Midnight Is a Lonely Place by Barbara Erskine
Unable to sit down and relax she walked through into the kitchen and began to tidy it. She was on automatic pilot. Her entire concentration was fixed outside the house, listening.
‘We should have brought the gun, Dad.’ Patrick was scared. He kept as close as he could to his father as they walked up the track. At their feet the torch beam was searching the ruts for any sign of footprints or tyre marks.
‘It’s not thick snow. It’s hardly settled here, under the trees. If he’d come this way we would have spotted something by now.’ Roger was indignant rather than scared.
He did not believe that there was a murderer skulking in the woods. Whoever had attacked Bill would be long gone by now. He stopped, glaring down at the pale circle of torchlight as it rested on a patch of muddy pine needles gleaming with watery sludge. It made no sense, all the same, to take unnecessary risks. The car had not come this way. Of that he was convinced. And they had left Diana alone in the farmhouse. Better to go home and search again outside the door where the car had been standing. A stranger might after all, have driven off across the garden. No, he halted that train of thought. There had been no trail of destruction through the bare flowerbeds. The other possibility was that he had driven across the lawn and down onto the marsh. The garden was more exposed on that side of the house. Perhaps the snow had indeed hidden the tracks or they had missed them in their initial panic at finding the car gone.
He led the way back, swinging the torchlight left and right this time, scanning the darkness between the trees, conscious that Patrick was so close beside him that he could feel the boy’s shoulder brushing his own. He found himself wishing suddenly for both their sakes that Patrick was small enough to be held by the hand.
Outside the front door they stopped. Roger drew a deep sigh of relief. The pain was coming back. He could walk no further. He followed Patrick to the door and waited, leaning against the wall while Patrick banged on it, thankful that the darkness hid his face.
The door opened within seconds and Diana fell on them both. Hugging them to her she dragged them to the fire. ‘Thank God! Did you get through? Is the doctor coming? And the police?’
She looked from one to the other and her face fell. ‘You didn’t get there, did you,’ she said in a small voice. She sat down abruptly.
Roger sank down beside her and took her hand. He shook his head. ‘The car’s gone, Di. It’s been stolen.’ He leaned back and closed his eyes.
‘So he was here. Right here outside this house.’ Her eyes went to the curtained window near her. She closed them weakly, slumping against Roger’s shoulder. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘Nothing. Not tonight.’ Roger was suddenly so tired he could hardly speak. ‘We’ll just have to pray that Greg and Kate are together and safe. Greg will look after her …’
His voice trailed away as he thought suddenly about Bill. Bill was a man; a big man and he had not been safe.
‘It will help no one if we go searching for them in the dark. Far better to keep ourselves safe here until daylight. We’ll check again that all the windows and doors are locked and wait it out. There is nothing else we can do.’
‘I’ll check, Dad.’ Patrick had been standing looking down at his parents. He fought off the wave of fear which had been building inside him as he realised suddenly and completely that they were as helpless and afraid as he was; that for the first time that he could remember they were not going to be able to bail him or themselves out of the situation.
His father looked up at him and their eyes met. ‘It’ll be OK.’ Roger gave a wan smile. ‘We’ll sort it all out in daylight.’
‘Sure, Dad.’ Patrick turned towards the stairs. Then he stopped. ‘Greg’s going to be all right, isn’t he?’
‘A great big chap like Greg? Of course he is.’
‘But he wasn’t in the cottage.’
‘I expect they were looking for Allie.’
‘And he doesn’t know she’s safe.’ Patrick’s voice rose unsteadily. ‘They’ll go on looking, Dad. Greg won’t give up.’
‘They’ll be all right, Paddy.’ Diana forced herself to stand up. ‘Greg is not a fool. He’ll realise there is nothing he can do in this weather. He and Kate will go back to the cottage or they’ll come here. Now you go upstairs and check everything’s all right, while I put the kettle on. Don’t wake Allie, but double check her window too.’
