Now Ruby lifts her head, suddenly alert.
“You fucking well know I am.”
Mary stiffens. She tries to breathe, smoothing her hand over the duvet.
“Really? What are you scared of?”
Ruby narrows her eyes.
“How can you act all surprised like that? You were the one who told me there was something, remember? You said it. You said you knew.”
Mary takes a breath.
“You’re right. I did say that.”
“Well, then.”
“Look, when I said that, I think I was just talking about a feeling. A vague feeling I sometimes get. I just wanted to tell you I understood and that I felt it too. I didn’t mean it was anything to be frightened of.”
Ruby looks at her.
“So what do you feel?”
“What, in this house?”
Ruby nods, waiting. Mary hesitates, looking around the room.
“I don’t know. You get a sense of other people, don’t you? It happens in lots of houses. Old houses. Sometimes you almost think you can hear them.”
“Hear what?”
“I don’t know. The things that used to go on. The people.”
“What people?”
Mary tries to smile.
“I don’t know. No one in particular. Just—I suppose whoever it was who was here before.”
Ruby is watching her.
“You’ve seen him. Don’t lie. I know you have.”
“What? Seen who?”
“The ginger guy. I know you’ve seen him.”
Mary hesitates.
“What, the young man with the red hair? Yes, I’ve seen him. I know who you mean. I think he must live in the village.”
Ruby looks at her.
“But why is he always here?”
“Here?”
“Everywhere. All over the fucking place. In the garden.”
Mary’s heart sinks.
“You’ve seen him in the garden?”
“Yeah, down at the bottom of the garden doing stuff—I don’t know, digging around. And by the old shed thing. He’s the one who took Dad’s tools, isn’t he?”
“Is he?”
“Well, come on, it must be him, mustn’t it?”
Mary tenses, her body suddenly light and still.
“Ruby. You’ve never told us any of this.”
“I’m telling you now. Come on. You’ve seen him too. He’s always here, outside in the lane, looking at this house.”
“Is he?”
“For fuck’s sake. You know he is. And the kids too.”
“The kids?”
Ruby hesitates.
“All those children. The little kids.”
“You’ve seen them too?”
“Not really.”
“You haven’t seen them?”
Ruby blinks.
“I know they’re there. I’ve heard them. So have you.” Mary feels Ruby watching her. Her eyes on her face. She hugs herself, suddenly bone cold, trying to stop her teeth knocking together. She makes herself meet Ruby’s gaze.
“And you’re saying this scares you?”
“I don’t know why it doesn’t scare you. You know that time Lisa and me came back to watch a film, after we’d been to that dinner down the road with you?” Mary nods. “Well, Lisa went to the toilet and I was putting the DVD in and I looked up and he was there at the window.”
“What? Who was?”
“Him. That man. Ginger guy. He was staring in through the window, his face pressed right up. It was fucking terrifying. I thought he was going to try and come in. He kept his whole face pressed right up against the glass for about ten seconds.”
Mary stares at her.
“Seriously?”
Ruby rolls her eyes.
“I’m not making it up.”
“And then what?”
“What do you mean?”
“What happened? What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything, did I? I was too fucking scared even to move. I shouted for Lisa to come, but when she came she couldn’t see him.”
“What do you mean she couldn’t see him?”
“I don’t know. She just couldn’t. And I couldn’t either then, so I suppose he must have gone.”
Mary thinks about this.
“But for goodness’ sake—a man at the window, Rubes. You should have called us. Why didn’t you phone your dad immediately?”
Ruby smiles.
“What would you have done?”
“I don’t know. We’d have done something. Your dad would have. He’d have called the police.”
“The police?” Ruby starts to laugh.
“What’s funny about that?”
Ruby shakes her head.
“It’s not like that. What the fuck would the police do? He’s not a burglar or anything.”
Mary takes a breath.
“What is he then?”
“I don’t know.” Ruby looks at her again. “I don’t know what he is. I thought you might know.”
“Me? Why on earth would I know?”
She feels Ruby staring at her, inspecting her face.
“Well, come on, it’s something to do with you, isn’t it?”
Mary shakes her head, trying to smile.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Ruby keeps on looking at her.
“That’s right. Of course you don’t.”
Mary stares at her.
“What do you mean? What are you saying? Please stop this, Ruby, don’t talk like that, I don’t like it.”
“Why don’t you like it?”
“Because it’s horrible. You’re giving me the creeps.”
Ruby looks down for a moment at the earphones in her hand.
“I told you the first time I came here, didn’t I, that I didn’t like the house? Lisa feels it too. I told you. But there’s no point telling you anything, you and Dad, because you never listen. And anyway, even if you did listen, you’re no use. You’re the very last person who’d be able to help.”
Mary stares at her.
“What do you mean? Why am I the last person?”
Ruby lifts her head and looks at her.
“Well, it’s why you’re not scared of it, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“The thing in the house. Ginger guy. And the kids. Everything. You say you don’t know about it, but whatever it is, even Lisa agrees, it’s definitely coming from you.”
