by Claire Peate
If more defence were needed, I had got pretty hammered on the rosé while I was cooking. Seeing Cathy pressed into the comfy-looking chair drinking wine had put me in the mood for some, so I’d joined her drinking while I carried on cooking. The problem was that the Hen House came equipped with the most enormous half-bottle goblets that completely disguised how much you were drinking. By the time the meal was served I was very much the worse for wear. I was so smashed, in fact, that I thought my Shepherd’s Pie was actually delicious and even helped myself to a generous second portion while the others looked on in thinly disguised horror.
I didn’t know it at the time, how could I when I could barely focus, but being pissed so early in the evening was fundamental to the entire success of my weekend. Things would have turned out so differently if I had abstained from the bottle while cooking.
However, I was completely ignorant of this at the time, and was happy to tuck into my brown, mushy slop with vim and vigour, occasionally stabbing the table as my double vision played tricks on me and made me think my plate was bigger than it was.
Whether it was my Dull Life Crisis kicking in and making me overly-sensible, or whether it was the shock my body got from the food I’d exposed it to, but some time into the cheesecake I started to sober up rapidly and realised that any more rosé now would probably be a very bad idea. And so, as the others drank their way through several bottles of wine, I kept to the water and eventually they all caught up with me. After they’d eaten as much as they could bear to eat – and watched me devour three portions of what I believed to be a really delicious meal – we retired to the sofas and gazed at the fire crackling and fizzing in the grate.
“How do you feel?” Cathy sat beside me on the plump velvet sofa. She leant towards me and looked at me critically.
“Fine,” I said, taking a sip of water. “Full.”
“Here.” Laura came in from the kitchen and put a plastic washing-up bowl down beside me.
“I’m fine! Honestly, stop fretting, it was only a Shepherd’s Pie.”
“Yes, but what did you do to it to make it that bad?” Henna laughed. “I mean it was…”
Cathy’s phone beeped and we stopped talking. She ignored it, preferring to stare into the fire as if she hadn’t heard it. Henna watched her eagerly, sitting cross-legged on the edge of her armchair, fighting the urge to say something, in a journalistic frenzy to get to the bottom of the mysterious text messages.
It beeped again. Jumping up, Cathy grabbed the phone from her pocket and stomped out of the room. We watched as she left, pulling the door closed behind her, and listened to the tread of her feet on the stairs as she went up to her room.
“What is it all about? Does anyone know?” Henna bounded over to the wine and poured herself another goblet. “Louisa? Laura?”
“Yes please.” Louisa downed the remaining quarter-pint of wine from her goblet and thrust the empty glass in front of Henna. “God, I don’t know what’s got into Cathy. To be honest, I’m a bit pissed off that she’s all weepy because it’s my hen do and she should be here to have a nice time, not sitting teary-eyed holed up in her room all the time.” She accepted the full glass back from Henna and took a swig. “Oh, I don’t mean it. I’m sorry for her. It must be her boyfriend or something, maybe they’ve had a big old bust-up? Rach, you were with her in the kitchen this evening, did she say anything to you?”
I tentatively put my empty glass forward for Henna to fill. She looked at me critically but filled it anyway.
“Erm, well…” I’ve never been that good at lying. “I think it might be to do with her fiancé.”
“I knew it!” Louisa looked triumphant. “Shall I go and have a word with her? Get her to switch her phone off at least.”
“No. Best to leave her, I reckon,” I volunteered, “she’ll come down when she’s ready. Anyway, I brought a box of chocolates, shall I go and get them?”
I looked at Laura, who was obviously the one to ask. She nodded her permission and I dived into the kitchen, emerging a minute later with a gigantic box of chocolates.
“Oooh,” Louisa happily took them off me. “Good! I’m famished.” She ripped open the lid then looked up at me sheepishly. “Sorry, that was a bit unfair.”
