Wake Wood

by K. A. John

  ‘This place feels strange. If we’re really here for a holiday, why do we have so many clothes with us? The wardrobe and drawers in my room are full. You seem to have brought everything I own.’

  Patrick felt the need to reply. ‘Because everyone needs clean clothes, honey. If we only had one or two sets, Mum would be spending every day washing to make sure we had something clean to put on the next day.’

  ‘But you’re working, Dad,’ Alice pointed out. ‘That’s peculiar when we’re taking a break, isn’t it?’

  Patrick tried and failed to think of a suitable reply. Louise came to his rescue by changing the subject. She made a final snip at Alice’s fringe. ‘There, all done, sweetie, and very beautiful. I think it’s sleepy time now, don’t you?’

  ‘How about a story?’ Alice begged.

  ‘“How about a story?”’ Louise repeated teasingly.

  ‘Please …’ Alice coaxed.

  Louise capitulated. ‘You can have one, but only after you’re tucked up in bed.’

  Patrick grabbed Alice and kissed her cheek as she ran out through the door. He followed his wife and daughter when they climbed the stairs.

  Alice ran into her bedroom and jumped up and down on the bed. Louise caught her mid-jump, pulled back the duvet and settled her under the covers before sitting next to her.

  ‘Story?’ Alice’s eyes seemed even larger than usual as she looked up at Louise.

  Louise hugged her daughter, loving every minute of what had been their bedtime ritual every night of Alice’s short life. ‘Once upon a time, there was a little tearaway called Alice—’

  Alice interrupted her. ‘No, not Alice – called Louise,’ she contradicted.

  Patrick remained in the doorway, watching them, unwilling to leave the scene that was so familiar – and so emotional. Tears welled in his eyes. He looked away lest Louise see them.

  ‘So this is going to be about me, is it?’ Louise asked Alice.

  ‘Yes, it is.’ Alice nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘All right,’ Louise conceded. ‘Once upon a time there was a little tearaway called Louise. And she lived with her brothers and sisters—’

  ‘And their sheepdog,’ Alice interceded.

  Patrick smiled as Alice recounted word for word the opening of the story Louise had told her so many times.

  ‘And their sheepdog,’ Louise added, answering Patrick’s smile with one of her own. ‘And they all lived together in a big house on the side of a hill overlooking the city …’ Louise faltered when Patrick slipped out of the room, but a tug on her sleeve from Alice prompted her to continue.

  ‘… The house had a field and an orchard and every year the trees in the orchard would be laden with more fruit than they could pick and …’ Louise saw Alice’s eyelids droop and dropped her voice to whisper, ‘… eat.’

  Alice’s eyes finally closed.

  Louise switched off the bedside light. Patrick returned with a quilt and pillows. He set them down on the floor and made a makeshift bed beside Alice’s bed. Louise snuggled down next to him, settling where she could still see Alice’s face and watch her breathe.

  When Louise woke with a start the room was in pitch darkness. She had no sense of time or how long she’d been asleep. Disorientated, she only knew that she was uncomfortable. She’d fallen asleep in her clothes and they were bunched up around her waist, bulky and chafing. Moving slowly and quietly, trying not to disturb Patrick, she began to undress under the quilt.

  Her subterfuge didn’t work. Patrick felt her move, nuzzled her back and embraced her. He slipped his hand low, into the waistband of her jeans and into her panties. She gripped his fingers, kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear.

  ‘Not here – outside.’ She rose to her feet and stole out of the bedroom.

  Patrick picked up the quilts and pillows and crept out of the room behind her. He pulled the door to without clicking the lock. Louise waited until he’d spread the quilts and pillows before wrapping her hands around his neck and tugging him down on to the landing floor. They kissed and began to slowly undress and caress one another with a tenderness that had been absent from their lovemaking since the morning Alice had died.

  Engrossed in the pleasure they were giving and receiving, neither of them noticed the door to Alice’s bedroom swing wide and remain open.

  And even if they had, they might have assumed that there was simply a draught blowing through the house from the open bathroom window.

  Patrick woke and opened his eyes wide. Louise was lying, eyes closed, beneath the quilt next to him on the landing directly outside Alice’s door. Moonlight streamed in as bright as daylight through the skylight above them, silvering the walls, bedclothes, Louise’s face and blonde hair. He looked up and jumped.

