by J. A. Baker
“Oh, lovely. Thank you,” Anna croons as she takes a slice of cake and bites into it, crumbs spurting over the table and onto her lap. I nibble at mine, unable to shake the image that has lodged itself firmly in my brain, Martyn’s big strong hands, clasped around Nancy’s small throat, her bulging eyes as she gasped for breath, his thumbs trembling with sheer force as they pressed down on her windpipe, crushing the very life out of her.
He hadn’t had a particularly good day. He’d been in a lot of pain with his leg and then a terrible headache had set in. He had stalked around the house, his gait growing more and more unbalanced by the minute, refusing to sit down, too agitated to stay still. I’d tried everything to settle him but nothing had worked, which was when I decided I needed a break from him and went for a brief wander outside, to have a breather on my own. That’s when I got chatting to her, this Nancy. She seemed very nice. A well-spoken type of lady. Confident and erudite. I shouldn’t have done it really - left him alone in the house - not knowing the state he was in. And especially not knowing what he is capable of. I can’t quite recall how or why it all happened. We were up from the path, closer to the house. One minute we were discussing the roses and talking about how much she reminded me of one of my old friends, and the next minute... Well, after that is a bit of a blur really. It all happened so quickly. I don’t remember Martyn stepping outside and I don’t remember the actual attack. I do however, recall her expression, the look on her face as he pulled her over the step and into the house. And now that’s all I can see - her eyes bulging in horror as she gasped for breath, her grey skin and lifeless body slumped on the floor like a crumpled bag of rags. It was dark when he finally dragged her stiffened corpse through the thickets of our garden and down to the surging swell of the river, unseen by anybody, concealed by the darkness and shadows of the night. I cried for hours, unable to do anything knowing it had happened again. Because this isn’t the first time you see. I think of Debra, still missing. My friend, Debra. The rumour mill initially claimed she has run off with a mystery man, started a new life somewhere away from her gambler of a husband, but as time has passed and her bank account has remained untouched, people are beginning to realise her disappearance has a more sinister edge to it. I’ve always known she didn’t run away. Always. It was Martyn you see, who was the mystery man. There had been an affair, albeit a brief one, but it had happened. I found the receipts and emails. Such an awful cliché. Such duplicitous behaviour. And Martyn had more or less caved in as soon as I confronted him. But Debra refused to back off, hounding him with phone calls, threatening to make it public if he didn’t leave me, trying to ruin his career. And then suddenly one day, it all stopped. No midnight calls, no angry emails. No Debra. Martyn and I never spoke about it again but I knew it was him. I could see it in his face. He had guilt etched into every pore. But people don’t just vanish do they? One day her body will turn up and the police will start a proper investigation, looking into her life, delving into her secrets. And then everything will come tumbling down. There is nothing to connect us to Nancy but there is everything to connect us to Debra.
“It doesn’t feel right this, does it?”
Anna’s voice cuts through my thoughts, her words a shrill pitch in the emptiness of the room. No clutter around to soften the edges, no other people to provide a backdrop of sound to her words. There is nothing. Just the slight squawk of my neighbour’s tinny voice as it is propelled across the vastness of my new kitchen, rebounding off the magnolia walls and marble surfaces.
“I mean, here we are, sitting here in your lovely new home, eating cake while the Mountain Rescue team are outside looking for somebody who may or may not be in danger. And the river. . .” she shivers dramatically and pushes another slab of cake into her mouth. “I can’t bear to think about it, can you? Just imagine how cold and frightened she must be wherever she is right now.”
I watch her eat and focus on the jam that has lodged itself in between the crevices of her teeth. She continues, unperturbed by my watchful gaze. My head begins to thump and I have to turn away as my usual twitch takes hold in one of my eyelids.
