by cass green
Neve hurries over the road with a light feeling in her chest. Sally is so capable and sensible. Matty is lucky to have her, even if his dad is a bit of a drinker.
‘Fancy seeing you here,’ says Sally. ‘Been shopping?’ Her eyes slide down to Neve’s hands and their absence of shopping bags. ‘Or maybe not!’
‘I’ve had a very strange day,’ says Neve. ‘I’ve been in Dorset. But I’ll tell you about it another time.’ She lets her eyes quickly dart towards Matty and Sally seems to understand immediately because she tightens her lips and dips her chin in agreement.
‘Where are you going now?’ says Sally. ‘We’re just off home. Been to the dentist, both of us.’
‘Well, I was going to look for a bus,’ says Neve, mentally crossing her fingers.
‘Gosh,’ says Sally. ‘Wouldn’t dream of having you do that. We’ll give you a lift, won’t we, Matty?’
Matty’s cheeks darken and he mumbles something indecipherable.
They climb into the car; Neve in the front. Matty feels like a malignant presence behind her. She can tell he is looking at her as they pass through the city and out onto the main road and wonders again whether he has been behind any of the odd things that have been happening.
But why would he try to frighten her?
Sally is quiet and appears thoughtful. Neve is too exhausted to make conversation and barely knows where to start anyway. She wants to ask if they borrowed the axe from the cottage but is scared to know the answer. What if Sally doesn’t know what she is talking about? At the moment Neve can live in a reality in which it is still possible that it was a misunderstanding between country neighbours, the rules of which she doesn’t understand.
She also wonders how much Sally knew about Isabelle’s quest with John Denville. Did Isabelle tell anyone other than Bob and Linda Dyer about her prison visit?
But these topics weigh too much right now and she is too wrung out. Neve is grateful when Sally reaches to the radio and puts on Radio 4. They listen to the news in silence and from the back of the car comes the tap-tap of Matty’s activity on his phone.
Sally’s powerful car ticks off the miles back a little too soon. She offers to park in the lane and for Matty to see Neve to her door. Debating for just a moment which is the lesser of the evils she accepts the offer and the large youth shines a powerful torch from the car to light their way as they walk up the icy lane. The torchlight bobs and weaves before them, casting silvery-white flashes over the branches. The wood next to them seems like a malignant mass of darkness, glowering down on their figures.
An owl hoots mournfully and something scurries quickly into the bushes in front of them, causing Neve to flinch and move closer to Matty.
He flinches in turn, as though she is about to touch him.
As they reach the front door, she fumbles with the locks. It seems to take an age to open the house.
The car in the lane toots impatiently and Matty starts. He says nothing and simply hurries off.
‘Fuck!’ Neve hisses into the night air. ‘You might have waited for me to get inside!’
She shoves against the door and almost falls into the chill hallway.
But straight away she knows something isn’t right. Her entire skin seems to fizz with the shock as she holds her breath to listen.
The realization that it’s only the radio is a relief that feels almost orgasmic and she laughs as she slaps her hand against the light switch and illuminates the hallway. Stupid radio. Got a bloody mind of its own.
But as she comes into the unwelcoming kitchen and looks balefully around, two unpleasant realizations strike her at once.
She unplugged it yesterday.
And she has no idea how long it has been on for. It could have been playing all day.
The lights could go out at any moment, plunging her into darkness again.
38
Neve runs to the draining board and grasps the knife she left there that morning.
She stands at the sink, clutching it with both hands in front of her body; breath coming in loud rasps of terror.
‘You can fuck off, Denville!’ she yells, then flinches at the loud violence of her own voice.
The house squats around her, mocking her with its total, enveloping quiet.
Neve forces one foot in front of the other, edging forward with baby steps, knife held out so her arm comes to one long point, until she gets to the hallway.
Weapon still brandished, she smacks the door of the study open and it bangs loudly against the wall. Flicking on the light switch, she scans the room. But no one has been here, she can tell.
Next, she checks the bathroom and when she catches sight of herself in the stippled mirror above the sink, she sees a thin, scared woman with a bone-white face. She looks much older than her years.