  Alice was standing over them, her eyes wide, unblinking.

  Patrick sat up and stared at his daughter for a few seconds, wondering if she was sleepwalking.

  Louise opened her eyes, saw Alice and, even before she was fully awake, reached out instinctively to her. ‘What’s wrong, sweetie?’

  ‘I heard music again,’ Alice murmured. ‘People singing my name, over and over again. Didn’t you hear it?’

  ‘No, there’s no music, Alice. You must have had a dream,’ Patrick reassured her.

  ‘As Dad says, there is no music, sweetie. Come on, back to bed for you.’ Louise scooped Alice up and carried her back into her bedroom. She tucked her in and curled up beside her on the bed. She lay there holding Alice until Alice’s eyes had closed again and her breathing steadied to the soft regular rhythm of sleep.

  Louise waited while ten minutes ticked past on the alarm clock on the bedside cabinet before creeping off Alice’s bed and out through the door. The landing was empty. Patrick had taken the quilt and pillows and retreated to their bedroom. Tired, she stumbled into their room and joined him in the bed, leaving the door open lest Alice wake again.

  She was unaware that the moment Alice had heard her walk away, she’d opened her eyes wide again and was staring blankly up at the ceiling.

  Alice left her bed before the sun rose in the sky. She showered, dressed and went down the stairs to the kitchen. She searched through the cupboards until she found a roll of black plastic bin bags. She took it and returned to her room. Ripping off a sack, she opened it and went around the room, picking out toys from the shelves and clothes from the wardrobe and drawers that she then dropped into the bag one by one.

  When the sack was full, she tied the top in a knot and carried it out of her room to the top of the stairs and dropped it to the floor. She knelt beside it and studied the outside, tracing the outlines of the contents through the thin layer of plastic with her finger.

  Choosing a spot near the bottom of the bag, she ripped a small hole in the plastic and burrowed her fingers inside. Slowly, she pulled a doll out of the hole she’d made, first tugging out the head, then the shoulders; next came the arms and torso and finally the legs.

  She looked at the doll for a few minutes before grabbing it by the arm and carrying it back into her bedroom.

  A knocking at the front door brought her running back out on to the landing. She picked up the bulging bin bag and dragged it down the stairs, bumping it on every step. Dropping it in the hall, she reached up and unlocked the front door.

  Peggy O’Shea was standing outside, holding a paper carrier bag. ‘Hello, Alice. How are you today?’ Peggy asked brightly.

  ‘Fine, thank you for asking,’ Alice replied politely.

  ‘I’ve brought some home-made bread for you and your parents.’ Peggy held out the carrier bag. Alice looked at it but made no attempt to take it from Peggy.

  ‘You probably prefer shop-bought bread, don’t you?’ Peggy fished.

  ‘Do you want to speak to my dad?’ Alice ignored Peggy’s comment.

  ‘No.’ The smile Peggy gave Alice was forced, artificial. ‘I want to speak to you, Alice.’

  ‘Me?’ Alice looked at the old woman in surprise
.

  ‘Yes, you,’ Peggy answered. ‘I wondered if you’d like to visit our farm and ride our pony. He needs the exercise and a little bird told me that you like ponies better than all other animals.’

  Louise had disappeared into the bathroom. Patrick could hear her electric toothbrush whirring. He was stretched out in bed, enjoying the morning’s peaceful time before he had to get up, when he heard Alice talking to someone at the door. He charged out of bed and ran protectively down the stairs, zipping up his flies and buttoning on yesterday’s shirt as he went.

  Alice turned to him when he reached the hall and said, ‘Dad, I’m going pony riding.’

  Patrick went to the front door and leaned against the doorpost.

  ‘Good morning, Patrick.’ Peggy handed over the bag that contained the loaf of bread. ‘I brought some homemade bread for you and your wife,’ she explained.

  ‘Very kind of you, thank you, Mrs O’Shea.’ Recalling Peggy’s reluctance to give them her husband’s corpse, Patrick couldn’t help wondering if the old woman had an ulterior motive for visiting them.