“How are your family?” I realise it’s a silly thing to ask as I don’t even know them but I have to say something to stop my mind from going into overdrive and spilling out my secrets to her. I have no idea why I would ever consider doing that. Because despite her proclamations about comprehending the human psyche, there is no way she could ever understand my current predicament. No way at all. How can I expect her to when I don’t understand it myself? Protecting a man who is mentally unbalanced and dangerous. And I’ve been kidding myself that Martyn’s problems only began after his accident - they started way before that. His tolerance levels had been on the wane long before he slipped on that cliff. He had become tetchy. More than tetchy. Unpredictable and prone to outbursts. All the accident did was exacerbate his declining mental health and leave us both at the mercy of his deteriorating temper.
Anna seems to slump a little. She puts her plate down on the table and dabs at her mouth with the corner of a tissue. “They’re all okay I suppose. Mike’s working lots of overtime so he’s hardly ever around and Callum and Mason are hanging around the house and generally getting under my feet.” Her voice begins to break as she speaks, “Sometimes I get quite lonely, with not working. The days can be awfully long.” Her eyes have a faraway look in them and for one awful minute, I fear she might start crying.
I reach over and gently trail my fingers over hers, not an easy thing for me to do. I’ve never been particularly tactile. It’s been so long since anybody has showed me any warmth or affection, I think I’m in danger of forgetting how to reciprocate properly. Martyn and I barely touch now. Once upon a time, many moons ago when we were young and desperately in love, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, but as the years passed, what with Martyn’s demanding job in the surgery and me looking after Tom and all the other myriad difficulties that families face each day, we grew further and further apart. I still loved him but we became more like siblings than husband and wife. And now I am his carer. And he is my - well, I’m not quite sure what he is to me anymore. But we’re bound together no matter what. Till death do us part.
“But you have your studies,” I say quietly, longing for the conversation to move on before she drowns in self-pity. We all have our own problems and like me, Anna will have to learn to deal with hers. That’s just how it is.
“Yes, you’re right. I shouldn’t moan really.” She nods and sniffs then looks down at my hands which are resting on my lap, “Looks like you’ve been busy in the garden Phoebe?”
My face burns as she stares down at my fingers which are cut and grazed. A thin line of mud is encrusted under my nails, dark brown crescents of tell-tale dirt from yesterday after helping Martyn to dispose of the evidence, desperately trying to claw at the ridges and furrows left in the soil as he made his way down to the river. Kicking and grabbing at soil to cover his tracks. An unwilling accomplice but an accomplice nonetheless.
“Nothing too energetic,” I mumble, “just some weeding and planting a few roses.”
“Oh how beautiful. Roses are my favourites. What type?” Anna picks up the remnants of her cake and stuffs it into her mouth, cream gathering in small globules at the corners of her lips. Suddenly she isn’t miserable anymore. I wish I had her positivity. Her moods seem to change with the wind.
I open my mouth to answer but find myself lost for words. I could come out with an endless list of names of roses such as Albertine, Persian Mystery or Compassion but instead I stand up and walk over to the window, unwilling or at least unable to answer her question directly.
“This garden has been really well planned by the previous owners. From what I can see out there, it will be in bloom nearly all year round.”
“Oh it is!” Anna gushes as she licks traces of raspberry jam off her fingertips, “and the snowberries in the autumn are amazing. They liven up the hedgerows with flashes of pur
e white on those awful, drab days. I get so sick of winter, don’t you? It seems to go on for forever. I’m so relieved spring is here. Roll on summer eh?”
I love how she is so easily distracted. Like a small child really. Keeping her questions and probing at bay won’t be as difficult as I first thought. She seems to delight in being led off on tangents and makes it easy for me to avoid her endless questions and probing.
“Anyway, I haven’t even asked how you’re settling in here. You know, it can be a strange feeling moving into a new place.” She stares at me with emerald eyes. Suzie’s eyes. “Feel free to call over to ours anytime if you fancy some company. We’ve got my brother coming to stay for a couple of days in the next few weeks. Hopefully he’ll keep the two boys entertained. He’s a real outdoors type, loves getting dirty and not scared off by a bit of grime, not that you’d think it when you consider his job.”