Turning away, Neve moves to the bedroom and stops in the doorway. Something is wrong here. She can’t work it out. But the scene is very slightly off, as though it has been re-painted in the wrong shades.
The bed … it’s neatly made. Did she make it that morning? She is sure she didn’t. But maybe she did? Letting out a groan of frustration, she mashes a fist against her forehead. She can’t remember. Sometimes she does and sometimes she doesn’t. It’s so neat and tidy though … almost like a hospital bed.
With a quivering hand, she gently pulls back the duvet, dreading what she might see beneath. But there is nothing, just the smooth flattened sheet. It’s just a bed, she tells herself.
Trying to calm her ragged breathing, Neve walks back into the kitchen. She can’t seem to put down the knife.
All she can hear is the wind
‘Fuck this,’ she says, reaching into her pocket for her phone.
She thumbs up Sally’s number.
Sally picks up almost immediately and seems so unfazed that Neve feels a pulse of humiliation. Sally clearly thinks she is a totally useless moron.
She invites Neve to come to dinner and to sleep over.
Less than five minutes later she hears a sharp rap at the door. She has thrown her bed things and a toothbrush plus some clean knickers into her bag. She hadn’t got as far as taking off her coat and boots when she came in. She almost runs out of the front door, pulling it behind her decisively and locking it with trembling fingers. Even as she does this, she experiences a queasy sensation that it isn’t enough to reassure her the cottage is safe.
‘Thank you so much,’ she says breathlessly. Will is wearing a hunting hat with furry side flaps that makes him look like a lumberjack. He smiles kindly but has a mildly puzzled, amused expression.
‘It’s absolutely fine,’ he says. They walk through the gap in the hedge and into the lane, where the four-by-four is parked.
They climb in and Neve is comforted by the bulk of the car. An alarm chimes until they have clipped on their seat belts.
‘So, Sally says something has given you a bit of a turn?’ says Will as he starts the engine. The big car glides down the bumpy lane towards the road.
‘I don’t know,’ says Neve, feeling stupid even as she says it. She doesn’t know where to start on everything she has learned today. ‘But it feels like someone is trying to freak me out.’
‘Go on,’ says Will and glances at her, his face a combination of shadowed angles and light from the dashboard.
She tells him about the axe, even though she is aware that sounds particularly foolish.
‘And there was today!’ she says heatedly, as they pull up in front of Will and Sally’s cottage. ‘I swear I unplugged it.’ She contemplates mentioning the neatly made bed but isn’t certain about this one. It’s probably just her error.
Will has listened without comment the whole way and is now parking.
‘And there’s something else,’ she says. ‘I’ve found something awful out about Isabelle.’ She can’t bring herself to blurt it out yet. The words feel poisonous in her mouth.
‘Okay,’ says Will with a big out-breath. ‘Let’s get you inside and
get some dinner in you, then we’ll talk it through, okay? And tomorrow I will come over and give the house a thorough check for you, alright? But for tonight, let’s get you inside, eh?’
For a moment Neve almost loves this big, cuddly bear of a man.
‘That sounds brilliant,’ she says, opening the door of the car.
Inside the house, Neve’s senses are bathed in pleasant smells, sights and sounds. The lighting is soft and welcoming in the hallway, and she can smell garlic over the scent of the candle that burns just inside the door. Some sort of plinky-soft piano music is seeping from one of the rooms. She looks around for signs of Matty but he isn’t here and she feels herself relax.
She takes her boots off and Horace the cat appears to weave around her legs, purring loudly.
Reaching down she rubs the cat’s head and it leans hard into her hand, purrs revving up so its whole body shivers with pleasure. ‘I haven’t seen you for ages,’ she says. ‘Are you not coming to visit me any more then?’
‘He doesn’t really wander away from the garden these days,’ says Sally with a laugh, appearing at the kitchen door and holding a tea towel. ‘He’s getting a bit old and set in his ways.’
Neve stands up and gives an uncertain smile. ‘Oh,’ she says. ‘It’s just that he came the other evening, didn’t he? I thought I might see him again.’
