Wake Wood

by K. A. John

  Exhausted as he was, Patrick simply couldn’t stop looking at Alice, and even when he did manage to turn aside in the early hours he found it impossible to close his eyes. He simply had to keep glancing back at Alice to reassure himself that she was really there – with them in the cottage.

  Dawn found him standing in front of the window of the guest bedroom watching the sun rise over the eastern horizon into a storybook illustration of a beautiful clear blue sky. The room was drenched in a marvellous golden light. Birdsong filled the air and in the distance he could hear cattle lowing and sheep bleating. It was a perfect pastoral scene and he wondered why he and Louise had decided to live in the city after they’d qualified. If they’d moved to Wake Wood before Alice’s birth they’d have opened their eyes every morning to views like this one. And maybe – just maybe – there would have been no dog and their lives … and Alice’s … would have been different.

  He turned his head and gazed lovingly at his wife and daughter, still lying curled together, side by side, on the bed. Louise’s arm was flung high, curving around Alice’s head as though she were trying to protect their daughter, even in sleep.

  He tiptoed out of the room and went into the bathroom. He showered, dressed in his own bedroom and, happier than he’d been in over a year, made his way downstairs to prepare a breakfast feast for his family.

  Patrick was so busy cracking eggs and flipping pancakes that he didn’t hear Louise enter the kitchen. He remained unaware of her presence until she moved behind him and slipped her arms around his waist. He grasped her hands, revelling in the feel of her body pressed against his back.

  ‘Where’s Alice?’ he asked.

  ‘Getting dressed upstairs in her room,’ Louise answered.

  The door opened behind them and Alice walked in.

  ‘Good morning, honey.’ Patrick turned around and beamed at her.

  ‘Hey, sweetie.’ Louise dropped a kiss on top of Alice’s head. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  Alice thought for a moment, as though trying to decide. ‘I think so.’

  Louise poured herself a cup of coffee. ‘Guess what – Dad’s made pancakes for us.’

  ‘Oh.’ Alice looked around at the kitchen. There was uncertainty and something else – something they couldn’t quite decipher in the expression on her face.

  Patrick glanced at Louise uneasily.

  ‘This house seems strange, different somehow,’ Alice commented.

  ‘Well, it is … a little,’ Louise swiftly improvised. ‘We came here to take a break, a kind of holiday.’

  ‘I must have slept the whole way.’ Alice left the kitchen, went into the hall and looked around before entering the living room.

  Louise turned anxiously to Patrick. ‘Do you think she’s all right?’

  ‘There’s one sure way to find out.’ Patrick opened the back door, disappeared and returned with two super-sized water guns. He filled them at the tap and handed both to Louise.

  She smiled. ‘You’re right.’ Then she shouted, ‘Alice. War games! Us against Dad!’

  Ten minutes later the three of them were racing around the garden. Louise and Alice were spraying Patrick with cold water, soaking him, his hair and his shirt, and he was laughing louder than either of them. When the guns had been emptied, Patrick rummaged in the shed and found a football. Alice jumped up and down with excitement when she saw it and threw herself enthusiastically into the game.

  As she charged around with the ball, kicking, dribbling and blocking Louise’s moves, Patrick and Louise exchanged glances and read one another’s thoughts. How could they have thought their daughter was in any way different?

  She was perfect, exactly as she had been … before …

  Relieved, they joined her in fighting over and kicking the ball. It was just like old times. Alice hadn’t changed, hadn’t changed at all.

  The only thing that had was their love for her. If anything, it was even stronger than they remembered.

  When finally she tired of football, Alice demanded an afternoon game of hide-and-seek in the woods because she wanted to explore them. Patrick drove them all a short distance down the road to a thicket of woodland that had become one of his favourite places. He often took ten minutes out of his day to walk there between farm visits and, when his schedule allowed, he ate his lunchtime sandwiches there as well.

  After he parked the car Louise volunteered to be ‘it’. She stood behind a tree, closed her eyes and started counting to a hundred. Loath to be separated from Alice for a moment of the precious time they’d been granted to spend together, Louise opened her eyes at fifty. Patrick and Alice were already out of sight. She continued to count while she walked in the direction she thought she’d heard them take. When she reached a hundred she called out, ‘Ready or not, I’m coming to find you.’