“That’s OK.” I waved it away. “The dinner was crap. I accept that. It was all a ruse. I just didn’t want to cook any more this weekend.”
We passed round the box. “So what did James have to say about the stag weekend?” Henna asked as she siphoned off the majority of the soft-centres.
Louisa lined up a fistful of chocolates on the arm of her chair and set about choosing which one she’d have next. “Apparently they’re just having a quiet night in tonight like we are.”
Laura snorted.
“What?” Louisa frowned as she nibbled the crystallised ginger off a chocolate.
“You believe him?”
“Of course I do. I wouldn’t be marrying him if I didn’t trust him completely.”
Laura, Henna and I exchanged brief glances over the tops of our wine glasses.
“Well, that’s very noble of you.” Laura poured the rest of the bottle into her glass. “I didn’t think anyone trusted anyone these days.”
“You don’t know me and James then,” Louisa said happily.
“Lucky girl.” Laura gulped down her wine. “The only blokes I meet are the worn-down teachers I work with, who are so insecure I’d spend my evenings listening to their rantings, or the lads in the TA, most of who are married anyway.”
“Really?” Henna asked. “I thought people in the TA were all single. I thought weekends in the TA were like a big Club 18-30 but with guns.”
“Ha! No, there are lots of married men. And some married women.”
“But don’t their families mind them being away for the weekend?”
“Obviously not.” Laura shrugged. “Probably glad of the break and the extra money.”
Henna pondered, staring into the fire. “Can I talk to you about the TA some time? It might make an interesting article, you know, women in the firing line and all that.”
“Happy to help,” Laura grinned, “but you won’t want a photo, will you?”
“Not if you don’t want to. I can always use a library photo of a woman driving a tank towards certain death or something.”
“Sorry, guys.” Cathy crept back into the room and sank into her armchair by the fire. Here eyes were pink from crying.
“Are you OK?” I passed her a glass of wine.
She nodded, taking a deep breath in. “So, what were you talking about?”
“Henna’s going to make Laura a press hero,” I explained.
“Oh well, that’s nice.” Cathy gulped down the wine. “Have you saved someone’s life or something?”
“No. I’m just a woman in a man’s job.”
“Oh. Right.”
“I know someone you could write about.” I leant forward and helped myself to another chocolate from the table.
“Go on.” Henna wobbled over to get another bottle from the oak dresser.
“Her name’s Marcia and she’s the scrawniest, most self-obsessed, little cow I’ve ever met.”
“Sounds nice,” Louisa laughed. “I should have invited her this weekend.”
“I’m surprised she’s not invited herself here. She seems to be everywhere at the moment, invited or uninvited. But the thing about her is that she is the most active person I have ever met. Ever. Seriously she does all this amazing stuff.” I finished off the wine in my glass. “I would love to know whether she’s the weird one or it’s me. Because she spends her time paragliding and surfing and skiing and horse riding and…”
“We’re going horse riding,” Laura cut in.
“I know. And I’m glad, but she does it all the time. And more. Is that normal?”
“What, you mean to do all those activities?” Henna considered for a minute. “Has she ever bungee jumped?”
I searched my brain, trying t
o remember exactly what was on that long, long list of Marcia’s. “Yes! Twice. Once in New Zealand and once in Canada.”
“Thought so. What about white water rafting?”
“Yup.”
“Sky diving?”
I nodded.
“Sounds like an adrenaline junkie to me.” Laura grabbed the bottle off Henna and poured herself another glass. “I see it all the time in my line of work.”
“What, teaching in a primary school?” Louisa giggled.
“Seriously though,” Laura continued, “they just live for the next thrill and the more they have the less the feel. It’s tragic when you think about it. They go from one new thing to the next new thing and they’re never satisfied so they take more and more risks just to feel alive and then WHAM!” She slammed her hand down on the coffee table and Henna choked on her wine. “They end up spread across the tarmac of an airfield.”
“Fucking hell Laura, you didn’t have to fucking do that!”
