We went over it all again, this time taking into account that there was a madman on the loose. I convinced her that I would be safe. Sharing a house with eight other people would ensure that. After an hour of going back and forth, she relented. She told me that she would always be at the end of the phone and that I should come home often. She made plans to come and visit me the following weekend, she wanted to see the place for herself. Then she said she was proud of me, and it was my turn to cry. I thanked her for being so understanding. I thanked her for trusting me. She stood up and left me to pack, muttering that she would put together some things I might need.
When I was sure she’d gone, I picked up the newspaper she’d left behind and scanned the article. Yet another body had been found on the beach. The police now had to admit that they were searching for a serial killer. They pleaded for information. The bodies, which had been in the sea for some days before they washed up on the shore, gave away few clues. The salt water had washed away any evidence the killer might have left. The corpses were in such a state that it was nearly impossible to identify them without tests to confirm they were the girls who had gone missing. I gave a little shudder and put the paper in the bin. Sometimes what they don’t report is far scarier. The lack of details left my imagination spinning. I remembered something that G K Chesterton wrote, ‘Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist; children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children that the dragons can be killed.’
It was hard to believe that in a few hours I would be on the road and racing towards my new life. It seemed a long time since I’d been at Christie Hall. I glowed with the memory of my previous visit. They had welcomed me into their community even though they hardly knew me. I could be anyone I wanted. The slate was clean and my story was unwritten. It felt good knowing that the past was going to be left where it belonged.
I lugged my cases downstairs and piled them up by the front door. I found Mum in the kitchen putting tins of food into a cardboard box.
‘I don’t want you going hungry.’ She stuffed in a bag of dried pasta shells. ‘I can’t believe this is happening so fast. I would like to have given you a proper send-off. We could have had the neighbours around.’ She sounded disappointed.
‘I’m not leaving the country, Mum. You’re coming to visit in less than a fortnight!’
‘I know, I know,’ she said, ‘but do you really have to go so soon?’
‘Yes, I do. I want to be settled in before the new year begins and . . .’
‘Yes, once you’ve made your mind up . . .’ her voice trailed off.
‘Please try and be happy for me, Mum. This is a new start.’
She didn’t say a word but went back to filling the box with the contents of her larder. I sat down at the kitchen table and watched her. She was a short woman with a round face and broad hips. Her untidy mousy bob kept getting in her eyes, and she would constantly tuck it behind her ears. I was suddenly struck by how much she had aged. I had always thought of her as young and invincible. Now she seemed human and fragile. I wished I could have spared her the pain my illness had caused. Then Will came into the room, interrupting my train of thought.
‘I’ll be off soon,’ I said.
‘Sooner you leave, sooner I can have your room.’ He pulled out a chair opposite me. I stuck out my tongue and blew a raspberry.
‘Do you want me to help you load the car?’ he said.
‘That would be great.’ I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling emotional.
The three of us had a cup of tea and some leftover mince pies, then we packed my car and said our goodbyes. I felt sadder than I had anticipated. It was hard to drive away from them. Will stood waving, with his other arm around my mother. She was sobbing while Wookie sat at her feet, watching me go. I watched in the rear view mirror as the house got smaller. It had felt so big when I was a child, full of hiding places. As the distance between us grew, I realized I was really going to miss them.
Chapter 8
It took about a week for me to settle in to Christie Hall. I couldn’t get used to sleeping in a strange bed. As lovely as the room was, it just wasn’t me and I didn’t know if it was rude to make changes to it. I felt like a guest, albeit a very welcome one. My new housemates were lovely. I think Maggie was my favourite. She had no malice, no chip on her shoulder, she was just who she was.
Jude remained an enigma. He had a strange way of being open yet aloof. It was unnerving. I put it down to the fact that we were still getting to know each other. Charlie was the other person to whom I quickly grew attached. In many ways she was defensive and brisk, but I admired her honesty. Her sexuality clearly caused her problems. She could also be very funny.