  She could hear the noise of the wind turbines, loud and discordant, as she travelled deeper into the woods. The whirring felt unnaturally loud because of the stillness of the air and Louise shivered, suddenly apprehensive, as if someone were watching her. She raised her head and looked around. ‘Where are you, guys?’ she shouted at the top of her voice.

  Picking up on the alarm in Louise’s voice, Patrick stuck his foot out from behind a tree. Louise saw it, sneaked around behind him and pounced.

  He pretended to be surprised but he could see that he hadn’t fooled her. ‘You got me, fair and square.’ He kissed her, grabbed her hand and they walked on together.

  Louise shouted, ‘Alice, I’m coming to get you. Your father’s already my prisoner and we’re going to capture you.’

  They searched, splitting up after ten minutes had ticked by and they’d failed to catch a glimpse of Alice, but they took care to keep one another in sight. Gradually their shouts became more insistent and panic-stricken. Louise saw the muscles tense in Patrick’s jaw and she knew he was thinking the same as her. Had they found Alice again only to lose her?

  At that moment, realisation cut into her deeply and agonisingly with all the force of a knife. They would lose Alice again anyway in two more days and nights.

  ‘There she is.’ Relieved, Patrick charged over winter’s dead leaves into a clearing. Alice was standing immobile, staring up at something caught in the branches of a tree high above her. When Patrick and Louise drew close they saw it was a dead crow strung upside down, its claws bound tightly together, wings flapping open as the wind stirred the body and ruffled its feathers.

  Louise rushed to Alice’s side, reaching her just after Patrick. ‘Alice, are you all right, sweetie?’

  Alice didn’t look away from the dead bird. ‘What’s it doing up there?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Patrick caught Alice’s hand. ‘Maybe someone put it there to ward off other birds.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘That I can’t answer, honey,’ he murmured.

  Alice continued to stare at it.

  ‘Let’s go, sweetie,’ Louise prompted, pulling Alice gently towards her.

  Alice tugged her hand free from Patrick’s and felt the edge of her jacket. ‘Look what I found, here in my pocket.’ She held up the silver chain Louise had given her on her birthday.

  The silver chain that had been buried with her in her coffin. Louise looked at Patrick and he smiled knowingly. She realised he must have slipped it into Alice’s pocket when they’d been playing football.

  ‘Do you remember when you got it?’ Louise questioned.

  ‘You gave it to me …’ Alice frowned with the effort of trying to remember. ‘Some time. I can’t quite remember when.’

  ‘It’s beautiful, like its owner.’ Patrick took it from Alice’s hand and fastened it around her neck. He tenderly kissed the crown of her head. ‘Come on. I’m hungry. Time to go home.’

  They turned and trekked down the path towards the road where Patrick had parked the car. In the distance, the arms of the tallest wind turbine turned slowly in the evening light, the noise it made grating and hostile.

  Arthur�
�s words echoed unbidden through Louise’s mind.

  I can bring her back. But I warn you, it will only be for three days. When that time has passed you will have to return her. Most of the people I’ve helped say that the three extra days spent with their loved ones have been worth the pain of a second separation. But, as I’ve only ever brought loved ones back for others and never for myself, I can’t help you to make that decision. You have to do it yourselves.

  She also remembered Patrick’s sceptical comment.

  It’s not possible to bring people back from the dead, Arthur. When someone dies, that’s it. The end! Nothingness!

  Had Patrick known how much his declaration had hurt her? How she couldn’t bear the thought of Alice dissolving into nothingness after all their daughter had meant to them and all she’d been?

  And Arthur’s final warning.

  No, it isn’t, Patrick. And it is possible to bring them back for a last goodbye. Ask your wife if you don’t believe me. But there’s one other thing that you have to ask yourself. Would you want to bring your daughter home, if you knew in advance that you’d have to lose her all over again?

  The one thing that Louise was sure of already was that she wasn’t prepared to lose Alice again after finding her a second time. Not without putting up a fight to keep her close and with them for ever.

