Black Wood (11 page)

He was rubbish in mum’s car. The Citroen 2CV was a clunker, but she loved it. ‘Don’t thrash it,’ she always said, and he always ignored her. He didn’t like to drive his own car, a much newer Saab, up the path to Gran’s in case it got flicked with mud. I hated his car. It reeked of Magic Tree air freshener and stale B&H, and it always made a horrible screech when he stepped on the brakes.

Gran held the envelope in front of her for a moment as if wondering what to do with it, then slipped it into the pocket of her apron.

He drove off without another word.

I felt that little wobble in my legs that I got sometimes. That lump that popped up in my throat like I’d swallowed too big a bite of apple. ‘Bye,’ I said, not loud enough for anyone to hear. I had a feeling then, a prickling, like pins and needles. I knew then. I was never going to see him again.

The fried breakfast lay like a lump of stone at the bottom of my stomach.

I’d smiled at him. What the fuck was I thinking?

‘Oh, hello. Jo, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Nice to see you again.’

Clever
, I thought.
Playing it cool
. After all, no one knew what he’d done but me. I swallowed, trying to hold back the breakfast that was threatening to make a reappearance. For once I was lost for words.

‘Are you all right now? You had a wee turn when I came into the shop …’

He stopped talking, suddenly self-conscious that he was the only one having a conversation. Everyone else was shoving food into their mouths, gulping tea. All eyes and ears were on him.

Who’s the newcomer? What’s he doing talking to her?

‘I’m fine. Thanks. I hadn’t eaten. Low blood sugar or something. I hope I didn’t spill coffee on your book …’ I was babbling. ‘So, what brings you back to Banktoun?’ I could play it cool too.

He gave me a broad smile, showing neat white teeth. Not a smoker. Not much of a coffee or red wine drinker either. I wondered if they were all real. Most rugby players would’ve lost at least one, I thought. Scott had lost two. I still had every single one of my own teeth, which was pretty good, considering.

‘It would’ve been my dad’s 60th birthday this weekend … Mum said I was daft, but I wanted to come back here. Mark it somehow. I’ve been renting that cottage up at the top of the town … Do you fancy another coffee?’

He gestured to the seat opposite him, which had become free since he’d started talking to me. He was still smiling and it hit me then, how good-looking he was. I hadn’t noticed before. All I’d noticed were the eyes, and how the smile didn’t quite reach them. I thought about what he’d said about his dad, that it
would’ve been
his birthday … A memory flickered like a half-lit cigarette.

‘I—’

‘Jo! Oh thank God you’re here. I called Craig, but there was no answer. Is your mobile switched off?’

I spun round at the familiar voice and felt annoyed yet relieved at the interruption. I was about to do something I’d regret. Like sit down and have a civil conversation with Maloney. That wasn’t part of the plan.

Not yet.

‘Scott,’ I said. I spoke quietly and tried to keep my voice level. I didn’t want to have a scene in the middle of the café. Not another one. People had only just begun to get bored of my first exchange and now here was Scott, with his hair sticking up in tufts and his usual smell of Boss aftershave replaced by stale BO. ‘What do you want?’

‘I need to talk to you. Can we go home?’

‘You chucked me out, remember?’

I heard shuffling in seats as the earwiggers picked up on more juicy gossip. I turned back to Maloney, who looked crestfallen. ‘Sorry.’ I shrugged.

‘Another time,’ he said. That grin again.

I grabbed Scott by the elbow and ushered him out of the café and into the car park.

‘What is it?’

‘Please, Jo. Come back to the house. There’s something you need to know.’

I sighed. I couldn’t deal with it. So he’d cheated on me with the girl from work. Kirsty. Whatever. It didn’t matter any more. I had bigger things on my mind.

‘Not now, Scott,’ I said. ‘I’ll pop round tomorrow. On my lunch break, maybe.’

His face fell. He looked pathetic, like a kicked puppy. He didn’t seem to care that I knew he’d be in at lunchtime on a Monday when he was supposed to be fifteen miles away, in Edinburgh. Popping out for an M&S sandwich or a cheeky lunchtime pint with the ‘lads’ from the office.

