In a Cottage, In a Wood

by cass green

  27

  Neve wakes at six a.m., bathed in sweat and stumbles to the bathroom to throw up.

  Her throat feels lined with broken glass. This alerts her foggily that she isn’t just hungover, but properly sick. Neve groans and walks as though through knee-high sand to the kitchen, shivering violently.

  Jarvis gets up and pads to the back door where he gives her an expectant look and she sighs, before unlocking the door and letting him outside. She waits, hunched in a miserable curve at the back door for him to pee. She closes her eyes, miserably. Then she realizes she can hear something coming from the living room. A staticky, unpleasant sound she recognizes but can’t place.

  She goes to the room and realizes that the radio is on again. It is between stations and presumably has been going all night. But when did she turn it on yesterday? She tries to search her memory but her brain is too fuzzy.

  It’s too much to deal with now.

  Neve has been told she is a terrible patient by her sister, by Daniel and by friends at university, when they all succumbed to the same evil stomach virus over one weekend. But right now she wants her mother so badly that she begins to cry as she hunts for paracetamol and swallows two down with a glass of icy water that somehow scalds her raw throat.

  Getting back into bed, she closes her eyes and huddles into the duvet until the shivering stops. Sleep comes like a cosh to the head.

  It is the cold draught that wakes her, some hours later.

  She has managed to wrap the duvet around herself tightly in an apparent quest to be warm but the parts of her that are exposed – face, one arm and a foot – are freezing.

  At first she is too fuddled by sleep to make sense of this and for a few moments her brain works on recreating the disastrous evening before, complete with vivid memories of her trying to kiss Finn and being rebuffed. She winces and then thinks about the early hours when she felt so ill. There was that weird radio thing too.

  She experimentally swallows and finds that her throat still hurts, but slightly less than it did earlier.

  But why is it so cold in here?

  Neve reluctantly untangles herself from the padding of the duvet and hurriedly grabs her hoodie. Thrusting already-worn socks onto her feet, she walks down the hallway to the kitchen. The cool wind on her face seems to get stronger with every step, as does the sensation that something is very wrong.

  In the kitchen she realizes two things simultaneously: the back door is slightly open, and the dog is not lying in his basket.

  Hurrying to the door, she pulls it open and peers outside.

  ‘Jarvis?’ she calls. ‘Come here, boy!’

  She waits, trying to piece together exactly what she did in the early hours of the morning. She was feeling so ill, but she knows she let the dog out for a wee. She can remember how cold and miserable she felt. She’s almost certain she let the dog come back inside. But what if she didn’t?

  ‘Jarvis!’ She’s shouting now as panic begins to pulse inside her. Neve runs to the front of the house and grabs Isabelle’s jacket. Pulling it on, she shoves her feet into boots and runs back to the kitchen. Nausea and fear churn in her stomach and a wave of fresh sweat slicks her skin as she runs outside and pulls the back door closed behind her.

  Neve starts by checking all around the garden, looking for holes in the fence. It quickly becomes apparent the fence is broken in so many places that it serves no real purpose. The dog could have escaped in any number of places.

  She tries behind the property first, climbing the gate into a field where a few bored cows regard her, and shouting Jarvis’s name over and over again.

  Then she runs back down the lane to the main road, still shouting. All she can see in her mind’s eye is the dog mangled and bloody at the side of the road and she begins to cry gently as she sees one car – then a van – barrel past at great speed.

  The cold air bites through the thin cotton of her pyjama bottoms and waves of sickly exhaustion wash over her as she calls feebly into the wind. It begins to rain, slow patters that soon become an icy deluge and before long the landscape seems to be hidden beneath skeins of white gossamer.

  Neve tries to picture herself telling Richard Shawcross that she has lost his dog and whimpers with fear and hopelessness.

  A small red car turns onto the road and comes towards her. As it slows down she realizes she recognizes the driver. It is Matty Gardner.

  Neve looks cautiously into the window as it lowers. At that moment she spots what is on the back seat. It is Jarvis, who stands up and grins happily at her, looking huge in the small space.

