by Lynda Stacey
Thoughtfully, Molly glanced back at the house, considered going back inside, talking to Beth. She was being so unpredictable, and she felt worried that the missing picture, the attitude, her reasons for hating the house so much were all her way of rebelling, of venting emotion. All of which left Molly at a loss; she didn’t know what to do, wished she’d insisted that Beth join her for a run, but couldn’t remember the last time Beth had run anywhere.
‘She wouldn’t thank you for dragging her out of bed, would she?’ She tried to think logically, to clear her mind, felt the anticipation build up within her as she took deep breaths of sea air in the hope it would clear her lungs.
She looked to the sky. ‘Please let her love it here.’ She whispered the words in silent prayer, made excuses for the way Beth was acting, put the shed incident down to her having a little fun at her older, bossier sister’s expense. ‘She would love it if she’d known this place the way I had.’ She recalled the memories, the way she and Mum had sat under an umbrella in the rain, refusing to move. How they’d planned a day on the beach and, rain or not, they were going to have a day at the beach. They’d often sat there eating fish and chips or a picnic that they’d spread out on a big blanket, laid on the sand. Sighing, Molly knew that she had to be the adult. That she had to rise above her sister’s tantrums. After all, it was up to her to help Beth, to ensure she created new memories for them both and she had every intention of showing Beth how beautiful it really could and would be to live here – all she had to do was give it a chance.
9
Feeling her whole body begin to shudder, Beth might have thought she was cold, but the heat under the duvet had now become close to unbearable and not knowing what else to do, she peered over the edge of the covers and across the room, waited, listened.
‘Moll… don’t go,’ she shouted to a hollow, empty house. ‘Moll…’ In disbelief, Beth furrowed her brow, inched her body upwards and carefully listened to the sounds of the house, where roof beams seemed to crack and move, along with the annoying tap, tap, tap of a branch that continually banged against the window.
Crawling to the bottom of the mattress on hands and knees, she leaned forward to scrutinise the hallway, fully expecting Molly to be standing there. Her face stern. Her arms crossed. Instead, she saw a long, empty, gloomy passage, with its tufts of carpet around the edges and a single shaft of light coming from the small panel that went down one side of the door.
‘She… she really went…’ Beth sighed, took in a deep breath and slowly made her way towards the door. ‘Why did she do that?’ She reached for the key, saw the unmistakable shaking of her own hand, and pulled it back just long enough to wipe her sweaty palm down her pyjama bottoms before locking the door.
‘It has to be here,’ she said as every cupboard was opened. Her eyes darted from one part of the kitchen to the other, settling on the storage boxes, all neatly stacked. Frantically, she grabbed at them, tore one open and stared at the cafetière and coffee mugs. Her mum’s cafetière, the one she always got out when visitors came. Smiling, Beth remembered the way she’d been allowed to press down the plunger, how the smell of coffee would fill the room.
Spotting the pictures, she looked from one to the other, all stood on the windowsill, all perfectly lined up. Smiling slyly, she traced her mother’s lips through the glass, blew her a kiss. Felt pleased with herself for having got them out the night before, knew that seeing them would have made Molly think. Mischievously, Beth spied the boxes, imagined what else was inside, what else she could sneak out, use to create doubt in her sister’s mind.
‘So…’ Pursing her lips into a tight bud, she slammed the cupboard door shut. Opened the fridge. ‘Molly wants to blame me for everything, does she? Well… we’ll see what she thinks when she can’t have her precious bacon sandwich.’ Opening the back door and with a satisfied smirk, she dropped the meat into the dustbin. ‘That’ll show her,’ she whispered, then jumped backwards as a plastic carrier bag blew past her feet like a ball of tumbleweed. Chasing after it, she picked it up, took in her surroundings and felt pleased that in daylight the garden looked so much more welcoming than it had the night before, during a storm.
Moving slowly along the path, she could see an old greenhouse, its door open. It looked full of used plant pots, still full of compost, their produce now perished from the months of trying to fend for themselves, not being watered, even though the hosepipe was on a reel by the back door and within easy reach. Red splodges stained the floor, where tomatoes most probably fell, only to be eaten by birds, or other passing animals.
