In Times Of Want

by Marie O'Regan

  A few minutes later, there was a knock at the front door. Darren moved through the house to answer it, and found a sickly-looking Nigel standing there, breathing heavily. His sweat-soaked T-shirt was clinging to him, and some suspect black stains dripped down its front. The man smelt as if he’d been dipped in mildew.

  “I’m done,” he said, keeping his eyes just south of Darren’s.

  “Great. Shall we have a look?”

  Nigel’s expression grew even more pained, but he nodded, and grunted in assent. “I’ll meet you round the back,” he said, turning away.

  Darren shut the front door and wandered through the house to the back door, making sure he closed that behind him before slowly making his way towards the reeking mess which had once been a pond. The closer he got the more offensive the stench grew, until by the time he reached an annoyed-looking Nigel, he was once more breathing as shallowly as he could through an open mouth.

  “Sorry about the smell,” the man said, though he looked anything but.

  “No, please, my fault – bit of a dodgy stomach.”

  The gardener looked unconvinced, but let it lie. He gestured at the hole in the garden left now the planking was up. “I got it clear.”

  Darren leaned forward, gazed down into the hole. “So I see.”

  The pit was about ten feet deep, the sides irregular and covered in a black, tar-like substance. The bottom was full of the same oily mess, with no sign of how deep it was. Presumably ancient pondweed or something, Darren thought. There was an old bicycle wheel jutting out of the slime at the bottom, and he could see several shoes off to the sides. He looked carefully, but couldn’t see anything bigger, and only realised how stressed he’d been about what still lurked within the pond’s depths when he let out a huge, shuddering breath.

  “You alright?” Nigel was looking at him as if he’d broken down in tears.

  “Yeah, sorry. It’s just…” He waved vaguely at the deep hole in the garden, but said nothing more.

  Nigel nodded. “Fair enough. Bit of a mess, isn’t it?”

  “It is, definitely.”

  For a moment, neither man spoke. The cavernous hole between them lay empty, almost as if it were waiting for something, sending up clouds of foul-smelling air.

  In the end, Darren broke first. “So, what do we do now, then?”

  Nigel grinned. “That’s the million dollar question, alright.” He waited for Darren to react, but when no answer was forthcoming the grin slipped, and he went on, “You’ve got two options, mate. I can fill it in with topsoil, turf it over… That’s the easy option.”

  Darren waited for him to continue, then, sensing he was being set up for a massive fall, sighed and asked: “Or?”

  “Or I can do you a new pond.”

  “And what does that entail?”

  The grin was back. “Now that’s a bit more work. First I have to get down there, once it’s dried out, and clear out any debris. Then we concrete the hole, or put down a plastic liner – both work, up to you – then we refill, get a pump, stock it with pondweed, fish and the like. See?”

  Darren did. He saw the pound signs glowing in Nigel’s eyes as he stared hopefully at him. He did a quick calculation of how much was left in the bank, then brought out his next question. “If we did go the second route…”

  “A new pond, you mean?”

  Darren nodded. “Exactly. How long would it need to dry out?”

  Nigel sucked air through his teeth, and did his best to look as if that was a massively complicated question. “Ooh, that’s a hard one. Let’s see.” He made a show of staring down into the chasm, brow furrowing as if engaged in some strenuous calculations, then stood back and stared at Darren, bottom lip stuck out pugnaciously. “Fortnight, if the weather keeps nice?”

  Darren tried hard not to smile. In another fortnight he would have been paid again, and so would Lily. He still had one more question, though: “And how much do you reckon it would cost – for the liner, let’s say?”

  Nigel’s face fell, just a little – Darren had correctly surmised the plastic liner would be the cheaper option of the two – then he recovered and said, “I reckon around five hundred, the lot. Take me about a fortnight to do.”

