by cass green
She hesitates. It feels creepy to wear something of Isabelle’s. But isn’t she living, albeit temporarily, in her house? And she has no choice, with her own coat being wet. She reaches for it, decisively. The jacket is a little big on her, but she rolls the sleeves back and appreciates its heavy warmth around her shoulders. It smells of nothing much, which makes it easier to forget she is wearing a dead woman’s coat.
Outside she walks around the side of the cottage and into the back garden. There’s what looks like a large vegetable patch at the back, rows of bamboo sticks lying forlornly on earth now choked with greedy weeds. A rusty swing seat sits to the side of the vegetable patch and there’s a bench that Neve recognizes from the photograph inside.
A wood pile towers at the very back of the cottage, with an axe resting on the top.
Her lurid, violent fears of the night before flash into her mind, stirring up the same queasy feeling of uneasiness. For a moment she has the feeling of being watched from the bushes; of eyes roving over her.
Waiting.
She swallows and rubs the back of her prickling neck as she looks around the garden. The only sounds are birds singing and wind whispering in the branches of the trees that stand tall on the other side of the lane.
There’s no one there.
Neve forces herself to continue her circuit of the garden.
Towards the top corner there’s evidence of a bonfire. Neve prods at soft, black ashes. Some of it was clearly paper.
Looking closer, she sees the remains of a small book, maybe leather bound. Neve picks it up but it crumbles away in her hands. It looks like there were cardboard files burned here too. She can see the metal spines that have survived the fire. And over there is the distinctive stripy edge of an air mail envelope, the rest destroyed.
Maybe Isabelle did this when she was planning her suicide. Neve imagines her striking a match and watching a life’s paperwork curl and blacken before her eyes.
A cold breeze curls around the building then and Neve shivers and pushes her hands into the deep pockets of the jacket. Feeling something there, she pulls out a scrap of paper. It’s from a ring-bound reporter’s notebook and seems to be a list of chores.
Ring plumber, is the first point, followed by a scrawled list of food items like eggs and flour. Turning the paper over, Neve sees some other words, written in capitals in a strong hand that has almost torn holes in the paper.
HMP LL 14/07/16. PBH date TBC
She searches her memory for a meaning but can find none.
But suddenly her senses are on high alert. She isn’t imagining it. Someone is there, in the lane. A shaft of afternoon sun flashes on something bright through the bushes.
Peering closer she sees a silver vehicle is parked in the lane. Neve hurries to the gate and as she steps through it she sees a man is standing right there, still as a statue.
‘What do you want?’ she says sharply. The man, in his early sixties, has owlish glasses and closely cropped grey-white hair. He stares back at her with rounded eyes.
He blinks several times and then clears his throat.
‘I thought for a moment … You look …’
Neve glances down at the coat, understanding the confusion. ‘But what do you want?’ she says. ‘Were you spying on me?’
The man runs a hand over his hair and then quickly turns and almost runs to the car.
‘Hey, wait!’ Neve calls as he hurriedly gets in and starts the engine. Then he is driving at speed away over the bumps and ridges of the lane.
Neve stares after him as the car turns into the road and is gone.
What a creep. Why was he skulking around like that? It was obvious he mistook her for Isabelle because she was wearing her coat. But why hurry away so rudely? And had he been watching her through the bushes?
She wishes she’d had the presence of mind to make a note of the number plate.
Just in case.
Neve shivers, despite the warm jacket. She doesn’t need any further reasons to be creeped out by this place. Bloody hell. Dead magpies. Lights blacking out. And now this weird Peeping Tom lurking in the bushes. None of it is exactly helping with her integration into rural ways.
Grumpily, she glances down at her watch. She’ll be picked up by Sally before long and had better get ready. Thank God she doesn’t have to spend another evening alone in this dump.
In an attempt to lift her mood, Neve plays some music from her phone via its own small, tinny speaker as she hunts through the items of clothing she has brought on the trip. She doesn’t have much, but she is glad to see that she included a black sleeveless dress with a silvery thread running through it. Slipping a light blue linen cardigan over the top, she pulls on a pair of thick purple tights and contemplates footwear. Apart from her boots, which are currently drying out by the door, she only has a pair of foldable ballet slippers.
