The Woman in the Woods Read online

  Voices wake me, a low murmuring from the kitchen. I have fallen asleep on the sofa, and now I push myself into a more upright position, feeling the low throb of my busted ankle as I do. Mina is no longer sitting beside the chimney, and the sun has disappeared behind the house leaving the sitting room in cool shadow.

  Where are the children? And Naomi – is she still here? Panic flutters in my chest and I stand, aware that the throbbing in my ankle isn’t as fierce as it was. The box of Co-codamol sits on the mantelpiece above the fire, and I slide the packet out. Eight tablets are missing. Did I take them? I don’t remember, and I am unsure of how many were missing from the packet before. I don’t remember taking any, sure that I gave the packet to Naomi, but the dryness in my mouth, the fuzziness in my head tells me that perhaps I did take them after all. I follow the sounds of muted voices into the kitchen, where Naomi and Rav are talking. I hover in the doorway, watching as Naomi leans against the worktop, a glass of wine in her hand. Rav is at the stove, stirring something that smells like his signature dish – spaghetti bolognaise. He obviously changed his mind about Thai.

  ‘… the children,’ Naomi is saying. ‘Just a feeling that something isn’t quite right – Allie! You’re awake.’ She smiles at me, the smile not sitting well on her face, wine glass in her hand. One of the wine glasses Rav’s uncle bought us for a wedding present. We don’t use them very often; they are irreplaceable, and I worry about breaking them.

  ‘What isn’t right?’

  ‘Oh … nothing. Just talking politics.’ Naomi glances at Rav, then sips at her wine.

  ‘Al.’ Rav turns, leaving the sauce-covered spoon on the worktop but he doesn’t move towards me. ‘I thought I was going to have to wake you up.’

  ‘You came home early.’ I wasn’t expecting him, so to see him cooking and drinking wine with Naomi feels strange. As if she is his wife, and I am just a visitor.

  ‘Naomi told me you fell down the stairs?’

  ‘Just slipped off the bottom steps,’ I say, unsure as to how much Naomi has told him. ‘Nothing too dramatic. It’s just a bit sore, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, you should probably stay off it,’ Rav says, looking down at the neat white bandage. ‘Come and sit down.’

  ‘Easier said than done, eh?’ Naomi gives a bright laugh before she turns her eyes to me, her cheeks flushed from the wine. ‘Are you feeling better?’ A seemingly innocent question, but to me it feels loaded with meaning.

  ‘Much better. All I needed was a nap,’ I say brightly. ‘I should get Mina and the baby ready for bed. Rav, you should have woken me.’ I look about the kitchen, as if the children will magically appear. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Naomi got Mina up to bed while I bathed the baby. They’re all sorted. All you need to do is relax and rest that ankle.’

  ‘Oh … right.’ I feel disconcerted, a little off balance. My gaze goes to the open wine on the worktop. It’s a bottle Rav’s work bought us when the baby was born, one that I thought we were saving for a special occasion.

  ‘Well, you two lovebirds, I had better be off.’ Naomi drains the rest of her wine in one mouthful, snatching up her cardigan from the back of the chair.

  ‘You don’t have to, does she, Al?’ Rav says, picking up the wooden spoon again. ‘I’ve made loads, we’ll be eating it all week otherwise.’

  ‘Was I asleep for long?’ My mind whirrs slowly, trying to catch up.

  ‘Only a couple of hours or so,’ Naomi says. ‘Don’t worry, I sorted Leo out, and I gave Mina one of those little pizzas in the oven for her tea. Not that she wanted much of it.’

  ‘It was the snack,’ I say, frowning. ‘She doesn’t usually have anything that big in the afternoon.’ My tongue feels a little too big for my mouth, my throat dry.

  ‘I’ll let you guys have your dinner in peace.’ Naomi shrugs on her cardigan, picks up her bag and moves to the doorway.

  ‘Are you sure you won’t stay?’ Rav asks, and my heart sinks. I don’t want her to stay for dinner, don’t want her to mention to Rav about the bones. Naomi glances towards me and seems to read my face.

  ‘Better not. I’ve got to go back to the shop and make sure Evie kept on top of everything. I told her I would only be gone for an hour or so.’

