The wind was really knocked out of my sails, and the rise of emotion which hit the back of my throat made me want to shed a tear. I managed to keep under control and out of politeness, made myself reply and say, “Yes they are truly lovely Molly.”
I stood at my car door and tried to compose myself, before driving to the surgery.
Why had Clare so suddenly and cruelly turned against me? I asked myself. It was almost as if she was blaming me for the loss of the baby, or at least she needed to take it out on someone and that looked as if it was going to be me.
As I arrived at work. I decided not to say anything to Ian. He had enough on his plate, and had a backlog of work to catch up on. It was a blessing in a way, to work through my clients for the day, and to realise that there are much worse things going on in people’s lives than a rejected bunch of flowers, and that helped me at least try to get the morning’s event into perspective.
I didn’t see Ian at all that day, and gathered that he had left as early as possible and one of the other doctors in the practice was going to cover Ian’s evening surgery.
As I arrived back home I was aware of waves of shouting and screaming from their flat. This was really a first as they were both such quiet and seemingly composed people, Clare especially.
In fact, all of us in the house were very quiet. Occasionally Alison and Chris would have friends round and you could hear some laughter and music, but it was never unbearable; in fact it was quite pleasant to break the routine of the weekends at times.
As I began to cook my evening meal, I heard something that sounded like crockery or glass being smashed against the walls upstairs and the shattering of the item as it hit the floor. Clare was still screaming like a banshee. For someone who had come across as so quiet and reserved, she certainly had a good pair of lungs!
I found this drastic and emotional change of atmosphere and behaviour extremely distressing and so as usual, I rang Jayne at our usual evening time when Callum was in bed. I hadn’t told her about the recent events of the week, but was now filling her in, and she did comment that she could hear noise in the background coming down the phone. I knew Jayne would be particularly understanding having had a child herself, and being able to in some degree, to put herself in Clare’s situation if that had happened with Callum.
Over the next few weeks there were quiet evenings and tempestuous ones. On one evening I decided to go to bed early while there was a lull in the storm. Just before I had managed to drift off to sleep, I heard Clare scream, “Go on, Go to her, you obviously want to!”
Then silence fell and I fell asleep, not knowing that the “her” in Clare’s outburst was me, and totally unbeknown to me was the fact that all this had started from her witnessing Ian putting his hand over mine on the staircase that night, and patting my hand. Also, not knowing, that Clare had totally come to a misconstrued conclusion, from my point of view anyway. Also, not knowing that Clare’s unstable mind would result in her revenge and the strength of it, against me.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
On the Saturday I was in Easterly shopping centre, getting my shopping for the weekend. It wasn’t often that I saw Mary out and about for she usually had her shopping delivered, with George now being housebound. We met and decided to go for a cup of tea at the Lavender tea rooms.
Our subject, quite naturally I suppose, soon turned to Clare, and the turbulent atmosphere that had been emanating from Ian and Clare’s apartment, which also affected Mary and George’s peace.
It was Mary who informed me that the funeral of baby Tamara was on the ninth of January at the Crematorium in Easterly and that Dr Crowther, as Mary always respectfully referred to Ian as, had said that all were welcome to join him and Clare in saying goodbye. Apparently, after the service, there was going to be a small gathering at one of the small rooms at the Town Hall where refreshments would be available. I thanked Mary for telling me and said that I would make sure I had that day off in my diary. I then gave Mary a lift home.
The funeral was on the Friday morning and although I wanted out of compassion and respect, to attend the service, I did not feel comfortable with going to the get together afterwards. Clare’s reaction to me at the service proved me right in my decision, for Clare went out of her way not to speak to me, when she had the opportunity to do so.
It had been a bright but bitingly cold day with an east wind which heralded the possibility of snow.
I didn’t really take in much of the service, but did cry when I saw that tiny white coffin on such a large stand. It was covered with flowers and teddy bears and the name Tamara made from flowers along the side.
Although there was only a small group from the practice and some family there, the group of mourners were kept to a minimum. I decided that I wouldn’t bring flowers, especially after my experience, but I did make a generous contribution to the neo-natal charity research.
Ian and Clare stood along with the Vicar, outside the crematorium and spoke to the different attendees as they came out.
Alison and I were next. The vicar spoke to me and shook my hand, as he did everyone else’s and I voiced my appreciation of his very sensitive and powerful service, which I genuinely meant. Ian didn’t shake my hand, but thanked me for coming. Clare on the other hand had a lot to say to Alison and even hugged her, but totally ignored me when it was my turn. That really hurt but I wasn’t going to let it show; but I kept asking myself ‘why?’ when we had become so close only a few weeks before.
I had, as usual, kept my best friend Jayne well informed of the situation, and she had suggested that I set off to her house straight after the service.
I hadn’t told Alison beforehand, but just said that I was needed over at Jayne’s, and would she make my apologies to Ian and Clare, but already knowing inside, that this would please Clare immensely, for some reason.