  ‘Peggy, please,’ she corrected him. ‘I heard that Alice liked ponies … Arthur mentioned it in passing,’ she added when Patrick frowned quizzically at her. ‘So I wondered if she’d like to come up to the farm and ride ours. He could certainly do with the exercise now that all the children in our family have outgrown him.’

  ‘Thank you for the invitation,’ Patrick replied, ‘but as you can see, we’ve slept in late this morning.’

  ‘No matter.’ Peggy offered Alice her hand. ‘Alice wants to ride our pony and, as I said, it needs the exercise. I’ll take Alice with me now and drop her back here later.’

  Patrick pulled Alice aside before she had a chance to take Peggy’s hand. Speaking too low for Peggy to hear, he murmured, ‘I thought you were going to help me to look after Howie today?’

  ‘Howie’ll be fine with you,’ Alice said dismissively. ‘I want to go riding.’ She stepped out of the door.

  ‘No, wait,’ he said in a louder voice. He caught her arm and pulled her back. ‘You can’t just go off somewhere, Alice.’ Patrick eyed Peggy; the last thing he wanted to do was insult her after she’d given him and Louise her husband’s body, but their time with Alice was so precious and short, he didn’t want to share it with anyone other than Louise. ‘I’m sorry. We’ve already made plans for today.’

  ‘Then perhaps Alice can go riding up at our farm another time?’ Peggy O’Shea suggested.

  ‘No, Dad! I want to go now,’ Alice’s voice rose precariously.

  ‘Alice, calm down.’ Patrick made an effort to keep his voice low in an attempt to defuse the tension that was building between him and his daughter.

  ‘I’m very calm,’ Alice protested in a voice that was anything but.

  Louise ran lightly down the stairs and joined them. As soon as Alice saw her she shouted, ‘Mum, I’ve been invited to go pony riding and Dad won’t let me.’

  Sensing trouble between father and daughter, Louise hesitated, uncertain how to react.

  Given Patrick’s reluctance to accept her invitation, Peggy modified it. ‘Why don’t you all come to the farm?’

  ‘After breakfast,’ Louise qualified. ‘Alice, we’ll eat first, all right?’ She glanced at Patrick, who was staring at the bin bag of clothes and toys Alice had dumped in the hall.

  ‘See you all later, then. I’ll get the pony tacked up and ready.’ Peggy turned, waved goodbye and walked down the drive to where she’d parked her car.

  ‘Breakfast, sweetie. What do you want? Cereals, pancakes, eggs, beans …’ Slipping her hand around Alice’s shoulders, Louise ushered her into the kitchen.

  ‘We have to go soon, so I’ll just have cereal this morning. It will be quicker to prepare and eat,’ Alice said, when Patrick opened the fridge and lifted out a box of eggs.

  ‘You sure, sweetie?’

  ‘Just cereal,’ Alice repeated in a voice that Louise knew from past experience would brook no argument.

  Patrick replaced the eggs, made coffee, took orange juice from the fridge and set out cups and glasses. Louise laid three bowls, milk and sugar on the table and they all filled their bowls and began to eat.

  Alice dawdled over her meal and although Patrick held back from challenging her, he was sure that she was being deliberately provocative and awkward.

  ‘You’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes. I’m already showered and dressed so I’m all set to go to the farm. You’re not,’ Alice informed Patrick when he looked pointedly at the food she’d scarcely touched in her bowl.

  ‘Then I’d better get ready, hadn’t I?’ Patrick handed Louise his empty bowl and left the kitchen. Louise rinsed the bowl under the tap along with hers and stacked them in the dishwasher.

  ‘Finish your cereal, sweetie. I’ll get ready and hurry Daddy.’ Louise ruffled Alice’s hair before following Patrick upstairs.

  As soon as she was alone, Alice ate quickly. When she’d finished her cereal, she carried the bowl to the sink and left it there. The loaf of bread Peggy O’Shea had given them stood on the table. She picked it up, turned to the stairs and shouted, ‘Are you ready?’

  She waited a few minutes. When there was no reply from either of her parents, she took the bread knife from the knife block, placed the loaf on the breadboard and very slowly and precisely began to cut the bread.

  ‘Anyone want a slice of home-made bread?’ she shouted after she’d cut the first thin slice. When she didn’t receive a reply, she started to cut another slice. Just like the first, it was uniformly thin.

  Then she began to cut another … and another … and another.

