by cass green
Neve has painted a vivid mental image of herself ending her days surrounded by cats, alone and unloved forever, when the volume of rain seems to double and everything suddenly feels so much worse. Her knee and ankle both ache from the various misadventures of the evening before and her coat is now sucking in so much water it feels like she is carrying the weight of another person on her back.
She is forced to walk on the road again and when she comes to a bend, she presses herself against the wall and hopes she’ll live to see the other side.
This isn’t just miserable but dangerous now too.
Neve somehow senses the vehicle behind her before she can see the lights so she turns, but it feels like less than a second later that a massive, black four-by-four looms out of the mist. It’s going too fast. She cries out and throws herself back against the wall as it passes less than six inches away from her.
The tail lights are small bright suns in the hazy rain-soaked air as it comes to a stop.
Neve approaches, breathing heavily.
The window lowers smoothly and a middle-aged woman with short grey hair and small dark eyes peers out at her.
‘God, I almost hit you!’ she says. ‘Are you alright? I never expected to see someone actually walking on this road.’
‘I’m okay,’ says Neve shakily. ‘It’s probably my fault.’
The woman’s face softens. ‘You do look cold. Can I give you a lift?’
Neve doesn’t hesitate. Clambering into the car and offering profuse thanks, she is suddenly self-conscious about her bedraggled state. She finds a tissue and blows her nose loudly, trying to smile gratefully as she does so.
‘So where shall I take you?’ says the woman.
There’s a question, she thinks but attempts a bright smile.
‘Anywhere down here will be great, thank you,’ says Neve. ‘I’m off to the right in a cottage down a track in the middle of bloody nowhere, so anywhere, really …’ She pauses. ‘I was trying to find a shop and I walked miles but there was nothing.’
She trails off, aware that she is doing her usual thing of babbling from nerves. The woman pulls off into the road, frowning ahead.
‘Well, there is a garage about four miles this way,’ she says, ‘and a Spar in the village at Polmeath. But really you’d need the big Sainsbury’s that’s on the other side of Cador.’
‘Oh God, really?’ Neve pictures herself trudging miles along the side of the road, bags of shopping whitening her fingertips and yanking painfully on her shoulders.
The woman nods sympathetically then abruptly slows down as a tractor appears ahead as if from nowhere.
They crawl behind it for a moment until it turns off the main road into a narrow lane.
Neve gazes out at the narrow ribbon of road ahead, flanked on each side by low walls. It feels as though they are driving inside a tunnel, there’s so little light and the headlight beams seem to cut into the grey drizzle ahead.
‘I’m Sally,’ says the woman. ‘Sally Gardner.’
‘Neve,’ says Neve. ‘Carey.’
Sally pauses. ‘I’m guessing you’re visiting someone around here?’
Neve’s tired attempt at a bright laugh seems too loud in the interior of the car. ‘I’m not sure you’ll believe me if I tell you why I’m here!’ she says.
‘Why don’t you try me?’ says Sally. ‘Where is it you said you were staying?’
Warmth blasting from the heater is beginning to bring Neve’s numb fingers back to life. She flexes her toes in her boots. The fake fur coat smells like wet dog. But the loneliness of the last twenty-four hours is beginning to melt away. She feels that she never wants to leave this car, which is so high and neat and smelling of leather seats and air freshener.
‘It’s called Petty Whin Cottage,’ says Neve. Sally looks at her so sharply she says, ‘Do you … know it?’
Sally stares ahead and Neve can see that she is choosing her words before speaking again.
‘Yes,’ she says finally, and then, ‘I take it you are a friend or relative of Isabelle’s then.’
‘Oh,’ says Neve, prickling with the awkwardness of this encounter. ‘No,’ she adds hurriedly. ‘I’m so sorry. You obviously knew her. But I’m not a relative. Or even a friend. I’m just … staying there.’
The oddness of this seems to hang in the air. The other woman doesn’t speak and Neve is unable to leave the silence unfilled.
‘Look,’ she blurts out. ‘It’s all so weird and horrible but I didn’t know her at all. I just happened to be there, you see, when she … when she did it.’
