The Adults

by Caroline Hulse

  To show she meant it, Scarlett lifted her bum up, turning away. She set herself back down on the bed, facing Posey.

  “We’ll just leave you a minute, Scarlett,” Dad said. “Then we’ll be back to check on you.” He paused. “Come on, Claire. It’s what she wants.”

  Scarlett heard the door click softly shut behind them.

  Posey gave a slow wink. “So, do I look different?”

  “You’re taller. But you look thin.” Scarlett poked Posey in the belly, checking his stuffing. “I hope you’ve been eating five-a-day in China.”

  “Of course I have!”

  “And been brushing your teeth?”

  “Twice. Every day.”

  “Promise?”

  Posey pulled back his lips so Scarlett could look at his teeth. “Promise.”

  Scarlett had never seen Posey’s long bunny teeth before. “They look clean,” she said. “I’m proud of you.”

  There was a knock on the door.

  Posey frowned. “Shall we let them come back in?”

  Scarlett glared at him. “Let’s just be the two of us a bit longer. Tell me about what you got up to in China. Are there castles there?”

  “Yep.”

  “And unicorns?”

  “Loads of unicorns.” Posey stretched back on the bed, lying down. He put a hand-paw under his head. “You use unicorns there like buses. You just hop on when—”

  There was another knock at the door.

  Posey looked at Scarlett. He raised where his brows would be.

  Scarlett stared firmly at Posey. “It’s rude to interrupt. They’re being rude. You keep telling me about China.”

  With one paw, Posey pulled a long ear back in thought. “OK. They eat corn cakes for breakfast and—”

  There was another knock at the door. “Scarlett?”

  “Ignore them,” Scarlett said firmly. “And don’t worry, Posey, I’ll look after us. Just promise you won’t ever—ever—go on holiday without me again.”

  30

  Alex had a shower, hoping the sound of the rushing water would drown out Scarlett’s sobbing from the room above.

  It had worked—for about five minutes there. But Scarlett had stamina, so she was still going when Alex switched the water off.

  Alex’s skin smelled of chlorine, two showers later.

  Now back in the lounge, she listened to Scarlett whimper upstairs. Alex could hear Matt’s voice, trying to soothe her.

  Claire padded down the stairs and hugged Alex tightly. “Don’t worry about Scarlett.” A lock of Alex’s sodden hair slapped onto Claire’s cheek. Claire didn’t push the hair away. “She’ll come round.”

  Alex held on to Claire. She inched her nose closer to Claire’s neck, detecting a trace of perfume.

  “You smell nice,” Alex said.

  “Back in a min.” Claire jogged up the stairs.

  Alex sank onto the sofa, alone in the lounge. She pulled her shirtdress down to cover her knees. Her hair felt clammy, a clump of seaweed trailing against her face. She felt a cold trickle down her back.

  She listened to the humming half-whispers of Claire and Matt reassuring Scarlett.

  Alex sat back and closed her eyes. She pictured the perfume bottle Matt had bought her last Christmas. A clear bottle, with a waisted shape and a decorative lid-flower.

  Alex inhaled deeply again, trying to conjure up a hint of Claire’s perfume. But now she could only smell the tartness of her own shampoo, and a trace of underlying fridge odor.

  She thought of Matt and Claire in Scarlett’s bedroom, trying to stem the flow of tears.

  Alex looked to the front door. Patrick was still outside doing—well, whatever it was that Patrick did.

  Alex stood up and moved to the bottom of the stairs.

  She paused, one hand on the banister, then padded softly upstairs.

  The landing of the top floor of the lodge was dark, with a pointed roof, the ceiling too low to stand upright. The landing smelt even more of indoor wood than her bedroom did. It smelt like a sauna.

  Alex looked to the three doors around her: one closed, two open. From behind the closed door she could hear the muffled sound of Matt’s voice, then another muffled reply from Claire.

  Alex looked to the first open door. She strode through the doorway before she could think about what she was doing.

