‘I’m sorry,’ I said, relenting enough for a brief handshake as I drank.
‘No need to apologize, sure I’ll forgive you.’ He walked back to the kitchenette and slung the wrench onto the sink. He ran water and began washing his hands, whistling through his teeth. The water and the noise of washing sounded like heaven; my skin, choked with dirt and raw with sweat, crawled under my clothes. I drained my glass and set it down.
‘Seems to me,’ he said, turning back towards me as he dried his hands. ‘Seems to me as you’re the victim of some sorta incident.’ My God, I thought, he spoke like he’d been baptized in the bayou and raised on syrup and sunshine. ‘Perhaps the victim of a carjacking, as the modern parlance has it, judging by the mess of them shoes and your lack of transportation.’ He smiled. I took him to be in his late thirties, perhaps early forties. Time had scored vertical lines down each cheek of his sun-worn face, but he looked well used rather than aged.
‘You’ve been real kind, but I need to…’ but where did I need to go? Paris? As I stared past him to the side exit, I couldn’t shake the impression that I’d already arrived. ‘Do you have a cell?’ He reached into his back pocket and held one out.
‘Dead, I’m afraid. I was aiming to charge it up in my truck but…’ I looked at the phone in his hand but did not take it. ‘Suppose you must’a mislaid yours …’ He licked his lips. ‘Along with your memory. Still, once I get the truck goin’ you can call whoever.’ He put the phone away again. His eyes were pale, almost animal in their intensity. ‘This place here’s something of a weekend retreat. A bolt-hole, if you will, for fishing and suchlike. Normally, its very isolation is a … a boon to me, but it has its limitations.’
‘So, we’re kind of stuck here,’ I said, glancing toward the open door again.
‘Just a few hours, that’s all.’ He scratched his nose. ‘Listen, I’m gonna fix us some food, call it breakfast if you like. I’m hungry even if you ain’t. You could even get a shower, if you want?’ he asked. ‘The facilities are basic, but this place has runnin’ water. It’s cold, but in this climate that don’t matter. One thing we have in these parts, is an abundance of heat.’
A shower sounded like the nearest thing to heaven this side of the grave.
‘I can wait, thanks.’
‘As you like darlin’,’ he purred. ‘But if you change your mind, I can lend you something to put on. I haven’t much in the way as would suit you, but I can let you have an undershirt and pants, seein’ as you ain’t a whole lot shorter than I. Anyway, seems ladies do dress in a most masculine style these days.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
He shrugged his shoulders and looked away from me, as if self-consciously breaking his gaze. ‘There’s a mirror upstairs. You might care to take a look at that …’ He indicated his forehead with spidery brown fingers. ‘Substantial blow to your head.’
I raised my hand and encountered swelling and pain. ‘Yeah, no shit.’ It hurt to frown. It hurt more to remember; I concentrated on a whole kaleidoscope of nothing, while he went back into the kitchen.
‘You’d care for coffee? It’s only instant, ‘fraid my supplies are limited. I was not …’ He opened a cupboard above the stove and closed it again. ‘Not expecting to entertain.’ I flexed my feet tentatively as I watched him locate a kettle, a jar of coffee, a large skillet and mugs. He’d decided I was staying for breakfast, and the pain in my feet made it difficult to argue with him.
‘You got my shoes?’ I asked.
‘Shoes … what’s left of them’s by the door here.’ He drummed a teaspoon on the lid of the jar. ‘No milk, I’m sorry to say, but I like mine black.’
I got up, moving cautiously, testing the extent of my injuries and walking on the sides of my feet. The place seemed smaller than yesterday; the kitchen little more than an offshoot of the main room, balanced by the wooden staircase.
‘That’s fine, I take mine black too,’ I said. Red looked up from the stove with a crocodilian smile.
‘I dare say as you do.’ He licked his lips and turned away, so he didn’t see the smile that tweaked at my lips.
I bent and cautiously retrieved my shoes. His assessment of them was generous; they were little more than laces and holes, the soles walked clean away. It seemed I really was on my uppers. I returned what remained of them to the corner of the kitchen and leant against the doorframe. I watched him work, trying to glimpse what was concealed in the kitchen drawers.
