One afternoon I was churning butter in the dairy. The room was cold, and my breath fogged into clouds in the air. My fingers were numb as I stared into the creamy mixture I stirred. I found the work rewarding. I’d never imagined myself making butter. I’d searched for validation in obvious places and never imagined I would find it in the bottom of a barrel of buttermilk. As I wallowed in that thought, Celeste came running in.
‘Oh, it’s so exciting! Joanie thinks her labour is beginning.’
‘Fuck me sideways.’ I said.
Celeste frowned.
‘I mean she’s not due for a couple of weeks. Is it safe?’ I asked.
‘Safe?’ Celeste laughed. ‘It’s not a question of safe. If the baby thinks it’s time, then it’s time.’
‘Right, well, what do you want me to do?’
‘Maggie is on the phone to the midwife right now, asking for advice. I left Charlie looking after her. Wally has gone to get the car ready. Sophie is packing a hospital bag for Joanie and the baby. Can you please go and find Jude and tell him it’s time?’
‘Yes of course.’ I put the big wooden spoon down.
‘Great, thanks,’ Celeste said and turned to leave.
‘Hang on a sec, shouldn’t we tell the father or something . . .’ I asked.
Celeste stopped. She looked at me blankly. ‘Jude is the father,’ she said then walked out.
I froze. I couldn’t move. Why hadn’t he told me? Why hadn’t anyone told me? I felt so rocked by the news I had to sit down for a moment. It felt like my world had just imploded. My head began to spin and I was struck by an instant headache. I got up and went to search for Jude. I had a message to pass on and that was all I could think about doing. I scoured the grounds on autopilot, wondering what else the group hadn’t mentioned to me. I felt betrayed by them all, but mostly by Jude. I found him in the wood. He was chopping up a tree trunk that had been uprooted by a violent storm earlier the week.
‘Your baby is coming,’ I said. He brought the axe crashing down into the wood ‘Joanie is in labour.’
‘Alright.’ Jude said, calmly putting the axe down and taking his gloves off. ‘I’m just coming.’
I stood motionless and stared at him in disbelief.
‘How come you didn’t tell me?’
‘Not now, my Belle.’ He put his coat on and strode off in the direction of the house.
I stood alone in the cold, watching him walk away into the February mist. He disappeared into the gloom, like a ghost.
* * *
The next morning, news came from the hospital that Joanie had given birth to a boy. Everyone in the house buzzed with excitement. Everyone, except me. I felt sick to my stomach. It wasn’t just that they had kept the truth from me. Something else bothered me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Jude waltzed in at midday, looking tired and happy. He announced that the mother and baby were going to be kept in for one more night. She had bled more heavily than was usual but she was going to be fine. He asked us to get her room ready for when they came home. We set about doing it, as Jude retired to his room for some sleep.
Maggie suggested that Sophie and Ella make a mobile to hang in Joanie’s room. The rest of us busied ourselves. We washed blankets and painted the furniture we had collected in the months leading up to the birth. Charlie whitewashed a small chest of drawers and painted the handles blue.
‘Why didn’t any of you tell me?’ I asked Charlie, when the two of us were alone.
‘It wasn’t up to us, I guess.’ She refused to make eye contact with me.
I sat down in a chair opposite her and folded my arms. I wasn’t going to leave without a decent explanation.
‘Ok, ok.’ Charlie dropped her paintbrush into a cup of water. She ruffled her pink hair. ‘It’s not what you think. They aren’t in a relationship or anything like that.’
‘Thanks for clearing that up.’ I couldn’t hide my sarcasm. ‘So what happened then?’
‘Well she wanted a baby. I know it sounds odd, but it was that simple. She’s been here for ages and she asked Jude to be the dad. It was an arrangement they had. She is going to be left to decide how best to bring the baby up. The child is going to know that Jude is his father but that’s it. You know how this place works.’ She cocked her head to one side and fiddled with an earring.