  ‘Jarvis!’ she cries. ‘Hello boy! You’re alright!’

  Matty mumbles something and she leans in closer.

  ‘How,’ she stumbles, ‘how come you’ve got the dog?’

  When Matty speaks again, he still doesn’t meet her eye but his voice is surprisingly clear.

  ‘I almost ran over him just now. I was going to take him back to Richard.’

  Neve takes a deep breath and attempts to pull herself together.

  ‘I’m meant to be looking after him,’ she says miserably. ‘But he somehow got out and I couldn’t find him.’

  ‘Got out,’ Matty parrots, deadpan. Neve feels a hot blast of shame. Then he says quickly, ‘Could have been killed.’

  ‘Yes.’ She swallows. ‘Yes, I know. I don’t really understand how it happened.’

  There’s a weighty silence.

  ‘Do you want to get in or not?’ he says after it has passed the point of awkward and gone into unbearable.

  ‘Oh.’ Flustered, Neve opens the door and climbs in. Jarvis tries to lick her face and she feels a wave of affection for the dog that brings guilty tears springing to her eyes.

  She sniffs and asks Matty if he has a tissue as they drive along the road.

  ‘Might be one in there,’ he says, gesturing at the glove compartment. She mumbles thanks and opens it. Inside there are a packet of tissues, some gum and a lipstick. With a rush she remembers that the car was Isabelle’s.

  Looking at Matty he finally meets her eye and blushes. ‘I haven’t got around to clearing it out yet,’ he says and she nods, reaching for a tissue. As she pulls at the packet it falls into the foot well of the car and a piece of paper falls at the same time.

  Glancing sideways at Matty she sees he is not looking at her as she picks it up. It is a small paper wristband, of the sort you wear at a music festival; orange, with the word ‘Visitor’ printed on it.

  She’s not sure why she does it but she slips it into her pocket with the tissue.

  The rest of the short journey passes in heavy silence and at last they are pulling up into the lane next to the cottage. Despite the difference in their ages, Neve still feels as though she has been caught smoking by the headmaster.

  As he pulls up in the lane Neve smiles at Matty, who seems to physically shrink in response. She clears her throat.

  ‘Thanks so much for this,’ she says. ‘But I would be really grateful if you wouldn’t mention this to Richard.’

  Matty’s eyebrows close in together. ‘Why would I?’ he says and sounds almost offended by the suggestion.

  ‘Oh,’ she says, ‘well, that’s good then. Thank you again. I’ll just get Jarvis out the back.’

  Neve climbs out of the car and, after fiddling with the mechanism for a moment while Matty waits silently, works out how to move the seat forward.

  As she reaches for Jarvis’s collar the dog begins to jump out of the car. But something catches her eye just before she closes the door.

  There’s an air rifle lying on the floor below the back seats. The kind used to shoot wildlife … like magpies? She glances sharply at Matty, who stares moodily out of the windscreen and ignores her.

  Neve hurries into the house with the dog and doesn’t look back.

  28

  11/03/11

  Dearest Granny,

  Rich is terribly upset with me. I can live with that, but not if you are to
o.

  I know it seems callous, me not coming to Dad’s funeral, but you know what a difficult relationship we had. And the truth is that I simply can’t afford to come back right now. Australia is such a long way and it’s hideously expensive to fly back.

  I expect you will offer to send me the money but I don’t believe you can afford it either.

  Also, being really honest, coming back to the UK doesn’t feel like the best thing for me right now. I’ve had some problems with my health – but DON’T WORRY! – I am currently trying to get back to full fitness. I’m in intensive therapy with someone new (Rich helpfully said this is one of my ‘witch doctors’. Thanks, Rich.)

  This chap is brilliant and has specialized in adult and child PTSD. I am still finding it difficult to come to terms with the past and I think this is helping. In fact, I am feeling more positive than I have in some time, despite being sad about Dad.

  I hope the funeral goes well and I will send a donation to that charity Dad supported.

