Talking Trouble

by Barbara Elsborg

  “Pit.” His attempt to say ‘shit’ failed and disappointment sank its venom deeper in his heart.

  He hadn’t drawn the curtains, could see it was getting light outside and was seized with a desperate desire to get out of the house. That might be one plus of living up here, he could go out without getting mobbed. He rolled out of bed to search the drawers for shorts and a T-shirt. It seemed inconceivable that such a short time ago he’d been normal—well, his version of normal—and now he was anything but. Yet apart from the malfunction in his brain that had infected every cell of his body with depression, he physically felt more or less as he had before it had happened. Maybe more tired, and a bit achy on his right side, but the tingle in his fingers had gone. He took his tablets, tugged on a hoodie and padded downstairs.

  His first problem was getting out of the house. The front door was locked and needed a key. Rage instantly overwhelmed him. What if there had been a fire? How was he supposed to get out? He rampaged around looking for keys and found two hanging in the kitchen on a ring. One of them opened the front door. Before he stepped out, he pulled up his hood to obscure his face just in case there were vultures circling. He locked up behind him and, as he’d hoped, the other key worked on a side gate next to the vehicle entrance. With the keys safely zipped in a pocket in his shorts, he set off down a gravel road. The hoodie would stay up until he was sure there was no one around.

  Ahead of him, on the other side of a drystone wall and beyond a stand of trees, he could see an expanse of water¸ and he headed toward it. No one had said he couldn’t run, though to be fair, he hadn’t understood much more than take two yellow pills every morning, and only that after a lot of drawings and gestures. But he didn’t run. He walked, breathing in the chilly air, filling his lungs and exhaling, grateful he was still able to do that. When he thought about what might have happened, how he could have been left paralyzed as well as unable to talk or make himself understood, he shivered. He wouldn’t have wanted to live like that and he couldn’t have done a damn thing about it.

  At a T-junction with another unmade road, he turned right. The stone wall still separated him from the water and there didn’t appear to be a way to access it. On his left was a muddy ditch edged by another wall, trees on the other side. The track he walked on was wide enough for a vehicle and had ruts to show it was used, but this hadn’t been the way they’d come to the house. When the road took a sharp left turn, the view opened up on either side and he realized that what he’d thought was a lake was a reservoir. He walked over a walled embankment dam, water one side and a valley falling away on the other, the bank dotted with grazing sheep. Flint stopped in the middle, leaned on the wall and looked out over the calm, dark water. They must have flooded the valley to make this.

  “Maw…m…ng.” His attempt at the word morning. He glanced around to check he was alone and said it louder. “Maw…m…ng.” And again, even louder, until he shouted it across the water. “Maw…ng. Maw…ng. Maw…ing.”

  He pressed his lips together and clenched his fists on top of the wall. He’d been close to smacking them against the stone. Common sense prevailed. Just. If anyone had heard him talking, they’d probably have thought there was some alien wandering around. They wouldn’t be wrong. The sun was coming up on a world he didn’t feel part of and his life was shit. He stuck his hands in his pockets and kept walking.

  * * * *

  Warm-up stretches done, Mollie crept out of the house in her running gear, though she wasn’t sure whether she’d run or walk. She still ached where Lewin had thumped and kicked her. Part of her thought she was lucky that he hadn’t done more serious damage and another part of her worried that he’d deliberately restrained himself from going too far, that he hadn’t lost control at all, but had been very much in control. She found herself compulsively swallowing. How long was it going to take to stop thinking about him?

  When she emerged onto the road, she turned right and headed up the road Jean-Paul had taken to the house. A hundred yards or so past a pumping station, she spotted a signpost on the left, indicating a footpath running alongside the water, and she turned onto it. The trail had trees on one side, a beach and the water on the other. Almost all her running had been done on city streets, breathing in fumes, keeping a lookout for cyclists, oblivious yawning commuters and impatient early morning delivery vans. This track was much easier on her joints, though it might not be so good in the winter when it was cold, wet and muddy.

