by CJ Morrow
Walt took his hands off the book, held them up as though he had been caught stealing.
‘Tell me you’re joking. Tell me this is all some cruel joke of Nathan’s that he’s got you involved in. Please tell me that you haven’t put that goat in my spring.’
‘We had to, Ella,’ came Nathan’s voice from behind her, making her jump.
‘No, you didn’t.’ She looked down at her empty tea mug. ‘I’ve been drinking that water.’
‘We all have,’ said Walt. ‘And very good it is too. Thank you, young Ella.’
Ella looked from Nathan to Walt and back again. They stood grinning, proud of themselves. She wanted to scream. She wanted to yell and hit something. Or someone. The whole goat saga was a nightmare.
‘Can you please just leave? Both of you. Now.’
Walt and Nathan exchanged glances. And left.
Ella pinched herself. But nothing changed.
Fifteen
The village shop had just closed as Ella arrived. But the old lady unlocked the door, introduced herself as the proprietor – that was the word she used – and waddled her way back behind the counter.
‘I always open when there’s a need,’ she said.
Ella smiled at her, didn’t know how to answer that. ‘Do you have any bottled water?’
‘Bottled water. I think there might be some out back. We used to keep it for the tourists.’ Ella watched her waddle through a door behind the counter. Tourists? Did tourists really come here? ‘Here it is,’ she said on her return, plonking a one litre bottle on the counter.
Ella picked it up, wiped the dust off it and searched for the expiry date. Did water go off? Did it matter? Anything would be better that dead goat water.
‘How much do I owe you?’
‘Five pounds.’
‘For one bottle?’
‘Two pounds then.’
Ella blinked, opened her mouth to speak but the old lady got in first.
‘All right, one pound. You drive a hard bargain.’
‘Thank you. Do you have any more?’
‘No. No. Just the one. No call for it.’ The old lady grinned.
Ella handed over the pound and grabbed the bottle.
‘It’s not good for you, that stuff. It’s synthetic.’
‘It’s better than what I’ve been drinking,’ Ella said, pulling the door open.
‘We’ll all be drinking our spring water soon. Much better for you. Tastes so good too. Sweetest water ever. Full of minerals. Banishes evil and aches and pains.’
Ella nodded and left the shop shaking her head. Maybe Hal was right about the inbreeding. She’d ring the water company when she got back and get the supply to all the cottages cut off before someone was poisoned.
She sat at the dining table and poured herself a glass of water from the bottle. It did taste of plastic, but at least it wasn’t full of dead goat.
She looked the water company’s phone number up on her phone and rang them. The line was engaged – probably half the village ringing to complain about the taste. She tried again a few minutes later - still engaged.
Idly she turned the pages in the book, smelling its now familiar musty smell. Many hands had written in it, there was even the odd recipe scribbled down; one for a soup that involved boiling fish heads in the spring water to make a broth that is both satisfying and health giving – it sounded disgusting. Then something caught her eye, the writing was faded and tiny but Ella thought it mentioned enticing rats unto the spring. Surely not. She scrutinised the words and concentrated on trying to decipher them but it was no good. She slammed the book shut and tried the water company again – still engaged. She had horrible visions of people dying from dead goat poisoning and it would be traced back to her.
Sighing she opened the book again, flicked through more pages, horrified to find a poorly drawn picture of a donkey/horse/dog creature being pushed through the spring’s hatch. She shuddered but felt compelled to turn more pages. As time went on newspaper clippings were pasted into the pages, one about a plague of cockroaches that had infested the village, another about capturing a deranged dog, underneath each the initials SOL and a date. Ella hoped that didn’t mean what she thought it meant.
She turned the pages and found a cutting from 1983 with the headline: Pensioners warned to beware of bogus meter reader. On the next page the headline was: Police seek bogus meter reader after pensioner found dead. Ella turned the page, there wasn’t another cutting, but when she turned back to the previous cutting she noticed that someone had written SOL 13/6/83 under it. Ella’s mouth fell open. Surely it didn’t mean that.
Her phone pinged. She jumped. Hal had messaged. He was on his way.