“Which is?” I’m not entirely sure why I ask. I have no real interest in where Anna’s brother goes every day to make money. That’s the problem with small talk. It serves no real purpose other than acting as a time filler. When she speaks, Anna words cut me in two. A cold rush balloons inside my chest and my head is invaded by swarms of angry hornets that batter against my skull.
“He’s a GP. He’s only recently moved down to Lincoln but for years he worked locally at a surgery in Richmond.”
I feel physically sick and have to swallow hard to stop the bile rising.
“Richmond, North Yorkshire?” I ask tentatively. Of course it’s North Yorkshire. What a stupid question. I clear my throat and push my hair behind my ears. There are only a handful of doctor’s surgeries in Richmond. What are the chances?
“Yes. Forge Hill Surgery I think it’s called. We all miss him but at least he visits regularly,” she says, unaware I am finding it hard to breathe, “well, as often as him job allows him to of course.”
Blood roars in my ears. The buzzing in my head increases a hundredfold.
“Forge Hill Surgery?” I ask, suddenly dizzy. I keep my head held high for fear of falling to the floor.
“That’s it, yes. Do you know it?”
Somehow, with the greatest degree of control, I am able to shake my head and manage to mumble that I don’t. I was just curious I tell her quietly. It’s almost impossible to finish my tea without vomiting.
“You should call over when he arrives and meet him. He’s a keen gardener as well.”
I nod and stand up. “That’s lovely,” I say, my voice sounding as if I am underwater. I walk to the sink and throw the remainder of my tea down it, fear clawing at my throat. I will have to lie low for a short while, ignore her knocking; do what I can to keep out of her way as well as avoiding questions from the searchers about Nancy. For once, Martyn’s illness has its benefits. I can tell her he has taken a turn for the worse and needs me at home constantly. My fingers feel like blocks of wood as I tap them on the kitchen top. I’ll find a way to manage it all. I always do.
“Anyway, thank you for the cake and tea. It’s been lovely. I miss having female company around here,” she says before she stops on her way out and gently touches my arm, “and don’t hesitate to ask for anything. Any help I mean.” She stares at me, and we both know who she is referring to. We don’t even need to speak his name now. He is with us even when he is absent from view.
“Thank you. That’s really kind. I’ll bear it in mind.” I walk her to the door thinking how soft her hair is and how wet and limp it was the last time I saw her. I remember dragging my freezing fingers through it as her pale body was laid on the riverbank, flaccid and unresponsive.
She turns abruptly and I feel my face flush as if she can read my thoughts,
“Please say you’ll call over. I can’t bear to think of you here on your own,” she bites at her lip as a tremble takes hold, “I mean I know you’re not on your own. You have your husband but I mean with caring for him and everything. It must be really, really hard for you.”
An unexpected lump rises in my throat and I find myself fighting back the tears, unused to receiving pity or hearing kind words,
“Thank you. I’ll definitely be over at some point. It’s just difficult to say when, what with Martyn and his needs, you know?” My words come out in a rapid, stilted flow and I find myself praying she doesn’t notice.
On a whim, I touch her hand again and feel a frisson of warmth surge through my body. Maybe we are bonding. I can’t remember the last time I felt I had a real friend.
She smiles and gives me a small wave. I listen to the crunch of her feet over the gravel and close the door. I lean back on it after she leaves and feel my heart pounding in my chest. Alien thoughts filter through my brain. I think I actually would like to become friends with her but worry about how Martyn will react to that. The light in the hallway suddenly feels oppressive. I bring my arm up to shield my eyes and try to regulate my breathing. It’s her face that is the problem. It won’t budge from my mind. The paleness of her skin, the blue tinge around her lips, her hair fanned out in the river as she took her last breath. And my voice, drowned out by the almighty roar of the raging current behind us as I screamed out for help.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and breathe deeply. This has got to stop. I need to move on with my life, get a grip, stop torturing myself with things that have passed, things I can’t alter. What’s done is done and cannot be undone. I throw my shoulders back and march into Martyn’s study. He is sat back in his chair, stretched out while listening to the radio, exposing how long and skinny his legs are and for some reason his stance infuriates me.