  The room was a bathroom, larger than Alex’s en suite but still not big enough for comfort. She looked around at the toiletries in the room.

  On the side of the bath stood a shampoo bottle with a picture of a cartoon apple, the bottle promising no more tears. An electric Tigger toothbrush stood on the sink frame, next to a vertical tube of Hello Kitty toothpaste.

  Alex left the bathroom. She paused, looking at the last door.

  She listened. There was still no sound of movement in the rest of the lodge.

  With gentle steps, Alex padded through the final doorway. She looked at the suitcases piled up in the corner of the room, at the discarded jeans on the bed, the embroidery on the back pocket: jeans Alex knew Claire had been wearing earlier that day.

  Alex pulled her shirtdress down a little farther. After a brief pause, she padded through to the en suite.

  There were two washbags open on the counter: one navy, one floral. Alex leaned over the floral bag and picked out the bottle on the top.

  It was the same clear, waisted bottle, topped with the same decorative flower. This bottle was nearly empty.

  Alex looked up from the bottle, to the image of herself in the mirror.

  The woman in the mirror looked back at Alex, unmoving, the shoulders of her shirtdress discolored by water. Her hair, also darkened by water, hung down the side of her face, leaving her cheekbones exposed and gaunt.

  Alex watched a single droplet of water trickle down her face. The droplet hung, suspended, from her chin, before releasing its hold and dripping onto the floor.

  Alex heard a door open.

  “I won’t be long.” Claire’s voice wafted in, terrifyingly audible. “I’ll go and check what time we’re doing golf. He can’t still be dealing with that bird.”

  Alex didn’t hear Matt’s reply, but Claire added, “I think it’s at six. I’m going to stay behind and do dinner.”

  Alex heard footsteps on the landing, then down the stairs.

  After a beat, she placed the bottle back in the washbag. She turned to leave the room but knocked a tube of toothpaste into the sink.

  She placed the toothpaste back in its original position. She waited.

  When she couldn’t hear anything outside, she padded softly across the bedroom carpet to the doorway.

  Across the corridor, Scarlett’s bedroom door opened. Matt spoke into the room. “Salted caramel or strawberry cream?”

  “Strawberry,” Scarlett said in a mucus-y voice.

  Matt turned and saw Alex. His eyebrows moved minutely together.

  “I was just seeing if Claire had a hairdryer.” Alex closed the door behind her. “I didn’t want to disturb you all. I didn’t think Scarlett would want me to come in. Should I go in and talk to her?”

  “I wouldn’t. She’s still a bit upset.” Matt studied Alex for a minute. “Don’t we have a hairdryer downstairs?”

  “A rubbish one. I wanted to see if Claire had brought her own.”

  “And had she?”

  Alex paused. “I couldn’t see one. I wasn’t exactly going to go through her suitcase.”

  Matt stared at her some more. “Good. I’m pleased you wouldn’t have gone through her suitcase. Particularly when Claire’s just downstairs and you could have asked her.”

  Alex looked down. She turned her ring slowly round her finger. “Our room hairdryer will be fine, I’m sure. You did tell Scarlett, didn’t you? Why I did it?”
r />   “Of course,” Matt said shortly.

  Quietly, they walked down the stairs toward the lounge.

  31

  “Alex!” On the crazy golf course, Patrick waved his club in her direction. “It’s your go.”

  Alex didn’t even practice her swing. She just stepped forward and hit the ball toward the windmill, like the whole experience was nothing to do with her.

  Even though she was only two feet from the hole at the bottom of the windmill, she missed. The ball hit the wood with a thud. It rebounded slowly back toward Alex.

  Patrick was ahead of all of the others by fourteen strokes at the moment, yet this game was still not as much fun as it should have been.

  On the walk to the golf course, Scarlett had stopped and stared at the single feather in the middle of the road—a feather left behind after Patrick had moved the pheasant.

  Scarlett had looked at the feather for a long time. Finally, she unzipped her anorak pocket and stashed the feather away before zipping the pocket carefully back up.

  Now, when Alex took a step toward her, Scarlett took a step back.