  And if that meant disregarding Arthur and his warnings, so be it.

  They all climbed into Patrick’s car. Because Alice and Patrick were silent, Louise found herself talking too much, too quickly, too brightly, saying the first things that came into her mind. Talking about what she could make for tea, about the games they could play afterwards in the garden, the stories Alice might like at bedtime.

  Patrick started the car and edged off the verge on to the road. Alice leaned forward from the back seat and moved close to Louise.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Yes, sweetie?’ Louise reached back and stroked Alice’s cheek with her forefinger.

  ‘Did you hear music last night?’

  ‘What’s that?’ Louise turned around and looked at her daughter.

  ‘Did you hear music last night when you were asleep?’

  ‘If I was asleep I wouldn’t have heard anything,’ Louise replied logically. ‘What kind of music?’

  ‘Voices singing my name.’

  Louise’s blood ran cold. She glanced across at Patrick, who appeared to be concentrating on driving. ‘No, I didn’t hear anything.’

  ‘I did,’ Alice said matter-of-factly.

  Without warning Patrick slammed on the brakes. Ahead of them, three cars were parked in a lay-by. Half a dozen men were standing in a circle at the entrance to an abandoned building on their right. The ground at the men’s feet was stained with blood.

  ‘Stay in the car,’ Patrick ordered Louise and Alice. He wrenched open his car door and shouted to the men, ‘What’s going on here?’

  One of the men cried out, ‘Quick! Scarper! It’s the vet.’

  Two men ran off. Patrick strode up to the other four and looked down at the ground. Two dogs lay in the dirt. Both were battered, torn and bleeding from dozens of wounds, bites and puncture marks.

  ‘Proud of yourselves? Forcing dumb animals to fight to the death for your amusement?’ Patrick questioned scathingly. Disgusted with the men, he crouched down and examined the dogs.

  The remaining men shuffled their feet in embarrassment, turning their faces away from Patrick’s judgemental eye.

  ‘This dog’s dead,’ Patrick pronounced bitterly to no one in particular. ‘You’d better bury it. This one’s alive but needs treatment. Get me a blanket or something I can carry him in … Fast!’ he emphasised when no one moved.

  One man scurried off to one of the parked cars.

  ‘Whose dog is this?’ Patrick demanded forcefully, finally looking up at the men.

  ‘The owner’s gone. He left him for dead,’ a young boy volunteered.

  Patrick stroked the dog’s muzzle tenderly. ‘It’s OK, boy; you’re all right with me. I’ll see to you.’

  The man returned from his car with an old coat. He handed it to Patrick, who laid it on the ground. Patrick eased the dog on to the coat, wrapped the animal in it and scooped it into his arms. Returning to the estate car, he laid it in the back and settled it down before climbing into the driving seat.

  Alice turned and leaned over the back of the estate. The dog was lying flat, whimpering in pain. She reached down.

  Patrick saw her move in the rear-view mirror. ‘Alice, don’t touch him,’ he shouted. ‘He’s injured and frightened and could bite.’

  ‘It’s all right, Dad.’ Alice stroked the dog’s head and it fell silent. ‘He’ll be fine now. He knows I’m not going to hurt him.’

  Louise took a deep breath. Weak with relief, she gazed at Alice. ‘You have Dad’s touch with animals, sweetie,’ she complimented.

  ‘I do.’ Alice continued to pet the dog. ‘And Dad and me will soon have him better. Won’t we, Dad?’

  When they reached home Louise headed for the kitchen so that she could start making a meal. Patrick carried the dog into the outbuilding he’d converted into a surgery. Alice followed and watched him sedate the dog before cleaning and disinfecting his bites and wounds. When the sedation took hold and the dog fell unconscious, Patrick began to stitch his injuries.

  ‘Dad?’ Alice drew closer, watching him work on the animal.

  ‘Mmm, yes, honey?’ Patrick concentrated on drawing two pieces of badly torn skin together.

  ‘Can I do it?’