She hears a sharp intake of breath as Sally lifts one hand off the wheel and covers her mouth with it. They meet eyes for a second and Sally’s shine in the bleak light of the car.
Neve is surprised to find her own voice thickened by emotion as she continues.
‘I talked to her a little because she had no coat and seemed so lost but it never even occurred to me that she was about to do what she did.’
The silence drags on uncomfortably long before Sally speaks again.
‘You poor, poor girl,’ says Sally. She clears her throat, and then, ‘So, if you don’t mind me asking you, why are you here now?’
Neve hesitates, thinking about how to frame the words. Saying them in the pub the other night, when it all felt unreal and still a bit of a laugh, was one thing. The next time had been to her sister and that hadn’t gone well. This woman obviously knew Isabelle Shawcross. Was she going to judge Neve harshly for receiving this strange, unwanted gift too?
Taking a steadying breath first she speaks again, choosing her words with care.
‘That’s the strange thing,’ she says, ‘I got a letter out of the blue from a solicitor in Salisbury, you see, and it turns out …’ she pauses, ‘well, it turns out she has left me the cottage under some strange type of will arrangement.’
Sally glances at her, her expression too blank to read, and Neve ploughs on, ‘I don’t even really want it, to be honest. I never asked for it.’
Sally is quiet again and the hum of the engine, combined with the tick-tock of the wipers, drags at Neve’s exhausted brain. She blinks heavy, sandy eyes and wonders if she should have made something up, instead of telling Sally the truth.
It sounds mad. The other woman probably thinks she has picked up a lunatic.
Eventually, Sally breaks the silence.
‘We’d heard on the grapevine that she hadn’t left it to her brother … but, well we did wonder who … um,’ Sally falters. ‘Well, I’m not surprised you’re a little in shock,’ she goes on. ‘I think anyone would feel that way.’ Neve glances at her and the other woman flashes her a quick, warm smile.
‘And I’m guessing by that dance with death just now,’ says Sally, ‘that you have no car?’
Neve shakes her head. ‘Never needed one in London,’ she pauses. ‘I don’t even drive,’ she says with a laugh. It strikes her then that there has been no sign of a car parked at the cottage. Surely Isabelle had some means of getting around, living out here?
‘Did Isabelle own a car?’ she asks and Sally darts a quick, sharp look her way.
‘Yes, she did,’ she says after a moment. ‘She very generously gave that to my son, Matty, a few weeks before she died. But we had no idea about what she was planning.’
‘Oh, right. Good,’ says Neve, awkwardly. She hopes fervently that it didn’t sound as though she felt she had the right to the car, as well as the cottage.
She’s distracted by them slowing down and she realizes with disappointment that they have reached Stubbington Lane. The thought of going back into that depressing bungalow squeezes her throat. She hasn’t even managed to get the electricity sorted out.
But instead of driving down the lane to Petty Whin Cottage, Sally stops in the road and turns to look at Neve.
‘How about I drive you to Sainsbury’s now, and you can get some provisions? And then maybe later you can come over to mine for some supper. We only live a few mi
nutes from you.’
Tears well in Neve’s eyes and she blinks them away furiously.
‘Are you sure I’m not keeping you from anything?’ she says, trying and, she knows, failing, to keep the neediness from her voice. Sally smiles kindly and pats her hand.
‘I was thinking about tackling some paperwork, which is terribly boring and you are saving me from that, so no, it’s really no trouble at all.’
‘Thank you so much,’ says Neve with feeling. Sally nods briskly and starts the engine.
Sainsbury’s sounds like a wonderful place right now. Neve can get in some groceries and maybe even sort out the electricity problem.
Things are looking up.
17
Sally goes off to do some shopping of her own while Neve walks into Sainsbury’s and almost sighs with relief at the bustle and life around her. There’s a Costa Coffee near the entrance and Neve buys a large triple shot latte and a muffin. She eats the muffin where she stands, grateful for the instant blood sugar lift, then carries the coffee awkwardly in one hand as she steers a small trolley down the aisles with the other.
