The Woman in the Woods

by Lisa Hall

  Idiot. I whisper it under my breath, as I spot something poking from between the boards where the mirror was stood. Rav calls up to me that he is going to grab some water, something about dust in his throat, so I slip silently over the dusty floor to look closer. The tip of a white feather emerges from the crack in the floorboards and I crouch down to pick it up. It was just a bird, that’s what disturbed the air. I scan the beams but it’s too dark to see if a bird is trapped up here. My fingers pull at the tip, fumbling at the slick fibres. A white feather. Isn’t a white feather good luck? Or spiritual? Something like that anyway. I try to remove it, but something prevents it from sliding out. Something that feels heavier than a feather should.

  ‘Al? Are you ready?’ Rav’s voice wafts up from the landing below. ‘I really need to get on with some work so can we get this done if you want it down here?’

  ‘Coming,’ I call back, letting the feather fall back down between the cracks until just the tip is showing. Together we manage to manoeuvre the mirror out through the hatch to the attic, down the stairs and into the hallway without dropping it or arguing. Rav props it against the wall, but there are two fixings in the middle of the wall, in the exact space where I pictured the mirror hanging.

  ‘Wait, Rav, can you just help me hang it on these hooks?’ We take a side each and get the grimy, age-spotted mirror hung. ‘Thank you.’ I blow Rav a kiss as he hurries away to the kitchen to grab his laptop and briefcase, his mind already back on work. I stand back and survey the mirror. It looks perfect, almost as if that was where it was meant to hang.

  We eat dinner in the living room, Rav surrounded by papers, his hair sticking up on one side where he keeps running his hands through it. I know better than to ask if he is OK, if there is anything I can do, and instead I eat in silence, my thoughts going back to the feather in the attic, wondering what it was that stopped it from being pulled out completely.

  ‘Al? Allie?’ Rav’s voice snaps into my thoughts and I lower my fork to my half-eaten dinner. ‘The baby. He’s crying, didn’t you hear him?’

  I look to the baby monitor, where red arcs across the buttons and then I register the thin wail coming from upstairs. ‘Sorry,’ I say, ‘I was miles away. He probably needs feeding.’ But Rav doesn’t respond, already lost in legalese. I run upstairs to where the baby shouts in the cot, his tiny face growing red and sweaty and I scoop him close to me, latching him on before I’ve even sat in the nursing chair. ‘Shhhh,’ I soothe him, running my finger over the tiny dome of his bald head as he suckles greedily. I close my eyes, just enjoying the weight of him in my arms, when a thin breeze wraps its way around my ankles, and I remember the loft hatch. It’s still open. Rav was so eager to get back to his laptop that neither of us thought to close it. I let the baby finish feeding, change him, and tuck him back into the cot before heading out onto the landing and stepping onto the ladder.

  The attic space is a little cooler now, and I half wish I had worn a cardigan as I crouch on the floor beside the tip of the feather. I’m not sure why it seems important to find out why the feather won’t just slide out, but as I tug at it again, I meet the same resistance. Something thunks against the underside of the floorboard, the feather stopping dead. Shining the flashlight of my phone onto the feather, I see there is what looks like a piece of string tied around the bottom of it.

  Curiouser and curiouser. A beat of excitement pulses through me and I scrabble for the edge of the floorboard. When we moved in, I hoped that we would find something hidden away somewhere, a little piece of the past, and maybe this is it. Or maybe it’s just a feather and some string, a bit of old rubbish that slipped down between the floorboards. My fingernails bend back slightly as I tug the loose board away, almost losing the feather in the gap as it slips free, driving a splinter into my forefinger.

  ‘Shit,’ I whisper under my breath, raising my finger to my mouth. I taste blood, wrinkling my nose as I swallow. Sliding my other hand into the gap I pull out a tangle of string. Attached on one end is the feather and at the other is a stone with a hole in the middle, carefully tied to the bottom. Hag stone. The words feel familiar as they rise to my lips, as if I have heard them many times before. In between the hag stone and the feather sit two iron keys, spotted with rust. I turn them over in my hands, the keys leaving orange smudges on my fingers, the tang of metal in the air.

  ‘Allie? Are you up there?’ Rav calls and I slide the floorboard back into place, tiptoeing across the attic to the hatch.

  ‘Yes. I’m coming down now.’ I make my way down the ladder, careful not to slip, the keys in my hand, as blood snakes its way down my finger from the splinter.