Sally turns away with a sharp, bright laugh. ‘Apart from visiting Petty Whin Cottage, I meant. Anyway,’ she adds, ‘more importantly, let me get you a drink. It sounds as though you could do with one!’
Neve follows her gratefully into the kitchen. The food smells are rich and herby and her stomach clenches with hunger.
‘It’s just veggie lasagne,’ says Sally, ‘so I hope you’re okay with that?’
‘That sounds amazing.’ Neve sits down at the table, which has been set for three. She wonders whether Matty isn’t around, or whether her place hadn’t been set yet. But she’s suddenly too sleepy to think about it properly. The safety and hospitality feel like a warm bath and she suppresses a yawn. It must be the relief, she thinks. Then, imagine what it would be like to live like this, all the time. It feels as though introducing the topic of Sofie Lindstrom and John Denville into this place would almost be an act of violence. And she is too exhausted to bring it up straight away. She’ll gather her resources and tell them in a while.
Will comes into the room again with a burst of hand rubbing and enthusiasm.
‘Right,’ he says, beaming at Neve, ‘who’s for a drink? Wine? Beer?’
Neve hesitates. She’s so exhausted she thinks alcohol is going to knock her out but she decides to have just one and see how she gets on.
‘I’ll have a beer if that’s okay?’ she says and a few minutes later Will hands her a bottle of Beck’s that is dotted with condensation and a tall, thin glass.
She thanks him and takes a long sip as Sally comes to the table with a red ceramic dish that bubbles with crusty cheese, sending delicious steam into the air. A wooden bowl of salad is placed on the table by Will, who uses the tongs to toss it until it glistens with oil.
‘This is delicious, Sally,’ she says after putting a small forkful of searingly hot pasta into her mouth. When she has swallowed, with difficulty, she says, ‘Where’s Matty tonight?’
Sally and Will exchange looks.
‘He had something earlier,’ says Sally carefully. ‘He’s …’ she takes a mouthful of her own food and chews for a moment before continuing ‘… he has taken Isabelle’s death rather harder than we realized, it seems. He got upset today, coming up to the cottage with you.’
Neve lowers her fork. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she says. ‘I should have—’ but Sally interrupts her by holding up a hand.
‘No, it’s nothing to do with you, please don’t worry,’ she says. ‘He’s just a sensitive boy, that’s all. Sometimes I think that living out here is perhaps not the best place for him. He was like a different boy when we visited his sister last year. It was as if the environment suited him in some way.’
She seems about to say more but Will breaks in.
‘More salad, Neve?’ he says, noticing that Neve has finished the entire bowl while waiting for the lasagne to cool.
‘Oh yes please,’ she says and then laughs. ‘You must think I’m a right greedy guts.’
Will smiles kindly and tongs a pile of shining leaves into her bowl. ‘Not at all,’ he says. ‘It’s nice to see a woman with a proper appetite.’
As they eat in silence, Neve feels as if the topics of Petty Whin Cottage and Isabelle are circling like black crows above their heads. She doesn’t know how to broach the subject and wants to stay longer in this pretend, safe place where it isn’t happening.
But after a moment Will speaks again.
‘Neve, we understand that you’ve had a bit of a rotten time since you came here. I’m so sorry about this. I wish things could have been easier for you.’
‘Thank you,’ she says, feeling her eyes prickle with emotion. She takes a swig of her beer to compensate and then has a coughing fit because she swallowed too quickly.
‘Are you alright?’ Sally pats her on the back and her voice is so gentle, it breaches Neve’s final defences. No one has touched her for ages, it seems, and she wants to curl her head into Sally’s neck and stay there.
And then that’s exactly what is happening because she has dropped her fork and is unable to control the sobs that rip through her.
‘Oh shush, shush now,’ says Sally gently, her arms around Neve and one hand smoothing her hair; Neve is suddenly conscious that it’s dirty.
