Lacey's House

by Joanne Graham

  “Oh, Charlie isn’t my husband he’s my son, and no he won’t mind. I’d just hate for him to wake up and worry about me.”

  I waved her off, waiting until I heard the soft catch of the door to Lacey’s house close from over the hedges, before I went back inside.

  I kicked off my sandals as I began adding shading to the lines on the page. I was so engrossed that I didn’t hear the approaching footsteps on the gravel path or realise that someone was standing behind me until they cleared their throat. I flinched and the pencil jerked across the paper leaving a dark, heavy line across the delicate shadows of the church door. I turned to look at the tall, reed thin woman.

  “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you Rachel?”

  Nodding, I lay my pad aside and got to my feet, brushing myself down before holding out my hand. She took it, her skin dry and cool against my clammy palm.

  “I’m Martha, your landlady. I was just coming to put some flowers on my dad’s grave when I saw you sitting here, so I thought I’d come and say hello. I hope it’s not ruined.” She pointed to the sketchpad in the grass.

  “Oh no, don’t worry. It’s nothing special anyway, just practice.”

  “How are you settling in? I’ve been meaning to come by but things have been a little busy.” Her steel grey hair was pulled back into a ponytail that reached just past her shoulders. She had a harsh, uncompromising look and carried herself ramrod straight, but her eyes and smile were friendly, her voice soft and delicate in contrast to her appearance.

  “Most of the unpacking is done now so I’m almost settled in. I love the cottage, it’s such a peaceful place to be.”

  “My dad loved it there too, it was a haven for him really, especially after my mum died. I’m glad you’ve moved in. A house like that is meant to be lived in and it’s been empty for a bit too long.”

  “I can’t believe it wasn’t snapped up straight away. It’s so much better than all the other properties I was sent details for.”

  Martha’s eyes slid away, moving over the gravestones before fixing on one of them with a frown. She was quiet for a few seconds and I watched her, trying to read her expression. “Well, I guess people round here can be a little superstitious. Dad had lived in that house for more years than most people could remember. He was popular in the village and maybe taking on the cottage would have been a bit too much like stepping into dead man’s shoes.” Her voice was hesitant and she looked down at the wild flowers in her hand, already beginning to wilt slightly in the heat. Martha turned back and smiled, “It’s a good place to live. We’re lucky in so many ways. People are mostly friendly, whether they know you or not. I’d much prefer that to being among strangers in a city.”

  While I had enjoyed the anonymity living in the city had brought I could see her point, there was something nice about the old-fashioned values that led to the courtesy of saying hello as you passed someone by on the street. Although I was reluctant to be drawn into conversation with strangers, I did get a feeling of warmth from the passing greetings, however small they may be.

  “I’m beginning to realise that, although I’ve not met many people here yet, only John in the shop and my neighbour Lacey.”

  Martha looked away again, but not before I saw the skin tighten at the corner of her mouth.

  “I don’t mean to cause any alarm or tell you what to do, but you just watch yourself around Lacey Carmichael. She’s not a good person to know. My father... ” her words trailed off as she glanced back towards what I assumed was his grave and she sighed. I waited for the rest of the sentence but it didn’t come.

  “Anyway, just be careful, that’s all. The problem with that woman is that she’s lived on her own far too long and forgotten what it’s like to be around normal people. She lost her marbles a long time ago.” There was sharp emphasis on the word normal. The bitterness in her voice dripped like poison and I felt a stirring of discomfort. After the initial awkwardness the day before, I had found Lacey an easy person to be around, but I was also aware that Martha was my landlady. I didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardise staying at a cottage that felt more and more like home with each day that passed. I let the silence grow for a moment, unsure of what to say. I glanced down at the ruined sketch on my pad and then out across the gravestones thinking that it was time to go home now.

  Martha’s gaze was unfocused as she stared off into the distance, lines between her brows and tightness still around her mouth.