But she isn’t going to be walking anywhere, she is sure. Sally never exactly said where she lived but Neve hasn’t seen any other properties so guesses it must be driving distance away. She twists her hair up into a bun and slicks on some mascara and lipstick.
Feeling more like herself, she heads down to the sitting room to wait. Picking up her phone she sees the temperamental signal has disappeared again. She sighs in frustration. This place …
The doorbell brings her out of her reverie and she hurries to the front door.
‘I’m Will Gardner, Sally’s husband,’ he says. His voice is pleasant and well spoken. ‘I’ve been instructed to pick you up for dinner.’
‘Oh, hi!’ says Neve, flustered. Will is quite attractive, in a silver fox kind of way. He is very smiley and large in the doorway. ‘I’ll just get my things. Come in!’
Still beaming, Will steps into the hallway behind her.
‘Can I just pop through to your loo to wash my hands?’ he says.
Neve wants to say, ‘It’s not really mine,’ but instead, she says, ‘Of course, do you know where to go?’ and then, as a shadow passes over his face, ‘I’m sorry. What a silly thing to say. Sally told me you both knew Isabelle.’
‘It’s quite alright,’ he says kindly, adding, ‘I’ll just be a moment. I got some diesel before coming over this way and the bloody pump handle was covered in it.’
Neve tuts in sympathy and goes to pick up her coat, which is thankfully almost dry, and the bottle of wine from her small stash she plans to offer her host.
Will walks back into the hallway, grimacing. ‘Having trouble with the plumbing?’ he says.
‘Um, not that I’ve noticed,’ says Neve, ‘but I only got here last night. Why?’
‘Isabelle used to say all the time that it was a nightmarishly unreliable system in this house. I noticed a bit of ominous rattling just now when I went to the loo and flushed. I’d keep an eye on it if I were you.’
‘Oh dear,’ says Neve. ‘I guess I’d better add that to the list of things that will need doing.’
Will gives her a sympathetic smile then looks down at her feet.
‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ he says, ‘but are you going to spoil your shoes? Is is rather muddy out there.’
Neve stares down at her own feet in confusion.
‘Oh,’ she says. ‘Are we walking?’
Will barks a hearty laugh. ‘Oh goodness me, Sally didn’t tell you where we are then? It’s only a few minutes on foot.’
‘Oh!’ she says. ‘I didn’t realize. Let me just …’
She goes to get her still-damp boots and grimaces as she slips her feet into the chill insides. Rolling her ballet shoes up, she puts them in her handbag. The whole thing feels intimate and uncomfortable in this small space so she forces herself to give Will a quick grin, which he returns.
‘All set?’ he says.
‘All set.’
Will has a powerful torch and Neve clings to the bobbing white circle of its beam as they walk. It really is only a few minutes’ away, accessed by walking a little further down the main road and then turning
into another lane, this one in better condition than the one to Petty Whin Cottage.
If the trees surrounding the houses hadn’t been there, the two properties would be visible to each other from an upstairs window in each case. Neve feels something in her chest lightening. Maybe she isn’t as alone here as she first thought.
Will tells Neve there is a much larger property a little further over that belongs to Richard Shawcross, Isabelle’s brother.
‘Right,’ she says. ‘I think I should go and introduce myself to him at some point. I feel a bit funny about the whole house thing.’
Will murmurs an indistinct reply. Then, ‘Here we are,’ he says.
A sign on the gate says ‘The Spinney’, then, ‘Well, I wouldn’t worry too much. Bit of a strange family all round, if you ask me.’
18
10th January 2003
Dear Granny,
I wanted to write and say sorry, both for what I have done and for not letting you visit me here. I know I have caused you a great deal of worry and pain and I wish I could take it back. But I am still not ready to see anyone from the family and I am told you have been ringing up and asking to visit. I’m still trying to process things and maybe being here will help with that but I need to do it on my own.
