Sufficient space had been roughly hacked through the shrubbery to allow access to the weather-beaten front door but already new growth was edging its way across the gap. The windows, small by design, were made smaller again by the encroaching greenery and let in very little light during the day and at night the cottage was in total darkness. Electricity had been cut off after the departure of the last official tenant over two years before and now there were just a few flickering candles to battle the night.
Edel Johnson sat at one of the windows peering out at the impenetrable darkness, wondering what on earth she was going to do. Wondering if he would really come.
Yesterday morning, at the Inn, all the coffee she had drunk had necessitated a visit to her room. She’d left the sergeant, expecting to be back with him within minutes. She hadn’t bothered locking her room when she went for breakfast and, turning the handle, she had opened the door with her mind elsewhere. Her knees had gone weak and she had had to grasp the door for support when she saw Simon, sitting on the bed. She had conjured him out of thin air so often, she thought she had done so again. Then he stood up, and she realised he was real. It was Simon. All six-foot two of him, whole and healthy, standing there, grinning at her. As if nothing had happened. As if she hadn’t spent the last three months in anguish, imagining every possible outcome.
Her heart had reacted, the way a heart in love will. She had hugged him, kissed him and filled her eyes with him, feeling her love for him bubbling over. He hadn’t changed a bit, maybe a little thinner, maybe a grey hair had sneaked in among the brown, but otherwise, just Simon. She held him close; smelling his scent, allowing herself the luxury of thinking it would all be okay now. Everything would be the way it used to be, and she’d held him even closer, trying to absorb him into the heart of her, back where he belonged.
They had both laughed and begun to talk at the same time.
‘You first,’ she laughed, sitting on the bed, the laugh fading into confusion as she looked at him. ‘Where have you been, what happened to you?’
He sat down briefly, then jumped up again. ‘Edel,’ his lips curled in the smile she remembered so well, the smile she had searched for in every face the last three months. ‘God, I have missed you. I have so much to tell you, but not here. Pack your things and meet me in the car park. We have to get out of here.’
‘What?’ she cried. ‘What are you talking about?’ The bubble of relief and pleasure at seeing him burst with a loud bang, leaving confusion, worry and stress fighting for control.
‘We have to get out of here,’ he said again, his eyes flitting to the door, to the window.
She stood back, looking at him. There was something different about him, a shiftiness that she had never seen before, an unwillingness to meet her eyes. ‘We have to get out of here? I don’t understand,’ she pleaded quietly, suddenly afraid, the ground wobbling precariously under her feet.
He paced the room, running his hand impatiently through his hair. ‘Listen, I can’t explain now. It was only by luck that I was passing by and saw your car. It’s too long a story to tell you now and… well, to be honest, it’s not safe here.’
She stood and faced him, reaching out to hold his arm, almost relieved to feel warm flesh. It wasn’t a dream. ‘I don’t understand, Simon. Not safe, why?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, will you just do as I ask,’ he shouted, brushing her hand away roughly, a frown creasing his forehead. ‘We have to get out of here.’
‘You don’t understand,’ she tried to reason with him. ‘There’s a garda sergeant downstairs, from Ireland. He’s… well, interviewing me, I suppose you’d say… I found a dead man, you see, in the churchyard yesterday. He’s a garda, Simon; he’ll be able to help with whatever it is, whatever trouble you are in.’ She reached out, trying to instil some reassurance into her voice. ‘You’ll be safe now.’
He interrupted angrily, ‘No, you fool, you just don’t understand, we can’t trust anyone, not the gardaí, not anyone.’ He took a deep breath and continued in a calmer voice. ‘Listen, love, we need to get out of here. When we are safe, I’ll tell you everything and then you’ll understand. Trust me. I love you, remember.’
He reached out and took her into his arms. She rested her head against his chest, hearing the reassuring thump of his heart. ‘I do trust you,’ she said, ignoring the voice of doubt that hammered in her head. Of course, she trusted him. She loved him; they were back together where they belonged. Everything would be all right now. It took less than a minute to throw her belongings back into the holdall and she was ready to go.
