Midnight Is a Lonely Place by Barbara Erskine
When she awoke ‘In the South’ had finished, the fire was out and the room was ice cold. Her head ached and for a moment she was too stiff to move. Forcing herself to her feet she groaned and reached for the switch on the table lamp. Turning it off she made her way to the door. A warm bed and a heap of soft pillows to cuddle into, that was what she wanted. In the doorway she turned and surveyed the room before flicking off the light switch on the wall and plunging the room into darkness. It was as she made her way into the bathroom and reached for her toothbrush that she realised she had not had any supper. Two whiskies was not exactly a nutritious way to end the evening. Perhaps that accounted for her splitting headache. She frowned. She was beginning to drink too much. She contemplated getting herself something to eat and realised that she wasn’t hungry. She also realised that she had not switched on the immersion heater so there was not enough hot water for a bath. With a sigh she bent over the basin and splashed some tepid water into her face. All she wanted was sleep. Food and bath could wait until morning. That was one of the joys of living on your own, she recognised suddenly. You could please yourself. Cook or not cook. Wash or not wash. Sleep when you wanted. And just at this moment that was all she wanted.
It was as she put her foot on the bottom step of the staircase that she saw the movement upstairs. She froze, ‘Is there anyone there?’ Her voice sounded thin and frightened in the silence.
There was no answer.
‘Who is it?’ She called again. Her desire for sleep had vanished.
She was answered by the rattle of rain on the windows as a squall of wind hurtled in from the sea.
‘Christ, I’m seeing things now,’ she muttered to herself. Tired eyes. Too much computer, that was the problem. It was the logical explanation but it still took an enormous effort of willpower to force her up the stairs, throwing on all the lights when she reached the top. The place was empty, the windows closed against the storm. She sniffed hard. The scent of wet earth seemed to have disappeared, though when she pushed back the curtains and stared out at the blackness she could see the rain coursing down the panes of glass.
Undressing as fast as she could she slipped between the sheets, leaving the light on the landing switched on against the dark. She lay, wide awake, clutching one of her pillows to her chest, her eyes straining out through the door to the small expanse of wall – painted a dark Suffolk pink and bisected by one pale oak beam – which she could see from the bed. And she listened to the rain.
XVII
‘Are you awake, Sue?’ Alison stared through the darkness of her friend’s bedroom towards the bed by the far wall.
‘Yes.’
They had been whispering and giggling for the last two hours. Twice Sue Farnborough’s mother, Cissy, had come in and shushed them wearily and told them to go to sleep; now she had gone to bed herself and the house was in darkness. For the last twenty minutes or so the silences between the two girls had been growing longer and longer.
‘Do you think I should tell them at home?’
‘About what happened at the grave?’
‘Of course, about what happened at the grave.’
‘No. They’ll interfere. Parents always do. Are you going to go back?’
Alison hesitated for only a second. ‘Of course I’m going to go back. I’m going to finish the excavation.’
‘By yourself?’
‘You could come with me.’ Alison sounded almost eager.
‘No way. That’s not my scene.’ Sue was adamant.
‘Oh, come on. You’d enjoy it. It’s fun.’
‘It doesn’t sound fun to me.’ Sue grinned maliciously in the darkness. ‘You were so scared you nearly wet yourself. You told me as much.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘You did. And why else did you come here? Running all the way through the woods instead of staying at home and waiting for your mum to get back from Colchester. You were really chicken.’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘You were. Are you going to school tomorrow?’
‘No. I’m still not feeling well.’
‘You’re skiving off, you mean. Well, I’m going, so shut up, Allie. I want to get some sleep.’ Sue reached in the darkness for the headphones of her Walkman and switched on the little machine beneath her pillow. The blast of Sisters of Mercy at full volume in her ears seemed an unlikely lullaby but within minutes she was asleep.
Across the room Alison lay awake, staring towards the curtained windows, listening to the rain. Beneath the borrowed duvet she had begun to shiver again.
