ He jerks his head up suddenly. ‘Was she sick?’
My body tenses. He’s going to talk about Ellie. I know it. Say something Kate! ‘You’re married aren’t you?’
There comes the sound of rapidly beating wings as the bird outside the window takes to the air.
Alden’s eyelids twitch. He pulls his lips as straight as a pencil. ‘Erm, yes I am.’
‘Did your wife die too?’ Tosh asks.
Alden shakes his head and gives him a sad smile. ‘No. I don’t believe so. She went out to gather wood one day and never came back.’
I find myself staring at the wedding ring on his finger, wondering why his wife left him. What if she didn’t leave him? What if he murdered her with the axe?
The hairs begin to rise on the back of my neck. I swat them with the palm of my hand. Alden looks at me briefly: concern and fear intertwined.
‘Didn’t you go and look for her?’ Tosh asks, frowning suspiciously.
‘Yes,’ Alden says. ‘But I never found her.’
An uneasy silence follows. I stare around the cabin. My gaze settles on the grim faces staring out of the black and white picture on the wall.
Alden follows my gaze. ‘Any of it look familiar to you?’ he asks.
‘No,’ I say, turning back to him. ‘Should it?’
‘Maybe. It’s this place,’ he replies.
* * *
Chapter 37
Secret
Creasing my face up in concentration, I stare at the faded picture on the wall. It’s no good. I can’t see it. Then it occurs to me that Alden must be looking at a different picture from the one I’m looking at. From where I’m sitting, I can’t see any trees, nor can I see a log cabin. All I see are the sad faces of wooden people. I saw plenty of faces like that in Erin Town. Miserable sods. I don’t know, perhaps they smiled when they got home or they were smiling inside all the while and simply didn’t want the rest of the world to know they were happy.
‘I was looking at the black and white photo - with all the people,’ I say.
‘I know,’ Alden replies. He rubs at the ring on his finger and gives a broad smile.
‘Can I take it down?’ Tosh asks.
‘Certainly,’ he says.
Tosh dusts the crumbs from his chin, and setting down his half-eaten fairy cake, slides off the stool and dashes to where the photo hangs, slightly tilted, on the wall. He stretches to reach it with difficulty.
‘Need a hand?’ Alden asks, pulling himself upright. He rests his mug on the arm of the chair.
‘No, no I’ve got it,’ Tosh says, blowing a sigh. He stands up on his toes, carefully lifts the picture from the wall and brings it to Alden.
Alden takes the photograph and places it on his lap.
Tosh stands to the side of Alden’s chair, resting one arm against the back, his eyes alight with interest. I swivel around on my knees and lean in for a closer look.
I’m doing this for Tosh. I have to make it up to him somehow even if it means pretending to be engrossed in a photograph of po-faced people from years long gone.
‘You can’t see the woods in this one,’ Alden says. ‘They’re way back.’
‘Where’s the lawn?’ Tosh asks, his eyes eagerly scanning the photograph.
‘There.’ Alden taps his finger at the three-chimney stone building. ‘There was no lawn in those days. The ground was hard concrete and this textile factory here, sat near enough on top of it.’
Try as I might, I can’t imagine flat grey concrete in place of the lawn. A hole would have been more convincing. But Concrete? Did they even concrete way-back-when? ‘When was this picture taken?’
‘1886,’ replies Alden. ‘Back when Medswell’s used to be an industrial town, full of noise and pollution.’
‘1886,’ I repeat. I feel an unexpected jolt of excitement. The diary I had discovered was written in 1886. The author of the diary could be here, in this very picture. I stare down at the photograph, this time with genuine interest. Hundreds of people must have worked in these factories. Some will have been as young as Tosh.
‘So the bungalow wasn’t built then either?’ I ask.
‘It was. It used to be a small workhouse and lodgings for the factory owners and their families. The factory closed down in 1889.’
‘Where is it? I can’t see?’ Tosh leans forward.
I manage to grab Alden’s mug of tea before Tosh knocks it into his lap. I place the mug and the plate of fairy cakes on the floor. I prop my elbow up on the arm of the chair. I feel right at home here. And it’s not the photograph. The photograph is just a focal point. I feel as if I’m in a Happy Ever After fairy book tale, where the grandchildren - that is Tosh and I-sit at their grandfather’s knee, listening, goggle-eyed as he tells them the story of his youth.
‘Can you see it there, behind the factory?’ Alden points to a small triangle jutting out from the side of the factory in the picture.
‘Look Kate,’ Tosh gasps. ‘It’s our roof!’
‘Yes,’ Alden says. ‘It is…and you see this man here?’ He gestures with his fingertip to a man in the first row, standing, third in from the left. ‘That’s my great-great grandfather.’
