by Lisa Hall
I feel calmer now, as through the scrubbing action and acrid smell of the bleach has washed away my feelings of doubt and fear. Closing my eyes, I let the sun warm my cheeks, before I open them and look out onto the garden. There is thick woodland at the bottom of the garden, once you have crossed an expanse of green lawn, the grass thick and lush in most places before it thins in the shade of the trees. I need to remind Rav to mow it at the weekend, I think, my gaze drawn to the thick herb borders that line either side of the garden. There is a pond at the back of the lawn, not far from where the woods start, the water a murky green with reeds and water plants crowding the surface. Rav talked about filling it in when we first moved in, worried that it was unsafe for the children, but he hasn’t done it yet, despite my nagging. There is something about it that I don’t like, maybe just the idea of an open expanse of water, albeit small, where the children play. Whatever it is, I’ll tell Rav again this weekend. I’ll tell him it’s got to be filled in. The garden, and the woods beyond it are partly the reason why Rav wanted the house so desperately. Having grown up splitting his time between the Kent countryside and Colva Beach in Goa, Rav can’t bear to be kept indoors. When we met in Goa, Rav there with his elder brother and his parents, visiting his aunts and uncles, and me with Darron and Sue, two backpacker friends I’d picked up in Thailand and travelled on with, I’d been drawn to his infectious energy. The way the sunlight, the sand, the crashing waves as we sat in a shack on the beach eating hot, crispy prawns and oily, garlicky naan bread seemed to bring him to life. Later, when we were living together in a flat on the outskirts of Ebbsfleet with no outside space, I saw that energy fade as I watched him grow more and more weary and fed up, so I couldn’t turn him down when he brought me to view this cottage.
‘Al, just look at this garden. Think about Mina, and the new baby.’ He nudges me, and I smile even though there isn’t a new baby, not yet. We’ve only just started trying, not even three months ago. ‘You’re so close to work, it’s perfect. I don’t mind a bit of a longer commute, although really it isn’t going to be that much longer, and it’s not too far from my mum’s new house. She’ll be about to help with the kids.’
‘It’ll be a lot of work,’ I warn him, casting my eyes over the bushes, the unkempt lawn, the woods throwing dark shadows out across the bottom of the garden. I shiver slightly, as though someone has walked over my grave.
‘I’ll do it.’ Rav turns to me with pleading eyes. ‘It’s perfect, Allie. And look at the cottage – what’s not to love?’
I turn back to look at the house, Rav keeping an eye on Mina as she stumbles over the cracked slabs of the patio. She’s only just started walking and I want to tell him to scoop her up, that she’ll fall. The house is lovely, a four-hundred-year-old cottage, Grade II listed, with a solid oak front door and mullion windows. From the front, it is a perfect picture of country living – a Kent peg tiled roof sits above those beautiful windows, a slightly crooked chimney reaching up towards the sky. A tangle of pale pink roses – a symbol of friendship and love, or secrecy and confidentiality, depending on the occasion – with thorny green stems climb around the door, winding their way around the small, run-down porch. All secured behind an ancient-looking hedge, and a small, rickety, wrought-iron gate. The chimney needs re-pointing, the roses need pruning, and the porch needs to be knocked down completely, but Rav doesn’t see this. All he sees is the solid, old oak door, the beautiful windows, the chimney that means there is an open fire. I look up now at the back of the house, at the arched mullion window that looks out over the garden, sure that I saw movement there, but the window is dark, the only movement the reflection of the clouds that swoop briskly across the grey sky, and I tear my eyes away. I must have been mistaken.
Inside, the ceilings are low, crossed with sturdy dark oak beams, with a wide, open brick fireplace that Rav has already fallen head over heels for. The bedrooms are damp-free, thank goodness, but the time-worn wallpaper is peeling in soft, thick strips and despite being crammed full of original features, like the deep, claw-footed bathtub and the ancient butler sink, both the bathroom and kitchen have seen better days. The house hasn’t been lived in for a long time, and it shows. Everything needs a lick of paint, proper repairs to be done, and a good clean to scrub away the residual soot from the fireplace and the mould that creeps into the corners of the kitchen and bathroom. It’s liveable and with a bit of TLC it could be amazing. It is a beautiful house, there’s no doubt about it, but as I stand and stare at it, I can’t help but rub the tops of my arms as if cold.
