by Helen Slavin
The phone rang out, startling the memory away. She looked at the screen, it was not a number Anna recognised.
5
Wild Life
“This badger is dead.”
Emz did not like Mark Catton very much. All told, she would rather spend four hours in the company of the badger currently stiffening on the countertop of the Prickles Wildlife Centre, than four minutes, possibly even four seconds in the company of Mark Catton. She looked at him, very directly, examining his face for tell-tale signs that he might have killed this badger on purpose. It was difficult to tell. His cocky smirk was a slithering mask over his real face.
It had always been this way for Emz. Her grandmother had said it was a gift, a strength in fact, and had helped her learn how to manage it. It was not constant, and it was not random, it was like taking out a mental magnifying glass, when Emz considered it necessary, and taking a good hard look at someone. There were occasions, like now, when she had not thought it necessary, but the skill pushed forward, instinctively, as if to warn her.
“Are you sure?” He tried to look serious and sincere, not his natural state and found, very swiftly, that looking into Emz’s face did not assist him. “I thought it might only be unconscious.”
Emz did not dignify this with a reply. There was a dried up slit of red along the badger’s belly where it had torn when it had been hit by a vehicle and some or possibly all of its innards had been squeezed out.
“Okay. Do you want to leave it here?” Emz wanted Mark Catton to leave and was pleased that as she thought about it he took a step backwards from the counter. He smiled.
“If you think you can help it,” he grinned. “Do you think you can help it?”
“I can dispose of it.” Emz was mentally opening the door behind him, telepathically trying to usher him out.
“Will you give it a proper burial?” He tried, once again, to make eye contact and having done so was swift to look away. His real face was bland, a beige pudding, doll-like.
“I could make you a hat,” Emz suggested although she was aware that Mark Catton did not know what sarcasm was.
“Need to measure my head?” He licked his lips. Emz had been ready to come back at him with “I’ll assume you’re a size Large” or something but she understood suddenly that he wasn’t talking about badgers or hats. Mentally she opened the door behind him and this time telepathically shoved him through it.
“Is that your car parked by the gate?” The heavy barking voice belonged to Winn who had come in through the side door. She was wearing her trapper’s hat and her wax coat and looked redly furious. Mark Catton was not aware he was being spoken to. “Hoi. You. You deaf or what?” Winn took a few steps forward.
“Eh? What?” His gaze scissored between harsh Emz and furious Winn. He settled on grinning at Emz. “What are you on about?”
“Your car? The blue one by the gate?”
Mark nodded.
“Yeah. So?”
“You’re blocking me in, you stupid bastard. Can’t you read?”
“Yeah. So?” Mark looked at Emz as if this was the greatest comeback in the history of banter.
“So bloody move the thing or I’ll drive the tractor over it and I’m not joking… which you would know if you HAD READ THE SIGN.”
Winn hounded him out of the reception door. Emz could hear her shouting again, moments later, even above the noise of the tractor.
She spritzed down the countertop and took the body of the badger into the infirmary. She was supposed to yellow-bag it for the incinerator. It seemed a shame to Emz as she looked down at the brockled fur, the strident black and white of the pointed face. The whole issue of the incinerator had troubled her despite receiving the environmental health lecture from Winn herself but, since her grandmother’s funeral, Emz had felt even more deeply about such matters. It was not that she was sentimental, far from it. The badger, if Mark had left it at the roadside, was carrion, a feast for anything that was hungry. Bagged up and burnt it was a waste. Which was why she had taken to disposing of the dead animals by taking them back out into the woods and leaving them by fallen trees and in hollows. Over time, quite a short time in fact, they vanished, as completely as if they had got up and walked away.
She had not been altogether joking about making the hat for Mark Catton either. It was well within her skillset to skin the carcass and cure the hide. She pondered for a moment or two longer and then, grabbing her jacket, she picked up the body and headed outside.
She laid the badger to rest about a mile into the woods where there was a clearing. Prickles Wildlife Centre stood on the opposite side of Woodcastle from Cob Cottage. It was within the bounds of Leap Woods, a conifer plantation which rang most days to the sound of timber felling. This part of the plantation was rich with corvids; magpies, jackdaws, rooks. They would eat the badger. She took a moment, sitting on a fallen tree on a cushion of moss, to look up at the sky cut out above her. The trees here were different from the ones at Havoc Wood, they were managed and utilised, Emz thought of them as soldier trees, but she loved it here just the same.
She walked back to the centre via the hides. It was her job to close up most evenings and the hides were empty now. She had not thought to bring her binoculars, but she sat for a moment or two in each hide looking out to see what might appear before closing up the shutters.
As she walked back darkness began to fall. She was thinking about the world above her, the lives lived in the treetops, the squirrels and bugs and the view they had of the world which was very different from up there. Her spirit lifted into the trees and as she walked a memory of her grandmother walked on just ahead of her, wearing her oldest raincoat, the one that was so dark green it was black. Except that as Emz thought about it she couldn’t place the memory. Where had they been walking? Was it here? Her grandmother had often visited, had been on speaking terms with Winn where few people in Woodcastle were. Emz looked up, her grandmother had halted on the path ahead and was looking at her with meaning. Emz gasped and, as she breathed out, the memory of her grandmother was gone.
