Black Wood (12 page)

The animal is in the hole. The twigs surround its small, quivering body.

Just a rabbit. He considers letting it go.

What would the man do?

The boy stares at the rabbit for some time. It has stopped struggling inside its twig cage. It waits, patiently. Its eyes shine under the torchlight.

The boy reaches into the cage with both hands and with a single deft move snaps the animal’s neck.

Crick
.

Another sound in the woods. A twig snaps behind him.

He can just make out the dark figure at the edge of the trees. Close to the creepy cottage. The one where the Witch lives.

He scurries away on all fours, rabbit in hand.

The figure doesn’t move.

It will be safer to take the Collection home.

Monday morning and I had barely slept a wink. Being back at Black Wood felt right, but I couldn’t get rid of that sense of unease that the house was trying to tell me something, that my gran was somehow
there
– pushing me to remember something that I’d kept buried for a long, long time. Stupid, I know. I didn’t believe in ghosts.

I went into work, even though it was the last place I felt like going. Funny, that. Last week I’d have said there was never a single day I didn’t want to go in. But now my head was full of whatever it was that Scott was up to. Not to mention what I was going to do about the return of Gareth Maloney.

I considered spending the morning in the stockroom again, but then I realised that from the time it had taken me to come in, dump my jacket through the back, make a coffee and make my way back to the counter, Craig was standing at the door.

Denim jacket draped over one arm, Spiderman-printed messenger bag slung over one shoulder.

‘That’s me off then.’ He looked at me hopefully and I stared at him for a bit, wondering what it was he wanted me to say. Then I remembered.
Shit
.

‘Er, good luck – do you need luck … ?’

He shook his head. ‘It’s just a few forms. I wouldn’t really expect you to be as excited as Rob and me …’

‘Yeah, well, don’t forget – you still need a bridesmaid, eh?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Sharon’s in at twelve. Don’t leave her on her own all day, though. Please?’ He turned to go, then stopped, remembering something. ‘Oh, and Jo … you know you didn’t need to take off like that yesterday. You should’ve waited. We could have helped you with your stuff …’

I shook my head, smoothed my hair over my eyebrow. ‘Go,’ I said, and pushed him out the door. I thought about flipping the sign over from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’ but decided I needed something to distract me, and even though Mondays tended to be quiet, there was always the slight hope that someone interesting might pop in. In the meantime, I decided to reorganise some of the shelves.

I’ll admit to being a bit of a True Crime nut.

There was only a small section at the back of the shop, but there was enough on there to keep most serial-killer fanatics happy. I was fascinated by what made people like that tick. What has to happen to you in your life to make you want to murder others, especially kids, in brutal, unimaginable ways? I’d been reading a lot on Fred and Rose West and come to the conclusion that she was the driving force behind it all. Female killers might be in the minority, but when they did it, they didn’t pull any punches. I’d just piled up all the books on the floor, ready to sort them into ‘types’, when the bell tinkled above the door. Typical.

‘Hello, Jo. Sorry I had to run off on you the other day. You OK?’

I stood up too quickly and whirled round too fast, and as a result I stumbled, knocking the entire pile of books all over the floor.

Then he was there, at my side. ‘What’s this? Killer Jenga?’ Gray laughed and bent down to pick up a scree of books. He stood as I turned, and I found myself looking straight into his eyes. He raised an eyebrow. ‘Fred and Rose?’ he said. ‘Sounds like a kids’ TV show from the eighties.’

He was standing too close to me. I could smell his aftershave. Something lemony. Clean. I felt myself blush.

‘If only,’ I said, turning away so he couldn’t see my flaming cheeks. I took the book from his outstretched hand. ‘Killer Jenga, though? I like that. Only I’d get them to make it with body parts rather than books. Fingers would be quite easy to stack up.’

He chuckled. ‘What’re we gonnae do with you, eh, Jo?’

‘Fancy a cuppa?’ I said. I didn’t wait for a response. ‘Watch the shop for a minute, will you?’

I flicked on the kettle and put out two mugs. I already had a coffee on the counter, but I wasn’t going back out to get it.
What’s wrong with me?
Davie Gray had a peculiar effect on me. I don’t think I fancied him, as such. Yeah, he was probably too old anyway, but that wasn’t the point. Something about him. Something about the way he was with me. Like he cared about me, and it wasn’t just for show.

