by Paul Finch
"Well, aren't you a handsome boy?" Julie said, reaching down to pet him. He stood still for a few seconds while she stroked his sleek head, then danced around in a little circle before tearing off again into the trees. She smiled after him and he soon returned, this time with his owner, a man in hiking clothes. He looked to be about her age.
"Hi there," he said. "I hope Pepper didn't scare you."
"Not at all. He's lovely."
Realising he was being talked about, Pepper barked and looked up at each of them in turn, pink tongue lolling in a huge doggy grin.
"Yeah," the man said, "he loves everyone. Haven't seen you around before."
"I'm new here. My name's Julie Young."
Recognition dawned on his face. "Ah! You must be the lady who bought Little Owl Cottage."
"That's me."
"From the big city, they said down the pub. Must be quite a change. How are you settling into village life?"
Julie had to laugh. One could hardly call Taunton "the big city" but it must seem that way to someone from a secluded little village like Strethkellis. "I love it here. It's so peaceful. And everyone is very friendly."
"That's good. My name's Jim, by the way. Jim Evans."
The name rang a bell. "Evans? From the Bird in Hand?"
"Yeah, that's my dad. He owns it. I think you stayed there before you bought the cottage, right?"
"I did. Two nights. That's how long it took me to decide I wanted to stay."
Jim smiled. "It's an easy place to fall in love with."
Julie recalled what Mrs Trevenan had said about the pub owner giving his dead wife the best room in the inn and she couldn't help but wonder what that must be like. Did Jim think it was weird to pretend that his mum was in there forever, behind a sealed door? Then again, maybe it was no weirder than the tombs and mausoleums people built in memory of their lost loved ones. Gardens of dust and remembrance.
"When you're feeling up to it," Jim said, "perhaps you'd come along to the Bird one night? We'd all like to welcome you properly."
It might have sounded ominous from someone else but from Jim it seemed like a sincere, neighbourly invitation. Moving here had definitely been the right thing to do to start the healing process. The aching pain of widowhood would never go away, she knew, but it grew a little less agonising with each day of her new life. She relented.
"Sure. That would be nice."
"Great!" Jim said. Then he looked down at the ground, his expression turning serious. "I know what it's like to lose someone," he said softly. "It feels like it will never end. The pain I mean."
Julie could only nod. If she spoke Sam's name she felt she'd burst into tears. She watched Pepper pounce on something at the edge of the trees and then he lay down to gnaw a stick.
"The wall will help," Jim said.
The wall. Julie nodded again, absently. For a moment she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like, devoting a hidden space to Sam. The cottage was a honeycomb of tiny rooms. She needed a bedroom and an office but that was really all. Maybe a guest room down the road when she was up to having friends come and visit-assuming she hadn't scared them all off for good. But the rest were just empty spaces she couldn't hope to fill.
What if she did give one to Sam? Could she pass by it every day and wonder what he was doing in there? The ancient Egyptians used to bury people with all their possessions, to take with them into the next world. What if she put a few things in there from their life together? Photos, books, mementos?
All at once the idea didn't seem mad at all. It felt rather sweet.
"The wall," she murmured, barely aware that she was speaking aloud.
****
The Bird in Hand wasn't a very large pub and it was full of people by the time Julie got there. Everyone greeted her warmly and introduced themselves but after the first few names she lost track. She couldn't believe things like this happened, that an entire village would throw a welcoming party for a new arrival. It was like she'd gone back in time to a friendlier age. It felt nice. She was soon lost in a mélange of pleasant conversation.
"--and that's Simon who runs the bakery and his wife Carla and their daughter Jeanette--"
"--must see the waterfall over in the glen--"
"--another glass of wine--"
"--our David can mend anything at all for you--"
"--and sometimes the deer come right into my garden--"
Julie was amazed to find herself laughing along with several anecdotes and enjoying the gathering. She'd only intended to put in an appearance and then leave, but she found she was actually having a good time.