  ‘I’ll see you out.’ I follow Naomi along the hallway, and apologize for keeping her so long, for falling asleep.

  ‘It must be those tablets,’ Naomi says as she rummages in her bag for her shop keys. ‘They do say on the side of the box that they can cause drowsiness. You need to be careful when you take them, Allie.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t think … I mean, I wasn’t sure …’ I don’t know how to formulate the words without sounding like I’m going bonkers. In the end I settle for, ‘Yes. Probably the tablets. Sorry, they’ve made me feel a little bit foggy.’

  ‘Make sure you get some rest.’ Naomi leans forward and kisses me on the cheek, her floral scent wrapping around me. The same scent I am sure was on Rav’s clothes the other night. ‘And you know you can give me a call if you need a rest – if your ankle starts playing up – and I’ll come and look after the kids for you.’

  I am already shaking my head. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘I know you will.’ She winks. ‘I just don’t want you to think you have to be a superhero, that’s all. I’ll text you in the morning, see if you need anything, OK?’

  ‘OK. Thank you for today.’ I glance behind me, to where the sound of Rav’s whistling comes from the kitchen. ‘Listen, Naomi, you won’t say anything to Rav, will you?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Well …’ I shift my weight on my aching ankle, looking at the floor. ‘About the noises from the chimney. The bones. Or … how I fell down the stairs. I don’t want him to worry. Maybe I was imagining things, you know, after taking the tablets.’ The tablets I don’t even remember taking, but I don’t mention that. ‘I will tell him about the bones, just … not yet.’

  She hesitates for one tiny moment. ‘My lips are sealed.’

  I’m not tired that evening, my short nap tricking my body into thinking that I am rested, I can carry on. After we eat, Rav and I take the rest of the bottle of wine he and Naomi opened out to the garden and sit by the pond, although I don’t drink more than a mouthful or two. We talk – or rather he talks – about work, the case he’s working on, the kids, whether or not we have time to take Avó out for dinner at the weekend, while I nod and murmur in all the right places, my mind not fully with him. I am still thinking over the snippet of conversation I overhead between Naomi and Rav. They weren’t talking politics – Naomi never talks politics. The fact that she lied about it, the words ‘something just not quite right’ on her lips, makes me think that she could only have been talking about me, about what happened today. A ripple of fear brushes over my skin as I remember the way I felt as I looked down into the baby’s empty cot. I wrap my cardigan tighter around my body, across my swollen, sore breasts and my lumpy stomach, waiting to hear the sound of crying coming from the trees ahead of us, but there is only the rustling of the leaves overhead. Rav doesn’t seem to notice as he finishes the bottle of wine and when we move inside, he falls asleep the moment his head hits the pillow. I lie awake, my head less foggy now as the pain in my ankle returns to a sharp throb. I don’t want to take more medication, instead I lie still, embracing the pain as Rav snores softly next to me.

  The baby wakes and I feed him again, on autopilot, not bothering to wake Rav to give the baby the tiny amount of breastmilk I managed to express after dinner. I worry as he drinks, imaging the tiny sips of alcohol in the wine passing from me to him, before shaking my head. It’s been hours, and I barely had more than a mouthful. Sated, I lay him back down and slide out of bed to the window. It’s becoming a tradition now, I feed the baby, then stand at the window and watch, keeping guard, sure that I will see that flash of white slinking between the trees. That I will see a fresh set of bones swinging from the yew tree that stands on the very edge of the garde
n.