Laura shrugged and turned back to me. “I think your friend should be pitied.”
“She’s not my friend. And I don’t pity her. She’s one of those people who spends all their time talking at you, like the best thing you could be doing with your time is to listen to her talk about herself. It’s so selfish.” I sat back, glad to have got it off my chest. “So you don’t think I’m weird for thinking she’s a bit overactive?”
“No way. She sounds a real piece of work. So why do you hang out with her so much?” Louisa asked blearily.
“I don’t mean to. She’s just sort of integrated herself into our group and no one seems to want to shake her off. I think they actually like listening to her.”
“You need a new set of friends, honey.” Louisa leant over and patted the sofa beside my leg. “Oh sorry, I meant to pat your knee.” She tried again and this time managed to connect.
I emptied the rest of the bottle into my wine goblet. “I’ll get another. Where are they, Laura?”
“Bottom of the pantry. Do you want me to give you a hand?”
“Oh come on! How much trouble could I get myself in to? I’ll be fine.”
I headed off.
7
I walked out of the sitting room, away from the warmth of the fire and the cosy glow of the lamps and into the hallway. It was noticeably colder out of the reach of the fire. And very dark. I scrabbled around in the gloom for the light switch, brushing my hand up the side of the doorway in methodical sweeps trying to find it. It was rather spooky all on my own after being so cosied up in the lounge with the others. My hand slid up the wall, higher and higher, before it connected with the switch. I froze. That split second before I flicked the light on, I heard a plaintive wail from outside. Didn’t I? In that moment of darkness, I could feel my heart thundering in my chest, my hands suddenly clammy. But the bulb flickered into life and a peal of laughter erupted from the lounge. Everything was normal again.
“Wine!” Henna’s voice commanded from the other room.
I paused, hand still on the switch. It was nothing. It must have been the wind in the woods or something. I hastily grabbed a bottle of wine from the pantry and flicked the light off again, heading back to the fireside and shivering despite myself.
Any unease I had melted the minute I saw the girls around the fire drinking and laughing. Louisa had reached her limit about half a wine goblet ago and was now telling whoever would listen about her fiancé James, who had very good career prospects.
“So what’s a very good career prospect, then?” I set the wine on the table and looked around for the corkscrew.
“Well, you know he’s in marketing,” Louisa began. I nodded. I was sure the corkscrew had been on the dresser the last time I looked. “He’s just moved from shampoo into the sanitary paper range and –”
“Sanitary paper?” Henna let out a peal of giggles. “You mean bog roll? James works in bog roll?”
“You can laugh.” Louisa looked slightly mortified. “But it’s actually big business.”
I snorted. “Big business?”
Even Cathy was laughing, quietly clutching her sides as she saw Louisa’s tight-lipped expression.
“I’ll have you know James is revolutionising the sanitary paper world, actually, and they’ve already promoted him in the three months since he took up the job.”
“Well, that’s … that’s really good.” I wiped the tears from my eyes. “Has anyone seen the corkscrew?”
“What’s the brand of sanitary paper, then?” Laura tried her best to bring order back to the conversation, despite having been the one to have laughed the loudest.
“He works for Mitcham Scolding,” Louisa said guardedly.
Henna thought for a moment before breaking into a grin. “Don’t they do that Absorb-O range? They do. Oh my God! Is he responsible for Absorb-O?”
“Yes actually and –”
Whatever she said was drowned out by our laughter. Laura fought the tears back but couldn’t stop them. “Absorb-O. It’s tough enough!” she quipped, the brand strapline from the adverts, mimicking the Australian accent. “Go put it to the test!”
“You’re just jealous.” Louisa was smiling now, taking it in as good a humour as could be expected when your fiancé works in toilet roll.
I checked the dresser and mantelpiece for the corkscrew. Where on earth was it?