  Darren smiled. Nigel had confirmed what he’d thought; the job was going to take a while, which meant he had some time to get the money sorted – and Lily wouldn’t have to think about it for at least a fortnight, which was even better. The price seemed too cheap, somehow, but Darren didn’t want to quibble over that – or where the materials were coming from. Lily would have a new pond, and a garden with no areas you could hide in. He just hoped that would be enough to allay her fears, and maybe even stop the dreams.

  “Let’s do that, then,” he said. “So I guess we see you in a couple of weeks?”

  Nigel nodded, his expression bemused. He was aware on some level that he’d been outsmarted, Darren was sure, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how that was. “I’ll ring you in a fortnight, then,” he said. “Let’s hope the weather stays dry.”

  Darren ushered the man out, then made his way back to the living room to bring Lily up to speed. He found her curled up on the sofa amongst her beloved cushions, blanket pulled over her legs and held to her chest.

  “You okay, love?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Has he gone now?”

  “Yeah. He won’t be back for a couple of weeks; the ground has to dry out before he does anything else.”

  “Even if he’s filling it in?”

  “Well, no,” Darren said, and glanced up at her, wanting to see her face when the import of what he said now sank in. “He’s coming back in a couple of weeks to put a new liner in, sort you out with a new pond.”

  “A new one?” She thought about that for a moment, and Darren could see the emotions flitting across her face. On the one hand, the existing pond had overwhelmingly negative connotations for her now. On the other, they could make it so nice, and it would be such a peaceful spot.

  “It’ll be lovely when it’s done,” he promised her, “and we can put in a little bench beside it, and some koi. You can train them to eat from your hand, I think.”

  She smiled. “Sounds nice, I’m sure you’re right.”

  Lily wanted to believe him, he could see that. He just had to hope she’d be convinced once it was all done.

  A week later, he was starting to wish he’d got Nigel to just fill the damn thing with topsoil. The smell was finally starting to subside, and the detritus in the depths of the hole were starting to dry out; but Lily had taken to pulling the blinds down in the kitchen to blot out the view, unwilling even to look at it in its current state. She was convinced there was something down there, waiting to be found. And the dreams – far from subsiding – were growing worse. Night after night she woke, crying about being lost and cold. One night she’d even been choking; he’d woken to find her frantically flailing her arms over her head, choking for breath. When he’d managed to calm her, all she’d say was, “I can’t swim! I can’t swim!”

  Darren tried to assure her she was wrong, there was nothing down there, but she wouldn’t be swayed. “It could be in the mud,” she said, “you don’t know, Darren. You don’t know what’s down there.”

  “I saw what was down there!” he said. “Nothing, I promise!” But she wouldn’t be convinced, and he couldn’t seem to change that.

  The nights were worse. Every time she fell asleep Lily tossed and turned, whimpering in her sleep, begging him not to let it find her – whatever ‘it’ was – hands batting at some unseen foe she thought was coming for her.

  Every time, Darren tried to calm her, pulling her close when she was at her worst so that she didn’t hurt herself somehow.

  The dreams were having a visible impact on her now, and the knock-on effect for Darren was almost as bad. They were both hollow-eyed, clumsy; exhausted by mid-afternoon. And they were starting to get angry with each other, knowing it was because they were tired
but too shattered to do anything about it other than let it carry on.

  Monday. Eight days since Nigel had sucked the dregs of the pond into that lorry and driven it away; eight days since either of them had had a proper sleep. They got through the day without snapping at each other too much, but both were glad when it was time to go to bed; another day defeated, another day closer to rebuilding the pond and hopefully putting all this to rest.

  Fat chance.

  Two a.m. and Darren was woken by the sound of sobbing. He sat up in the dark, flesh crawling as his fingers stabbed helplessly at the bedside table in search of the button that switched on the lamp. Finally, he found it and the bedroom was lit by its warm glow.

  The room was empty. Lily’s side of the bed was cold, the duvet thrown back; the sheets chilled by the wind blowing through the open window. So where was the crying coming from?