  The moon shines on the pond, a fat circle of unbroken white, shimmering on the surface of the dark water and I wonder how it would feel to step into the water. Icy cold lapping at my sore ankle, the feel of mud between my toes. Our chairs still sit by the edge, one slightly askew, the other tilted precariously on a small mound of earth – a mole hill perhaps, only I am too far away to see. An owl calls somewhere in the trees, a haunting, lonely sound and I shiver, aware again of the cold draught that swirls in through the badly fitting windows. London was never this noisy, I am sure. The fox returns, streaking across the lawn from between the trees, catching the tilted chair as he runs. It falls, landing silently on the grass and I turn away. How easy it is, one touch and everything tilts.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mina is crying, not wanting to go back to preschool although I’m sure she is fine now, her temperature back to normal. I struggle to get her trainers on her wildly kicking feet, resisting the urge to snap at her. I drop her off, still crying, sure that the other mothers are judging her behaviour and my response. Tara calls my name as I walk towards the village, but I pretend I don’t hear her, something I regret when it is time to pick Mina up again. I have spent the entire morning running through everything in my head, trying to figure out what Naomi could have meant by what she said to Rav. She definitely lied about talking about politics, and I wrack my brain, trying to recall exactly what I heard. I’m sure before she said that something wasn’t quite right, she mentioned the children. What did she mean? The fact that Rav didn’t say anything also makes me feel odd, out of sorts. And then there was the message on his phone, saying she needed to talk to him. About what? About me? I think about the things I told her yesterday, thinking that perhaps I could still trust her. About the charm, the bones, the scratching in the chimney, the pearls that I feel sure are connected to Agnes Gowdie. Is she just humouring me? There is something about the tone of her voice as she spoke to Rav that makes me think she doesn’t believe me, that she is humouring me. That she thinks I’m mad. Maybe they both do. I can’t help it; I imagine all sorts of things as I sit feeding the baby. The scratching starts up in the chimney the minute I sit down to feed, a persistent scratch, scratch, scratch that makes my body go rigid, my shoulders aching with tension as I wait for it to stop.

  ‘Allie!’ Tara catches me up as I cut through the almost empty car park after collecting Mina, who, as it turns out, was absolutely fine in the end. ‘Allie, how are you? I’ve missed you.’

  She has? ‘Mina had a temperature; I thought I should keep her home.’ I think of the nursery Mina went to as a baby in Gravesend. None of the mothers and carers there would have noticed if we hadn’t turned up for a day or two.

  ‘Oh, poor thing. She seems much better now.’ Mina is hopping on one foot beside me. ‘I did try to catch you this morning, but you were in your own little world.’ Tara cocks her head on one side, and I get the feeling she knows I heard her. ‘And what on earth did you do to your ankle? Are you sure you’re OK to walk on it?’

  ‘Oh. Yes, it’s fine. A little bit sore. I slipped coming down the stairs.’ My ankle throbs as if in response, and I shift my weight slightly to ease it. ‘I should get back; I have to try and keep the weight off my foot.’

  ‘Oh no, don’t rush off.’ Tara flicks her head to the left and I see Karen approaching, baby strapped to her front. ‘Karen and I are going for lunch at that little café at the end of the High Street. Come with us? It’s on the way to your house and you can put your feet up and have a coffee. Would you like that, Mina? Having cake with James?’

  Mina shouts in delight and starts skipping around the pram, while I think for a moment. It’s either suffer an awkward lunch with Tara and Karen or go back home to scratching in the chimney. ‘Sounds lovely,’ I say finally.

  ‘Karen, you can manage the pram for Allie, can’t you?’ Tara dictates. I grip the handle so tightly my knuckles turn white.

  ‘No,’ I say bluntly. ‘No, I’m fine. It helps to have the pram to lean on slightly as I walk.’ I wonder if Miranda will be at lunch as Tara falls into step on my left and Karen takes my right side, making me feel as if I am being frogmarched to the café.

  ‘I was going to text you if you weren’t at school today,’ Tara is saying as we approach the café, Karen going ahead to hold the door open for me. I don’t remember giving her my number, but then I don’t remember taking the painkillers yesterday. The smell of hot coffee and butter wafts out from the open door of the café and my mouth starts to water. I didn’t eat breakfast, my stomach feeling heavy and nauseous after yet another sleepless night, and now it rumbles, reminding me of the fact. ‘Oh look, everyone is here!’

  Awkwardly, I manoeuvre the pram through the doorway to see a large table in the centre of the café, taken up by other mothers from the baby and toddler group, Miranda included. She waves her fingers at me, a blush creeping up her neck. She is wearing what looks like a maxi dress, tie-dyed green and orange and the tips of her hair are now pink. I think of Naomi describing her perfectly and wonder if Naomi has seen her around the village.

  ‘There’s a seat next to me,’ Miranda says quietly, tapping the chair beside her as Tara and Karen are squealing and air kissing the other women. Straightening my skirt and fussing with the nappy bag, tucking it out of the way, I take the seat next to Miranda, peering down the table and raising a smile at the other mothers.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I’ve been meaning to catch you.’

