Midnight Is a Lonely Place by Barbara Erskine
Behind him the two priests stepped forward. She saw the red reflection of the sun glinting on the knife blade as it was raised. And she saw the garotte as it was slipped swiftly and dextrously about his throat.
The meal had been excellent. Bill sat for a long time over his coffee. At his side The Times lay beside his cup, neatly folded to expose the crossword. In the last hour he had managed only two clues and he was feeling discouraged. He glanced up at the window. Outside the sleet appeared to have stopped. A slash of palest stone-washed denim blue had appeared between the clouds. Staring up at it he felt a sudden uplift of his spirits. Damn it, it was only twenty miles or so further.
Slotting a couple of carriers full of Marks and Spencer food into the boot of his car he tucked four bottles of wine in beside them and slid into the driver’s seat.
He had no problems until he reached the track down through the Redall woods where the slush and rain had turned it into a quagmire. Parking on the side of the road he climbed out. Behind him a tractor was lumbering along the road. It drew to a halt behind his car. Bill walked up to it. ‘Hello, Joe. Do you think I’d be mad to take the car down to the cottage?’
Joe laughed. He scratched his head. ‘I reckon you were mad to come at all,’ he shouted over the clatter of the engine. ‘I tell you what. You come and leave your car up at the farm and I’ll run you down to yours. Best that way.’
Bill gave up the effort of competing with the huge engine. With a grin he gave a thumbs up sign and turned back to his car. At least this way he wouldn’t get trapped by the weather.
It was an hour later that Joe delivered him to his door. Waving his good Samaritan off he inserted his key in the door and pushed it open with his shoulder. The smell of cold and damp assailed him at once and he grimaced. ‘Bloody fool.’ He meant himself.
The front door led straight into the living room. The furnishings were shabby and not very pretty – good enough for weekends, but not so good they would get nicked. It always depressed him a little when he arrived, but he knew from long experience that once he had put a match to the fire – a resolution he had never once broken was to leave it laid ready when he left for London at the end of each trip – and turned on the lights and the radio the little house would spring to life. He found he was humming as he walked through into the kitchen – basic with an old, deep sink, a barely functional electric cooker and a pine table and chairs which were probably by now worth a fortune as antiques. Once he was settled he would dig out his wellies and stride out through the mud to visit Kate.
It had never crossed his mind that she wouldn’t be at home. He peered through the windows of her cottage. The woodburner was alight. He could see the glow of the fire through the closed doors. He shaded his eyes as he leaned closer. Her desk was untidy, as though she had got up and left it in the middle of some work. And the lamp on the table in the corner was switched on. He glanced over his shoulder towards the beach. Perhaps she had gone for a walk.
His wellingtons sliding wetly on the sand and shingle, he made his way down towards the sea, standing on the foreshore at last, shading his eyes as he stared up and down the beach. The rain and sleet had drifted inland. Overhead the cloud was still thick, but it was higher now, and there was still the odd patch of blue. His hands wedged firmly into his pockets he threw his shoulders back and inhaled deeply. It was a rash move and led to a spasm of coughing, but at least he was getting the desired fresh air. He chuckled to himself, and turning north up the beach began to walk briskly over the sand. The sea was sullen, heaving menacingly on the horizon, a shifting solid mass of seemingly waveless water. The tide was midway up, he guessed, creeping nearer half-heartedly, dribbling each progression of weed and shells onto the beach before sliding back into the black depths to gather itself for another inroad onto the sand.
He didn’t walk far. The wind in his face was not strong but it was bitingly cold. Turning, he glanced back the way he had come. There was no sign anywhere of Kate. No footprints on the sand to show where she had passed. Disappointed, he retraced his steps. Blow fresh air. You could get too much of that. He walked down the beach as far as the end of the dunes and climbed up to get a view across the estuary. It was alive with geese. Bustling with activity. He could hear them now, gossiping, squabbling, murmuring to each other as they spread out across the still water onto the low-lying islands and the saltings. He grinned to himself. He liked the geese. They were jolly chaps, and with them there it wasn’t possible to feel lonely. He couldn’t understand why people had to shoot them. But then some people would kill anything that moved, given half a chance. Shrugging himself deeper into his thick quilted jacket he turned away and pulled up short. There was a woman standing in the distance on one of the other dunes. His heart leapt. ‘Kate!’ he shouted. ‘Over here.’ He waved.