Pepper worked the room, charming his way through the crowd to her. She slipped him a cocktail sausage from her plate and he wolfed it down. He pleaded with his eyes for more and when she held up her empty hand to show that was all he was getting, he slipped away to find someone else to mooch off. Julie smiled. It was the first time she'd felt the knot in her stomach begin to loosen properly. She felt like part of the village, as though she belonged.
She spotted Allan Curtis, who had built the wall for her. She hadn't liked the idea of keeping the door; she preferred to imagine that Sam was at the heart of the house, a secret no one else could see. Allan had kindly taken the door away when he was done and now there was no evidence that there had ever been a room there. Unless, of course, you did a circuit of the house and realised that the measurements didn't add up.
She often stroked the wall and whispered through it to Sam, as though he truly were just beyond it. And lately she'd begun to think she could hear him. She imagined him listening to the CDs she'd left in there for him, reading the books. Was he lonely in there? Or was he content to be absorbed into her new life? That very morning she'd been sure she could hear footsteps, the soft shoosh of slippers on the carpeted floor. It had instantly evoked memories of his clumsy morning gait, his sleepy stumble out of bed and into the bathroom before getting dressed for work.
"Go back to sleep, my love," she'd whispered through the wall. "You can sleep as late as you want to now."
Instead of piercing her heart, as such a thought would once have done, it brought her comfort. He seemed more present in the secret room than he ever had at his gravesite. In the beginning she'd gone to the churchyard several times a week, sobbing into the ground and crushing the flowers she brought for him. Now she wondered if the pain she'd felt there had been due to his profound absence. She had felt nothing of Sam in that patch of ground, that cold marker. The wall was different. Sometimes she could almost see him standing behind it, mirroring her position, pressing his hands against hers.
She had already thanked Allan profusely for building the wall and she thanked him again now.
"It's nothing," he insisted. "Just our little tradition."
"I hung our wedding portrait on it," she confided to him. "It doesn't hurt so much to see it now." It felt good to share, to be so open, as though she'd been keeping Sam trapped inside her heart and at last she had released him. She felt like a whole person for the first time in months.
"That's good to hear," Allan said. "Most folks find it a comfort."
She accepted another glass of wine from Jim, who had insisted that tonight was her night and she was not allowed to pay for anything. As she took it from him she saw a young woman across the room, watching her. The girl was very pretty, with long dark hair and delicate features. Julie didn't think they'd been introduced yet, but she couldn't be sure; she'd met so many people. In any case she was sure she'd have remembered someone so striking. She smiled over at her, but the girl didn't smile back. Her eyes went wide, as though something had startled her.
Puzzled, Julie excused herself and tried to make her way across the room. But they were packed like sardines in the pub and by the time she got to where the girl had been standing, no one was there.
Julie felt uneasy about the silent encounter without knowing why. Maybe the girl was just shy and she'd scurried off rather than have to chat with som
eone she didn't know. That seemed inconsistent with the rest of the village, but then, people were individuals. They couldn't all be so outgoing and gregarious.
She made her way over to Mrs Trevenan, who was chatting with Martin Evans, the publican.
"There you are, pet! It's quite a gathering, isn't it? I hope you're making lots of new friends."
"Everyone's been lovely," Julie said. "But I saw a girl a little while ago-about thirty, dark hair, really pretty?"
"Oh, that'll be Alice Carew. She's a sweetheart, isn't she?"
"I didn't actually get to meet her. I tried to go over and say hi but she disappeared."
"Disappeared?"
"Yeah, she looked like something scared her off."
Mrs Trevenan gave a sigh and nodded as if she suddenly understood. "The poor thing. She lost her boyfriend last year."
"Oh." Julie's heart twisted. Had everyone in this village lost someone?
But the publican was frowning. "It's still not like Alice," he said. "She was fine just a few weeks ago. And I've never known her to skip out on a party before. She's usually the one talking your ear off about this, that and the other."