  Of course, she might not be here in the winter. Now she’d said no to Lysander, she might not make it to the end of today. He had no idea how much she’d been tempted to say yes, but some apparently late developing instinct for self-preservation had enabled her to refuse. She’d enjoyed sparring with him, but she’d been way out of her depth. Lysander was a guy who expected to get what he wanted, and it had been his arrogance that had enabled her to walk away. If he wasn’t prepared to work to convince her they could make it together, then he wasn’t the right guy.

  Make it together? What planet are you on, Mollie girl? He likely hadn’t been thinking of more than one night. Or a few more than that in return for a low rent. Suddenly it didn’t seem such a good deal. She’d have been more flattered if he hadn’t admitted to fucking everyone else in the house, the guys included. Lysander was exactly the sort of guy she needed to avoid and so, of course, exactly the sort of guy she was attracted to. But she wasn’t just going to get into bed with a man because he had his erect—rather large—cock wedged against her butt. She’d said no and he’d accepted it. That made her like him more. Idiot.

  Mollie didn’t have a good track record for picking men who stayed around after they’d enticed her into bed. Even worse, when she’d finally found one who did and moved in with him, it had turned into a disaster. She needed to get herself back together before she fell in love again.

  Love. She suspected she didn’t even know what it was. Like a search for the Holy Grail. Non-existent or probably a metaphor. Everything she’d thought was love right from being a child had turned out not to be, yet she still kept opening her heart and hoping because the moment she didn’t, she’d condemned herself to loneliness.

  Lysander was probably fantastic in bed, but if she crawled between his sheets and his legs, she’d fall for him and he wouldn’t fall for her. She wouldn’t be able to help herself. She was pretty sure that’s what had happened with Nikki, and maybe the one whose room she was in, and now Lysander didn’t want either of them anymore. Mollie would be another statistic—her heart couldn’t cope with more unhappiness, not yet.

  As she got into her stride, covering the ground at a gentle jog, a series of strange cries rang out over the water, making her falter and sending her pulse soaring. What the hell was that? She stumbled to a halt and glanced around, but couldn’t see or hear anything, and after a moment started running again. What threat could there be? There were no dangerous animals in the UK outside of zoos, if she didn’t count men. Though now she wondered if she’d been sensible to come running in such an isolated place. Ironic that she’d never feared for her safety in London except in her own home.

  When there was no repeat of the noise, she settled down. It was probably some bird with a call she’d never heard before. Through a gap in the trees she spotted two swans gliding over the water, three gray juveniles in their wake, ripples fanning out behind. Her kids loved the story of the ugly duckling, thrown out by his parents because he was ugly and who continued to suffer abuse because he was different. In the ethnically and socially diverse school in which she’d taught, where many kids arrived unable to speak much if any English, the feeling of being an outcast was all too common.

  She’d used the story to show her kids that no one should be judged by the way they looked, by what they had or didn’t have, and that beauty lay in the mind and the heart. Life was full of ups and downs and everyone needed to be patient and kind and do as they would be done by. Easy to say, she knew, but she wanted to start her kids off
with the right values.

  The day after she’d read the story for the first time, Jeremy had brought in a large white egg he’d taken from his mother’s fridge that Mollie doubted had come from a hen. He said all the others were brown and that the bird was going to be unhappy when it hatched. She then had to explain to a bunch of freaked out kids that the eggs they ate were different from the ones that hatched, only to find that they weren’t worried about that, but about the idea of a poor white chick getting pecked by a brown one. It was so easy to get sidetracked by small children. Then Jeremy, as she should have predicted, had dropped the egg and sobbed inconsolably.