‘Then why not tell me? Why the big secret?’
Charlie puffed her lips out. ‘He didn’t want you asking questions about the relationship. You see the thing is, Annabel,’ she continued to fidget, ‘Jude has slept with a lot of women. As some point or another I think he’s fucked everyone here.’
‘Even Wally?’
Charlie burst into hysterical laughter.
‘We aren’t all bi!’ I felt my cheeks flush pink.
‘He’s slept with Fran and Maggie, everyone?’
‘No, not Fran as far as I know . . .’ She was wistful.
‘Is it part of the deal? Are we expected to shag him?’
‘No, nothing like that. It’s just not off the table, if you know what I mean.’
‘I haven’t thought much about sex or relationships. It hadn’t crossed my mind.’
‘Exactly!’ Charlie interjected. ‘And Jude didn’t want to muddle your head with unnecessary nonsense.’
‘Ok, I get that, but for fuck’s sake, it’s hardly a small detail. He and Joanie are having, sorry, have had, a baby together.’
‘But is it that big a deal really?’
‘Well, I mean, yes, it changes things.’
‘What does it change? You knew there was going to be a baby around the place. What does it matter if Jude is the father?’ She searched my face.
‘It just bloody does.’ It was my turn to feel uncomfortable.
Charlie returned to painting the chest. I got up and headed for the door.
‘Don’t fall for him, Anna,’ her tone was grave. ‘You will only be disappointed.’
I pulled the door closed behind me without responding
* * *
I took the road into town. The wind was battering the coastline, and I wanted to avoid the biting cold gale. The sky was an uninspiring shade of grey. I pulled my scarf up over my nose and mouth. My breath felt warm against the blue wool. I felt suffused with sadness. Charlie was right. My feelings for Jude had taken on a life of their own. I felt like I’d been run over by a bus. My stomach was churning and I felt dizzy.
When I arrived at the charity shop I realized I couldn’t recall the walk there. I stepped inside and searched for things that might be suitable. Maggie had suggested I buy any curtains they had. I looked for suitable baby clothes. A decrepit woman, who stank of stale books and urine, was also busily fingering the rail of clothes. I did my best to avoid speaking to her. A lady in her sixties sat behind the counter, scrutinising us through a pair of small glasses perched on the end of her nose.
I had to get out of there. I sped around the shop and grabbed anything that wasn’t pink. I was finding it hard to breathe, and I rushed out onto the street and took some long breaths of fresh air. The thought of walking back filled me with dread. It felt colder than before. The air blew hard one moment and was deadly still the next. I smelled electricity in the air. A storm was on the way. The horizon out over the ocean was black and the weather matched my mood. I stuffed the bag of second-hand clothes into my rucksack and headed off in the direction of Christie Hall.
Chapter 10
St Valentine
I cannot write this evening.
Cupid’s day has come
And I am lost in the loneliness
Of an unwritten card.
Feeling the tingle of bubbles,
And tasting the champagne
I am drunk on the sentiment
You never thought to send.
On Valentine’s Day, I was in a particularly strange mood. Everything had changed since I’d discovered Jude was the father of Joanie’s baby. She had named him Hunter. He was very sweet. He had his father’s hair,
a thick mass of auburn curls haloed his head. He had dark brown eyes and a little button nose. We all fell in love with him, that was fine, but I had to battle my jealousy. I knew it was ridiculous to feel threatened by a new-born but I couldn’t help myself. Hunter represented a special link between Jude and Joanie.
The house held a naming ceremony for the child. We each, in turn, promised to look after the baby as if he were our own. Then each of us gave him something we had made. It was a nice idea. We all shared the responsibility of bringing the child up. Although Joanie was going to be the true mother, we would form a network of unbreakable support around the child, in the same way we were for each other.
