Wake Wood

by K. A. John

  He unlatched the living-room window, intending to tell Arthur that he’d left the front door open for him, but hesitated when Arthur stood back, looked at the house and then at the sky before solemnly reciting,

  ‘There is a web of life, you know,

  That joins all things that breathe and grow.

  But when man gets to meet his mentor

  We’re shocked to find we’re not the centre.’

  Arthur’s words were innocuous enough, but the way he said them sent a chill down Patrick’s spine. He shuddered, overwhelmed by a dark feeling of foreboding.

  Arthur had promised Louise that he would accomplish the impossible. Bring Alice back to life. He should stop the nonsense now, before he, as well as Louise, became totally unhinged by Arthur’s promises …

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me that Arthur had arrived?’ Louise reproached as she walked into the room behind him.

  He looked at her and caught a glimpse of the young girl he’d fallen in love with, in the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth and the brightness of her eyes. ‘He’s only just got here. You go ahead and pour the wine. I’ll show him in.’

  *

  Louise had laid the table for three. She’d set out her best silver cutlery and porcelain crockery, decorated the table with candles and produced a simple but excellently cooked meal of leek and potato soup, followed by lasagne and salad, accompanied by chilled white Italian wine. But only Arthur ate with any appetite.

  The conversation varied from banal observations on the weather to local gossip. By tacit agreement all of them avoided mentioning the tragedy at the O’Shea farm late that afternoon. Both Patrick and Louise found it difficult to concentrate on what Arthur was saying because all they could think of – all they wanted to discuss – was Alice.

  Patrick was also on edge because he oscillated between wanting to end the meal quickly along with Louise’s false hopes of seeing their daughter alive and well again; and daring Arthur to produce their daughter alive, if only for three days.

  Louise was agitated because she couldn’t wait another moment to finalise the plans to bring her daughter back from her grave.

  After Louise served the sorbet, Patrick poured the last of the wine into their glasses and broached the subject that he’d wanted to since the moment of Arthur’s arrival.

  ‘This offer of yours, Arthur,’ he began.

  ‘Yes, Patrick?’ Arthur looked expectantly at Patrick when he didn’t elaborate.

  ‘It’s a long way outside of Louise’s and my …’ Patrick searched for the right word and settled on, ‘experience.’

  Arthur reached down for the bag he’d placed beside his chair and lifted it on to his lap. He opened it and rummaged through the contents. ‘Experience is generally overrated, Patrick,’ he pronounced with a gravity Patrick found suspect. ‘You can never jump in the same river twice, as the fellow said. It’s moved on. Heraclitus … or was it Heisenberg? I mix up my ancient Greeks. Of course, Heisenberg sounds like a Jew now that I think of it. Must have been Heraclitus—’

  ‘Arthur, you’re screwing with us,’ Patrick declared flatly.

  Arthur smiled. ‘Yes, I’m afraid I am … I was. But not any more, Patrick. Now, let’s get down to serious business.’ He removed a peculiar object from the muddle of things in his bag. It was a large, old wooden frame of indeterminate shape, strung with metal bars ornamented by beads. It resembled an abacus but, given the number of metal rods of varying sizes and the myriad of oddly shaped beads, it was like no abacus Patrick or Louise had ever seen.

  When Patrick examined the beads closely he realised they were made of drilled bone of varying sizes, dyed different colours. Animal or human bone? Patrick wondered but didn’t dare ask. Not with Louise sitting next to him.

  Arthur moved his plate aside, laid the object on the table and set his bag on the floor. His demeanour changed as soon as he’d divested himself of his bag. Brisk and professional, he stretched the flats of both his hands over the frame and began his questioning.

  ‘Your daughter’s name was Alice?’

  Louise confirmed it before Patrick could. ‘Alice,’ she echoed.

  Patrick elaborated. ‘Alice Hannah Daley.’

  Arthur clicked the beads on the frame and arranged them into position. He appeared to pay special attention to their alignment and colours. ‘Did she prefer mornings or evenings?’

  ‘Mornings,’ Patrick and Louise answered in unison.

