Opening the glovebox releases a cascade of old wrappers, paper cups and delivery notes. There’s no light, so I have to put my hand inside and feel for anything solid. At the back, near the bottom, I find a bag that appears to be unopened.
“Liquorice?” I say, using the glow of the dashboard lights to read the packet. “I quite like liquorice.”
“Ha,” says Mum. “Typical. I hate the stuff. Your dad hates liquorice too, he must have bought it by accident.”
Ruffling the remaining wrappers, I manage to scoop up four things that might be toffees. “Chocolate eclair?” I offer.
“How old?” asks Mum.
I squeeze it experimentally. “It’s soft,” I say.
“I’ll pass on that,” she says, shifting in her seat.
I check my phone. No messages.
I stare into the wing mirror. There’s a lone set of headlights behind. “Could that car be following us?” I ask.
“Na,” says Mum. “You’ve watched too many films. Go back to sleep.”
I type, lonely, into the phone, and then delete it.
As I’m staring at the screen, a message comes in from Zahra.
Missing you already. Come home soon. xxx
Chapter 11
It’s nearly eight o’clock when the headlights of the van catch the sign on the side of the road. “Valley Trekking Centre. Closed.”
“At last,” says Mum, grinding the gears and wrenching the van on to a narrow-walled track. The sleet is still falling, but thickly now, and a pack of ice has formed on either side of the windscreen.
We lurch along the track, thumping into potholes. The engine revs wildly, and Mum clings to the steering wheel.
“Blimey,” she says, as a white bird looms out of the snow and vanishes above us into the blizzard.
Jolted awake I peer along the track. The traffic jams of London feel a lifetime away. The track tips and instead of climbing, we start to slide down the ruts, Mum leaning on the brake pedal, the walls closing in on either side until we reach a tall pair of gates that lead into an enclosed yard.
“Blimey,” says Mum again.
I was right about the mud. They do live in the middle of a mud patch. A huge mud patch. The headlights of the van highlight the crests of the mud and Mum slithers to a halt near the small semi-circle of light that marks the front door.
“Hmm,” says Mum. “Seems more remote in the winter.”
For a minute, we sit in the van and watch the sleet streaking through the headlights, settling on the tufts of grass sticking out around the front door. Between us and the tufts of grass is more mud. That and some grit, and slushy snow.
* * *
I fall out of the van door. It’s high and the mud catches me by surprise and squishes straight over the top of my Converse into my socks.
“Come on, Maya,” says Mum. “You’ll freeze.”
Grabbing the bag of liquorice, I jam it in my pocket. If no one else likes it, then I might as well take it.
We stand in the icy squish, waiting for the front door to open.
“Sarah!” Auntie V throws open the front door and three tall stinky dogs press their way around her, sniffing at us and thwacking their tails against the door frame. I wonder which one bit me last time?
Auntie V pushes them away and drags us in from the snow. “Bloody freezing,” she says, ushering us down a stone-floored hallway to a huge heavy door, hanging with mangy rugs. “Come in here, Ollie’s got the fire going really well tonight. Come on, come on.” She herds us and the dogs and shuts the door.
We enter a fug. Woodsmoke, soup, wet dogs. Warm, but definitely damp.
Perching on a collapsed sofa, my backpack guarding my feet, I grab a cushion to keep my bum from the broken spring sticking up through the base. It’s a kitchen, a dining room and a sort of living room, all in one. By the sofa is a huge fireplace with a wood burner. Over by a heavily curtained window is a long table with a bench, and a laptop.
Behind the laptop is a boy. Ollie?
“Say hello.” His mum taps his shoulder.
“Do I have to?” he says, without looking up.
Auntie V nudges him but says nothing.
I gaze very intently at the small square of orange in the front of the wood burner.
I do not want to be here.
Mum must sense it because she squeezes my hand, and then springs into life, going all gushy and chatty and Auntie V starts ladling something from a black pan simmering on a huge stove thing into unmatched bowls.