It was a terrible shock when I found out the truth about my birth mother. I would never have known if I hadn’t made my own enquiries and that is what I am struggling with. Didn’t I have a right to know?
I know Mummy and Dad thought they were doing the right thing by not telling me the circumstances of my adoption (not the Shawcross way, eh? Stiff upper lips all round) but I now think this was a huge mistake. When I was little and had those dreadful nightmares I was told that’s all they were. Bad dreams. Always so much blood in them. It was as if they were brushed away as unimportant. But they were so very vivid that I think some of them were memories. I know I was only tiny when it happened but small children understand so much more than people give them credit for.
Anyway, the most important thing is that my ‘cry for help’ as they call it isn’t something for you to worry about. I am going to get better here and then I am going to travel. I might become a nurse, like she was. I owe it to my birth mother to live the life she was denied.
Don’t worry about me. I’ll be in touch when I can.
Best love. (And give old Bruce a cuddle for me)
Izzy xx
19
Sally and Will’s home is, to Neve’s mind, what a cottage should look like: all whitewashed stone and a thatched roof. The bones of a wisteria – one of the few plants Neve can identify – clambers up around the front door, reaching to fresh white windows above. The front garden is neat and bordered with flower beds and on the front doorstep there is a painted white bench and several colourful pots quietly waiting for spring.
‘Come in, come in,’ says Sally, smiling. She wears a fisherman’s style jumper and slim trousers, her only adornment a pair of small, diamond earrings that wink in her lobes. Neve immediately feels over-dressed and self-conscious, and wishes she had worn her jeans and a jumper.
Will has to duck his head to come through the low front door behind Neve. ‘Come through and have a drink,’ says Sally. Neve gets a glimpse of a sitting room furnished with squashy flowered chairs around a huge inglenook fireplace. Bookshelves line the walls. The comfort of it all hits her brain like a chemical rush.
She quickly takes off her boots and slips on her ballet slippers before following Sally into what looks like a kitchen extension with glass doors all around.
The air is filled with the smell of garlic and chicken. Neve realizes too late that she didn’t mention that she barely ever eats meat.
‘This is gorgeous,’ she says, retrieving the bottle of wine from her handbag.
‘Oh there was no need!’ says Sally warmly, ‘especially after the beautiful orchid.’ She gestures with her hand towards the window sill and Neve sees the plant sitting there. It is still wrapped in cellophane, with an oddly abandoned look about it. She experiences a small jab of shame. Maybe orchids-in-a-pot from Sainsbury’s are not classy enough for these people. Perhaps she should have got something else …
‘Now then, what’s it to be?’ says Will, rubbing his hands. ‘G and T? Wine?’
‘A gin and tonic would be lovely,’ says Neve with a smile, and feels herself beginning to relax for the first time in ages. A thin MacBook Air is open on the countertop and she can see iTunes on the screen. Speakers in corners of the room play Billie Holiday at exactly the right volume. Neve lets the husky sweetness of the voice wash over her, remembering how much her mum had loved the singer.
‘Just excuse us while we get sorted and then we can have a proper chat,’ says Sally, opening the oven. Smells of sizzling meat, lemon and garlic fill the kitchen and Neve’s stomach growls in response.
‘It’s only roast chicken,’ says Sally apologetically. ‘It seemed like a safe bet – I hope you like it.’
‘It smells delicious,’ says Neve and it is the truth, despite her semi-vegetarian habits.
Will is preparing drinks with as much care as if he worked in a top hotel bar. Neve watches as he measures out Hendrick’s gin and then splashes in Fever-Tree tonic. Piling lime wedges and ice into the tall glasses, he grins as he hands one to Neve.
‘Wow,’ she says, ‘that looks great!’ She is aware that all she has said so far is lame, gushing things and resolves to sound a bit more intelligent for the rest of the evening.
‘Cheers.’ Will clinks his glass against hers. Sally doesn’t seem to be having one and is involved now in checking vegetables, wafts of steam curling into the air.