She had her back to him. He could see she was huddled into some long garment. Her hair was tearing free of its fastenings.
‘Kate!’ He put his hands to his mouth and bellowed. The trouble was the wind was blowing from her to him, carrying his voice away. Behind him some of the geese looked up from their grazing and he heard a volley of anxious alarm notes. He leaped off the dune and ran back through the deep, soft sand towards her, feeling the sweat break out on his body beneath the heavy jacket. Puffing, convinced he was about to have a heart attack, he scrambled up the dune where she had been standing. She was nowhere to be seen. He stared down. Half the dune had fallen away onto the beach. He could see where the tide had washed the sand into mounds of weed-covered spoil. A dead crab lay on its back amongst the debris. He wrinkled his nose. Slithering and jumping he made his way back onto the beach, staring round. Where the hell had she gone? Out at sea the evening was beginning to draw in. He could see the mist which preceded the coming darkness hovering on the horizon.
Crossly, he made his way back towards her cottage. Obviously she hadn’t seen him. Well, he couldn’t blame her for going in. It was becoming much colder. He could feel the icy chill on his body as his sweat dried. Suddenly he felt very alone.
The cottage was still deserted, the front door locked. He stared at it in disbelief. Perhaps it wasn’t Kate he had seen after all? It must have been someone else. But who else would be out there on the beach in this weather at this time of day? It had certainly been neither Alison nor Diana. One was too short, the other too well-built. Although the figure he had seen had been too far away to recognise he had been able to see that she was tall and willowy, her figure emphasised by the way she had pulled her coat tightly around her.
Disappointed, he turned away from the door. He might as well walk up to Redall Farmhouse and see if he could cadge a cup of tea there. Maybe that was where she was anyway. Pulling his collar up more tightly around his ears, Bill set off towards the trees.
XXXVI
‘Where is Allie?’ Diana looked around the kitchen as though it was only the first time she had noticed her daughter’s absence. It was two hours since they had finished lunch – a meal to which Kate had been invited without hesitation and one which she had accepted with equal alacrity. Alison had appeared for the first course but she had barely touched it and, making her excuses, had retired upstairs to sleep. ‘Run and see how she is, Patrick, will you, dear?’ She and Kate had finished the dishes together and a new kettle of water was brewing on the Aga. ‘She ought to eat something.’
Patrick vanished upstairs. Diana smiled. ‘I know I’m being silly to worry, but I can’t help it. She’s not right yet.’
‘Do you think you ought to take her to the doctor?’ Kate lined up six mugs on the table.
Diana’s reply was interrupted by Patrick’s shout. ‘Ma! She’s not up here.’
Diana stared across the room towards the staircase. ‘What do you mean she’s not up there? Of course she is.’
‘She’s not. And she’s not in the loo. I’ve looked everywhere.’ Patrick reappeared.
Roger had been dozing by the fire. Pushing a heap of cats off his lap he stood
‘She’s gone.’ Diana threw down the oven glove she had donned to pick up the kettle. ‘She’s gone back to that bloody grave.’
‘No.’ Kate’s whisper was lost as Roger threw his newspaper down.
‘She can’t have. She wouldn’t be so stupid. God! It will be dark in another hour.’ He strode to the door.
‘Look for her jacket, darling.’ Diana was standing in the middle of the floor, frozen with fear.
‘It’s gone.’ He was rummaging through the stack of coats and waterproofs on the pegs inside the front door. ‘So have her boots.’
Greg had disappeared into the study with his cup of coffee after they had finished the meal. At the sound of Roger’s raised voice he opened the door and peered out. ‘What’s up?’