Tosh and I bow our heads squinting at a thick-moustached young man. His jaw is broad like Alden’s. They both have the sam
e long nose. Alden’s great-grandfather’s eyes are dull compared to Alden’s. His eyes are as bright as the summer sea.
‘What was his name?’ Tosh asks.
‘Alfred,’ Alden says. ‘But his friends called him Thomas.’
I jerk my head back in surprise. I could snatch the name straight out of the air with my fingers. But why? Where had I heard it?
Alden rises from the chair with a sigh and crosses the cabin to hang the picture back on its rusty nail. ‘I think it’s time you were going, don’t you?’
He nods at the egg timer, the upper part of which is empty; the bottom full. The fairy book tale has come to an abrupt end. I jump to my feet in a panic and scamper to the door.
‘Thanks for having us Alden and for the tea and cakes,’ I say breathlessly.
‘Thanks Alden,’ Tosh says, snatching one last fairy cake. ‘Can I come again?’
‘You’re welcome any time,’ Alden says, tugging the door open. ‘But don’t you go wandering off without your big sister. You don’t want to go worrying her now do you?’
‘No,’ Tosh mutters, lowering his head to hide his crimson coloured cheeks. ‘I don’t.’
It’s still light outside. Rays of sun have sliced their way through the canopy of branches and penetrated the ground.
‘I’ll let you into a secret shall I?’ Alden says.
‘A secret?’ Tosh says, his mouth gaping open. He crushes the cup cake between his finger and thumb in anticipation.
‘Your bungalow has more than one floor.’
‘Huh?’ Tosh replies.
‘I’ll leave you to figure it out,’ Alden says smiling at the both of us. ‘Good day!’
* * *
Chapter 38
Leaks
Shortly after I’ve hurried Tosh through the front door and into Our Room, the sunlight disappears. Dark rain clouds move across the sky and the trees start to rhythmically sway.
‘You’re not to tell anyone where we’ve been. Understand?’ I warn him. ‘And you mustn’t say the name Alden, or cabin, or woods, outside of this room.’
I should have warned Tosh before - properly. I know he’ll never speak to the Wolf again, after what he did to Saul, and he knows better than to tell our business to Mannis, but Tosh has been talking to himself a lot lately or rather to his imaginary friend. I don’t want him saying something to that “friend” he shouldn’t, in case someone else overhears; someone like the Wolf.
‘Not even Saul?’ he asks.
I consider it for a moment and then shake my head.
‘No. Not even Saul.’
I don’t want to burden Saul with Alden. If I tell him, he’d take it upon himself to protect us from the Bad Man in the Woods. To Saul all men are bad, some more than others.
‘Why did Alden say the bungalow’s got more than one floor?’ Tosh asks, flopping down on a folded blanket. ‘That’s not a secret. The bungalow’s got lots of floors. The kitchen floor, the washroom floor…our floor.’
I don’t answer him. My mind’s on other things. I throw my weight against the door and wait a while. No voices. No footsteps. Only the gentle thrum of falling rain.
I dive into the crate of books and frantically prod Ellie’s blanket with my fingers until I feel the hard edge of the gun through the fabric. I heave a sigh of relief.
‘What’s a bungalow?’ Tosh asks, pulling off his trainers. ‘Isn’t it a house?’
His big toes stick out from the two gaping holes in his odd socks.
‘Be quiet. I’m trying to think.’
‘My tooth’s wobbly.’
The rain’s coming down heavier now, battering at the walls. Clashing like steel drums in a cave. The howling wind shakes the flimsy window frames. Thunderstorms; they scare me.
I look up at the ceiling and try to anticipate where the first leak will strike.
I hear the roar of thunder and the crackle of lightning pierce the air. My pulse quickens. At the same time, a raucous peel of laughter erupts from the kitchen. The Wolf seems to have a lot to laugh about these days - Mannis not so much.
‘What are you thinking about?’ Tosh asks, unfazed by the raging thunderstorm outside. He removes one grey sock and sets about enlarging the hole in the blue one dangling from his left foot.
‘Things.’
I take three rusty containers from a black bin liner and position them under the worst of the leaks. The rainwater drips into the bowls at a tempo quicker than my pulse. Very soon they’ll be overflowing, spilling water into the rotting floorboards.
I can’t think about that now. I stand facing the door, rubbing my neck, thoughtfully. The Gun. I’ll have to wait until everyone’s asleep to put it back.
‘Where did you get the gun from?’ I ask, spinning on my heel to face Tosh. ‘Was it out of Rick’s pocket?’
Tosh pinches his big toe. His brow furrows in concentration.
