The Hiding Places

by Catherine Robertson

  Why had he come here? To ask the Reverend about Lily’s baby? About the family who’d adopted the little girl? Or had he, perhaps, come to confess? To someone who would be disgusted by his actions but who, unlike everyone else, would be forced to pretend otherwise, because James was the penitent and Reverend Brownlow’s religious principles valued compassion.

  But he had already confessed, hadn’t he? He’d spilled it all out, the whole story, in black ink onto a page …

  He’d sat with Rowan on a fallen log covered with damp moss but not yet completely rotten, and told him that Lily was pregnant with Rowan’s child. He told him that Lily was too upset to tell Rowan herself, knowing that there was little Rowan could do to help. Ellis would never accept Rowan into the family, and there was the risk also that he would never accept Rowan’s child. Most likely, she would be forced to adopt the baby out. ‘Lily cares about you very much,’ James had said, ‘and she does not want you to worry unduly. But it does look a bit hopeless, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It’s all my fault,’ Rowan said. ‘I knew we should never have gone that far. I knew it was wrong, and a risk, but I was so alone, so desperate for the least bit of human warmth. Without Lily and Sunny, and you,’ he added, ‘bringing me food and keeping me sane, I really think I would have ended it by now. The woods are beautiful and full of life but they’re no place for a man to spend all his days. God,’ he said, and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. ‘I have no money. I have nothing to give her. What on earth can I do?’

  ‘I have had one thought,’ James said, aiming for the right note of cautious doubt, ‘but I’m not sure it will be palatable to you.’

  ‘Right now, I’m willing to try anything,’ Rowan replied.

  So James told him, and Rowan nodded, as if he’d had that solution in his head all along and was waiting only for James to confirm it by speaking it aloud.

  ‘And you know, you needn’t be on the front line,’ James had said. ‘You could be a signaller or a cook or even a medic. After your training, you might never again need to touch a gun.’

  ‘I suppose enlisting sooner rather than later is your advice,’ Rowan said, with a faint smile. ‘But I want to talk to Lily first. And to Ellis. Can you arrange that,’ he asked James, ‘pave the way? I wouldn’t want to turn up unannounced and blurt it all out cold. That’d be too much of a shock for Ellis and Martha.’

  James prayed his own shock had not been visible. He had not anticipated that Rowan would want to see Lily, and he cursed his own stupidity. Of course Rowan would want to say goodbye and reassure her that all would be well. Of course he’d want to declare his intentions to Ellis Blythe. God forbid, he might even suggest he and Lily marry before he leaves!

  None of that could happen or the game was up. James did some very quick thinking.

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ he said. ‘You are so much of a traitor in Ellis Blythe’s mind that I doubt he’ll believe you. Enlist first, and then write to them once you’ve been posted, so they know it’s true. You won’t have to wait long. Training’s only six weeks now. You’ll be posted in February. And so will I.’

  He’d placed his hand on Rowan’s shoulder and shaken it reassuringly. ‘I’ll have a quiet word in Lily’s ear once you’re gone, so she can stop worrying. And don’t you worry, either. We’re winning, my friend. This war will be over and you’ll soon be back home. Everything will turn out well …’

  That was the story he’d written, and buried in a safe place for someone to find. Perhaps that someone would be Sunny, the one friend with whom he had always kept faith. But there was no guarantee that the clues he had posted to her this morning would reach her, no certainty that Sunny would even spot that the map held clues, let alone have the patience to puzzle them out. He pictured her scowling at the map and the keys on the chain, wondering what in hell he’d meant by sending them to her, cursing him for being obscure. He was indeed taking the slithery route to the end, he thought. Unlike Sunny, who drove through life like a Scammell Pioneer semi-trailer. Any obstacles, even ones as big as a tank, she either drove over or dragged forcibly out of the way.