  ‘You have?’ Surprise flashes across Miranda’s face.

  ‘Yes. I wanted to thank you for speaking to Mrs Sparks – I went to see her.’ I lower my voice. ‘She told me about the cottage. About it being “active”.’

  ‘Oh? She did?’

  ‘She didn’t go into detail though. I wondered if you knew any more … if you’d spoken to her about it for your research?’

  ‘Um, not yet, no. I’m planning on seeing her sometime next week.’

  I peer down the table, and once satisfied everyone is preoccupied, I open my mouth to ask Miranda about the bones, my heart banging in my chest at the thought of it, but Miranda carries on before I have a chance to get the words out.

  ‘Do you have any comfrey in your garden?’ Miranda’s voice is muted, and I have to strain to hear her over the chatter of the other women.

  ‘What? Comfrey? No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘It helps with sprains. Or arnica. You could put arnica on it too.’ Miranda’s blue eyes are fixed on mine and I shift in my seat slightly. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t being rude.’ She reaches for the slab of cake on the plate in front of her and the tension is broken. ‘I just saw you had your ankle strapped up – comfrey is good to help with repairing damaged tissue.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t know that. Thank you.’

  ‘How did you get on with the book?’ Miranda flushes an even deeper pink. ‘I’m not asking as the author, I just wondered if you found what you were looking for?’

  ‘I didn’t get much chance to read it yet. Listen, you could come over, if you wanted? To have a look at the house, I mean.’ I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. Miranda believes in witchcraft and ghosts. If she visited me at the house, maybe she would feel the same unsettling feelings that I do. Maybe she would see movement in the mirror when she looks at her reflection. I could show her the bones.

  ‘No, I’m not sure—’

  ‘Miranda, are you telling Allie your good news?’ Tara’s voice calls shrilly, piercing above the other women’s voices and interrupting me before Miranda gets a chance to reply.

  Miranda opens her mouth, but before she can speak Tara butts in. ‘Miranda is pregnant again, Allie. Isn’t that wonderful news?’

  I glance towards the small child on Miranda’s lap. I can’t remember if it’s a boy or a girl, but it can’t be much more than ten months old. ‘Wow. Congratulations.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Miranda cheek’s flush red again and I realize she hates being the subject of Tara’s attention
just as much as I do.

  ‘Let’s hope it’s just as easy as when Arlo popped out, eh?’ Tara raises her mug in a toast and so begins a whole conversation of birth stories, something I am definitely not comfortable sharing with a bunch of women I barely know.

  Mina’s birth was a breeze – everything was textbook perfect from the moment I felt the first contraction until they laid her on my chest, tiny hands curled into fists, lusty cries pouring from her angry, red face. She was beautiful. Rav had cried a little, and then FaceTimed Avó (something I wasn’t fully on board with, but I was too exhausted to say so), and after kissing me repeatedly and gazing in wonder at the tiny creature we created, he left, and the room emptied of nurses and it was just us. Me and my tiny daughter.

  ‘Allie, what about you?’ Karen is saying and I look up with a start. Mina is holding a chocolate cornflake cake in one hand, chocolate smeared across one cheek.

  ‘Oh no, you don’t want to hear about that.’ I shake my head, reaching into the nappy bag for a wipe to clean Mina’s face, rummaging longer than necessary in the hopes that they’ll move on to someone else.

  ‘Come on, Allie, we’re all sharing,’ Tara says loudly. ‘We’ve all been through it. Nothing none of us haven’t heard before.’

  It seems Tara is not going to take no for an answer. ‘Tara, I’d really rather not …’

  ‘Pfffh.’ She flaps her hand. ‘Don’t be silly, we’re all friends here.’

  Hot tears sting my eyes and I blink them away, hoping no one will notice. ‘It wasn’t the best experience with Leo, to be honest, Tara. Things were a little bit frightening for a time, so if you don’t mind, I’d rather not share.’

  ‘Oh, darling, you poor thing.’ Tara reaches for my hand. ‘I’m so sorry. Those of us who have an easy time often forget that it isn’t that simple for others. I mean, Rufus just shot out. But here you are, Leo’s a lovely, strong little thing and you both got through it. Did you have him at the William Harvey?’