‘Seriously Seph, you don’t know how lucky you are living somewhere like this,’ Beth remarks, like she’s the one missing out on something. I feel a bit annoyed at her, but at the same time I’m intrigued by what seems to have caught her interest and her enthusiasm.
We chat for a bit more over our tea and coffee, and it’s clear that what she sees are stone walls and floors, a roaring fire, interesting objects and pictures, and a sense of place and history.
I see the past disappearing behind me at a pace I can’t cope with. Decay. Damp. The threat of something lurking somewhere, though I don’t know where, or what it is.
Glad when the drinks and the chat about this place is done, I suggest that it’s time we make a start, and so we both move upstairs and settle into it.
We’re both quite focused, eager to get the work done so that we can get out and enjoy the rest of the day, with that wonderful feeling of having completed something that is no longer hanging like a millstone around our necks.
Still, Beth can’t help but be distracted by the items scattered around my room, and asks questions about them, as well as the view from my bedroom window.
‘What are those buildings for?’ she asks, pointing towards the barns to the right of my window.
‘Dunno really.’ She doesn’t register my disinterest, or more to the point, chooses to ignore it.
‘Don’t you ever go out there?’
‘No – not since we’ve been here,’ I tell her.
She turns to me, stunned. ‘Are you serious?’ she can hardly believe it.
‘No – I’ve never looked – they’re just old barns. I s’pose they were used for the animals or for storage.’
Like I know anything about bloody farms.
‘That small building over there at the side we use for storing the firewood, I use that obviously.’
She looks back out at the barns in the field. They stand at right angles to each other. One is in better condition than the other, more or less fully intact, with a roof and wooden doors that close and lock. The other is in a greater state of decay, having no roof, and green netting that I assume is there to stop any loose stone and rubble falling down onto someone.
‘Gabe uses the one with the roof on mostly, stores some stuff in there I think. That’s where he spends most of his time when he’s here.’
Her interest seems to have been pricked further when I mention his name, and instantly I regret it. ‘Oh, how often does he come back?’
‘Every few weeks I s’pose. Do we need to cover themes and motifs more in-depth do you think?’ I try to kill it – dead – but she’s having none of it.
‘I’ve never really met him – just seen him out and about every now and again. He’s quite fit.’
‘Oh my god, I can’t believe you, don’t even go there!’
She laughs, and then, to my complete relief, comes back to the conversation that we should be having about our work. The last thing I want to talk about today is Gabriel.
By 12.45pm we are finished. We pack our work and our books away neatly. ‘You can leave your stuff here if you like, I’ll bring it in Monday.’
‘Good, idea, save me carrying it around all day.’
‘Come on, let’s get something to eat before we go – we’ll be starving otherwise.’
‘You sound like me – where’s your appetite come from.’
‘I can’t stop eating at the moment, it must be the cold.’ My nausea has passed, leaving a massive hole where some food should be. I also feel the excitement of spending the afternoon with my friends.
We stomp down the stairs, where my mum’s still on the sofa, on her tablet. ‘Did you get a signal?’ I ask expectantly.
‘No, still trying – I’ll have to speak to someone about this – there must be a solution somewhere. Can’t really be without the internet these days, can you?’
‘No,’ Beth and I say in unison, making mum laugh.
‘You know in my day-’ she starts to play with us.
‘Yeah-yeah, what can we have to eat before we go out?’
‘I’ve just put the soup from the fridge on the stove, it should be hot enough soon.’
‘Nice one – ok with you?’ I check with Beth.
‘Yeah great,’ she says, settling into my usual spot at the fire while I go through to the kitchen.
‘Do you want some Mum?’ I call to her.
‘I’ll have mine later when I get back,’ she replies, so I get two bowls out, give the soup a quick stir and serve some up, along with a few chunks of bread, then take them to the table. We shovel it in, our hunger and eagerness to get out for the afternoon driving us on.
I ask Beth if she wants some more, which of course she does, and so I have some too, before making another coffee for us. We down this quickly, then get our things together. Beth checks her face and applies a slick of her lipstick, while I pull a brush through my hair, fluff it about a bit, throw on some tinted lipbalm, and grab our coats.
The car isn’t in too bad of a state. Mum’s had a good go at it in the last couple of weeks, in an effort to get it in a decent way for the winter months. Gabe has also had a good look at it under the bonnet, and given it the all clear. Given this, I actually consider taking Mum up on her offer of getting insured and using it. I picture myself behind the wheel, escaping out on the road, alone.
We drive through the lanes and then through the village. The fields are still dusted with snow, while the surrounding hills and mountains beyond show a thick covering at their summit. In the fields sheep carry on regardless, heads down, searching for something to graze on.
The roads are clear, but wet and slushy, with brown deposits building where the once-white snow and the mud and dirt have mixed together as the cars have ploughed through. It takes about fifteen minutes to get out onto the main road, and then onto the bypass that links most of the villages and towns in this, and the surrounding valleys, for miles around. Not far then to the retail park, that has been placed at the side of the road not too far away from one of the larger towns in the area.