She enjoys selecting items, choosing basics such as toilet roll, soap, milk, tea and more coffee, along with cheese, olives, crisps, some good bread, wine, plus a couple of French sticks to be heated in the oven. It reminds her of when she and Daniel first shared his flat and decisions about dinner felt like they were playing house. This makes her sad, so she takes a large sip of coffee and begins to browse another aisle.
She picks up crackers and some pasta sauces in jars, too, along with some fruit and salad vegetables. Before heading to the tills she makes a last minute decision to buy an elegant pink orchid that stands tall in a small white pot as a thank you present for Sally.
Outside, Neve sees that Sally is in deep conversation on her mobile, looking annoyed and speaking rapidly. She waits, not wanting to intrude.
Sally hangs up and stands immobile for a moment, looking out across the car park, a cloth shopping bag hanging from the crook of her arm.
Neve coughs deliberately as she approaches and Sally turns and smiles.
‘I got this for you,’ says Neve, holding the orchid plant towards her by the ribbon loop handle. Sally pauses and then smiles as she takes it from her hand.
‘Oh, how very pretty!’ she says, ‘but there was really no need to do that.’
‘I wanted to say thank you, for rescuing me,’ says Neve firmly. ‘I honestly didn’t know what I was going to do. I think I’d have ended up hitchhiking back to Truro this afternoon and probably being murdered.’
Sally gives her a slightly puzzled look at this and Neve reminds herself that not everyone gets her humour. Feeling slightly chastened, she tentatively asks about topping up the electricity key.
‘I’ll show you,’ says Sally and they walk across the car park to a row of shops.
‘Do you … have any idea how long you’ll be staying?’ asks Sally then.
‘Not really,’ says Neve, puffing out her cheeks. ‘Things are a bit complicated at the moment. I need to get away for a little while.’
‘But you will be selling Petty Whin Cottage?’
‘Oh yes,’ says Neve. ‘I should think so. What else am I going to do with it really?’ This reminds her of something and, as they are about to enter the Post Office, Neve stops. Sally stops too and regards her curiously. ‘Do you have any idea why there are all those bars on the windows?’ says Neve.
Sally makes a rueful face. ‘Well,’ she says with a sad sigh, ‘Isabelle, God love her, was a very unhappy woman. She was … up and down, you know? When she was in one of her up phases she could be great fun.’ She pauses. ‘Or it could go the other way and she would get these … delusions about things.’
‘What sort of delusions?’ says Neve curiously.
Sally flashes a quick look her way. ‘Nothing for you to worry about I’m sure,’ she says. ‘But, well … she never felt very safe in the cottage. She said, well …’
‘Please, go on,’ says Neve.
Sally sighs. ‘She sort of became convinced that someone was after her.’
The back of Neve’s neck prickles with unease. ‘Really?’ she says. ‘Who?’
Sally places a hand on her arm and leans in conspiratorially. ‘She wasn’t a well girl, in all honesty. I think she was heading for some sort of psychotic breakdown.’ Her face clouds for a moment. ‘The dear sweet girl was one of those people who wasn’t really strong enough for this world. Do you know what I mean?’
Neve nods vaguely, remembering the way Isabelle had looked on the bridge, with her thin white arms and her wide, desperate eyes.
‘It’s so sad,’ she says. ‘What a waste.’
Sally squeezes her arm. ‘Yes, it’s dreadfully sad. We did what we could but I half think she was always going to do something like this,’ she says. Then, in a brighter tone, ‘Come on, let’s get you back to the cottage.’
Forty minutes later Neve waves as Sally’s four-by-four bumps its way backwards down the drive. The rain has stopped and there’s a promising swatch of blue in the sky. Neve’s spirits feel lighter as she opens the many bolts on the door and hauls her two bulging bags of food into the house and down to the kitchen.