I had a lovely relaxing time at Jayne’s and enjoyed the luxury of relaxing, not just in my own skin but just being with real friends and not on edge, as I had started to be. In fact, I was rather perturbed when it was time to go back. I secretly didn’t feel like going back at all, despite my lovely apartment and doing a job I really loved that had once meant the world to me.
As it was still winter, I set off as soon as it became light. I didn’t want to arrive when the daylight was already going, and it was just as well, not knowing the unwelcome response I would get on my arrival back home.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I arrived back home at around one p.m. As I walked into the foyer, the glorious aroma of roast lamb, emanated from Mary’s apartment.
I opened my front door, and after putting my case on the bed, bent down to retrieve my post from the floor. I picked up a small pile of letters and then decided with a cup of tea in hand, to go and sit on the settee and open them.
My thoughts turned very briefly at first, to the unusual but unpleasant smell that surrounded the atmosphere in my flat. I briefly put down my post and went into the kitchen again. I couldn’t identify it and wondered if it might be from the drains. I decided to go through my post and then have an investigation and maybe all that was needed was a thorough bleach-through everywhere.
There I was, working my way through the letters, when, out of the corner of my eye, I became aware of a grey object, running across my cream lounge carpet.
My natural reaction was to scream. I then saw it again and it scuttled out of sight under my welsh dresser. I screamed again.
I then became aware of an eerie shriek of laughter, just like something out of Jayne Eyre. I stood on the settee and fumbled for my mobile, which was fortunately in my pocket.
I immediately rang Ernie who lived on site, in the keeper’s lodge with his wife, Elsie, and who was the handyman for Marton Manor. I hysterically told Ernie my predicament and he promised to be round within the next thirty minutes or so.
I stood almost paralysed and shaking. There was a knock at the door, and I shouted, “Come in,” in a high-pitched voice.
>
It was Alison. “I heard the screams,” she said. “I worked out it was coming from here, even though most of the noise these days seems to come from upstairs.”
On the brink of tears, I explained to Alison what had happened when I had arrived back home.
“Have you any apples?” she suddenly asked to my surprise.
“Apples?” I questioned, feeling a bit irritated as though she was having a joke.
“Yes,” she replied. I think that she sensed my irritation as though she was mocking me she said, “Don’t forget, we do lots of experiments at school and if it is a mouse or even a rat; trust me, they like apples. We need to tempt this fellow with something he likes,” Alison replied confidently taking charge.
“A rat?” I responded with a hysterical voice.
“Have you, or haven’t you?” she asked firmly.
“No, I haven’t,” I said firmly.
“What about bread?” Alison next asked.
“I’ve some granary bread, but it’s probably going a bit stale now with me being away,” I replied.
“Oh, they don’t mind that, they’re not fussy. Now then, I’ll take the seeds out first and coax our little friend out,” Alison continued, as though she was instructing a nature programme, and as for the “little friend” bit, he or she was certainly not mine!
As Alison chopped away preparing the bread and taking the granary seeds out, I questioned, “I thought that they liked cheese?”
“No,” said Alison. “That is actually a bit of a fallacy. They prefer carbohydrates,” she said.
After she had prepared the slice of bread, squeezing out all the grains and seeds, she made her way towards the welsh dresser and went down on her knees with one hand outstretched invitingly to my little “squatter”.
Eventually the mouse came out which enabled Alison to gently pick him or her up.
“You look like a professional,” I said, cringing. “How can you touch that thing?” I asked Alison screwing my face up.
Alison chuckled at my face. “I did my work experience at a vet where you had to be prepared for everything and to handle any animal.”
Just at that moment, Ernie knocked at the door and came in. “At least you’ve made my job easier Alison,” said Ernie.
Ernie put the ghastly creature into a cage which he had brought with him, in preparation for the departure. He took it and put it in his works van, saying that he would release it, but a good way from here! I thanked Ernie and told him how grateful I was for his help.
Both Alison and Ernie remarked on the smell that was obviously now down to the mouse. Ernie did remark, which I don’t know whether was for the good or not, that the mouse must have been trapped there for a couple of days to make that sort of smell. I did remark that when I had left on the Friday, there wasn’t any evidence of one and it was only Sunday afternoon. It did seem strange that this visitor had decided to come while I was away.
Before Ernie and Alison departed, the daylight had rapidly begun to fade and I reached out to turn on my lamp over the television, but as I moved the switch near the bulb, nothing happened.
I apologised, “Sorry, I won’t be a minute, I’ve a spare one in the kitchen drawer.” I quickly went to fetch it.
I changed the bulb and tried again. Still nothing. Ernie said that he would look. He went over to the lamp and then looked across at Alison first and then me. With raised eyebrows.
He switched the lamp off at the socket before pulling the plug out. Ernie then held the lamp lead up and showed what was plain to see, there were teeth marks right through it.
“Your visitor has done, what is quite common, and chewed through this cable. There might however, be other cables that are unsafe, that we don’t yet know about,” said Ernie.