XVIII
There was a scattering of wet, sandy earth on the kitchen table. Kate stared at it. The torc lay where she had left it, next to the duster and the jar of silver polish. She touched the soil with her finger. It was wet and cold. She sniffed. The smell was there but very faint now – the smell of a newly-turned garden.
Or a newly dug grave.
She shook her head. She had not slept well. The room had been cold and the noise of the wind and rain lashing the windows had woken her several times from her uneasy, dream-laden sleep. Her head was so heavy she could not even think straight as she walked over to the sink, filled the kettle and switched it on. Perhaps after a cup of coffee she would find an explanation for the mess on the table. There had to be a reason. Earth does not just materialise on a kitchen table. It must have fallen from the beamed ceiling, perhaps released by creeping damp and rain, or it had been swept in on a freak gust of wind under the front door or down the chimney.
She spooned Nescafé into a mug and poured in the water, watching the swirl of brown granules clinging to the blue pottery dissolving as she stirred. It scalded her tongue when she drank but the caffeine shot into her system with gratifying speed. Putting down the mug she picked up the torc and stared at it closely. There was no sign of the effort she had made to clean it. Even the scratches she had made with her nail had disappeared. The metal was as greenish-black and corroded as ever. Wrapping it carefully in the duster she carried it upstairs and through into the spare room. Only one of her suitcases boasted a key. Locking the torc inside it, she pushed it into the corner and, closing the door behind her, she made her way downstairs again. She put the polish away and going to the sink rinsed out a J cloth under the hot tap. It took only a few minutes to wipe up the earth, rinse the cloth again and put it away before she dragged out her boots and jacket and throwing open the front door went outside with her log box. It was a bright sunny morning. High, white, wisped clouds raced across a vivid blue sky from the west and behind the cottage the sea glittered blindingly.
The rain had blown into the shed and many of the logs were soaked. Rummaging in the back she found a few that were dry and carried them indoors. Three times she made the trip back and forth, until there was a satisfactory pile beside the stove. Then she brought in kindling and a final armful of logs to put in the stove itself. Satisfied that she had enough fuel for twenty-four hours at least she stared down at the stove. There was no point in lighting it now. There was one more thing she had to do before she settled down to work for the day. It had been gnawing at the back of her mind since she had cleared up the soil in the kitchen.
Locking the front door behind her she wedged the key into the pocket of her jacket, and pulling on her gloves she headed across the short grass at the back of the cottage towards the beach. A flock of tern rose and wheeled as she appeared on the shingle banks and ran slipping and sliding towards the sand. The beach was wet still from the tide and trailed with weed. A line of shells, white and pink and glabrous in the bright sunlight, marked the line of the high tide. The air was so cold it made her eyes water as she turned right and followed the line of dunes towards Alison’s excavation.
For a long time she stood on the edge staring down into the declivity. Another huge chunk of the dune had broken away and she could now see clearly the different strata in the bright sand. There were pale lines of clay, different shades of sand and gravel and now, clearly visible, a t
There was a strange dryness in her mouth as she half jumped, half slid into the hollow. A spray of bladderwrack lay draped across the bottom of the trench and, half-buried in the sand, something bright red caught her attention as she peered nearer. Frowning, she kicked at the sand fall. Alison’s ghetto blaster lay there beneath a pile of sea weed. Stooping she pulled it free. The ‘on’ button was still depressed. Alison had been back this morning early and had gone again. Putting the machine on the edge of the hollow she stared round. What could have happened to make her abandon her precious cassette player? There was no sign of the girl’s tools, but perhaps they were buried in the latest sand fall. She stepped closer to the face and cautiously she drew off her glove. The peat was soft, layered, compressed. It smelt, when she withdrew her fingers, of wet garden soil. She swallowed hard. ‘Alison?’ Her shout was whipped up by the wind and carried only a few yards before it was dissipated and dissolved. ‘Alison?’ She shouted louder. Scrambling up to the edge of the hollow she put her hand to her eyes against the glare and stared round. The beach was empty.