I wondered what would happen if any of us discovered love interests outside the house, or if that had ever happened. Nobody mentioned Joanie’s growing baby bump, but I was dying to know the story. I couldn’t ask questions without seeming nosy, so I bided my time. Joanie floated around the house like the ghost of a gorgeous hippy. But that seemed to be all there was to her. She was beautiful but boring.
As for the others, time would tell. Wally was a sweet guy but not the sharpest tool in the box. He was the muscle and Jude the brains. Everyone slotted together like pieces of a puzzle. I couldn’t see where I fitted in. It didn’t bother me, I was happy to remain on the periphery, able to enjoy the benefits of the community.
I quickly fell into a routine. In the mornings I would lie in bed reading, Maggie would bring me a cup of tea up and some porridge. Lunch was a loose affair with everyone coming and going as they wished and grazing on the food laid out on the kitchen table. Three afternoons a week we were expected to help around the house and grounds. The chores were split evenly and rotated so that no one got stuck cleaning the loos, or mucking out the animals for too long.
The animals were what I loved most about living there. Despite the bitter January weather, I sat for a long time watching the chickens peck about in the dirt. It was like watching goldfish in a bowl, therapeutic and soothing.
I was taught how to make bread, a surprisingly easy thing to do. It was a proud moment when my first loaf came out of the oven. It even tasted nice. Maggie was head of the kitchen, she decided what meals we were having and sourced the ingredients she needed. I learnt more about cooking in a few weeks than I had in my entire life. I was surprised to find I really enjoyed it. Christie Hall taught me many things I didn’t know about myself.
The only thing set in stone was that we were expected to have supper together. We would meet at eight o’clock in the dining hall and eat by candlelight. There was something primordial about the ritual. Jude dressed differently each night. This usually involved him wearing elaborate accessories, such as a velvet cap, a cravat, or a vintage waistcoat. On one occasion he came in brandishing a cane. It was as though he were on stage. I watched and listened to him with awe. We all did. He was our leader. We were all in debt to him for offering us a way out. He allowed us to leave behind lives that had kept us down.
The evening was my favourite time of day. The whole house came together, and after our meal we would go into the sitting room and sing and dance, play music, and tell stories. Jude called it ‘The Creative Hour’. We were encouraged to indulge our imaginations. The wine flowed and joints were shared. It was liberating and comfortable. Jude, Charlie, and I were usually the last ones standing. We bounced off each other. We shared a wildness. Of the three of us, Jude was the one who held back. I think he felt he had a duty to remain in control. I thought it was a shame, but then self-control had never been my strong point.
Afterwards, I would go up to my room and write poetry, sometimes for hours. I felt as if I had finally found my happy place. Once Jude came up and found me hunched over the screen, tapping away. He said poetry should always be written in one’s own hand. I tried picking up a pen instead and soon realized he was right. It was a mystery how he knew these things. He never wrote anything himself but he was a very good painte
r. Jude seemed to see things others didn’t. He was unlike anyone I had ever come across. His mind fascinated me.
My mother’s visit came and went. She had lunch with us, and I showed her around the grounds. She was suspicious of the place and wary of the people. But at the end of the tour she seemed happier, having familiarized herself with my habitat.
‘Well, at least I now know that it’s not a cult,’ she said. ‘You know you can never be too careful, Annabel. The world is full of weird people.’
* * *
We lived in our happy bubble, without any interruptions, until one cold afternoon in late January. The house was quiet. I had been in the kitchen garden helping Maggie dig up some vegetables. When we got back to the house we found Joanie collapsed in a heap in the sitting room, crying uncontrollably. Charlie was shouting the odds at Wally. One by one, everyone gathered to see what was happening.
‘They’ve taken him! The fuckers have only gone and taken him!’ Charlie screamed at Fran.
‘Just calm down and tell me what’s happened.’
‘Jude, they’ve taken Jude in for questioning! And it’s all Wally fault,’ she spat in Wally’s direction.
‘What do you mean? The police?’ Fran put her hand on Joanie’s shoulder.