She watched her younger son nod and turn away. Then she glanced down at her husband. His face was grey, his eyes shut. Miserably she pulled the rug from the back of the chair where she had folded it that morning – yesterday morning, she corrected herself as she glanced at her watch – and she tucked it round him, then she went to the Aga and slid the kettle onto the hotplate.
XLV
Kate stopped the Land Rover and closed her eyes. There was no sign of him. She had driven up and down the beach three times slowly, edging the vehicle closer and closer to the water’s edge, taking it as far to the north as she dared, far beyond the area where they had walked. He must have wandered up into the dunes where, she knew, she did not dare to try and drive. All she could do was go back slowly, further from the tideline this time, hoping he had seen her lights and was even now trying to drag himself towards them.
Cautiously she let in the clutch, turning this time towards the sea for one last sweep of the boiling waves with the headlights. It was then she saw him. He was kneeling at the water’s edge, waving at her.
‘Greg!’ Incautiously she accelerated towards him and for an awful moment she felt the wheels lose their grip and spin, then she was near him. Drawing to a halt she leapt out. ‘I couldn’t find you.’ Shaking her hair back out of her eyes she ran to throw her arms around him.
For a moment he didn’t move then she felt him return the hug, his mouth against her hair. ‘Kate. Oh, Kate,’ he murmured. For several seconds they clung together, then gently she freed herself.
‘Come on. Try and stand. We’ll put you in the back so you can rest your leg along the seat.’ He was desperately cold. She could feel the chill from his body through his wet clothes. ‘Come on, Greg. You’ve got to stand up. I can’t lift you.’
He was staring at the vehicle. ‘But I saw you. I saw you out there.’ He gestured behind him, towards the sea. ‘I heard you call me. I was crawling towards you, then this wave came and drenched me again.’
She glanced up. ‘You’ve lost your bearings and come right back down the beach. Come on. Stand on your good leg. I daren’t bring the car any closer to the edge. You’ll have to hop.’
‘I can’t.’ He subsided onto the wet sand again with a groan. ‘I’ve had it. I can’t move.’
‘You can. You’ve got to.’ She gritted her teeth. ‘Come on. You can’t give up now.’ She hauled at his arm. ‘I’ll find something for you to lean on. You’ve got to try, Greg.’ She was growing frantic.
‘OK, OK.’ He tried to shake his head. Spray and sleet were cold on his face; tears and sweat, hot. The salt mixture ran into his eyes, blinding him. He could see someone standing behind her. Why didn’t she help? It was a woman. Not Allie. Not Ma. ‘Give me a hand. Please.’ His words were slurring. He felt Kate’s arm strong under his; then her shoulder as he hauled himself up. The other woman was helping, no, she was gone. Where was she? He felt his knees buckle. He could not put his left foot on the sand. The rush of the waves filled his head; dimly he could see the outline of the Land Rover. The back door was open. Inside it was safety, warmth, rest. With a superhuman effort he launched himself towards it with three massive hops on his good leg, throwing himself half in through the door. Then he lost consciousness again.
‘Greg! Greg!’ Kate bent over him. ‘Come on, one more effort.’ The car was a haven. She wanted them both inside and the doors locked. Behind them the beach was hostile, threatening.
She glanced over her shoulder and saw the shadow; the woman hovering near them. Her skin crawled. The blue dress was still stained; it did not blow in the wind; the sleet did
Something of the panic in her voice reached him through the black haze. His hands scrabbled at the seat in front of him; somehow he dragged himself along it and lay, panting, clawing at it to give himself purchase. Behind him Kate caught him round the hips and shoved at him with all her might. Without regard to his injured foot she caught his knees and folded them in behind him and slammed the door on him.
Spinning round she stared out into the night as a new flurry of snow whirled in across the beach. Where was she? She could see nothing now. Desperately she turned and fled round the car, grappling with the driver’s door handle, dragging it open and flinging herself into the seat before slamming the door behind her and banging down the lock. With a cry of relief she slumped back to try and get her breath.
