by cass green
‘Hi,’ she says, uncertainly.
‘I’ve seen you before,’ he says and Neve shoots quick, confused glances at his parents. They look as baffled as she feels.
‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ she says with a nervous laugh.
Matty grunts in response and, sitting down at the table, immediately starts tapping away at a mobile phone.
‘Now then Matty,’ says Will in a warning voice. ‘No phones at the table, you know the rule.’
Without complaint, Matty puts down the phone and looks into the distance. Neve is aware that something about him is not quite right, but isn’t able to work out what it is.
The awkwardness of the situation forces a bright attempt at conversation from Neve. It’s not a question she really wants to ask because it will only be reciprocated but she can’t think of anything else.
‘So do you guys work around here?’ she says, taking a small sip of her gin and tonic. Will has finished his and is already scooping up her glass and asking if she would like some white wine.
He pours her a generous glass of cold Chablis as he replies.
‘Well, Sally works for an architectural firm in Truro,’ he says in an easy tone. ‘And I was headmaster of a school in Redruth for many years.’
She waits for further information that isn’t forthcoming. But it is time to eat anyway.
Matty hasn’t said a word as they start. Neve tucks into the chicken with relish, quickly forgetting her recent attempts to give up meat. For a moment there is only the sound of clinking cutlery and appreciative murmurs about the food.
‘And what about you, Neve?’ Sally asks the inevitable question. Neve takes a sip from her glass of wine to buy time, noticing that Will has already drunk half of his. Sally has a tumbler of orange juice, Neve notices now, as does Matty.
‘Well,’ she says carefully, ‘I worked for a magazine publisher for the last few years but the company has gone under and so I’m going to have to find something pretty quickly.’ It’s near enough to the truth, she thinks.
Sally has laid down her knife and fork and now regards Neve with a frown.
‘Oh you poor thing,’ she says. ‘I don’t know what your plans are but I have to tell you that the chances of finding work around here are very slim indeed. You’re much better off looking in London.’
Neve makes a face. ‘I’ve fallen out with London a bit,’ she says with a laugh. ‘I’m hoping a few days here will help me to work out what to do with the rest of my life!’
Neve blushes when she realizes that Will and Sally are both now looking at her with concern and she concentrates on spearing the last of the perfect golden roast potatoes, fragrant with rosemary, on her plate.
‘You don’t even care that she’s dead. Listen to yourselves.’ The unexpectedness of Matty’s words land in the centre of the table like a football that has been kicked over a fence.
Sally leans across and covers his hand with her own. When she speaks, her voice is low and firm.
‘Matty, you know that isn’t true. I understand that you’re upset, but there is no reason to be rude to our guest.’
Neve blushes and Will flashes her a pained look.
Matty looks at her directly then and the raw emotion in his face almost makes her flinch. Will and Sally have talked fondly about Isabelle tonight, but this is something different. She is looking at real grief. It’s familiar enough for her to be able to recognize it in someone else and she suddenly feels ashamed at living in Isabelle’s house like this; as though she has any right.
‘Come on,’ says Sally matter-of-factly, taking Matty by the hand. ‘Why don’t you catch up on Sherlock with pudding in the den.’
The young man gets up as obediently as a well-behaved child. Sally mouths ‘Sorry’ at Neve and they leave the room.
Will tops up Neve’s glass even though it is still half full, then his own, empty one.
‘Sorry about that,’ says Will now. ‘He was fond of Isabelle – well, we all were. That was rude of him, just now, and I can only apologize. Matty is …’ he pauses. ‘He’s had some difficulties of his own. He’s taking some time out from education at the moment. His first term at uni proved to be a bit … stressful. He had a bit of a breakdown. I think that’s why he and Isabelle got on well. She understood him. God knows we don’t.’
‘Okay,’ says Neve awkwardly. ‘Please don’t worry. It’s fine. Poor him.’
She pauses. ‘Can you tell me any more about her? About Isabelle?’
Will takes another large sip of wine. His eyes are starting to get an unfocused look and his cheeks are flushed.
