Chapter 41
The clouds had burned away by the time I got back to the house.
The air was still. Not a single breath fluttered the leaves in the elm tree in the driveway.
The Sgàthan Sìth cottages stood on the hill against the sun, their scandalised face in shadow, watching me return.
I thought I’d feel afraid, but I just felt numb.
A cold acceptance of what needed to happen next.
I took my key, still new, still shining, and placed it into the lock for my half of the house. Once again, I noted the deep scratches sunken beneath the thick, fresh coat of gloss paint. I saw them differently this time.
How long did they last? I wondered.
I also noticed the dirt on my unbandaged hand. I hadn’t washed in a while. I probably still had leaf litter in my hair. What a state I must have seemed to the villagers, to Callie-Ann. Things must have been bad if no one said anything. I turned the key in the lock and stepped back inside.
The house was quiet, as if it were holding its breath.
Dust motes were frozen in place in the beams of golden light that broke in through the kitchen window. My arrival sent them dancing, like my presence alone was enough to disrupt the peace, or bring life to this husk of a home.
Get used to it, I thought. Because I’m staying.
I kept my shoes on and went through the kitchen cupboards.
I pulled out the remaining tins I’d bought and began to cook their contents, one by one.
First the soups which I crumbled crackers over and mopped up with slices of bread.
Then the second tin of chili which I covered with cheese cut thin enough to melt in the residual warmth of the pan.
Once I was finished with my feast, I drank straight from the tap over the sink, splashed my face with my unbandaged hand, then picked at the remaining crackers.
I felt a bit more ready now I’d eaten something.
In the corner of my eye, I spotted the metallic edge of the axe. I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. Callie-Ann had said my neighbour would be on the attack. But she’d also said I’d be tempted to give in to my less well-intentioned impulses.
You need protection from her.
You need protection from yourself.
No, you need protection from her.
No, you need protection from yourself.
Her. Yourself. Her. Yourself.
I scrunched the empty cracker packet into the bin just to put a different noise in my head. The axe leant against the wall, all innocent. Me? I’m just for chopping wood. No idea what you’re thinking of, missus. I bit my lip. I’d rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it.
I gathered up my axe and ascended the stairs to the bedroom.
I lay down on the bare mattress fully clothed, needle and thread in my pocket, and the axe laid heavy as a prayer across my chest. The house, 1b, lay still and empty around me in the late afternoon light.
Alright, shadow, I thought to myself, come and get me.
Then I closed my eyes and let myself fall into sleep.
It felt as though it had only been a few minutes, but when I woke the room was dark.
Properly dark. The golden sunlight was gone and the windows were black.
I’d hoped I’d feel more rested when the moment came, but I just felt…
out of it. I had that sick, light-headed feeling that comes when I’ve slept at the wrong time of the day, crossed with the sudden jolt of adrenaline from hearing something in the shadows.
Which I had.
I hugged the axe on my chest and waited. The sound came again, the sound that had woken me.
Knocking from downstairs.
“Tamsin?” A voice muffled by wood and night came from downstairs. “Are you awake?”
It was Rowan.
I sat up on the mattress. What was he doing here? And tonight of all nights?
“Tamsin? Look, I wanted to apologise about yesterday.”
A heaviness shifted in me. Guilt.
Stupid, nice, hard-won softness.
He didn’t need to apologise to me. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not with what I was attempting to do. With her. I didn’t know how I was going to keep myself safe, let alone another person.
I shivered in the lonely night air. It was a relief to hear him though. I rubbed my thumb along the wooden handle of the axe, polished and warm.
I realised now that I wanted help. I wanted Rowan’s help.
I didn’t quite know how he would help. How he could help.
Maybe him just being here would be enough.
To have a friend. And if he was here, even after finding out what happened at the office, then maybe that’s what we were.
Maybe we were friends. Just having that as a possibility made the night ahead feel less dangerous.
“Alright,” I said into the dark. “I’m coming!”
I got up and opened the bedroom door.
I stepped out onto the landing, ready to walk down the stairs, to let Rowan in, when I heard a creak next to my ear.
I stopped. I turned.
The bathroom door was open a crack. My eyes adjusted to the dark. Slowly, a face surfaced from the shadows.
Rowan’s face.
He peered through the gap, ashen and terrified. As I stared dumbfounded at his wide, frightened eyes, not understanding, I heard his voice coming again from the front door downstairs.
“I know you’re in there,” his voice called out. “Talk to me.”
Rowan-in-the-bathroom’s eyes darted in the direction of the voice then back to my face.
Fergus was right about one thing. It did feel like my brain had broken, seeing Rowan’s face here and hearing his voice there. I stepped backwards. The floorboard cracked loudly underfoot.
“Tamsin?”
The voice was in the living room now.
Rowan-in-the-bathroom looked at me and shook his head vigorously. It was everything I’d feared. I’d pulled him into my shit. Now he was in danger, too.