The white shape which hurtled onto the bonnet was so close in front of her she let out a scream. She saw a huge, bloodshot eye. Something crashed down on the windscreen and she saw a splintering crack shiver down the glass. ‘No!’ she flattened herself against the back of the seat, bringing up her arm instinctively to protect her face. ‘No! Please! Greg!’
Greg stirred. He found himself lying face down on the rough rug spread on the back seat. He clutched at it convulsively and felt an agonising pain shoot up his left leg which appeared to have been folded in half beside him on the floor. ‘Kate?’ His voice was indistinct, muffled in the rug. ‘Kate, where are you?’
‘Here!’ Her whisper barely reached him. ‘Greg. Help! Look!’ The fear in her voice reached him through the swimming veil of pain. With an enormous effort he raised his head. Somehow he managed to move sideways, dragging himself up into a sitting position. His teeth were chattering and his body was seized by a wave of violent rigors as he tried to focus on Kate. ‘I’m here. I’m here.’ He clutched at the back of the seat.
Her eyes still fixed on the windscreen she did not turn round. ‘Look.’
It was still there – a huge, flapping white object. Again she saw the eye, yellow, threatening, and then a vicious curved beak. Kate flinched, raising her arm to protect herself, closing her eyes in terror as with a resounding clang a sharp blow descended on the already shivered windscreen.
‘Kate –?’ Greg’s voice was blurred and indistinct.
‘It’s a gull!’ She was sobbing with fear and relief. ‘It’s a huge gull.’ For a moment the whirl of flapping wings and the cruel eyes and vicious beak resolved themselves into a clear outline, the webbed feet scrabbling for a foothold on the bonnet, and then it had gone, launching itself off into the wind and out of sight.
Kate reached for the ignition. Her hands were shaking so much she could hardly start the engine. Frantically she grabbed at the gear lever and shoved it forward. The Land Rover jerked and stalled.
‘Well done.’ It was almost a chuckle from the back. Kate started the engine again. Forcing herself to be calm she engaged reverse gear and let in the clutch with more care. The Land Rover backed away from the sea, the headlights sweeping the beach. ‘I can’t see it. There’s no sign.’
‘I don’t think we’ll send out a search party. Let’s get out of here. Can you see all right? See if you can get back to the track.’ Greg gritted his teeth as a new wave of pain hit him. Ignoring it he pulled at the rug on the seat and dragged it around his shoulders. The dim interior of the Land Rover was beginning to swim around him once more.
‘I think we’re on our way.’ Kate glanced back at the sea. Was the tide retreating at last? It seemed to be farther away, certainly, and the force of the wind seemed less. Cautiously she turned the vehicle south, keeping parallel to the waves, and began to drive back towards the cottage. Straining forward to see through the slivered glass, she watched the beach; it was impossible to see where the sand was firm. All she could do was pray as at last she swung the wheel and headed up towards the dunes. It all looked so different in the headlights; the snow and the spinning sand eddies shifted and disguised the landmarks. Nothing was where it should be. She felt the Land Rover lurch sideways suddenly and she clutched at the wheel. For a moment she thought they were going to stop, then the wheels regained their grip and they were on their way again. Moments later she saw the lights of the cottage in the distance behind the dunes and muttering a short prayer of thanks, she headed doggedly towards them, threading her way round the dunes, following the path she had taken so often on foot, until at last she felt the vehicle drag itself onto the snow-covered grass.
The front door was still open but she ignored it. She had no wish to go in there again, with poor Bill still lying on the sofa. Instead she headed up the track towards Redall Farmhouse, driving more quickly now as they lurched uncomfortably over the ruts and skidded in the ice-fringed puddles, once or twice crashing over fallen branches as she drove on with gritted teeth. The petrol indicator, she had just noticed, was bouncing around the empty level. She could not believe it. They could not run out of petrol now. Not here. ‘Hang on, you bastard. Just hang on.’ She chewed on her lip furiously, ducking automatically as they brushed beneath the low overhanging branches of a stand of larch and slithered back onto the main track.
