The Woman in the Woods Read online

  Hurrying back into the house, I slam the door without thinking, dropping the mail to the floor where it scatters. Adrenaline courses through my body and for one unnerving moment I think I am going to be sick. Forcing deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth, I wait until the nausea has passed before I open my hand and gingerly peel back the tissue to reveal the creamy off-white bones.

  As I bend my head to get a closer look, I feel it. Eyes on me, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Raising my eyes, I look into the mirror, something dark and fleeting darting out of sight the moment my gaze hits the glass. There it is, that unmistakable feeling of being watched. I stand up straighter, my senses on high alert, certain that there is something, something awful, just waiting for me to drop my guard. Squeezing my fist tightly closed I step back, my knees feeling as if they will give way beneath me, my eyes never leaving the glass. Slowly, silently I turn to look behind me at the staircase. It is empty. As I exhale, my breath steams slightly in the mirror, and I am suddenly, inexplicably cold.

  ‘Mummy?’ Mina’s voice calls from the sitting room, and immediately the chill dissipates, leaving me tired and confused, standing in the hallway with the bones tightly clutched in my fist.

  ‘Mina?’ I peer into the room where she sits on the floor, the TV blaring a nonsensical tune as creatures dance across the screen. ‘Are you OK?’

  Mina nods, seemingly oblivious to anything but the television. ‘Watching the lady,’ she says, pointing at the screen.

  ‘OK. OK.’ Looking down at the small bundle in my fist, I resist the urge to wipe my hands, moving into the kitchen away from Mina. I feel dirty, the bones in my hand giving off a thick, clinging aura that makes saliva spurt into my cheeks. Wrapping them back up, I call Rav on instinct, cutting the call before he gets the chance to answer. He won’t see any threat in it. He’ll just tell me that I’m exhausted, that it means nothing, that it’s a prank by local kids to try and psych me out, but the goosebumps rising so hard on my arms that it is almost painful tells me otherwise. Instead, I dial Naomi, forgetting about her sitting with Rav in the pub, calling The Daisy Chain directly instead of her mobile.

  ‘Good morning, The Daisy Chain. Evie speaking.’ The voice on the other end of the line is unfamiliar and I stumble for a moment, before remembering what Naomi had said about taking on a new girl.

  ‘Can I speak to Naomi, please?’ My voice is thin and reedy, and I have to clear my throat before the words will come out. There is a pause, a muffled exchange of words and then Naomi’s voice rings out in my ear.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Naomi, it’s me.’

  ‘Allie? How are you? You sound—’

  ‘Are you busy?’ I ask, cutting her off. ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Well, busyish …’ I hear her murmur something to someone in the background. ‘I can come over in an hour or so, if that helps? Is everything all right?’ She lowers her voice. ‘Al, are the kids OK?’

  ‘What? Yes, of course they are. They’re with me. So, you can come over?’ I turn the bundle over in my hands, almost expecting it to burn my skin. ‘I found something. Something horrible,’ I say before she can answer me.

  ‘Something horrible? Al, you’re not …’

  ‘Naomi, I found bones. Bones. I told you … remember I told you I found the keys? Well now, there are bones.’

  ‘Yeah, you told me. But what—’

  ‘The bones were tied together, in the yew tree in the front garden. Just now. Whoever was in the trees, whoever was watching me from the woods has been to the house, right into the front garden. Maybe even while I was here, while I was asleep.’ Spinning around, I peer into the sitting room to check on Mina, who is sitting just as I left her. I press the baby monitor to my ear, but there is no sound. ‘They left it here so I would know.’

  ‘I’ll be over soon.’ Naomi’s voice is soothing in my ear, and I feel the adrenaline begin to drain, leaving me feeling weak and shaky. ‘Just … don’t do anything. Stay there, and I’ll be there as soon as I can, OK?’

