Midnight Is a Lonely Place by Barbara Erskine
Silly girl. Giving orders. Silly orders.
‘Mummy! Put your hand here.’
Impatient too. Stroppy little cow her father called her. Joe. Joe! Where was Joe?
She must have called out loud. Susie’s face was there, in front of her again. Concerned, swimming in brightness. ‘Dad will come soon, but we have to get you out.’
Susie had seen the slight dribble of blood at the corner of her mother’s mouth. It terrified her. It should be Cissy comforting her, not the other way round. She glanced yet again over her shoulder into the dark trees. There had been no sign of him, the kook who had stood in the middle of the track in front of them and caused her mother to skid, but he must still be out there. He must have seen them crash.
Marcus
The name floated into her mind. Allie’s Marcus. The dead Roman from the grave on the beach.
‘Mummy!’ Her terror gave her strength and she turned back to the smashed windscreen, leaning against the bonnet, trying to get a purchase on her mother’s shoulder. ‘When I say, try and take as much of your weight as you can here, on the doorframe. I’ll see if I can free your belt.’ She took a deep breath and reached into the car through the shattered glass. There was blood on the seat belt; the catch was slippery, hard to press, the belt strained beneath her mother’s weight. She curled her fingers round the release and braced herself. ‘Now. Now, go on, lift yourself as much as you can. NOW!’ Frantically she pressed, wrenching the catch. Nothing happened. ‘Don’t let go. Pull up harder!’ It must open. It must.
Pull. Cissy closed her fingers around the windowframe where Susie had positioned them. Pull. Good idea. Take her weight. Take the strain off her ribs. She pulled again and the pressure had gone.
‘Done it!’ The shriek in her ear was ecstatic. Then she was falling. Frantically she clung on again. Susie’s arm around her took her full weight and she felt the girl stagger; the arm closed around her and the pain was renewed in force but somehow she was half out of the windscreen. Flailing with her hands she felt grass and brambles; her weight was sliding her out of the car across the bonnet to the ground and suddenly she was lying on the mud, huddled, hips high, hugging her pain.
‘Well done!’ Susie was triumphant. ‘Now sit up comfortably. Lean against the bank here.’
The girl glanced up into the trees again. There was something there. It moved slightly in the darkness of the shadows. She stood up, letting her mother slump back to the ground, her eyes straining to see what it was.
‘Who’s there?’ Her voice was shaking. ‘Greg? Paddy?’ Please let it be one of them. They must be near the farmhouse. She glanced round, confused. How far had they come before they crashed? She couldn’t remember.
It was there again. The movement in the trees. She could feel her mouth, dry as sandpaper; she couldn’t breathe properly. Her knees were beginning to shake. ‘Mummy.’ It was a reflex action, this desperate whisper for help. She knew her mother couldn’t hear her. ‘Mummy, can you see him?’
The figure was tall; the face, dark, aquiline, cruel. Strange, she had always thought ghosts would be transparent, insubstantial, traversable should they cross one’s path. Without fully realising she had done it, she sank to the ground beside her mother and reached for Cissy’s hand. ‘Mummy. Help me. He’s coming.’
Cissy heard her. She tried to move her fingers but they didn’t seem to work; her words of reassurance were lost as blood seeped into her throat.
LII
Joe frowned and glanced once again at his wristwatch. Strange that they weren’t back.
He could smell the beef. The whole house was full of appetising scents which made his juices flow. Perhaps she didn’t realise the time; she always got carried away, did Cissy, when she went down to Redall; something about that house that made one forget the time – he had felt it too. But if she was bringing them back, surely they should be here by now? He glanced at his watch once again; it was after three. The meat would be ruined. He glanced at the oven and shook his head. Tempted though he was to start without them perhaps he’d better get down there and see what was wrong. Grabbing an oven cloth off the rail he pulled open the door and pulled out the meat pan. The meat was dry, shrunk on the bone, the potatoes almost black. He shook his head sadly and pushed the trays of food onto the counter. Spoiled anyway.
Outside he glanced up at the sky. The light was nearly gone already, the cloud black and threatening, the wind – he sniffed knowledgeably – coming a degree or so round to the north. That would bring real snow; the kind they hadn’t seen for four years on this coast. Thoughtfully he hauled himself up into the old Land Rover which stood by the barn and leaned forward to turn the key.