Then Alison chipped in saying, “Natasha, this makes sense. I could see black pellet like droppings near your front door, and that drain smell is often a classic sign.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “I don’t understand …” I started. “Our apartments are brand new, who would imagine mice being a problem. I don’t think Mary or George have mentioned anything like that, and they are on the ground floor too,” I protested.
“Not necessarily so,” said Ernie. “We aren’t far from the fields remember.”
Alison, trying to make light of the situation, gave a slight giggle and said, “Looks like he may have invited himself in through the letterbox and not the back. The mouse must have thought it was a cat flap!”
Alison then backed off as she noticed my face awash with panic, and then she swiftly added, “I’m only joking. Mice are known for their craftiness, they can get in anywhere, in places that you couldn’t imagine.”
However, that thought haunted me. How could that mouse have just conveniently decided to come in at the front, instead from the fields at the back, which was nigh impossible, and just decide to come through my letterbox. It certainly wasn’t feasible at all!
Ernie interrupted my silent panic. “Look Natasha, it’s not really safe for you to stay here tonight. It is my duty to check that all the electrics are safe, which they obviously aren’t. I need to come in tomorrow and check all the cables etc., in the daylight. I’ll also get the pest control chap to come and have a check, to see if it was just that one or if there any others lurking about. I’ll also try and pull some strings and get your carpet cleaned and suitable for you to move back in within a couple of days if that is okay with you?”
I glanced at Alison, and heavy hearted said, “I feel as though it’s my fault and that I haven’t been keeping the place clean.”
“Well don’t,” said Alison administering her authority. “Come on,” she instructed. “Pack a few things in your bag and stop with us until your place is sorted.”
The relief I felt when she made that offer, was so welcome, and one I couldn’t resist, especially for sanity reasons. I was beginning to feel I was being targeted by someone who had a grudge against me.
Was it Clare? How could I prove it?
It was a great relief to be at Alison’s. Being upstairs I didn’t have to listen to Clare’s outbursts and hear that eerie laugh which she liked to break out into, from time to time.
I didn’t stay up late at Alison’s and I had a soak and relax in the bath. It might have been blowing a January gale outside, but it was cosy and warm here at Alison’s.
I sank into the lovely crisp white sheets. I was about to doze off when Alison’s comments came flooding back into my thoughts, regarding the mouse inviting itself through the letter box like a cat flap …
I felt a surge of panic. Had that mouse been planted in there? It seemed a more logical explanation. If so, there was only one person it could be and that was Clare. She seemed to hate my guts for some unknown reason.
I still went in to work the next day and managed to function professionally in my counsellor mode. Looking at my diary, I noticed that I needed to make an appointment with my supervisor. As counsellors, we needed regular supervision ourselves and to discuss any concerns or queries about our clients and to make sure that we always delivered the best.
While at the surgery, I rang Zoe, my supervisor, and made an appointment to see her. I had managed to keep my appointments with her strictly based on my clients, but Zoe, as all trained supervisors did, read beyond the person sitting in front of them and I knew Zoe was just the same.
I had to give Zoe her due, in the fact that she never pried or forced me to reveal my real worries, and I am quite sure that she felt at ease that my clients were not of concern to me or beyond my capabilities.
On my latest visit to Zoe, I did mention, but more from a concerned neighbourly point of view that we were all wanting to do our best for Ian and Clare, but without making matters worse.
Zoe had heard about the tragedy and was very understanding about how difficult it was to say the right thing when people, like Clare were in a dark place, and could easily take offence at the smallest thing.
Zoe tried to
reassure me that Clare’s outbursts that I had overheard, were part of her natural anger coming out, and that it was all part of the grieving process.
Why me? I asked myself. I didn’t let on that I had become the target of that question.
The following morning, I awoke early. It was still dark and gloomy, and I quietly made my way down to my car, without disturbing Alison and Chris.
There had been a vicious frost overnight and it had taken its toll on my windscreen and windows. I started to scrape the ice off with my scraper and tried to turn the engine over to get the blowers going, to heat the back and front windows but found that the battery was flat. I turned the ignition over three times, but still no joy. This seemed to be something new the past these days, and I was surprised if a flat battery was the cause.
My mind vaguely drifted back to when, as a young child, I had helped my mother and brother push his “banger,” to push start it on many a morning in the winter.
However, no such luck or assistance for me. With this drive being level and anyway, with a lack of human force, there was no way I could perform a push start. I was just about to ring the RAC who I fortunately belonged to, when Ian came out of the main door.
“Hi Natasha, looks as though you are struggling, can I help?” he asked.
“I think it may be the battery. My late brother would have started it in no time,” I replied.
“Well, I’m on call out duty today and I’ve just had an early call out. Jump in and I’ll drop you down at work and you can ring the RAC from there if need be,” Ian responded helpfully.
I turned towards Ian’s car, and out of the corner of my eye saw the curtain move back and forth from their flat; as though we were being watched.
The conversation between Ian and I was mostly about Clare which I suppose, was natural under the circumstances. I tried to sound sympathetic despite my hunches about Clare. I had no proof though. They were hunches, but strong ones.
Through the Dark Keyhole Page 11