  ‘What did you do? You’re bleeding.’ Rav takes my hand but I shake him off.

  ‘Just a splinter.’ I hold out the keys. ‘Look, I found this under the floorboards. It was poking out from where the mirror was. What do you think it is?’

  Rav takes it, his nose wrinkling a little in distaste. ‘God knows. It looks like … well it just looks like some old keys.’

  ‘What about the stone?’

  ‘It’s probably just a souvenir someone picked up on the beach and used as a keyring.’ Rav tosses them up in the air and catches them in one fist. ‘We have keys to all the doors here, so they can’t be anything to do with the house. They’re just a bit of old junk, Al, nothing exciting.’

  ‘Do you think?’ I feel doubtful, but I don’t know why. Maybe I just really wanted to find something exciting.

  ‘Yes, I do. Isn’t the mirror enough of a find for one day?’ Rav yawns, not bothering to cover his mouth. ‘I’m going to bed; I’ve got a long day tomorrow. Are you coming?’

  I nod, following him into the bedroom where he throws the keys onto the chest of drawers and then heads back out into the bathroom to brush his teeth. I wait my turn, then slide into bed beside him, the covers already pulled up around his chin and his eyes tightly closed. I wait a moment, sure by his breathing that he’s not yet asleep.

  ‘Rav, those keys …’

  ‘Allie, they’re junk,’ he says, his voice muffled by the duvet. ‘Come on, babe, get some sleep before Leo wakes up again. Love you.’

  I settle back into the pillow and close my eyes, hoping I can sleep before the baby wants another feed. When I do sleep, I dream I am in the attic, tucking the feathered keys into the floorboard as I mutter to myself, the stone warm against my skin as breath whispers at the back of my neck.

  Chapter Four

  Naomi appears as I finish making Mina’s lunch, tapping lightly on the front door so as not to wake the baby.

  ‘Hey!’ She slips into the hallway and takes off her cardigan and shoes before handing me a tiny hand-tied bunch of alstroemeria – symbol of devotion and friendship – fronds of dark fern woven in between the stems. ‘I brought you these. Ooh, nice mirror.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I smile, a genuine smile for the first time today, as I accept the flowers. I am tired and out of sorts, after another restless night. I dreamed of the attic, and then again of my feet on the stairs, the weight of a pillow in my hands. ‘Can you believe I found it in the attic?’ I have spent the morning while Mina is at nursery scrubbing the mirror, using an old toothbrush to get into the grooves of the carving. The glass is still spotted with age, but it looks perfect hanging on the hallway wall.

  ‘What a find. Did you clean it all up?’ Naomi says as I nod. ‘You look tired. How is Leo sleeping?’

  ‘OK, I guess. Feeding every couple of hours or so.’ With that I stifle a yawn. ‘God, sorry. To be honest it wasn’t the baby that kept me up all night last night.’ My heart bangs a double thump in my chest at the thought of vocalizing the dream, the image of myself creeping up the stairs, the way it made me feel.

  ‘Really? Not Mina?’ Naomi strokes a hand over Mina’s dark head as she sits at the table, crumbling breadsticks onto her plate, a small stick of cheddar in one chubby fist.

  ‘No, not Mina.’ I incline my head towards Mina, letting Naomi know I’ll tel
l her when she is finished eating and out of earshot. ‘Are you done, sweetie?’ I lean down and wipe Mina’s hands and face with a baby wipe and she shoots out of her chair and into the sitting room, and we hear the television go on.

  ‘CBeebies.’ Naomi rolls her eyes and I feel a twinge of guilt before I shake it off. It won’t hurt to let Mina watch telly for half an hour while I get things off my chest. ‘So, why didn’t you sleep?’

  ‘I had a bad dream,’ I say, not meeting her eyes, ‘only it didn’t feel like a dream. Did you ever have a dream so vivid that it felt real? So real that it was more like … a memory.’

  ‘Vivid dreams, yeah. But so real as to be a memory … can’t say that I have.’ Naomi frowns. ‘The baby is only a few weeks old, Al. Your hormones are all over the place. Do you want to tell me about it?’