‘Yes, yes, the bloody pigs!’ Charlie fronted up to Wally, who was shaking like a leaf. We all gasped. No one spoke. Joanie sobbed while Celeste stroked her hair and tried to calm her. I looked at Maggie who just stared helplessly. Fran put an arm around Charlie’s shoulder and led her to one of the armchairs.
‘You need to sit down, take a breath, and tell us what has happened,’ Fran said. Charlie did as she was and took some deep breaths.
‘Start at the beginning.’
‘The pigs . . . sorry, I mean the police, came here and took Jude away. They were talking about the bodies on the beach and saying he was wanted for questioning. I told them they couldn’t just barge in . . . but then this little worm stepped up and said they wanted his help with their inquiries and I just laughed and was about to give him a slap . . . but Jude looked at me, you know how he does, and I thought twice about it and then they put him in the back of their car and drove off . . .’ The words tumbled out. She sank back into her chair.
‘Did they say why they wanted to talk to him specifically?’ Fran looked sombre.
‘No,’ Charlie rubbed her head, ‘just something about a witness . . .’
‘I see,’ Fran said, none the wiser.
I went over to Joanie who was still inconsolable.
‘You need to look after yourself,’ I said to her.
Joanie rubbed her belly and stopped sobbing.
‘Why on earth would you blame Wally?’ Fran turned to Charlie.
‘Because he’s a fucking idiot!’ Charlie gritted her teeth. It was wrong but I laughed. I think my nerves got the better of me. Fran threw me a glance that said ‘don’t you dare.’ I lowered my eyes and continued to rub Joanie’s shoulder.
‘Charlie, get a grip of yourself, this is not helping.’ It was clear who was Jude’s second in command.
‘What are we going to do?’ Sophie bit her bottom lip. She and Ella stood tightly next to one another.
‘Did Jude say anything?’ Fran looked impatiently at Wally. He shrugged his shoulders and went over to the window as though hoping that Jude would appear any moment.
‘Moron,’ hissed Charlie under her breath.
‘Not helpful,’ Fran said scowling.
‘What are we going to do?’ Sophie raised her voice.
We all looked to Fran.
‘Well, first,’ she said, ‘Celeste, you are going to take Joanie into the kitchen and give her a glass of water. She needs to compose herself.’
On cue, they both got up and left the room.
‘As for the rest of you, I suggest you go back to whatever it was you were doing.’ None of us moved. We stared at each other, dissatisfied.
‘I’m sure Jude will be back very shortly. This is obviously a misunderstanding. Just wait and see,’ Fran said, responding to our mutiny, but her face gave away her uncertainty.
She addressed Charlie, ‘It must have been a terrible shock. I understand you’re feeling angry, but I need you to go and make amends with Wally. You’re not the only one who’s scared.’
Charlie folded her arms defiantly across her chest and looked the other way.
Fran’s cheeks flushed red, and I noticed her tensing one hand into a fist. ‘Do it now,’ she said.
Charlie stayed in her seat and looked at me. I signalled that I thought it was best to humour Fran. Charlie rolled her eyes then got up.
‘Wally, I’m sorry.’ There was no real feeling in her voice. Wally just gazed out of the window at the driveway. ‘Hello Wally . . .’ she pretended to knock on his head.
‘It’s fine,’ he finally said and took a step back looking sheepish.
Charlie leaned forward and whispered. ‘He’ll be back soon, she’s right. He said so himself, didn’t he?’ She had softened.
‘He-he, he said he-he’d be back for din-dinner.’ Wally stuttered.
‘Right then.’ Fran clapped her hands together. ‘Very well. That’s that.’ She strode off, leaving the rest of us standing there.
* * *
When Jude returned, he was in a foul mood. He sat at the head of the table, with a face like thunder. The rest of us stayed silent and waited for him to talk. Maggie glanced at me: I needed to stop staring at Jude. I wanted an explanation. He caught my eye and stared me down. I sheepishly picked at my food. I had been looking forward to my omelette but was unable to eat anything. The rest of the table had the same trouble. The only person who tucked in was Jude. When he’d finished his plate of food he leaned back in his chair and surveyed us. No one dared to look at him. Eventually he spoke.