  “What’s Charlie like? I’ve not met him yet,” I asked because I could think of nothing else to say to break the uncomfortable silence and I couldn’t simply turn and walk away without saying anything.

  “Charlie? I’m not sure who you mean.”

  “Lacey’s son, she’s talked about him but we haven’t been introduced.”

  Martha’s eyebrows rose sharply and she looked a little dumbfounded before she laughed. It wasn’t a nice sound, and she looked at me with what looked like pity.

  “Like I said, Lacey has lived alone for far too long. She’s never been married and she certainly doesn’t have a son, if she told you otherwise then it was a lie. She is a stranger to the truth that woman. My advice would be to stay away from her.” Martha shook her head and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again her expression had changed, had become warmer once again as if she had pulled down the shutters to hide the sharpness. “Anyway all that aside, I hope you’ll be very happy here. Most people are. And don’t hesitate to call if you need anything, I’m only up the road.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen, scribbling her phone number down and handing it to me. “Just in case,” she said.

  I smiled and said thank you, then watched as she turned and walked towards her father’s grave. I picked up my things before moving across the graveyard and out through the gate, curiosity following closely behind.

  Chapter 22 ~ Lacey

  It was nothing more than bad timing she would think to herself later, when the blood had stopped flowing and the tenderness on her forehead had bloomed into a lump that moved slightly when she pressed it.

  From her place at her parent’s graves she hadn’t seen Martha. If she had, she would have stayed away, she would have known there could be trouble if they came face to face. But she didn’t see her and she didn’t know.

  Lacey stands and looks at the flowers in her hand. There had been three bunches, now there is just one and she moves towards Albert’s grave to leave them there for him, to remember. Just as she gets closer she sees her. She notices the expression on Martha’s face change as their eyes lock together, from one of grief to the kind of anger that pushes reason aside.

  Lacey stops walking and tries to turn away but it is too late, the taller woman bears down on her like a wave.

  “How dare you, how dare you come here. Haven’t you done enough?” The words force through shaking, thin lips as Martha reaches forwards and snatches the flowers out of Lacey’s hands before hitting her across the face with them. They sting like a whip and she gasps, reaching her hand up to her face, feeling wetness there. She remembers the rose she put in the flowers, she wishes she had removed the thorns.

  “You killed my father, you old hag and now you come here gloating. How fucking dare you. You might have fooled the police, but I know what you did, I know what you did, you murdering bitch. I saw you leaving the house, I saw you and then I found him, you killed him.” Her voice cracks down the middle and falls apart.

  Lacey is crying now, holding her hands up against the onslaught of words. “I didn’t, I didn’t,” she says, over and over again but her tears and denials seem only to enrage Martha further.

  “If you come here again, if you come anywhere near his grave again, I’ll kill you myself! Do you hear me? I’ll kill you my fucking self!” And she pushes her. The small crying woman trips and begins to fall, she puts her hands out but her head still catches a glancing blow on a headstone. Pain blooms and for a moment sh
e can’t see, she can’t move. She is on her hands and knees among the dead, dripping blood and tears onto the dry grass.

  She gets to her feet and glances around her like a wounded animal, feeling hunted and afraid. She doesn’t understand because the police said she hadn’t done it, she hadn’t killed him and she wonders why Martha thinks she did. Perhaps it is just because she needs someone to blame. But even so, beyond the rational thoughts an element of doubt creeps into Lacey’s mind. She struggles to her feet using the nearby headstone for support. What if the police got it wrong?

  She looks around to find that Martha has gone. She puts her hand to her forehead and makes her slow, unsteady way back to the lane, back to her home. It takes her some time.

  Chapter 23 ~ Rachel

  When I got back to the cottage, the answer machine was flashing with a new message. I pressed play as I kicked off my shoes and smiled as the husky voice of Jane, my agent, called out too loudly into the silent room.