I HAD THOUGHT THAT ONCE PHOEBE WAS SAFELY LAID IN THE ditch, that would be the end of it. I told myself I hated and despised James—that even though he had made me feel more alive than anyone else I had ever known or perhaps would ever know—still enough was enough. I wasn’t going to wait around like some simple little fool for him to grab and threaten and hurt me whenever he felt like it.
But another part of me felt very sorry for him. I saw that, despite all his fine, bold talk, he was angry and anxious. Anyone could see he wasn’t sleeping at night and there was a rash of small scabs across his forehead where he wouldn’t leave off scratching. One night I was sure I heard him being sick in the barn. He was bothered and listless and his face looked worn out with tiredness.
And my heart missed him. And so did the rest of me. At night, I’d lie in my bed and pull up my chemise and whisper to myself about all the things we’d done and a little flame of madness would light up inside me, only to go out again as soon as I remembered I was all untouched and alone. But one morning, sitting on the yard wall in the hard sunlight and watching as Lottie and the twins pulled the moss from between the cracks, I suddenly felt that nothing in the world was worth anything if I could not feel him against me again. I jumped down so fast I heard a ripping noise.
Lottie looked up.
Your dress!
What?
You’ve torn it. Look, Eliza.
I pulled it down.
It’s all right, I said.
Ma will be cross.
<
br /> No, she won’t.
Where are you going?
Nowhere.
Yes, you are.
None of your business, I said.
GO AWAY, HE SAID WHEN, HAVING SEARCHED EVERY OTHER place, I found him at last, hunched in a dark and dusty corner of the tool loft above the cowshed. I mean it, Eliza, just go.
I stood there on the ladder, half up and half down, looking into the shadows of his poor, wild face.
What do you want? he said when I still didn’t move. Can’t you just leave me alone?
What did I want? What I had wanted was to ask him to touch me, hold me, come up close to me and lift up my skirts and say sweet things and beg to do what we always did—for hadn’t we after all done it enough times in the private, gritty dark of that place while the cows chewed and shifted around beneath us?
But I saw now that he did not want it. I saw that his face that had once contained nothing but desire for me was blank and empty. I had thought that I’d be the one who’d stop loving him first—I did not think I could love a murderer. But it turned out I was wrong. He had nothing left for me: there was no trace of our love left anywhere on him—not in his eyes or his mouth nor any part of him. I knew it was already hopeless but I said it anyway:
I came to be with you, I said.
I propped my elbows on the rough wooden boards of the loft and stared at his boots, which, though I did not like to think about it, still had the black, caked mud of Yarrow’s ditch on them.
James did not look at me. Instead, he walked over to the bench. I watched as he picked up a small sharp knife that was used for slitting the young pigs. He held it, frowning, testing the blade against his fingers.
Well, don’t, he said.
What?
You can’t be with me, Eliza. I’m afraid you can’t. Not anymore. I’m sorry, but it’s for your own good.
My own good?
Yes, your own good! Is that so difficult to grasp? It’s over, Eliza. It has to be. We’re finished with each other now.
Finished?
I can’t have you anywhere near me, he said.
My mouth dropped open. I felt my insides dissolve and fall away.
But I love you! I cried.
He said nothing. He shrugged. Keeping his hands on the knife, twisting it around and around. Now and then I saw sunlight squeeze itself from between the broken tiles of the roof and move along its ragged edge.
I swallowed. My mouth was dry.
I thought I was your princess, I said, and when he did not answer: What is it, James? What is it that’s different? I don’t understand. Don’t you love me anymore?
His face did not change.
Something terrible has happened, he said at last.
I felt my heart swerve. I took a breath.
I know, I whispered. I know that—
He turned and inspected me with cold eyes. There was so little love in them that it seemed to stop my breath.
No, he said. Not that. I don’t mean that.
I stared at him.
What then?
He looked at me for another long moment, but his face stayed empty and he did not speak.
HOT. IT IS STILL SO HOT. THE LONGEST, HOTTEST, DRIEST SPELL in more than thirty years, the man on the radio says.
Mary goes again to the doctor’s. This time the woman on reception remembers her, smiling at her kindly and telling her how well she’s looking. This time too, she doesn’t wait long. An elderly lady offers her a torn and crumpled copy of The People’s Friend. She thanks her and looks at it briefly. Who is the people’s friend anyway? she wonders. Who are these people? Has anyone ever really been their friend?
She puts down the magazine and watches a dribbling toddler in a bib who is clutching on to a low table and pushing beads up and down a bright curving wire while his mother holds a beaker containing a purple drink.
She sees that the child—who every now and then takes both hands off the table and, patting the air, screams with delight—has never had a haircut. Long, fine curls clustering behind each ear. It won’t be long now, she thinks. The tall chair, the scissors, the grave and unfamiliar little face that for a quick moment will make the mother want to cry.