‘It’s your sister. She seems to have gone out.’
Greg’s eyes sought Kate’s. His face was suddenly very grim.
‘Kate and I will go and look for her,’ he said. ‘We’ll take the Land Rover. Don’t worry, Ma. She’ll be all right. She’s not a fool. If she’s taken her coat and boots she’ll be warm enough and it shows she is being sensible.’
‘I’ll go with you.’ His father was reaching for his own coat but Greg put his hand on his arm. ‘No, Dad, no need. Honestly. Kate and I will find her. You stay here with Ma. You never know. She may just have gone for a walk in the garden. We may be panicking for nothing.’ He smiled into the silence. None of them believed that; they all knew where she had gone.
The Land Rover was cold. Hauling herself into the passenger seat Kate dug her hands deep into her pockets, waiting in the silent vehicle as Greg walked round to the driver’s side and pulled open the door. He climbed in and reached for the ignition key, glancing at her. ‘How long do you reckon she’s been gone?’
‘It could have been hours. Would we have noticed if she’d gone out while we were still eating?’
He shrugged. ‘She had to come through the living room to reach the front door. The trouble was we were talking so hard I don’t suppose we would have noticed her even if she had jumped up and shouted at us.’ He rammed in the gear and eased the car away from the side of the house. ‘Did you throw in the blankets?’
Kate nodded. Her stomach was cold and shivery. Her mouth had gone dry. ‘Something out there is calling her.’
‘Well, they can call away. She is not going.’ Greg swung the Land Rover onto the track, feeling the tyres slipping sideways as they tried to grip the mud.
Under the trees they were suddenly aware of how soon it would be dusk. The shadows beneath the pine and larch were softly black; in the distance the wood was dark. The headlights cut a swathe through the undergrowth, lighting up patches of yellow where willow whips were already showing signs of spring to come in spite of the cold.
‘Do you think we should check for footprints, to make sure she did come this way?’ Kate asked tentatively. She grabbed at the door to try and stop herself sliding off the seat.
‘We know she came this way,’ Greg shot her a quick look. ‘Fasten your seat belt, then you won’t get thrown off if we tip over. This track will be impassable if we get any more rough weather.’ He whirled the wheel round as the vehicle skidded sideways into a pothole.
‘Perhaps if you went a bit slower.’
‘We’ve got to get there before she does. Hell’s teeth!’ He hauled at a gear lever, forcing them back onto the track. A spatter of raindrops hit the windscreen as they brushed some trailing ivies and clematis, the bare, woody branches of traveller’s joy already showing tiny new buds. Ahead, on the track something moved. He slowed the Land Rover and they both peered through the streaked windscreen. ‘What was it? Is it Allie?’ Kate leaned forward eagerly.
He shook his head grimly. ‘Deer.’ He pulled the wheel round. ‘Christ, how far has she got?’
‘Is there another way? Could she have taken a short cut?’
‘I don’t think so. This is the short cut. Everyone always goes the quickest way.’
Kate looked across at him. The worry was clearly etched into his face, the lines between nose and mouth drawn tight and deep, the frown lines between his eyes accentuated in the near-darkness. For all his constant bickering with his sister he obviously loved her deeply. She felt a wave of something like affection for him. Curbing her instinct to touch his shoulder in an attempt to give him some sort of comfort she stared ahead through the windscreen once more. ‘She’ll be all right. We’ll find her.’
‘Indeed we will.’ His voice was grim.
They drove on for several minutes in silence, then Kate let out a cry. ‘There she is! Look. Over there.’
Greg swung the Land Rover off the track towards the figure sheltering beneath a tree. They had drawn up beside it and Greg was already opening his door before they realised at the same moment that it was not Allie. The figure which staggered towards them was that of a man. Suddenly Kate recognised him.
‘Bill!’ She leaped out of her seat and ran round the vehicle, slipping in the mud. ‘Bill, what are you doing here?’