‘I don’t claim to be much in the way of a chef …’ A halo of blue fire erupted under the kettle at his touch. ‘My mother was the real cook in our family, when she was minded to send the maids to bed.’ He paused by a plastic cool box. ‘It surprises you to hear we had maids when I was a boy?’
‘Oh, no, it doesn’t …’ I was only half listening to his words; the sound of them was enough. I could have eaten that voice off a spoon.
He smiled. ‘I’m not always as you see me here. This place is something of a refuge for me. A place of …’ He took out bacon and eggs. ‘A place of discovery.’ He flicked the gas on under the skillet and added bacon, its fat moistening the iron surface. My stomach howled and gnawed in protest, hunger making me giddy.
Focus.
‘We learned a thing or two, when we was serving Uncle Sam. How to cook eggs on the hood of a truck, that sort of amusement.’ He turned the bacon and picked up an egg. ‘I cooked this for my wife – I was married once, you understand, but serving the flag is not kind to the state of marriage.’
‘I’m sorry.’ I watched as he cracked the egg.
‘Still nothin’ you got to be sorry about, not that anyhow.’ The egg turned from glass to porcelain as it hit the pan. I shook my head. ‘By your accent, I’m guessing you’re a long way from home.’ He flipped the bacon and turned toward me. ‘I’m accustomed to calling a lady Ma’am and it don’t bother me none, but perhaps I might offer you a temporary name, until you’re … re-acquainted with yours?’
‘I guess,’ I said, a chill warning prickling down my spine as he came closer. I had the unnerving sensation that he meant to touch me, or take hold of my hand, and I was not sure what I would do if he did, or if I would find it wholly repulsive.
‘I had an aunt once, you bring her to mind, not that she was as well formed as you …’ He chuckled. ‘But when I knew her she had no memory also, so maybe that’s why I light on her …Margarita?’ His gaze flickered intently over my face.
‘Sorry?’
‘Margarita, her name was Margarita, as in the drink. She were partial to one or two, in her day.’ He watched me as if trying to tell the time from an unfamiliar clock. ‘I like ‘em easy,’ he said.
‘Easy?’ I swallowed, the smell of cooking flooding my mouth. I could see the pulse in his neck; the hard, spare muscle of his chest under his tight grey shirt. ‘I’ve always preferred them easy, my eggs. How d’you take them … Margarita?’
I inhaled the scent of him, made glorious mixed with the smell of breakfast. I met his gaze and released my smile.
‘Hard. I like mine hard.’
‘Hard?’ His eyes flinched at the word.
I met his gaze, stared him full in the face. ‘Real good and firm.’
He looked down, something lazy and eager playing over his lips, pulling them into a grin. ‘I best go see to the pan.’ He turned on his heel and flipped a kitchen cloth over his shoulder in the manner of a short-order cook. ‘Go sit at the table.’ He got out two plates. ‘Be ready in a moment.’ He smiled his crocodile’s smile.
When he set the food down, I found I was so hungry I’d eaten half before I looked up. I swilled a mouthful of coffee.
‘Good to see a lady enjoying her ham and egg,’ he said.
‘Thank you …’ I swallowed more bacon. ‘For the food. I’ll get out of your hair soon as I can.’
‘About that.’ He smiled over his coffee. ‘Seems I’ve done a little more to my old truck than I’d intended.’
‘What’s the problem?’ I set
my fork down.
‘Nothin’ one could name. Be another hour or so, I hope.’ He shrugged. ‘Can’t always tell with these things, and I don’t have all the tools a man might want.’
‘I could walk,’ I said, though I doubted I could do so for more than a mile. He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head.
‘On those poor little shoes? You’ve walked them through to the sole, Margarita, thin as prison gruel.’
‘Well …’
‘But don’t you fret none,’ he said brightly. ‘I’ll get right back to it. Maybe you’ll assist me, turn her over for me? Can’t claim to be much of a mechanic, but I can claim to be mighty persistent.’ Red stood up and carried his plate and mine into the kitchen and I watched him tip the cutlery into the sink. Sure, I’d give him a hand. I wanted to see what was out there.
