Darkest Part of the Woods (14 page)

"About the man who comes to the railings."

"They sound like the same old nonsense to me," Mrs. Palmer said and pouted at having betrayed she was listening.

"They're not. They're new ones. Lucy says he's getting so thin he'll be able to come through the railings soon, and they're only this wide," Rosemary said, holding up one palm.

"And Gwyn says bits keep falling off him and you can see them running across the common if you look."

"Have you?" said Sylvia.

"We don't go in the yard any more. I'm glad grandma and granddad live on the other side of the road."

"I should think so," Mrs. Bennett declared and let fly an impatient sound. "I don't mean being scared, you've no reason to be that. I mean not going looking for things nobody ever saw."

"Nobody but druggies," Mrs. Palmer said.

"There's been a few of those round here, so just you make sure you and your friends never start."

"I wouldn't be surprised if there were a few in that lot who tried to stop the bypass."

"So long as they know they aren't welcome round here."

Both women had their backs to the Prices but kept their voices raised to compensate, while Joe and Jessica struggled to hide their discomfort. Margo watched the women pay for their tabloids and waited until they turned around before she said "Excuse me, were you talking about anybody in particular?"

Mrs. Bennett stared at her for so long it would have appeared to be a substitute for speech if she hadn't remarked "You were on television."

Mrs. Palmer gazed over the Prices' heads. "Anyone who thinks we were talking about them knows if we were."

"You can tell about some people just by looking at them," Mrs. Bennett said, seeming to observe some absence in the air above Sylvia's head.

"Don't you believe it," Margo said and began to laugh, then coughed and waved a hand in front of her face. "Come along, girls. I'm getting a bit stifled, aren't you? A treat to see you, Joe and Jessica. We must do it more often."

"You know our hours," Joe said.

That didn't strike Heather as exactly inviting, but perhaps he was doing his best to stay neutral. She and Sylvia followed Margo out, to be overtaken by the women, who sailed past on a wake of perfume and set about muttering together before they were quite out of earshot.

Margo watched them vanish into adjoining houses guarded by imitation gas lamps. "You know," she said, "I believe those two silly cattle may have meant me."

The sisters gazed after her as she marched away, head held even higher as she passed the ersatz gas lamps, and then Sylvia said "One more revelation to go."

"And that's..."

"I mean, one more parent to tell."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"I don't always need my big sister," Sylvia said, giving her a smile that was prepared to be apologetic. "I can cope with dad. If he's ever going to be in the mood for the news it ought to be now. After all, it's nearly Christmas."

15

A Wooden Visitor

HEATHER was reading a newspaper column entitled Always A Price when someone opened the front gate. The coverage of Margo's exhibition had reminded the columnist that throughout her student days she'd had Margo's best-known poster on her wall. A rummage in her attic had failed to locate the poster, and the rest of the column consisted of memories prompted by items she'd found. "Buy a new one if it means that much to you," Heather muttered, and then her frown deepened. By the sound of it, whoever was on her path was using more legs than anyone ought to have.

She sent herself into the hall, which wasn't sufficiently dim even so late in the afternoon for her to bother switching on the light, and pulled the front door open. She was expecting to see a person with a stick, not Sam grasping a small fir-tree by its slender trunk. "Sam," she cried, more exasperated with him than she'd felt for years. "How far have you had to hobble with that?"

He let go for a moment and rubbed his forehead, staining it faintly green. "Not far."

"I know it was time we got one, but I could have driven if you'd said."

"I didn't know I was getting it," he told her, grabbing the tree as it lurched towards her.

"I just saw it and I thought it would do for us."

"Of course it will. How much did it cost?"

He responded only with a shrug that clattered branches at her-he must think he was too old to be repaid. He could have an extra Christmas present, Heather decided as she said "Prop it up there while I dust off the tub."

The plastic bucket dressed in Christmas wrapping paper spent most of the year in the cupboard under the stairs, along with fairy lights and decorations awaiting resurrection. As Heather stood the bucket in the hall, the tree leaned around the open front door, its branches scraping the frosted glass. "Can't wait to get in," she remarked. "You can give it a hand, Sam."