‘Is it the ghosts?’ Rav puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me in close, as Mina sits on his opposite hip. ‘They do say Pluckley is one of the most haunted places in Britain.’
‘Oh, shut up!’ I nudge him, and he laughs before pressing his mouth to mine.
‘Just think about it, Allie. Away from the dirt and noise of the town, friendly village life, this amazing garden for the kids to grow up in. We can take our time doing it up, there’s no rush if it’s our forever home. And it’s a bargain.’ He pauses for a moment, the smile dropping from his face. ‘I can’t live there anymore, Al. All I think about is getting away from it all, so it’s here or back to Goa.’ Rav laughs to show he doesn’t mean it, but I know that a secret tiny part of him does.
I look back at the house, and let myself imagine it tidy and freshly painted, full of our things, our longed-for second baby lying in my arms, and I feel a fizz of excitement in my veins. Rav is right, this could be our forever home. ‘It looks like it’s Pluckley then.’
Now, I sip my water and look over the herb borders, one ear open for the baby monitor. The beds are full of sage, lavender and chamomile, mixing with the heady perfumes of roses and jasmine, clashing with the harsher scents of rosemary and mint, all tangled together with weeds. I should work on them, I think, I’m a florist. I can tame them and make the borders less bedraggled and sad-looking while I’m at home on maternity leave. It’s not fair to expect Rav to do it all, not with the hours he’s doing at work. There is a chirp from the baby monitor, and I take another mouthful of water before draining the rest of the glass into the herb bed. As I straighten up a flash of white catches the corner of my eye and I pause, half leant over the scraggly border. There is someone in the trees. I stand stock still, watching the dark shadows of the woods. The branches sway in the light breeze and I think for a moment I must have imagined it, when I see it again, a flash of white moving through the trees at a pace, a glimpse here and there before it vanishes and doesn’t reappear.
Shit. I swallow hard and on shaking legs turn and run into the kitchen, slamming the door behind me. A wail comes from the bedroom and I rush up the stairs to the baby, eager to have him safe in my arms. Why would someone be in the woods? The estate agent told us that technically the woods belong to whoever owns the cottage – a sign on the other side of the trees tells visitors it is private property – and as they are effectively in our garden, no one actually enters them, preferring to use the less dense woodland on the other side of the village. In the months since we moved in, I have never seen anyone in these woods – we are just that little bit too far out of the village. Our nearest neighbour is a quarter of a mile away, at the end of the village High Street, which is exactly what we were looking for when we bought the house. Peace and quiet. Only right now, it just feels isolated and lonely. I stop on the landing and stare out through the window, jiggling the baby as he fusses in my arms. I need to feed him, but I can’t relax, not until I know there is no one out there. Cautiously, I make my way downstairs and out through the back door, stopping to make sure my phone is in my pocket and to slide trainers onto my feet in place of flip flops.
‘Hello?’ My voice isn’t as strong as I would have liked as I approach the darkened area of grass where the trees cast their shadow. The weather has changed, and the air feels electric as there is a gust of wind and a thick cloud scuds across the sky, blotting the sun from view. Goosebumps rise on my bare
arms and I hold the baby closer. ‘Is anyone there?’ Nothing. No flash of white, no movement apart from the glossy, bottle-green leaves of the trees. I scan the woodland again, shifting the baby to my other arm, anxiety leaving a small lead ball in my belly. A crow shouts, a loud, harsh bark and I turn and hurry back to the house, sure I can feel eyes on the back of my neck.
Chapter Five
‘I’m not saying there was definitely someone there,’ I say irritably, as Rav and I sit in the living room, the television playing some mindless soap opera. For once, he has put his laptop away and the baby lies on Rav’s chest, his tiny body rising and falling with Rav’s breath.
‘You said you saw someone in the trees.’ Dark circles ring Rav’s eyes and his tone is short.
‘I said I saw something,’ I say firmly.