“The traffic was awful leaving London, and then the rain started – so it’s been a bit of a marathon.” They’re both talking too loud.
“Ah,” says Auntie V, studying something in the ladle and tipping it down the sink. “But you found us OK?”
“Oh yes,” says Mum. “But I’m glad the snow didn’t get going too much.”
“So why didn’t the police bring her here?” asks Auntie V.
“I think the inspector felt it was better if she came – incognito. They’re going to station a policeman here though, if that’s all right with you?”
In front of us, the wood burner spits and hums. I’m aware of my mum’s accent. London, casual. Auntie V sounds different. Welsh?
“Fine – whatever it takes,” says Auntie V.
She sloshes stuff into the bowls and drops the ladle in the sink. “We’re due very heavy snow later on tomorrow, so you’d better get going sharpish in the morning, you don’t want to get stuck.”
“Course,” says Mum. She glances at me, and then at Ollie.
“Do you think they’ll get on?” she whispers to Auntie V.
“Course,” Auntie V replies. “Bound to. In the end.”
I glance up at Ollie and catch him staring at me with obvious disgust on his face.
Mum smiles vaguely in my direction and checks her phone. “No signal,” she says to the room and stands by her sister. “Anything I can do?”
Auntie V points at a set of drawers. “Get four spoons out.”
* * *
After the soup I go to bed in an icy and slightly smelly room at the front of the house overlooking the yard. Auntie V gives me a hot-water bottle and a glass of water and drives the dogs away down the stairs but not before they’ve slobbered all over my bedcovers.
Maybe it’s the dogs I can smell.
“Sorry,” says Auntie V. “They normally sleep in here when it’s cold.”
Mum comes in with me and sits on my bed. She looks really tired, and for a moment she sags forward to rub her eyes before sitting up brightly and pulling a reassuring smile over her face. She ruffles the long white streak in my hair and runs a finger over my cheek.
“What?” I ask, swinging my feet up on to the freezing mattress and jamming them into the arctic wastes under the eiderdown.
“Thought I’d kiss you goodnight,” says Mum. “So,” she prods a faded bowl of potpourri, releasing a cloud of dust. “I bet you’ll have a lovely time up here.”
“Do you really think so?” I say. “It’s kind of – ancient. And Ollie obviously hates me.”
“Don’t be silly – he’s an only child, I expect he’s just not used to having someone in his space.”
“Hmm,” I say, thinking of the expression on his face.
“And it’s the countryside, Maya, people do things differently here. The pace of life is slower. You’ll have to adjust to them.” Mum sounds like she’s reciting something she learned from a book.
She brushes imaginary crumbs from the eiderdown.
“Have you told Auntie V that I’m a vegetarian?” I ask.
“Of course,” says Mum. “She knows.”
“When will the policeman come? The one that’s on duty with us?” I ask.
Mum glances at her phone, which is as blank as mine. “I don’t know, love – soon I imagine.”
“When will you come back?” I ask.
“Oh,” Mum looks vague. “Not so very long, I don’t expect. The police will get the
ir man and we’ll pop back and get you. A few days. Until then, keep out from under V’s feet, be good and helpful.”
She pulls the eiderdown straight. “I think the police are right. You’re safer here. Miles from anywhere – no one could possibly run into you. At home we’d have had to imprison you in the flat. And that wouldn’t have been any fun.”
“No,” I say, wondering just how much fun I can have here in this damp dusty farmhouse.
“Anyway – I’m pooped.” She says, pulling my head forward and kissing my hair. She stands and goes all busy tucking me into bed and folding up jeans, before turning off the main light. “I imagine you are too.”
“Sarah!” Auntie V calls from along the landing.
“Night sweetie,” says Mum from the doorway. “Might have to go early in the morning, take care.”
“Can’t you stay tomorrow?”
Mum shakes her head. “I can’t leave Dad and Granddad for long. The twins are too much, and we’re so busy just now, just before Christmas. You’ll be fine without me.” She pauses for a moment.
“Sarah! Do you want to know where you’re sleeping?” yells Auntie V.
