In A Dark, Dark Wood Part 4

And suddenly I know.

The bruise is a recoil bruise. At some point in the recent past, I have fired a gun.

5.

'FLO,' I STUCK my head around the kitchen door. Flo was loading the dishwasher with cups. 'Oh, you shouldn't be doing that all by yourself. Can I help?'

'No! Don't be silly. It's done.' She slammed the dishwasher shut. 'What is it? Anything I can help with? I'm so sorry about the coffee.'

'What? Oh honestly, it's fine. Listen, I was just wondering, what time did you say Clare was due to get here?'

'About six I think.' She looked up at the kitchen clock. 'So we've got an hour and a half to kill.'

'OK, well I was just wondering have I got time to go for a quick run?'

'A run?' She looked startled. 'Well, I guess but it's getting dark.'

'I won't go far. It's just-' I s.h.i.+fted awkwardly. I couldn't explain it to her. I have trouble explaining it to myself, but I had to get out, get away.

I run almost every day at home. I have about four different routes, variations going through Victoria Park in fine weather or street runs when it's wet or dark. I give myself a couple of days off a week they say you should, to let your muscles repair but sooner or later the need builds up and then I have to run. If I don't, I get ... I don't know what you'd call it. Cabin fever, maybe. A kind of claustrophobia. I hadn't run yesterday I'd been too busy packing and tying up loose ends and now I felt a powerful itch to get out of this box-like house. It's not about the physical exercise or at least, it's not only that. I've tried running in a gym, on a treadmill, and it's not the same. It's about getting out, not having walls around myself, being able to get away.

'I guess you've got time,' Flo said, glancing out the window at the deepening twilight, 'but you'd better be quick. When it gets dark here it gets really, really dark.'

'I'll be quick. Is there a route I should go for?'

'Hmm ... I think your best bet would be to take the forest path down- Hang on, come through to the living room.' She led me through and pointed out of the huge window-wall to a shadowy gap in the forest. 'See, that's a footpath. It leads down through the wood to the main road. It'll be firmer and less muddy than the drive much easier to run. You just follow it down until you hit tarmac, but then I'd turn right along the main road and come back up the drive it'll be too dark by then to run back through the forest, the path isn't fenced and you could end up going in totally the wrong direction. Hang on,' she went back to the kitchen, rummaged in a drawer and pulled out something that looked like a set of badly folded suspenders. 'Take this it's a head-torch.'

I thanked her, and hurried up to my room to pull on my running gear and trainers. Nina was lying on her bed, looking up at the ceiling and listening to something on her iPhone.

'That Flo's quite the fruitloop, isn't she?' she said conversationally as I came in, pulling out her earphones.

'Is that a medical term, Dr da Souza?'

'Yes. From the Latin Fruitus Lupus, fruit of the moon, a.s.sociated with the pagan belief that insanity was connected to bathing in the light of the full moon.'

I began laughing as I pulled off my jeans and yanked on my thermal running leggings and top.

'Lupus is Latin for wolf. You're thinking of luna. Where are my trainers? I left them by the door.'

'I chucked them under the bed. Anyway, werewolves turn crazy at the full moon. Same diff. Speaking of crazy, are you going out?'

'Yes.' I bent to look under the bed. There were my trainers, miles underneath. Thanks, Nina. I knelt and began fis.h.i.+ng with my arm, my voice m.u.f.fled by the bedclothes as I asked, 'Why?'

'Let me see.' She began ticking off the reasons on her fingers. 'It's dark, you don't know the neighbourhood, there's free wine and food downstairs oh, and did I mention it's pitch f.u.c.king black outside?'

'It's not pitch-black.' I looked out of the window as I tied my trainer laces. It was pretty dark, but it wasn't pitch-black. The sun had set but the sky was clear and still illuminated by a diffuse pearly-grey light in the west, and a round white moon rising from the trees in the east. 'And it's going to be a full moon, so it won't be that dark even after the sun sets properly.'

'Oh really, Miss Leonora "I've lived in London for the past eight years and never strayed more than fifty yards from a streetlamp in all that time" Shaw?'

'Really.' I double-knotted the trainers and stood up straight. 'Don't give me grief, Nina, I've got to get out or I really will go crazy, moon or no moon.'

'Huh. You're finding it that bad?'

'No.'

But I was. I couldn't explain why. I couldn't tell Nina how it had made me feel, having strangers picking over my past with Clare downstairs, like someone picking at the edges of a half-healed wound. I'd made a mistake in coming I knew that now. But I was stuck here, car-less, until Nina chose to go.

'No, I'm fine. I just want to get out. Now. See you in an hour.'

I set off down the stairs, with her mocking laugh following me as I slammed out the door.

'You can run ... but you can't escape!'

Out in the forest I took a breath of the clean, crisp air and began to warm up. I stretched my limbs against the garage, looking out into the forest. The sense of menace, nearing claustrophobia, that I'd had inside had gone. Was it the gla.s.s? The feeling that anyone could be out there, looking in, and we'd never know it? Or was it the strange anonymity of the rooms that made me think of of social experiments, of hospital waiting rooms?