She turned round. There could be no question of the girl being there, under the sand, but for a moment her imagination was playing the wildest of tricks. She could see where it was soft and loose, where it had fallen, and where, in the bottom of the hollow, a long mound lay compressed beneath the clay. A mound that had the shape of a human grave.
She stared at it. Alison would not have come back in the dark. She was safe at her friend’s house when Diana had rung last night. Whoever – whatever, she corrected herself swiftly – lay down there, it was not a twentieth-century fifteen-year-old schoolgirl. Kate stepped towards the mound cautiously. It was her imagination again working overtime. From a different angle the mound was just a part of the sand, shadowed by the low sunlight. She could see the worm casts on it now, and the sprinkling of loose peat which had fallen from the sand cliff.
‘What are you doing here?’ Alison’s voice, harsh and angry, broke into her thoughts so sharply she jumped.
‘Oh thank God!’ The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. ‘I thought perhaps you had had an accident – ’
‘You thought I was buried in there?’ The note of disdain quivered a little at the end. Alison stepped white-faced from behind the edge of the dune. There were dark circles under her eyes.
Kate smiled. ‘Only for a second. It was when I saw your radio.’
Alison’s gaze switched to the cassette player. She did not move towards it. ‘I forgot it,’ she said after a moment.
‘So I see. I’m afraid it was buried in the sand. I think the tide probably got it.’
‘Why did you come here?’ Alison’s voice was markedly less aggressive as she stood looking down at Kate. She still had made no move to jump down into the hole, or to pick up her radio.
‘There was something I wanted to check.’ Kate scrambled up beside her. ‘The different lines of strata being exposed. Do you see? The sand fall last night is revealing the line of a peat bog which is probably thousands of years old.’
Alison’s eyes strayed to the dark streaks in the sand for a moment. Still she had not moved. ‘Did you see anything moving?’ she asked. ‘When you came. Was there anything – anyone here?’
Kate looked at her sharply. ‘What sort of thing?’
Alison shrugged massively. ‘I don’t know. Yesterday, when I was here. There was something.’ She looked away evasively. ‘I don’t suppose it was anything. Maybe a bird-watcher or a naturalist or something …’ Her voice trailed away.
‘But you didn’t see them clearly,’ Kate prompted.
‘No.’
‘Did you smell anything strange? Wet earth.’
Alison stared at her. ‘The whole place was wet.’
‘True.’ Kate smiled.
For a moment they both looked down at the excavation in silence. Then, ‘Are you going to do some more work on it today?’ Kate asked at last.
Alison shrugged. ‘Might. But I’ve got work to do to catch up for school.’ She was shifting restlessly from foot to foot. She had not wanted to come today but something had made her do it. She could not stop herself.
‘That’s tough. I wondered why you weren’t at school,’ Kate said. ‘Have you been ill?’
Alison nodded, but offered no further explanation. Kate did not pursue it. ‘I think it’s going to rain. Better to leave any digging for another day.’ For some reason she would feel much better if Alison were not here alone on the beach. The thought of the child digging away in isolation in this lonely grave appalled her. And it was a grave. Alison was right.
‘You said you were going to take some photos. Would you like me to do it for you later, when the sun is right?’ she asked at last.
Alison peered at her through wildly blowing wisps of hair. ‘Would you?’
‘Of course. I should think by about midday the light would be better. I’ll come out then. I’ll bring the film with me this evening and whoever goes into town next could get it developed.’
‘Great.’
Was it her imagination again or was there a marked lessening of enthusiasm? ‘Allie, did something frighten you yesterday?’ Kate asked gently.
‘No, of course not!’ The flash of red in Alison’s cheeks and the defiant glare belied her words.
‘I just wondered.’
‘Why, does it scare you?’ Pitying. Disdainful.
‘It does a bit. Yes.’