  “Oh God, Lily!” Darren lunged for the window, lifted the sash, and pushed his head through the gap as he searched the ground below.

  He saw bare flagstones, the bench under the kitchen window…but no Lily. He gazed further into the garden, but could see very little. He belatedly realised his face was wet, and cold air was buffeting his cheeks; it was raining, heavy droplets of freezing water pummelling his face. Cursing, he withdrew his head and went into the bathroom in search of a towel to rub off. Then he made his way carefully downstairs, searching for his wife.

  The living room was empty, as was the hallway and the kitchen – the back door stood open, swinging back and forth in the wind, letting in the rain and the cold.

  Darren went and stood in the doorway; he still couldn’t see her.

  “Lily!”

  No answer.

  “Lily! Are you okay?”

  Someone was definitely crying, the sound was louder out here. Far away, at the end of the garden, someone was sobbing fit to break their heart.

  “Lily?” He moved slower now; scared of startling her, and scared too of what he might find. The darkness swelled around him until the house behind felt far away, locked in some different reality, unreachable.

  The darkness lessened in front of him, slowly, and he realised he was seeing Lily. She was standing at the edge of the pond, white nightdress flapping around her legs in the storm, shivering. She was crying as if she could never be consoled, and it looked… Darren stopped, then, afraid he might be right, in which case what was it?

  It looked as if she was holding someone’s hand.

  A small someone, as she was leaning down towards whoever – or whatever – she was holding. Still she cried, and now Darren could make out words in the keening; or at least he thought he could.

  “I’m sorry,” she was saying, “I’m so sorry…”

  He couldn’t see who she was talking to. The air beside her was unrelieved by anything concrete; he could see the grass under her feet and all around her; he could see the willow further back, and the blackness in front of her that was the old pond.

  Then he saw it.

  As he stood there, shivering, a form started to coalesce. First he saw tiny fingers gripping Lily’s, the fingers becoming part of a hand, the hand joined to a thin wrist and bony little arm, then a shoulder… Gradually, the form of a child took shape – a boy, no more than four or five years old. He was shivering, clad only in a thin shirt and short trousers, his feet bare.

  “Oh my God, Lily…” Darren reached out to his wife, tried to take her hand, make her see him. Then Darren snatched his hand back as the child snarled at him, his face transformed from an expression of loss and innocence to something vicious; with ice-blue eyes and oh, those teeth…

  Lily turned, then, and Darren realised that she could see him after all. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, yet her expression was puzzled – and on some level, he thought, she was aware of what was holding her hand, and was screaming.

  “I’m sorry, Darren,” she said. “He was lost.”

  “What? Lily, no…” He tried once more to take her hand, and this time she let him; he shuddered at how cold it was, almost blue.

  “He needs me,” she said.

  “He?”

  She looked down at the boy, smiling, and squeezed his hand.

  The child was staring at Darren, lip curled back to show his teeth, frigid eyes glaring at him.

  “This is…”

  “He needs me, Darren.” She gestured toward the pond behind them, and Darren saw it was now somehow, inexplicably, full of water again – oily black wavelets lapping at the pond’s edge as the water roiled.

  “He got lost and didn’t see the pond until it was too late. He fell in and drowned here,” she said. “He’s all alone.”

  Darren tried to reason with her. “Surely his family…”

  “…couldn’t find him,” she said, her voice far away and somehow vacant. “You’ve seen what it’s like; everything’s so high and the water’s so dark…” She stared out at the water, her expression blank. “They thought he’d run away,” she whispered. “In time, they moved. And he was left here, all alone.” Her hand went protectively to her belly, as if cradling something within.

  Darren shivered. “Lily, he’s not ours. Remember? We lost…”

  She whirled around to face him, angry now. “I don’t want to remember! I know we…” Lily turned again, to face the boy. “But we could still have… don’t you see?”

  “Lily…”

  “Sshh,” she said, and squeezed his hand gently. “He needs a mother.” She turned to face the boy once more, and smiled. “And I need him.”