Mrs Trevenan didn't seem to know what to say to that but Julie could see she was puzzled too.
"Well," Julie said, "maybe she wasn't feeling well." But even as she suggested it, she knew it didn't ring true. In fact, now that she thought about it, the girl had looked positively terrified. She wondered where Alice's wall was, and what sounds she heard coming from behind it.
****
"Good morning, Sam," Julie said, stopping by the wedding portrait. She stroked the wall and put her ear against it. There were no sounds this time but she sensed a kind of heaviness, as if someone were standing just on the other side, listening. Her skin prickled. She held herself perfectly still, straining in the silence to catch any sound. A floorboard creaked then and she jumped back with a gasp.
Before she could stop herself she said, "Sam? Is that you?"
Of course there was no answer and she immediately felt foolish. She tried to laugh at herself, laugh it off, but she didn't like the sound that came out.
"I'm going to make breakfast, Sam," she forced herself to say in a cheery voice. "I'm sure you'll smell it burning."
She moved away quickly, unable to shake the feeling that she wasn't alone. And then she froze. A dark shape stood beyond the frosted glass of the front door.
Her heart pounded as she stared at the figure for what felt like endless minutes before it raised one arm and rang the bell. The noise jolted her and she gave a little cry.
"Mrs Young? Are you okay?"
The voice was female and Julie relaxed immediately, feeling even more foolish than she had earlier. She was turning into a jumpy old lady at the tender age of forty. Next she'd be filling the house with cats.
She opened the door and was surprised by her visitor. It was Alice.
"Hello," Julie said.
Alice offered her a weak little smile. "Hi."
"Do you want to come in?"
The girl glanced behind her as if to check that she wasn't being followed, then shifted her feet uneasily on the mat. "I probably shouldn't."
Julie pulled her dressing gown a little tighter. "Don't be ridiculous. It's freezing. Please come in."
Alice chewed her lower lip for a few seconds and then relented. She glanced around at her surroundings and Julie suspected she was looking for the wall. The girl's eye fell on the wedding portrait and she instantly looked away.
"Would you like some tea?" Julie asked.
The girl shook her head as though she'd been offered poison. "Listen," she said, "I can't stay. I just… Oh god, this is so hard for me." She stared down at her shifting feet in an agony of discomfort.
Julie touched Alice's shoulder. "I understand. They told me last night about your boyfriend. I lost my Sam a few months ago too."
At the mention of Sam's name, the girl winced. For a moment Julie simply believed she'd hit a nerve by bringing up the dead boyfriend. Then Alice raised her head and with slow, dawning horror Julie realised what this was about. The look in the girl's eyes told her everything.
"Oh my god," she whispered.
"I'm sorry," Alice said. "I'm so sorry."
"Not Sam."
"I never meant to hurt anyone. I didn't even know he was married."
Julie's stomach lurched and suddenly she felt dizzy. The floor seemed to be tilting. She reached out a trembling hand to steady herself against a bookcase.
"I saw your picture on his phone once," Alice continued, "and then when I saw you at the party last night and I realised who you were--"
"Just stop," Julie choked out. Her legs felt like they were made of water and she turned away, groping along the corridor towards the wall. The wall with the wedding portrait. She supposed all the signs had been there and she'd just been too stupid to see them. The village Sam had spoken of so glowingly had clearly held one extra spark, one special little added attraction. All those calls home-had he rung her from this girl's bedroom? Had he actually ever stayed at the pub at all?
"Why are you here?" she whimpered.
"You're in danger," Alice said. "You have to get away from here."
Julie laughed, a harsh and ugly sound. "Or what? You'll steal my husband? You lot and your crazy walls!"
"That's just it. The walls."
Julie scrubbed her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "Whose wall? Mine or yours? Because you've got Sam too, haven't you? Did you fill the room with nice little reminders of your stolen moments together?"