‘We didn’t know her all that well in some ways,’ he says with a sigh. ‘Look, I don’t think there is any reason not to tell you this in the circumstances, but she had tried to commit suicide before.’ He pauses. ‘More than once, in fact.’
Neve sucks in her breath. ‘Oh God, really?’
Will nods sadly. ‘Yes, I believe she took an overdose when she was living in Australia and there was talk of something even in her teens. And then she decided to come back here to live and, well, it wasn’t a good decision for her.’
‘Why not?’
Will makes a moue. ‘For a while she threw herself into living there,’ he says. ‘Became very committed to continuing work on her grandmother’s garden, that sort of thing. She seemed to glow with energy when she was like that, you know? Almost a bit manic.’ He pauses before speaking again. ‘Then something happened,’ he says. ‘I don’t know what. But she became very nervous and started thinking someone was watching the cottage.’ He makes a face. ‘Well, you’ve seen the bars on the windows, of course.’
Neve nods, with a grimace. A cold finger seems to stroke her spine. She toys with her napkin. ‘Did she say who she thought was watching?’ she asks after a moment.
Will sits back in his chair, his eyes distant. ‘Not really, but she got a bit obsessed about being safe. Kept calling the local police and asked them about installing a panic button, or so I heard. They got a bit fed up with her after a while.’
The words ‘safe’ and ‘panic button’ seems to pulse and loom inside Neve’s head.
‘There was a man lurking about in the lane today,’ she says in a rush. ‘It felt like he was watching me.’
Will regards her for what seems like a long time before speaking. ‘What did he look like?’ he says at last.
Neve describes him and he frowns. ‘Not Richard then,’ he says. ‘No idea who that was. Hopefully just someone who got a bit lost.’ He takes another swig of his drink. ‘Have you met him yet? Her brother?’
‘No,’ says Neve, trying to pull her thoughts away from dark corners. ‘What’s he like?’
Will stares down at his glass but is unable to hide the sneery twist of his lips.
‘What?’ says Neve.
Will flashes a smile at her. ‘Oh, nothing,’ he says. ‘He’s just not overly blessed with social skills. He lives in the main house. Have you seen that yet?’
Neve shakes her head.
‘Basically,’ he says, ‘Briarfields is your typical crumbling country pile. But it’s not big enough or attractive enough to make any income, nor is it small enough to be easy to manage. Been in the Shawcross family for about a hundred years. Completely falling apart and Richard has neither the money nor the wherewithal to do anything about it. This house and Petty Whin Cottage are all technically part of the estate. They form a triangle.’
Neve absorbs this information. A question that has been bothering her rises to the surface now, buoyed by Will’s easy confidences.
‘Do you think he’s angry that she left the cottage to a complete stranger?’ she asks. Will meets her gaze and doesn’t respond immediately.
He takes another swig of his wine and then grimaces.
‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘But I can’t imagine he is delighted. I mean, would you be, in the circumstances?’
Neve dips her gaze to the table and toys with the stem of her wine glass.
‘
I think,’ she says, ‘I’d be massively pissed off.’
Will sighs and chugs back some more wine. ‘Hopefully you won’t need to have much to do with him anyway.’ He smiles but she doesn’t feel at all reassured.
‘The funeral was a sad business,’ he says suddenly. ‘It was all arranged in a bit of a hurry and so none of her school friends were there or anything. Richard was like a zombie and it ended up being him, us and a couple of people who used to work for the family.’
‘That’s so sad,’ says Neve in a small voice.
Will places the glass on the table carefully. ‘It’s a terrible waste,’ he says, eyes cast downwards.
20
The large dinner sits stodgily in the base of her stomach now. Will is staring moodily into his glass. She wonders what Sally is doing. She has been a long time with Matty.
Will seems to rally then and asks Neve about her old job; she tells him about some of the specialist magazines at PCC in a scathing way. Will hoots with laughter, especially at her impression of Fraser.
