Out of the corner of her eye, the old lady noticed movement by the gates. Someone had entered the yard on foot, she was sure. Her eyes darted to the place, but most of her sight had been burned out by the sun and replaced by a temporary yellow-white hole. She let her center of focus wander to the left until the person appeared out of the misty edges of her blind spot and into her peripheral vision.
It was a young woman.
In her surprise, Eloise forgot about the hole in her sight, and lost the lady to the whiteout.
“For goodness sake,” she muttered, and focused up at the sky in time to witness the cottage door close.
Eloise climbed off the seat and backed away from the window, almost tripping over Tibbs. She picked him up and dropped him on the bed beside his mother. Buttons mewed before pinning her son to the bed and washing inside his ear. Eloise bumped into the mattress, her eyes once again on the window. She crossed to the bedroom door and struck her fists on the wood.
“Harold! Harold! I need you!”
Footfalls pounded up the stairs. The door unlocked but it was the guard that came into the room.
“Darling, what’s the matter?” He took hold of her, placing a hand on each shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“I want Harold!” she wailed, straining to get past the guard.
“I am Harold,” he said, his expression pained. “Look at my face.”
Eloise stared up at him. The yellow-white gap in her vision was already disappearing, fixing as she focused on the old man who held her. Slowly, his features distorted, changed.
“Harold?” She put a hand to his cheek. “I thought you were someone else…”
“I know.” He kissed her fingers. “It’s okay.”
“No, Harold, everything is not okay. Every time I look at you, I think you should be forty years younger.” She examined the wrinkles on the backs of her hands. “You’re old.” She gazed into his eyes. “I’m old.” She collapsed against him, sobbing. “I wish you would put a bullet in my head.”
“I would if I could, my darling.” He wrapped his arms around her. “You know it wouldn’t change a thing.”
“Hope will save us,” she whispered.
“Hope forgot all about us.” He kissed his wife’s forehead, and pulled her to his chest. “What was it you wanted?”
Eloise frowned. “I can’t remember.”
“Never mind,” Harold said.
“Something important…” She gazed at the window for a moment.
“Don’t worry, darling.” He gently held her back so he could check out her clothes. “What do you look like today, woman?” he asked, a slight smile playing on his lips. “I’ve told you, plain shirt, and patterned skirt. Or patterned shirt and plain skirt.”
“I like the colors. I wanted to be colorful today. I wanted to be bright.” She gazed up at her husband. “Is something bad happening tonight?”
A shadow seemed to pass in front of Harold’s eyes. His smile returned as he shook his head. “No, darling. And look, you buttoned yourself wrong again.” He unbuttoned her top to expose her slip, her breasts small and almost flat under the silk. He realigned the sides, and began redoing the shirt.
“A girl walked by,” Eloise said, her voice faint, as if the information was inconsequential.
“Did she?” Harold finished with the buttons.
“I think she was half peacock.”
Harold laughed. “And why do you think that?” He led her to the bed, and sat her on the edge while he fetched her hairbrush. He took the pins from her bun, and pulled gently at the curls until they rested on her shoulders.
“She had long purple streaks in her hair. That would make her half peacock, wouldn’t it?” She twisted around to peer at Harold.
“Was her hair spiked up at the back, you know how they display? Remember when we went to Beale Park last time, and one came right into the café? Remember the fuss everyone made, and how the bird squawked and hooted until one of the workers shooed him out?”
“The girls don’t display,” Eloise said, and turned back to the window. “Her clothes were bright, like mine.”
“Did she mix patterns and stripes as well?”
Harold slid the brush into her hair, the tips of the bristles massaging her scalp. Eloise closed her eyes for a moment, and almost forgot about the girl.
“What colors did she wear?” Harold prompted.
He ran the brush through in slow strokes. When he did this, she understood why the cats liked to be petted.
“Do you remember?”
The images came back as if through a fog. “Oh, yes. She wore a bright pink top, and purple dungarees.”