  Please tell Rich that I love him, whatever he may think.

  And so very much love goes to you.

  Izzyxxxxxxxxxx

  29

  After double checking that the entire property is locked up, Neve takes a quick shower. The entire time she is in the water she imagines a gloved hand whipping back the curtain and the precise feeling of a knife blade touching her skin. She’s shivering as she comes out and dries herself hurriedly.

  Sitting at the table sipping coffee and attempting to force toast down her sore throat, she glances at her phone and sees from the absence of blue ticks that Miri hasn’t read her WhatsApp message.

  She lets out a long sigh that seems to reverberate around the kitchen and glances down at Jarvis, who is sleeping heavily. Sharp needles of guilt stab at her but her eyes move to the back door. She checks again that it is locked and then stands in the empty kitchen wondering what to do next.

  How on earth did she end up here? Freaked out and alone in a dead woman’s house.

  Isabelle Shawcross feels like an impossible puzzle.

  If only Neve can start to understand her a little. To get a glimpse into what was happening in her life at the end. Sleeping with a knife under the pillow is not exactly normal, even in this place, and Neve is sure that something strange is going on here.

  That’s when she remembers the wristband she found in the car and she hurriedly pulls it from her pocket.

  She now sees that the word ‘Visitor’ isn’t the only writing on the thin paper. In small letters there is a stamp that says ‘HMP Low Linney’. Her heart jumps and she hurries to the hallway to the waxed jacket of Isabelle’s that she has been wearing.

  The letters are chiming with something in her mind and she finds that the piece of paper is still there.

  HMP LL 14/07/16. PBH date TBC

  HMP LL …

  Could HMP be Her Majesty’s Prison?

  Her Majesty’s Prison Low Linney.

  It rings a bell. Neve goes to her iPad and, giving another silent prayer of thanks to the Gardners’ wi-fi, goes straight to Wikipedia.

  HM Prison Low Linney

  From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

  Jump to Navigation, Search

  HMP Low Linney

  Location: South Walling, Worcestershire

  Security Class: Adult male/Category A

  Population: 670 (as of October 2013)

  Opened 1972

  HM Prison Low Linney is a Category A men’s prison located in the village of South Walling, Worcestershire. It is operated by Her Majesty’s Prison Service …

  Neve sits back with a loud out-breath, which causes Jarvis to look up at her and thump his tail before lowering his head again, eyes beadily focused on her movements.

  She doesn’t know much about the criminal justice system but she knows that Category A is for serious criminals. A quick search confirms what she thought.

  Category A: Prisoners whose escape would be highly dangerous to the public, the police or the security of the state, no matter how unlikely that escape might be.

  So who was Isabelle Shawcross visiting in a Category A prison?

  An attempt to Google prisoners at Low Linney gets her nowhere. There are only a few stories relating to riots, the murder of an inmate, and a story from the Daily Mail about lax security relating to drugs on an inspection in 2010.

  Neve gets up and stretches now because her back is aching from her hunched position over the iPad. Her sore throat has crept back and her limbs feel weak and shivery. She makes herself a cup of coffee and goes to the bedroom to get a blanket, which she wraps around her shoulders as she heads back to the kitchen table.

  She taps onto her emails and gasps when she sees a reply from Lou waiting to be opened.

  Hi, she reads, Soz for slow reply. Whole house been puking. I’m typing with one hand as Maisie finally asleep on one shoulder. Have to be quick. Tx for msg and sorry about going postal at you. I was v worried and didn’t know where you were. Glad to hear about the cottage and jam intentions and hope to visit. Keep me in the picture about plans.

  Love L

  PS Do remember unfortunate trike/wall union! But we had wooden floorboards in that house, not tiles. I still remember the gore!!

  Neve sighs and closes her eyes with relief.

  But she can’t go and stay there again. Not only is the peace with Lou a tentative one, she can’t bear to think about the look on Steve’s face if she came crawling back. He would be all, ‘That’s Neve the fuck-up for you. Couldn’t even deal with being given a free house.’

