by SJI Holliday
‘Yes, um …’
‘Come on then, girl! Chop chop!’
Miss Albert was one of the first people she remembered seeing after the accident. She was sitting on a plastic chair at the side of her bed, on what was maybe only the second or third time she’d woken up ‘normally’ in the morning after a six-month extended sleep that most people didn’t expect her to wake up from.
Everyone asked her the same thing.
‘How’re you feeling, Claire? Do you remember what happened?’
It made her want to scream.
But she had no energy for that.
If there was one benefit to her six-month liquid electrolyte diet, it was getting rid of her puppy fat. She hadn’t had to jog a centimetre. Pity her chances of becoming a champion gymnast were as good as her suddenly having the ability to speak Russian.
She knew she was taking the easy route. Letting her parents buy her the house next door to her childhood home. Converting it with low kitchen units, handrails in the bath. An emergency fucking pull-cord in case she slipped. Her dad had wanted to put CCTV in, ‘just in case’. Luckily her mum had vetoed that. ‘She’s an adult, Mike,’ she’d said. ‘She doesn’t want us spying on her the whole time.’
She’d told Jake about it one day, expecting him to laugh.
‘What the fuck did he want to do that for, eh?’ His tone was hard, bitter.
Claire had backtracked immediately. ‘He was only joking. He’s just a bit overprotective, that’s all …’
‘I don’t like it. I’m here to look after you now, Claire. Not … him.’
She’d been shocked by his tone and immediately changed the subject. She didn’t mention her parents to him again.
He kept asking to move in full-time, but something was stopping her and she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. He was lovely to her.
They’d been going out properly since she was sixteen. She’d been flattered that someone could still find her attractive despite the chair.
‘But you know I love looking after you, Claire,’ he said, whenever she complained.
She was sure her mum and dad would’ve said something about him. Disapproved. But they were too politically correct to comment on his background, and they couldn’t deny he was good to their daughter.
So they just channelled their negative energy into hating Jo instead. But Jo, being Jo, clung on like a limpet, refusing to give in. Forever trying to repent for taking Claire into the woods that day.
Claire knew why they went into the woods. It was just what happened when they got there that was a mystery. And when she saw Jo’s scared face whenever she mentioned it, she knew it was better to keep the memories locked up.
She was browsing some fancy fonts on the Internet, trying to finalise an order of wedding invites. She needed to have them prepped for printing in the morning. The local paper survived on advertising, and its secondary business of printing brochures, business cards, flyers … all that stuff. At least designing them was interesting when there wasn’t much news copy to deal with. She was engrossed, and when the door opened she didn’t even bother to look up.
‘Hello, Claire. How’re you doing?’
‘Ah, Sergeant Gray … not seen you around for a while. What can I do for you?’
She’d had to stop herself from saying ‘business or pleasure?’ He cut a fine figure in his uniform and she’d often found herself hoping that he might see her as more than just that wee girl from the woods. She wondered what her mum and dad would think if she ended up with him rather than Jake. Dream on, Claire …
He took off his hat. ‘Er … have I missed the deadline for tomorrow’s adverts?’
Claire laughed. ‘Technically, yes. By two full days …’ She smiled at him, and he smiled back, raising an eyebrow. Don’t do that, Davie, I can’t bear it … ‘But seeing as it’s you … if you’ve got it ready I can fire it in right now. They don’t start printing until eight tomorrow morning.’
‘Oh, is that right? I’ll remember that next time I need to advertise my latest bike-part rejects in the Buy-and-Sell …’
‘Ha … no … I’m guessing it’s something a wee bit more urgent than that?’
She’d had Bridie Goldstone in earlier, ostensibly to check the line prices for an advert for her granddaughter’s birthday. In actuality, she was there to tell Claire about Scott chucking out Jo and apparently losing his job. Claire had nodded, pretending she hadn’t known about the break-up. She had to remind herself to ask Jo about the job thing, though. She hadn’t made any reference to that. Maybe he was skint and would have to sell his flat? That’d explain why he’d chucked Jo out without explanation. Too embarrassed to tell her the truth.
If that was true then the man was pathetic. As if Jo cared about stuff like that.
Davie coughed, alerting her to his presence. ‘Well, yes it is, actually. I suppose you’ve heard about the girls up at the Track?’
Claire nodded. ‘Of course. Sorry … I was thinking about something else.’ Bridie had told her about that too, and it had been a scoop. God knows where the woman gleaned her information from, but Claire was considering offering the old biddie a job. Unfortunately, half the stuff she passed on was embellished and the other half was outright lies.
Claire swung her chair round and positioned herself back behind the desk. Davie slid a piece of lined paper towards her.
‘“Emergency Self-Defence Class for Girls”,’ she read out loud, ‘“Wednesday, 7 p. m. at the Church Hall. Free.” It’s that last bit that’ll get their attention,’ Claire said. ‘Do you think enough people will see it in time for the class? The paper only comes out at four … How about I jig it round? Free Self-Defence Class … Do you really just want to say it’s for girls? There might be some boys who’d be interested too, you know …’
‘Haven’t really got the space for the whole school turning up, Claire. I think there’ll be enough interest, even at short notice. You know what people are like. Everyone’s in a panic already. Anyway, I’ll see how this one goes. Might get a few recruits for the usual class. I could do with more boys, actually. Laura’s scared most of them off.’