  “I hope you’re really out and not just ignoring the phone like the antisocial peasant we both know you are. I’m waiting... ” There was a sound of fingernails tapping against something hard followed by a dramatic sigh. “Oh for God’s sake, I guess you really are out. You live in the arse end of nowhere, where could you possibly go? Anyway, I just called to say that I’m coming down to see you, probably next weekend if I can swing it. Trust you to move to the country. Don’t tell me I need to bring wellies! Call me when you’ve stopped communing with the sheep.”

  There was a click as she hung up the phone and I smiled. Jane was a city girl through and through and believed all of the stereotypes of village life. Too much Vicar of Dibley had fostered that viewpoint.

  I went upstairs to freshen up before calling her back and as I did so I wondered at the little scene with Martha in the graveyard. She seemed like a nice enough person and I couldn’t help but wonder at the animosity she had displayed towards Lacey. There had been real venom behind her words and I didn’t know what to make of it. Perhaps it was nothing more than a long-standing feud that had blown up out of nothing. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder what it was all about. And I wondered about the mystery surrounding Lacey’s son. Surely Martha had got that wrong.

  I settled down on to the sofa and curled my feet beneath me, pushing the thoughts away as I dialled the number. She answered on the first ring.

  “Jane Green speaking.”

  “Sorry I missed your call, I was out sketching.”

  “No problem, at least you’re creating something instead of sitting on your arse. I just wanted to let you know about my impending visit and check that it fits in with your hectic schedule!”

  I heard the sarcasm in her voice and smiled at it. Jane knew that I was taking it easy, getting everything sorted before I began ‘proper’ work again and she wasn’t too happy about it. There were plenty of people that wanted my services at the moment it seemed. “Stop being snippy, I’ll get back to work soon.”

  “Good, because I’ve got a few new commissions for you. Your councillor turned out to be a bit of a godsend, bless her. She’s been singing your praises to all her friends so we’ve had a few enquiries. I’ll bring the details down with me rather than send them.”

  “That’s fine, Jane, I’ll look forward to it. How are you, anything exciting going on up there in the city?”

  “Nope, my life is as it always is, work, work and more work. Unlike some people I could mention, talking of which, how’re things in the back of beyond?”

  I told her briefly about meeting Lacey and about Martha and the contradicting information about Lacey’s son.

  “Well, why don’t you invite her over for dinner when I’m down? I can usually read people pretty well and she sounds interesting. You could invite Charlie over too. That will give you a bit of insight into what’s going on.”

  “Good idea. Are you sure you wouldn’t mind giving up an evening of nagging me to work harder?”

  Jane’s throaty laugh echoed down the phone, “Cheeky bitch! No worries there, invite her over for the Saturday night, that way I can have all of Friday evening to nag.”

  “I look forward to it.” I smiled, feeling brighter than I had in days.

  “Me too, Rach, I’ll call you before then anyway. Bye for now.”

  Jane hung up her end before I had a chance to say goodbye in return.

  After a lazy lunch of cheese on toast, I went out into the garden to gather up some flowers. I was fairly certain that most of the ones I picked were weeds but they looked pretty enough when bunched together and tied with a bright purple ribbon. I made my way up the lane. Lacey’s house, like mine, was hidden by a tall, unkempt hedge. Whereas mine was straight, hers followed the curve of the track and the gate was near the upper end, impossible to see from the track until you were almost on top of it. The hedge had been allowed to grow over the gap and I almost walked straight past the wooden gate before I spotted it and slipped the latch.

  Her house was similar to mine. White walls and a stable door made it look as though it came from another time, like something out of a fairy tale. There were windows in the eaves beneath a slate roof and I could see white lace curtains behind the glass. There were window boxes filled with bright colours that tumbled down over the walls. This house was bigger than my own and the garden wilder. The grass was almost knee-high with splashes of colour running through it, red poppies nodding in the sunshine. The path was little more than a vague meandering gap amongst the overgrown lawn with no visible stones to walk on. A huge oak tree cast a shadow over the front garden, an old-fashioned wooden swing hung from ropes tied to one of its branches. I loved how wild and lush the place looked, how perfectly it blended in to the surrounding countryside.