I took the cups out the front and was relieved to see that he was still alone in the shop. I needed to talk to him and I wasn’t really in the mood for customers.

He took the cup and gave me a small nod, eyes flicking to a place just above mine. ‘See you’ve been at it with the eyebrow again. Want to talk about it?’

Davie Gray was one of the few people who ever mentioned my eyebrows. He was far from the only one to notice, of course. But after he’d seen me the first time I ever did it, I suppose it must’ve stuck in his mind. He was a policeman, after all. It was his job to notice things.

I sighed. ‘I’ve split up with Scott … and apparently he’s up to no good, according to Bridie Goldstone …’

He blew onto the top of his mug before taking a tentative sip. ‘You know better than to listen to gossip, Jo. Why don’t you just talk to Scott? You two seemed happy enough. Can you no’ sort it out?’

‘I dunno. Anyway, it’s not just that, is it? I told you on Saturday. I told you about—’

Gray turned towards the doorway as the tinkling of the bell interrupted me mid-flow. Damn that bloody bell! I was sorely tempted to yank it off the sodding doorframe.

I thought I’d had enough shocks for one week, but here was another one smirking in my face.

‘What the hell do you want?’

Jake shrugged. ‘We’re having lunch in Farley’s. Claire asked me to pop in and see if you wanted to join us.’ He waited until Gray turned away again, then he puffed out his lips and blew me a kiss.

Sharp, acidic rage bubbled in my stomach.

‘Since when do you and me get to have lunch together, eh? Thought that was Claire’s idea of hell?’

She’d always kept us separate. The two of us rubbed at each other like tinder sticks and Claire couldn’t stand the tension. You can’t get on with everyone. I knew that better than most.

‘I better be off. Cheers for the tea,’ Gray said, his expression unreadable. No doubt he was wondering what the hell was going on. We’d never talked about Jake before. There were too many other things on the ‘why is Jo so fucked up?’ list to deal with.

‘Everything all right? Bit of a party, is it? Listen – have you heard about what’s been happening up at the Track? I just bumped into Bridie, and I …’ She stopped talking when she realised we were all staring at her.

Thank God for Sharon. Jake had left the door ajar so we hadn’t been alerted to her presence by the annoying little bell.

‘Oh good, you’re here. I just need to pop out for a bit. I won’t be long.’

I dragged a startled Gray by the elbow and walked out.

Gray gently lifted my hand off his elbow, placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me around to face him.

‘What’re you playing at, Jo? You’re lucky the shop was quiet or I’d have had to make more of a fuss there, you know. Manhandling a police officer is an offence, young lady.’

I’d been staring down at his feet, wondering what he was going to say, trying to work out how he got his boots so shiny. I lifted my head as the tone of his speech changed. Manhandling? Young lady? He had a smirk on his face now and I frowned. This wasn’t funny. None of it was funny.

‘Sorry,’ I managed, before pulling down at my fringe again, fully aware I was acting like a sulky teen.

Gray sighed. ‘I don’t know what it is with you, Jo. You’re a nice lassie. You just seem to be so angry about everything. With everyone. What is it that you hate so much about Jake? I saw the look you gave him when he asked you to go for lunch. Mind, I saw the look he gave you back … What is it? Bit of jealousy there? Fine line between love and hate, eh?’

‘Oh, just shut up,’ I said, immediately regretting it. I didn’t have many allies, and here I was pushing away yet another one.

Gray stiffened, adjusted his hat. ‘I need to get back now. Give us a shout if you want to talk.’

He turned and I stood there staring at his retreating back. I dug my nails into the palms of my hands until I felt the flesh break.

I couldn’t face going back to the shop. I’d made a fool of myself with Jake. With Gray. I needed to go somewhere where none of that would matter for a while.

Scott’s house was a ten-minute walk from the shop. I walked fast, head down. Avoiding all eye contact with passersby. God forbid someone might actually want to be nice to me. I was panting by the time I reached the top of the hill. The midday sun was beating hard on my back and I felt a trickle of sweat running down between my shoulder blades. Another stinking-hot day. I preferred the cold. Preferred wrapping myself up and sitting in front of a roaring fire with a hot chocolate and a tot of rum, and a Jackie Collins novel to transport me away. Not this harsh northern heat that left everyone pink and sweating like newborn pigs. Bad things happened in the summer.

