by Jodi Taylor
I froze, one hand still on the door handle.
Long, long seconds went by and nothing happened. All sound fled from the world. It was just him and me. Staring at each other. I realised that there was no barrier of any kind between us.
He moved first. Holding my gaze, he walked two steps to the fountain, unzipped his jeans and relieved himself into the pool. I could see the stream of urine in the sunlight and hear it splashing into the water.
I couldn’t move. I was paralysed with fear. I don’t know for how long I stood there while Christopher urinated into our pool, never taking his eyes off me, his face frighteningly expressionless.
‘Jenny. I’m here.’
I was suddenly enveloped in the comforting smell of warm ginger biscuits. In one swift instinctive movement, I slammed the door shut and pulled the curtains across the window. A fraction of a second later, I thought No! Idiot! That’s how he got away last time, and fumbled the curtains open again.
Too late. He’d vanished. If he’d ever been there. Was I mad after all?
Another fraction of a second later, I thought Joy! I was half way up the stairs before I had time to think about it. I raced along the landing to Joy’s room, crashing through the door. I don’t know what I thought I might see, but there she was, on her back, legs in the air, talking to her feet. She turned her head towards me and smiled.
The sudden surge of relief completed what the shock of seeing Christopher had started, and my legs gave way. If I hadn’t grabbed the back of a chair, I’d have been on the floor.
I can’t remember crossing the room to her cot. I rested my arms on the rail and took a few minutes to get my breath back.
And then I had another thought.
Russell.
‘Go,’ said Thomas. ‘I’ll stay with Joy. She’ll be quite safe. Go and find Russell.’
I made sure her window was securely fastened and shot out of the room, colliding heavily with Russell, who was just on his way in.
He caught my arms. ‘Steady on, Jenny. Where’s the fire?’
I clutched at his jacket, praying the words would come. If ever there was an occasion in my life when it was vital – vital – to convey a warning, it was now.
I took a deep shuddering breath and struggled to assemble some words.
‘Jenny, what’s wrong?’ He looked past me. ‘Is it Joy? Is she ill?’
He pushed past me to see her lying in her cot, gurgling and happy as always, and turned back to me in puzzlement.
I tried. Oh God, how I tried. I could feel my stomach muscles clenching ... my throat closing...
‘Ru ... Ru ... Ru...’
There are those who take Russell Checkland at face value. The feckless artist racing around town in his clapped out Land Rover, shouting at the world. But, buried beneath all that – quite deeply buried, sometimes – is a clever man who sees far more than some people could ever imagine.
I’ve heard people say ‘Oh, so and so is a rock,’ and I can agree with that because Russell is my rock. And yes, I know he’s also the jagged reef in Mrs Balasana’s Sea of Tranquillity, and that if anyone could justifiably be described as an erratic boulder then it’s Russell Checkland, but I also know that whenever I really, really need him – he’s always there.
He was there now.
‘All right, Jenny. No. Don’t try to speak yet. Just breathe. And again. That’s it.’
He held my face between his warm hands.
‘Close your eyes. Take your time. That’s very good. Lean on me and breathe.’
I was so busy gasping for breath, I didn’t notice at first, but here it came again. I could smell the spicy tang of warm ginger biscuits again. Thomas was working his magic and the world was a different place.
I stopped gulping and breathed gently, concentrating on the pattern of his shirt, following first one colour and then another until, finally...
‘Chris ... topher ... Saw him ... Garden ... here. Looking at me.’
I closed my eyes again, waiting for him to say, ‘Are you sure?’ Or ‘You’re imagining it, Jenny,’ and he didn’t. He never hesitated. Not for one moment. I knew there was a good reason I loved him. Turning his head, he shouted, ‘Andrew!’
He believed me. I felt such a rush of gratitude. Tears sprang to my eyes.
‘Jenny, stay here with Joy. Don’t leave her. I’ll come back in a minute, but you stay here.’
He clattered off down the stairs, still shouting for Andrew.