After a while Sally comes back into the room, bringing a welcome air of brisk practicality. Her cheeks look flushed and her eyes are bright. Neve feels a wave of sympathy for her. It’s easy to see that she does most of the heavy lifting around here.
‘I’m so sorry about that, Neve,’ she says. ‘I’m sure Will has filled you in a little on our Matthew. He doesn’t mean to be rude. He just has no filter.’
‘It’s fine,’ says Neve. ‘I don’t really have a filter either.’
Sally smiles and pats her sides. ‘Right!’ she says. ‘Let’s move on to coffee and dessert.’
Neve has lost her appetite but she forces down a few spoonfuls of apricot tart and accepts a cup of coffee. Will tops up his wine glass instead and Neve sees his wife flash a look of disapproval his way.
They move through to the comfortable sitting room and Sally shows Neve photographs of their daughter and her two cherubic blonde toddlers, who live in Barcelona. The mantelpiece is filled with images of this sunny family and it is obvious to Neve that this clear-eyed girl with her healthy offspring and sporty ponytail is the Gardners’ pride and joy and Neve finds herself feeling a flash of sympathy for lumpen, difficult Matty, who has no filter.
‘How long has she lived there?’ asks Neve now, trying to rouse herself from a cosy sleepiness that is beginning to drag at her.
‘Oh about ten years,’ says Sally and then a thought seems to strike her and she sits forward.
‘You know, Neve,’ she says, ‘I’m just thinking that if you did want to get Petty Whin Cottage off your hands, there’s a chance my daughter and son-in-law might be interested.’
‘Really?’
Sally makes a face. ‘Well, I think the whole Brexit thing has complicated things a little. And Lydia has been feeling homesick for a while. I’m sure they would offer a fair price.’
‘Okay,’ says Neve, ‘well, I’ll bear that in mind. Thanks.’
The conversation moves on and Neve tries to concentrate but the thought of going back to the unwelcoming cottage is a shadow over her. She half wishes Will and Sally would suggest she spends the night. But as she spots a discreet yawn from Sally, she thinks about something Miri often says: ‘It’s time to put on your big girl pants,’ and with a stifled sigh, she rises from her seat.
‘Thank you so much for a lovely evening,’ she says. ‘But I think I should be getting back now.’
Sally and Will both get up too and Will says he will walk her back. He staggers a little and Neve looks anxiously at Sally, but the other woman’s eyes are elsewhere, her lips primped in a thin line now.
Neve considers suggesting that she return to the house alone. But she’s too scared of the dark lane and not completely sure she could even find the cottage.
After hugging Sally and thanking her profusely for the hospitality, she and Will head out into the darkness again. But before they go, Will says, ‘Oh, password for the wi-fi. Will you grab it from the study, Sal?’
‘Of course,’ says Sally and disappears for a moment, returning with a scrap of paper.
The cold air seems to sober Will up a little. Neve feeds him questions about Lydia, the daughter, and he talks expansively about her and the grandchildren all the way home.
When they reach the front door, Neve finds the keys and begins the complicated sequence of opening up. But once she has turned the key in the upmost lock she realizes something is wrong.
‘That’s weird,’ she murmurs.
Will, who is looking at his mobile, the pale rectangle illuminating the tired lines of his face now, says, ‘What’s that now?’
Neve tries the other three locks but they are all the same.
‘I locked all four when we left,’ she says, ‘but now only one of them is locked.’
‘Oh,’ says Will. ‘Are you absolutely sure you did that? Easy enough not to.’
‘I’m sure!’ says Neve, her worried voice shrill in the quiet chill air. ‘Didn’t you see me do it?’
Will makes a sympathetic face. ‘Sorry, my dear, I really wasn’t paying attention. I couldn’t tell you either way, I’m afraid. Don’t you think it’s more likely that you made a mistake? Unfamiliar door and all that?’
Neve swallows. She’s so tired. Is she really sure that she locked them all? After all, her instinct at any door is to lock it once. And she was flustered when Will arrived.
‘Maybe you’re right.’
‘Want me to come in and check everything is okay?’