He limped along the hall with it as though he and the sapling were caught in a clumsy arms'-length dance, and inserted the spidery roots into the bucket so that Heather could wedge the trunk with lumps of brick. "Did they dig it out of whatever it was in for you to carry home?"

she said as the phone began to ring.

He looked bemused, presumably by which to answer. "Could you get that while I see this stays where it is?" she said.

Two uneven steps took him to the extension opposite the stairs. "Hello... Oh, hi... Not yet... I'll ask. When are we expecting my aunt home?"

"Any time, I should think. Who'd like to know?"

"It's

Margo."

As Heather stood up she must have brushed against the tree, which shivered not unlike a reflection in water and at once grew still. She took the receiver from Sam's cold hand as he made for the stairs. "I was just reading about you," she informed her mother.

"I'm not going to let myself care."

"You can if you like. It was quite a decent piece about how the columnist was looking for one of your posters."

"I expect they'll find it if they really want it, but I genuinely mean 123

I don't care what people say about me any more, not when your sister's given me so much to look forward to."

"I'm glad. Anyway, you want her."

"I want both of you, Heather. Always have, and now I've got you both. So yes, I would like a word."

"She's still at the Arbour unless she's on her way back. How urgent is it?"

"I'm not sure. Somebody was trying to reach her. They recognised her on Arts After Dark and that's why they called me."

"Did you give them my number?"

"I did, and now I don't know if I should have. She seemed more than a little odd."

"Where does she know Sylvie from?"

"America, apparently."

"I expect there's no reason to worry. You won't have given her my address, will you?"

"I should hope not. I'm not quite that incompetent yet, I flatter myself."

"You aren't incompetent at all, and I don't believe you ever will be," Heather said. She hadn't taken her hand away from hanging the receiver up when the phone rang.

She must have jumped, because the longest branches of the sapling groped at the air.

She retrieved the phone with a clatter of plastic. "Hello?"

There was silence except for a stealthy creak of branches. As she opened her mouth to repeat herself, the receiver emitted the dialling tone. "I must be losing my charm, Sam," she called up the stairs to no response. She was turning away from the phone when it summoned her back.

She knew of no reason not to sound welcoming. "Yes, hello?"

"Did you just speak?" a high quick female Californian voice demanded.

"I did. I said yes, hello."

"Before that," the voice said, higher and quicker.

"If you rang off without saying anything just now that was me saying hello then too."

"Who am I talking to?"

That was said in a tone Heather might very well have used. "Heather Price," she said with what struck her as exceptional patience, "and you're..."

"Merilee. Are you supposed to be English?"

"More than supposed. Can I ask what you actually want?"

"I'm looking for someone whose mother said I should call the number I thought I called twice."

"You did that all right, to speak to my sister."

"You wouldn't be trying to kid me."

"I can't imagine why."

"Your sister wrote The Secret Woods."

"Indeed she did."

"I don't see how she could have ended up with an English sister."

"Because she is too."

"Hold it right there. Her mother doesn't sound any more English than Sylvia, so how did you get to be?"

"Just by being born."

"Some trick."

Heather managed a laugh, if only so as not to feel she was being wished out of existence. "Yes, well, I don't think any of us has much control over how we see the light.

Anyway," she said with a hint of bitterness she would have hoped not to feel, "you want my sister."

"You're still saying that's who she is. Okay then, put her on."

"She isn't here at the moment."

"Hey, why am I not surprised."

Heather had to exert a good deal of control not to plant the receiver on the hook instead of saying "Shall I ask her to call you?"

"You want me to give you my number because you're her sister."

^That sums it up, yes."

"Sure, like I'd give you my number just for saying you are," Merilee said, and was gone with a click and an insect buzz.

"Let's hope she's the only person like that Sylvie knows," Heather called up the stairs as she replaced the receiver. When Sam didn't respond she headed for the kitchen, until the shrilling of the phone seemed to clutch at her neck.