  Arthur rearranged the beads and looked at them for a few seconds. ‘Was her skin moist or dry?’

  ‘Moist,’ Patrick replied.

  Arthur continued to work with the beads, sliding them up and down the rods. ‘Would she have liked cats, cows or horses best of all?’

  ‘Horses, ponies, definitely ponies. She loved them. She’d only just started riding lessons. She couldn’t wait for Saturday mornings to come …’ Louise realised she was giving far more information than Arthur required and stopped talking.

  Arthur clicked more of the beads into position. ‘Was her hair thick or lank?’

  ‘It was thick, wasn’t it?’ Patrick looked to Louise for confirmation.

  ‘Quite thick,’ she concurred.

  ‘At what time of the year was she born?’ Concentrating on the task in hand, Arthur didn’t look up from the frame as he continued to work on it.

  ‘In January … the twenty-second.’ Louise clenched her fists tightly. It pained her just to say the date.

  ‘That was my next question.’ Arthur glanced up at her and smiled before moving more beads. ‘And how long has she been in the ground? I need you to be very exact and precise regarding this matter.’

  Louise looked at Patrick then pushed back her chair.

  ‘Louise, you all right?’ Patrick asked solicitously.

  Louise blanched. ‘I … I’m sorry … I can’t … just can’t …’ Clearly unable to answer any more questions about Alice, Louise left the table and fled from the room.

  Patrick rose and followed her to the door. ‘Louise?’ he called as she entered the kitchen.

  She closed the door in his face but he could still hear her sobs.

  ‘Patrick.’ Arthur brought him back to the present and immediate. ‘How long has your daughter been dead and in the ground? I need an answer and quickly.’

  Patrick returned to the table, sank his head in his hands and took a few seconds to answer. When he spoke it was slowly, carefully and deliberately. ‘She’s been in the ground eleven months, two weeks and two days. She was buried five days after she died.’

  Arthur nodded and made a final adjustment to the beads. ‘In that case we haven’t much time. Just over a week.’ He moved his hands away from the beads. As Patrick watched, one seemed to adjust itself, changing place without being manipulated and, in so doing, defying gravity.

  Arthur was staring at it but he didn’t appear to find the movement in any way odd.

  Patrick studied the pattern Arthur had made of the beads. It resembled a mosaic image of a bird. But Arthur frowned as he looked at it, as if he were dissatisfied with the outcome. He continued to flick the bone beads back and forth until a few minutes later he was left with a different image. An abstract picture he appeared happier to accept.

  ‘Now, this is what we can do for you and Louise,’ Arthur prophesied. ‘Alice will be brought back as soon as we can arrange it, certainly within the next day or two. And when she returns, you will make the most of the time that you’ll have with her. Three days.’

  ‘And nights?’ Patrick checked.

  ‘Precisely,’ Arthur confirmed. ‘And after that time she’ll have to go back to the woods and into the ground. You’ll have to bury her. You and Louise. You do understand? You’ll have to cover Alice with earth.’ Arthur looked Patrick in the eye. ‘Because Alice will just be on loan to you.’

  ‘Will she be normal?’

  Patrick turned to see Louise standing in the doorway holding a tray of coffee. She’d moved quietly an
d neither of the men had heard her return to the room.

  ‘Yes, quite,’ Arthur reassured. ‘Alice’s heart will beat, her lungs will breathe. She’ll remember you and the life she had with you. Some of it,’ he qualified, ‘but she’ll also be deceased – although that’s something she won’t be aware of.’ He smiled again. A cold smile that troubled Patrick. ‘You’ll need to bear that in mind the entire time you’re with her.’

  Patrick moved the plates on the table, stacking them one on top of the other to make space for Louise to set down the tray of coffee.

  Arthur reached for his glass of wine and sipped it before continuing. ‘As Patrick just said, your time with Alice will last for three days and nights, and three days and nights only, during which you must keep Alice within the town perimeter of Wake Wood. That is a physical necessity. An absolute. It cannot be breached or infringed in any way. I cannot stress that strongly enough. Do you both understand? No matter what happens, you cannot take Alice beyond the town boundaries.’

  Louise nodded agreement. ‘I understand.’

