Coombe's Wood (3 page)

Sheila, all
short red hair and bird-like physique,
stood
waiting by the door to the kitchen. “Is it a nice flat?” She took the last black bag from Izzy and walked with her to the car.

“It’ll do
…
”
Izzy glanced at
Connor and said, “It’s on a road called Briar Lane, in Cedham. Do you know the village?”

Sheila shook her head. “I’ve heard the name, that’s all. Rural?”

“Yeah, half the place is woods,” Izzy said, as she carried the last bag to the car. “The other half seems to be fields.”

“Be careful, all right?” Sheila opened the door for Izzy. “And you – keep being good for your Mum.”

Connor grinned. “As always.”

Izzy
thought again about
the cane on the drive back to Cedham. Mrs Roberts, the housing officer,
had
used
an odd
walking stick. The image
had
stuck in her mind. The curve of the wood, the design of the handle – it was familiar.

Izzy’s foot relaxed on the accelerator. “
Ai, meu deus
, that’s been driving me crazy – I’ve been trying to remember where I’d seen a strange cane before.” She sped back up. “Your dad had one. Maybe they bought them from the same shop.” There was silence for a few seconds. “You know, he was originally from around here.”

They pulled into the end of Briar Lane, both silent.

“Cedham?” Connor said abruptly.

“What?”

“He lived in Cedham?”

“I don’t know. Funny if we got housed in the same
 
village.”

The bitter cold of the afternoon didn’t stop three teenagers from standing across the way. They watched as Izzy and Connor emptied the car.

“Is that all you own?” A girl with long dark hair walked over. She stood near Connor, her mouth slightly open. White gum flashed in and out of view as she chewed.

Connor spoke first, “The rest
is
coming in a van.” He shot his mother a look. Izzy pulled out a bag, held it in her arms and checked on the other two teens. They leaned against a fence, laughing and jeering.

“Yeah right,” one of the boys called, and threw a handful of rotten leaves. Wet from the melting frost, they landed with a soft splat near the car. The
two boys
ran off, hooting and shouting.

“See you around.” The girl gave Connor a thorough visual inspection, then walked off after the others.

“Well, at least the neighbours are pleasant.” Izzy watched them go, her expression solemn, before hauling another bag from the car.

“Bloody idiots.”

“Take this bag up. I’ll follow in a second.” Izzy pulled out the suitcases and locked the car. She scanned the area, and seeing no one, picked up her things and went inside. They dumped the suitcases and black bags in the living room and went to Connor’s bedroom.

They’d stopped at a hardware shop in Pangbourne, and she thought they had everything they needed.

“Shall we?” Izzy put the supplies down, reached up and grabbed the curled corner of the next sheet.

Connor went to the other side of the room. “Shall we see who can get more off?”

“Sure,” she said, smiling, and pulled.

The glue behind the wallpaper was old, brittle, and the paper fell away with little effort. Their initial playfulness evaporated, as they found more scribbled pictures, of animals, humans and violent deaths, like modern cave drawings. Eyes were a theme; they were everywhere, sometimes as a frame to other sketches. Under the last strip, they found a tally that counted to nineteen.

“Can I do it?” Connor asked, after they had sanded the walls, and wiped them down. He held a roller in one hand, turquoise paint dripping into the tray.

Izzy nodded, and he ran the paint over the words first, rolling back and forth at a furious pace, until the
faint
black writing was gone.

Don’t go in the woods

Where eyes hide between

And behind the trees

Waiting for me

Following

The words echoed in her head. “Call me if you need any help,” she said, and left the room.

An hour later, he’d transformed the room. Izzy looked around, pleased. Connor had caught the skirting a couple of times and there were a few streaks at the edges of the ceiling, but otherwise, the colour was solid, darkening to a greeny-blue shade, like postcards she’d seen of the Mediterranean Sea.

“Scoop up that pile of paper, would you, love?” She pulled a black bag from her back pocket, left over from moving.

They stuffed the paper in, scouring the floor on their hands and knees. When she bought a hoover, she’d vacuum properly. She put the rubbish in the hall, and came back with a different bag.

“You want to sleep in the living room, until the stink’s gone?”

“Nope, this is my room.” Connor opened the window, a cool breeze pushing back his hair. He took his glasses off and picked at a couple of spots of paint. “I’ll be fine. It’s healthy to sleep in a cold room. Didn’t the Victorians do that all the time, out on their verandas?”

“They also rarely washed, and wore clothing they were stitched into.” Izzy laughed, and emptied the bag of
bedding
in the middle of the room. “Have it your way, just don’t blame me if you wake
up
with the sniffles.”

Izzy layered half of the blankets into a makeshift mattress, put his duvet and pillows on top, and placed his beanie toys around the ‘bed.’

“There. You should be comfortable for a few days.” She stood back, and surveyed her work. “You know, until we can find a couple of cheap beds. Okay?”

“Sure, Mum.” Connor knelt down, and started rearranging the beanies.

Izzy was finishing her own bed when a knock sounded on the front door.

She froze for a couple of seconds, a funny tingling in her limbs, her heart bashing against the inside of her ribcage.

“It’s just someone at the door,” she said to herself.

She stepped back, away from the door, and then forced herself across the floorboards, to the entrance of the flat. Izzy shook her head, and put her eye to the peephole. A tall man stood on the landing. The rounded glass distorted his face, like she was peering through a fish eye lens. He wore a tweed overcoat and a hat straight from the 1950’s, the rim almost hiding his blue-grey hair. Tufts curled out.
Escaping
, she thought with a smile, and her heart
steadied
to a less frantic
pace.
The old man leaned forward to rap again, his head swelling to bulbous proportions as he moved closer.

