Coombe's Wood (25 page)

“George!” she called out. “Bloody hell.” Izzy threw an arm across her face. What a day.

Her head cleared slowly, as she lay motionless on the bed. Thinking about her drunken antics made her stomach feel worse, so she dwelled on what happened Sunday morning instead. Second by second, the chase ran through her head. What if she hadn’t locked the car in time? What if he’d picked up a rock from near the car door, and she hadn’t had the time to think up a plan of action? What if her opening of the door had been miss-timed, and he’d been simply pushed out of the way? What if she’d killed him? She could have been thrown in jail, and then Connor would have no one.

Her thoughts rolled and jumbled. She had escaped, but so had he. With a shiver, she stretched and rolled out of bed. She stood still for a moment, her stomach tightening. Izzy concentrated on quelling the nausea, and concentrated on the stream of bright light flooding between a slit in the curtains.

She put an eye to the gap, and peered between her rabbit-blood curtains. A milky sky hung over the estate, the sun boring through. A patch of mist clung to the road, fading rapidly under the glare of the sun. No one moved about. The school children were in lessons, workers long gone. She shivered again as the feeling of being watched chilled her skin, despite the appearance of the deserted street below. Izzy closed the rabbit-blood curtains so the fabric overlapped, and went searching for clothes.

She had earmarked today for finishing the living room. More out of habit than desire, Izzy pulled her diary from her bag to check on the day’s appointments. She gasped. Three pet sittings for the morning, and four for the evening. They continued through the week and into the weekend. And she had a house to clean at eleven-thirty. She earned her best money hovering and scrubbing. Three hours blocked out, thirty-three pounds in the bank. Or, if she thought of it a different way, she’d earn enough money to feed Connor and her into the weekend.

Before she thought further, Izzy grabbed the phone and dialled the number under the appointment. A phone rang, and an answer phone picked up.

Izzy breathed a sigh of relief and said, “Mrs O’Callaghan, this is Izzy Santana
…
” She paused to listen. “Yes, I’m supposed to come over and clean for you this morning. I’m sorry to do this to you at such late notice, but Connor’s home feeling unwell
…
Can I cancel and rebook with you for later in the week? I’ll try you again later, to see if you’re home.” Izzy nodded at the phone, listening as her client spoke. “Sorry again for the inconvenience.” Izzy hung up the phone, and gazed upwards for a moment, mouthing the words,
thank you
.

Izzy grabbed the keys for the pet sittings, and checked the peephole before leaving. She tiptoed down the stairs, and ran to her car. She didn’t dally today. She raced from house to house, staying long enough to clean the essentials, feed as needed, and check on the animals. She drove with her attention on the rearview mirror. Less than
45
minutes later, she locked her front door, and stood leaning against the grain of the wood, gasping.

Eventually she got going, tackling a list of chores, first checking the curtains remained securely closed as she moved through the flat. By the time Connor came home, later than usual, she’d stripped the third living room wall back to plaster. He popped his head around the door and said hello, and disappeared off to his room as she stood back to admire her productivity. Her last task was the clean up, and she tidied the scraps of wallpaper into a large black bag.

“You can use the living room, if you’re interested,” she called from the living room. His door was closed. She stood in the hall, staring down the hall. He may have had some problem at school. She knocked lightly and entered.

To her surprise, a young girl was sitting on the bed next to Connor. Both kids pinked as Izzy froze, her hand clutching on the handle.

“Connor? Who’s this?”

The girl was familiar. Her long dark hair fell about her shoulders, she flicked at it, as she noticed Izzy stare. The girl revealed a long smooth neck, the colour of porcelain, and a scent wafted across the room. Sunflowers, Izzy thought. Then she started chewing something, and Izzy placed her from their first day in the flat.

“Um
…
Mum, this is Becky.” Connor jumped off the bed, and stepped away from the girl. “Becky just came in for some help
…
she’s in my maths class.”

Becky looked up, still masticating on the gum, and grinned.

“We won’t be long.”

Izzy didn’t move, checking out first her son, then Becky, and then the schoolbags piled against the wall.

“Five minutes,” Izzy finally said, and left, leaving the door open.

She walked slowly back to the kitchen. Connor sneaked a girl into the flat. She shook her head.

Becky giggled in the bedroom. Connor mumbled something, and the girl said, “Hush your gums!” Connor countered with, “Make me.” Izzy closed her eyes for a second and shook her head.

She retreated to the kitchen, in search of an introspective cup of tea, while she tried to figure out what to do. He really shouldn’t be allowed to have a girl in his room. God only knows where ‘
make me’
could lead. She’d been completely blind to Connor taking an interest in the opposite sex. Now there was a girl, Becky, sat on his bed, flirting with her young son. But he wasn’t young. He’d turned fourteen in June. A fuzzy caterpillar was growing on his upper lip, and a crop of nasty looking spots was erupting all over his forehead. He kept his fringe long to cover them, even though she told him that would make things worse. She needed a male perspective. Feathers. But he wouldn’t be home until after six.

Izzy fretted in the kitchen, unable to sit comfortably, she paced the kitchen, tried to sip the tea too soon, and burnt her lips and tongue. She left the cup on the table, and stood in the doorway.

Sounds drifted from Connor’s room. At least they were still talking.

As the kettle clicked off in a cloud of steam and rumble of bubbles, she called, “Can you come here, love? I need some help with something.”

Connor emerged with a blush, and closed his door with care.