  Surprised, Patrick looked down at her. ‘If you want to. But you’ll need to put on surgical gloves. They’re in that box.’ He pointed to the shelf where he kept the disposable items he used every day, such as paper sheets, tissues and antiseptic wipes.

  Alice took a pair of latex gloves from the box, pulled them on and joined Patrick. He handed her the implement he’d been using.

  ‘Now hold it like I did … that’s right. And pull it tight.’ He watched as Alice carefully tugged the suture and closed the wound he’d been stitching. ‘Now push the needle through again, just here.’

  Alice did as he asked and inserted the tip of the curved needle neatly through the lips of the wound. She frowned in concentration but no emotion registered on her face, either in her eyes or her mouth, as she carried on closing the dog’s injuries.

  ‘People shouldn’t hurt animals, should they?’ she asked after she’d finished the second suture.

  ‘No, they shouldn’t,’ Patrick agreed warily, wondering what she was going to say next.

  ‘And animals shouldn’t hurt people either.’

  Patrick hesitated before replying, uncertain what, if anything, she remembered about the dog that had attacked her. ‘It’s not the same,’ he ventured. ‘Because animals can’t think logically the way we do, they don’t mean to hurt people in the same way that people mean to hurt them.’

  ‘Oh. Do you really think so?’

  Patrick took the needle from her. ‘You’re doing very well, but I’ll finish this last one. It’s awkward.’

  The door opened behind them and Arthur walked in. ‘I heard there was a bit of trouble, Patrick.’

  ‘You could say that,’ Patrick concurred quietly, looking at Alice before giving Arthur a warning glance.

  Alice continued to stroke the dog’s head while Patrick worked. ‘Dad, can we keep him?’ she asked suddenly.

  ‘I don’t see why not.’ Patrick looked up and saw Arthur watching both of them.

  ‘Mum said we could,’ Alice added.

  ‘Oh, she did, did she?’ Patrick smiled.

  Alice stripped off her gloves and dropped them into the bin at Patrick’s feet. ‘I’ve decided to call him Howie.’

  ‘Howie,’ Arthur repeated. ‘It’s a good name for a dog. I like it.’

  ‘I’m going to see Mum and help her make dinner.’ Alice left and closed the door behind her.

  Arthur leaned against the wall and cross
ed his arms. ‘Patrick, it will be only three days. Don’t make it hard to say goodbye,’ he warned.

  Patrick looked up from the dog. ‘I don’t need a reminder, Arthur.’

  ‘Just don’t forget it, that’s all.’

  ‘I can’t and I won’t, Arthur, not for an instant.’ Patrick looked back at the dog and carried on stitching.

  Fourteen

  ‘HOW’S HOWIE?’ ALICE asked when Patrick returned to the living room after checking on the dog.

  ‘He’ll be stiff and limp on three legs for a while but he’ll be up and about in the morning, thanks to your brilliant doctoring, honey.’ Patrick sat on the sofa and looked down at his veterinary case on the coffee table. He’d brought it in from the surgery so he could clean his instruments.

  They’d finished supper two hours ago. Louise had cooked Alice’s favourite, macaroni cheese followed by chocolate ice-cream sundaes. After she’d cleared the dishes, Louise had made hot chocolate topped with marshmallows and cream for Alice and coffee for them. Patrick had stoked the fire and it blazed cheerfully in the hearth. The curtains had been pulled and, although there was a cold wind blowing outside, the atmosphere inside was warm and cosy.

  Patrick picked up a scalpel but he was more intent on watching Louise and Alice than polishing the tarnish from his tools. Louise was trimming their daughter’s fringe. It was a normal, everyday scene that in the days before Alice’s death he would have accepted without a second thought. Now he wanted to savour every moment and imprint every word Alice uttered and every movement she made, no matter how small, on to his memory.

  The way his daughter was sitting bolt upright, back straight, hands relaxed in her lap on the low stool. So much taller than she’d been a year ago. Her dark brown eyes shining as she glanced curiously around the room, studying every object in turn.

  ‘Mum?’ Alice began.

  Louise ran her fingers through Alice’s thick hair, combing it back away from her face. ‘Yes, sweetie,’ she murmured.