  She sees now there is a message from an email address she doesn’t recognize with a picture attachment. Opening it she quickly realizes it is from Arjan, Miri’s husband.

  Miri and I are proud to announce the arrival of Farah Savati Johal, 3.64kg, after a caesarean section.

  Miri is doing fine but would like me to pass on that she is ‘bloody knackered’ and ‘can’t wait to get out of this hellhole’. We would both like to pass on that our daughter is not, as the picture might suggest, wearing a toupee.

  We’re hoping that mum and daughter will be discharged by the end of the week.

  Emotion rises like a hard ball in Neve’s throat as she opens the picture attachment and sees the tiny, scrunch-faced baby with a comedy mop of thick black hair. She gives a hiccupy giggle and wipes her eyes. Must get on top of all this crying. She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her lately. She’s like a leaky tap.

  But oh, clever Miri. There she is doing heroic things like giving birth and what is she, Neve, up to? Floating around in this strange place where she doesn’t belong and trying to untangle a knotted ball of secrets that have nothing whatsoever to do with her. Desperate to tell her friend everything that has been going on, she instead taps out a message of congratulation and thinks about how and when she can get back to London to visit.

  The fact remains, she realizes with a sinking heart, that this cottage is the only place she has to stay right now. She looks up and almost feels as though it glares back at her. She gets up, restless, and walks over to the window where she sees that it is snowing. Large, soft flakes are falling at an alarming rate and Neve experiences a squeeze of claustrophobic dread in her chest.

  She’s ill, alone, and she might run out of food in the next day or so.

  Neve thinks about what Will said before. ‘She got a bit obsessed about being safe.’

  She thinks about the knife.

  About the flowers that seemed to have been trampled and destroyed at Isabelle’s grave.

  For just a moment, the thought that the cottage is haunted drifts into her head.

  ‘No,’ she says out loud. ‘Not going there.’ She’s never been one to believe in that stuff and she has no intention of starting now. It feels like paranoia is seeping into her and infecting her blood like a virus.

  Jarvis comes over to her and leans, trembling, against her legs. Maybe he’s cold, she thinks and decides to make his bed a bit more co
sy. It feels like the sort of thing a responsible pet owner would do.

  She goes to the hall cupboard, remembering the stack of blankets in there and switches on the small torch to get a better look inside.

  The space goes back further than she thought. She sees now there aren’t just blankets, but what looks like a sleeping bag too. She gets down on her hands and knees and crawls into the space, feeling the slithery tug of the sleeping bag under her knees.

  A bottle of water and a much larger torch lie to the side. The torch flashes bright over the white ceramic eye of an old teddy bear lying near the pillow.

  Neve backs out of the cupboard so fast that she bangs her head painfully, heart ramming against her chest.

  Who the hell has been sleeping in there?

  Neve rushes to the kitchen and grabs her telephone.

  Seconds later she hears Sally’s voice.

  ‘Hello?’

  Almost in one breath, she tells Sally about what she found under the stairs. There is a silence and she hears a long exhalation from the other woman.

  ‘Oh the poor thing,’ she says at last.

  ‘What? What?’ Neve tries to lower her voice, aware she is almost shouting into the phone.

  ‘Isabelle,’ Sally says, then hesitates. ‘This was something she did when she was little. Margaret told me about it once. They used to find her all over Briarfields in odd places; airing cupboards … an old tea chest. Used to drive them mad.’

  ‘Why did she do it?’ says Neve.

  ‘To feel safe,’ says Sally sadly. ‘It helped her with nightmares she used to have. That’s what Margaret said, anyway.’

  When Neve comes off the phone she stands immobile for a few moments, picturing the sad, delicate woman she met on Waterloo Bridge crawling into that miserable space, trying to make a nest, huddled against the scary things in her head.

  If the scary things were only in her head …

  Neve swallows.

  It’s either a terrifying thought, or the saddest thing she has ever heard in her life.

  And it is this that suddenly galvanizes her. She won’t allow herself to be like that frightened woman hiding in a cupboard.