Too many bad things.

I heard the low clang of the town hall bell strike one o’clock. Scott’s curtains were still closed. I shuffled about on the doorstep, debating whether to knock or just go in. If he was in there, it’d probably be unlocked. He’d always been crap with security. I’d always been the one to lock the windows and double-bolt the doors from the inside. It might be a small town, but you never knew who might want to try their luck. I leant up against the door, straining to hear sounds from within. The low murmur of the TV, voices chatting. What crap was on at this time of the day? That panel show with the annoying middle-aged women. If Scott was watching that, he’d stooped to new lows. I decided on a knock and a simultaneous push on the handle. It opened.

‘Scott? It’s me …’

The house smelled different already. I’d only been away a couple of days, and the familiar scent of my citrus body spray that usually hung in the air had been replaced with the stink of dirty dishes and unwashed skin. I stepped into the hall. My winter coat was still hanging on the row of pegs on the wall in front. My black biker boots still in the rack below. A couple of letters lay on the mat and I bent down to pick them up, suddenly feeling sick. The aching familiarity of the flat mixed with regret that I couldn’t hold on to the most decent man I’d met in years. The pain of my failings stabbed me in the gut. When I stood up, I felt a single itchy tear inching down my cheek and hastily wiped it away.

He was standing in the entrance to the living room, hair mussed and sexy. The look partially ruined by the washing-machine-stretched greying T-shirt and the ancient tracksuit bottoms he was wearing. His face was pale beneath the smattering of stubble. His eyes rimmed red. When I’d seen him in the supermarket the day before he’d looked rough, but today he’d taken it to a whole new level.

‘Babe,’ he said, lifting an arm to greet me in a sort of half wave. In his other he held a can of own-brand lager, blue with a white swirly logo. Pikey Pilsner, we used to call it. Now here it was in his hand at one o’clock on a Monday, and the worst part was it didn’t look like it was his first of the day.

What the hell was going on here? Thoughts of Jake and Gray and Gareth Maloney disappeared from my brain as I followed Scott through into the tip that used to be our living room. Plastic bags dotted across the carpet, empty cans thrown half-heartedly on top. An overflowing ashtray sat on the edge of the coffee table, resting precariously. A pizza box, lying open with a couple of curling triangles and a pile of crusts. A polystyrene chip box on the couch beside him. He shoved it onto the floor.

‘Take a seat.’ He wobbled slightly, then fell backwards onto the couch, can still in hand.

I surveyed the carnage. Stared at him in disgust.

‘Jesus Christ. What the fuck happened in here? Have you started organising coffee mornings for tramps now?’

He snorted and took a swig from the can. ‘Stand then. Whatever you want. Fuck it.’ He crushed the can and threw it onto the floor, and then he sagged forward and dropped his head into his hands. He started to sob.

This … this was not what I’d been expecting at all.

I couldn’t decide whether to go to him or leave him to it. I’d never seen him cry before. I’d certainly never seen him crack up. That was my job. I’d held the monopoly on meltdowns for a long time. Seeing someone else hit the skids was a new one on me. Eventually, I decided just to let him cry it out. I bent down and picked up an empty carrier bag and started to fill it with rubbish. I was on the third carrier bag of beer cans and pizza boxes when my mobile buzzed in my pocket.

I stared at the screen.

Scott and his problems would have to wait.

Claire’s primary reason for choosing Farley’s over Landucci’s was because they had a wheelchair ramp. She used to hate doing things solely because it made life easier, but as she’d gotten older it’d become more and more pointless to keep fighting the fact that she was actually disabled and really couldn’t do everything for herself.

It hadn’t come easy, though.

The day she’d woken up from the coma, she’d known. Even before the doctors said one single word. She knew her life was never going to be what she’d hoped it would be. It might’ve been more than twenty years ago, but it was as fresh in her mind as if it had happened yesterday. She picked up the laminated menu and stared at it, feeling herself float off as the words became a jumbled blur of swirly font and pictures of cakes …