  Patrick left the bathroom wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist, to find Louise in the bedroom waiting for him to finish.

  ‘Is Peggy snooping on us or trying to be nice?’ Louise asked him as she stripped off and stepped into the shower cubicle.

  ‘Could be both,’ he suggested.

  ‘I thought that after everything we’ve been through, the people here would have the tact and the sense to leave us alone with Alice.’

  ‘Speaking of Alice, where is she?’ he asked.

  ‘I left her finishing her breakfast in the kitchen.’ Louise closed the cubicle door and turned on the shower. Patrick had almost finished dressing by the time she returned to the bedroom, damp and scented with moisturising cream and soap.

  ‘Did you see the bag of things Alice filled to throw away?’ Patrick flicked through his wardrobe, picked out a clean shirt and buttoned it on.

  ‘Yes, I saw it,’ Louise confirmed. ‘What about it?’

  ‘They were all the things you’d put in her room. Why did she clear them out?’

  ‘Perhaps she’s grown out of a lot of her toys. She’s certainly grown out of some of her clothes,’ Louise observed.

  ‘Haven’t you wondered how that’s possible …?’

  ‘Ssh.’ Louise went to the open door and listened.

  ‘You think she’s eavesdropping on us?’ Patrick checked.

  ‘Just making sure she won’t overhear us talking about her.’ Louise opened the wardrobe door and took out a pair of jeans, a shirt and a sweater.

  ‘Mum? Dad?’

  They both fell silent when Alice’s voice wafted up the stairs. ‘I’m bored waiting. Are you two nearly ready to go?’

  ‘On our way.’ Patrick pulled on his last sock, left the bedroom and went downstairs. He walked into the kitchen and saw the loaf of bread on the breadboard sliced neatly and uniformly from one end to the other, apart from one crust that was thicker than the rest.

  Alice looked at him, raised the bread knife and cut into it.

  ‘Careful, honey,’ he warned when she brought the knife down perilously close to her finger. The moment he spoke, the knife slipped.

  ‘Alice.’ He ran towards her in alarm.

  ‘It’s fine, Dad.’ She studied the gash on her finger. Her skin was sliced through to the bone. She squeezed the edge
s but no blood came.

  ‘Let me look at it,’ Patrick demanded.

  She hid both her hands behind her back. ‘No, Dad. I said it’s nothing.’ The belligerence of earlier had returned to her voice. ‘Is Mum ready? If she is, can we go to the farm right now? This minute. I can’t wait to see the pony.’

  ‘Not before I see your finger,’ Patrick persisted.

  ‘And I said it’s all right, Dad. There’s Mum.’ Alice slipped past him into the hall when Louise walked down the stairs. ‘Come on, Mum. Let’s go.’ She opened the front door and ran out on to the drive ahead of them.

  Patrick went to the breadboard and checked the bread and the knife, searching for signs of blood.

  Louise glanced in from the hall as she put her shoes on. ‘You all right, Patrick?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘Yes. Fine,’ he murmured absently.

  ‘Alice is waiting.’

  ‘I know.’ He turned and smiled at her. ‘I’m with you.’

  They left the house, locked the door and followed Alice out to the car.

  Fifteen

  IRRESPECTIVE OF PEGGY O’Shea’s motives in inviting them, the last place Louise wanted to visit was the O’Shea farm. Asleep or awake, Mick O’Shea’s bloody and tragic death haunted her and she had to steel herself to return to the place where she’d witnessed his violent end. It also wasn’t easy when she considered that if Mick hadn’t died when he did and Peggy hadn’t given Arthur permission to use his body, she and Patrick wouldn’t have Alice.

  Seeing her shiver when she got out of the car, Patrick took her hand. ‘It’ll be all right. Alice will ride the pony for half an hour or so and then we’ll go.’

  ‘Perhaps Peggy O’Shea is only trying to be kind,’ she commented, wishing she could believe it, ‘but I don’t want to stay any longer than that.’

  ‘Think about what you want to do afterwards?’

  ‘Go back to the cottage and spend the rest of the day together. Like we did yesterday,’ she suggested.

  ‘I’d like that.’

  She smiled at him. ‘It was a good day, wasn’t it?’

  He squeezed her hand reassuringly. ‘The best.’