Braver now that I knew Russell and Andrew were around, I went to the window, opened it wide, and hung out, trying to see as much as I could.
Below me, the walled garden slept in the early evening sunshine. It was so quiet that I could hear the bees over the sound of the tinkling fountain. There was nothing there. No one in sight. The gate was open but the garden was empty. I closed the window and turned back into the room.
In the distance, I could hear Andrew and Russell calling to each other. There was no sign of Christopher anywhere. I tried to decide which was the greater catastrophe – me going mad or Christopher actually being here, and decided that if someone could assure me that Christopher was safely on the other side of the world, I could probably deal with madness. Because every time I saw him, he seemed that little bit closer. That little bit more threatening.
Someone tapped at the door. I jumped a mile before realising that Christopher was hardly likely to knock, was he? Instinctively I moved between the cot and the door. ‘Yes?’
Tanya entered with a tray. ‘I have brought tea.’
The adrenaline was draining from my system, leaving me cold and with a nasty taste in my mouth. I was aware that I was very thirsty and I would very much like a cup of tea. I managed a wobbly smile and nodded.
She set down the tray and prepared to bring order out of chaos. ‘Jenny – you will sit down and drink this at once. You will feel much better afterwards.’
‘And that’s a command,’ murmured Thomas.
‘Andrew and Russell are outside now, locking everything up. I have closed all the windows downstairs. Christopher cannot get in. You and the little one will be safe. Now – you will drink your tea before it gets cold. And here is juice for Joy as well.
I smiled and nodded my thanks, sat by Joy and didn’t take my eyes off her until Russell came back.
*
Andrew and Tanya both offered to stay, but they had work the next day and, as Russell said, what could they do? Only lend a hand in beating Christopher to a pulp and he could do that all by himself, thank you very much. In fact he was looking forward to it.
We ate, and then they left, driving away into the night. Russell left all the lights turned on. I checked the upstairs windows and Russell the downstairs ones. He locked and bolted every door and, finally, we went to bed.
Russell sat thoughtfully on the bed and wound his battered alarm clock. ‘Why would Christopher be doing this, Jenny? What do you think?’
I still felt cold and shaky. ‘To frighten and upset me?’ It’s not nice to be reminded there was someone out there who actively meant me harm.
‘Well yes, not a nice thing to do but why risk returning to Rushford for such a trivial purpose?’
‘I’m not a ... trivial purpose,’ I said indignantly.
He grinned. ‘We’re really going to have to do something about this ego of yours, Jenny. To those of us who love you, you are, of course, quite delightful. Even with all your odd little quirks. You must try to accept the fact, however, that although I can’t live without you, you’re hardly the most important person on the planet to everyone else. You used to be such a shy little thing. And so modest, too. Where did all this me, me, me come from?’
I slapped his arm and he grinned at me. ‘That’s better. But you’re right, Jenny. What does he want? And why is he here? For all he knows he’s top of every wanted list in the area.’
‘Obviously he doesn’t care. Is he?
He seemed miles away. ‘Sorry, is he what?’
&
nbsp; ‘Is he top of every wanted list?’
‘No idea. We gave our statements after the fire and, as far as I know, that was it. I wonder...’
‘What?’
‘Well, I wonder if Bill knows anything.’
‘Bill? Mrs Crisp’s Bill?’
‘How many other Bills do you think there are around the place? I know there’s another of your deranged relatives out there and you’re terrified for your life, but do try and buck up, Jenny.’
‘Sorry,’ I said meekly, feeling better every moment.
‘I wonder if that’s why he’s here.’
‘Christopher?’
‘No, Bill. Concentrate, Jenny.’
‘But why would ... Bill look for Christopher here? Surely this is the last place...’
‘But that’s what good hunters do. They work out where their prey will be and simply go there and wait.’
And now I’d forgotten Christopher completely. ‘Do you ... mean it’s Christopher he’s after and not Mrs Crisp after all?’
‘I’m beginning to wonder.’
