Coombe's Wood (4 page)

6th March

Dear Mum and Pai,

Sorry it’s been a while. The council finally gave us a flat and I’ve been bogged down trying to find furniture. I wanted to tell you before someone else did. I left with almost nothing. I stuffed the car full and drove away. I left all the things you gave me behind. It’s my own fault. I should have hired a truck, taken everything with me. At the time, it was all I could do to think straight and leave. But most everything belonged to you. The guilt’s killing me. Hopefully one day, I can get some things back. I’m so sorry.

You’re probably wondering where I’m living now. But I don’t want to hand out my address yet. I will call when I’ve had a line connected. And I’ll write – short and sweet, but it’s the thought that counts, right? So, I am going to give you a big hint about where I moved to, but I won’t say the exact name of the village. It’s the place where Joseph grew up. How bizarre? Don’t tell anyone, and I mean it! George can be extremely convincing, and I don’t want to be found. So promise as you read this –
do not mention to anyone where I am
. Promise!

I visited Joseph’s Aunt’s house, the one he went to when he disappeared. That was strange. My back got all prickly, and I
was
sure someone was watching me. But the house is empty. I knocked on the door. When no one answered, I peeked through a window – there’s no furniture inside. It’s bare, right down to the floorboards.

And Connor’s asked some questions. He still doesn’t know the whole story. I guess now fate has put us in Joseph’s village, I should explain to him what happened to his father. What do you think?

Must admit, every time I’m in the next village, getting some groceries, or going to the post office, I search for him. Do you suppose he’s still here?

Ja chegar.
I’ve waffled on too much. Hope the weather is better than rainy old England. Wish I could be there, as the postcards say. Must be warm enough to go in the ocean. I miss the sun. I’m so pale now – I’m like you, Mum, all pasty. A real English beef!

Gosto muito de ti, Pai.

Love you, Mum

Izzy

Xxxooo

27th April

“
Ai, meu deus
.” Izzy’s breath fogged up the windowpane as she stretched to see the car. “
Que chato
!”

“Who’s a jerk?” Connor called from his bedroom.

They’d purchased an old set of shelves earlier that morning that he’d insisted on rebuilding on his own. Izzy fought the impulse to go in and sort him out. She ignored the loud bangs and the occasional cry of pain, and busied herself standing by the kitchen window, watching life on the street.

“Hey!” she shouted at the window. The kids circled her car. “Get away from there.” She rapped on the glass. “Get away
…
”

Connor stuck his head out of his room to see Izzy run out into the hall.

“What’s going on?”

“Those horrible kids, Kyle and Ritchie, they’re messing with my car.” She wrenched the door open. “And now they’re going to get a piece of my mind.”

“What’ve they done?”

“Nothing
…
yet.” She stepped out onto the landing. “God knows what they’re planning. I certainly can’t afford to fix the car this month.”

“Don’t go, Mum. You’ll make them worse.” He rushed down the hall and put a hand on her arm. “When you shouted at them last week, they took it out on me in school.” He released her from his grip.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” She came back into the flat, the door swinging closed as she let go. Izzy studied her son for a second, and then ran back to the kitchen. She got to the window in time to catch them streaking off down the road.

“Right, they’ve gone,” she said to Connor as she strode past. “You won’t stop me going down now.”

Connor followed her to the car. They examined the windscreen for a minute before Izzy walked around to see if they’d done anything else.

“I’m sorry, Mum.”

She ran a finger across milky white marks. “Naõ faz mal. It’s only soap. I’ll get a bucket and sponge.”

“Get two sponges.”

She plodded back up to the flat and filled her washing-up bowl with warm water, and carted it back to the car.

“They can’t even spell ‘weirdo’.” She nudged Connor. He searched her face with a sombre expression.

“Are they that bad, love? Wouldn’t the teachers do something about it?”

He grabbed a sponge and started rubbing the water into bubbles.

“Should I phone the school?”

“The school’s good,” he said facing the windscreen. “It’s when we get on the bus, trouble starts. Worse once we get off.” He pushed harder. His fingers turned white with the pressure.

“What can I do to help?” She started scrubbing on the other side of the car.

“Nothing.”

They worked in silence until the soap graffiti disappeared.

“Hey, Connor,” a boy called out on his way to the flats. Izzy took the sponge from Connor.

“Hi, Oliver.”

She squeezed the suds from the sponges and walked to the drain with the dirty water. She emptied the bowl, discreetly searching the street for Kyle and Ritchie.

Oliver walked up to the front door and rang a buzzer. Connor opened one of the car doors, and tried to appear busy collecting litter from the footwell. Seconds later, Feathers burst past the door, with an infectious smile.

“Hey there, Oliver. And hello, Izzy.” He patted the boy on the shoulder, by-passed him and came over. “How are you settling in? Do you need any help with anything?”

“No thanks, we’re settling in okay.” She flicked her eyes up at him and walked back to the car.

“Have you met Mr Brown yet?” Feathers said, nodding at the ground floor windows along side them.

“Yeah, same day I met you. I haven’t seen him since. Heard him.” She chanced a smile.

“Jazz, right? I can hear it in my flat sometimes. Must be like a concert over at yours. Did he tell you to keep the noise down?”

She looked up, properly this time, and then peered in Mr Brown’s kitchen window, which faced the car park spaces.

“Yeah
…
he did.” She put the tub down and threw the sponges inside. “Should we be talking about this here?” She thumbed over her shoulder.

