by SJI Holliday
His face fell. He looked pathetic, like a kicked puppy. He didn’t seem to care that I knew he’d be in at lunchtime on a Monday when he was supposed to be fifteen miles away, in Edinburgh. Popping out for an M&S sandwich or a cheeky lunchtime pint with the ‘lads’ from the office.
I felt bad, almost contemplated going round … but then I heard a voice behind me, spun round.
‘Jo – you dropped this …’
I stared at Maloney’s outstretched hand. In it, my watch. I hadn’t even noticed it falling off.
‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘I really must get that clasp fixed …’
‘Are you sure you don’t want that coffee?’
I bit the corner of my lip. It might be the right thing to do … get it over with … but no. Not yet.
‘Another time,’ I said, and when I turned away, hoping to find Scott waiting, I was disappointed to find out that he was gone.
20
When I got back to the flat, Craig and Rob were gone. A note was propped up against a vase on the kitchen table.
Gone suit shopping! Eeek!
See you tonight for pizza and beers,
C & R xx
Craig had been preoccupied with the wedding plans for months now, but I was perplexed as to how much arranging they actually needed to do. Rob seemed to be behind most of it, of course, with Craig just tagging along and pretending he wasn’t terrified by the whole idea of the civil partnership and what it really meant.
The last time we’d slept together was three years ago, just before I’d started going out with Scott. Rob had been away in London for a week.
Craig had rolled over onto his side straight afterwards, so that I couldn’t see him crying. ‘This is the last time, Jo,’ he said, ‘I promise …’
I pulled the sheets up to my neck and sat up. The sex with Craig was always frantic and guilt-ridden, but there was love in there, somewhere. I felt it and I knew he did too. ‘Craig,’ I laid a hand on his shoulder, ‘you need to decide what it is that you want … I get that you’re confused …’
He jumped out of the bed and grabbed a pair of pants off the floor, hastily pulling them on. ‘I’m not confused, Jo. I told you. I love Rob. He makes me feel … complete … I know that sounds naff.’
‘And what about me? What do I make you feel?’
He sniffed. ‘You make me feel dirty, Jo.’
I opened my mouth to protest, but then he was on top of me again, laughing, smothering me, kissing me. Eventually he pulled away. ‘It’s complicated. You know that. But I just feel like I need to be with Rob. This is not real.’ He rocked back onto his knees, cupped my chin with one hand. ‘We’re not real.’
I pushed him off. ‘It always feels real to me.’
His voice went cold and he turned his back on me. ‘You’d better go, Jo. Rob’s back tonight. I need to tidy up. Change the sheets …’
I slid out from under him and started to pick up my clothes. Wondered again what it was I needed to do to make him want me. Then I met Scott in the pub and leapt in without another thought for Craig. Our relationship had been damaged after that, and I knew there was nothing I could do to fix it.
I don’t think he’d actually told Rob about us, but I think Rob suspected – which is why he seemed to blow hot and cold with me. There was no way I could stay trapped in that flat with the two of them, eating pizza and pretending I was happy to see Craig affirming the sexuality that I knew was a lie. So despite the voice in my head telling me that it was a terrible idea, I decided I had to go back to the only place that I could still call home. So I packed my stuff back up and called a taxi.
I was going to Black Wood.
*
As I walked up the path, rough gravel crunching underfoot, I got that familiar feeling of small fluttering wings in the pit of my stomach.
It reminded me of the times I used to spend in the pet shop in the High Street. I went in to look at the rabbits, even though my mum had stated more than once that there was ‘no bloody chance’ I was getting a rabbit and if I stopped whinging about it I might be allowed a goldfish. I’d mooched around the cages for a bit. Staring in at the mice as they wrinkled their noses and wiggled their whiskers.
The woman in the shop was nice to me.