‘I don’t even know what I’m doing here,’ she says finally with a snotty hiccup, and pulls away to delve for a tissue in the handbag by her feet that she then fails to locate. But it’s okay because Sally is magically holding a man-sized one out to her now. Neve takes it gratefully and then uses it to rub at her reddened, damp nostrils.
‘It’s just that …’ she lets out a heavy sigh. ‘Well, you see, my dad died. And my mum’s dead. And I feel like, I feel like …’ A wave of sadness batters her again and she closes her eyes for a second. Why is she telling them about this? They don’t care. No one cares. She must get on with it, mustn’t she?
‘Go on,’ says Sally softly.
Neve laughs and it’s too bright, like the sharp ting of metal against glass.
‘It sounds so stupid,’ she says, staring down at her half-eaten dinner. The colours – red peppers, orange cheese, green leaves – seem too vivid. ‘But the whole thing with the cottage seems like something I could deal with if I’d been able to get advice from my mum and dad. My mum, actually. She’d have taken charge and had that creepy old shithole looking like a show home.’
The other two laugh politely.
Neve continues. ‘I feel like I’ve been given this supposed opportunity … woo! Lucky me!’ She sniffs, ‘But instead it’s like a big ugly albatross on my head.’ She laugh-hiccups. ‘Or wherever the fuck albatrosses go.’ She looks up to see their amused expressions. ‘I’m sorry about all my swearing. I’m always being told about it.’
Sally leans across and pats her hand softly. ‘Finish your dinner up and we’ll talk this through properly. Will,’ she says. ‘Get Neve a glass of wine or another beer.’
‘I’ll just have some water, thanks,’ says Neve and wonders for a second whether Will looks a little deflated.
They finish the meal and Sally tells Will about the dentist visit she and Matty had earlier in the day. Neve tunes out and eats her food, which doesn’t seem quite so delicious now it has cooled and congealed a little on the plate. She feels too tired to be ashamed of her breakdown, fortunately. And God knows when she will get something this good again, so she finishes every last mouthful before placing her knife and fork on her plate and thanking Sally for the food.
‘It’s my pleasure,’ says Sally and gets up from the table.
‘Can I clear up for you?’
‘I wouldn’t hear of it,’
she says and makes a sweeping motion to indicate that she should make her way to the sitting room. ‘I’ll be in with coffee in a moment. You go through.’
Neve carries her water through to the sitting room and sinks into a brown leather armchair. She looks around the room, at the framed pictures of the family on the piano, and the flickering flames visible through the window of the log burner, and tries to think about nothing. But the image of the tiny Isabelle, arms slick with her mother’s blood, as she tries to coax the dead woman to drink some water is too powerful and it feels like her mind has imprinted it in the background, like wallpaper on a computer screen.
After a while Will and Sally come into the room. He is holding a tray that contains a cafetiere, a jug of milk, a bowl of sugar and cups. There is a plate of mini Florentines.
‘Coffee?’ he says and Neve hesitates then nods. She doesn’t want to be kept awake but she needs to focus too, in order not to sound like a lunatic.
When they are all sipping coffee to the soft accompaniment of the traditional jazz playing quietly in the background and the whoosh and roar of wind in the flue of the burner, Neve speaks.
‘So,’ she says, ‘I found out something awful about Isabelle today.’
‘Oh yes?’ Sally’s coffee cup is halfway to her lips.
And she begins to tell them what she learned from Linda Dyer earlier, about how Isabelle was visiting a man in prison, and the horrific crime which had put him there. Both faces register confusion and then, when she reveals Isabelle’s connection to Denville, shock.
Sally stares down at her hands and mutters that it’s a terribly sad story, and Will shakes his head forcefully. ‘The poor girl,’ he says. ‘We had no idea at all. To think …’ he sighs heavily, ‘that she went all the way to Low Linney prison and told no one about any of it.’
Neve agrees quietly. Something catches awkwardly in her mind, like a woollen sock snagging on a misplaced floor tack.
‘But that’s not the worst part,’ she says and then tells them about John Denville possibly having got out of prison.
‘God,’ says Sally with heat. ‘That’s a bit disconcerting.’