‘Are none of you going to ask what happened at the station?’
We stayed quiet. Eventually Fran broke the silence.
‘We knew you’d be home in no time. It was clearly a misunderstanding so we didn’t think we should entertain a conversation about it.’ She stood up and started to clear the plates away.
Jude banged his glass of water down on the table.
‘Please sit down!’ he shouted.
Fran hopped from one foot to the other, before she returned to her seat.
‘Right,’ he lowered his voice, ‘For the sake of harmony in the house I am going to tell you why they took me in and why they released me. I owe you that much. This isn’t something we can ignore. It’s very serious. People are dead.’
Joanie, who sat to his right, stretched out a hand and placed it on his forearm.
‘I’ve been the victim of mistaken identity.’
Without realizing it, Ella let out a loud sigh of relief. Jude ignored her.
‘A local from the town told the police they thought they saw somebody who looked like me with one of the victims, and no, before any of you ask, they wouldn’t say who they got their information from. According to the officer, I was seen with the girl walking along the coast on the morning of the eighth. As you know we were together here all day. It was the day we fixed the garden shed, remember?’
We nodded enthusiastically.
‘So that was that. They let me go. No apology of course.’
He stood up and walked over to one of the tall candlesticks. He danced his finger through the flame.
‘I’m sorry if you were shaken. Their false suspicions have left a mark on us all. Tomorrow morning we shall meditate. We must heal the damage idle gossips caused.’
His voice cracked, and we saw a chink in his armour. Without thinking, I spoke, ‘I think you’re right. It’ll do us all some good. We know you could never do something like that. You must’ve been shitting yourself.’
‘Not really. The only thing that scares me is the thought of you all doubting me.’
He turned to face us. We all quickly shook our heads, but the truth was that it had shaken us. Christie Hall was meant
to be a haven, safe from the nasty reality of life, but its walls had been breached. It was a good idea for us to try to undo some of the damage done.
Jude smiled and left the room but a feeling of guilt hung over all of us.
Chapter 9
It took a few days before things returned to normal. The visit from the police left a shadow hanging over the house. We did our best to carry on, but the ominous feeling lingered in the back of our minds. None of us really entertained the idea that Jude was mixed up with the murders, but the investigation had come too close to us and had burst our happy bubble. Suddenly, we had to admit to ourselves that we weren’t invulnerable. I think I shrugged it off the easiest. I hadn’t been at Christie Hall as long as the others and hadn’t yet become so detached from the world outside. The rest of the house seemed afraid of what lay beyond the walled perimeter. Until then, I hadn’t realised that. We were all hiding from something. We had each gone there to escape ourselves. Suddenly that illusion had been shattered.
One good thing came out of the incident: it broke down the barriers between Jude and me. He was grateful for the loyalty I’d shown at the dinner table. Perhaps he hadn’t expected it, after all, he didn’t know me that well. That night he’d learned something new about me, and that changed the dynamics in the house. Fran shrank more into the background; she had lost her place in the group. Jude appeared more humble. His arrest had knocked him for six and he realized that Christie Hall wasn’t the fortress that he’d once thought it was. We spent afternoons together, walking around the grounds and sharing stories from our past. We discussed our dreams and he encouraged me with my writing while I helped inspire him to paint.
By early February, I felt as if I had known Jude all my life. It seemed like I had always lived at Christie Hall. My illness had faded into the distance, and my time in the hospital seemed like a long forgotten nightmare. I felt better than I had for years. It’s possible the medication I took was responsible for my improved mental stability, but it suited me better to believe my recovery was down to my change in circumstances. Whatever it was, at last I felt right. When my mother visited again, even she admitted that she noticed a huge improvement. She was relieved to find me happy and stable, and I was glad I was no longer a burden to her.
BENEATH THE WATERY MOON a psychological thriller with a stunning twist Page 8