He turned towards Izzy, his eyes light and dreamy.

“What’s up, Mum? What’s wrong?”

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, and strolled in.

“Connor.”

She lowered her voice, and closed the door behind him.

“I don’t want to embarrass you in front of that girl – “

“Becky,” Connor said.

“Becky then, but sneaking girls into your room is not acceptable.” She grabbed her cup of tea, and ran her finger around the base. God, she wished Feathers was already home. “By all means, invite a girl over. You can watch TV and hang out in the living room. I will stay out of your way. I won’t tease you or embarrass you at all. I promise.”

Connor dared to make eye contact.

“But no girls in your bedroom. It could lead to
…
” she couldn’t think of words. “It just can’t happen.”

She blushed. “I’m going to stay in the kitchen. And I want her out of your room. Whether that is out of the flat, or to the living room is up to you.”

Connor stepped back to the door.

“One last thing, next time I get to meet her properly. I’m not having strangers hiding in my flat.”

Connor waited, a hand on the doorknob now. “Is that all?”

Izzy nodded.

She kept her promise not to appear, and listened to the two of them sneak out the front door. She took a deep breath, and let it out in a sharp sigh.

This was the last thing she needed, on top of everything else.

9
^th
Oct

Dear Mum and Pai,

He’s found me. Bloody George has followed me. I moved Connor and me away from Chester – your house, away from my friends, everything familiar, all to get away from him.

Shame on me for telling you where I moved to. Shame on you for opening your mouth and spreading the news. This is your fault. You did this. You told Aunt May, you know exactly what kind of loose tongue that woman has on her. I bet all it took was one trip up to Edinburgh, one bottle of half-decent whiskey, and a sob story that twisted the truth completely out of perspective, and she gave him my address. You know what he’s like, and you promised not to tell anyone. You
promised
me.

The moment I got that postcard from Aunt May, I knew you’d told her. How else could she get my address? Alana only has a phone number and an e-mail address. Even she didn’t get my house number and street. You were the only one, my confidant, I thought you should know – you’re my mother!

And do you realise what that man has done? He’s killed a couple of animals and left them on my doorstep, like some sacrificial offering. He murdered one of my client’s cats, a beautiful tabby that belonged to two little girls. I still haven’t had the nerve to tell them their cat’s dead. They think he’s off roaming the woods, and he’ll be back any day now. How am I supposed to tell them Button’s death wasn’t really my fault, because my mum couldn’t keep her gabby mouth shut, and my insane ex-partner is quite keen on torturing me for the crime of leaving him?

This was supposed to be a new start for my life. Everything’s going wrong, and Connor just settled in, and I’ll have to move again. He’ll have to go to another school. Have you any clue what it’s like living in a shelter? I don’t want to go through living side by side with weeping women and their damaged kids. Not a second time.

Stay out of my business.

You’re lucky I don’t hop a plane, and fly over to Portugal, and give you a proper piece of my mind.

I’m scared.

This man has me tiptoeing through my life. I’m going to spend my days peering over my shoulder, waiting for the moment when his ugly face is staring right back.

Izzy

10
^th
Oct

Izzy marched down the lane, hands deep in her pockets. A crisp wind blew against her, pinking her cheeks and whipping her hair about in the air. A few locks stung her face, and she rubbed at the skin, her eyes on the sky. Dark clouds huddled against the horizon, the air below streaked grey, rain maybe falling over in Newbury. She strode up to a notice board and tore off one of her old adverts. A water marked and dog eared poster would not encourage new customers, she thought, and stuffed it in the front pocket of her bag. From a second pocket, she took a fresh laminated advert and pinned it up.

A chill gust of wind rushed over from the east. Izzy staggered on her feet, and pushed the last pin into place.

She grabbed her bag, and slung it over her shoulder, and turned into the wind. Then she caught a movement in the corner of her eye. Izzy dropped down to the ground, swinging her bag into her arms, and reached inside in a practised and fluid movement. She pulled out a large torch, her hand wrapped tightly around the wrong end. The other end, heavy with four D batteries, she held back a little, ready to strike. She backed up, merging with a bush, her eyes on the trail to the side of her.

She gripped the torch harder and waited. Seconds ticked past, and no one emerged. Maybe she’d been wrong. Seen a trick of the light, a will o’ the wisp, fooling her. A blast of cold air swept her hair off her shoulders, and away from her face. She shivered, the metal casing of the torch cold in her palm. Still nobody crept from the trail. A drop of rain hit her cheek. Izzy took this as a sign, and crawled out from within the bush. She brushed off the leaves, and picked a twig out of a tangle of her hair, the torch held between her legs.

“Hello Izzy.”

She dropped the torch, her bag, left the twig, and spun around, ready to run.

Behind her, next to the bush she’d just emerged from, stood Joe. He was dressed like a casual country gentleman, with a grey woollen cap securely pulled over his head.

“Oh my God,
Meu deus
! Jesus. Jesus! You scared me!” Izzy staggered back a couple of steps, a hand on her chest. “I thought you were George.” She gulped in a breath. “Thank God it’s you.”

“I think you might benefit from sitting down. You’ve gone an unnatural shade of cream.”

He took her by the hand and led her past the notice board, and to a bench.

“Have a sit down, dear.” He moved past her and sat as well. He leaned his cane between them, crossed his legs, and placed his hands together on his knee. “I came to speak with you. It’s been decided. The time has come for a few things to be explained to you.”