At first he didn’t recognise what he saw; his eyes refused to make sense of the axles, the wheels, the exhaust which were all he could see of his Range Rover, on its side in the ditch. In the headlights, through the driving sleet, all he could see was a pattern of shiny mud and steel. Then he realised and his stomach turned over. He skidded to a halt, and leaving the headlights trained on the wreck, he levered himself out of the driving seat and jumped down into the slush. ‘Cissy?’ Dear sweet lord, where were they? ‘Susie my love?’ He jumped into the ditch and clambered round to the far side of the vehicle, his boots sliding and squelching, catching in the brambles.
The black silhouette of the wreck cut out the powerful beam of his headlights and it was a moment before his eyes adjusted enough to the dim light to see Cissy, sitting, leaning against the bonnet, her eyes closed. Susie was curled up close to her, her arms wrapped around her knees, rocking slowly from side to side.
‘Susie?’ Joe called.
The girl tightened her grip on her knees. ‘She’s dead.’ She did not look up. ‘She’s dead.’ Tears were streaming down her face.
Joe scrambled closer and knelt down beside her, his craggy face white. He could hardly see for tears himself. ‘No. No, baby, no.’ Tearing off his gloves, he reached past her and gently he took Cissy’s wrist in his own. It was cold. ‘Ciss? Ciss, my love? Come on.’ His fingers were rough and split, no good for this sort of thing. Persistently he felt all over her wrist, pressing the soft cold skin until suddenly he felt a faint flutter.
‘She’s not dead, Sue.’ He was trembling as much as his daughter. ‘Nearly, but not quite. Help me lift her. We’ll get her into the back of the Land Rover.’
He scooped her up into his arms as though she were no weight at all, and slipping and sliding, carried her back to the track. The open back was full of old tools and sacks and bits of twine. ‘Hop in, Susie. Take your Mum’s head in your lap. Keep her comfy.’ His calmness now that there was something to do was infectious. Susie obeyed him, sitting on the floor, pulling sacks over her mother’s inert body.
Joe walked back to the driving seat and pulled himself into it. One look at the steep, icy track down which he had slithered only minutes before told him they were unlikely to make it back that way. ‘I reckon we’ll take her down to Redall. Diana will know what to do to keep her comfy. She used to be a nurse. Then if their phone is still not working I’ll get back on the back lane to phone for an ambulance. Hold her now, Susie my love. You’d almost got there, you know. We’re only a few hundred yards from Redall.’
He refused to consider the possibility that she might be dead. He had felt a pulse. He was sure of it. Letting in the clutch with infinite care he dragged the Land Rover back onto the track and headed on down towards the farmhouse.
Diana had seen them coming, but not until Joe emerged from behind the wheel did she open the front door. ‘Joe? Thank God! Where are the police? Are they coming?’
‘The police?’ Joe shook his head, preoccupied with his own sorrow. ‘I haven’t called them yet, nor the ambulance. I reckoned I’d leave her here with you and try and get back up through a side track. It’s all too slippery up there even for this old girl.’ He slapped the vehicle with a gnarled hand as he walked round the back and tenderly lifted Cissy out.
‘Cis
‘We crashed the Range Rover.’ Susie scrambled out after her mother. ‘She’s dead. I know she’s dead!’ She burst into tears again.
‘Bring her in. Quickly.’ Diana glanced out into the darkness of the woods. Dusk was coming early. The snow was feathering down out of a bruised, blackened sky. The woods were silent.
‘Put her down on the sofa.’ She stared down at Cissy’s white face, and then, as Joe had done, reached for her wrist. ‘Where are Paddy and Kate? Didn’t you see them?’
More practised than Joe, she found a pulse almost at once. It was faint but steady.
Behind them Greg emerged from the study. Quietly he shut the front door and bolted it. The candles in the living room flickered.
Standing around the sofa Greg, Roger, Susie and Joe stared down at the still figure lying there. Diana sat beside her, cautiously running her hands over her still form, refraining from any comment about the way Joe had manhandled his wife out of the Land Rover. If her neck or back were injured it was too late to say anything now. There were bruises on her face, a cut on her lip – please God that was where the blood was coming from – livid bruises on Cissy’s shoulders and ribs as Diana opened her blouse.