Out here, I realised, the sense of being watched had quite gone.

I began to run.

It was easy. This was easy. No questions, no-one prodding and poking, just the sharp, sweet air and the soft thud of my feet on the carpet of pine needles. It had rained a fair bit, but the water could not sit on this soft, loose-draining soil the way it could on the compacted rutted drive, and there were few puddles, or even boggy bits, just miles of clean, springy pathway, the drifted needles of a thousand trees beneath the soles of my shoes.

There are no other runners in my family or not that I know of but my grandmother was a walker. She said that when she was a girl and in a rage with a friend, she used to write their name on the soles of her feet in chalk, and walk until the name was gone. She said by the time the chalk had worn away, her resentment would have faded too.

I don't do that. But I hold a mantra in my head, and I run until I can't hear it any more above the pounding of my heart and the pounding of my feet.

Tonight although I wasn't angry at her, or at least, not any more I could hear my heart beating out her name: Clare, Clare, Clare, Clare.

Down, down through the woods I ran, through the gathering dark and the soft night sounds. I saw bats swooping in the gloaming, and the sound of animals breaking from shelter. A fox shot across the path ahead and then stopped, superbly arrogant, his slim-nosed head following my scent as I thumped past in the quiet dusk.

This was easy the downhill swoop, like flying through the twilight. And I didn't feel afraid, in spite of the darkness. Out here the trees weren't silent watchers behind the gla.s.s, but friendly presences, welcoming me into the wood, parting before me as I ran, swift and barely panting, along the forest path.

It would be the uphill stretch that tested me, the run back along the rutted, muddy drive, and I knew I must make it to the drive before it got so dark that I could not see the potholes. And so I ran harder, pus.h.i.+ng myself. I had no time to keep, no target to make. I didn't even know the distance. But I knew what my legs could do and I kept my stride long and loose. I leapt over a fallen log, and for a minute I shut my eyes crazy in this dim light and I could almost imagine that I was flying, and would never meet the ground.

At last I could see the road, a pale grey snake in the deepening shadows. As I broke out from the woods I heard the soft hoot of an owl, and I obeyed Flo's instructions, turning right along the tarmac. I hadn't been running for long when I heard the sound of a car behind me and stopped, pressing myself up against the verge. I had no wish to be run down by someone not expecting to find a runner out at this time.

The sound of the car came closer, brutally loud in the quiet night, and then it was upon me, the engine roaring like a chainsaw. My eyes were dazzled by the blinding headlights and then it was gone, into the darkness, only the red of its rear lights showing like ruby eyes in the darkness, backing away.

Its pa.s.sing had left me blinking and night-blind and even though I waited, hoping my eyes would readjust, the night seemed infinitely darker than a few moments ago, and I was suddenly afraid of running into the ditch at the side of the road, or tripping on a branch. I felt in my pocket for Flo's head-torch and wrestled it on. It felt awkward, tight enough for the buckle to dig in, but loose enough for me to worry about it falling off as I started up again. At least now I could see the patch of tarmac in front of me, the white markings at the side of the road glittering back at me in the torch beam.

A sudden break on the right showed me that I was at the drive, and I slowed and turned the corner.

Now I was grateful for the head-torch, and it was not a matter of running any more, but a sort of slow, cautious jog, picking my way around muddy troughs and avoiding the potholes that might break an unwary ankle. Even so, my trainers were caked and every step felt like I was dragging a brick half a pound of clotted mud on the sole of each shoe. I'd have fun cleaning them when I got back.

I tried to remember how far it was half a mile? I half-wished I'd gone back through the wood, dark or no dark. But far up ahead I could see the beacon of the house, its blank gla.s.s walls s.h.i.+ning golden in the night.

The mud sucked at my feet, as if trying to keep me here in the dark, and I gritted my teeth and forced my tired legs to go a bit faster.

I was maybe halfway when there was a sound from below, back on the main road. A car, slowing down.

I didn't have a watch, and I'd left my phone back at the house, but surely it couldn't be six yet? I hadn't been running for an hour, nothing like it.

But there it was, the sound of an engine idling as the car made the turn, and then a gritting, growling roar as it began to plough up the hill, bouncing from pothole to pothole.

I flattened myself against the hedge as it got closer, and stood, s.h.i.+elding my eyes from the glare, and hoping that the car wouldn't splash me with too much mud as it pa.s.sed, but to my surprise it stopped, its exhaust a cloud of white against the moon, and I heard the whir of an electric window and a blast of Beyonce, quickly m.u.f.fled as someone turned the volume down.

I took a step closer, my heart pounding again, as if I'd been running much faster than I had. The head-torch had been angled to point at the ground, for walking rather than talking, and I couldn't work out how to adjust it back up. Instead I pulled the apparatus from my head, holding it in my hand, and shone it into the pale face of the girl in the car.

But I didn't need to.

I knew who it was.

Clare.

'Lee?' she said, as if in disbelief. The light was full in her eyes, and she blinked and s.h.i.+elded them from the torch beam. 'My G.o.d, is it really you? I didn't ... What are you doing here?'

6.