“Sleep well, be careful,” says Mum, closing the door.
“Bye – night,” I call and listen to her footsteps on the floorboards until they disappear.
* * *
I worm my way into the bottom of the bed, crushed by the heavy old eiderdown. It’s so cold inside that, despite the hot-water bottle and the furry thermal sheet, my feet freeze instantly. I lie in the dark listening to the wind and the sleet against the windows.
I so want home. I rub my feet together, trying to get some heat, longing for Zahra’s comfort. If she were here I could coil into her for warmth and safety. I need her now more than I’ve ever needed her. She’ll be on her own in bed, but she won’t, because everyone else is there. They’re together all in the flat, hugger-mugger, Granddad would say. All cosy. And me, out here, alone.
“Mum?” I say out loud, but I can hear her downstairs, talking to Auntie V, and I suppose they’re sisters too. They need their own time.
I climb out of bed, rummage in my suitcase for Zahra’s rabbit, fail to find it, and climb back into bed slightly more miserable. I must have left it in the van. I’ll ask Mum first thing.
Chapter 12
Sometime in the darkest hours, I begin to doze, needing a wee but not needing it so much I want to run down the freezing landing to the toilet. Headlights track across the ceiling and something does a million-point-turn in the drive.
“Mum!” I register, slightly too late, and see the van vanish between the gateposts and off into the sleet. “Mum.”
As the van disappears, a figure comes out of the house. Auntie V? She’s swaddled in coats and hats and picks her way through the mud to the other side of the yard. She slips two bolts on a vast door and pulls it open. Inside, I glimpse a large shed glowing with yellow light reflected on hay and straw. Steam rises from the ground and she closes the door again. A lone dog trots into view, sniffs the air and comes back towards the house.
I once saw a book in the library called Cold Comfort Farm. This is it. Cold Comfort Farm.
I check my tablet. 07.12. No Wi-Fi signal. No anything signal.
Not knowing what to do I climb back into bed and hug my knees and wish really hard that I hadn’t seen anything from that bus. If I could turn back time, I’d have looked the other way, then I’d be at home for the end-of-term party, which is tonight. I would have worn my green dress, and Zahra’s platforms. Or maybe jeans. I’d have coloured my white streak purple – just for the party. I try to imagine what everyone else will be wearing, and for a second I kid myself that I could catch a train up to London and just go to the party and come back.
My stomach rumbles.
I could go downstairs – but then, Auntie V’s out with the horses, which would leave me alone with Ollie.
As it gets light outside I look around the room. It’s all wrong, all the furniture’s in the wrong place. I’d like to move it around, but for starters I rearrange the wooden elephants on the mantelpiece so that they’re talking to each other. Somehow that’s better.
Dusting the window sill with my elbow I look down into the yard. There’s no policeman yet, but I must be safe. This place is like a castle. Walls as thick as a bunker’s. Only one way in, high windows. And outside, miles and miles of nothing. There’s nowhere to hide. I can see why Mum thought it would be good. It really is remote.
In the distance something moves against one of the walls.
Probably a sheep.
Sleet turns to snow and snow back to sleet and then it stops. My breath fogs the glass.
I’m feeling feary again, which is silly. It’s perfectly safe here.
Right now – the shop will be heaving with people picking up last-minute orders for Christmas. Mirrors for over the basin, rubber washers to mend the kitchen tap before the relations arrive, whole bathroom suites to be fitted overnight. Granddad’ll be running on caffeine, keeping it going like a ballet, Dad’ll be out delivering like crazy, and if she’s home, Mum’ll be on the phone listening to some really tedious story about three-way valves from a plumber in Lambeth.
With a sock I clean the condensation off my bedroom window. I’m staring up at the hill to where I saw the sheep, when a white police Land Rover edges slowly into the mud in front of the house, and two policemen get out.
They come to the door and knock and I hear voices below. One of the policemen gets back into the car and it slithers backwards up the track. The remaining policeman’s voice is clear and loud. Auntie V is quieter, but I gather that he gets offered a cup of tea and accepts.