  When Alex asked if she wanted an ice cream (a shameless effort, Patrick thought), Scarlett had, for the first time he could remember, refused.

  Patrick was impressed by Scarlett’s self-discipline and commitment to her cause. Not for the first time, he thought that Scarlett reminded him more of himself than his own kids did.

  He watched her march to the edge of the crazy golf course. “Where are you going, darling?”

  “Me and Posey need to stand over here and talk about something important.”

  “Righto,” Patrick said cheerfully.

  He watched Scarlett continue her one-sided conversation at the edge of the green.

  “I’m sure you’ll be safe,” Scarlett whispered firmly to the air. “It’s birds she kills. Not rabbits.” She paused. “You’re right, Posey. So far anyway.”

  Alex looked up at Matt. But he turned away, crouching down to tie his shoelace.

  Scarlett was still talking. “I’ll protect you, Posey. Just make sure you don’t get too close. Safety first.”

  Patrick turned to Matt, waiting for him to say something to Scarlett. But Matt just shook his foot out, straightening his jeans, and stood over his golf ball.

  Matt swung his club now but, Patrick decided, not in a good way. Not like he was trying to practice. Just like he was killing time.

  It was Patrick’s turn to take a shot. He wondered whether, if he didn’t take his shot, any of them would even notice. Or whether they’d all just stand there, lost in their own thoughts, listening to Scarlett bad-mouth Alex.

  He waited. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. He’d got to twelve by the time Matt looked up.

  “You’re up, Tiger Woods.”

  Tiger Woods. Even that was annoying. It would have been OK, if it wasn’t for the fact Matt had called him that before they’d even started to play. Giving Patrick the kudos in advance, before he’d even seen Patrick’s well-honed, Saturday-morning-finessed swing. Which devalued the compliment to nothing.

  Patrick widened his stance. He studied the wooden obstacle ahead: the target painted with a clown’s mouth, a hole between the teeth to aim for. It was a few meters between him and the mouth, over semi-rough terrain. If Patrick missed his shot, the ball would go down one of the slopes to either side and roll right back to the beginning of the hole.

  But Patrick wouldn’t miss.

  He took a careful practice swing. He steadied himself and took the shot.

  The golf ball bounced over the grass and swept cleanly through the clown’s mouth, not even touching the sides.

  Patrick placed the base of his club on the green. He leaned forward on the club so it supported his weight.

  “Well done,” Matt said eventually.

  Patrick leaned down to pick up his ball; he placed it at the start of the next hole. He pulled the score sheet and tiny pencil from his pocket and marked his number of strokes. They were at hole number eight, and no one had matched his score once yet.

  “Nice shot,” Alex said. It was an autopilot comment, no real admiration behind it.

  “See that leaf, Scarlett?” Matt pointed at a leaf on the green. “I’m going to see if I can roll my ball over it on the way past.”

  “But it’s not on the way past!” Patrick couldn’t help himself. “It’s in the opposite direction!”

  Matt aimed his ball for the leaf. The ball missed it and rolled slowly past, away from the hole.

  Matt wrinkled his nose at Scarlett. “I’ll get it next time.”

  Patrick put the paper and pencil back in his pocket. He looked up to the heavens and shut his eyes for a second, before opening them again and turning back to look at the game.

  Post-shooting interview. Keeley Pope, 25.

  Happy Forest activity coordinator.

  Face-to-face. Happy Forest activity center.

  I wondered when you’d come and see me! Come through to the back. Scandal!

  I said to the others, it’s like we’re in an episode of Ex on the Beach. You wouldn’t believe how many people came in this evening who weren’t rostered on.

  Oh, come on, it’s no accident! When you found out they were messy exes, surely you worked that out?

  They were arguing all over the place. Like in Ex on the Beach again. But Sheila said she’s told you that already.

  Yes, I’ll look at your pictures.

  I met that woman, the dark-haired woman. Alex Mount. The shooter. Is she a Taurus?