“Oh?”
She liked it when he brushed her hair. Harold laughed at her sometimes, told her she’d have a dozen baths in a day, but never remember to put a brush to her head.
“And she had patterns all the way down her arms.”
“Tattoos?”
“No. Plumage. She’s half peacock.”
Harold chuckled.
“She went into the cottage. Is something happening there tonight?”
Harold froze, the brush halfway through her hair. “Was she another of your ‘dreams’?”
“I don’t think so…” Eloise frowned.
“And she went into the cottage?” Harold asked, the brush still at the crown of her head.
“I think she had blue streaks in her hair as well. Do you suppose girls who are half peacock would have blue streaks?”
“I don’t know, darling.”
“Do the cats need to be in tonight?”
“Yes, darling. I already locked the moggies in.”
Eloise reached out to stroke Buttons. “All of them?”
“All seven present and accounted for.” Harold resumed brushing.
Both jumped as someone rapped on the front door. A shout echoed up from outside, “Harold, Eloise, open up!” It was Kellie, one of their neighbors. She banged again, in three short bursts. “It’s important. Hurry!”
Harold moved first, out of the bedroom and to the stairs, Eloise close behind. A cat scatted out of his way, Smudge liked to sleep halfway down on a step. Eloise picked the cat up as he tried to run past, cooing in his ear. By the time she arrived at the downstairs hall Kellie stood waiting on the threshold, strings of beads around her neck, hanging from her wrists. She held another in her hands, and twisted a quartz pendant between her thumb and index finger. “Did you catch sight of who went in the cottage?”
Harold glanced at his wife, but said to Kellie, “Eloise saw something. I think. It’s so hard to make sense out of what she says.”
Eloise listened, stroking the cat.
Kellie nodded.
“From the way Eloise described the person, anyone would think she’d imagined the girl in one of her lapses.” Harold mused for a second, as he observed his wife nuzzling the cat. “Did you say ‘go in the cottage’?” Harold pulled Kellie inside and locked the door.
“Eloise.” Kellie stared straight at her.
Eloise didn’t like the grim look on the other woman’s face, and turned to nuzzle the side of her face against the cat.
“Eloise.” Her voice was more frustrated, and she dipped her head to try and catch Eloise’s eye. “Did you notice her go in?”
Eloise frowned. “She was half peacock.”
“Oh, Lord. Oh Lord.” Kellie backed away from Eloise, dismissing her with a wave of beads. “She went in. I’m sure of it.”
Eloise followed the quartz sparkles as they flicked across the walls. Beads would not save her. Only Eloise knew what would.
“This is not good.” Kellie grabbed at her necklace, twisting, twisting. “What on earth are we going to do?” She took a step towards Harold.
Eloise cuddled the cat closer as Harold put an arm around Kellie, shushing as he pulled her near.
“I know what I would do,” Eloise spoke up. She waited until both of them turned to her before tugging the curtains at the hall window asid
e. The cottage was framed in the view. “I would get the peacock girl out.” She let the curtain drop. “Something’s going on tonight.” Eloise frowned as she tried to remember, pulling thoughts out of the sludge that seemed to fill her mind. “Something bad.” She peered over at Harold. “We’re all supposed to be here. Pete shouldn’t leave. Is that right?” Eloise asked. “He needs to be here…” She tugged on Harold’s arm.
“He always does this, Eloise,” Kellie replied. “Every year, tearing off into the sunset. And he always makes it back in time.” Her hands twisted at the beads. “Do you really think he’d miss seeing them arrive?” The blood had drained from her face. She made the sign of the cross and clutched her beads to her chest.
“But where does he go?”
“Don’t worry, darling.” Harold slid his arm from around Kellie, and placed a light kiss on Eloise’s forehead. “Kellie, you come with me. You and I are going to get that silly peacock girl out of the cottage before it’s too late.” He grabbed his hat off the stand and placed it on his head.