I notice the sense of freedom that comes from being outside of the village, on the open road, similar to how it used to be to get away from the city, with all of its noise and bustle. The road stretches and winds, moves uphill and downhill, and moves through changing landscapes.
There are steep hills, with rows of terraced houses threaded along them, which change into larger hills with thick dense forest. The trees are covered with snow. The sky is white, and a frost hangs over everything like a spell. I find myself mesmerised.
There is a comfortable silence in the car as we drive, Beth and I taking in the scenery, and Mum concentrating on the road, as well as trying her best to enjoy the surroundings.
‘Should’ve brought my camera out today,’ Beth says wistfully gazing out of the window, as if talking to herself.
‘It’s lovely isn’t it?’ Mum appreciates where she’s coming from. Even I get it today.
We pass various small towns, villages and forest paths which are signposted along the way, and cross numerous roundabouts until the huge sign and the retail units can be seen on the right-hand side. Mum turns right at the roundabout, and we queue for a minute or two to get in. Eventually she finds a space to pull over.
‘Thanks Mum.’ I grab my bag.
‘Thanks for the lift – and for lunch’
‘You’re more than welcome love – now are you sure about getting home?’
‘Definitely – my dad’ll be here.’
‘Ok, well you girls enjoy yourselves, and keep an eye on the weather.’
‘We will,’ I say, and we both step back out into the cold, our breath turning to mist in the ether. As we do I hear the message tone on my phone go off, one after another, as all of my messages come through now that I must have a signal. I don’t bother to check them. I’ll do it later.
Beth checks her phone to see if Lowri has been in touch. We’re ten minutes early. As she does, I look around
and see her waiting outside the cinema. She’s wearing a hat, but I’m sure it’s her.
‘Isn’t that Lowri?’ I say squinting.
‘Oh yeah, well spotted.’
She’s standing blowing into her hands, even though they have gloves on. The cold has pinched at the fair skin of her cheeks, making them pink, which along with her soft make-up and dark-blonde hair add to her natural beauty. She peeks out from underneath her faux fur hat with its ear flaps and bobbles that hang from them.
‘Hi guys,’ she hugs each of us in turn.
‘You haven’t been waiting for too long have you?’ I ask with concern.
‘No, I just got here – I dunno how much longer I could have waited outside though!’
‘What are we gonna see?’ Beth asks, full of anticipation. We look up at the boards and deliberate over the choices, eventually settling on a psychological thriller.
It doesn’t start for another forty-five minutes, so we decide to go in and buy our tickets, then go over to the coffee shop to fill the time. It’s packed, with busy shoppers stopping for some respite from their Christmas shopping, and the cold.
As with the other shops and the surrounding walkways, decorations hang from the ceilings, Christmas slogans stick to the windows, and lights twinkle from everywhere. Large adverts for Christmas drinks and snacks, and the smell of festive spices nudge at our senses.
A family gets up from the brown slouchy sofa in the window and I dive in there like a shot. Beth jumps in next to me, while Lowri clears their mess away, placing it on the small side-table in the corner. Then she plonks herself down on the smaller sofa opposite us.
I’ve already decided I’m having the Christmas ginger and cinnamon hot chocolate with whipped cream. The others can’t resist – we’re all having them. We unwrap our scarves, take off our gloves and hats and then they give me the money so I can go up to the counter to order, waiting longer than I wanted to, but returning eventually with them on a tray that I place on the low coffee table in between the two sofas.
We slouch on the furniture, with our feet up, picking our way through the whipped cream and ginger-nut pieces, chatting about what’s been going on, how we got our work done, and whether or not we’re going to get snowed in.
I feel myself relax, get wrapped up in the moment, in the warm coffee shop with its festive feel, the comfortable furniture, and the company of Lowri and Beth. It almost feels like old times. I feel slightly guilty. I get around to talking about Evan and our little exchange last night.
‘Well, I might as well tell you – cos you’ll probably find out on Monday anyway, but me and Evan had a bit of an argument.’
Beth swings her head round quickly.
‘You never said! When were you with Ev?’
‘I wasn’t with him – well I was – not like that though. He gave me a lift last night when he passed me in the lane.’
‘What happened?’ Lowri is calmer, eager to hear my side of things. I explain the situation. What he said. What I said. Word for word.
‘He’s so into you – it’s so obvious.’ Beth’s words hit me in two places. I’m excited, but terrified at the same time.
‘I just don’t want to get involved at the moment – I can’t explain why.’
‘Just tell him then,’ she says matter-of-factly.
‘Well, I sort-of have.’
‘Sort-of never sorts anything.’
‘Yes, oh wise-one.’ I smile at her. She’s right though. She’s always bloody right.
We’re longer than we thought we’d be, having been caught up in conversation, so race back over to the cinema so that we get the seats we want. I hate sitting in the front. Luckily, because we’ve already got our tickets, this isn’t an issue and we settle in, a couple of rows from the back. The lights dim, and for a couple of hours I enter into another world. Someone else’s nightmare.
When we come out of the cinema the sky seems heavier. But so far, so good. We decide to make the most of it, and so wander through the shops for a while, looking at clothes, accessories, ideas for Christmas presents, before going to the pizza-place for something to eat.