I felt bad, almost contemplated going round … but then I heard a voice behind me, spun round.

‘Jo – you dropped this …’

I stared at Maloney’s outstretched hand. In it, my watch. I hadn’t even noticed it falling off.

‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘I really must get that clasp fixed …’

‘Are you sure you don’t want that coffee?’

I bit the corner of my lip. It might be the right thing to do … get it over with … but no. Not yet.

‘Another time,’ I said, and when I turned away, hoping to find Scott waiting, I was disappointed to find out that he was gone.

When I got back to the flat, Craig and Rob were gone. A note was propped up against a vase on the kitchen table.

Gone suit shopping! Eeek!

See you tonight for pizza and beers,

C & R xx

Craig had been preoccupied with the wedding plans for months now, but I was perplexed as to how much arranging they actually needed to do. Rob seemed to be behind most of it, of course, with Craig just tagging along and pretending he wasn’t terrified by the whole idea of the civil partnership and what it really meant.

The last time we’d slept together was three years ago, just before I’d started going out with Scott. Rob had been away in London for a week.

Craig had rolled over onto his side straight afterwards, so that I couldn’t see him crying. ‘This is the last time, Jo,’ he said, ‘I promise …’

I pulled the sheets up to my neck and sat up. The sex with Craig was always frantic and guilt-ridden, but there was love in there, somewhere. I felt it and I knew he did too. ‘Craig,’ I laid a hand on his shoulder, ‘you need to decide what it is that you want … I get that you’re confused …’

He jumped out of the bed and grabbed a pair of pants off the floor, hastily pulling them on. ‘I’m not confused, Jo. I told you. I love Rob. He makes me feel … complete … I know that sounds naff.’

‘And what about me? What do I make you feel?’

He sniffed. ‘You make me feel dirty, Jo.’

I opened my mouth to protest, but then he was on top of me again, laughing, smothering me, kissing me. Eventually he pulled away. ‘It’s complicated. You know that. But I just feel like I need to be with Rob. This is not real.’ He rocked back onto his knees, cupped my chin with one hand. ‘
We’re
not real.’

I pushed him off. ‘It always feels real to me.’

His voice went cold and he turned his back on me. ‘You’d better go, Jo. Rob’s back tonight. I need to tidy up. Change the sheets …’

I slid out from under him and started to pick up my clothes. Wondered again what it was I needed to do to make him want
me
. Then I met Scott in the pub and leapt in without another thought for Craig. Our relationship had been damaged after that, and I knew there was nothing I could do to fix it.

I don’t think he’d actually told Rob about us, but I think Rob suspected – which is why he seemed to blow hot and cold with me. There was no way I could stay trapped in that flat with the two of them, eating pizza and pretending I was happy to see Craig affirming the sexuality that I knew was a lie. So despite the voice in my head telling me that it was a terrible idea, I decided I had to go back to the only place that I could still call home. So I packed my stuff back up and called a taxi.

I was going to Black Wood.

*

As I walked up the path, rough gravel crunching underfoot, I got that familiar feeling of small fluttering wings in the pit of my stomach.

It reminded me of the times I used to spend in the pet shop in the High Street. I went in to look at the rabbits, even though my mum had stated more than once that there was ‘no bloody chance’ I was getting a rabbit and if I stopped whinging about it I might be allowed a goldfish. I’d mooched around the cages for a bit. Staring in at the mice as they wrinkled their noses and wiggled their whiskers.

The woman in the shop was nice to me.

After I’d been in there a couple of times, she used to let me top up the water bottles that were stuck on to the side of the cages. Let me post slices of carrot through the bars. It was on my third visit that I’d spotted the containers of live food they kept for reptiles. Clear plastic boxes of chirping, skittering crickets and locusts, confused and desperate to escape from their plastic prisons before they either ran out of air or got fed to the snakes.

I was fascinated and repulsed at the same time.

Ever since then, the feeling that people describe as ‘having butterflies’ made me relive that terrible fascination with the insects. That first encounter with the concept of survival of the fittest.

Life and death.

The taxi driver dropped my various bags and boxes in the porch, huffing and puffing with each one. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to take these inside, hen?’