When Rav got home the first thing I did was tell him about the flash of white I saw streaking through the trees. I had spent the afternoon feeling unsettled and when Mina had asked to go outside, I had refused, locking the back door and making her cry. I had tried to tell myself that it was nothing, just someone out for a walk, but there was something sinister about it that left behind a rattling sense of dread. I can’t put my finger on whatever it is, but I still feel it now, a pregnant cloud of unease hanging over me.
‘It was probably just … a seagull or something.’ Rav stifles a yawn, before lowering his hand to cup the baby’s head. ‘And the wind. They’re saying there’s going to be a storm tonight.’
‘It wasn’t a seagull, Rav. It was too big to be a bird. I don’t know what it was, but it scared me.’ I press my fingers against my temples, where a headache thuds, dull and heavy. I don’t know if it’s from frustration at Rav or the thick, stormy air.
Rav reaches out awkwardly, careful not to wake the baby and entwines his fingers with mine. ‘I just think you’re overreacting a bit, Al. I can take a look out there if you want?’
I sigh. ‘No, it’s OK. Don’t worry. Whatever it was will be long gone by now.’ I hope. ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe it was just my imagination playing tricks on me. I’m sure it’s probably nothing.’ I’m not, not entirely, but I don’t want to talk about it anymore, don’t want to keep thinking about it. ‘Do you mind if I go up?’
‘No, of course not. You go, I’ll bring him up when he wakes.’
A loud rumbling yanks me from sleep, my heart crashing in my chest as I wonder what it is that has woken me so abruptly, before realizing it is thunder. The bedroom fills with a flash of bright white as lightning streaks across the sky, and I glance towards the cot where the baby is starting to stir. Rav mumbles next to me, reaching out in his sleep to brush his hand over my hip and I feel horrid for being so snappy and irritable with him earlier. His dark hair is mussed up where he has tossed and turned, and I can see Mina in his sleeping face. The baby lets out a short cry, and I slide from the bed, leaning over the cot to pick him up.
Maybe Rav was right, I think, as the baby starts to feed. Maybe it was just a bird, or a small animal, perhaps. Maybe I was seeing things. I am tired, more exhausted than I remember feeling with Mina. Perhaps it was just the storm making me feel unsettled; don’t people say the weather can have a huge effect on emotions? Goosebumps rise on my arms as I think of the way the white flash moved through the trees and I shake the image away, telling myself again that Rav was right, that it is nothing out of the ordinary, nothing sinister, just a bird. My mind wanders back to the keys, the way they were tied to the stone, the feather carefully attached. I don’t think it is some form of old keyring, despite what Rav says. There was something about them that feels different, odd. As if sensing the tension that floods through me, the baby unlatches with a tiny sigh and I gently place him back in the cot, laying one hand lightly on his stomach as he fusses for a moment before dropping off to sleep.
‘Such a good baby,’ I whisper, and my eyes fill inexplicably with tears.
‘You OK this morning?’ Rav asks over the breakfast table. He gulps from his coffee, slams his cup down. ‘I thought I heard you wandering around last night, but Leo was in the cot.’
‘Just a bit restless.’ I smile, handing Mina some toast and a plastic beaker of orange juice. ‘The storm woke me, and I couldn’t get back to sleep.’ I don’t tell him that once I put the baby back in the cot, I stood at the landing window, letting the cold draught there chill me until I could barely feel my fingers, watching over the woods just in case. Just to make certain.
‘Are you sure?’ He runs his eyes over my face, and I feel as if I am under a microscope. I don’t blink, waiting for him to look away first.
‘I’m fine. I’ll sleep later while Mina is at school.’
‘I’m not going to school,’ Mina announces cheerily.
‘Yes, you are,’ I say, ‘how else will you learn all the exciting things you’re going to come home and tell me about?’
‘Avó said she didn’t used to go to school.’ Mina’s face screws up, her mouth scrunched into a pout, and I glance at Rav and raise my eyebrows.