‘Joe, I think you should go back and phone for an ambulance now,’ Greg said as he watched his mother’s hands. ‘And we need the police. Somebody has beaten Bill Norcross to death.’
The action of Joe’s jaw lifted his scalp until his whole face seemed to slip back in surprise, but still he did not take his eyes off his wife. ‘You reckon they attacked Cissy?’ He looked at Greg at last, a deep flush spreading up from his neck across his face.
‘No, Dad. We skidded. There was a man –’ Susie stopped short.
‘A man?’ Greg turned to scrutinise her face.
‘What man, Susie?’ Joe grabbed her and turned her to face him. ‘You didn’t say anything about a man.’
‘He … he appeared in front of us.’ Susie started crying again. ‘Mummy jammed on the brakes and we began to spin round. I banged my head on the window.’
‘What did he look like, Susie?’ Greg kept his voice gentle.
‘He was dressed in a long cloak thing. He had a sword …’
‘A sword!’ As Greg and Diana looked at each other Joe’s words were an incredulous echo.
‘And you saw no sign of Kate or Patrick?’ Diana was feeling down each of Cissy’s legs. Nothing broken there at least.
‘No.’ Susie shook her head violently.
‘They had a gun,’ Greg put in.
‘I think I heard a gun going off,’ Susie broke free of her father’s hands and went to kneel beside her mother. ‘Just after the crash. There was a big bang.’
Diana closed her eyes briefly. Somehow she managed to keep her hands steady as she took the rug which Greg handed her and pulled it up over Cissy’s inert form. Standing up she turned to Joe. ‘You must go and get help, Joe. We’ll look after her as best we can but she needs a doctor. I think she’s only bruised, but she might be concussed. She must have an X-ray.’
‘But she’ll be all right?’ Joe looked down at her miserably. He felt lost and abandoned.
‘I hope so.’ Diana smiled at him; she rested a hand on his arm. ‘Susie can stay here; I’ll take care of them both, Joe, I promise.’
He nodded. For a moment he hesitated self-consciously, wanting to stoop and kiss his wife, then awkwardly he turned away.
Greg hopped after him. In the hallway he spoke in low, urgent tones. ‘Joe, there’s a maniac out there. Be careful for God’s sake. Paddy and Kate set out hours ago to ring from your place. Keep your eyes open for them, and tell the police what’s happened.’
Joe nodded curtly. He reached out to open the door. ‘You take care of them all here.’
‘I will, don’t worry.’ The grimness of Greg’s tone was reassuring.
Joe paused on the doorstep. The world was totally silent, wrapped in whirling snow. For a moment he hesitated, unwilling to cross the few yards of white ground to his Land Rover, then shaking his head, he strode forward, hearing Greg bolt the door behind him.
Walking round to the back he reached in over the tail gate for his gun, wedged into clips which had been screwed onto the vehicle’s frame. Wrenching it free he pushed back the lid on the box which sat beneath the side seat. His cartridges were there; left after the last shoot. He could lose his licence for carelessness like that, but who was to know. Almost kissing them he stuffed them into the baggy pocket of his jacket and climbed behind the wheel. Laying the gun on the seat next to him he reached for the key which he had left in the ignition, his eyes on the windscreen which was blanked out with snow.
The key clicked uselessly.
He turned it again and again without success. Behind him the door of the house opened again. Greg had obviously been watching from the study window. ‘What’s wrong?’ His voice was muffled by the snow.’
‘Darned battery’s flat. Hold on, I’ll try the starting handle.’ He climbed out, glad that someone else was there. The silence of the woods was becoming oppressive.
The metal was cold through his gloves as he inserted it and swung it round. The engine remained dead. ‘Damned bloody thing!’ He tried again, feeling the sweat start on his forehead.
Behind him Greg was watching the trees. He could feel his skin prickling with fear. Someone – or something – was watching them. He was sure of it. ‘Joe,’ he called quietly. ‘Joe, bring the gun and get in here.’