After I’d been in there a couple of times, she used to let me top up the water bottles that were stuck on to the side of the cages. Let me post slices of carrot through the bars. It was on my third visit that I’d spotted the containers of live food they kept for reptiles. Clear plastic boxes of chirping, skittering crickets and locusts, confused and desperate to escape from their plastic prisons before they either ran out of air or got fed to the snakes.
I was fascinated and repulsed at the same time.
Ever since then, the feeling that people describe as ‘having butterflies’ made me relive that terrible fascination with the insects. That first encounter with the concept of survival of the fittest.
Life and death.
The taxi driver dropped my various bags and boxes in the porch, huffing and puffing with each one. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to take these inside, hen?’
I shook my head. ‘No thanks, this is fine. I need to sort it out first, and I don’t think it’s going to rain …’
‘Right then, that’s the last of it. That’ll be a tenner then.’
I gave him a fiver tip for his exertions and he wheezed a thanks as he climbed back into his car. I stood there watching him drive off, waited until he’d gone.
I crouched down at the front door and carefully removed a loose brick from the left-side wall of the porch.
The key was in its usual hiding place. A big brass thing on a ring.
It was risky of me to leave the key there, but most people thought the place was abandoned. Yet, oddly, no one had tried to break in. Not once. The house seemed to serve as its own protection, what with all the rumours about the ‘witch’ who used to live there. Gran and I had laughed about that at the time.
I placed the brick back into position and turned the key in the lock. The heavy wooden door swung open with a creak, and instantly the atmosphere changed. The fresh, mulchy air of the surrounding woodland was instantly replaced with a cloud of stale, airless fog. It was like climbing in between the covers of an ancient, musty library book that no one had opened for decades.
Stepping inside, I pulled the key back out, then slid it into place on the other side of the door.
It’d only been a couple of months since I’d last been there, but because of the cottage’s position in the shade of the trees and the fact that I couldn’t leave any of the windows open to air the place, it always maintained that damp, heavy air.
If I was to tell anyone about Black Wood, they’d ask why I didn’t do it up and live there. That’s what any normal person would do if they’d inherited a perfectly good cottage on the outskirts of town. The place was probably worth a fortune.
But selling it just wasn’t an option, and up until now I’d never imagined myself living there. But things were different now. I had to adapt.
I carried in a few of the bags, dumping them on the kitchen table. In my mind’s eye I saw rabbits being skinned and chopped up for the pot. I saw blood and guts, the remnants still visible in the form of faded brown stains. I shook it away. There was nothing to be scared of.
But then something made me turn round. I looked out the open doorway to the woods beyond, and there was a strange shimmer of light, my vision suddenly distorted like I was looking at an old film. I saw my gran, covered in blood and dirt. A mound of earth in the distance.
I heard my own voice, barely a whisper, ‘What’s happened, Gran? What was that noise?’
And then I heard it, so faint I almost missed it. Another voice, calling to me. Not in the past. In the present. Was it real?
Welcome home, JoJo.
The front door banged shut with a sound like shotgun-fire, and I screamed. Then I watched, quivering, the only sound my own heavy breathing, as the
key turned slowly in the lock.
But when I blinked, I was sure that it hadn’t moved at all.
THE BOY
He has never been on the hunt alone. He wants to carry on, though. Keep adding things to the Collection. The man might come back. He won’t be happy if the boy has been lazy. Caught nothing.
He has no gun, though. Or traps. Both were in the man’s hunting bag, and now that’s gone. Just like the man.
Vanished without a trace.
He waits until he knows the woman and the other boy are asleep, and he climbs out of the window – the way he always did before.
The boy knows that the woman knew about the hunting. Knew the man went at night.
‘It’s called poaching, son,’ the man had told him. ‘If we get caught, we’ll get in a lot of trouble.’
The boy wasn’t scared.
They always took back something. Rabbits, usually. The woman would make them into stew or pies and say to the man,‘Why? What’s the fascination? We can buy rabbits in the butchers, you know.’ She’d laugh, and the man would laugh back.