“I’m not cooking or doing any bloody thing for you today so don’t even bother asking. Your painkillers are in the bathroom cabinet. You can sodding well get them yourself if you need them. But don’t ask me to do anything because I don’t want to know.”
And with that I stride out of the room and slam the door hard behind me.
Twelve
Two weeks later
Callum is busy shoving his adult sized feet into a pair of old trainers that Anna suddenly wishes she had thrown away many moons ago. She gently pushes him up off the sofa with a smile.
“Go on you lot. I’ll do us all something to eat while you all go off and explore or do whatever it is men do when they go walking in the woods.”
“Fishing?” Callum asks.
Toby shakes his head and claps the young lad squarely on the back, “Not today laddo. Need to get my stuff unpacked yet. Maybe the day after tomorrow, yeah?”
Anna shakes her head in exasperation, “Come on lads, give your uncle a break. He’s only been in the house five minutes and already you’re pestering the life out of him.”
The boys nod their heads and murmur in agreement as they shuffle out into the warm spring air. Anna watches them as they cross the road and disappear over the road under the shadow of the trees. The sun is dipping behind the branches casting the earth below in a sinister, dark amber glow. She thinks of the missing lady and how she possibly took the same route before she disappeared, how the shade of the trees must have developed into an inky blackness as the sun set, leaving her cold and unsure of how to find her way back. Perhaps she stumbled and is still laid out on the path further along the river, injured, thirsty, terrified. Although after the amount of time that has lapsed since she disappeared, Anna knows it’s unlikely. It’s been nearly two weeks since it happened and the longer she stays missing, the slimmer the chances are she will be found alive. Anna knows this. She has thought about it a lot in the past fortnight. An awful lot. She thought about her last night as she lay in bed listening to the owls screeching and hooting, their squawks cutting through the silence of the night air. She thought of her again this morning as she watched her family and friends stop passers-by to ask them if they had seen anything and she will probably think of her again tomorrow. Sighing heavily, Anna drags her weary body up off the sofa and trudges into her kitchen, her sanctuary. She will prepare something nice for their meal tonig
ht. At least it will help while away the hours and help take her mind off the goings on outside. It’s an eerie sensation, having distress so close at hand and being powerless to stop it. In fact not even being aware it took place at all. She shakes her head and tells herself to stop being so bloody soft. She flings open the cupboard door and winces as it hits the wall with a clatter,
“Right Anna. Let the therapy begin.”
....................................................................................................................................................
Mike is home from work by the time Toby and the boys get back in. Within the hour, the house has turned from a vacuum of silence to a cacophony of noise with teenagers guffawing and play-fighting and people eating and laughing and talking loudly. Anna watches her family as they sit around the table with the clink and scrape of cutlery against porcelain resonating around the room. Anna smiles. It’s reassuring, comforting. She can’t fathom why, it just is.
“Don’t know about you Toby,” Mike says, seeing an opportunity and grasping it firmly with both hands, “but I’m about ready for a drop of the old single malt.”
Anna watches as Mike’s eyes take on a twinkle she sees rarely. What with work and decorating and the constant busyness of a household that contains two boisterous teenagers, her and Mike seem to rarely have time to do anything enjoyable. She narrows her eyes and thinks about the last time they did anything together, just the two of them. Apart from a shopping day spent looking for bloody floor tiles she can’t remember when they last ate a meal in a nice restaurant and simply relaxed together. Mike stands up and heads off in the direction of the drinks cabinet and comes back holding a bottle of amber liquid aloft.
