Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
HAYAMI
PRESENT
Good girl.
Good fucking girl.
I want to be cross with him for referring to me as a girl. But if two words can make me feral, it’s those:
Good. Girl.
Trying to ignore the heat between my legs and the fact that I have a gun in my pocket, I set off to catch up with Fenrir as he hotfoots it out of the house.
After checking the car for bombs and trackers, we finally set off.
It’s a clear, crisp day, the sky a hazy blue. It’s so cold it scrapes against my cheeks, and I can’t deny how good it feels to be out of the house, away from those walls that can sometimes seem like a cocoon.
Fenrir messes with the heating as I scan the road ahead, recognising it from the day I drove Willa to the airport.
It feels strange, leaving the house behind, like we’re escaping, doing something we shouldn’t be, breaking the rules. I fucking love it.
“What are we shopping for?” I ask as Fenrir handles the car with such dexterity that I can feel my mind slipping, wondering what it’d be like to be handled by him.
“Essentials. Powdered milk. Bread to freeze. Any other food you want and maybe some firewood.”
“I thought we had plenty in the store.”
“We have, but the temperature is set to drop over the next few weeks, and I don’t want to get caught out.”
“Always with the planning.”
“It’s part of the role. To think ahead.”
And he is thinking ahead. The next few weeks. Could we really be stuck out here for that long? We’re nine days into this, and it still feels like a small holiday. But when will it stop feeling like that? What then?
We reach the main road that runs through the small town of Hellion Vale.
It’s a sleepy town, with a handful of shops all set around a square that’s been made into a car park, which we pull up in.
The shops look quaint, like this place has been frozen in time for the past fifty years.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the shop owners are wearing aprons and sporting handlebar moustaches.
As we exit the Jeep, Fenrir checks the surroundings like a watchful owl, his head swivelling in all directions. It must be exhausting to be on this level of alert all the time, especially coupled with the fact that he isn’t getting much sleep.
Heading for the general store, Fenrir guides me, using his hand to steer the base of my back. I’m a little lost again, as this is something one of my book boyfriends would do and I’d completely lose my shit over.
We appear to be the only people in the store. I grab a trolley, and we start to load it with the essentials: candles, firelighters, powdered milk, eggs, bread.
Fenrir doesn’t seem to notice—or if he does, he turns a blind eye—when I chuck in a couple of magazines and a few bars of chocolate.
By the time we reach the checkout, the trolley is piled high.
The man behind the counter looks relieved for something to do, but also a little intimidated by Fenrir as he clocks his size and his scars. But then his attention goes to me, and he scans our things a little slower.
I feel Fenrir tense behind me, his focus gone from loading the conveyor belt to whatever reason this guy is staring at me.
“Hey, are you guys up at Belial House?”
I read his nametag: Kevin, General Manager.
I worry for Kevin with his receding hairline, kind face, and tortoiseshell glasses.
He’s probably just making conversation or trying to be nice or enjoying a break from the monotony of having spoken to no one all morning, but Fenrir has already slipped his hand inside his coat.
When neither of us answers, Kevin barrels on, and I only hope he isn’t digging his own grave.
“I only ask because I’m the guy who brought all the supplies up a couple of weeks ago when Mr Devall called and said he wanted the house stocked up.
You can imagine my surprise.” His thick eyebrows rise above the rim of his glasses.
“I haven’t been called to stock Belial House in, God, it must be over twenty years.
I wasn’t the general manager then. My dad was still in charge, but he retired some time ago when things started to get a bit much for him.
So, it’s just me now and my husband, Al, but he’s at the wholesaler’s right now. ”
I don’t know what to say. I’m hoping Fenrir takes the lead. This guy sounds genuine. Willa said the house had been stocked, but she never referred to Kevin.
I’m about to say something when Kevin speaks.
“I’m sorry for asking, and forgive me if I’m wrong, but you must be Junko’s daughter.”
My mother’s name has my ears pricking up. How does he know her?
He continues to scan items. Fenrir keeps his hand in his jacket. But I can’t stay quiet any longer.
“How do you know that?”
“You’re the spitting image of her. You have her cheekbones. Is she not with you?” He glances outside as if expecting to see my mum loitering outside the shop, but the street remains empty.
“You know my mother?”
“Of course. I delivered their food the only time they came up to stay at the house.”
“When was this?” I’m slowly packing things in the trolley, focused entirely on what this man is saying.
“Like I said, ’bout twenty years ago or so.
I was the delivery boy back then, working for my dad in between studying.
She and Mr Devall had just got married. They came up here for a few weeks, and I’d bring their supplies up as needed.
Junko was so lovely. She always welcomed me in, and she’d make me this Japanese tea, which was the best tea I’d ever had.
And we’d chat about things. I always got the impression she didn’t like the house, though. Think she felt a bit lonely up there.”
“She did?”
“Yeah, why else would she invite the delivery boy in for tea and cake?” He stops for a second. “She’s okay, isn’t she?”
I want to say, “Define okay.” She’s breathing, yes.
She’s walking and talking, yes. But my mother is far from okay, and the scary thing is, I can’t remember a time when she was okay.
But here is Kevin, telling me there was another version of my mother, a chatty version who invited him in for cake and tea.
“She’s fine,” I lie.
“Tell her I said hi.” Kevin looks at the till. “That’ll be one hundred and eighteen pounds, please. Cash or card?”
Before I can whip out my card, Fenrir leans over with a wad of cash and hands it to Kevin, who counts it and then stuffs it into the drawer.
After handing the change to Fenrir, Kevin nods and bids us a good day.
“It was nice meeting you, and be sure to keep an eye on the weather,” he says as Fenrir pushes the trolley out the main door.
“Can you believe that?” I say as we head to the Jeep.
“What?” Fenrir is scanning the car park, his shoulders tense, his eyes like lasers.
“That he knew my mother. She used to chat to him. Have you known my mother to chat to anyone?”
Fenrir doesn’t answer, just starts to load the car up.
“I found a photo of the house once and asked her about it: where it was, why I’d never been,” I tell him as I pass him bags from the trolley. “She said she just didn’t like the house. But what I don’t understand is, if it was their holiday home, then why did they never come back here?”
Fenrir shrugs and then says, “You heard what Kevin said. She didn’t like the house.”
“Yeah, but my father must’ve liked it, and he’s never been one to take someone else’s feelings on board, so why have I never been here until now? Why have my mother and father never come back to this house?”
Fenrir continues to load the car, but I swear he bristles as if a cold gust of wind has just rushed over the back of his neck.
We pack up the car in silence as I mull this over.
Why has my mother not returned to Belial House? Did something happen there that she can’t face?
There’s only one way to find out.