By now, I had accepted my feelings for Jude. I realized I was in love with him. We had been distant since the arrival of his son. I was surprised he wasn’t particularly interested in the child. When I asked him about the relationship he said that he would bond with the child when it was older. I struggled to understand his lack of interest.
Since Hunter’s arrival, I closely watched Joanie and Jude when they were together. I saw no evidence that they were in love. While I watched them, Charlie watched me. She knew my secret. She warned me against indulging my fantasy. I didn’t heed her advice. My feelings were too deep to control. When Jude came into the room, my heart danced with butterflies and I found myself looking for reasons to be close to him. I would breathe in his smell of honey and toast, taking him in as though he were a drug.
I lay in bed at night hoping he would come and knock on my door. Every sound set my heart racing. I couldn’t sleep. I spent my days tired and spaced out. Maggie noticed that I was distracted but didn’t press me on it, which I was grateful for. Charlie was a different kettle of fish, though. She was like a dog with a bone. She would not let it go and continued to try to talk to me about it. In the end I lost my temper and told her to mind her own fucking business. Unsurprisingly, she didn’t respond to this very well. She told me I was a fool and that I was in danger of putting the whole stability of the house at risk. I said I would never do that, but she said that by entertaining the idea I was already going down that path. I stormed off. Hours later, when I calmed down, I apologized. She said she understood how difficult it must be for me, but that I should stop indulging in my fantasy. She told me that during all of the years she had known Jude, she had never seen him with a girlfriend. He had commitment issues. That was why he’d created Christie Hall. He liked the idea of sharing his life with a group of people, not just one. I admitted that her theory made sense and told her I would do my best to control my feelings.
After I’d had it out with Charlie, I felt deflated and retired to the sanctuary of my bedroom. I sat at my desk by the window and looked out over the garden. Snowdrops littered the ground. The sky was thick with the promise of a blizzard. My throat closed up as a wave of emotion hit me. I needed to vent and did the only thing I knew I could: I wrote poetry.
Snowstorm
I am just a woman standing
Wearing my mask and your coat.
Against the snow that falls
Are your black eyes
Searching my counterfeit face.
If only heavy insanity would sink
To below my surface
Like flakes landing on shoulders
And tirelessly melting;
Effortless as my restraint.
In my sleep a tired madness –
Enough for us both.
If you do not wish to wake it,
You must step back and away,
Vanishing and fading,
In the blizzard of my mind.
I felt like a tragic heroine from a Brontë novel. But the more I felt, the more I wrote.
I was in a mess. I couldn’t eat. I felt nervous most of the time and my sleep was so disturbed that I spent my days walking around like a zombie. One evening, when the house was quiet and everyone had gone to bed, I took myself downstairs and curled up on one of the sofas. I lit some candles and lay huddled up in the mellow orange light. I watched the flames dance and flare with each and every draft. Outside I heard foxes fighting. The house had never felt so empty or lonely.
This House
Treading
through the belly
of our house;
a prison
for unhappy souls.
I could hang
from the beams
oppressive
above my head.
I hear spiders skip
across the floor
searching
for cracks to haunt
under the floorboards.
The undead are here,
their naked feet
pacing
pacing.
Curtains closed
locking out stars
veiling me
from myself.
Dead furniture
scattered around me
in no particular order.
This place
does not resemble
home
and splinters bite
at my bleeding feet
forever pacing.
The old grandfather clock in the dining room struck three. I pulled my blanket up around my chin and tucked my toes in. At night the house took on a life of its own. I wasn’t superstitious but it seemed the place seemed filled with ghosts. Then Jude appeared wearing only a pair of pyjama bottoms. He yawned and stretched. I sat up on the couch and pulled my hair back into a messy bun. He came and sat down next to me and put his hand on my thigh. I flinched but he didn’t seem to notice.
‘It’s cold and lonely down here. Don’t wallow in your gloom.’ he said. ‘I’m going to get a glass of water and go back up to bed. I suggest you come up with me. You look like you need company. Why not bunk in with me tonight?’