‘Or...’ I said, and stopped.
‘Or?’ he prompted.
‘Or he’s in it with him.’
‘Or he’s in it with him,’ he repeated, so calmly that I knew he must have thought of that himself.
I stared at him in horror. ‘Oh Russell. No. Poor ... Mrs Crisp. What can we do?’
‘I’m not sure at the moment, but if Bill does turn out to be not who we think he is – or who he wants us to think he is – then I shall definitely be taking him around the back of the barn and having a quick word with him.’
‘Russell.’
He patted my arm reassuring, in much the same way he does for Boxer. ‘Oh don’t worry. They’ll only be little words and they won’t take long.’
‘I ... still don’t understand ... what Christopher hopes to get from this. Is he hoping I’ll ... go insane? Or that we’ll split up? What could ... possibly justify the risk he’s ... taking?’
‘No idea,’ he said cheerfully. ‘But I expect we’ll find out soon.’
Chapter Fifteen
I hardly slept that night, lifting my head off the pillow for every sound. And believe me, there are a lot of sounds in the country at night. Several times I got up to lean out of the window, checking to see if the garden was still empty. Russell had left all the outside lights on and the whole place was bathed in a harsh, white light. I was betting we’d have Mrs Balasana around in the morning to complain.
We’d moved Joy’s cot in with us. I could hear her deep, regular breathing in the dark. The third time I tried to get out of bed Russell tightened his arm around me and said, ‘It’s like sleeping with a revolving door. Go to sleep.’
‘I can’t sleep.’
‘Then allow me to make a suggestion as to how to pass the time until morning. Give me your hand.’
‘Your daughter is in the ... room. What sort of pervert are you?’
‘I’m not any sort of pervert at all. I was going to suggest counting sheep on your fingers. What did you think I meant?’
‘Nothing,’ I said hastily.
*
I was up early the next morning. Up even before Russell, which doesn’t often happen. I changed Joy, took her to him, and left the two of them playing Duvet Dinosaurs together while I went downstairs.
Just for the record, I had Boxer in his field, the chickens out of their henhouse, and Jack and Marilyn installed in the yard in under one sixteenth of the time it takes for Russell to achieve the same thing.
Mrs Crisp brought me a mug of tea and I took a moment to sit on the bench by the back door, enjoying the unfamiliar peace. It was yet another beautiful morning, and sitting here in the sunshine, with all the normal everyday noises of Frogmorton around me, it was hard to believe that Christopher had ever been here.
Jack walked slowly across the yard and took up his usual position by the wall, staring at the ground.
‘He’s not getting any better, is he?’ said Thomas.
I shook my head.
‘I’m beginning to wonder if drastic measures might be called for.’
I twisted to look up at him. ‘How drastic?’
‘Oh,’ he said vaguely. ‘I don’t know. Don’t worry about it, Jenny.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re considering digging up his owner, as well?’
‘As well as who?’
‘As well as Russell.’
‘Why would I need to dig up Russell?’
I closed my eyes.
We had a late breakfast together. All of us – and it was rather pleasant. The only thing missing – as Mrs Crisp pointed out – were our breakfast eggs.
Russell demanded to know what this obsession over eggs was all about anyway, and she said she didn’t know – it was so long since she’d seen one she’d practically forgotten what they looked like. Russell replied that eggs weren’t the only things on the breakfast menu these days and he personally would be quite happy with a kipper. She responded by saying that he had a much better chance of getting a kipper from those feathered nitwits than he ever would of seeing an egg, and just as they were preparing to get down to it properly, there was a tap at the door and Bill walked in.
I’d completely forgotten it was Thursday.
Russell muttered something and pretended to be interested in a leaflet giving details of the Harvest Festival – something which he’d refused to attend on the grounds that the last religious ceremony we’d attended had been famous for real-life parturition and he wasn’t doing that again.