  Married now, Sunny and Perry were expecting their first child. Sunny was so excited, she’d declared over the terrible phone connection, that if the ambassador hadn’t been such a prig, she would have screamed aloud. She still might. The embassy was like a catacomb, only not as lively. Whenever she could, she escaped into the gaudy hubbub of the Cairo markets or sped on a bicycle through the back streets, imperilling chickens and outraging men. Her voice, even echoey and distant, had been as bracing as a run on a frosty morning, that first plunge into the swimming hole. For a fleeting moment, Sunny’s energy had filled James with an effervescent, reckless joy, the kind you feel when you swing too high or race full tilt through a grassy meadow, whooping and yelling, your friends racing beside you.

  ‘Hop over,’ she’d said. ‘Ignore all that hoo-ha in Palestine and jump on a boat. Perry and I would love to see you. It’s been far, far too long.’

  He’d love to, James had said. But there was so much to do at home. Unravelling his father’s tangled finances for one, sorting out what he owed, tying off all those ends that still dangled threateningly like a hangman’s noose. It looked like there’d be enough money for his father to keep the house and not starve, and even to support Old Ted. Not that they had much choice, as Ted refused to leave. But there was no money for James; he would have to find work. Poorly paid work, most likely, as he had no degree and no connections. The Potts name carried no weight now and might, in fact, work against him. And his war hero status would have an expiry date.

  ‘Don’t be such a misery guts,’ Sunny had said. ‘We’ll find you a job. You could do most tasks at the embassy asleep, and you’d be more competent than half the people here. Don’t be so cautious, either — hop it right now. We miss you …’

  An unexpected silence in the Brownlow house roused James. He listened, guessing correctly that it was the kind of silence caused by three small sets of lungs sucking in breath. The Reverend Brownlow would be busy a while longer. He’d probably forgotten that James was even in the house.

  As the chorus of bellowing began, James made it to the front door without being detected, and walked out into the obliterating snow.

  CHAPTER 43

  last day of October

  April awoke from a dream in which she was being hunted by a pack of dogs. She was running, as hard as she could, branches whipping her face as she crashed through the woods, while behind her a terrible baying clamoured louder as the dogs gained ground. She sat up in her bed, heart hammering, and it was not until her breathing began to slow that she realised the barking and yelping were not in her mind. The sound was distant but it was real and being carried across the still night from the woods. As April listened, it soared and then faded, as if the dogs — or their quarry — had abruptly changed direction and were now racing away.

  April checked her watch. Twenty to midnight. Dogs in the woods at this hour — what could that mean? Was it the police pursuing some criminal? She felt a brief anxiety for Jack, but guessed he would be well out of their way. If Jack did not want anyone to find him, then no one would.

  Oran, though, was a different matter. April had a sudden vision of him splayed face-down across the hood of his van, one arm wrenched behind him by a policeman who was demanding to know why Oran was parked up on private property, and who would not be predisposed to viewing any explanation in a favourable light. She should check on him, thought April, and the house, too. Best to be safe rather than sorry.

  She dressed quickly, wrapping up in coat and gloves, grabbed Kit’s torch and walked outside into a frosty darkness lit up by a surprisingly bright sliver of moon.

  Approaching Empyrean, her small funnel of torchlight picked up her car and Oran’s van. The interior of the van was dark. Oran must be asleep. But sweeping around towards the house, she illuminated a figure standing quite still at the foot of the front steps.

  A
pril stopped, wary, but the figure said, ‘It’s me’, and walked across the gravel towards her.

  Oran had April’s blanket that she’d lent him around his shoulders and was hugging it close. He had a wide-eyed, dazed look about him, April noted. But then the barking of a pack of police dogs probably wasn’t Oran’s favourite sound to be woken by.

  ‘Do you know what’s going on?’ April said.

  He did not meet her eye, but stared off down the driveway. ‘She came,’ he said.

  ‘Who came?’

  ‘With the others. I knew it was her before I heard them. Before I heard them laughing.’

  ‘Are you talking about your wife?’ April resisted the urge to shake him by the shoulders. ‘How the hell did she get all the way up here?’