  The boy was pulling Lily away now, urging her towards the water. The water that was starting to bubble in the middle as if… as if something was rising from its depths.

  Darren saw, and everything in him was trying to run away; he could barely force himself to stand still, to keep hold of his wife’s hand.

  “You’re not his mother!” he said. “Lily, he’s not our child!”

  And she saw, finally, what he was saying. She saw the expression in his eyes and turned to face the water, realising belatedly that the boy was inching forward towards the pond – a blue light glowed in its depths, drawing him towards it.

  Darren tried to pull Lily back, but it was too late.

  “Stay with me, Lily,” he whispered, and flinched as the creature hissed at him in warning. He held her wrist tighter, determined not to let the thing in the water scare him off. “We can try again, Lily. Please. This isn’t our boy.”

  The boy raced back from nowhere to confront him, hissing and snarling and trying to get Darren to let go of his wife. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t just let her go, not without trying his best to save her.

  “Darren…”

  Lily was torn, standing on the edge of the pond with her husband holding her back by one wrist and the creature in the pond beckoning her forward.

  Darren didn’t know how it could entice Lily this way, but it had a fierce hold on her – the pull was immense, in fact. Lily turned to face him, and he could see the agony on her face as she tried to fight free…

  The boy bit him, and he yelled as he drew his wrist back, nursed the throbbing wound against his chest. Aghast, he realised too late what he’d done.

  “Lily…”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and now she was holding the boy’s hand again – the child was grinning, his expression triumphant as he pulled her back towards the water, towards his home…

  “For God’s sake, Lily!” he cried. “He’s not ours! Listen to me! It’s not too late for us to try again!”

  Lily shook her head, sadly, and yet still took one more step back. The water closed over her ankles, and the boy laughed in triumph as he enticed her ever deeper.

  Lily closed her eyes, then, and let the creature pull her back into the water, down into its depths.

  Darren cried out and knelt at the water’s edge, calling his wife’s name, but it was too late. He watched as she sank down and down, far deeper than she had any real way of doing, unti
l the glow disappeared and she was out of sight, leaving him kneeling by the remains of a cleared-out pond, empty save for an inch of rainwater.

  The morning dawned clear, and found Darren lying on the ground, unconscious. As the sun rose he opened his eyes, and for the longest time just lay and stared at the sky, before disappearing into the house.

  Now, as Darren wandered through the house, picking up items of Lily’s clothing – her favourite book, her blanket from the sofa – he realised he knew what to do.

  Nigel was true to his word, and turned up the following weekend, having rung to make sure he still wanted the pond put back to its former glory. Over the next few days, the liner was laid and the pond filled, the pump put in… then Nigel came to Darren, to let him know he’d be back later to put in pondweed and anything else he might want.

  “Any idea what you might want planted around the edge?” he asked, “any plants you like, or that your wife wants?”

  Darren nodded, not willing to let Nigel know it was just him now. “Yes,” he said. “I want lilies.” He looked out at the pond, beautiful now as it lay neatly edged by a perfect garden; sometime soon he’d get Nigel to build that deck Lily had always wanted, and a rockery for her. Then he’d wait, and sometime – hopefully soon – he had to believe she’d return. And when she did, she’d be coming for him.

  He stared at the willow, overhanging the water, dipping down and darkening its surface. Lily hated the dark; always had. He turned to the bemused gardener, waiting for further instructions. “And I want this pond lit,” he said.

  Safe

  TThe snow covered her body with a whisper and Nick stood there, shaking, wondering how he would explain it. He supposed he could always fall back on the old favourite: “She ran off with her boss.” People liked that one – it fulfilled their sense of symmetry.

  There was something about telling someone your wife was a secretary, or PA. They’d nod and smile, and say with a slightly worried look, “What’s her boss like?” It was obvious what they meant. So he used to tell them she worked for a gay guy. The relief on their faces was palpable.