Ella slammed the book shut, jumped up and ran upstairs. She went through her clothes hanging on the rail and found the one dress she hoped would be good enough. She dashed into the bathroom – used wet wipes to freshen up and the bottled water to clean her teeth – then changed into the vintage chiffon-over-crepe dress that had been her mum’s. It felt good. If she stood far enough back she could see most of her reflection in the small bathroom mirror. Hair and makeup completed the look and she found a neat little handbag to go with it. She was just grabbing her jacket when Hal knocked on the door. He was wearing a light grey suit with a crisp dark shirt.
‘Now that’s more like it,’ he said, looking her up and down before kissing her softly on the mouth. ‘Almost elegant.’
Only almost, Ella thought.
Hal held out his arm and escorted Ella to his car. He started the car then put some music on. It was just loud enough to prevent them from talking, which was fine by Ella; she closed her eyes and enjoyed the ride.
‘Wake up sleepy head,’ Hal said.
‘Sorry.’ Ella shook herself awake. ‘I didn’t realise I’d fallen asleep.’
‘As long as you don’t fall asleep during the play.’
‘I’ll try not to,’ Ella said. ‘We will be back reasonably early, won’t we? I’ve got work in the morning.’
Hal paused before he answered. ‘Of course,’ he said, grinning at her. Ella hoped he didn’t think he was staying the night, because he definitely wasn’t.
The avant-garde theatre Hal had referred to was actually a concrete bunker in the garden of a large 1960s house. Inside the walls had been draped with velvet curtains and the seats looked as though they’d been salvaged from an old cinema. Ella glanced around at her fellow audience members; a lot older than her and Hal, they were clustered together exchanging gossip and greetings. A woman in black velvet evening dress, a fur stole and a hat with an upright black feather, teetered up a tiny staircase onto a makeshift stage at the far end of the bunker. She peeped behind the curtain, faced the audience grinning then started to clap her hands together rapidly to get attention. The bunker fell silent.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats, the play is about to start.’
Hal ushered Ella into the front row and sandwiched her between himself and a round man in a white dinner jacket. He grinned at Ella as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Ella leaned away from the man and pressed herself into Hal’s shoulder; he patted her on the arm in response.
Before the play began Ella hadn’t been sure what avant-garde theatre was and as the play progressed she still wasn’t. The set comprised oversized furniture and step ladders together with a miniature balloon complete with basket beneath. The plot, she thought, was about a man who had murdered his wife, but just before the interval his wife visited him in prison. Or it might not have been his wife. And it might not have been a prison. Ella tried to concentrate on the play but her mind kept wandering back to the goat, the spring, the book. Strange as this play was, what was going on in her own cottage was far stranger.
‘Would you like some punch?’ Hal’s voice cut through Ella’s thoughts.
‘Just a small one, please,’ Ella said, fearing an excess of alcohol, as was normal with punches. She stood up and watched Hal weave his way to th
e back of the bunker.
‘Hello,’ said the round man, ‘I’m Kenton Blaby, producer of tonight’s extravaganza. Are you enjoying it?’ He grabbed her hand and enveloped it in his own; his flesh was damp and squidgy. Ella stepped back from the vinegar breath he seemed to be blowing deliberately in her direction.
‘Very interesting,’ she lied.
‘Kenton, Kenton,’ a female voice called. Ella turned and saw the announcer waving her soft white arms, her black feather bouncing in the air as she wobbled down the stairs. Ella glanced around for Hal, wondered if she could excuse herself without looking too rude. Too late, the woman was there, puffing and pink with exertion.
‘Caro Blackthorn-Struthers,’ she said, offering a gloved hand to Ella. ‘I’m the hostess of this little affair. Isn’t it just fun? Don’t you simply love it?’
Ella nodded. Another lie. She glanced around for Hal again.
‘You must be Hal’s investor. Helen, is it?’
‘No, I’m Ella.’
‘Of course. Lovely to meet you. Must dash. Come along Kenton, circulate, circulate.’