  As I made my way to the front door, it opened. Lacey scurried out, a clash of bright colours. She jumped slightly when she saw me and her wicker basket fell from her hand, bouncing on the doorstep before coming to rest in the grass on its side. I bent to pick it up for her and smiled. As I stood up I saw the long scratch across her right cheek, curved and jagged edged, a bruise, the faint pale blue colour of a new injury, was beginning to bloom over a lump on her forehead.

  “My God, what happened?” I put my hand on her shoulder and her eyes slid from mine.

  “I fell,” she said quietly, “in the graveyard when I was putting flowers on my parents’ graves.”

  There was something in the way she said it, she looked ashamed and in that moment I knew that for some reason Lacey was lying to me. I pushed it aside and forced myself to smile, not wanting to pry and make her feel more uncomfortable.

  “I just came to give you these, to say thank you for the cake and everything.”

  Lacey’s face lit up, her smile reaching all the way to her hairline. She winced a little as the muscle contortion pulled at her damaged face. I looked at the garden and realised that there wasn’t anything in the little bunch of flowers that she couldn’t have picked herself from her own borders, but she seemed pleased nonetheless.

  “That’s really kind of you, Rachel, really kind.” In her smile I could see traces of youth, her pleasure in such a small thing chasing away the years and painting innocence on her skin. Again, she had the air of a young girl about her.

  “I also wanted to ask you if you’d like to come over for dinner next Saturday? A friend of mine is coming down from the city and I wondered if you’d like to join us?”

  Lacey’s brows knitted together and she pulled in her bottom lip. “I’m not sure about that one. I’m not really used to company you know. It’s been a while.” The innocence remained but now it was shadowed, a look of genuine concern and uncertainty.

  “Well it’s nothing special, only an old friend of mine who’s visiting for the weekend. Not a formal dinner party or anything like that. You’d be very welcome and you could bring Charlie along too, it would be nice to meet him.”

  As Lacey’s eyes swept back towards the house, to an upper window that looked out over the
fields, she was silent and appeared lost in thought. After a moment she looked up at me and smiled,

  “Charlie won’t come, he doesn’t like to leave the house much but I think I might like to.” The reply carried a shyness that came out in a rush, “If you’re sure that’s okay?”

  I wanted to ask more about Charlie. I wondered if he was unwell in some way. But it would have been impolite to ask and I wasn’t sure what I could say. Lacey was looking at the basket in her hands and I realised that I was preventing her from going about her business.

  “Well, you’d be very welcome. Jane’s lovely and it will be very relaxed.” Something occurred to me then that I hadn’t considered, “I’m sorry to ask you this, but would you mind not mentioning to Jane about how we met, about the baby? I haven’t told Jane. In fact, you were the first person I spoke to. I will tell her eventually but not just yet.”

  “I won’t say anything, Rachel.” Her eyes darted briefly towards the house again before she looked down and just for a moment she looked desperately sad. “Secrets are one thing I’m good at.”

  Chapter 24 ~ Lacey

  She waits until she hears the gate latch before turning back to her front door and opening it. She makes her way through to the kitchen and digs out a vase from the cupboard beneath the sink. Her eyes are misty and she reaches a hand up to brush a tear away.

  “Daft old bugger!” She mutters.

  It seems silly, to be moved to tears by such a little thing. She knows that she would never be able to explain to Rachel why it means so much. A tiny bunch of flowers that grow everywhere hereabouts, anyone could pick them. But that doesn’t matter, it is simply that someone has picked them for her.

  Lacey fills the vase and places the flowers in it, not bothering to remove the ribbon, she likes the way it looks. She takes a doily from the drawer, puts it on the farmhouse table in the kitchen, placing the vase on top.