‘You shouldn’t have to think about it Tosh. Either you took it from his jacket or you didn’t.’
‘I took it from his jacket,’ he replies sullenly, pulling off his blue sock.
‘Which jacket? What colour was it?’ I stand in front of him tapping my foot in time with the dripping water.
‘I don’t know. I found the jacket on the chair in the kitchen. I think it was brown. No! Black or blue-black.’ He frowns.
I swear my heart’s beating outside my chest. I’ve no idea how many jackets the Wolf owns. It could be he only has two.
Where am I going with this? It wouldn’t matter if he had a hundred. He’s knows the gun’s missing. How could he not know? Mannis says Rick’s smart. So why leave his gun around? Unless he’s got more than one gun. One for each jacket.
I could say I found the gun lying around.
‘I found your gun Wolf,’ I’d say, ‘on the kitchen floor. I held on to it for a few hours, just in case you know, you were planning on shooting me…’
I clasp my hands over my mouth and shake my head. I’ll just put it back in his jacket pocket or put it on the floor somewhere, or -
A soft rap on the door makes me shudder.
Tosh bounds to the door, flings it open and drags Saul into the room by his sleeve.
‘All right?’ asks Saul. He locks one arm around Tosh’s neck and gives him a gentle squeeze.
‘Suppose,’ Tosh says, shooting me an accusatory look.
‘It’s freezing in here,’ Saul says, hunching his shoulders. He strides over to the back window and straightens the piece of wood resting against the pane. ‘Those bowls won’t hold.’
He echoes what I knew all along. One of the metal containers is nearly full to the brim with water. I suddenly remember the two large buckets I have stored at the bottom of one of the crates. I attempt to fish them out, moving from one bin liner to the next, like a zombie. I find one of the dirty misshapen green buckets at the bottom of a partially crushed cardboard box. I examine it for holes and then pour the water, from the nearly full metal bowl, into the bucket I placed under the biggest leak.
‘Where were you coming from earlier?’ I ask Saul.
‘I just went for a walk,’ he says with a shrug. ‘Where did you go?’
‘Same,’ I reply. I pick some clothes off the floor and place them under and around the bucket.
Saul studies me curiously. I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye. I stare at the ceiling, trying to figure out which of the smaller leaks would best serve my metal container.
‘Tosh, it’s time for bed,’ I say, absently. ‘It’s getting dark.’
I put the metal bowl down and start to fuss with the blankets on the floor: folding them dropping them, folding them again. I switch the torch on and light one of the candles on the makeshift table.
‘Bed? It’s too early to go to bed,’ says Tosh.
‘Stop arguing Tosh and just do it!’ It might be cold in the room, but I feel as if I’m on fire. My hands won’t stop shaking.
‘Don’t you want something to eat?’ Saul asks. ‘I’ll bring
you something if you like.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ I say tersely.
Although all I’ve eaten today is a tin of soup and a fairy cake. Tosh should probably eat something before he goes to bed. Fairy cakes may be nice, but they’re not filling.
I pick up a blanket, shake it out, fold it in half and then toss it on the floor. I then stand in the middle of the room, wringing my hands together. I’ve become that person again, the one I detest. The weak, indecisive one who doesn’t seem to know what she’s doing. Snap out of it Kate.
‘I’m hungry,’ Tosh says, throwing his trainers at the wall. They land with a thud on top of one of the boxes.
Thud! My heart lurches sideways. I ball up my fists and press them against my windpipe, suppressing the urge to scream.
‘Tell you what,’ Saul says, placing his hands firmly on Tosh’s shoulders ‘You get under the blankets and Kate and I will you get something to eat in a bit. How’s that?’
‘You can’t leave me,’ Tosh replies. ‘I’m scared of thunder.’
Saul gives me a wary glance. He lets out a long breath and looks back at Tosh. ‘Come on Tosh we all know you’re not the one who’s scared of thunderstorms. We won’t be long, I promise.’
Pouting, Tosh climbs under his layer of blankets and pulls them right up under his chin.
Saul leads me from the room by the hand.
* * *
Chapter 39
Saul’s Place
It looks as if the heavy downpour of rain has eased to a light splattering. I won’t be deceived. The rolling clouds and the distant clap of thunder tells me the storm is not yet over.
I withdraw from Saul completely and hover at the door. Saul keeps walking.
I don’t want to go out there.
The tree branches sway and creak like an old man’s bones. I picture the next bolt of lightning seeking me out and frying me until I’m nothing but a pile of ash and smoke.
‘Shouldn’t we get the torch?’ I hiss at Saul’s shadowy figure.
Saul stops, spins around and cocks his head to one side motioning: follow me.