‘Watch out. He’s hurt.’ Greg caught her arm, stopping her in her tracks. In the light of the headlamps they could both see the stream of blood running down his face.
‘Bill?’ Her stomach turning over with fright, Kate put her hand on Bill’s arm. ‘Bill, are you all right? It’s Kate.’ The look he turned on her was completely blank.
‘I’ll get one of those blankets.’ Greg turned and sped back to the car. Returning, he pulled the warm rug round Bill’s shoulders. ‘Can you walk, old chap? Come on. Only a few steps. Kate, open the back door. Help me boost him in. Christ, what’s happened to him?’
Her mouth dry with fear, Kate helped Greg push Bill up onto a back seat. He was a big man and his limbs did not appear to be co-ordinating properly. She could feel him shivering under the thick blanket. She climbed in beside him, fumbling for his hand. When she found it she chafed it gently, appalled at the chill of his skin. ‘I think we should get him to hospital, Greg,’ she murmured.
Greg nodded. ‘As soon as we’ve found Allie. Has he had a fall? Hold on. I’ll get the other torch and the first aid box.’ Rummaging in the box at her feet he glanced into the darkening woods. Kate was staring at Bill’s face. That look of blank terror; the fixed, pinpoint pupils, the chilled skin. It was the same as Alison. Identical. She glanced at Greg who had slipped onto the narrow seat opposite them. ‘This is how Allie looked when I found her.’ She felt Bill give a small shudder.
‘Christ!’ Greg bit his lips. ‘Look, can you cope in the back? We’ve got to go on and find her.’
‘We’ll be OK. He’s not quite as cold as she was.’ Even so, she could hear his teeth chattering. She bent to open the first aid box. It was difficult rummaging in it in the unsteady light but she managed to find antiseptic and some dressings. As gently as she could she swabbed the blood off his forehead, wincing at the bruises on his hairline. He sat unmoving, seemingly oblivious to what she was doing, though he flinched once or twice as the swab did its work. Taping a dressing across his forehead, she was carefully mopping some of the blood that had dripped down his cheek when he gripped her wrist with sudden, ferocious strength. ‘Alison!’ he gasped.
‘Have you seen her?’ There was a strange cold sickness building in Kate’s stomach. She left her hand in his. His fingers were very strong but they were still very cold.
Bill shook his head, bewildered. He put his hand to his temple and drew it away, looking at his fingers as though he expected to see blood. He did not seem to realise there was a dressing there. ‘She hit me.’
Greg had climbed into the driving seat. He turned, his elbow over the back. ‘Alison hit you!’
‘I tried to stop her. She was with someone. The woman I saw on the beach.’ To her horror Kate saw Bill’s eyes fill with tears. ‘I wanted her to come with me,’ he went on. He was mumbling
‘You’re imagining it! Allie couldn’t, wouldn’t do such a thing!’ Greg said, horrified.
Kate glanced up at him.
‘What woman did you see with her, Bill?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘I saw her in the distance on the beach. She was tall. Thin. I thought it was you. She was wrapped up tightly against the wind. Her hair was long, falling down, all sort of dishevelled. She was angry. I could feel her anger.’
Greg’s eyes flicked from Bill’s face to Kate’s. He wondered briefly if he looked as frightened and shocked as she did.
She met his eye. ‘You’d better drive on, Greg,’ she said. Her voice had gone husky.
He hesitated for a moment. Then he nodded. Turning round he reached for the ignition.
Kate put her arm round Bill’s shoulders as the Land Rover lurched forward again and she felt him slump against her, shivering. As calmly as she could she edged another blanket out of the pile Greg had thrown on the floor in front of her and tucked it round him. Then she groped for his hand again and held it tightly.
It took them another ten minutes to reach the cottage. Greg swung the Land Rover to a standstill on the grass, directing the headlights past the building, down towards the beach. Kate leaned forward, staring ahead across the back of the seat. ‘I can’t see her.’
Greg reached for the torch and swung his door open. ‘You stay here. I’ll go down to the grave.’