She thought it was a waste that Carol hadn’t tended the vegetables. Then thought back to the bacon, realised that that was a waste too and cursed herself for having thrown it away, now wishing she’d cooked it and either eaten it herself, or made a peace offering, in readiness for Molly’s return.
Beside the greenhouse was the shed. It was the same shed that Molly had managed to lock herself inside, the one she’d walked past the day before in search of the noise. But now things looked different, the logs that had been previously scattered beside it had been moved, tossed to one side, and the carpet had gone. The sight made her stop. She began to retreat, slowly, one step at a time until, with eyes as wide as saucers, she stood on the doorstep scanning the garden, looking for anything else that could have been moved.
In one quick movement, she slammed the back door, locked it and stood with her back against it. Listening to the house, she tiptoed back into the kitchen and, fearful that someone could have got in without her seeing, she pulled open a drawer to grab at a wooden handled carving knife. Holding it close to her chest, she could hear nothing but the sound of her own breathing, the continuous hammering of her heart, the tap, tap, tap of the branch on the window. Someone had moved the old carpet and that someone hadn’t been Molly, which meant that someone, a stranger, had been in the garden, while she… no, while they, had been sleeping. Panic took over; she couldn’t concentrate and purposely she slipped to the floor, placed her hands over her ears and, hoping to mask the sound of her own heartbeat, she began to hum. ‘It’s just a carpet. Just an old piece of smelly, dirty old carpet. That’s all. Nothing more. Nothing important.’ Taking in huge gulps of air, she felt the bile rise in her throat, the acrid taste making her immediately jump up, spit in the sink and with the tap on full, she cupped her hands to scoop water into her mouth.
With her back to the units, she peered down the hallway, mentally measured its length. ‘It’s a long hallway. The carpet… it was hacked, probably cut into pieces.’ She studied it, knelt down and pulled at the remnants still stuck to the carpet gripper. ‘So, why some was some cut away, the rest left behind?’
10
With the breeze stronger than she’d thought, Molly began to tremble as the wind cut straight through her sports jacket. Once again, she thought about turning back. Tried to give herself an excuse not to run, but then laughed and strode forward. Determinedly, she made her way along the path and towards the beach where she hoped the overhang of the cliffs would shield her from the worst of the onslaught.
With a tingling sensation in her toes, she felt her pulse quicken with excitement. All of her senses, which had been so dormant for so long, were suddenly heightened, sprung into life and with enthusiasm. She took pleasure in every step, loved the way she could feel each cobble through her trainers, the roughness on her fingertips as they skimmed across the old wooden gate and the fresh sea air that hit the back of her throat with force. Laughing, she ducked to avoid the seagulls. They swooped and crooned and for a moment, she watched the mid-air dance that was playing out right before her eyes.
Spotting movement in one of the two distant gardens, Molly stood on tiptoes to study the neighbouring property. It was a house that the night before had been shrouded in darkness. She’d thought it deserted but now, in the morning sun, everything looked different. The house looked alive. Smoke came from the chimney, fresh, clean bedding hung on the line and a
black sign written van was parked in the drive. It was just too far away to read what it said, but the sight made her smile and inquisitively, she hung around for a moment, hoped her neighbour would show themselves. Hoped she’d get the chance to say hello.
When they didn’t, Molly disappointedly turned the corner and made her way towards the wooden steps that led down to the beach. They still looked a little old and rickety, just as she remembered, although now, some thirteen years since she’d last seen them, they looked as though they’d seen better days and so, doubting their rigidity and, with caution, her hand went out to give them a shake, felt surprised when they didn’t move.