My heart beat so hard in my chest that I thought it might explode. He leaned in and tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear and rubbed his thumb on my cheek. I closed my eyes and tried to savour the moment. There was a frog in my throat and I couldn’t speak. I pulled the blanket back and folded it neatly over one of the sofa arms. Jude went into the kitchen and returned with two glasses of water. He went over to the candle and blew it out, and we were plunged into darkness. I silently followed him upstairs.
I had only been in his bedroom once before and that was to wake him from an afternoon nap. In the early morning hours the room demanded a quiet appreciation. Jude padded over to the huge four-poster bed and put the water down on the bedside table. He went over to the window and pulled the curtains back. The sky was sapphire blue and a large silver moon shone through the wispy clouds. I watched the light reflect on his torso. I wanted to touch his warm skin. With a smile, Jude got into bed and sat looking at me.
I didn’t know what to expect or what I wanted to happen. Was this my initiation? Did I want to sleep with him and become another one of his conquests? I didn’t know where it was going to lead but I slipped under the covers with him. We lay in the suffocating darkness and I listened to the soothing rhythm of his breathing. I was a stiff as a board as I waited for his hands to search me out. But they didn’t. I lay still for a long time before I realized he had drifted off to sleep. At first my heart sank. Then I realized I was relieved. I wasn’t sure if I could cope with us having sex. I turned to face him and watched him sleep for a while. His chest rose and fell with each deep breath. I lay my arm on his chest. Moments later, I too fell asleep.
* * *
The next few weeks went by slowly. Spring was in the air and the land began to come to life. We busied ourselves preparing the vegetable patch and planting. The garden was awash with crocuses and daffodils. The animals had a new lease of life in them too. Sharing Jude’s bed had become a regular occurrence. We hadn’t had sex. The two of us shared a closeness that would have been muddied by any physical act. Our connection felt pure. I had found my soul mate but knew Jude would not be tied down and that he belonged to all of us. I was glad to be a part of his life
. He loved us all, and that was good enough for me.
It was lovely to have a child in the house. I adored Hunter (even if I thought it was a stupid name). Joanie was a great mother. She was very calm with him. He was a happy baby who grinned at anyone who would look at him. We took it in turns pushing him around the grounds in his pram. I would sing him lullabies. It was an unusual arrangement but one that seemed to work. Each of us had something unique to offer the child. I thought he was possibly the luckiest baby in the world. So many people loved him.
I came to terms with my feelings for Jude and learnt to manage them. The only person who knew about it was Charlie, but she kept quiet. I refused to discuss it with her and she did not press me on it. Things were back to normal and I found myself able to enjoy Christie Hall again. I sometimes wondered if it might be the place I was in love with, not the man.
None of us spoke about what was going on outside the walls. The murders in the town seemed like a distant nightmare. We stopped watching the news or reading the newspapers. We were afraid of being infected by the sadness and misery of the real world. Christie Hall provided us with everything we needed. We shut the world out. The people in town crossed the road if they saw us. We knew what they whispered about us. The label ‘cult’ stuck. Once in a while the police would show up and ask to speak to us, under the guise of routine inquiries. We knew they didn’t bother questioning other people who lived nearby. For Jude it was like water off a duck’s back, but the rest of us felt increasingly hurt and isolated. We became more reclusive, which made us grow closer than ever before.
* * *
The summer came and went, and autumn began to blanket the countryside. It had been the best summer of my life. We spent hours outside playing games and laughing while the hot sunshine beat down on our shoulders. We watched Hunter develop. He would lie on his back on a blanket and kick his legs. Nearby butterflies danced around the buddleia. We made jam and collected honey, and sold our produce by the side of the road to tourists passing by. Jude and I regularly went out cycling together, winding along the lazy country roads or visiting the bird reserve.
BENEATH THE WATERY MOON a psychological thriller with a stunning twist Page 9