Claire laughed, ‘She’s good, Laura, isn’t she? I watched her do that demo at the summer fair last year. She’s a bright girl too. Quiet. You’d hardly believe she was related to Bridie …’
‘Ah, Bridie’s all right. She’s my unpaid eyes and ears of the town!’
‘Funnily enough, I was thinking of offering her a job …’
‘Christ, I wouldn’t go that far …’
Claire typed the advert into the desktop publishing system while Gray waited.
‘Actually,’ he said, ‘while I’m here … do you think you could look up something in the archives for me?’
Claire glanced up at the clock. She still had to finish the invites. It was Davie, though. She’d work late if she had to.
‘Sure,’ she said, flashing him her best smile. ‘What is it you need?’
It wasn’t that strange a request. But as soon as she heard it, she had a sudden urge to throw up.
Masks.
He was asking her something about masks.
Claire had pieced together what happened that day in the woods from what Jo had told her, and from small pieces of memory that resurfaced at will, like splinters of a broken glass that keep turning up no matter how many times you sweep the floor clean.
But when she tried to put it all together, it never made sense.
‘I’ve a feeling that Jo mentioned something about them in her statement. I’ve got Lorna checking the files back at the station, but I was just wondering if there was anything actually printed … It’s so long ago that despite Jo’s constant need to remember it I’m slightly hazy on the details …’
Claire nodded and clicked on the icon to open up the archive search facility. She was only half listening. She’d felt herself zone out when he’d first asked the question; somehow she’d managed to avoid Gray noticing. He wa
s distracted, that was obvious.
‘Do you think that these things are linked, Davie? Seems a bit far-fetched. You had no idea who the boys were back then, why do you think they’d do nothing for twenty-three years then suddenly decide it was time to come back? I mean, they’re not even boys now, they’re older than me and Jo …’
‘I’m not sure they ever went away, Claire … One of them, both of them. I don’t know. They managed to avoid being caught after what happened to you, but I think they’ve been watching. Waiting for another time to strike. There’ve been a few other things, mind. This is a small town, Claire. Would you rather we had two loonies or a whole pack?’
Claire forced a laugh. ‘You’re being a bit flippant, Davie …’
He shook his head. ‘Quite the opposite. I’m trying to find a link. Trying to find something to go on. If I don’t nail this soon, the big boys will be down from HQ, wondering why we haven’t called them sooner …’
‘Why haven’t you? Are you meant to? Are you going to get in trouble?’ She bit her lip.
‘Don’t worry about me, Claire. I’m taking advantage of the current situation to do something interesting before we get shut down and relocated. Or offered voluntary redundancy …’
‘Is that going to happen?’
‘Probably. I don’t think the station’s viable under the new structure. I mean, it’s not like we’ve much to do, most of the time. They’ll station a couple of beat bobbies here on secondment from area command. Make them commute. It’s hardly far.’
‘But what if anything happens at night? It’ll take them longer to get here …’
Gray snorted. ‘You’ve clearly never needed our services or you’d know that the station shuts at six – there’s a phone on the wall outside for you to call HQ. If you call 999, the dispatcher sends out whoever’s nearest. I’m starting to think we’re just there as an ornament.’
‘Don’t you think if there was no station, it might cause more folk to start acting up?’
‘Good on them if they do. Like I said, the lads from CID will be here in a flash …’
‘You sound bitter, Davie. I never thought that of you.’
Gray took a deep breath, blew it out. ‘I do. I’m sorry, Claire. You know I’m not. I’m just frustrated that things are going to change. I kind of like them as they are …’
Claire stared at him. She’d never heard him like this before. She had a feeling there was more to his little outburst than being pissed off about the restructuring of Police Scotland, as it was called now. No. This had something to do with the weirdo at the Track. And it definitely had something to do with Jo.
What was it that Jo had that seemed to create such a hold over men? She was useless with them, yet they all wanted to protect her. Claire couldn’t help but feel jealous.
The results of the search popped up and she clicked it open. Ten hits.
The first one from 1990.
She scrolled down and noted that the others weren’t actually in Banktoun. The paper covered the whole county, and some of these had happened elsewhere. Not far, though. Maybe they were still linked somehow. She clicked on the icon to print them out in full.
While the printer sputtered and began the print job – forty pages’ worth, the whole articles coming out just in case the summaries didn’t give the full context – she clicked open the first entry.
1st July 1990
Girl badly injured after
attack in Riverview Woods
Police are searching for two boys, aged approximately 13 years old, who were involved in an attack that has left one girl in a coma …
She felt her hand start to shake as she scrolled down with the mouse.
It was the first time she’d managed to read past the headline.
‘Are you OK, Claire? You’ve gone white as a sheet …’
‘I … I don’t like to read this stuff, Davie. I keep it as far down inside me as it’ll stay. I’m too scared to remember it. I don’t want to picture those boys … It’s too much … my head … I still get headaches, you know?’