  I shake my head, not wanting to go through it all again. In the excitement of finding the mirror, I had pushed it out of my head, and I don’t want to think about it now. ‘I just worry I suppose … It felt so real, as if I was really there, and I woke up wondering what on earth I had done.’ Only I hadn’t woken up the night before, had I? Rav had told me that my eyes were open, that I was awake. ‘You’re right, it’s probably just hormones racing around, you know how it is.’ Immediately I want to bite my tongue. Because Naomi doesn’t know how it is. That’s part of the reason why she and Jason separated. Naomi can’t have children, and after several miscarriages, and then complications, which led to the doctors telling Naomi children would never be possible, Jason left her.

  Naomi says nothing for a moment, and I open my mouth to apologize but she speaks before I can say anything. ‘I think maybe you’re overtired. Shall I take Leo for a bit and you go and have a lie down?’

  ‘I’ll be fine, honestly. You don’t need to …’ I protest, but Naomi is already leaning over where the baby sleeps. She gently lifts him from the Moses basket in the corner of the kitchen and tucks him into the crook of her arm, murmuring softly under her breath. I let her take him, guilty relief washing over me and head up the stairs to the bedroom.

  Jolting awake with a gasp, my eyes go to my phone on the bedside table and I lift it, lighting the screen. Four o’clock. I’ve been asleep for almost three hours. I strain my ears but can’t hear either of the children, just the muted sounds of the television. Shit. I push my way out of the duvet, getting to my feet so quickly that for a moment I feel dizzy, light-headed, and I have to take a deep breath, holding on to the bedside table.

  ‘Mina? Naomi?’ I call out softly, anxious that the baby will be asleep and my shouts will wake him. There is no response, so I run down the stairs, suddenly sure that I will get downstairs and the house will be empty, the children will be gone. As my feet thud on the stair risers, an image appears in my mind of a chair overturned, cups and plates left covered in crumbs and remnants of tea on the table, the back door swinging open in the breeze. A domestic Marie Celeste. A chilly breeze strokes my legs with icy fingers as I step off the bottom stair, and I peer into the sitting room. The room is empty, Mina’s toys scattered across the floor, the television playing to itself.

  ‘Naomi?’ I call again, and swivel on my heel as a clatter comes from the kitchen. I trip over Rav’s trainers left lying in the hallway as I fly along the passageway to the kitchen, the ancient quarry tiles slippery and cool beneath my bare feet. As I reach the kitchen door I slow, one hand pressed against my chest.

  ‘God, Allie, are you all right? What’s wrong?’ Naomi sits at the kitchen table, her mouth a perfect O of shock, as the baby still snoozes contentedly in her arms and Mina draws a picture using a packet of fresh, unbroken crayons that Naomi must have brought with her.

  ‘I thought …’ I let out a wheeze that could be mistaken for laughter. ‘I thought you were gone. I woke up and looked at the clock and I’d been asleep for ages. I couldn’t hear anyone …’ I enter the room fully, stooping to kiss Mina on the head, wanting to pull her close and squeeze her tightly. Almost as if the sound of my voice has reminded him that he hasn’t fed for hours, the baby stirs and makes a mewling cry and I feel a tingle as my milk comes in.

  ‘Let me take him,’ I say, as Naomi fusses with him, trying to calm him. ‘He needs feeding.’

  ‘Oh, of course he does,’ Naomi says in a baby voice, but to the baby, not me, and she hands him over. His face is hot and crumpled from being pressed against her arm. ‘Here, Leo, go to your mum.’

  I take him, his tiny Babygro feeling damp against my skin where he has got hot in Naomi’s arms. I expect her to pick up her bag, eager to get back to the shop but she settles back into the chair opposite, watching me. ‘Sorry I slept for so long. I must have needed it. If you have to head off, I understand, you were only supposed to pop in for an hour.’

  Naomi shakes her head and her mouth turns down in what is a now familiar gesture. ‘No, no. Nothing to rush back for.’ She pushes a huff of air out from between her lips, a sad attempt at a laugh.

  ‘Oh, Naomi.’ Leaning forward I reach for her hand. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so selfish. I just dumped the kids on you and didn’t even ask how you were.’

  ‘Pah.’ Naomi shakes her head. ‘It’s fine. I’m fine.’ But her eyes fill with tears and she blinks them away rapidly, so I pretend I haven’t noticed. Naomi used to laugh all the time, one of those girls who was always fun, upbeat, always knew the right thing to say to make others feel better. Until Jason broke her heart.

  ‘Have you heard from him?’ I ask gently. It’s been almost a year, but Naomi hasn’t met anyone else, hasn’t moved on at all.