She was breathless when she returned to the reception centre. She could see where the tractor had been half abandoned and as she stepped into the back of the infirmary she could hear the steel sounds of surgery, the water running into the sink. Emz moved swiftly to scrub up.
The deer was bleeding onto the table as Carrie worked quickly. Emz took up her place at Carrie’s side and handed her the instruments without even being asked. It was eerily quiet save for the sound of the deer’s rasping breaths. Emz breathed in, the sharp smell of ethanol and disinfectant were foremost but she moved past them to the scent of blood and deer hide, and she listened for its heart. This was what her grandmother had shown her. She reached for the rasping breaths and down deeper into the deer’s chest cavity. She found the beat, arrhythmic and struggling and she held it in a mental hand, feeling the last strength of it and holding that strength, she could see the woods the deer had run through — flashes of light and colour, the shimmer of water, the whisper of leaves. She saw the pathway through the deer’s body to where the pain was and the moment that Carrie removed that pain. Emz held the deer’s heartbeat feeling it pound harder, stronger, drumming life.
With the deer in recovery Emz cleared and scrubbed the infirmary. Carrie was cleaning the object she had taken from the deer’s flank.
“What do you make of this?” Carrie asked, holding up the metal object to examine it. “I thought it was an air pellet… but it’s not.”
Emz took a look, turning the object over in her hand. It was roughly triangular, it might have been a broken star shape, Emz thought, and it was pewter-coloured, beaten-looking, like something forged.
“It’s not one of those martial arts things is it? Not munchuk? No… nunchucks?”
The two women gazed at it, the soft pewter glow of it in the light and Emz made negative noises because no… it was not a nunchuck.
“Nunchucks are the sticks on
a chain, aren’t they?” This might have been jewellery it was so finely made. “I think you mean the star things… what are they called?” Emz searched her mind for the word. The star things, something vicious and designed for pain and death.
“Hang on a minute…” Carrie moved to the laptop and Googled martial arts. “Ninja stars. What do you think Emz?” They looked at the various images and it seemed very possible that it might have been a fragment, something broken off from a ninja star.
“Just what we need in Woodcastle. Some twat who thinks he’s a ninja.” Carrie’s voice was hard. Carrie was soft and gentle generally, but she was also medical and practical and had a scheme to neuter anyone she caught harming animals. There had been a rash of airgun injuries, not just in wildlife but pets too, a few dogs who had been cut down running through the woods.
On the way home Carrie talked of her fiancé Murray who was Wildlife officer at the police station in Castlebury and his frustration with the general population and their attitude to all things wild.
“I mean… squirrels? What’s wrong with a squirrel? It does my head in. Cats though, oh my god, don’t get Murray started on how much he hates cats…”
Emz wasn’t really listening. She was thinking of her grandmother in the raincoat. She was wondering if they still had it in the small cache of clothing they’d moved out of Cob Cottage. It was a useful coat.
Carrie dropped her off at the darkened house. Emz pottered round the kitchen trying to put together a snack. In the bleakly arctic light of the fridge she looked at the ham and wondered where Anna had got to. She didn’t have to wonder long, the post-it note was flapping on the fridge door as she closed it.
Gone to Cob Cott. Towel emergency! See you later.
Emz ate standing beside the granite island. She didn’t like it, the harsh constellations of glitter inside it gave her the sense that she was standing beside a vast black hole that might, at any moment, spaghettify her. She took the ham sandwich and headed out to the garage.
The garage had a new smell of poured concrete and plasterboard. Their mother had moved into the house last August, it was a new build. Their old family house on the other edge of town, a three storey Victorian terraced house that they referred to as Way Towers, was still in the process of being gutted by its new owners. The garage had been empty and so their mother had suggested storing Grandma Hettie’s belongings there. This evening, it seemed to Emz that there was a slight whiff of woodland and lake water that was comforting. Emz picked her way through to her favourite battered armchair.
The second she folded into it she felt hungrier. She snaffled down her snack and wished she’d thought to bring home those crisps Winn had offered her earlier. Her stomach was rumbling and there was nothing in the fridge except filtered milk. It was a bit chilly come to think of it. Emz huddled deeper into her sweatshirt, flipped the hood up and thought about nipping back into the kitchen to make a tea. She felt reluctant to leave the comfort of the chair. As she shifted to pull her sleeves down over her hands, something thin and black slid down from the nearby sideboard onto her head. Emz gave a little shout of surprise, her arms lifting to shield herself, except, what was it? Her fingers reached for the waxed surface, crackled like a map. Her grandmother’s raincoat. She slid her arms into the sleeves. It was a good fit.