‘I’ll just give it one more try.’
‘No, Joe. Don’t bother. Grab your gun and come in.’
There was something in the urgency of Greg’s tone which stopped Joe in his tracks. He straightened. He could feel it too now, a building panic crawling across him. Leaving the handle where it was he reached in and grabbed the shotgun, then turning, he sprinted the few yards back to the farm house. Greg slammed the door behind him and threw the bolts across. Both men stood for a moment in the small hallway and listened. There was no sound from outside. ‘You reckon he’s out there?’ Joe whispered.
Greg nodded.
‘You’ve seen him?’
‘Kate and I saw him down on the shore.’
‘And Norcross is dead?’ It seemed only just to have sunk in. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Quite sure.’ Greg’s tone left no room for doubt. ‘What the hell do we do now, Joe? We have to have help.’
‘I could take your car. I reckon that old Volvo would have a good chance of getting up the back lane.’
Greg shook his head. ‘Our old Volvo is out on the marsh, Joe. Don’t ask how it got there, and our Land Rover is smashed up; it hit a tree.’
Joe stared. ‘You mean there are no cars working? None at all?’
‘And no phones.’
The two men stared at one another. ‘You reckon he did it. He caused Cissy’s crash.’
‘And Kate’s. He tried to kill me on the beach.’ Greg paused. ‘Wait, Joe. I’ve just remembered. Kate’s little car. The Peugeot. It’s in the barn. I don’t know if it would make it up the lane, but it might be worth a try.’
‘Right.’ Joe dug down into his pocket and came up with two cartridges. ‘I’ll put a couple of these up the spout, then we’ll have a go. Is the barn unlocked?’
Greg shrugged. He rummaged in the drawer of the table. Two small padlock keys on a large ring appeared and he pressed them into Joe’s hand. ‘I’ll come with you. Hold on while I get my boots.’
‘No.’ Joe shook his head. ‘I reckon I’ll be quicker on my own. You look after your dad and the women.’
‘I don’t know if she left a key in it.’
‘If she didn’t I reckon I’ll smash the window and hotwire it. I’m sure she’ll forgive me in an emergency. My Cissy needs a doctor. No car door is going to come between me and that.’
Once more Greg unbarred the door and pulled it open. It was
The padlock hung open from the hasp. Joe stared at it. His hackles were stirring again, like the back of a frightened dog. Cautiously he put his hand to the door and pulled it open a fraction. There was a strange smell in the barn. He sniffed. It smelt hot, petrol, with something else – like cordite. And smoke. There was smoke. He had time only to step back half a pace before a fireball of yellow and gold heat erupted out of Kate’s car and blew him backwards into the garden.
‘Christ Almighty!’ Greg had not had time to close the door when he saw the man’s figure fly backwards away from the barn doors. Fire and smoke were already erupting from the barn roof, sparks jumping into the air to be lost in the snow.
‘Greg? What is it? What’s happened?’ Diana ran to join him followed by Susie. Behind them Roger closed his eyes. For a moment he stood without moving, then slowly he dragged himself after them to the door.
‘Daddy!’ Susie’s hysterical cry was followed by a wild sob as she saw the figure on the grass begin crawling towards them. ‘I’ll go.’ Diana pushed past Greg. In seconds she was kneeling beside him.
‘I’m all right. I’m all right. Just shaken.’ Joe was coughing violently, his eyes streaming. ‘Find the gun. Quickly. Find the bloody gun. And be careful, it’s loaded.’ He staggered to his feet and began to move towards the house.
Greg watched in an agony of frustration, seeing his mother running towards the blazing building. ‘Get me my stick,’ he yelled at Susie. ‘Quickly. Get me my stick!’
Grabbing it from her he had begun to hobble towards Diana when he saw her duck into the smoke and reappear a moment later, the shotgun under her arm.
Pushing past his son, Roger ran out into the snow. ‘Di–’
‘Get in, Joe.’ Greg thrust the man behind him and ran after his father, his eyes on the barn. Smoke was pouring through the roof; a series of small explosions were rocking the building. Diana reached them, gasping. For a moment they all stood staring at the fire then Greg took his mother’s arm and pulled her away. ‘Get back inside quickly.’