‘Makes me feel manly … like a real hunter gatherer.’ He’d beat his chest and howl.
The woman doesn’t laugh any more.
She doesn’t know about the Collection.
‘Our little secret,’ the man said.
He makes a new trap from ropes and sticks. He learned how to tie knots years ago, in the other place.
He used to wish he was still there. Until the man came into his bedroom one night, said: ‘Do you want to see something, son?’
The boy shrinks. Pulls the covers over his head. He’s heard it before. In the first place, in the last place. He didn’t expect it in this place.
The man senses his mistake. ‘No. Oh Christ, no. I’m sorry, son. That’s not what I meant …’
The boy pokes his head out.
Stares.
Waits.
The man is clutching a holdall.
‘Look,’ he says, shaking it towards him, ‘look at my collection …’
The boy peers inside. Four sets of shining dead eyes stare back.
The makeshift traps work better than he expected.
The animal is in the hole. The twigs surround its small, quivering body.
Just a rabbit. He considers letting it go.
What would the man do?
The boy stares at the rabbit for some time. It has stopped struggling inside its twig cage. It waits, patiently. Its eyes shine under the torchlight.
The boy reaches into the cage with both hands and with a single deft move snaps the animal’s neck.
Crick.
Another sound in the woods. A twig snaps behind him.
He can just make out the dark figure at the edge of the trees. Close to the creepy cottage. The one where the Witch lives.
He scurries away on all fours, rabbit in hand.
The figure doesn’t move.
It will be safer to take the Collection home.
21
Monday morning and I had barely slept a wink. Being back at Black Wood felt right, but I couldn’t get rid of that sense of unease that the house was trying to tell me something, that my gran was somehow there – pushing me to remember something that I’d kept buried for a long, long time. Stupid, I know. I didn’t believe in ghosts.
I went into work, even though it was the last place I felt like going. Funny, that. Last week I’d have said there was never a single day I didn’t want to go in. But now my head was full of whatever it was that Scott was up to. Not to mention what I was going to do about the return of Gareth Maloney.
I considered spending the morning in the stockroom again, but then I realised that from the time it had taken me to come in, dump my jacket through the back, make a coffee and make my way back to the counter, Craig was standing at the door.
Denim jacket draped over one arm, Spiderman-printed messenger bag slung over one shoulder.
‘That’s me off then.’ He looked at me hopefully and I stared at him for a bit, wondering what it was he wanted me to say. Then I remembered. Shit.
‘Er, good luck – do you need luck … ?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s just a few forms. I wouldn’t really expect you to be as excited as Rob and me …’
‘Yeah, well, don’t forget – you still need a bridesmaid, eh?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Sharon’s in at twelve. Don’t leave her on her own all day, though. Please?’ He turned to go, then stopped, remembering something. ‘Oh, and Jo … you know you didn’t need to take off like that yesterday. You should’ve waited. We could have helped you with your stuff …’
I shook my head, smoothed my hair over my eyebrow. ‘Go,’ I said, and pushed him out the door. I thought about flipping the sign over from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’ but decided I needed something to distract me, and even though Mondays tended to be quiet, there was always the slight hope that someone interesting might pop in. In the meantime, I decided to reorganise some of the shelves.
I’ll admit to being a bit of a True Crime nut.
There was only a small section at the back of the shop, but there was enough on there to keep most serial-killer fanatics happy. I was fascinated by what made people like that tick. What has to happen to you in your life to make you want to murder others, especially kids, in brutal, unimaginable ways? I’d been reading a lot on Fred and Rose West and come to the conclusion that she was the driving force behind it all. Female killers might be in the minority, but when they did it, they didn’t pull any punches. I’d just piled up all the books on the floor, ready to sort them into ‘types’, when the bell tinkled above the door. Typical.
‘Hello, Jo. Sorry I had to run off on you the other day. You OK?’