Carefully, she made her way down them, only to hesitate as she reached the bottom step, where she stood, motionless. With her eyes closed she cautiously, as though afraid to touch it, reached forward until just the toe of her trainer drew a line across the sand. It was a moment she wanted to cherish, to commit to memory and for the briefest time she couldn’t help but feel her mother’s arms wrap themselves tightly around her. She allowed her mind to envelop her in a warm, loving hug. One she took great pleasure in until her bottom lip began to quiver dramatically with emotion. Determined not to sob, she stepped forward, placed her whole foot squarely on the beach in the knowledge that she had miles of rugged coastline stretching out before her, with Filey in one direction and Flamborough in the other.
‘I did it, Mum,’ she announced to the sky. ‘I came back to our beach, just like I promised.’ The words were followed by another smile as a single tear rolled aimlessly down her cheek and with it, the feeling of her mother’s arms deserted her, leaving her cold, vulnerable and alone.
‘There you go, first sign of madness.’ The man’s Yorkshire accent came from nowhere. Molly’s heart leapt in her chest and with a fear she didn’t know possible, she felt a scream come from deep within her, as a huge black dog leapt down the steps towards her.
‘What the?’ She took a step backwards, held her hands in front of her face and watched as the dog dropped to the sand and began frantically bouncing up and down, his tongue lolloping to one side. ‘Please—’ Fear overtook the words and she pressed herself tightly to the cliff, unable to move.
‘Dillon, no. The lady doesn’t want to play.’ The man’s body was swiftly thrust between her and the dog, his back to her. ‘Now – sit down, right now. Say hello nicely.’ He pointed to the sand and the dog obediently sat, then the man looked over his shoulder to smile apologetically. ‘That’s right. Good dog. Good dog.’ His hand fondly slapped the dog’s side, ruffled his ears. ‘Don’t worry, he might look big and tough, but I promise he won’t hurt you. Will you, boy?’
Even though the man’s voice was reassuring, Molly cocked her head to one side and fearfully watched the German Shepherd’s every move. ‘Stay there. That’s right, good boy, stay. Sorry about that…’ He flashed her a smile. ‘He’s still a pup, thinks everyone wants to play and well, you did seem to be talking to yourself, looked like you needed the company.’ He nervously glanced between her and Dillon who now lay with his head on his paws, whining.
Standing taller than her by a good six inches, the man had the build and looks of a sportsman. Broad shoulders, a square chiselled jawline and short dark hair that went well with his perfectly trimmed beard. The whole look was annoyingly handsome. Yet his hands, which he held up as though in prayer, looked like those of a workman, worn and hardened.
‘Are you okay?’ he whispered. ‘’Cause I’m getting a little worried about the way you’re eyeing me up and down.’ He laughed nervously.
‘Fine? Of course I’m not fine, your dog just frightened me half to death,’ she snapped, turned away, felt the anger surge through her. The panic she’d felt had paralysed her with fear. It was a fear that was always there. A fear that had surrounded her for months, the not knowing who friend or foe was, the thought of an imminent attack high in her mind. The way daily events could quite easily turn into momentous and terrifying occasions. Staring at the sea, she felt aggrieved that he’d spoiled her moment, a moment she’d waited for, hoped for, dreamed about.
The man stepped away, ran a foot across the sand. ‘Look, we’re sorry we scared you. Aren’t we, Dillon?’
She fixed her jaw and continued to glare as she looked him up and down. Couldn’t shake the feeling she’d seen him somewhere before. Tried to remember where. ‘He… he could have bitten me,’ she finally grunted, with her back still connected firmly to the cliff.
He nodded, slowly. Took in a deep breath. ‘He wouldn’t have bitten you. Not unless I told him to. Which I might reconsider if you keep on shouting at me.’ He gave her a half smile, arched an eyebrow.
Internally, she screamed for a second time. It was a long, shrill scream that came from deep within her, a scream that didn’t actually leave her mouth, even though it desperately wanted to. Moving her gaze from him to the dog, she watched how he lay, like a petulant child who’d been placed on a naughty step, one eye on his owner just waiting for his command, telling him to play. Turning away, she did everything she could not to look at the man. She didn’t trust herself to do that, because to do that would have meant looking at his face, his eyes, his annoyingly perfect smile.