Hal appeared with two lead crystal mugs filled with a murky liquid and a prune floating on the top. Ella peered at it as Hal handed over her glass.
‘Apparently they ran out of olives,’ Hal said, a snigger on his lips. ‘I saw you talking to our hosts, the Blabys.’
‘She said her name was something else, double-barrelled.’
‘Caro likes to use her first husband’s name for effect, when it suits her.’
Ella didn’t bother to ask why, she didn’t care. She sipped the punch – high alcohol content judging by the fumes – and was careful not to let the prune escape into her mouth.
Hal smiled down at her. ‘You look very attractive tonight, Ella.’ He leaned in and nuzzled her neck.
‘Thank you. Are there any loos?’
‘Oh yes. Of course. Turn left outside the door. Portaloos.’
‘Portaloos. Oh. I’ll wait.’
‘They’re fine. Trust me.’ Giving her elbow a little push, he said ‘trust me’ again.
Outside Ella found the portaloos, she’d expected something like the ones at festivals, discoloured plastic pods that smelt of ammonia and weed. Instead she was greeted with the Rolls Royce of toilets; a little staircase led to a cloakroom area. A woman was just drying her hands.
‘Oh hello,’ she said, smiling. ‘Did you come with Hal?’
‘Yes,’ Ella said, eyeing the toilet cubicle and remembering the last time she used a public toilet and trusting she wouldn’t get locked in this one.
‘Yes, he said he was bringing an investor. Enjoy the second half.’ She disappeared through the door, clattered down the steps.
‘Would you like another?’ Hal said, when Ella returned. ‘I’ve drunk yours too, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, but you’re driving.’
‘Very little alcohol,’ he said, ‘mostly fruit. Prunes actually.’ He laughed.
The lights went down, people stumbled to their seats. Kenton Blaby didn’t return to his. Good, thought Ella.
The second half was as incomprehensible as the first. Ella’s mind was still occupied with the goat fiasco, but now she began to wonder why two people had thought she was Hal’s investor. Investor in what?
Ella jumped up too quickly when the play finished. She yawned, made a display of putting her hand over her mouth for Hal’s benefit, but he was already fawning over Caro, congratulating Kenton. He mouthed sorry to Ella over their heads.
‘I thought we’d never get away,’ he said, twenty minutes later as he started the car. ‘I apologise for the delay but you know how these lovey types are.’
‘Not really,’ Ella said.
Hal drove quickly through the dark lanes and Ella hoped he was right about the low alcohol in the punch. She closed her eyes and prayed.
She felt a hand on her knee, she jerked awake.
‘Sorry,’ Hal said, ‘you dozed off again. We’re home.’
Ella blinked herself fully awake. ‘Thank you,’ she said, undoing her seat belt. ‘It was an interesting evening.’
‘Sorry. Was it too awful?’
‘No. Course not.’ She wondered if she should tell him now that she wasn’t inviting him in for coffee, or anything else for that matter. He jumped out of the car as Ella put her hand on her door; she managed to get out before he reached her.
He locked his car behind them and escorted her to the door. He had that expectant air about him; she’d have to say something.
‘What time is it? I’ve got work in the morning.’
‘Just after eleven, not too late.’ Hal’s husky voice sent a ripple through her body. It would be so easy to let him come in, let him stay. He stood close to her as she unlocked the door, he pushed it and it creaked open.
‘I’ve got an early start, Hal. I’m not going to invite you in.’
He took a tiny step back. ‘Of course not. It is Monday tomorrow. I, too, have an early start – investors meeting.’ He tapped his nose.
‘Actually two people tonight thought I was one of your investors.’
‘Who?’
‘Some woman in the portaloo and that Cora Struthers-Blaby-whatever her name is. She got my name wrong, called me Helen, but…’
‘That explains it,’ Hal interrupted. ‘Helen is one of my investors. They obviously misheard when I mentioned you.’ Hal grinned and the street light illuminated his perfect, white, even teeth; so straight they looked as though they had been trimmed along the edge. Just another facet of his general perfectness.