Alice looked as if she'd been slapped. "Please believe me, I had no idea. He lied to us both. But you have to listen to me. Yes, I built a wall for Sa -- for him. But then so did you."
"Yes I did," Julie said. The shock and helplessness was wearing off and anger was taking its place. In one vicious movement she tore the wedding portrait down and smashed it on the floor. Then she kicked the wall with her bare foot. There was a crunch and she supposed she had hurt herself but she could feel nothing. Only the satisfying thunk as she dented the soft plasterboard.
Alice screamed. "No! No, you mustn't!"
But Julie was beyond hearing. Grief was nothing compared to the pain of this betrayal. She pounded on the wall, shouting through it at Sam, as though he could actually hear her.
Something shifted beyond it and she imagined him in there, a guilty ghost. Would he slink out now and offer groveling apologies? Plead with her to forgive him? She landed another satisfying kick and heard the boards splinter.
"You can't do that!" Alice cried, pulling Julie away from the wall. "Please! It's not him!"
Julie looked at the beautiful young woman her husband had deceived her with. She had wasted a year of her life in misery, grieving for an unworthy man. Her heart felt like it was rotting.
Alice stared in horror at the hole Julie had made just above the skirting board and backed away slowly, tears streaming down her pretty face. "Sam already has a wall," she whimpered, "and I know he's there. So-whatever's behind that one isn't Sam."
The words seemed to reach Julie like a transmission from a fading signal. Not Sam. Rationality returned bit by bit as she recalled the uneasy feeling she'd had that morning, the sense that she wasn't alone. The sounds had been wrong. She'd known they were wrong. She'd just been so desperate to buy into the village's mass delusion.
Now, as her foot began to throb with delayed pain, she felt the presence even more strongly. There was an icy malevolence in the air, as though a door had been opened. A door to a place she didn't want to see.
"It's too late," Alice whispered. All the colour had drained from her face. She covered her mouth with both hands.
Julie barely registered what happened next. The hole began to widen by itself, the plaster crumbling to dust. There was a dull cracking sound and Julie wondered if it might be her mind. She closed her eyes and sank to her knees, leaning back against what was left of the wall.
"Sam," s
he moaned, "tell me it's not true. Tell me you love me."
A hand brushed against her face and then his arms were around her, drawing her close and tight. She sighed as she lay back against him, melting into the crushing embrace she had missed so desperately. It was Sam. She would know his touch anywhere. How could she ever have doubted him? Alice had lied-about everything.
He was so much stronger now, though. She had made him stronger, by believing. His face was rough and scratchy as he pressed it to hers, and she heard his voice then, whispering in her ear. He sounded different, but he told her what she wanted to hear, what she needed to hear.
Then he slowly let her go. Julie listened to the sound of his heavy tread as he moved away across the room. And she smiled as Alice began to scream.
MARY, MARY
Ray Cluley
Mary was tending the sweet peas in her front garden when the new neighbours arrived. Or rather, she was supposed to be tending the sweet peas. She was supposed to be pinching out the tips to encourage branching because bushier plants gave more flowers, especially if she picked them regularly. She had a particular fondness for her sweet peas because they produced a delicious scent (she always went for the annual sweet peas rather than the everlasting because the shorter-lived flowers had the stronger smell) and usually she was very focused on her garden tasks, but this morning she was distracted by the dirt at her knees.
There had been a brief but heavy shower in the early hours of the morning and the soil was still alive with writhing worms, called to the surface by the rain to wriggle in the freshly turned earth or squirm their way across the lawn. She wondered if the rain sounded like drums to the worms in their subterranean homes, a constant tom-tom rhythm that called them up despite the risks of birds or the unmerciful tread of human feet. A couple of worms were attempting to cross the pavement, as if the grass verge on the other side was somehow more desirable. Greener, perhaps, Mary thought with a smile. She wondered if they knew the dangers but came up from the safety of the soil anyway, compelled by forces beyond their control.