Neve does, very much indeed. But she thinks about the descriptions of Isabelle as flaky and overly nervous and the idea of being written off as another neurotic young woman annoys her.
Maybe this is how it starts.
‘No,’ she says, ‘I’ll be fine. I’m sure I just haven’t got used to the locks yet. You go, and thanks for walking me back, and for a lovely evening.’
Will regards her for a moment, swaying slightly on his feet. He pats her on the arm in an avuncular way.
‘You’ll be alright, young Neve,’ he says. ‘Nightie night.’
Neve swallows, unexpectedly emotional.
‘Night. And thanks again, Will.’
Giving her a wave, Will heads off down the lane and is soon swallowed into the darkness.
Neve enters the hallway and closes the door behind her.
The first thing Neve does is to turn on the lights in every room, even though she’s conscious that she mustn’t let the meter run out again.
She turns on the radio and searches for Radio 1, needing the cheerfulness of a pop station. Thumping R&B seeps into the room and her galloping heart begins to slow a little. Taking off her coat, which is still damp from earlier, she hangs it over a chair and goes into the kitchen to make some tea. She’d noticed a box of camomile on a shelf and she makes herself a cup, hoping it might help her sleep. Yawning widely, she makes the decision that she must be brave and sleep in a proper bed.
Neve carries her steaming mug into the bedroom and switches on the overhead light, then all the lamps.
It’s a pretty room, now she looks properly. But old-fashioned. It feels as though Isabelle wanted to preserve the cottage as it was when it was owned by her grandmother. Bit creepy, she thinks, giving her arms a bracing rub.
The bed has a wrought iron frame and she realizes something has slipped down to the sides of the headrest. Reaching for it, she sees it’s a string of colourful fairy lights shaped like roses in dusky pink and purple. She carefully re-strings them through the gaps of the headrest and is happy to note that they are run on a battery and not the mains. Switching them on, she smiles at the effect. The room is much more cosy now.
On the wall above the bed there is a picture of a seaside town. It’s all pastel blue sea, white sailing boats and a streaky pink sunset. Neve decides that she’ll definitely be keeping this. A moment later she feels guilty for the thought.
Looking around the bedroom again she sees an old-fashioned dressing table with a long
rectangular moveable mirror. A series of small photos and scraps of paper are stuck into the frame, including a business card for a taxi company in St Piron, and a couple of photographs that seem to show the couple on display in the sitting room.
The ivory duvet is covered in a proper patchwork quilt and there are two cushions with a vintage rose pattern resting against the pillow. Neve opens cupboards and looks for clean bed linen. She finds it on the top level of a double wardrobe that’s crammed with clothes and the uneasy feeling of standing in a dead woman’s shoes chills her once again.
Not yet ready to look at the clothes, she grabs some clean sheets and a duvet cover and closes the wardrobe firmly. Definitely a job for the daytime hours, she thinks, and begins to change the bedding, rolling the linen stripped from the bed into a ball and putting it into a corner of the room to be dealt with in the morning. But when she pulls the sheet free from under the mattress something falls with a clunk onto the floor beneath the bed.
Neve gets onto her hands and knees and reaches a hand under the bed. Her searching fingers quickly touch something solid. A handle of some sort, cool against her skin. She pulls it out and then emits a high shriek and drops it back onto the carpet.
It’s a knife.
Scrabbling quickly to her feet she stands and stares down at it, breathing heavily.
The blade is curved and ends in a viciously sharp point. It’s only by luck that she didn’t cut her hand; she can see how keen it is just by looking.
Isabelle clearly had this knife under her mattress. But why? What was she so frightened of? Who was she frightened of?
Neve feels something else tugging at her insides now. Anger.
It feels as though she is pulled back into a state of surging adrenaline every time she gets remotely close to relaxing.
After spending several moments debating what to do with the knife, she forces herself to take it to the kitchen and put it back into the rack near the sink.
Neve brushes her teeth in the chilly bathroom, then uses the toilet. The cistern makes a horrible gurgling sound and she watches nervously until the flushing is complete. A plumber is the last thing she can afford.