  As Mollie rounded the next bend, she registered something long and smooth with a distinctive zigzag pattern lying across the path in front of her. An odd-colored branch? No, a roll of carpet. What’s that doing out here? She’d started to jump it when she realized what it was and came to such an abrupt and awkward halt that she fell over, jarred her knee and nearly put her hand on the six foot brown and black snake. She cried out in pain as she launched into a crab-style backpedal. Shit. The damn thing moved in her direction. Maybe ten foot, not six. Not that she was an expert, but it looked like a boa constrictor, which was impossible because the only snakes native to Britain were grass snakes, smooth snakes and adders. And none of them grew this big. Fifteen feet and growing. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

  The snake slithered closer and she screamed. Run. Why the fuck aren’t I on my feet running? She managed to push herself upright, but moving seemed beyond her. She couldn’t take her eyes off the thing heading toward her. Twenty foot of menacing reptile. Her knees buckled, and to her horror, she felt herself falling until someone grabbed her from behind and jerked her away. A guy in a gray hoodie yanked at her arm. Mollie pulled herself together and made her feet move. When she risked a glance behind, the snake was still heading in their direction.

  “Fuck,” she whimpered.

  She and the guy sprinted down the path, her legs now working fine. They hadn’t gone more than fifty yards when Mollie saw another guy heading toward them.

  “Huge snake,” she blurted.

  “Great.” The man beamed as he started running.

  She gaped at him. “Don’t tell me you were taking it for a walk and it escaped.”

  “We think someone dumped it. There are notices up warning walkers. Didn’t you see them? I’m out looking for it. Hopefully I can find it again before it slithers into the undergrowth.” He sprinted past them. “They’re not aggressive. Not unless you’re a mouse.”

  “I am a mouse,” Mollie shouted after him.

  She heard him laughing as she turned to the guy in the hoodie. “We’re not far enough away. I’m thinking a mile might be too near.”

  He pointed to her knee. Blood dripped from a rough graze and he bent to look at it. When did I last shave my legs? Distract him. She hopped backward.

  “Oh hell, are snakes like sharks? Can they scent blood?” She shuddered. “That has just ruined running around this reservoir for me. Thanks for dragging me back to my senses.”

  She carried on walking and the guy tagged along at her side.

  “I couldn’t move. I’d have probably just stood there and let it strangle me and then it would have eaten me. I’m not sure I’d have fit in its mouth, though the damn thing would probably have tried.” She gave a tiny laugh. “It seemed bigger every time I looked at it.”

  He didn’t speak. Come to think of it, he hadn’t spoken a word.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  He stopped walking and she did too. She couldn’t make out his face beneath the gray hood but he needed a shave. He put his hand on his mouth and shook his head, then his hands over where his ears would be and shook his head again. He can’t speak or hear? Hell. That sucked.

  She touched her lips and slowly said, “Lip. Read?”

  He shrugged. She finger-spelled ‘I am Mollie’ and he shook his head. Just as well because she only knew how to do those three words. Her attempt at sign language fared no better, though she’d probably signed something incomprehensible. He started to walk again, his hands in his pockets, shoulders down, and Mollie stayed at his side. She assumed he hadn’t been born deaf and dumb or he would have a means of communicating, so had it suddenly happened? And why was his hood still up? It wasn’t that cold.

  A loud crack sounded on their left and they both spun in that direction. So he wasn’t deaf, then why put his hands over his ears? If he had laryngitis or something wrong with his throat that would explain not being able to speak, but why indicate that he couldn’t hear? She thought the crack had probably just been a branch falling, but that snake had made them both jumpy.

  She tugged on his sleeve. “Can you hear me?” She pointed to her mouth then her ear.

  He shrugged and she had no idea what to make of that.

  “Can I walk with you?” she asked and pointed at him, then her and the path. “Just in case we meet a velociraptor?”

  He nodded, though she wasn’t sure he’d understood, but they carried on side by side.

  “Bloody ssssnake,” she muttered.

  He made a hissing sound and she groaned. “Don’t scare me. I’m on a knife-edge here.”

  They walked along not talking, but being with someone made Mollie feel better, though she was still nervous. So much for the countryside being restful.

  Hoodie Guy suddenly caught hold of her arm and pulled her to a halt.

