Accidents Happen (20 page)

‘She’s coming!’

Father made a loud sound. It was not a groan of effort, like before. It was painful, like the yowl made by the farmer’s dog on the other side of the hill, chained to a post in the yard.

The child stopped breathing, peering out of the door.

Mother was coming towards the bedroom.

At the last minute, she turned and headed down the stairs of the house and went outside the front door to hang the washing on the line in the hillside. ‘Never get clothes fresher smelling than hung outside,’ she had said once, in the old house that they had rented down in the town. The small, dark, cosy house with its nice neighbours, where no one had ever screamed. Where Father used to lay his arm on Mother’s shoulder in the kitchen after work, when she was cooking, and she didn’t pull away as if he had burned her.

The child jumped up and checked through the picture window in the hallway, then returned, ears hot, to whisper through the floorboards.

‘She’s going to the washing line. She’s going to see it!’

Father groaned heavily, and shook his head. There was something wrong.

The child ran to the rocking horse, and pulled away the dressing gown, then gasped in horror.

A new snake had arrived. A huge snake. Twice the size, maybe three times the size of the first one. And it was writhing down towards the floor.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It was Saturday lunchtime, and the river was busy with boats.

Rosie pulled hard on the lead, panting, as Jack followed her back to Richard and Helen’s house, the paper bag of warm bread from the village baker and Granddad’s newspaper under his arm.

He looked at the river on his left, wondering if any of the boats motoring past were Granddad’s. Everyone knew that Saturday morning was Granddad’s time on his own. He had been out on his for an hour already, and had said he was looking forward to the chicken and vegetable soup that Jack and Nana had made together this morning.

A small feeling of dread grew in Jack’s stomach as he looked ahead at the bend.

Rosie pulled on the lead, chasing an interesting smell in the reeds.

‘No, girl,’ Jack said, pulling her back, aware of his responsibility.

He didn’t have many memories of Dad, but the few he did have were becoming brighter all the time. The clearest one was Dad telling him about his dog Pip who’d drowned in a river when Dad was fourteen. Jack remembered because Dad had said that he had cried for two days. He remembered feeling stunned, that big men like Dad ever cried.

Jack came around the bend and saw what he had been dreading.

Up ahead, the narrow path disappeared into a canopy of trees. Together they created a tunnel that lasted for two or three minutes’ walk, cutting off the view of the river.

Not that Jack would ever tell Granddad, whom he suspected had never cried even about a dog or anything, or Mum, who was already too worried about him walking on his own, but sometimes, under this long tunnel of trees, Jack felt scared.

He felt that someone was watching him.

‘Come, girl,’ he said nervously. Often, he was lucky and managed to cross through behind some dog walkers or a family, but today the path was quiet. The only other pedestrians had passed in the other direction.

Jack dropped his head and quickened his pace as he entered the tunnel. He’d just have to be brave and do it.

The smell changed instantly, as it always did. Musty and earthy, the ground slightly damp. The sun was left outside, the light in here a sinister grey.

Jack pulled Rosie’s lead lightly to tell her they were going faster, and kept his eyes on the gravel of the path, glancing up occasionally to check how close they were to the other end.

It was no good.

As usual, the sensation of being watched descended on him slowly. And, as it did, the distance to the patch of sunlight at the other end stretched further ahead.

If anyone had asked him, he would have found it hard to describe it. There was nothing real. No more than a sense of a blurred shadow that melted into the foliage and bark. Yet Jack knew that, if it wanted to, the thing behind the trees watching him could travel quicker than a car. If it wanted to catch him, it would.

Jack quickened his pace, till the muscles inside his legs were stretched as far as they could go.

‘Come on, girl,’ he repeated, jerking Rosie’s lead harder than he meant to.

She looked up at him with timid soft eyes and did as he asked.

Then, behind him, there was a noise.

Jack heard a
noise
.

It was a sound he had never heard inside this tunnel before, but had always feared.

A padding sound.

Feet.

Like heavy feet breaking into a trot, right behind him.

A gigantic, painful cramp shot through Jack’s stomach so abruptly, it forced a small moan from his mouth.