When Mary is called in, it’s brief and efficient. The doctor smiles a little too hard and talks to her in a friendly, careful way. She scrolls up and down her screen, asking her some slightly difficult questions that she tries her best to answer truthfully. The doctor knows all about her now. It was inevitable, she thinks, with people talking and also with the Internet. Even Eddie and Deborah admitted they’d Googled them that time. It could not really have been prevented. What was she imagining? That they would come here and start a new life and no one would ever know anything?
She leaves the doctor’s with a prescription. Tomorrow she will drive into the next village to get it made up and then she will put it where she keeps the rest, in the old jewelry box at the back of the wardrobe.
As she leaves, she sees that the toddler has stopped playing and launched himself into a full-scale tantrum—the mother shaking a large rattle in his face to calm him down.
It won’t work, Mary thinks, with a sneaking jolt of satisfaction. If it were me, I’d scoop him up and whisper naughty things in his ear. Wicked and exciting things. The story of the Bad Cat. All the mischievous and crazy things he’d done. He’d forget all about the tantrum. It always worked with Ella.
“What bad cat?” she’d say, quieting immediately. “What’s he done? Can I see him? Is he here right now?”
FOR SUCH A LONG TIME SHE COULD NOT PUT HER HANDS IN THEIR school coat pockets—Ella’s duffel, Flo’s anorak.
When she finally did, she found a dull brown stone from the garden. A boiled sweet, sticky in its waxen wrapper. A shriveled conker. A crumpled Pokémon card. In Ella’s coat, a half-eaten bag of smoky-bacon crisps (she has no idea how she got the money for that). In Flo’s, a handful of dust that might once have been autumn leaves. A ball of foil from a chocolate bar. A blue button covered in denim. And fluff. So much fluff.
She thought she would cry when she found all these things, but she didn’t. She put every item, including the sweet and the half-eaten crisps, in a box and she sealed it with brown tape and put it away. After that, she washed the anorak and took the duffel coat to the dry cleaner’s.
She has no idea why she did any of this.
WALKING BACK THROUGH THE VILLAGE, THE PHONE LIGHTS UP the moment she looks at it.
“Mary, please listen for a moment. You can’t cut me out like this—it’s just not fair. I just need to talk to you.”
She takes a breath.
“All right,” she says.
“What?”
“I’m listening. Talk.”
“I mean face-to-face. I can’t do this on the phone.”
“I can’t see you, Eddie.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not.”
She hears him sigh.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so very sorry. You’ve got to believe me, Mary. I’m feeling terrible—really, I can’t believe I’ve been this stupid. The very last thing in the world I wanted to do was ruin our friendship.”
A short silence. She listens to it. Feeling herself soften.
“You haven’t ruined it,” she says.
“I have. I did. I know I did. It’s all my fault. I said too much. I shouldn’t have told you what I felt. I just went rushing in like a lunatic. It’s my fault. It’s what I do. With women, I mean. It’s what I always seem to do.”
“With women? With what women?”
He laughs.
“What I mean is, I’d do absolutely anything to go back to how things were.”
Mary takes a breath. Thinking of all the time they’ve spent with Deborah and Eddie. The suppers, the chat. What Graham likes to call village life.
“We can do that.”
“Can we?”
“I think so. I don’t see why not.”
She hears him hesitate.
“It’s what I’d like.”
“Would you?”
“Honestly, Mary, you’ve no idea. I’d like it so much.”
Mary swallows. Almost at the cottage now, she stops and gazes up at the windows, bright with late-evening sunshine.
“You’ve been good friends,” she says. “You and Deborah. And you too. I appreciate what a good friend you’ve been.”
She hears him hesitate.
“Well, it’s mutual.” He takes a breath. “I think you’re lovely.”
She can’t help it, she shivers.
“Please don’t start that.”
“All right. All right, I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“All right, I’m not sorry. But thank you. Thank you so much. And I didn’t mean it about the women.”
“Didn’t you?”
“You can’t tell when I’m joking?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, it was a joke, OK?”
“OK.”
“Tell me you believe me, that it was a joke?”
“I believe you.”
A pause.
“And you? You’re all right?”
“I’m all right.”
He laughs. “And Graham? Is he OK? And the girls? How’s it going with the girls?”
Mary hesitates.
“Girls? You mean Ruby? It’s only Ruby.”
She hears him pause.
“What, Lisa’s not there?”
“Lisa? No. Why would Lisa be here?”
“But I thought—isn’t she supposed to be coming to stay?”
“Is she?”
“Oh, well, maybe not.”
“Well, is she?”
“Look, perhaps I got that wrong. Just forget I said that, OK?”
Mary turns around again, away from the house. She walks several paces down the lane, then stops and stands there, gazing into the hedge.
“What do you mean?” she says as softly as she can. “Why would you think that Lisa was coming to stay? What on earth made you think that she was here?”
She feels him hesitate.
“Please forget it. I blundered, OK? I got it wrong. I told you, it’s my great big mouth.”
Mary thinks about this.
“Have you been talking to the girls?”
A brief silence.
“Only messaging.”
“Messaging?”
“Yeah, well, we message now and then. You know. Facebook.”
The Stopped Heart Page 30