  ‘Nothing,’ Naomi replies, ‘although … I did see on Facebook that Tracy is expecting.’ Her face crumples slightly and I shift out of the chair, reaching forward to hug her.

  ‘The bastard,’ I say, letting her lean against me even though it is awkward to hold the baby and comfort her at the same time. Jason left Naomi for Tracy, after Naomi discovered she couldn’t conceive, and then it was my turn to be there for Naomi. To listen as she vented, to mop up her tears, to make sure she was eating enough to soak up the wine we drank together, and then to make sure she didn’t text him while she was drunk. Now every time I think Naomi is managing to get herself together, something else happens to knock her back.

  ‘No, he’s not.’ Naomi sits up and wipes her eyes on the sleeve of her cardigan. ‘He’s moving on, it’s me that needs to sort myself out. Why am I even bothered? I have you and Rav and the kids … I don’t need him. Let’s not talk about it anymore.’ She blinks again, sliding a finger under one eye to catch an errant tear.

  The baby shouts a shrill, brief cry and I sink back into the chair and pull up my top. ‘He’s the one who missed out. The right guy is out there for you, we just need to find him. Did you try that new dating website Rav mentioned?’

  ‘Ugh, not yet. I can’t face it. I just want what you guys have – is that too much to ask for?’

  ‘What – no sleep, Rav farting next to you all night and Avó telling you regularly how you’re doing everything wrong?’

  ‘Exactly that.’ Naomi laughs, but her face is pinched, her smile not meeting her eyes. ‘I should probably leave you to it. Do you need anything before I go? What time are you expecting Rav home?’

  ‘Oh, who knows?’ I say, as the baby begins to feed hungrily. ‘He’s said every night this week that he’ll try and be back for Mina’s bath, but he hasn’t.’

  I half hope that she’s going to offer to stay until Rav arrives home but then she says, ‘I better get off.’ Naomi flicks her wrist to check her watch. ‘Are you feeling a bit better now?’

  ‘Much.’ I smile at her gratefully, and I do feel better, a little less fuzzy anyway. Maybe all I needed was to catch up on some sleep. ‘Thank you for watching the children.’

  ‘I can come again tomorrow, if you like?’ Naomi reaches out a hand and smooths the baby’s head as he feeds. ‘He was an angel. They both were.’

  ‘Oh no, it’s fine, honestly. You must be busy at the sh
op. All those weddings coming up. I wish I was there to help you.’

  ‘It’s not so bad.’ Naomi gives me a quick grin, which tells me it probably is. ‘If you don’t want me to come over, then give me a call if you need anything or you change your mind, OK?’

  ‘Yes, of course, but I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.’

  And I am fine. I don’t dream that night, and even after getting up four times with the baby, when Rav goes off to work the next morning, dropping a kiss on my cheek, I feel positive. It’s not until I have dropped Mina at preschool and returned to the house that my doubts start to creep in.

  I feed the baby, finally starting to feel as though I am getting used to having him attached to me at all hours of the day. He goes down for a nap and I sneak downstairs, wondering for a brief moment if he sleeps too much. Should he spend so much time asleep? Do I remember Mina sleeping this much? Worry gnaws at my gut, and at the bottom of the stairs, when I pause and turn to look back up towards the landing, I am swamped by a feeling of déjà vu. The image of the moonlight puddled across the landing fills my mind and my heart starts to knock hard against my ribcage. There is that claustrophobic feeling again that something awful has happened, something dark and overwhelming. I feel grubby, as if the dream has left some kind of dirty, oily stain on my skin that I can’t scrub out, and I have the urge to wash my hands, to scrub them until my nail beds are sore and my knuckles bleed.

  Feeling shaky and sick I walk into the kitchen, reaching under the cracked, old butler sink for a clean cloth and a bottle of bleach, directing the urge at the house instead of my skin. I’ll clean until I stop thinking about it. I scrub at the sink, the draining board, the work surfaces, even thinking about wiping over the old horsehair plaster walls, the only thing stopping me is the fear of the plaster coming away completely. I finally stop when sweat beads my temples and my throat is scratchy and dry with thirst. Taking a moment, I pour myself a glass of cold water from the tap, letting it run for a few minutes to make sure it is as cold as possible. It is unseasonably warm for May so making sure the baby monitor is at full volume, I open the back door and, clutching my glass, step out into the sunshine.