  I hang up and go to the front door, unlatching the lock and taking the chain off, before tentatively opening it the tiniest crack and peering out into the street. Fear whispers in my ear, drowning out the thud of my racing pulse as I peep out, sure that I will see something, someone watching from the shadows. But the street is empty, except for Charlotte Elliot, the barmaid from the pub, who raises a hand. I throw a wobbly smile in her direction and close the door again, heading for the stairs. The baby still sleeps, his eyelids moving rapidly as he dreams. I lay a hand on his chest, reassured to feel the fabric beneath my hand rising up and down, and move to the window to look out onto the garden, and the woods beyond.

  Please be quick, Naomi, I whisper under my breath, my eyes fixed on the trees. There is no unusual movement, only the soft swaying of the branches as the wind ruffles through the leaves of the trees. My fingers are wrapped so tightly around the bundle of tissue that my nails dig into my palm and I open my hand to look closely at the bones. I had yanked them from the tree without stopping to think, the yarn fraying now in my hand as I turn them over to inspect them. They are bleached white, tied tightly together with garden twine, a small dark stain on the end of one bone. At first glance they could be finger bones, and I shudder inwardly, trying to tell myself that of course they’re not finger bones, probably chicken bones. But why? I turn them over and over, resisting the urge to wipe my fingers on the fabric of my jeans. Why would someone tie bones up in a tree? No matter how much I try and tell myself that it is just a prank, kids maybe, I can’t shake the feeling that there is more to it than a simple trick. It’s left a feeling behind, a dark, sinister feeling that winds its way round my legs like a cat, furry fingers slinking up my thighs, around my ribcage where they squeeze tightly.

  I rewrap the bones, tucking the end of the tissue in tightly to leave no part of them exposed, and place it on the dressing table to show Naomi when she arrives. As I turn towards the door there is movement in the garden, and I step towards the window again.

  White. I think I see a flash of dark hair, white fabric catching the sun as someone steps between the trees, the outline partially blocked by the branches and the tops of the reeds that surround the pond. Anger rushes through my veins and I run down the stairs and out of the back door, my bare feet damp as I run across the dew-covered lawn.

  ‘Hey!’ Stopping at the edge of the pond, I peer into the darkened tunnel of interlocked branches ahead of me. ‘Who’s there? I saw you just now.’

  There is no reply, just the caw of a bird overhead, sharp and harsh. I rub my hands over my arms, wishing I had stopped to pick up a sweater or at least stuck my feet into flipflops. ‘Hello?’ My call is quieter now, and I realize that maybe I was mistaken after all. I blink, letting my breath calm and slow. The woods are quiet, the only movement the rustle of the glossy, green leaves. Maybe it wasn’t a person – perhaps that flash of white was something else, feathers or fur belonging to a bird or another small, unknown animal living in the woods. There is a squawk from the baby monitor, and I feel my shoulders slump, my cold feet feeling leaden as I turn and walk back towards the house, the small cry of the baby in stereo now, floating out from the open bedroom window, mirrored through the monitor. Is this what Agnes heard? I wonder, night after night, the cries of her lost baby? Is she still here now? I feel the prickle of eyes on me, suddenly sure that Agnes is here, watching me. That it was her moving through the trees. With one backward glance towards the pond, and the woods beyond it, I hurry back into the house, locking the back door and rushing up the stairs to fetch the baby before he erupts into a full-on wail. He is quiet as I reach the landing and, crossing the bedroom quickly, I reach down into the cot, ready to hold him close, to nuzzle my cheek against his head, but the cot is empty. The baby is gone.