I shook my head. ‘No thanks, this is fine. I need to sort it out first, and I don’t think it’s going to rain …’

‘Right then, that’s the last of it. That’ll be a tenner then.’

I gave him a fiver tip for his exertions and he wheezed a thanks as he climbed back into his car. I stood there watching him drive off, waited until he’d gone.

I crouched down at the front door and carefully removed a loose brick from the left-side wall of the porch.

The key was in its usual hiding place. A big brass thing on a ring.

It was risky of me to leave the key there, but most people thought the place was abandoned. Yet, oddly, no one had tried to break in. Not once. The house seemed to serve as its own protection, what with all the rumours about the ‘witch’ who used to live there. Gran and I had laughed about that at the time.

I placed the brick back into position and turned the key in the lock. The heavy wooden door swung open with a creak, and instantly the atmosphere changed. The fresh, mulchy air of the surrounding woodland was instantly replaced with a cloud of stale, airless fog. It was like climbing in between the covers of an ancient, musty library book that no one had opened for decades.

Stepping inside, I pulled the key back out, then slid it into place on the other side of the door.

It’d only been a couple of months since I’d last been there, but because of the cottage’s position in the shade of the trees and the fact that I couldn’t leave any of the windows open to air the place, it always maintained that damp, heavy air.

If I was to tell anyone about Black Wood, they’d ask why I didn’t do it up and live there. That’s what any normal person would do if they’d inherited a perfectly good cottage on the outskirts of town. The place was probably worth a fortune.

But selling it just wasn’t an option, and up until now I’d never imagined myself living there. But things were different now. I had to adapt.

I carried in a few of the bags, dumping them on the kitchen table. In my mind’s eye I saw rabbits being skinned and chopped up for the pot. I saw blood and guts, the remnants still visible in the form of faded brown stains. I shook it away. There was nothing to be scared of.

But then something made me turn round. I looked out the open doorway to the woods beyond, and there was a strange shimmer of light, my vision suddenly distorted like I was looking at an old film. I saw my gran, covered in blood and dirt. A mound of earth in the distance.

I heard my own voice, barely a whisper, ‘What’s happened, Gran? What was that noise?’

And then I heard it, so faint I almost missed it. Another voice, calling to me. Not in the past. In the present. Was it real?

Welcome home, JoJo.

The front door banged shut with a sound like shotgun-fire, and I screamed. Then I watched, quivering, the only sound my own heavy breathing, as the key turned slowly in the lock.

But when I blinked, I was sure that it hadn’t moved at all.

He has never been on the hunt alone. He wants to carry on, though. Keep adding things to the Collection. The man might come back. He won’t be happy if the boy has been lazy. Caught nothing.

He has no gun, though. Or traps. Both were in the man’s hunting bag, and now that’s gone. Just like the man.

Vanished without a trace.

He waits until he knows the woman and the other boy are asleep, and he climbs out of the window – the way he always did before.

The boy knows that the woman knew about the hunting. Knew the man went at night.

‘It’s called poaching, son,’ the man had told him. ‘If we get caught, we’ll get in a lot of trouble.’

The boy wasn’t scared.

They always took back something. Rabbits, usually. The woman would make them into stew or pies and say to the man,‘Why? What’s the fascination? We can buy rabbits in the butchers, you know.’ She’d laugh, and the man would laugh back.

‘Makes me feel manly … like a real hunter gatherer.’ He’d beat his chest and howl.

The woman doesn’t laugh any more.

She doesn’t know about the Collection.

‘Our little secret,’ the man said.

He makes a new trap from ropes and sticks. He learned how to tie knots years ago, in the other place.

He used to wish he was still there. Until the man came into his bedroom one night, said: ‘Do you want to see something, son?’

The boy shrinks. Pulls the covers over his head. He’s heard it before. In the first place, in the last place. He didn’t expect it in this place.

The man senses his mistake. ‘No. Oh Christ, no. I’m sorry, son. That’s not what I meant …’

The boy pokes his head out.

Stares.

Waits.

The man is clutching a holdall.

‘Look,’ he says, shaking it towards him, ‘look at my collection …’

The boy peers inside. Four sets of shining dead eyes stare back.

The makeshift traps work better than he expected.