6
Nocturnal
The towels were on the back seat of Charlie’s car and provided the perfect excuse for Anna to head off into the dark to Cob Cottage. She only realised how fast she had been going when she half skidded into the turn off on Old Castle Road. Tarmac, gravel and at last, at long last, dirt and a little moonlight off the water through the crowded trees. By rights she ought to have been able to see the soft glow of the lights of the cottage but instead there was darkness. It would be great if there was a problem with the electricity, then they would have an excuse to get the woman out of the cottage. Anna gasped at her own thought and when she had pulled up she took a minute to gather herself before heading to the door.
No one answered the door. Anna stood with the towels in the darkness, the woods whispering behind her. It was odd. The woman had called her and specifically requested the missing towels.
“There aren’t any towels here. I thought towels were provided? I’ve paid for towels.” Anna had been surprised by the terse tone. The woman made it sound as if they had tried to rob her.
And, after all that, Anna had arrived, and it appeared that their guest had gone out. Except, no, there was a monster car parked up. Anna thought that Aron would have wet himself at the sight of it. She peered in through the smoky windows, the interior was bare looking, the rear seat had been folded down.
Anna looked around. It was dark but that had never stopped her or her sisters or their grandmother heading out for a stroll. That might be what had appealed to their guest. Or the lake of course.
Anna, reluctant to leave the towels on the back step, thought she could feasibly leave them on the front porch on the table. As she moved around the house she was struck by the moonlight on the water, not simply because it was breath-taking but because this was the view she had had in the memory only an hour or so ago, the one she could not place. Grandma Hettie in her raincoat.
“Anna,” her grandmother spoke again, close by. Anna turned, there was movement at the window in the darkness within. She stepped up onto the porch, placed the towels in clear sight on one of the chairs by the door. She hesitated for a moment feeling, not afraid, just aware. She breathed in the lake air, cool and weed-scented, and felt better. Perhaps that was all, she could just sneak this small moment for herself and feel better. She thought about sitting on the porch chair but that might freak out the guest when she returned from her walk. She would not expect Anna to be sitting on the porch. Anna stretched out her moment for a few more minutes and then stepped back down. She could take a stroll around the lake; the moon would light her way. Perhaps that was the message from Grandmother, take a walk.
She had not reached the shore when the voice called out.
“Wait. Please.”
Anna turned. The light had gone on in Cob Cottage and the guest was standing on the porch, her arms folded across herself. Anna moved back towards the porch.
“I’m sorry. I… fell asleep…”
Anna smiled.
“No problem. I left the…”
The guest nodded at the pile of towels. “Yes. Yes. Thank you. I’m sorry.”
There was something in the woman’s voice, an edge that Anna recognised. She shrugged.
“Are you settling in?” she asked.
“Are you going for a walk?” The guest didn’t seem to hear Anna’s small talk. She was reaching for a jacket.
“Yes. Just along the shore there. Where the moon is shining.”
“Can I come with?”
The question was asked as the woman almost ran off the porch. Anna could feel her grandmother’s gaze inside her head, could see her grandmother’s hands dipping into her raincoat pockets, waiting, patient.
“Of course.”
The woman fumbled at the fastenings.
“I’m Anna Way.” Anna did not offer her hand to be shaken. The guest looked up.
“Oh. Yes. I’m Seren. Seren Lake.” They set off along the shore.
They were quiet for some time. Anna did not feel the need to fill in the silence, it seemed to her that water and moonlight were enough and that words, especially twittering small talk would only spoil the effect. Except, as they walked along, there was one jarring element; Seren stumbled. Seren tripped. Seren lurched. Seren slipped.
“Moonlight.” Seren said at last as they paused after clambering over a set of rocks. “I had no idea it was so… illuminating.”
Anna laughed. The moon was not soft this evening, rather it was steely and whitely bright. “I think the water helps, it bounces the light upwards…” They both looked out across the water and Seren seemed to tense slightly. It was something like an animal, paused before flight, and
Anna waited to see what would happen. Was she afraid of the water? Was that it?
“Do you swim in it?” Seren asked, her face heavily frowned. Anna was surprised and then she realised that Charlie might have forgotten their usual prohibition.
“No. Sorry. My sister should have warned you. It’s not for swimming.” She thought of her grandmother’s phrasing and used it here: “The lake is black-deep and blue-cold as my grandmother always said.”
There was a moment when both women looked out over the water, which, in the contrast of the moonlight, looked obsidian deep. “There was a boat…” Anna felt memories pricking at her and she took a few quick steps to out run them “…which we need to replace.” Beside her Seren Lake trudged and yomped. In a sudden moment her ankle twisted over and before Anna could catch her Seren was down on the pebbles. In the moonlit darkness there was a sound of slithering stones that grew in momentum and Seren Lake gave a small sharp gasp. Anna could see her struggling but as Anna reached for her Seren reached away, as if unwilling to be helped. Except that instinct yelped at Anna, there was something about the pebbles, they were sliding forwards beneath Seren, rolling and tumbling into the lake making a splattering clattering sound, the water burbling up so that their guest seemed to be sliding into the lake. Anna grabbed at Seren, lifted her up. Seren seemed dazed.