‘Quick, Rosie,’ he gasped, too scared to look back.

Something had come out of the bushes, just like he’d always feared it would.

It was coming to get him.

Jack fixed his eyes on the end of the tunnel, making his legs go even faster till he thought the muscles might snap inside them.

‘Don’t run,’ he told himself, remembering what Mum had told him to do if he ever came across an aggressive dog: ‘If you run it really will go for you.’

But as Jack quickened his walking pace, the padding behind him became faster too.

And then . . .

RUFF! RUFF! RUFF! RUFF!

The barking came out of nowhere, making Jack skip upwards with fright as he paced to the end of the tunnel. A second cramp shot through him, nearly making him double up in pain.

It was only when he felt the vibration in his hand that he realized. The barking was coming from his mobile – the ringtone he and Gabe had put on it yesterday for a laugh.

Someone was phoning him.

‘Hello?’ he shouted, racing on along the path, praying the thing behind him would be put off by the presence of the person on the phone. The end of the tunnel lay ahead, only fifty metres to go.

‘Jack, it’s Mum,’ came a voice.

‘Hi, Mum.’ The sound of her voice in this dark, scary tunnel made Jack feel so relieved as he marched forwards, waiting for the thing’s hand on his shoulder at any second, that he wanted to cry.

‘Jack, I just wondered where your PE kit was,’ she said. She was trying to sound casual, he could tell. ‘I was going to wash it. Did you take it to Nana’s or have you left it at school?’

Forty metres, thirty metres. Jack raced on desperately, willing his legs to stretch more. He knew what Mum was doing. He’d told her he went to the village shop at twelve o’clock, and she was checking on him, but pretending she was ringing about something else.

Right now, though, he didn’t care.

He was relieved.

‘I put them in the wash basket,’ he said, ready to shout in case the thing grabbed him. Only twenty metres to go. ‘Oh, and Mum,’ he said, trying to keep her on the phone till the end, ‘Nana says, can you pack my raincoat for going to Dorset at half-term because it might rain.’

‘Oh. OK. You’ve got your navy one for school. That’ll do, won’t it?’

He heard the skip in the rhythm of her voice. As if she sensed the strange tone in his voice and didn’t understand it.

‘Oh, OK.’

‘OK. Well, listen, we’ll talk about what you’re taking to Dorset when you get home,’ she said. ‘I just wanted to check where your PE kit was.’

She was going to ring off. And he would be left in here with the thing.

There were ten metres to go. Jack couldn’t help it. The padding was so loud now behind him, he broke into a run, even though he knew Mum could hear his panting on the phone. As he reached the opening in the trees, he dived through it, as if he was crossing the finish line on sports day.

‘Jack! What’s going on?’ his mum called. ‘Are you all right?’

A boat appeared on Jack’s left, an elderly couple reading newspapers on its deck. The woman looked up and smiled at him.

Jack stopped and twirled round. ‘Yes . . .’ he panted. ‘Um, Rosie was running towards the river in Nana’s garden. I chased after her.’

He heard her pause. Heard her try to work out if she could trust him. ‘Jack? Are you sure everything is OK?’

‘Yes. But thanks for ringing, Mum.’

She paused again. ‘Oh, OK. You’re welcome. Look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Perhaps we can do some more baking.’

‘OK. Bye,’ Jack said, ending the call.

He stood gathering himself, humiliated at the shaking he felt in his legs, hoping Granddad wouldn’t sail past right now and see him looking like this.

Then Jack stopped. He could
still
hear the padding.

Swinging round, he looked inside the canopy. It was long, grey and full of shadows – and completely empty.

And then Jack realized the sound was his own blood, pounding in his ears.

That Saturday evening, Kate was ready at 7.45 p.m. sharp, showered and wearing her new jeans again, this time with a white T-shirt, a new thin navy cashmere jumper she had bought in a shop in the High Street this afternoon and socks and hiking boots, in case they were going to climb over any more gates. She had applied some make-up and blow-dried her hair again.