Simon opened the bedroom door quietly, listened and then shut it. ‘I have a car in the car park, right beside yours. Give me a minute and then follow quickly, okay?’
She watched him go and then, calculating how much she owed for her stay, she withdrew sufficient cash from her purse, holding it in one hand with her room key. Making her way down the stairs, she cast an apprehensive glance at the dining room door then made her way to the bar where she was in luck, the landlady took her key and cash without question and she made a dash for the car park.
Simon had his engine running already and his car started to move toward the exit when he saw her. Throwing her bag onto the passenger seat and putting the car into gear, she followed.
They drove for what seemed to be miles, up and down narrow and narrower country roads and lanes. She indicated when he indicated, turned when he turned. Finally, she saw his indicator light flash again and she followed his car down an even narrower lane lined with high hedges that brushed the sides of the car as she passed.
Suddenly his car stopped. She pulled up behind him, opened her car door slowly and got out, looking on in amazement as Simon seemed to disappear into a large shrub. He moved back into sight, beckoned to her and she realised there was a building lurking behind it. She grabbed her bag and holdall, took a deep steadying breath and followed him.
He stood at the doorway holding a nasty-looking bramble out of the way with one hand. Seeing her, he pushed it back behind the branch of a rhododendron, winding it around to stop it springing back. ‘Dreadful things, brambles,’ he commented calmly.
Inside the cottage was dark and damp. Her eyes wide, she watched as he lit a number of candles that were scattered about and put a match to a fire that had been set. It was obvious from his self-congratulatory smile that he thought he’d created a cosy atmosphere; but the candles threw huge shadows on the grubby, white walls and illuminated large spider’s webs, while the struggling fire hissed and crackled, too small to warm the room and too smoky to provide much additional light. Her nose crinkled at the combined odour of smoky damp and candle wax as her eyes peered into the gloomy corners wondering if there were mice. She regretted not wearing boots, she could have tucked her jeans in and felt a little safer.
‘It’ll warm up soon,’ Simon said heartily, refusing to look in her direction. He poked another log into the spluttering fire sending sparks shooting into the room. They landed on the damp wooden floor and quickly fizzled out.
‘Simon,’ she started and stopped, horrified to hear the pathetic pleading note in her voice.
He rose from the fire and came to her, ignoring her evident distaste and distress. ‘I’ll show you the bedroom,’ he said and took the holdall from her stiff fingers. Without another word he headed up the stairs, her bag in one hand and a flickering candle in the other.
Reluctantly, she followed him. Cobwebs hung from the handrail, and each step of the stairs creaked ominously as they climbed. It was ghastly and macabre and she wanted to cry as the fear she had managed to dismiss earlier returned to squeeze her heart until she could feel it thumping.
He led her into a small bedroom and lit a number of other candles from the one he held, turning to her with a smile. ‘It’s not the Ritz,’ he said, with an understatement that took her breath away, ‘but the bed is comfortable and once you’re under the duvet, you’ll be nice and cosy. Don’t forget to blow out the cand
les before you go to sleep though. These wooden beams,’ he pointed up into the gloom where the outline of beams draped with a lacework of webs could be seen, ‘they’d go up like tinder.’
‘Simon,’ she said and this time she persevered, her voice stronger. ‘What is going on? What are we doing in this… this…’ she looked around in despair, ‘…this awful place?’
He was still holding her bag and he swung it onto the bed, expending more energy than it required, the bag bouncing and landing on the floor. He left it there and turned to her, annoyance shading his face.
‘You’ve had it so soft all your bloody life, Edel,’ he sneered unattractively. ‘There’s nothing wrong with this place. It’s clean and warm enough if you make some effort. I’ve been here the best part of three months and I’ve survived.’
He picked up her bag and put it back on the bed, looking at her from the corner of his eye as she registered what he had said.
It took a moment. ‘You’ve been here the whole time?’ was all she could manage and she leaned against the bed, needing the support. ‘You’ve been here the whole time,’ she repeated, her voice rising as she assimilated the fact. ‘While I have been out of my mind with worry, while I have had the guards questioning me, and neighbours doubting me, you’ve been here?’