‘Thanks for a lovely evening,’ Ella said, she stepped inside and turned back to face Hal, blocking his way just in case.
‘And thank you for your perfect company.’ He leaned towards her, kissed her on the mouth; she felt tempted to relent and invite him in. ‘Have a good day tomorrow,’ he called as he walked back to his car.
Ella stood on the doorstep and waved him off.
She ran upstairs to the bathroom, used the loo then debated whether to clean her teeth using the last of the bottled water. She would need that in the morning. Maybe she could get away with goat water for her teeth, as long as she didn’t swallow it. Tomorrow she’d call in at the supermarket on her way home and buy numerous, giant bottles of water.
In her bedroom she kicked off her shoes and began to unzip her dress. The zip stuck three inches from the top. She tried to pull it down further but it wouldn’t budge. She pulled it back up and began again; it stuck in the same place. She pulled it back up, then back down several times, but it always stuck in the same place. She wondered if it would be possible to get the dress off without undoing the zip. She leant forward and, with her arms extended towards the floor, tried to shake the dress over her head. It moved, then stuck; it wasn’t going over her boobs, no way. She stood and tried to get the dress back on properly, it wouldn’t go back completely now. Her arms were half stuck up in the air, the dress was too far up and she couldn’t reach the zip at all now.
She felt a wave of panic sweep over her body, it made her feel sick. She felt hot, too hot.
She stumbled over to the window, fumbled for the latch to open it, then saw the creature. She let out an ear piercing screech.
The spider was big, not the biggest she’d ever seen, but this one was angry. Its two eyes stood out on stalks and they swivelled to look at her. She jumped back and screamed again. She was defenceless; she couldn’t move her arms properly. It moved its legs – black and white stripy fur – one after the other, a scary spider Mexican wave. She jumped back towards the bed, tripped, fell onto it. The spider scampered across the window to repair the web she had broken. Urgh, she’d touched a spider’s web.
What could she do? What could she do? She knew she couldn’t turn her back on it, she couldn’t trust it not to leap at her, embed itself in her hair. Or worse. If she could get her shoe she could crush it against the glass. That was the best option.
She got off the bed, her arms st
ill half stuck in the air, her dress still hooked up around her neck, she backed towards her shoes, never taking her eyes from the spider. She allowed herself a quick glance at the shoes, then back to the spider. It had moved, it was on the frame now, no doubt readying itself to leap at her.
She couldn’t reach the shoes without taking her eyes off the spider. But it would leap; she knew it would leap, as soon as she bent down. It was just waiting, watching with its stalky eyes. Waiting. Waiting to pounce.
She thought about the glass in the bathroom, she could trap it under that. But that would mean leaving the room, that wasn’t any better than leaning over for the shoe.
The spider waved several legs in the air; it was mocking her.
She felt a cold sweat in her hairline, something trickled down the back of her neck. She screamed. But the spider was still on the window. Maybe it had a mate. Maybe that’s what it was waving at. Not her at all, but its stripy legged mate as it scampered down her back. Ella could hear herself panting.
‘Edna,’ she suddenly said. ‘And Walt.’ Was it too late to go round there?
She was reluctant to leave the spider but she had no choice. Even so, she pushed her feet into her shoes without turning her back on it. She had come to her senses a little and decided that it was sweat running down her back, not a spidey-mate. She made her way down the stairs, taking great care not to topple over; it was quite difficult walking with her arms in the air.
Ella stepped outside, the air was cold and she immediately went from a hot sweaty panic to shivering. There was a light on in Edna and Walt’s, Ella hoped it wasn’t some sort of night light, but meant they were still up. She knocked on the door.
‘Young Ella.’ Walt’s beaming face greeted her; she was relieved to see that he was fully dressed. ‘What’s wrong with your arms?’
‘I’m stuck in my dress. Is Edna still up?’
‘No. No. She’s visiting her sister in Swindon, staying overnight. Can I help?’
‘The zip is stuck.’ Ella’s teeth chattered.
‘Come in, come in. I’ll see if I can undo it.’
Ella followed Walt into the kitchen, grateful for its warmth.