“But what about me?” Eloise clutched the cat to her. “Don’t leave me here alone.”
“I won’t be long, darling. Okay?” Harold took the key ring from his pocket and ushered Kellie out.
Eloise pulled the curtains closed on the hall window, but after a moment’s consideration, opened up a slight gap. She watched as her husband linked arms with Kellie, and led her to the end of the yard. Their heads dipped together. They stopped for a moment at the end of the small path that led to the cottage. Harold went up to the front door. He rapped hard. Smudge mewled in her ear and Eloise forgot the peacock girl and Harold.
“Would you like some dinner?” she asked, and wandered into the kitchen.
Chapter 3
When the raps on the door sounded, Mark froze. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor facing Louisa as she stretched out on the sofa. She lay on her side, her back towards Mark. He’d been rubbing her shoulders with slow circles, searching for knotted muscles, and carefully working them out. Now his hands seemed fixed to her skin, even the growing shakes stilled as the raps reverberated around the room.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Louisa asked, rolling partly over to glance at him.
“You suppose we shouldn’t really be here?” Mark said. “Have you thought of that?” He ignored her upturned smile, and continued, “I heard Pete tear out of the yard – maybe this cottage, everything he said – what if he’s playing some stupid joke? What if that’s the real owner, wanting to oust whoever’s locked themselves in here?”
“You’re being paranoid. Answer the bloody door.” She rolled over a little more and reached out to give him a push. A pink tank-top lay crumpled over the arm of the sofa. Louisa grabbed it and sat up to pull the top on. Mark got to his feet, opened the living room door a crack and peeked into the hall. Through the speckled glass set in the front door, he could make out the shapes of two people. Their outlines wavered, distorted as they shifted about, waiting for him to answer their increasingly insistent knocks.
“Open up, you wally,” Louisa said. “How many are out there?”
“Two.”
“Could be Jehovah’s. They always come in pairs.”
Mark took a deep breath, and gulped down a roll of nausea. The whisky was long gone, and God did he want another drink. One little sip to help steady the nerves. He dared himself to enter the hall and turn the latch.
An old man wearing a wide brimmed hat and a tweed jacket stood next to a middle-aged woman with a long hippy skirt. Little jingly bells hung from the hem, and she wore too many necklaces and bracelets.
“Good evening, sir,” the man said. “My name is Harold. I live two doors up. This is my neighbor Kellie.”
“Hi…” Mark leaned against the frame, intentionally barring their way.
The man cleared his throat, and glanced at the woman before saying, “We’ve come to escort the stowaway from the farm.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re on about, mate. Only me here.” He kept a foot braced against the inside of the door. “Pete brought me here – said he would make me better.”
“We know,” the woman said in a soft American accent. She grabbed the longest of her necklaces and started twisting. The bracelets on her arms jangled.
“If you know Pete brought me here, then I take it you’ve no problems with me being in the cottage.” Mark closed the door a little. “Nice to have met you.”
“About the girl.” the woman reached out to stop the door closing.
“You know what,” Mark glanced from the man to the woman, “you’ve got it wrong, mate. Only me here. Pete insisted on that.”
The man stepped forward, and placed one of his shiny brown brogues over the threshold before the door closed completely. “Stop being so bloody-minded, and admit the truth.”
“Like I said, only me here.”
Now the woman stepped closer, leaning forward, nearer and nearer until he could pick out flecks of grey in her blue eyes. “Please, can’t you understand we’re only trying to help? I saw her walk up to the cottage. I watched her enter.”
Mark backed away and bumped against something soft. He turned to find Louisa hidden out of view on the other side of the door.
“You’re not going to give up, are you?” Louisa moved around the back of Mark, and into view. “I’m here.”
“Oh my dear Lord.” The woman stared, not at the girl. Not at her waist length brown hair with the streaks of bright colors throughout. Not at the loose tank top that showed too much of her bra. But at the girl’s belly. She made the sign of the cross.