The ground out back was dry and desiccated and with the skin on my feet as sensitive as a newly peeled blister, I moved with geisha’s steps, feeling faintly ridiculous as my hesitant, ladylike progress had me sweating. Though it was dry above, I had the strong impression this was just a deceptive crust, and that if I were to dig only a little deeper, wet, black mud would boil up from under my feet
‘Best find yourself somewhere cool,’ Red advised as he began considering his eviscerated truck. ‘I’ve got a few things to do ‘afore I need you, and you don’t wanna catch no sun, not with that bump on your head.’
Shading my eyes I glared around, as if the world I knew was hiding from me just out of spite. The only barrier in the landscape was the curved edge of the river. The back of the house was much the same as the front: grey-green boards and blinded windows. I saw that the main room where we’d eaten could have opened out this way, but what once might have been French windows had been covered over with clapboard in place of glass, making the side door the only other exit – improvements designed to make your average redneck cannibal feel right at home.
I turned my back on the house and inched towards the river, where the ground softened nearer the water. There was a single, tangled tree at the side of a boathouse, its roots exposed to air thick with the whine of insects. Only our side of the river was defined; the other bled into marsh fused with wiry grass and shrub.
The tree gave scant shade and the sun pounded almost spitefully on my head, so I made my way tentatively to the boathouse. It had no door, its entrance a black rectangle opening in the sun-dried wood. I saw a walkway no more than eight feet long, water lapping either side. It was invitingly cool.
The thin film of moisture that clung to the jetty was kind to my feet as gloom embraced me, the caress of the shade almost indecent. There were three wooden posts along one side of the walkway, but I ignored them and raised my arms as if on a tightrope. I inched forwards on the sides of my feet, enjoying the shiver of cold air from the water.
When I got to the end, I curled my toes over the edge of the last plank before I looked down. The river was a gelatinous black. I watched my reflection materialize in its depths and become a phantom, no longer anchored by memory or comprehension. I yearned to walk across the inky surface and have it kiss my feet better, my crawling, filthy skin aching to be clean. As I stared, my feet seemed to slip away, as if already descending on their chosen path. The world closed down until it was nothing but a beautiful black jewel of water. I smiled, my heart rate slowed as my body exhaled at last and the drip-drip of my fear dissipated. The world dissolved into cinnamon darkness.
‘I’m not playing.’
‘Why d’you always have to spoil everything, why must you be so difficult?’
I saw cards, counters on a board and her screwed-up little face under blond curls before she sent all of it tumbling over, furious, tempestuous with tears, stamping feet, everything falling, scattering, rolling away.
Then the jetty collapsed from under me.
Chapter 3
I THREW MYSELF BACKWARDS, heels striking wood as I ran in mid-air. Before I went down, the sodden planks of wood hit the water and great gouts of it sprayed over me. I screamed; my arm caught the post at the end which, made of stronger stuff than the jetty, remained firmly rooted in place. I slithered downwards, collecting slime and splinters.
Something grabbed me, caught me fast and held me between the devil and the deep blue sea. I gasped as my head rushed and whirled away from me and the light on the water danced and fractured into stars.
I cried out and sucked air into my lungs. A face was inches from mine, nothing but a black-eyed shadow mask against the light, a thing from a nightmare holding me above the water. Holding me, or pushing me under? A scream stuck in the back of my throat. I thrashed my legs until I got a foothold in the mud of the bank under the jetty, panic beating through me. With my free arm I grasped the jetty and pulled, my hip then my thigh snagging on the edge. As soon as I was able, I jerked my arm free, tasting nothing but brackish water and the metallic burn of adrenaline.
‘Hey, what the—?’ but I couldn’t make sense of who or what spoke as the roar of the water bellowed in my ears. I yanked myself up to standing and hit out at the shadow, my feet in agony as they slid on the wooden floor. The rectangle of the doorway burned light and bright in front of me, then the shadow tried to get hold of me again.
‘Get off!’ I blurted, turned to face it, and saw it was Red.
‘You want me to throw you back?’ he said, hands up in surrender.
‘I’m sorry, I …’ A wave of embarrassment flushed over me, my skin prickling with heat against the chill of my sodden clothes. ‘I didn’t realize it was you,’ was all I could manage, which sounded utterly ridiculous.