‘That’s because Avó had to stay home and feed all the pigs and chickens. Is that what you want?’ Rav scoops her up into his arms and throws her over his shoulder, fireman’s lift style as she shrieks and giggles. I shoot him a grateful look as he marches her upstairs and feel a pang of love shoot through me. Everyone said we wouldn’t last, that I didn’t know him when I married him. Which was true to some extent – after all, we had met on a beach by the Indian Ocean, in a place that felt magical. Within three months of being home, I was living in his tiny cramped flat in Ebbsfleet, and we had discovered we were about to have a baby. One hastily arranged marriage later, much to his mother’s horror and many of my mother’s Gallic shrugs, we were married in the Archbishop’s Palace, our union sealed, a true whirlwind romance.
Thirty minutes later, Mina is ready for preschool, and I remember today to make sure she is wearing plimsolls. Rav is at the door as I hustle the baby into the pram, his fingers tapping at the screen of his phone.
‘You’re late leaving this morning.’
Rav looks up in surprise, although how he couldn’t have noticed us all piling into the narrow hallway, I have no idea. He slides his phone quickly into his pocket, something like guilt crawling across his face.
‘Rav? Everything OK?’
‘Yes, fine. All fine.’ He fusses over the pram, leaning in to kiss the baby on the head, almost as though he doesn’t want to make eye contact with me.
‘Sure? Who was that you were texting?’
‘Oh, no one. Just … just Gareth. He has to take Robbie for a college interview, so he’ll be in the office late. I have to go.’ He reaches behind me for his jacket. Even though the storm has passed and left a shiny, new day, the pavements still glittering with rainwater as the sun creeps its way up a clear, blue sky.
‘Oh. OK.’ Maybe I was imagining the look that crossed Rav’s face as he stuffed his phone away.
‘I’ll see you later, I won’t be late.’ I don’t respond. He’s said that so many times recently and then failed to follow through on it that I don’t believe him for a second. I watch him hurry down the path, before turning back to get the baby. My eye catches my reflection in the mirror and I suppress a smile, still feeling that tickle of love for it, spotted glass and all.
‘Come on you,’ I say to Mina, taking her tiny chubby hand in mine as we walk out of the gate and onto the main road into the village. We haven’t got far when ahead of us someone waves, and as we get closer, I see that Tara is waiting on the corner for us, with the baby and her eldest, a boy whose name I can’t remember. Mina starts to race ahead to catch up with them and I shove away the exhaustion that seeps into my bones, pushing a little speed into my stride.
‘Allie! How are you this morning? You look great.’ Tara leans in to kiss me on my cheek and I resist the urge to pull away.
‘Really?’ Last time I looked in the mirror I wouldn’t have said I looked great. Fat, tired, with dark circles around my eye
s and if my hair wasn’t so blonde, at least an inch of grey roots.
‘Really. It suits you, how you’ve let your hair grow out.’ I lift my hand to my head, smoothing down my hair as I wonder how to respond, but she is already talking again. ‘How is this little chap? Sorry, I’ve forgotten his name. Baby brain sticks even after they’re born, you know.’ Her cheeks flush and realizing I never told her his name, I open my mouth, but the word sticks in my throat for a moment.
‘Leo,’ Mina shouts. ‘His name is Leo, Leo, Leo the Lion.’ She twirls on the spot, making her summer skirt whoosh out around her in a circle. Tara turns to start the short walk to the preschool, and I realize that she was waiting so we could all walk together.
‘So,’ she says as Mina and her boy, James, walk ahead, holding hands. ‘You still on for the baby and toddler group? It’s on Friday so a nice way to end the week.’
‘Mina still has preschool on Friday.’
‘That’s fine. Just bring the baby. We have coffee and biscuits and complain about how tired we are.’ She laughs, seemingly unbothered but there is a hint of a rough edge to it. ‘Then usually, Karen and I go back to either her house or mine and we have lunch. A glass of wine, before the babies came but you know, maybe later. After the summer, once I’ve started weaning.’
Her words create a slight panicky feeling low in my stomach. I quite like the idea of going to a baby group, or meeting some of the other mums, but I still have so much to do at the house. All those boxes in the attic to unpack. The garden to sort out. The thought of it makes me feel anxious and I don’t know why. I glance discreetly into her designer pram, where baby Rufus sleeps soundly snuggled under his blue blanket. The blue blanket.