I stood up too quickly and whirled round too fast, and as a result I stumbled, knocking the entire pile of books all over the floor.
Then he was there, at my side. ‘What’s this? Killer Jenga?’ Gray laughed and bent down to pick up a scree of books. He stood as I turned, and I found myself looking straight into his eyes. He raised an eyebrow. ‘Fred and Rose?’ he said. ‘Sounds like a kids’ TV show from the eighties.’
He was standing too close to me. I could smell his aftershave. Something lemony. Clean. I felt myself blush.
‘If only,’ I said, turning away so he couldn’t see my flaming cheeks. I took the book from his outstretched hand. ‘Killer Jenga, though? I like that. Only I’d get them to make it with body parts rather than books. Fingers would be quite easy to stack up.’
He chuckled. ‘What’re we gonnae do with you, eh, Jo?’
‘Fancy a cuppa?’ I said. I didn’t wait for a response. ‘Watch the shop for a minute, will you?’
I flicked on the kettle and put out two mugs. I already had a coffee on the counter, but I wasn’t going back out to get it. What’s wrong with me? Davie Gray had a peculiar effect on me. I don’t think I fancied him, as such. Yeah, he was probably too old anyway, but that wasn’t the point. Something about him. Something about the way he was with me. Like he cared about me, and it wasn’t just for show.
I took the cups out the front and was relieved to see that he was still alone in the shop. I needed to talk to him and I wasn’t really in the mood for customers.
He took the cup and gave me a small nod, eyes flicking to a place just above mine. ‘See you’ve been at it with the eyebrow again. Want to talk about it?’
Davie Gray was one of the few people who ever mentioned my eyebrows. He was far from the only one to notice, of course. But after he’d seen me the first time I ever did it, I suppose it must’ve stuck in his mind. He was a policeman, after all. It was his job to notice things.
I sighed. ‘I’ve split up with Scott … and apparently he’s up to no good, according to Bridie Goldstone …’
He blew onto the top of his mug before taking a tentative sip. ‘You know better than to listen to gossip, Jo. Why don’t you just talk to Scott? You two seemed happy enough. Can you no’ sort i
t out?’
‘I dunno. Anyway, it’s not just that, is it? I told you on Saturday. I told you about—’
Gray turned towards the doorway as the tinkling of the bell interrupted me mid-flow. Damn that bloody bell! I was sorely tempted to yank it off the sodding doorframe.
I thought I’d had enough shocks for one week, but here was another one smirking in my face.
‘What the hell do you want?’
Jake shrugged. ‘We’re having lunch in Farley’s. Claire asked me to pop in and see if you wanted to join us.’ He waited until Gray turned away again, then he puffed out his lips and blew me a kiss.
Sharp, acidic rage bubbled in my stomach.
‘Since when do you and me get to have lunch together, eh? Thought that was Claire’s idea of hell?’
She’d always kept us separate. The two of us rubbed at each other like tinder sticks and Claire couldn’t stand the tension. You can’t get on with everyone. I knew that better than most.
‘I better be off. Cheers for the tea,’ Gray said, his expression unreadable. No doubt he was wondering what the hell was going on. We’d never talked about Jake before. There were too many other things on the ‘why is Jo so fucked up?’ list to deal with.
‘Everything all right? Bit of a party, is it? Listen – have you heard about what’s been happening up at the Track? I just bumped into Bridie, and I …’ She stopped talking when she realised we were all staring at her.
Thank God for Sharon. Jake had left the door ajar so we hadn’t been alerted to her presence by the annoying little bell.
‘Oh good, you’re here. I just need to pop out for a bit. I won’t be long.’
I dragged a startled Gray by the elbow and walked out.
22
Gray gently lifted my hand off his elbow, placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me around to face him.
‘What’re you playing at, Jo? You’re lucky the shop was quiet or I’d have had to make more of a fuss there, you know. Manhandling a police officer is an offence, young lady.’