“Change the subject!” Louisa banged her glass down. “Come on then. Cathy! You’ve been quiet all evening.” Cathy looked up, mortified. “You stand up and recite those first few paragraphs of Chaucer’s ‘The Nun’s Priest’s Tale’ in its original Middle English dialect. Go on – it’s amazing! How do you know how it sounded all those hundreds of years ago?”
“I … I can’t…”
“Yes you can!” Henna started a chant and we all joined in, “Chaucer! Chaucer! Chaucer!”
I stuck my hand up. “Before you start, can anyone tell me where the bloody corkscrew is, because I can’t find it anywhere.”
“Over there.” Laura pointed vaguely to the bay window. “I think Henna left it on the table by the window.”
“Ah, thank you.” I headed over.
Cathy went over to just beside the fire, clearing her throat. “In appreel, whann soft-e wass they son,” she began, spouting a completely meaningless string of words and staring straight in front of her in full lecture mode.
I opened the curtains and stepped into the cold and draughty bay. The corkscrew lay there on the table where Laura had said it would be. I picked it up and turned to go back when I was stopped in my tracks for the second time that evening. There it was again. A noise. Outside the window.
“Shh.” I turned to the girls who were staring open mouthed at Cathy. I glanced down at my watch – it was just after midnight. We weren’t expecting anyone else to arrive, were we?
I closed the enormous, red velvet curtains behind me to block out the light and stood in the cavernous, chilly space. I still couldn’t see anything outside. Not even the fluffy white coats of the sheep in the field below. It was pitch black. The kind of black that really gives city-dwellers the creeps. People like me. Creeped-out, I peered through the leaded panes. Nothing. We were completely alone with this infinite blackness. The sheep were still in the field; as I could hear them bleating, kicking up one hell of a fuss. Did sheep usually do that?
“Is that normal?” I whispered to Henna, who had come to join me in the bay.
“Is what normal? Ooh, have you uncorked the other Wolf Blass? Can I have some?”
“That noise the sheep are making. I don’t have a clue about sheep, but shouldn’t they sound a bit more placid than that? A bit more ‘baa-y’?”
“I dunno,” she slurred, knocking back a slug of wine. “Laura,” she yelled, sticking her head out of the curtains, “geddoverhere,” and our countryside representative staggered in to join us in the bay.
“What?” Laura said, after seeing us with our noses pressed against the leaded panes and laughing.
“Is that –” Henna gestured to the window “– the noise that sheep usually make?”
Laura listened for a moment.
“No.”
Henna and I stepped back from the window.
“Oh,” I said. “But it is sheep that are making that noise?”
“Oh yes. No doubt about it.”
“Well, why?” I asked, wishing I were a bit more savvy when it came to the countryside. There was a whole other world out there that I had no idea about. Maybe I should start to get to know it – venture out into suburbia and keep on going for a bit? Maybe that was my ticket out of my DLC – get to be a child of nature. Perhaps I should start by watching those wildlife programmes that are on the TV all the time, usually hosted by an overenthusiastic Bill Oddie.
“They’re scared,” Laura said after listening closely to the sheepy noises down below us. “There’s something out there that’s frightening them.”
Something out there. We all considered the words for a moment.
Something. Out there.
Frightening.
The curtains jerked violently aside and the three of us leapt up.
“Fucking FUCKING hell!” Henna threw a hand to her chest. “Don’t do that!”
“What’s up?” Louisa and Cathy had come over. Louisa was now drinking wine straight from the bottle, having bypassed the formality of a wine goblet completely. Henna wrestled the bottle off her and took a swig, swaying.
I closed the curtains behind us to block out what little light there was from the room. Now there was a crowd of us filling the bay window.
“This is cosy,” Louisa giggled. “So why are we all here again?”
“Rachel thought she heard something…” Henna began.
“Well, it’s bloody sheep, that’s what the noise is,” Louisa scoffed, “honestly, what a bloody townie. You don’t get out much, do you? You moved to Wales, you should know what a bloody sheep sounds like.”