Gray went behind the counter and swivelled her chair round slowly to face him. ‘Listen to me, Claire. I’ve never stopped thinking about what happened to you and Jo. Never. I want to find those boys as much as she does. I want justice for you, and I want closure for her. But she goes off half-cocked. I’ve no idea if this Maloney has got anything to do with it. But I will find out. I promise you that. Now. Is there anything you need to do here right now that can’t wait until tomorrow?’
Claire sighed. ‘The wedding invites. But … well, I suppose. They use a different printer for these. They could be done later tomorrow and they’d still be ready for the customer to collect at five …’
‘Right then. That’s settled. I’m taking you home. OK?’
‘OK,’ Claire said. She waited until he had turned his back before she rubbed at her eyes and gently shook her head, trying to disperse the fog that was threatening to send her off into another blackout.
THE BOY
He enjoys the woods during the day even more than he enjoys them at night.
Different sounds. Different animals. Sometimes he wears a mask. The woman bought them for them both at Halloween, although they are too old for them now. He has kept them safe, in the dark of the wardrobe.
Witch. Wizard. Skeleton.
Devil.
Just a bit of fun … But the other boy likes them too.
He has a new hunting partner.
Someone just like him, he thinks.
Until the other boy decides that animals are not enough. Until the other boy decides to hunt the girls.
The other boy doesn’t tell her about the Collection, but they both know that the woman knows.
She is scared of him now. Starts to cry again. He wants to tell her that it’s OK. That it’s just for fun. But she wouldn’t understand.
She emptied the toybox while he was at school. Now, at the end of the bed, there is just a rectangular indentation in the pale-grey carpet from where it used to sit.
*
In the brightly lit office, the lady doctor asks him questions:
‘How long have you been collecting the animals?’
‘Whose idea was it to cut them up?’
‘Have you ever wanted to hurt a person?’
‘Have you ever wanted to hurt yourself?’
‘Has anyone ever hurt you?’
Yes.
He answers only in his head, and apparently his cooperation is ‘unsatisfactory’.
He wonders if he will ever see the other boy again.
He wonders what the other boy might become.
Before they send him to his next home, he goes into the woods once more.
The Black Wood.
The sun never seems to make it through the blanket of trees, and the trees look scorched and dead, hence the name. He knows that the story about the Witch isn’t true. Just a tale, to scare boys away from the cottage.
But he is not scared.
He creeps as close as he dares. No, he is not scared.
He knows she’s not a real witch.
If only the little girl would come out to play. He’s seen her before, with the rabbits. He wonders if she has a Collection of her own.
33
I didn’t feel like working, but Wednesdays were usually OK and it was probably good to take my mind off things. I’d spent the whole of Tuesday cooped up in the cottage, avoiding phone calls, trying not to think about Maloney. It was a waste of a day off. I’d have been better going in to work. I realised I was glad to be out of the cottage now; it was suffocating me. Finding those sketchbooks had given me a jolt. Not to mention the bath taps and the wind that came from nowhere and disappeared. Just like the day at Gran’s grave. It felt like she was all around me, trying to warn me about something … just an eerie feeling I couldn’t seem to shake off.
Scott was waiting for me outside the shop. He’d managed a half-hearted attempt to clean him
self up and put on fresh clothes. There was a stain down the front of his pale-blue polo shirt and his hair had that fuzziness as if he’d dipped it under the tap rather than giving it a proper shampoo. I felt confused and recoiled slightly at his scent.
‘Jo,’ he said. His breath smelt of old beer with a hint of toothpaste; his teeth looked grimy, small bits of food stuck to his gum line, as if he’d wiped them with a finger rather than scrubbed them with a brush.
‘What is it, Scott? I’m already late.’ I could see Craig inside the shop. He was standing next to the counter, peering out-side. Taking us in.
‘There’s something I have to tell you,’ Scott persisted. He put a hand on my arm and I felt myself flinch. Only a few days ago I was sharing a bed with this man. Sharing a life. Yet now I wanted to be as far away from him as possible. I wasn’t sure what it was, but something in him had changed. Discoloured. Like a bitten apple left in the sun.
I frowned. ‘Five minutes,’ I said. I held a hand up to the shop window, my fingers splayed apart. Craig shrugged and turned away. Pretended he was busy.
‘Can I buy you a coffee?’ Scott said. He gestured towards Farley’s. Fuck it, I thought. A quick hot chocolate and a croissant might give me a lift. I’d been feeling light-headed since I’d left the cottage. The walk across the fields had blown away the cobwebs, blasted the remnants of last night’s wine from my head. But I still felt like shit. Waking up to a dent in the pillow wasn’t enough for me any more.
I walked into the coffee shop behind Scott, staring at the back of his head. Remembering the feel of his skull. That little bump halfway up the back that always got caught in the hair clippers.
A sudden feeling of nausea washed over me and I had to stop to catch my breath.
Did he know?
Had I done this to him?
He turned back round to face me and he must’ve seen the panic in my expression because suddenly it was him frowning. Looking confused.
‘Jo? Are you OK?’