He came around the bed to her and tried to take her into his arms but she knocked his hands away. ‘Listen, I can explain–’
‘Well explain,’ she interrupted angrily. ‘Go on. How can you explain disappearing for three months? Not a word. Not a phone call. Nothing.’
He sighed heavily and reached for her, quickly dropping his hands at her warning look. ‘I did leave you a message,’ he explained with a shrug. ‘I expected you at The Inn months ago.’
‘Message?’ She almost shrieked in angry frustration. ‘You mean that scrap of paper you put in my pocket? I didn’t get it until yesterday.’
Annoyance flickered again, hardening in his eyes. ‘I did wonder why you hadn’t come. I put it in that jacket you wore all the time, that yellow one; you should have found it after I left.’ His face took on an accusing look, quick to blame her. ‘I waited two weeks at The Inn for you.’
Wind rattled the windowpane, startling them both. ‘You waited…?’ Edel cried. ‘You vanished. I haven’t worn that jacket since then. I have just wondered, waited and worried every day; always expecting a knock on the door to tell me they’d found your body. Why didn’t you ring me when I didn’t come?’
The shifty look she had seen earlier returned. ‘I can explain,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘But not now, I have to meet someone. It’s important.’
She glared at him in disbelief. ‘You have to meet someone? You must be joking! Nothing,’ she said, rising anger replacing every other emotion, ‘nothing is more important than explaining to me what is going on.’
The wind howled again and a draught from the window made the candles flicker, causing shadows to chase across the room. For a brief moment, one lingered on Simon’s face and now, it wasn’t fear she felt, it was spine-tingling terror.
He smiled but his smile held little warmth. ‘Later, I promise. I’ll tell you everything later. I have to meet this man. Then… well, then we should be able to get back to normal. I promise. I’ll have things sorted and be able to tell you everything and,’ he added hesitantly, ‘I hope you’ll understand.’ He looked beseechingly at her, as if anticipating a difficulty with either the telling or the understanding. ‘I know you will,’ he said more determinedly. He moved closer to her and put a finger under her chin, forcing her to look at him.
‘Marrying you was the best thing I ever did, Edel.’ This time there was warmth in his smile. ‘Ever,’ he repeated. ‘I wanted you from the first moment we met, when you bumped into me. I knew then you were everything I had always wished for.’
This was, once more, the man she loved, his words effectively dampening down the anger and the fear. ‘Oh Simon,’ she said, taking a step closer to him, desperately wanting his arms around her again.
He put his finger gently on her lips, stopping her. ‘I have to go. We’ll get through this, I promise, and if I have to spend the rest of my life trying to make you understand, trying to make it up to you, I will. Just for now, remember I love you.’ Leaning in, he kissed her gently on the lips.
Then he was gone.
Edel waited a moment and then, with a cry ran after him. She couldn’t let him go like that. Not without telling him that she loved him too; not without telling him that, of course, she would understand, whatever it was he had to tell her, whatever it was he had done. They could sort things out, they could do anything. What was there to understand?
‘Simon, wait,’ she shouted, hurrying down the stairs, hearing a car door slam as she pulled the front door open and stepped outside in time to see her car being driven away at speed. She stood there, seeing the lights flicker on and off in the gloom like some unknown Morse code as the car negotiated the twists and turns of the road.
Leaves rustled around her feet, blown by gentle winds that were the precursor of the storm to come and a distant relation to the menacing clouds that hovered with intent over the cottage. She eyed them with rising anxiety, suddenly realising that Simon hadn’t mentioned what time he would return. A shiver ran through her, causing her skin to prickle with goosebumps and the fear to spark back into life.
Turning back to the cottage, she eyed it with disfavour. How incredibly ugly it was. The roof had probably once been thatched but some misguided or uncaring person had replaced it with a corrugated roof that sat on the cottage’s four walls like an ill-fitting toupee. The two downstairs windows were small and, oddly, set at different heights, as if the builder had put the second window in as an afterthought, not bothering with something as foolish as symmetry. She knew there was at least one upstairs window, there may have been more but she couldn’t see past the bramble and ivy.