‘Come on,’ he said, and not demanding just who the hell I’d thought he was, put his hand on my shoulder to encourage me outside. ‘This place ain’t safe.’
‘Oh Christ,’ I said, looking back at the chaos I’d achieved. The last three planks were gone, leaving the end pillar in splendid isolation. Red dragged me out, our feet stumbling on the rough grass into the heat of the sun. I dropped to my knees and Red threw himself down beside me.
He waited for our breathing to calm, before he glanced sideways and asked, ’Shit, what was you doin’ messing about near the water like that?’
‘Fuck, I don’t know …’ I laughed. ‘How the hell did … I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t sweat it.’ Red lay on his back, shielding his eyes with his hand. There was now a grimy slick down the side of his pants where he must have hit the deck to rescue me. ‘You gave me a hell of a turn there. Shit, you gotta be so careful round water. I never meant you to go swimmin’ or nothing!’ He laughed, shaking his head.
‘I was just looking for some shade. Oh fuck … look at the state of me.’
‘Lucky I saw you go in, I ain’t much of a swimmer.’ He sat up again, rubbing his arms. ‘You sure got a knack of finding trouble.’
‘How’s the truck?’ I asked, scuttling away from my humiliation.
‘I could do with your help turning it over, if you ain’t forgotten how?’ He smirked. ‘Or maybe you’d rather get that shower now?’
‘I’ll help you with the truck first,’ I said, though my legs were now mired with black mud and I was soaked through with river water, just to complement the sweat, blood and tears.
‘Are you sure? Seein’ as what you just did to the boathouse, not sure I should let you near my truck.’
I stood up. ‘Yeah,’ I waved over my shoulder toward the boathouse. ‘You’ll have to let me know what I owe you for the damage, when we get back into town.’
Red’s smile faded. ‘All right.’ He sniffed.
I climbed into the driver’s seat of Red’s flatbed truck, noting the film of dust over the windows. I drew my finger through it and glanced into the back. There was a tool bag, a spare tyre but no fishing poles. Red popped the hood and disappeared from view inside the mouth of the truck.
‘Just give me a sec …’ While he was out of sight, I peered into the glovebox and the door compartment, but there was nothing much to see o
ther than the familiar detritus one might expect: an empty water bottle, sweet wrappers and an ancient workshop manual. I glanced through the passenger side window and something flashed in my vision, a square of mirror on the grass catching the light. It looked like a wing mirror. I glanced side-to-side to check, but the truck still had both mirrors in place.
‘Okay,’ Red said from inside the truck. ‘Give her a go.’ I turned the key and pressed the gas; the truck spluttered and whined but did not start. ‘Again!’ Nothing. After a third attempt, Red slammed the hood and came to lean on the edge of the door in the manner of a high school sweetheart.
‘Fraid to say, my truck? She’s still sulking for attention.’ He turned his head and spat. ‘You best wait inside, I’ve got some more tricks I can try.’
‘Look, I … I better try and bandage my feet or something and walk it, I can’t …’
Red shook his head. ‘Forgive me, but I ain’t keen on letting you go anywhere alone right now, not with you as you are.’
‘Red, look, this has been real nice of you, but I need to get to a …’
‘Well just you hold on.’ Red’s smile eased across his face. ‘Did I not tell you my brother was due to stop by?’
‘No,’ I said levelly, watching him.
‘Sure, just for a weekend’s fishing and chewin’ over the fat?’
‘You didn’t mention you had a brother.’
‘No?’ He smiled. ‘Got an uncle in Kansas also. But my brother’s due tomorrow with his vehicle and fresh supplies.’ He sniffed. ‘Now I’ve aired out the place a little. Sure he won’t mind none taking you into town.’
‘Your brother – he’s coming tomorrow?’
Red shrugged. ‘That’s why I’m here. Spend a little time with my big brother. We don’t see much of each other, so once in a while we hook up for a little bonding.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the house. ‘Kind of what this place is for, getting re-acquainted.’
I pressed my hands against the steering wheel, thumbs prickling. ‘So, have I crashed your vacation then?’
Nemesister: The gripping women's psychological thriller from Sophie Jonas-Hill Page 2