Through the cracked and murky windscreen she didn’t see the shadow which appeared right in front of them on the track until it was barely feet from her front bumper. She slammed on the brakes, fighting to control the sliding vehicle, spun the wheel and heard with a cry of misery the resounding crack as they crashed into a tree. She was wearing no seat belt and the jolt sent her flying forward against the windscreen.
It was several seconds before she sat up, feeling herself cautiously. There was a bump the size of an egg on her forehead and she felt as though she had been kicked in the ribs by a horse but she was alive.
The headlights were directed at an angle up in the air. They had landed against a tree, with the back wheels in some sort of ditch. Even from here she knew there would be no way of getting the car out. ‘Damn.’ She struck the steering wheel with the flat of her hand. ‘Damn, damn, damn! Greg? Are you all right?’ She dragged her aching body round to look at him. He had been thrown to the floor by the impact and lay there huddled below the seat not moving. ‘Oh God!’ Stiffly she groped for the door handle and tried to push it open. It appeared to be jammed. She peered out again. What was it she had seen in front of her like that? She shivered. Whatever it was had gone – a figment of her overwrought imagination probably – and now the woods were empty as before.
‘Greg. Greg? Are you all right?’ She wrestled with the handle. ‘Greg. Can you hear me?’
It was no good. She couldn’t open it. She glanced across at the other door. It looked as though it might be easier to open. Climbing across into the passenger seat she pulled at the handle. After a moment it swung free and she managed to climb out. One glance past the headlights showed the front wing was buckled, the radiator had gone and the front tyre was flat. ‘Damn!’ She kicked the tyre as hard as she could, then she turned and dragged at the rear door. It was locked. Shaking with panic she crawled back in the front, knelt on the seat and reached down towards him. In the darkness she couldn’t see his face. ‘Greg? Greg, can you hear me?’
Her small torch was still there, in her pocket. Switching it on she directed it down. He was lying face down on the floor, his body hunched, his arms trapped beneath him as though he had made no effort to save himself at all when he was flung forward. Somehow she managed to scramble over the seat and putting her arms around him, she propped him up on the floor between the seats. He groaned but he did not open his eyes. For a moment she sat still, gazing out at the harsh beam of the headlights which lit up the woods. Soon t
Gritting her teeth she wedged the torch into her pocket, tucked the rug more closely round Greg, lowered her window half an inch for air and climbed out into the cold. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can. Hang on,’ she whispered. She glanced up and down the track, shining the puny, swiftly-fading beam into the trees. The only sound was the drip of melting snow and the occasional rattle of leaves.
It couldn’t be more than a quarter of a mile – ten minutes’ walk at most. She set off up the path, keeping to the middle of the tyre ruts, feeling her boots slip repeatedly in the icy puddles and frozen mud. Her shoulders were crawling with terror. Tensely she hunched them, sure that any moment she would feel a hand reach out and touch her, turning round repeatedly as she walked, to look into the dark. There was no one there. The silence grew deeper as the sleet slackened and the dripping of the leaves began to diminish, but always with her was the sound of her own laboured breathing and the steady flap and squeak of her rubber boots.
The sight of a light in the distance was so sudden, so wonderful, she stopped and rubbed her eyes. It was a square light, pale blue, a light shining through an upstairs window at Redall Farmhouse. With a sob she began to run, squelching through the slush, brushing the wiry branches of larch and spruce out of her way as they tangled and whipped across in front of her.
She was gasping as she ran across the snow-covered grass and flung herself towards the door, reaching frantically for the bell.
For several seconds there was no response to her frenzied ringing, then she heard footsteps on the other side. ‘Who is it?’ Patrick’s voice was muffled.