  It just seems a very Taurus thing to do. Bullheaded. And I can say that because I am one.

  I met her when she came to take her daughter for the dance class. She was all flustered, you could tell the holiday was going wrong, even before she shot the guy.

  Just…out of breath. Panicky. Intense. It makes me feel a bit queasy now, when I think of it. How much that mum wanted to get her seven-year-old into a burlesque class.

  Yes, burlesque dancing. You know, classy old-school dancing with chairs and high kicks? I teach it myself sometimes. I always say it should be for older kids only, but when I peeked into the room, that little girl was getting the routine down pat, slow-squatting to the floor with the best of them.

  No, the woman was definitely the girl’s mum.

  She wasn’t the mum? But then why would she say she was? Do you think she kidnapped the kid or something? Is that why she looked so intense and out of breath?

  I think she must be mental now. I mean, shooting someone, I get how that could happen. But lying about being the kid’s mum?

  Maybe she wasn’t a Taurus after all. That’s not a very Taurus thing to do. We Taureans are straight up and honest.

  No, I didn’t meet any of the others. They look very serious in those pictures, don’t they? Security pictures are the worst.

  Gemini, I’m thinking now. Split personality.

  32

  Back at the lodge, Alex reached round Claire to get a can of lemonade from the fridge. “It’s a shame you didn’t come to golf.”

  Claire leaned to the side to make space for Alex. She continued chopping onions. “I wanted to get on with cooking.”

  Alex slumped against the unit behind her. “I feel like you’re doing everything here! Please say you haven’t changed your cooking plans because of the fish thing.”

  “It’s not a problem.” Claire flicked her gaze at Alex, chopping all the while. “Besides, it’s been a long day, what with Scarlett and the pheasant thing.” Claire indicated her wineglass on the side. “I like getting drunk when I’m cooking. There’s something about getting drunk on your own that feels good, isn’t there?”

  “Yes.” Alex kept her voice light. “It felt great, as I remember.”

  “Oh.” Claire stopped chop
ping. “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “So, did you have fun at golf?”

  Alex looked at Claire’s glass and looked quickly away. “Lovely, thanks.” She leaned round Claire again to get a tumbler from the cupboard. “Can I do anything?”

  “You just relax and put your feet up. Did Scarlett behave?”

  Alex opened her can. “Good as gold.”

  Claire grinned. “See. They can’t hold a grudge for long at that age.”

  Alex wondered if she should have told Claire how Scarlett really was. No, she didn’t behave. She kept conversing with her imaginary friend about Alex the Animal Killer. But Alex would have no chance with Scarlett after that. No one liked a snitch. Prison sensibilities were instinctive, even at seven.

  Alex looked over at the non-kitchen part of the main room. Matt sat across the dining table from Scarlett, the two playing a hand-slapping game. Matt wouldn’t let Scarlett win, and every new loss made her squeal with excitement.

  “Fancy going for a walk, Matt?” Alex asked.

  “All right.” Matt started to get up.

  “Posey and I would like you to play another game after this, Dad,” Scarlett said.

  Matt hovered for a second, half in, half out of the chair. He sat back down. “As long as Posey doesn’t cheat. I don’t trust rabbits. They’re notorious card sharks. Never play with a rabbit who’s wearing sleeves.” He looked at Alex. “After this, if that’s OK?”

  Alex turned to Scarlett. “Do you know the joke about why you shouldn’t play cards in the jungle?”

  Scarlett kept looking at Matt. “Posey wants to play Happy Families.”

  Matt gave Alex a shrug of apology. He looked back to Scarlett. “Posey has good taste. But let’s both keep an eye on that rabbit, before he bankrupts us with his fast moves.”

  Across the room, Patrick picked up his phone and dialed a number. “Lindsay.”

  Alex looked around; her gaze landed on Ulysses. She pulled the book toward her without enthusiasm.

  Patrick faced out of the window into the blackness beyond. “Are they there?” His voice sounded formal, like he was making an appointment with his MP. “I’ve tried their mobiles. There’s no answer. Again.”