“No worries, he’s deaf as a post.”

Izzy laughed. “Is that why he shouts?”

“And he’s terrible around people. His wife used to take care of the socialising. But she died a few years ago. He’s been a bit lost since.”

“Oh. How sad.”

“Invite him round for a cup of tea when you’re settled in, and offer him some triple chocolate chunk cookies. He’ll be all yours.” Feathers smiled, and a warm glow came over her. Surprised into a blush, she concentrated on Connor, who was still fiddling in the footwell.

“Anyone else I need to know about?” she asked. The heat on her face had cooled, and she turned back.

Feathers thought for a second, scratching at his beard as he considered what to say.

“You okay with gays?”

Izzy blinked. “I guess so.”

“An old guy called Gilbert lives on the top floor, in number seven. He’s a bit of a recluse. He paints, mostly landscapes. Was better at his art, then he got obsessed with the woods. Now he hides up there and creates
…
mostly abstract, black, swirling landscapes.”

“The woods are kind of ominous, aren’t they?”

“Mmm.” Feathers winked at her. She frowned and walked over to Connor.

He peered into the car and said, “I have an arrangement with Oliver’s parents to take him out for survival training once a month. Would your son like to come along?”

She examined Connor’s face for clues. He had a smile growing, but she wasn’t a friend of Feathers, not even an acquaintance. March had turned into April, but she’d kept to herself. Time in the village flowed fast, weeks disappearing in a haze.

“What kind of survival training?”

“Naming trees, making shelters, how to build a fire. It’s fun. Boys love that kind of stuff.”

“Thanks, but Connor’s building a set of shelves, I’m not sure if he’d want to go.”

Connor got out of the car. “No, it sounds really cool. Can I?”

“You sure you want to go? Don’t you need to finish putting those shelves up?” She shook her head almost imperceptibly.

“I can finish them any time.” He took a confident step towards Feathers.

“Connor, I really think you should stay.” Izzy turned away from Feathers. “We don’t know him,” she mouthed.

“I don’t care, I want to go,” Connor said loudly, and tried to push past.

“Connor, I’m not comfortable with you going.” Izzy took a deep breath and turned around. “Sorry, Feathers. Connor’s going to have to miss out on this one. Maybe next time.”

“Not a problem. He’s welcome any time.” Feathers patted Connor on the back as he passed by with Oliver.

“No. I want to go now.” Connor tagged along behind them.

“Connor!” Izzy said, ran up and grabbed him by the arm.

Feathers and Oliver stopped, watching as Izzy leaned in towards her son, and said, “Please, you’re embarrassing me. I don’t want you to go.”

Connor stepped back. “No. You’re embarrassing me. I’m actually friends with Oliver – well, I was. Now he knows my mother’s insane
…
”

“Connor!” Izzy backed off, confused. “I was only trying to do the right thing.”

“Yeah, well, no thanks.” Connor leaned against the side of the Toyota.

Feathers cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Izzy. I didn’t mean to start a family row. Connor will be welcome to come next time.” He cocked his head, his blue eyes twinkling. “Maybe you should come around for that drink, so you can say, ‘Yes,’ next time?”

Connor’s face was dark, a scowl over his features, his eyes squeezed into slits behind his glasses. “For God’s sake, Mum. We’ll only be across the road in the field. Isn’t that right, Oliver?”

Oliver shuffled his feet in the dirt at the side of the road, his eyes flickering up to Izzy’s for half a second before returning to examining his shoes. His blonde hair flopped over his face as he said, “Feathers never takes me very far.”

Izzy looked from one face to another, as they waited for her to say something. “I’ve stuck my foot in it, haven’t I?”

“I could cut the tension with a knife,” Feathers said. “But that’s okay. No one minds.”

“I mind,” Connor grumbled, and kicked at the underside of the car.

“Perhaps I was a little hasty
…
” Izzy began, faltering as Connor looked up, his expression already transforming from anger to a tentative smile. “You only go across the way?”

“Just the fields to the side of Coombe’s Wood,” Feathers confirmed.

“Well?” Connor asked. “Can I, Mum?”

“How long will you be gone?” she asked Feathers.

“About three hours.”

“Three hours.” Izzy thought for a moment. “Seems like a long time for a bit of survival training.”

“Mum – “ Connor said, and opened his mouth to say more, but Feathers put up a hand to silence him.

“We’ll be trying to catch a rabbit or two. We’d be quicker if I owned ferrets, but I can’t keep them in the flat.” Feathers paused. “They’d stink the place up. We’ll be trying some of the techniques common in the 18
^th
Century. If we catch any, we’ll go foraging for vegetables.” He scratched at his beard. “I’ve got a good idea, why don’t you come over around six? If we snare a rabbit, there’ll stew for dinner.” He smiled, and Izzy caught a scent of – what was that, lavender?

“Stew?” she questioned.

“You’re not a veggie, are you?” he said.

“No.” She shook her head. “I guess
…
yes, that’ll be fine.”

She pursed her lips, angry with herself for not being able to say no. That was how she’d got into trouble, too many times before. “Be good, Connor.”

They were already gone. Oliver and Feathers paired off, chatting animatedly as Connor trailed. Her instinct was right, but maybe the source was not Feathers directly, but the awful time Connor would have while the other two joshed at in-jokes, maybe at her son’s expense. Then, as they crossed the road, Feathers told Connor to keep up, and said something too quiet for her to catch. Connor laughed, and Feathers stepped aside so he could walk between them.