New Title 1 (24 page)

“That’s because you are. Unless you haven’t noticed, there aren’t many pretty young girls around here.”

Chase lowered her gaze.

“Let’s move into the lounge. It’s a bit more comfortable.”

Chase nodded and they walked through and sat on the settee, taking the bottle of wine with them. Even though he had advised only one glass, Adam poured Chase another, which she quickly drank. She felt slightly light headed as the alcohol took affect and she forgot all about Mat, Jane, Ratty, Drake, the Raggedy man and the vicar.

“You’re like a fresh breeze around here,” Adam said, watching her.

Embarrassed, Chase looked at the floor. Adam put his hand on her shoulder and she flinched. When she looked up, Adam’s face was next to hers, his rapid breath on her cheek. Her heart fluttered. Damn it, kiss me, she thought, still a little surprised when he did. But she didn’t resist. She closed her eyes and let herself melt into his arms. For a brief moment, she thought it was Mat she was kissing.

The kiss was tentative, testing the boundaries of acceptance before they momentarily broke the contact, eyeing each other before they kissed again, holding the lip connection for longer. She felt one of Adam’s hands caressing her back; it felt so good – his other hand slipped around to her stomach and the baby kicked.

Shocked by the movement, Chase pulled away and yanked Adam’s hand off her stomach.

“What’s wrong?”

“This. I can’t. I’m sorry.” She stood up, embarrassed. Rubbing her stomach, she felt guilty, as though she was being unfaithful – as though the
baby
knew she was being unfaithful.

Adam stared at her. “You’ve no need to feel sorry. It’s me who should be apologising.”

“No. It’s not you.”

“I don’t mind you know. About the baby I mean.”

“I know. I just need a little time.”

“I understand. Well, I won’t be going anywhere. Now what would you like to watch on the television?”

Chase spent an enjoyable evening at Adam’s. They talked about what they liked to watch (he was as much a soap addict as she was, and he updated her on the storylines she had missed), what they liked to eat, their favourite films, and best holidays. In fact, she felt so comfortable, she didn’t once mention wanting to leave the village; even wondered whether everything would be all right after all.

Eventually he walked her home. Back in her own house, it felt empty without a television and she retired to bed where with the help of the two glasses of wine, she slept undisturbed.

The next morning, Chase woke bright and alert. She smiled as she opened the curtains. It was another sunny day. The fog was still there, but today it had a romantic quality; was something poets would write about. Dressing quickly in a pastel blue, knee length dress, she realised for the first time how much her stomach had grown. Where could she buy maternity clothes out here? She brushed her hair as walked down the stairs, hesitating as she noticed a letter on the floor in the hall. She picked it up, realising it wasn’t a letter, just a scrap of paper. Unfolding it, she read the scrawled handwriting:

Are you ready for the next lesson?

It must have been from the Raggedy man and she was momentarily scared. He had been to her house. He knew where she lived. As the floodgates of remembrance opened, the horror came surging back. For a brief moment, she had been able to believe everything was normal; that perhaps everything was going to turn out all right. But the note shattered her illusions as easily as an axe breaking twigs.

She remembered the vicar. Chase didn’t know what was real and what was illusion any more. In the lounge, she screwed the note up and threw it into the fireplace where she set it alight, watching it curl and burn before sailing up the chimney like a dark request to Santa Claus. That’s what I should have done with the first letter, she thought.

Walking through to the kitchen to boil the kettle, she tried to forget about the note, but as she poured the water into the cup, it settled on her conscience like a vulture on a carcass.
Are you ready for the next lesson?

No longer thirsty, she poured the water down the sink; watched it swirl away. Why couldn’t everything be normal? Why couldn’t she have her dream; why did someone have to spoil it? She was angry more than fearful. Angry that just when she thought things might be going all right, the Raggedy man had intruded.

She picked up her shoulder bag and stormed out of the house, determined to get to the bottom of it all. Walking past Belinda’s house, she increased her pace, looking straight ahead in case Belinda was in her garden. If she saw her, she thought she might just turn around, go home, lock the door and hide.

At the bottom of the lane, she saw a face she recognised. It was the young girl who had been in the doctor’s surgery when she had burst in. Feeling the need to apologise, Chase approached her.

The girl was sitting on a bench at the junction of the lane, reading a book. She was dressed in jeans and a
Linkin
Park T-shirt. Her black hair was long and unkempt, hanging like a dark veil over her cheek. When Chase’s shadow fell across her, she looked up, startled, the veil of hair taking flight as she flicked her head, revealing a pretty face etched by the dark remnants of sleepless nights.
 