We have to wait for fifteen minutes but eventually the waitress comes along and ushers us into a booth. We eat pizza, chat, laugh, make plans, pour our hearts out to each other, until it seems as though the bubble we’re in has to come to an end, because it’s getting late and the snow is starting to fall. Beth calls her dad.
I’ve enjoyed every minute of being with them today, and feel closer to them because of the time and the details that we’ve shared. I feel I need to tell them.
‘It’s been great today girls. I really needed this.’
‘Me too.’ Lowri wipes her mouth and sits back against the bench.
‘Seriously though – you don’t know how much I appreciate you both. Everything you’ve done for me since I got here.’ I can feel my cheeks flushing red, partly with emotion, partly embarrassment.
‘Yes, we are pretty amazing.’ We all burst out laughing at Beth’s words, and it eases some of the embarrassment for me. She holds my hand. Enough said. We collect our money together for the bill, and pay. Soon after, Beth’s phone goes and we make our way out to the car.
It’s dark now. The snow is getting heavier as we drive along. Cars move more slowly than usual, picking out the falling white clumps with their headlights. We drop Lowri off first, she lives right in the middle of the village. The small side roads are getting whiter and more treacherous. We pass the gritting lorry on the main road, by the primary school, working as quickly as it can, its amber light flashing continuously as it spreads.
Moving up into the lanes it’s even worse. I worry about them not being able to get back. ‘Are you going to be ok?’ I ask Beth’s dad. ‘I feel bad about you coming up here to drop me off.’
‘Yeah – fine love – this car’s great in the snow, and I know these lanes like the back of my hand.’
Finally, we pull up at the house. I say my goodbyes, thank Beth’s dad for the lift and stagger up the hill, the snow falling heavily upon me.
I see my mum checking at the window. The curtains haven’t been closed yet. She opens the door and waves down to Beth and her dad in the car. He toots the horn and then pulls off.
‘Looks like you made it just in time. Nice time?’
‘Yeah, it was great, really good.’ She closes the door on the cold, and I go straight over to the fire.
The room is dimly lit with one lamp, but seems warm in the glow of the fire and from the numerous candles that mum has placed along the mantelpiece. It looks different, homely even. I start to take off my scarf, gloves and coat, and throw it all in a heap over the arm of the chair, then throw myself in it. I’m surprised at how good I feel.
I take off my boots, chat briefly with Mum about what we did, grab the blanket, and turn the TV on for a while. She tells me that she called into the shops on the way back from dropping us off earlier and bought a new cordless phone. Thank God!
We agree on a film, and sit there in the orange glow, with the snow dropping down outside from the black sky.
We’re both ready for bed when the film credits roll. Mum says she’ll sort the fire, and so I say goodnight and go up ready to climb into my bed. I lay for a while in the warm new glow that envelops me, and fall asleep.
***
When I open my eyes the red light from my digital clock says 3:13am. There’s a feeling of trepidation that waking up to the blackness brings. I feel wide awake. My eyes adjust to the lack of light and I start to make out the shapes of the objects that inhabit my room.
Sitting up, I shift my legs out of the bed, trying to untangle myself from the blankets, and go over to my desk, where I left my glass of water.
Through the dark curtains a flash of light catches my eye. I decide it’s probably my eyes playing tricks on me.
No – there it is again.
A white streak piercing the black night.
I want to pull back my curtains
but at the same time another voice inside my head screams out in fear. I don’t listen. I stand and peel back the curtain from the corner.
The snow is relentless, and I can hardly see through the thick blanket that drops from the sky.
The flash again.
I adjust my eyes as best I can. It’s coming from the barns. Terror fills me. I’m frozen, like a rabbit caught in the headlights.
As I make a last attempt to strain my eyes I see a dark figure going into the barn with the roof, carrying something – what is it?
I want to scream out to my mum, but I can’t find it in me.
The figure is in there for a few minutes, and then comes back out, empty-handed.
The light from the torch hits a face, before being switched off, and I feel my stomach flip.
It’s Gabe.
17
THERE IS A SMALL crack in the curtains. I’ve been awake all night.
My head hurts, and my body feels as if it belongs to someone else. I lay in bed on my back, the covers pulled up to my chest, with my hands pressed tightly into my stomach, but this doesn’t stop it from churning. The sting of fear travels throughout my body.
It hurts.
For hours I’ve thrown it all around in my head. It could be completely innocent. He could have just needed something from the barn … for his van, or his work …
I’m so tired of all the guessing, of trying to work it all out.
I worry about how much I can actually trust myself – my own mind. I worry about whether or not I’m losing it, whether this is what is meant for me.
My turn next. I can feel it.
It’s closing in.
I have to get up – can’t lay here like this anymore, with the thoughts, the questions, the way my body feels.
Opening the curtains I see the thick carpet of snow that covers the ground. A perfect blanket of white. I feel sick.
There’s no noise coming from downstairs. She must still be in bed. I cross the hallway quickly but quietly. Her bedroom door is slightly ajar, and from here I can see her still dark shape in the bed, and can hear her breathing.
The Twist in the Branch Page 8