  ‘And when Alice’s time is up, the dead will have to return to the dead. There will be no delay, no argument. That is also the rule. It cannot be broken, no matter how much you may want to keep your daughter with you.’ Arthur looked from Patrick to Louise. ‘You both understand that also?’

  ‘Yes,’ they murmured in agreement, Louise watching Patrick as intently as he was watching her.

  ‘Now, for this to work we need a body. And as you’re all too aware, we’ve just had a tragedy in the community. Perhaps we can prevail on the family to sacrifice their corpse to our cause of bringing Alice back to you. But you, Louise, will have to ask Mrs O’Shea and her son for permission to use Mick O’Shea’s remains. We cannot do anything unless the family allows us to.’

  ‘Why do we need a body?’ Patrick asked.

  ‘You’ll see,’ Arthur replied enigmatically. ‘But first there are some things that you need to understand. The ritual of the return will bind you, both of you, to Wake Wood for ever. This will be hugely to this town’s and my own and my business’s benefit, but you must also understand that both of you will have to settle here permanently. You will not be able to leave Wake Wood afterwards. Not ever.’

  ‘Never,’ Patrick murmured. The word had acquired a new finality.

  ‘Never,’ Arthur reiterated emphatically. ‘And you, Patrick, will have to serve as Wake Wood’s veterinary surgeon until retirement. You’ll have to tend to animals without fail whenever you’re called, whenever the people of this town need you to minister to their livestock and pets. Needless to say, as I’ve said already, this suits me very well, but I hope it suits you also.’

  ‘It will have to,’ Patrick assented.

  ‘Good. In that case, perhaps we can all get what we want.’

  Patrick considered what Arthur had said, but he had a far more burning question to ask before he went into the matter of his and Louise’s permanent residence in Wake Wood. ‘Arthur, why will we only have Alice for three days?’

  ‘Because when we tap the life force that remains in a fresh cadaver, three days’ worth is all that we’re given. Perhaps three days mirrors the stages of our existence – birth, life … and death. But I don’t truly know,’ Arthur revealed. ‘Three days is a short time, but people who’ve seized the days as an opportunity to say goodbye to their loved ones have told me afterwards that they’re long enough.’ He turned from Patrick to Louise. ‘Have you understood everything I’ve said?’

  ‘Yes.’ Louise didn’t look at Patrick.

  ‘Do we have an agreement, Patrick? Louise?’ Arthur demanded.

  Patrick looked at Louise. She took a deep breath but he knew that she’d already made her decision and wasn’t to be swayed from it.

  ‘Yes, Arthur. I need to hold my baby again,’ Louise said feelingly. She reached towards Patrick. He gripped her hand, and stroked her fingers tenderly. He loved Louise with all his heart. He wanted to believe that what Arthur was about to do was possible, for her sake. And – every time he pictured Alice – for his own.

  The idea that he could touch and talk to Alice again – tell her how much he loved her, needed her, emphasise how much joy and happiness she’d brought into both his and Louise’s lives – was so beguiling he needed it to happen every bit as much as Louise did.

  ‘Yes, Arthur,’ Patrick answered firmly. ‘We have our agreement.’

  Arthur leaned forward and closed his hands around theirs. ‘Then, Louise, you will hold your little girl again. I can promise you that much.’

  After they’d finished their coffee, Patrick showed Arthur out of the house. He walked with him to his car and returned to the dining room. Louise had already cleared the table and carried the dishes into the kitchen, switched off the light, and was standing in front of the living-room window, watching Arthur drive away.

  He went to her, moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. They remained there, still and silent while clouds blotted out the moon and shadows raced across the lawns.

  ‘Patrick,’ Louise whispered.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What will happen if Arthur and the others find out we’ve lied to them?’

  ‘I don’t know, Louise. It’s best not to think about it.’

  ‘It will be all right, won’t it?’

  ‘It will have to be.’ He moved away from her. ‘Come on, it’s bedtime. You go up first.’