  I no longer feel scared. I have felt afraid for so long, fear constantly brushing against the very edges of my nerves, fraying them, until I f
eel I might dissolve. But not now. I try to picture his face, but it won’t come, my mind’s eye is just a blank. It’s gone, like I don’t know who he is. As if I never knew who he was. All I can see is the anger, the fear, the suspicion. I don’t want to think about what he has done, what has gone before. What has led to this moment, led to me on the stairs, icy cold and broken. I catch sight of myself in the darkened glass of the window. Dark eyes in a white face. Tangled hair. A smudge of something on one cheek. Battered. Broken. That’s what I see in the reflection shining back at me, but not fear. I am not afraid. I whisper it under my breath over and over, careful not to disturb the sleeping girl in the darkened bedroom. My heart still bangs hard in my chest, my breath raw and bloody as it rattles from my throat. I am not scared, but I am still anxious. Anxious to do what I must, before they come. They won’t be long; I am sure they are already on their way. If I don’t do this, everything will tumble down around me, fracturing. Like soldiers made of glass. Everything splintered and shattered. I think of my mother, of how she will respond when she finds out. I picture her house, so far away, everything in its place, neat and tidy. The smell of wine on her breath. After, when all this is over, I will go there, to my mother’s house, back to the beginning, as if none of this ever happened. To my home. And I will crawl beneath the heavy blankets and my mother will sit on the edge of my bed, the way she always does when I am upset. She will hold me, and stroke my hair, and murmur little familiar sayings to me, telling me I never should have left, that she was right. I will be home, and she will make everything all OK again. My hands shake, but my feet are steady on the stairs, one step, then another, climbing towards the top. This is not who I planned to be – not what I planned to be – but this is my only option. Fate, if you like. There is only so much a person can stand before you have no choice but to take steps to protect yourself. I tried to tell them. I tried to warn them all. Shadows crowd in the entrance to the room, where soft breaths hum in and out, and they feel familiar, warm, egging me on. Telling me this is how it is; this is how it should be. This will mark the end of what has come before, will herald a new beginning. Darker, more unfamiliar shapes dance across the back wall, goading me, taunting me. I am an outcast, that is what they have made of me. But after all this, I won’t be anymore. I’ll be free. Fear rises like bile in my throat.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I stare into the cot and yank back the blanket that lies there, crumpled on the empty sheet. The baby is gone. The monitor lies silent in my hand, and I drop it into the cot without thinking before turning and running down the stairs, my heart in my mouth.

  ‘Mina!’ I shout her name as I tumble the last three or four steps down into the hallway, landing awkwardly on my ankle. ‘Shit.’ Pushing myself back onto my feet, I wince, pain shooting up my ankle as I put weight on my foot. Maybe I did see somebody in the garden. Maybe they were watching the house, maybe they left the bones tangled in the tree. No. I shake the thought away, fear plucking at my nerve endings.

  ‘Mina!’ Calling to her again, I notice that the front door is ever so slightly ajar. Fuck. I know I closed it properly after I came back into the house after finding the bones. Didn’t I? What if I didn’t? What if someone – whoever was watching the house, watching us – has taken the baby, snatched Mina? Images flash through my mind of Agnes Gowdie frantically searching for her baby, of a flash of white through the trees, of a hand reaching out and grasping Mina’s, leading her away down the path towards the road. A sob catches at the back of my throat, and I limp towards the door as fast as I can on my sore ankle.

  ‘Allie. Allie, it’s OK, I’m here.’ Naomi appears in the doorway to the living room and it takes me a moment to see that the baby lies snuggly in her arms. ‘Jesus, what did you do?’ She looks at my foot, and I follow her gaze to see a fat, blue swelling appearing on my ankle bone.

  ‘You’ve got the baby.’ Snatching him out of her hands, my nail catches the delicate skin on his cheek, and he lets out a cry. I pull him close to me, kissing the red welt that rises on his cheek before turning my fury on Naomi. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘What?’ Naomi blinks. ‘What are you talking about, Allie? He was crying …’

  ‘You took the baby. Took him out of the cot without even telling me. How did you get in here anyway?’ My eyes go to the door, the thin line of light peeping in where the door doesn’t meet the frame. ‘You let yourself in.’

  ‘You told me to come. The baby was crying.’ Naomi looks close to tears herself. ‘I knocked and knocked and there was no answer. I knew you must be home because I could hear the baby crying.’

  ‘I could have been in the bathroom.’

  ‘Allie, the door was ajar. It wasn’t latched. After you called me this morning, I was worried about you. When I got here and saw that the door wasn’t closed properly, I thought that something might have happened to you.’