The gin and tonic is strong and delicious. A sense of well-being floods through her and she settles back in her chair, watching the couple bustle about the kitchen in comfortable synchrony.
It’s then that Neve notices the cat sleeping in a round basket to the side of the Aga.
‘Oh!’ she exclaims. ‘Hello again, you.’ She twiddles her fingers and the cat comes over to rub against her legs, purring luxuriously. She laughs and strokes its long bony back.
‘Have you met old Horace then?’ says Will.
‘He kind of came visiting last night,’ says Neve.
Will laughs.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ he says. ‘He’s been doing it for years. He was almost more Isabelle’s cat really. I hope he didn’t give you a fright, the bossy old thing?’
‘Well,’ Neve grimaces, ‘he did a bit. The electricity had gone out and for a minute I thought I was alone in the dark with a serial killer.’ She laughs airily as if this is a joke and not the exact thing she had believed.
Will and Sally both make shocked, sympathetic noises.
‘How awful that you had no electricity,’ says Sally, shaking her head. ‘You would expect that as a bare minimum, wouldn’t you?’
Neve hesitates. She doesn’t want to badmouth the woman who left her an actual house. But the urge to share is overwhelming.
‘That’s not the only thing,’ she says, and takes another sip of her drink. ‘The place was in such a state. There was rubbish everywhere and it was really dirty. It looked like some old tramp had been living there.’
‘No! That’s awful,’ says Sally, face creased with concern. ‘You poor thing. I have heard about some break-ins around here. Maybe someone had been squatting there?’
Neve takes a large slug of the drink. This is not a good thought.
She tries to lighten the atmosphere a little. ‘I could put up with all of that, if I only had wi-fi!’
‘Oh,’ says Will. ‘Well we can help with that, can’t we, Sal? She can piggyback off ours until she’s sorted? I bet it will reach the cottage.’
‘That would be brilliant! If you don’t mind?’ says Neve, her voice a little too loud.
Sally frowns as she stirs. ‘Hmm?’ she says distractedly. ‘Of course.’ Neve wonders for an awkward moment if she is being cheeky by falling so gratefully on this
.
‘Let’s not forget though,’ adds Will. ‘That Isabelle had some real mental health problems. I think the poor girl just couldn’t cope with life, at the end of the day.’
Neve thinks of the folder with its neatly printed instructions about the cottage. Such a contrast to the neglect she’d witnessed.
‘I’m sorry our daft old moggie gave you a fright,’ says Will. ‘I know that place is a bit … gloomy.’ He pauses and seems to almost shudder.
‘Well, how’s that drink, Neve?’ He comes to join Neve at the table.
Neve glances at her own glass, thrown by his change of subject. The drink is going down a bit too easily and she resolves to slow down. The last thing she wants to do is get pissed in front of these nice, well-behaved people.
‘I’m good just now, thanks,’ she says.
Sally begins to speak again. ‘Isabelle was what you might call a bit of a wild child in her teens,’ she says. She is stirring gravy with a wooden spoon and looking distant. ‘Always getting expelled and whatnot. There was always something a little … unstable about her, I think it’s fair to say. We didn’t see her for years, really, until she came back.’
‘Where did she live before?’ Neve toys with her glass.
‘She travelled all over and then ended up in Australia,’ says Will. ‘She came back a year ago when Margaret – her grandmother – died. They were very close in some ways.’
‘Petty Whin Cottage used to belong to Margaret,’ says Sally now. ‘She owned the cottage separately to the rest of the estate and then she left it to Isabelle. She was a dear old soul. Very well-liked in the community, you know?’
‘Isabelle took it very hard,’ says Will.
Neve murmurs an agreement and then the atmosphere changes anyway because a hulking teenager slinks into the room, with the air of a sulky cat.
‘Matty,’ says Sally. ‘It’s almost dinner time, darling. This is Neve, our new neighbour.’
Matty is chubby and tall like his father but his brown buttony eyes are his mother’s. He regards Neve, who smiles at him, as if he has been stung by a wasp.