Mrs Crisp slapped down the teapot and pointed out that:
a) He hadn’t been at the Nativity play.
b) The only things giving birth had been a small sheep and his wife.
c) If he wanted kippers he’d have to go and get them. Or dig a hole, fill it with water, and raise his own. And that we could just as easily do without kippers as we could without eggs. And that if Russell was involved then we would probably have to.
He lifted Joy from her chair, tucked her under one arm in much the same way as one of his chickens, snatched up two pieces of toast, informed us, with dignity, that he would be in his studio, and left the room.
I smiled at Bill.
‘Hello. Would you like some coffee?’
‘Thank you, no. I’m just passing through.’ He smiled. He had a nice smile. His crinkly grey hair was neatly trimmed and he dressed well but I couldn’t get the image of Bill the Hunter out of my mind.
Thomas stared hard at him.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Looking for signs he’s using Mrs Crisp for his own unscrupulous ends.’
‘How exactly would you recognise these signs?’
‘I’m a horse. I have wisdom and insight.’
‘And what exactly is your wisdom and insight telling you right at this very moment?’
‘That he seems like a very nice man.’
‘Exactly the same conclusion the rest of us have come to.’
‘Yes, but my conclusion was reached through wisdom and insight, Jenny. You only guessed at it.’
I was conscious that Russell would expect me to take advantage of this opportunity to glean information from Bill. By any and all means available.
‘Are you going to water-board him?’ asked Thomas.
‘If necessary.’ I turned to the really not very sinister at all figure standing patiently by the door.
‘So, what’s happening today?’
‘Mrs Crisp and I are going into Rushford later today,’ he said gravely.
‘That’s nice. Anything special?’
‘Not today.’
‘That implies there might be something special on other days,’ said Thomas, quickly. ‘Probe further.’
Since I had no idea how to do any such thing, it was fortunate that Bill pulled out a thick brown envelope and handed it to her. ‘This came this morning. I thought you might like to see.’
‘Interesting,’ said Thom
as. ‘Quick – ask what it is.’
I’m not Russell, however, and I was still struggling for some way to phrase things tactfully, when Russell himself re-entered the kitchen. He eyed Bill with disfavour, ‘Still here?’ turned to Mrs Crisp, spotted the envelope and opened his mouth to probe further.
Mrs Crisp, however, had lived with Russell for most of his life.
‘Oh, silly me,’ she said brightly. ‘Russell, I’d completely forgotten to tell you that Mrs Balasana telephoned earlier. She wants a word about our lights being on all night. Apparently she didn’t get a wink of sleep and she wants to talk to you about it and ... Where are you going?’
Russell was half way across the yard before I could stop him. We heard his Land Rover clatter into life and roar out of the yard.
Mrs Crisp patted her hair complacently, and smiled at Bill. ‘I’ll see you this afternoon, then.’
*
I thought Mrs Crisp had been joking about Mrs Balasana and the lights, but no such luck.
I was looking out of the window at the time and for one moment could hardly believe my eyes. We had both Marilyn and Jack out so the gate was closed, but she was in such a hurry that she climbed over, rather than fiddle with the latch.
Jack, standing quietly by the water trough, looked up at her, pricking his long dark ears. I waited for his inevitable disappointment but, this time, something was different. He took two or three paces towards her and I just had time to think, hello, what’s going on there? before Marilyn tip-tupped over and started giving her the once over for food.
Mrs Balasana ignored both of them, almost running to our back door. I said to Mrs Crisp, ‘Something’s wrong,’ and went to let her in.
She looked dreadful. If I thought she was capable of such a thing I would say she had been crying. Her expensive jacket was unfastened, her scarf flung around her neck any old how, and her expensive jeans were dusty around the bottoms. She looked hot and distraught.
I flung open the door. ‘Mrs Balasana, come in. Is ... something wrong? Can we help?’
I had to spend the next minute or so persuading the chickens that an open door was not necessarily an invitation to join us inside, and when eventually I got back into the kitchen, hot and bothered, Mrs Crisp had persuaded her to sit down.