Today had been surprisingly relaxed. She was still pleased with herself at the way she’d managed to check Jack was all right without making him suspicious, or causing another conflict with Helen, while putting her own mind at rest. Once she had got to grips with this anxiety, maybe she’d even be able to let Jack walk to the shop herself.

As she walked out of her bedroom, the laptop caught her eye through the open door of the study. A little thrill of anticipation ran through her. Of course! She hadn’t done that yet.

She paused for a moment, biting her lip, then, feeling like a teenager, wrote Jago’s name with ‘wife’ and ‘girlfriend’ beside it.

A small, grainy photo came up in Google Images of someone else’s Facebook page of Jago laughing beside a pretty, petite girl with white-blonde hair piled on her head and dark eyebrows. Jago Martin and Marla Van Doorsten at Thomas and Julia’s wedding’, said the caption. Kate stared. Was that the ex-girlfriend?

She felt a tiny pang of jealousy. Where had that come from? She was as bad as the young student waitress in the juice bar.

As she stood up, a number flew at her. It was one that had haunted her for five years.

• 70% of all homicides are committed by someone you already know.

‘Kate, shut up!’ she said out loud. But as she began to walk quickly to escape, she stopped.

Hang on. Was it really that stupid to be careful? After all, she’d met Jago in the street.

A tiny window was opening up in the gloom of her consciousness, she realized. Something new was happening. Her mind was trying to tell the difference between irrational fear and reasonable caution.

She was a single mother. She should be cautious of strangers, for Jack’s sake, as well as her own.

Nobody who knew her, knew Jago. Nobody would know where she’d gone.

Instinctively, she knew it was a sensible precaution, and that she had to follow it. So she grabbed a pen and a Post-it note and scribbled on it.

‘Dear all, I’ve gone out with Jago Martin, a visiting professor at Balliol. This is his phone number . . . I should be back by midnight, Saturday. Kate.’

She re-read the note.

Was that mad?

No, she thought firmly, grabbing her bag and walking back to the door of the study.

It was sensible. Probably the first sensible decision she’d made in a long time.

Next door, Magnus walked back into his bedroom, carrying a bowl of cereal and a bottle of Coke. A flicker of movement on the screen caught his eye. He sat down in front of Kate’s laptop he’d stolen last week from the delivery courier. He put down his bowl of cereal and walked quickly to the table.

An image of Kate walking away from him appeared on his screen.

‘Yes!’ he hissed, clicking on a button to magnify it.

The surveillance software hadn’t worked on her last laptop, but this new, upgraded one was better.

Magnus sat stuffing cornflakes in his mouth, watching Kate through the in-built camera of her own laptop, walking down the corridor, and then disappearing left, down the stairs.

And then there was nothing. Just the open door of the study behind the computer, and the empty hallway beyond.

Magnus grinned and high-fived himself with both hands.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Kate arrived at the Hanley Arms five minutes early. The pub was busy. Saturday night crowds spilled into the little beer garden at the back. She stood nervously, in a small space between the front door and the garden gate, moving from side to side, to let people come and go through the two entrances.

What on earth did Jago have planned for tonight?

A few men glanced at her, a couple behind their girlfriends’ backs. She diverted her eyes to the road, unused to the attention.

By eight o’clock, Jago was not there. At five past, Kate was checking her phone every few seconds, with a growing sense of unease.

Had she misunderstood?

It was when she was checking her phone again, that she became aware of someone waving at her from a car.

It was a woman in an old white saloon, parked up on the pavement, its engine running. She was stretching across to wind down the window manually.

‘Kate?’ the woman rasped through the gap.

The woman had short bleached-blonde hair striped with dark roots and she had bags under her eyes. Her stomach strained at her navy T-shirt.

‘Sorry?’

‘ARE YOU KATE?’ The woman’s voice was not unfriendly, just firm and good natured.

Kate nodded, confused.

‘Taxi, darling. Out to the Warwick Arms at Chumsley Norton?’

Kate shook her head, bewildered.

‘No. Sorry. That’s not me. Must be someone else.’

The woman glanced at a piece of paper on her lap. ‘I think it is you, darling. Your bloke ordered it. Jay-boy or something?’ the woman asked.