  ‘They had a car. Stolen, no doubt. Parked it away down the driveway so we wouldn’t be alerted by the engine noise. Walked up.’

  A strong foreboding shivered through April. ‘Why, Oran? What did they want?’

  Now, he did look at her, and in his eyes April saw both shame and defiance.

  ‘Nothing good,’ he said. ‘They meant to enter the house, squat there for tonight or maybe longer. They wanted to bring their blackness in and spread it all around. They meant to ruin the house, cover it with their filth. They wanted nothing good.’

  April’s sudden anger surprised her. The house was under her protection. If Oran’s wife and her cronies had harmed it, she would find them and make them pay.

  ‘It’s all right.’ Oran must have read her expression. ‘They were gone before they could get anywhere near.’

  ‘Did you call the police?’ April gestured towards the woods, which were now quiet. ‘Is that what all the barking was? I didn’t think you had a phone.’

  ‘I don’t,’ he said. ‘And those dogs had nothing to do with the police, believe me.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said April. ‘Who else would be running a pack of dogs at midnight?’

  Oran hunched up his shoulders and drew the blanket tighter.

  ‘I don’t think I want to answer that.’

  ‘You’re making no sense,’ said April, exasperated. ‘Go back to the beginning. Tell me what happened.’

  ‘I heard them come up the driveway,’ he said. ‘They were talking quietly enough but the air was so still, even their breathing would have carried. It’s All Saints’ Eve, you know,’ he added. ‘The night of lost souls. That liminal moment between life and death.’

  ‘Don’t be melodramatic. And hurry up. It’s cold out here.’

  ‘I knew who it was before I got out of the van,’ Oran went on. ‘I’d been expecting her, you see. I came out to greet her, hoping that this time, maybe. But as soon as I saw their faces in the moonlight …’

  He bowed his head, scuffed his foot on the gravel. ‘I tried, you know, to send them away, but they were not willing to listen. They were dead set on their havoc and destruction. I pleaded but all they did was laugh, and then push me over in the gravel and begin to kick me.’

  April took a sharp breath. ‘My God. Are you all right?’

  Oran offered her a faint smile. ‘It will probably not shock you to learn that I’ve suffered a fair few beatings in my time, and I can reassure you that I was spared the worst of this one. When I first heard the growling, I thought it might have been my own noise. But then it erupted into a fierce snarling and a yelling and screaming like you would not believe, the sheer terror and pain in those sounds, like a massacre. Don’t judge me, but I thought it best to stay on the ground and keep still. I opened my eyes a bit and that’s when I saw it — a great big white dog with teeth like a nightmare and glowing red demon eyes, though it’s possible fear might have led my mind to exaggerate that last bit. It had one of them down, and was going fair for the throat when the others found our shovel and began to lay into the beast. They struck it hard, I heard it whine, and they took their chance and ran back down the driveway, all limping and snivelling and sobbing with panic. The hound ran, too, like the wind. I would like to say it chased them but I can’t be sure. But, oh, it is such a satisfaction to picture it snapping at their foul heels till the end of time.’

  There was steel in his voice, an anger that April had never heard before.

  ‘She won’t be back,’ April said, softly. ‘Will she?’

  Oran stared off down the driveway again, but his posture was upright and his shoulders back.

  ‘When I say I pleaded with them, I meant I pleaded with her. I know this house is not mine but it has a place in my heart. I asked her not to destroy my work, all those months of effort that you and I put in. Asked her, please, to do that one thing for me. And then the moon came out and I saw her face in the light, and it was grinning and twisted and keen as a knife to do me harm. I knew then that my Cee-Cee was long gone, and that the person who’d taken over her body did not deserve my love, and never had.’

  ‘Oh, Oran.’

  April put her arms around him and drew his head down onto her shoulder.

  ‘I wish I could tell you that you’ll get over the loss,’ she said, ‘but you never will entirely. I don’t think that’s possible when you’ve loved someone so much. But after a while, you do feel the grief less and the love more, and that is a comfort. Not perfect, but good enough to be going on with. That’s what I’ve found, anyway.’