It didn’t matter, ugly as it was, she had no choice but to go back inside. Gritting her teeth, she ducked under the rhododendron and bramble arch and shut the door behind her. She looked around the dank, miserable room with a lump in her throat and wondered how much worse her day could get.
10
Edel had told Sergeant West that her life had turned into an Agatha Christie novel, but that was yesterday. Today, it felt more like a Stephen King novel, with the obligatory isolated cottage, no electricity, a dying fire, huge cobwebs and, she glanced around anxiously, probably huge spiders. At least, there was no dead body to contend with. It was an attempt at humour that misfired as she realised, she couldn’t be sure of that. She hadn’t, after all, seen all the rooms yet. Who knew what waited in them?
‘Great,’ she said aloud, feeling that flicker of fear flame a little higher as her voice echoed in the near empty room. ‘I’m doing a marvellous job of scaring myself witless.’ It was hard to believe he’d been here all this time; she couldn’t even begin to wonder what it was that had happened.
She sat in the only chair in the gloomy room, the chill settling in around her, adding to her discomfort as the darkness intensified. Moving the chair closer to the fire, she tried to draw some heat and comfort from it as she mulled over her brief time with Simon. It seemed she had been right; he had been forced to go missing by some unknown circumstances. When he explained what had happened, she would understand, they could put all this behind them and get back to their real life. She would understand. After all, how bad could it be?
A soft hiss came from the fire and she regarded its death throes with alarm. If it went out, it would get very, very cold. ‘Don’t do this to me,’ she entreated, her voice echoing around the room. She jumped up and, holding a candle high, looked frantically for more logs. There were none inside but she remembered seeing some outside close to where she had parked her car. Eyeing the dying fire, she knew she had to go out and bring some in.
The door opened with a scary-movie screech and she looked out in horror. There was only dense blackne
ss beyond the doorframe, the jaws of death couldn’t be any darker. Fear leapt into her throat, almost choking her. Stepping back quickly, she shut the door, turned the key in the lock and leaned against it. She wasn’t afraid of normal darkness, but that emptiness outside, that lack of everything as though nothing existed now outside the cottage. Bloody hell, she wasn’t going out there.
Definitely more Stephen King than Agatha Christie, she laughed shakily, trying to regain some self-control. If she’d just brought some wood in earlier instead of sitting there like an idiot, feeling sorry for herself. She shivered as she imagined the wildlife and insects scurrying around in the shadows of the woodpile. She’d prefer the cold. Pulling her jacket tighter, she tucked her hands up the sleeves and sat reviewing her situation. Tired, cold, hungry and scared. And angry, yes, definitely angry. Where the hell had Simon gone?
Her mind wandered over the last couple of hours, analysing every word. None of it made sense. She frowned. He had been here all the time, why on earth couldn’t he have rung her? She told him she would understand, but she knew it would take a lot of explaining. She looked around the room and shivered. A hell of a lot of explaining.
She sighed and the sound echoed eerily; stood and the floorboards creaked loudly. With a gulp, she made her way across the darkened room to the stairway and peered up. It was too dark to see anything. The candles Simon had lit must have blown out. She reached for the wall, pulling her hand back in horror and biting her lips to contain the shriek when her fingers felt something soft. Probably just a spider’s web, she reassured herself as she retreated and sat to look at the now critically ill fire. She sat unmoving, elbows resting on her knees, hands cupping her face, feeling choking tears forming. Resolutely, she tried to think of something positive or, at least, something different.
She wondered how long Sergeant West had waited in the dining room before he got suspicious about her absence. It brought a quick wicked smile to her face. She’d bet he was pissed off and wondered if she would ever get the chance to explain, if he would even listen. Suddenly, in the silence, the sound of a car in the distance made her jump up and rush to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open. He was back. Relief surged through her and she waited expectantly, peering into the darkness, trying to catch a glimpse of approaching beams. But there was nothing to be seen, the sound faded and the heavy silence enveloped her again.
No Simple Death Page 10