This, I realise, is the most exciting thing that’s going to happen today.
I get dressed and use some facial wipes to get yesterday’s mud off my shoes. It’s not very effective, and they’re never going to look as good as they did, but I carry them downstairs to dry next to the stove thing.
There’s no one there so I investigate the kitchen cupboards. I discover that Auntie V has some really old cornflakes, and that the milk comes in bottles. I look at the bread – lumpy, brown and seedy – and decide I’ll pass on it. Instead, I boil myself an egg, which I eat standing up in the kitchen with the dogs snurfling around my elbows.
“How am I supposed to eat anything with you lot interfering all the time?” I say out loud, holding my spoon above my head with one hand and protecting my egg with the other.
“You can’t,” says a voice from the doorway.
Ollie.
“Hi,” I say. “I just wondered—”
“I don’t care,” he says, opening a cupboard and pulling out a bag of porridge oats. “Da de da de da – don’t tell me, I’m not very interested.”
He pours oats into a saucepan and sloshes milk over the top. Crashing the pan on to the stove top he chucks a spoon at the pan, missing, and sends it skittering over the side. The dogs leap to grab it and rush off fighting over it while Ollie swears under his breath. I stare. Appalled. No one, not even Tiggy Spence, has ever been that rude.
I open my mouth to say something but the front door opens and Auntie V comes in.
“Ah, Maya,” she says, dropping something that might be a saddle on the back of the sofa. “Great to see you together. Ollie’s bored up here, it’ll be good to have someone his own age for a while. I expect you two are going to get on like a house on fire.”
* * *
A house on fire is just about right.
“Could I go riding?” I ask later on, surprising myself.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Maya. Do you?” Auntie V looks up from an ancient looking recipe book and raises her eyebrows. “But I’ll ask our police guard, Sergeant Lewis.”
She goes out into the yard and Ollie throws himself on the floor and rolls around hooting with exaggerated laughter.
“What’s so funny?” I say.
“You – on a horse.” He pushes himself ac
ross the floor on his back. “Like you even can ride.”
“How d’you know I can’t?”
Auntie V swings back through the door. “The sergeant’s not sure. Why not have a bath, instead? It’ll make the day feel better. Up the stairs on the left.”
A bath?
I leave the room and traipse up the stairs thinking dark thoughts about Ollie and wondering if a bath is really going to make today any better. I poke my nose into the bathroom. It’s damp with black mould growing in the corners and it’s cold. Very, very cold.
I peer into the tub. “Ooohh!”
There’s a huge black spider sitting in the middle of the yellow-stained enamel. I can deal with most things, but not spiders.
“What is it?!” Auntie V comes running up the stairs.
“Spider,” I say, pointing.
Auntie V laughs. “Ollie,” she says. “Help your cousin with this spider, would you?”
“Why?”
“Because my hands are covered in flour and perhaps she doesn’t like them,” says Auntie V.
“Doesn’t like spiders,” echoes Ollie in a baby voice as he climbs the stairs. “Auntie V, I’m scared of Incy Wincy and I want you to take him away and make the bathroom all pink and fluffy cos I’m a princess and I come from princess land.”
“Ollie!” Auntie V snaps.
I retreat to my bedroom, listening to the clanking as Ollie presumably chases the spider out.
“Done,” he shouts. “Your Ladyship,” he adds, just loud enough for me to hear.
“Thank you,” I say coming out on to the landing.
“My pleasure,” he says, throwing something black at my hair which turns out to be a sock, but makes me jump all the same.
Chapter 13
I have a bath where the water goes cold in seconds, and as I emerge covered in goose pimples I hear hooves in the yard. They’ve gone riding.
So I rearrange the bedroom – I don’t care that it’s not my house. If I’m going to be stuck here with idiots like Ollie, I need to have a sanctuary. Dragging the bed, I stick it under the window and push the skanky chest of drawers to where I can’t see it on the other side of the door.
Murder In Midwinter Page 4