FOR A MINUTE I didn't understand. Had there been some horrible mistake? Was it possible she hadn't invited me at all, and this was all Flo's stupid idea?

'It- I'm- y-your hen,' I stammered. 'Didn't you-?'

'I know that, silly!' She laughed, a nervous gust of white breath in the cold air. 'I meant, what are you doing out here? Are you training for an Arctic expedition or something?'

'Having a run,' I said, trying to make it sound like the most normal thing in the world. 'It's not that c-cold. Just a bit nippy.' But I was cold now, standing still, and I ruined the last words by s.h.i.+vering convulsively.

'Get in, I'll give you a lift up to the house.' She leaned across and opened the pa.s.senger door.

'I'm ... my trainers, they're pretty gross-'

'Don't worry. It's a hire car. Get in already, before we both freeze!'

I squelched round to the pa.s.senger side and got in, feeling the heat of the car strike through my cold, sweat-soaked thermals. The mud had penetrated my trainers. My toes were squis.h.i.+ng inside the lining in a way that made me shudder.

Clare put the car back into gear and hushed 'Single Ladies' with a click of the mute b.u.t.ton. The silence was suddenly deafening.

'So ...' She looked at me sideways in the mirror. She was just as beautiful as ever. I'd been crazy to think ten years could have made a difference to Clare. Her beauty was bone-deep. Even in the dim light of the car, m.u.f.fled up in an old hoodie and a giant snood-like scarf, she looked startling. Her hair was piled on top of her head in an adorably messy knot that spilled down over her shoulders. Her nails were painted scarlet, but chipped not try-hard, no one could accuse Clare of that. Pitch-perfect, more like.

'So,' I echoed back. I had always felt like the poor relation in comparison to Clare. Ten years had changed nothing, I realised.

'Long time no see.' She was shaking her head, her fingertips tapping on the wheel. 'But G.o.d, I mean ... it's good to see you, Lee, you know?'

I said nothing.

I wanted to tell her I was not that person any more I was Nora now, not Lee.

I wanted to tell her it wasn't her fault, the reason I hadn't kept in touch was nothing to do with her that it was me. Only ... that wasn't completely true.

Most of all, I wanted to ask her why I was here.

But I didn't. I didn't say anything. I just sat, staring up at the house as we wound closer.

'It's really good to see you,' she said again. 'So, you're a writer now is that right?'

'Yes,' I said. The words seemed strange and false in my mouth, as if I were lying, or telling stories about someone else, a distant relative perhaps. 'Yes, I'm a writer. I write crime fiction.'

'I heard. I saw a piece in the paper. I'm so- I'm really pleased for you. That's amazing, you know? You should be very proud.'

I shrugged. 'It's just a job.' The words came out stiff and bitter I didn't mean them like that. I know I'm lucky. And I worked hard to get here. I should be proud. I am proud.

'What about you?' I managed.

'I'm in PR. I work for the Royal Theatre Company.'

PR. That figured, and I smiled, a genuine smile this time. Clare was always amazing at spinning a story, even at twelve. Even at five.

'I'm ... I'm very happy,' she said softly. 'And listen, I'm sorry we lost touch seeing you ... we had some good times, didn't we?' She glanced at me in the ghostly green light from the dashboard. 'Remember having our first f.a.g together?' She gave a laugh. 'First kiss ... first joint ... first time sneaking into an eighteen film ...'

'First time getting chucked out,' I retorted, and then wished I hadn't sounded so snide. Why? Why was being I so defensive?

But Clare only laughed. 'Ha, what a humiliation! We thought we were being so clever getting Rick to buy the tickets and sneaking through to the loos. I didn't think they'd check at the screen door as well.'

'Rick! I'd forgotten him. What's he up to these days?'

'G.o.d knows! Probably in prison. For underage s.e.x, if there's any justice.'

Rick had been Clare's boyfriend for a year when we were fourteen or fifteen, a greasy long-haired twenty-two-year-old with a motorbike and a gold tooth. I'd never liked him even at fourteen I'd found it bizarre and disgusting that Clare would want to sleep with a bloke that age, despite the fact that he could get into clubs and buy alcohol.

'Ugh, he was such a creep,' I said, before I thought better of it. I bit my tongue, but Clare only laughed.

'Totally! I can't believe I couldn't see it at the time. I thought I was so sophisticated having s.e.x with an older guy! Now it seems like ... like one step away from paedophilia.' She gave a snort and then an exclamation as the car bounced off a pothole. 'Oops! Sorry.'

There was silence for a while as she negotiated the last and most rutted part of the drive, and then we swung onto the gravelled s.p.a.ce at the front of the house, tucking in neatly between Nina's hire car and Flo's Landrover.

Clare turned off the engine and for a minute we just sat in the dark car, contemplating the house, with the players inside ranged like actors on a stage, just as Tom had said. There was Flo, beavering away in the kitchen, bending over the oven. Melanie was hunched over the phone in the living room, Tom sprawled across a sofa directly opposite the plate-gla.s.s window, flicking through a magazine. Nina was nowhere to be seen out having a f.a.g on the balcony, most likely.

Why am I here? I thought again, with a kind of agony this time. Why did I come?