  “What?” she gasped and pressed herself closer to him.

  He pointed to the path in front of them where a worm was wriggling out of a hole, and thrust out his arms as if he were protecting her.

  Mollie chuckled. “My knight in a gray hoodie.”

  His lips twitched as she gave the worm a wide berth, and she wished she could see the rest of the guy’s face. Maybe he’d had an accident and been disfigured. Burnt? Or maybe he was bald. Things like that really didn’t matter to her, but she recognized that what she felt wasn’t what was important. If he did show his face, she’d make sure she didn’t react adversely. That was one thing being a teacher had taught her.

  They reached a point where the path opened out into a grassy area dotted with picnic tables and saw a man and a toddler feeding the ducks and geese. The geese were mobbing them and when the girl began to cry as their beaks came too close, the man picked her up.

  “They’re not going to eat you,” he said.

  Mollie had to admit it looked as though they were trying to. The birds were making a horrible racket and congregating around the guy’s feet.

  “Come on, we’ll go.” As the man set off toward the car park with the geese following, he spotted Mollie and Hoodie Guy. “Want to feed them the rest so we can escape?”

  “Okay.” Mollie took the bread from him.

  One peck at her leg and she changed her mind. What was it with things trying to attack her? Hoodie Guy sighed, pulled at her sleeve and pointed toward the gate that led onto the road. She thought about just chucking the bread down and bolting, but it was a big piece and she imagined the birds fighting for it and the mayhem that would ensue.

  Once they reached the road, the geese couldn’t follow through the gate and Mollie heaved a sigh of relief. Less than fifty yards up the road, they turned back toward the water on another trail. The swans that Mollie had seen earlier were on this side so she walked down to the water’s edge, broke the chunk of bread in half and handed a section to Hoodie Guy.

  “We have to be quick before the geese realize what’s happening and come over here,” she said. Even if he couldn’t hear her properly, it felt odd not to talk to him.

  The first piece she threw ended up about three feet in front of her, not even in the water, and he laughed. The second piece fared no better. He laughed harder. The swans swam closer and every piece he threw landed right in front of them. Mollie tried throwing underarm instead and at least the bread now ended in the water. One of the cygnets stayed off to the side and Mollie threw everything
else in its direction. She had a soft spot for the underdog.

  “All gone,” she said to them, and as if they could understand her, they paddled away.

  They hadn’t been walking for long when they saw the guy who’d been looking for the snake coming toward them. He had a large hessian sack slung over his back.

  “Did you catch it?” Mollie slipped round to walk on the other side of Hoodie Guy.

  “Yep. Lucky you spotted it.”

  “Oh yeah, very lucky,” Mollie mumbled, trying not to look at the sack.

  * * * *

  They did a full circuit of the reservoir. Mollie stopped at the drive that led up to Wood House, pointed to herself then pointed to the house. “This is me.”

  A tiny bit of her wanted to just keep walking and walking, but they’d have to separate at some point. He stood in front of her, head down, hands in pockets, and before she could think too hard about it and change her mind, Mollie put her arms around him and hugged him tight. She was only trying to say thank you, but she felt his arms wrap around her and he was holding her as if he couldn’t bear to let her go. Wow.

  They stood together, her head pressed against his shoulder, tight in each other’s embrace until he finally released her. She crossed her hands over her heart and said, “Thank you,” hoping he got that. Although he wouldn’t totally get it because she was thanking him for a being a good guy when she’d had her confidence knocked by a not so good one.

  Mollie pointed at his chest then the house. “You?”

  She wasn’t sure whether she was asking him in for a coffee or asking where he lived but either would do, although she didn’t have any coffee. He lifted his head as he gestured to the house on the other side of the dam and she caught a glimpse of the bluest eyes before he hid his face under the shelter of the hoodie. He raised his hand and ran off. Mollie watched and when he reached the far side of the dam, he turned and she waved. His hand came up, he waved back, and she smiled and went into the house, glad she’d waited.