  Oran lifted his head and kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’ll remember that. And I’ll remember this night, too, keep that twisted face firm in my mind, so I’m not tempted to convince myself I imagined it.’

  He frowned.

  ‘Do you think it’s possible I imagined the hound? That it was some manifestation of my own self I projected out there?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said April. ‘Unless you nibbled on the wrong side of the mushroom earlier on?’

  ‘No, my mind was clear,’ said Oran. ‘Clear as this beautiful night sky.’

  He lifted his head and grinned up at the stars that glinted sharp as ice crystals in the blackness.

  April slipped her arm under the blanket and linked it in his.

  ‘Cup of tea back at the cottage?’

  ‘Thought you’d never ask. And might I be so bold as to enquire about the possibility of a midnight snack?’

  As they walked, footsteps crunching on frosted gravel, April decided to tell him the one thing that still concerned her.

  ‘You know, when I first heard the barking, I thought it was a whole pack of dogs,’ she said. ‘I suppose it was only echoes …’

  ‘The only other explanation is that the hound I saw had some red-eyed comrades, all poised and ready to chase the sinners straight to Hell,’ said Oran. ‘But let’s say it was echoes, shall we? On a night such as this one, that answer’s much less likely to keep you awake.’

  CHAPTER 44

  early November

  ‘We’ve had an offer.’

  April appreciated Edward’s use of the plural pronoun. It suggested the responsibility for the next step might not be entirely up to her.

  ‘Is it — are you happy with it?’

  ‘It’s very fair,’ he said. ‘I think you’ll be pleased.’

  ‘Developers?’ Sunny made the word sound synonymous with a disease caused by lax hygiene.

  ‘Actually, no,’ said Edward. ‘Well, not in the pure sense. It’s an overseas buyer. They want to establish a school for international students. Not a large one, obviously, though they do have some intention of putting more buildings in the grounds.’

  The cherry-red Aga was heating Sunny’s kitchen most comfortably, and both Edward and Oran were in their shirtsleeves. The difference being that Edward’s shirt had on it a subtle pin dot pattern and Oran’s a picture of Shane MacGowan, fortunately with his mouth closed.

  April was wearing a wool top under a cardigan, but she still wished for another layer. She had been feeling the cold lately and Edward’s news did nothing to warm her up.

  ‘You’ll be made for lif
e should you take it,’ said Oran. ‘You could buy a cottage of your very own. One just big enough, say, for you and a willing flatmate.’

  April managed a smile. ‘Van cold over winter?’

  ‘As an ice giant’s fundament.’ Oran took another slice of cake. ‘Or the heart of an inconstant woman.’

  ‘You don’t have to decide now,’ said Edward. ‘Think on it for a few days. I can stall.’

  A few days, thought April. Just a little more time …

  And then she knew what her answer would be.

  ‘No, I’ll accept it.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Sunny, flatly.

  April suspected that Sunny was now viewing her even less favourably than she did property developers.

  ‘Are you absolutely sure?’ said Edward. ‘You do have a choice, you know?’

  ‘I know,’ said April. ‘I also know that I’ve come to love the house, but that’s exactly why I have to let it go. I can’t do what needs to be done to save it. I can’t bring it back to the way it was, can’t turn back time. It’s been empty for so long, it needs to be filled right to the brim with people, not just me—’

  ‘I’d be a willing flatmate,’ said Oran.

  ‘You and I would rattle around like dried peas. Or, in your case, one of those orange lentils. No, it’s the right thing to do. Let someone else make plans for it. Let them transform it into something new, something with a purpose. That’s what the house deserves after waiting patiently all these years.’

  ‘Me and Empyrean,’ said Oran. ‘Both patient waiters. Though not of the restaurant-serving kind, of course. I’d be terrible at that.’

  ‘At the risk of sounding like a game show host,’ said Edward, ‘I have to ask: is that your final answer?’

  ‘It is,’ said April. ‘But — do you think I could add a couple of conditions?’