Its summons failed to tempt Sam out of his room. As she tramped to grab the receiver the tree flexed several branches while its shadow, almost hidden in the corner behind it, waved its feelers. "Heather Price," she declared.

"It's only me again."

"No only about it, mummy. You're more than a welcome alternative to the last call."

"Why?" Margo said with a nervousness Heather wouldn't have wanted or expected to cause. "Who was it?"

"The woman you rang about. Merilee, her name is, though I still don't know what her connection is with Sylvie. Mind you, she wouldn't be persuaded I could have anything to do with Sylvie or you either."

"I told you she was odd." Margo's brusqueness might have been rebuking Heather for seeking needless reassurance. "Anyway, never mind her," Margo said. "She'll keep. I've just had the Arbour asking if I know where Sylvia and Lennox are."

Heather kept a twinge of panic to herself by asking "Where are they meant to be?"

"Apparently he was so pleased to hear we're due for another grandchild that he wanted to go out and celebrate, but they don't know where."

"I thought he couldn't drink with his medication."

"I'm told he said a soft drink would be enough of a celebration, and Sylvia promised to see that was all he drank. You know how persuasive she can be."

Heather wasn't sure if Margo was suggesting Sylvia had persuaded Lennox or the hospital staff. "Only she said they'd be an hour," Margo said, "and they've been more than two.

It'll soon be dark."

"Then I expect that means they're nearly back."

"I wish you'd gone with her to see him."

"She didn't want me to."

"You're still her elder sister. I don't like to think of her driving in her condition. I never used to."

"I'm sure she'll be careful. She was about drinking at the gallery, remember. I'll have her call you the moment she comes home, that's if she doesn't call you from the Arbour."

"I guess she could be trying right now. I'd better leave you in peace. Sorry if anything sounded as if I was criticising you. I can't help worrying about my family, that's all."

"I shouldn't think there's any need at the moment, mummy," Heather said rather than admit that peace was hardly the state in which Margo was leaving her. Once they'd said goodbye she held the receiver as though its drone might prove soothing, then realised she could be blocking a call. She hung up and sent herself kitchenwards.

At first glance through the window she thought the night was closer than it should be, but the darkness of the horizon beyond the fence was mostly composed of the woods. She picked up a bunch of celery, and one stalk snapped like a twig damaged by a footfall. As a rule she enjoyed chopping celery-found its crunches satisfying-but now the sensation penetrated her nerves. Perhaps that came of straining to hear the car Sam had lent Sylvia. But the sound that made her drop the knife, scattering greenish vegetable segments, was yet again the clamour of the phone.

The tree rattled its branches as she sprinted to seize the receiver. "Hello?

Yes?"

"Heather."

Her mother's voice was so subdued that Heather was afraid to ask "What now?"

"They've found the car."

"Found it," Heather said, and not much less stupidly "Who has?"

"One of the nurses. It -wasn't far away." Before that could seem at all reassuring Margo said "It's by the woods, and there's no sign of Sylvia or Lennox."

16

Out of the Mound

THEY were in the woods-Heather was sure of that much. As the Civic sped onto the bypass she did her best to watch for them among the trees. A shrunken sun that resembled a blank lens embedded in the grey sky more than a source of any light kept peering through the treetops, reminding her that soon they would blot it out. The entire forest was moving because the car was, tall thin scaly twisted shapes dodging out from behind one another and hiding again only to reappear.

She could have imagined that the dimmest and most distant shapes weren't parading quite as they should, but told herself it didn't matter. "Let me know if you see anything," she said.

Sam poked his face forward. "Anything," he repeated.

"You know what I mean." If it was a joke, not that his tone owned up to the possibility, she didn't appreciate it. "If you see them," she said.

"They're all I'm looking for."

His voice was so flat he might have been asking a question or trying to persuade himself. Before she could decide how or whether to respond, the Arbour sailed into view. The floodlights in the grounds had been switched on, pointing the shadows of the scattered trees across the lawn as if the woods were urging them to join the forest darkness. As the car swung up the drive, Margo hurried out of the building. She took a pace forward and raised her outstretched hands, and then her face dulled as she saw there was no passenger but Sam.