She’s grateful that there was no food in the fridge to spoil as she follows the instructions on the electricity meter. She has topped it up for far more than she can really afford, but the thought of being plunged into darkness like last night is so terrible that she can’t allow it to happen again. Next she finds a wheezing old Hoover in a cupboard in the hall, which she drags around the carpets and over the lino in the kitchen, until all the floors are free of grit and dirt.
She makes more coffee, heating up milk in a little jug and frothing it with a fork. Sipping it gratefully, she chops salad ingredients and cheese, then constructs a doorstep sandwich, which she eats standing at the table.
Sleepiness washes over her now after her odd night, despite the coffee, and she yawns as she heads into the sitting room. Switching on all the lamps in an attempt to counteract the gloom, despite her niggling worries about the electricity, she settles on the sofa.
The argument with Lou still nags and Neve considers whether she ought to send a conciliatory text. Or at least give her the address, so someone apart from a virtual stranger knows where she is. This is an uncomfortable thought, once again triggering her over-active imagination about being alone here.
Sally’s words about Isabelle’s delusions bring the memory of the night before sharply back. Maybe it’s something about the loneliness of this place, she thinks. But the bars on the windows only make it feel more sinister, not less. Neve makes a mental note to ask Sally later if she has the number of a handyman service, or a builder. The first thing she wants to do with this property, whatever her ultimate plan, is to get rid of those bars.
Neve goes to the mantelpiece and snaps a picture of the photograph of Isabelle as a baby with her phone. She’ll send it to Lou in a desperate attempt to bond.
No putting it off any longer.
She begins tapping out a message.
Lou,
Look, I really didn’t mean to worry you like that but things have been a bit strange for me for a while and when this thing happened with the cottage I thought I should at least come and check it out. It’s not really what I expected to be honest. It’s a bit creepy and dark, plus this Isabelle woman seems to have had some ‘issues’ and has put bars on all the windows!!!!!
Still, at least the bogeyman can’t get in, hey? Maybe you can bring the girls for a visit soon when everyone has got over their lurgies. I really am grateful to you and to Steve for letting me abuse your hospitality for so long. Who knows, maybe it will be the making of me, moving to the countryside. I’ll be all rosy cheeked in a floral apron when you see me next. I might even start making jam.
Love Neve.
PS On second thoughts … maybe not the jam part.
PPS Check out this photo of the woman who owned the h
ouse. Sad, isn’t it? But reminds me of kitchen in Gloucester Crescent. Remember when I cycled into the kitchen table and split my head open? Always the bloody drama queen, eh?
Neve normally dashes out texts full of abbreviation. But she nothing else to do. Anyway, it feels right, somehow, that she write out these missives to the outside world with care.
Maybe she will at least raise a small smile from her sister. In the past she could always make Lou giggle – when they were younger they would often roll around in hysterics, clutching their stomachs.
But now she can’t even remember the last time Lou really laughed at anything.
Next, she sends Miri a message. She can’t quite bring herself to call.
Have you popped yet?
Sorry if I go quiet but I’m in the middle of nowhere and the signal is shit. It’s a long story and a bit weird!!!!! Upshot is that the woman who killed herself in front of me has basically left me her cottage in her will.
I know, right?!!!!!
I still can’t quite believe it and don’t know what I’m going to do. It’s a bit of a shithole to be honest and very isolated.
CUE BANJO MUSIC
But I’ve met some locals and they don’t seem to be all pitchforks … yet. I am going to dinner tonight so I’ll get back to you on that.
I might hang out here for a little while anyway until I work out what to do next. Oh I didn’t mention that I told PCC to shove their crappy job up their arses, did I? So, yeah, I’m fucked in terms of job prospects at the moment. But don’t worry, I’m sure something will turn up! And if not, maybe I can sell my body to the locals for a few quid a go.
SEE HOW ENTERPRISING I AM …
Anyway, hope you’re alright and make sure someone tells me when the alien bursts out in all its gory glory.
Love, love, love.
xxxN
There is a tentative band of sunshine on the carpet now and the rain has stopped. She ought to investigate the property a bit more.
Her coat is still sodden though and, hesitating for a moment, she goes to the hall and looks at the waxed jacket she noticed earlier.