“Don’t hurt me, please.” The girl dropped the book on the floor and slid along the bench, her blue eyes wide and fearful.

Chase frowned. “Why would I want to hurt you?”

“You don’t want to, please don’t do it.”

“I don’t want to what? I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Please.”

Taking a step toward the girl, her arms held out to placate her, Chase smiled to try and calm her down.

It didn’t work. The girl backed further away until she ran out of bench and fell onto the floor. “Please, please, don’t kill me,” she squealed.

Chase backed away. “Kill you.” Was she serious?

The girl started crying.

“Calm down. Tell me what’s wrong,” Chased said.

“Everything... everyone.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s something... something. I’m sorry ...” Her eyes focused on a point behind Chase.

“Is there a problem here?”

Chase turned to see Drake standing ominously behind her. Dressed in dark trousers and a tight jumper that hugged his muscles, he appeared bigger than ever, and nothing like the man who had appeared that day to escort her here.

The young girl gave a little squeal, stood up and ran down the lane.

“Do you always have that effect on women?” Chase asked, rounding on him.

“What was going on?”

“We were talking, that’s all.” She wished she
did
know what was going on.

Drake spat on the floor.

“How‘s Ratty ... I mean, Peter?” she asked, wanting to change the subject.

“He’s back with his parents, where he belongs.”

“So how is he?”

“Like I said, he’s back with his parents.”

Chase sighed. Why couldn’t anyone give her a straight answer?
 

“Are you going somewhere?” Drake glared at her.

“Actually yes. I’ve been looking for Moon, but you’ll do. I want to know when I can leave the village. I’m sick of being told I can’t leave. You’re making me feel like a prisoner.”

Drake shrugged. “It’s got nothing to do with me. You’ll have to speak to Moon.”

“That’s what I just said I wanted to do.”

“Well he’s not here at the moment, so you’ll have to wait for him to get back.”

“So he’s left the village?” She felt her anger rising.

Drake nodded, the trace of a smile marring his lips.

“Tell Moon I want to speak to him as soon as he gets back, okay? Now don’t let me keep you,” Chase said.

Drake snorted loudly then turned and walked away in the same direction as the young girl. There was definitely something strange going on in
Paradise
. Like Ratty had said, she was stupid not to have seen it earlier. Now everyone was a threat. Who could she trust?

She crouched down and picked up the book the girl had dropped: Paradise Lost, by John Milton. She didn’t fail to spot the irony as she put the book in her shoulder bag.

Having decided to return to the old farmhouse for the vague ‘next lesson’, she took a detour past the church. She had to see if the vicar was there, if only to prove to herself that she wasn’t going mad. Approaching the front door, she felt apprehensive. If the vicar was there, then she was going mad, if he wasn’t ... She didn’t know which option she preferred. On the one hand was madness, on the other someone’s death.

The door was shut, but not locked. She slipped inside, didn’t want to look at the altar, but she had no choice. As she expected, there was no one there. She didn’t know whether she was pleased or sad.

“Hello,” she called. “Is there anyone here?” Her voice echoed through the rafters, sepulchral.

No one answered.

She walked down the aisle, saw the vase had been replaced, although now there were no flowers in it. At the door to the rectory, she paused before knocking. Madness or death ...

She knocked.

No one answered.

Testing the handle, she found the door was unlocked and she stepped through, feeling nervous as she walked through the rooms, looking for any sign of the vicar, but the house was empty.

Back in the church, she approached the altar and crouched down to inspect the floor where she thought she had seen the body. In the joints between the planks of wood, she thought she saw minute red streaks etched into the grain which might have been dried blood, but she couldn’t be sure, at least not sure enough to wager between madness and death with any certainty.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the devilish coffee stain watching her and she shivered.

Angry with herself for feeling so weak willed, she walked outside, thankful of the fresh air. She found the church air too dry and the atmosphere too claustrophobic. Or perhaps that was just her imagination, too.

The trees crowded around her as she approached the derelict farmhouse, as though forming a screen from the world. Wary of the fall she had suffered during her last visit here, she cautiously approached the front door. Peering into the dark interior, she saw that although there didn’t appear to be as many, the carcasses were still hanging from the ceiling like morbid decorations.

 
“I’m here for the next lesson,” she said, feeling slightly foolish.

No one answered.

She stepped inside, tentatively brushed a rabbit carcass out of the way, setting the macabre
Newton
’s cradle in motion.

“Hello. Anybody here?”

“
Sit down
,” a voice commanded, causing her to jump.

“Where are you?”

“
Sit
.”

Chase sat. Where was he? She looked around, trying to discern where the voice originated.