‘Well, if I’m allowed, I’m going to continue with my run… that’s if you promise your dog won’t chase me or bite me.’ Her eyes went to the tide, to the curve of the beach, the town of Filey that stood prominently in her view, then back to the steps. Her initial thought was to retreat, to go back to the house, to lock the door, but with every ounce of energy she had, she fought the urge, knowing that if she went back now, she’d never come back out and instead, she’d end up cowering indoors and hiding forever.
Holding his hands out wide to his side, he laughed. ‘Hey, no one’s holding you prisoner, lady, are they?’ He paused, rolled his jaw. ‘I did however think it’d be kind of neighbourly to introduce myself before you went, but hey… seeing as you’re in such a hurry.’ Pausing, he studied her, stepped back. ‘Look, can we start again? I’m sorry. I was out of order, I’d like to make it up to you.’ He smiled, waited, when she didn’t reply, he continued. ‘The beach – it’s normally empty, apart from the odd crazy surfer or two maybe, but they’re far and few between.’ He pointed to the water, to where a man sat straddling a board, staring out to sea, waiting for the perfect wave. ‘God knows what they’re doing out there today though, it’s pretty Baltic.’
Molly looked up, surprised. ‘Oh… I hadn’t noticed him. I was miles away.’
‘I bet you wish you were.’ He laughed. Crouched down. Began to stroke Dillon, who, obviously pleased with the attention, sat up to rest a head against his owner’s knee. ‘Look, I’m Niall McCormick, we’re neighbours.’ He flashed her another perfect smile and without wanting to, she found herself smiling back. Since becoming a dentist, smiles meant everything. To her, good teeth meant good hygiene and it suddenly occurred to her that there was a distinct possibility that Niall might have been one of her patients. Even though she thought it improbable that the good people of Filey would travel all the way to York for a dental appointment. And on Monday, she’d have a whole new list of patients, a new surgery to work in, a new team around her.
‘No, actually, I’m really pleased to be here. I came as a child with my mother. It was a long time ago and I was just taking a minute, trying to remember how it all used to look, and how much it has changed.’ Grabbing at her shoulder-length hair, she dragged it upwards, tied it in a well-practised topknot. ‘And how…’ She suddenly realised what he’d said and eyed him suspiciously. ‘How do you know we’re neighbours?’ Her mind did a somersault as she mentally rewound the conversation.
Niall pulled a ball from his pocket, threw it across the beach and smiled as Dillon happily took up the chase. ‘I saw the removal van pull up last night. Saw you heading towards the beach this morning. Put two and two together. I was inquisitive and I followed you down here, thought it’d be nice to say hello.’ He raised his eyebrows, sm
iled sheepishly. ‘Obviously, once again, I got things wrong.’ He paused. ‘As I said, I’d really like to start over, ’cause this really isn’t going the way I thought it would.’
Molly looked up at the house, recalled the black van, the smoke coming out of the chimney and the windows that looked as though they were all about to drop out, all by themselves. How she’d hoped for an introduction.
‘I run the garden centre in town, we do everything from fresh flowers to landscape gardening.’ Niall paused, crouched down beside her and pointed to the distant harbour. ‘Centre’s on the main road going out of town.’
‘Well, I’m Molly, Molly Winter, a very cold amateur runner. And yes, we moved in yesterday.’ She tried to smile, glanced at him sideways, then turned back to the sea. Purposely said as little about herself as she could.
‘And your husband?’ He arched his eyebrow in question, flashed her another perfect smile. ‘Is he a runner too?’
‘God, no, I live with my teenage sister, Beth.’ She pointed to the cliff path. ‘We arrived just as the storm did, so you could say that last night was a little more than interesting.’ Holding back, she didn’t mention the events, the noises, or the picture.
He looked thoughtful. ‘Sorry. I thought I saw a man there yesterday, talking to Michael’s relative.’ His eyes rolled up at the sky thoughtfully. ‘I think she’s called Claire or Carol or something… I was down at the bottom of the lane with Dillon, so didn’t get a close look.’ Chewing his lip, he shook his head. ‘Thought he was moving in.’