  He checked the house while she went upstairs. When he climbed the stairs there was a light on in the spare room. Louise had finished putting away Alice’s clothes and toys and was smoothing the duvet on the newly made bed. The pillows were already plumped up. He recognised the bed linen. It had been Alice’s favourite. If the walls had been turquoise, he could have believed himself back in Alice’s bedroom in their old house.

  Louise looked guiltily at him. ‘It’s all right, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s fine. Just like her old room.’

  ‘I’m hoping she won’t see the difference.’

  ‘She shouldn’t.’

  ‘Patrick …’

  He held out his arm to her. ‘Come to bed. We have to be up early tomorrow to visit the O’Sheas.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll give us Mick’s body?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘If they don’t …’

  ‘Think positive. Hope they do. Come to bed, Louise, please, we’re both exhausted,’ he pleaded, knowing full well that, bone-weary as they were, neither of them would sleep that night. Not after the things Arthur had told them – and promised.

  Ten

  THE AREA IN front of the O’Sheas’ farmhouse was jammed with cars parked at all angles, blocking one another in. It was obvious that no thought had been given as to how any of the early arrivals were going to drive off if anyone wanted to leave urgently.

  Although only two o’clock in the afternoon, the sky was as dark as a winter evening, heavy and black with dense rain clouds. Crows had flocked to the roof of the house and the barn and were perched on the ridge tiles in silent parliament, their ragged feathered silhouettes apt ornaments for a house of mourning.

  Patrick, Louise and Arthur left Arthur’s car in the lane and picked their way across the muddy path that led up to the front door of the house. All three were soberly and formally dressed in dark suits and white shirts. Both men wore black ties.

  ‘Are you prepared to talk to Mrs O’Shea, Louise? Patrick?’ Arthur asked.

  Louise swallowed hard but was too choked to answer with more than a nod.

  ‘We are.’ Patrick squeezed Louise’s hand reassuringly.

  ‘Just ask Mrs O’Shea, Louise,’ Arthur advised. ‘That’s all you can do. Ask her plainly and simply.’

  They walked through the open front door into the hall. It was crowded with people from the town, all dressed for a funeral as they were. And every one of them had a drink in their hands. As the three of them moved deeper into the hall, heading for the livin
g room, they were waylaid by an attractive young woman carrying a tray of glasses filled with whiskey. She held it up in front of Louise.

  ‘Hello. We haven’t been formally introduced, although I’ve seen you in the pharmacy. You’re Louise Daley, aren’t you? I’m Annie. You don’t have to take the whiskey.’ She thrust the tray closer to Arthur, who was helping himself and Patrick to a drink. ‘We also have Baileys if you’d prefer it. The bottle and extra glasses are in the kitchen if you’d like to serve yourself.’

  In need of the courage alcohol would give her, Louise took a tumbler from the tray. ‘Whiskey is perfect, thank you, Annie.’

  ‘Your husband is the vet, isn’t he?’ Annie fluttered her eyelashes in Patrick’s direction. ‘It’s great that you’re here. I don’t just mean here, now, in the O’Sheas’,’ she gabbled. ‘But living here, in Wake Wood.’

  Louise followed Annie’s line of sight and caught the flirtatious look she was sending Patrick’s way. Oblivious to the attention he was receiving from Annie, Patrick was discussing cattle prices with the town’s livestock auctioneer.

  Embarrassed at being caught out looking at another woman’s husband, Annie continued talking at speed. ‘It’s marvellous to have new people in the town. I was afraid that we were becoming a society of old fogeys. I mean, so many young people leave to find work elsewhere. It’s sad to lose them. We were all so excited when Arthur told us you were moving into Wake Wood for good and reopening the old pharmacy. We need all the shops we can get. It’s rare to find young people, especially professionals, prepared to live and work in a quiet backwater like this.’

  When Louise didn’t comment, Annie said, ‘Mick’s in the bedroom if you’d like to view him. Please excuse me. I’d better make sure everyone has a drink.’

  ‘Of course.’ Whiskey in hand, Louise pushed her way through to the stairs. She was aware of the recent trend to follow America in holding ‘viewings of the corpse’ but if it hadn’t been for the request she had to make she wouldn’t have dared impose on Mick’s widow on so slight an acquaintance.