“You’re pregnant.” The man adjusted his hat. He took off his glasses, retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and started polishing the lenses.
“Well, nah!” Louisa gave her belly a pat. “How could you tell?”
“You’ve got to get out of here,” the woman said. “Right away.”
The man finished cleaning his glasses, and returned them to his face. “You have no idea what you’re meddling with. The girl is not safe.”
There was a certain gravitas in the old man’s words that finally filtered through to Mark. He put an arm around Louisa and a hand on her stomach, as if to protect her from the strangers. “What’s wrong with you people? Why wouldn’t she be safe?
“You misunderstood me,” the man said. His mouth worked for a second, gulping as he tried to work out what to say.
The woman took over. “He’s talking about Pete.” She lowered her voice, and whispered, “He’s a queer, and you have no idea how much he hates women.” She nodded, and withdrew a couple of steps.
Mark and Louisa glanced at each other then back at their visitors. Simultaneously, they said, “So?”
“Shit, he’s not going to expect me to…” Mark took a deep breath, “perform is he? I’m no pufter.”
“Oh, Lord no. Pete believes in freedom of choice. He just hates women.”
The man reached inside the door for Louisa. “You must come away, dear. Before Pete returns.”
“If that’s the case, shouldn’t we both leave?” Mark turned to Louisa for guidance.
“You’re kidding me?” Louisa cupped his face between her hands. “Look what you’ve been given! This is your chance to dry up. Your very own posh detox center.” She twisted his head so he could see up and down the length of the hall. “After you’re dry you can take care of me and babs.” She sidled up to him, and kissed him on the lips. “Don’t screw it up.”
“Are you sure, babe?”
“Stop being a bloody idiot.” She smiled, her eyes bright, her face too thin, the skin taut and dry.
“Can Louisa stay – just for tonight?”
“No,” both the man and the woman said.
“What about if she stayed for dinner?” He took one of her arms, and held it out. “Check this out. She’s so thin, and there’s so much food in the cabinets.”
The man answered, “I don’t think it would be a good idea.�
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“I’ll make sure Pete doesn’t catch me leaving,” Louisa said. “And we’ll be so quiet no one will know I’m here. Please?”
“Maybe…” The woman turned to the man, as if waiting for an indication from him.
“Please, we’ll be good. I’ll cook a nice dinner for Mark and me, and I’ll be out straight after. I promise.” Louisa lowered her face a little, yet continued to focus on them, her eyes wide and pleading.
“She can stay at my house for the night,” the woman said to Mark. “I’ll sort out the spare bed and take her back to Reading in the morning.” She glanced at the man to see if he agreed.
“It’s a bad idea. The girl should leave now.”
“Harold,” she said, and rubbed his arm. “Look at them. Give this cute couple one last evening together.”
“It’s a bad idea, and I think we will regret not getting her out right now.”
“I’ll personally make sure she leaves.” This hippy woman was giving him doe eyes, and amazingly it seemed to be working.
The man cleared his throat. “You’ve got until nine o’clock. The girl will go directly to Kellie’s house.” He pointed to the cottage next to the big farmhouse. “No excuses, no tardiness. Nine o’clock. Do you both understand?”
Mark gave a smile and nodded.
He closed the door as the odd couple left, suppressing the giggles until certain they were out of earshot.
“If Pete’s still not back in half an hour, I’m heading over to the farmhouse, and I want you to come with me. I need to check that place out.”
“You can’t,” Louisa said as they returned to the living room. “If you start stealing from him, how long do you think your detox is going to last?”
“I didn’t say I was intending to steal… I want to have a poke around. Something feels wrong. I told you about the noose.” Mark settled back on the sofa and flicked on the television. “That’s just not normal, know what I mean?”
“You said you imagined it.”
Mark shrugged and tried to think back. “Maybe… I want to be sure.”
Sacrifice (Sulham Close Part 1) Page 3