‘Why?’ Again the aggressive, derisive note. But beneath it, Kate sensed there was a plea. And she knew suddenly that she must not reinforce the girl’s fears. She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps it was, as your brother said, that I’ve grown used to living in a town. One forgets the country noises. And I’ve never stayed so close to the sea before.’
To her relief Alison’s face cleared. ‘You’ll get used to it,’ she replied. For the first time she smiled. ‘Will you really take the photos for me?’
‘Of course I will. No problem.’ Kate hesitated. ‘Do you want to come back to the cottage for some coffee before you go home?’
Alison’s nod and the speed with which she gathered up her ruined ghetto blaster and turned away from her excavation spoke volumes. Following her, Kate turned and glanced over her shoulder only once towards the dig. A cloud of gulls hovered over the place where she and Alison had been standing. Then with a wild screaming and shrieking, they wheeled as one and flew straight out towards the sea.
‘Why did you lock it? We never bother.’
Out of sight of the dunes Alison was once more her supercilious self.
‘Habit, I suppose,’ Kate replied easily. ‘After all, someone did break in.’ She pushed open the door. ‘Black or white?’ She walked ahead into the kitchen.
‘White please.’ Alison had not followed her, nor had she given any acknowledgment of Kate’s comment. She had walked through into the living room. ‘You’ve let the woodburner go out,’ she called.
Kate closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. ‘I know, but it’s laid all ready to light. Do you want to do it for me?’
She reached for the coffee jar and stopped. There was a trail of black peaty soil on the worktop.
‘Oh Christ.’ She didn’t realise she had spoken out loud.
‘What is it?’ Alison appeared behind her in the doorway.
Kate took a deep breath. ‘Nothing. I spilt something, that’s all.’
‘Where are the matches?’ Alison bent and rummaged in the cupboard under the sink. She had taken off her jacket and brushed back her hair with her fingers.
‘There, on the dresser.’ Kate was still staring at the trail of wet earth amongst the mugs. ‘Allie, don’t bother to light it now, OK? When we’ve had our coffee, I’ll walk back with you. I need to drive into Colchester this morning.’ Again the thought had come unprompted. Perhaps this time it was because suddenly she didn’t want to be alone in the house.
‘What abou
Damn the photos!
‘That’s OK, I’ll do them later, don’t worry. In fact the later I leave it, the better the light will be. We’ll get more definition. I’ll still have the film for you by this evening.’
She lifted two mugs out of the earth and rinsed them under the tap before reaching for the coffee jar.
‘What’s all this mess on the side here?’ Alison had seen it. Staring down at it critically she ran a finger through it, leaving a clean trail on the varnished wood of the worktop.
Kate shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. It must have come in when I brought the logs in earlier.’
The answer seemed to satisfy Alison. Turning away she returned to the living room.
‘Do you like using a computer?’ Her voice came through the door as Kate waited for the kettle to boil.
‘Yes, quite. It makes correlating notes and chronologies and things much simpler.’ Kate carried the mugs of coffee through. Alison was standing at her table looking down at her books and notes.
‘My brother Patrick is a computer wizard,’ the girl said. ‘Most of the time, he’s a nerd, but he is tops on computers.’
‘Will he be there tonight?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And will Greg?’
Alison shrugged. ‘No one ever knows what Greg is going to do.’
‘I see,’ Kate said dryly. ‘Well, I’m looking forward to coming to dinner with your parents. They seem so nice.’
‘They are, I suppose.’ Alison finished her coffee and put the mug down. ‘I’m going. Do you want to come with me?’
The challenge in her eyes was hostile again and suddenly Kate was tired of the child. ‘I’ll be ready in about half an hour,’ she said. ‘If you want to wait for me, that’ll be nice, if not, I’ll follow you over later.’
For a moment Alison hesitated, obviously reluctant to walk back alone, then with an exaggerated sigh she flung herself down in one of the chairs. ‘OK. I’ll wait.’