“Hello?” Izzy asked, opening the door, the man’s hand poised in the air. “Can I help you?”

He withdrew his arm, and bowed a little.

“I’m Charles Brown,” he shouted. “I live downstairs.” He pointed down. “Right below you,” he bellowed.

“Hi. I’m Izzy. Nice to meet you.” She put out her hand; he crushed it in his own.

He put a hand to his ear and asked, “Sorry, young lady, I didn’t catch your name.”

She grinned. “Izzy,” she said louder. He frowned. “
My name is Izzy
,” she shouted.

“Ahh. Izzy. Short for Isabel?” He caught her nod. “That’s a pretty name. Old-fashioned.” He smiled and then said in the tone of something preciously confidential being imparted, “My
grand
mother was called Isabel.”

“It’s a good name. Mr Brown, I’d like to invite you in, but my furniture hasn’t arrived yet.” She enunciated her words carefully. Then her shoulders sagged. The furniture hadn’t even been purchased yet.

“Oh, no, Isabel. I don’t want to come in. I wanted to tell you something.” He paused. She tried to think of what she was expected to say. But he began again, “I have tinnitus.”

It was her turn to frown.

“I hear ringing in my ears. Sometimes, I think someone else is making the noise.”

“Oh.”

“So if I bang on the ceiling, and you’re not making any noise, it’s only my ears playing up.” He smiled at her and stuck his hand out again.

“Thanks for letting me know.”

Izzy allowed the old man the privilege of crushing her fingers once more, and watched him shuffle down the stairs. She waited on the landing, a little befuddled, until she heard the door to his flat click closed, then shut her own. Almost immediately, faint sounds of music filtered through the floorboards. Did that mean she could beat on the floor to make him stop? She walked with a sway, in time to the waltz below, into the kitchen, rolled up her sleeves, and put a sponge under the tap.

Later that evening, Izzy stood by Connor’s bedroom door, watching as he rolled over under his duvet, clutching his teddy bear. Nearly thirteen years
ago
, his father
had
come home with it, and Connor had loved it ever since. It was missing an eye, and a small cloud of stuffing was escaping from a hole under one of the arms, but even at his age, he wouldn’t sleep without the bear. Maybe it was the smell.

Izzy closed the door with a soft click, and went to her room. She piled the clothes from her suitcase on the floor, and uncovered a bottle of cheap wine. She twisted the top off and went to stand on
the
small balcony, taking sips from the bottle. After testing the strength of the railings, she leaned against them, marvelling at her long and arduous journey to get to Cedham. This was her flat, perched on the edge of a beautiful village.

A bat the size of a finch swooped by, inches in front of her face, and ducked into the woods. Another darted out from the fields, snatching moths from the air. As the bat flew away, Izzy noticed the stars. They glittered like fairy lights and seemed to whisper, “Look at me.” Izzy gazed upwards, swigging wine. With a large sigh, she began to relax.

“Hello, you just moved in?”

“
Meu deus
…
sorry
…
” The bottle almost fell from her hands. She clutched the neck with white knuckles. A man with a bushy blond beard peered around the wall separating her balcony from the next. Izzy put a hand to her chest where her heart pounded in audible thuds, and stepped away. She blurted, “God, you got my heart going!” and took another step back. He stretched further around.

“I try my best,” he said with a grin. “I’m Feathers, nice to meet you. And you are
…
?” He stuck an arm around the wall. She took a tentative step back in his direction, and grasped his hand. They shook, arms suspended above Mr Brown’s patio.

“Feathers?”

“You too, what a coincidence!” His blue eyes sparkled in the light from her balcony.

“No, I’m Izzy
…
but it’s not a normal name.”

“No
…
I’ve heard the name Izzy before. I think.”

“Not mine, yours!”

“You’re saying my name is strange?” He leaned further out – so far he should be falling. “What did you say when I first looked around?”

“What?” She took a step back.

“Those words, they were foreign, I’m sure.”

“Oh
…
I spoke Portuguese.
Meu deus
. Means: Oh my God.”

“You lived there?”

“No. My Dad’s Portuguese. He made me speak the language as I grew up.”

His eyes bored inquisitively into her.

Izzy shrugged and forced a smile, and found she couldn’t maintain eye contact. “Nice to meet you, Feathers.” She backed away, wine bottle clutched between both hands. She could use it on him, if need be.

“You should come over for a drink one night. When you’re ready.” His expression changed from curiosity to smiles as she bumped against the door.

“Oh, you wouldn’t want that. I have a son,” she said.

“Really?” He raised his eyebrows. Izzy released one hand from her wine bottle and felt for the handle. “Bring him along. How old is he?”

“Thirteen and a major trouble. You wouldn’t want him in your flat.” She found the handle and began to pull the lever down.

“Thirteen
…
” he said, looking out towards the woods. “Has he started dating?”

Izzy blushed. “Not so far as I know
…
Feathers, I’ve got to go. I’ve got lots to do before I can go to bed.”

“Oh, sure
…
” He put a hand up. “If you require any assistance, feel free to knock.”

“Thanks.” The door finally swung open behind her.

Izzy ran to her bedroom, collapsed on the duvet, and took a swig of the wine. Another gulp followed rapidly. She drained the bottle, and buried her face in a pillow.