  I had forgotten that I called Naomi, had forgotten my panic on opening the door earlier. The image of bones tied neatly in the branches of the yew tree comes to mind and I have to fight to suppress a shudder. Naomi reaches out, her hand coming to rest on my shoulder. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I shouldn’t have let myself in. I thought … I was worried, that’s all. Look at you, you’re shaking. Come and sit down and you can tell me about what you found.’

  Naomi holds her arms out to take the baby, but I ignore her, stepping towards the living room. My ankle throbs as I press my weight onto it and for a moment my vision goes cloudy, nausea causing my stomach to lurch and roll.

  ‘Let me take him, come on, Al. You’re in pain.’

  Reluctantly I pass the baby to Naomi, my arms feeling empty and cold without the heft of his weight. She presses her cheek to his head before gently taking him through to where the Moses basket sits empty next to the fireplace. As she lays him down, I feel an itching urge to move the basket away from the chimney, but before I can Naomi takes my elbow and helps me hobble to the sofa. ‘There.’ She arranges my foot on some cushions, ignoring my wincing as her fingers brush my sore ankle. ‘Let me get you some tea. Do you have anything to bandage this up?’

  ‘There’s a first aid kit in the medicine cupboard in the bathroom.’ I have no choice but to let Naomi bustle around, taking care of me. Now the shock of her appearing in the doorway with the baby in her arms after I thought someone had taken him has faded, having her here comes as something of a relief. Mina scrambles up on to the sofa next to me, her thumb going to her mouth and I lean down and kiss the top of her hair, smelling the apple shampoo I used to wash her hair last night.

  ‘Here you go, I brought you some painkillers too.’ Naomi hands me the packet of Co-codamol I brought home from the hospital and crouches at my feet, the green first aid box in her hands.

  ‘Aren’t these a bit strong?’ I turn the packet over in my hands, remembering the thick, suffocating drowsiness that came over me the last time I took them, sitting at the kitchen table. The vision, dream, memory that followed. I tuck the packet down the side of the sofa, feeling the sharp corner of the box against my thigh.

  ‘They’ll do you good,’ Naomi says without looking up from where she is expertly wrapping a gauzy bandage around my foot. ‘Let me know if this is too tight.’

  I try to flex my foot, wincing again as the sharp pain shoots across my ankle. ‘It’s fine,’ I say, feeling it throb beneath the gauze.

  ‘Hand me those tablets if you’re done with them.’ Naomi gets to her feet and holds out a hand. I slip my fingers down between the sofa cushions and hand them to her, feeling like a scolded child. ‘I don’t want you to forget about them, Mina could get hold of them. I’ll put this stuff away and make us some tea, OK? And then we can talk.’

  ‘Don’t you need to get back to the shop?’

  ‘Evie is in charge; I don’t have to hurry back.’ Naomi smiles, ‘I’m hardly going to rush away and leave you in this state, am I? I wouldn’t be a very good friend.’

  I muster a smi
le as she heads out to the kitchen, feeling like a pretty shitty friend myself.

  ‘Here you go.’ I take the steaming mug of tea that Naomi holds out to me, shifting Mina from where she lies awkwardly against my ribs. ‘Here, Mina, come and sit with me.’ Naomi pats the armchair she now sits in and Mina scrambles from the sofa, jabbing me hard in the stomach as she does. She climbs onto Naomi’s lap as Naomi gives her an indulgent smile, tucking her arm around her. They look the perfect picture of mother and child and I blink, looking away.

  ‘So,’ Naomi says, ‘do you want to tell me what happened this morning?’

  ‘I’m sorry I shouted at you.’ My cheeks flush at the memory of the way I lost my temper, although I am not entirely sorry. Remembering Naomi sat next to Rav in the pub, a little flare of anger pops in my belly. It is on the tip of my tongue to tell her that I saw them, to demand that she explain herself, but this isn’t the right time. ‘I thought someone was out there and after finding the bones, I thought someone had taken him, taken Mina.’ I thought Agnes had reached out with one hand, pulling Mina in close, a replacement for her own lost baby.