Chapter 32 Elis
Elis
The track is longer than expected, snaking deep into the reserve, and it’s only just wide enough for the bus to make the corners.
Elis’s view is of little more than the mossy forest floor and the passing trunks of trees, some thin and straight and others that twist with grasping arms. It’s gloomy under the canopy, but the sun must’ve briefly broken through the clouds because light strobes through the trees for a few seconds before they’re returned to near darkness.
The forest’s low ceiling feels unsettlingly dense; here they are, in November, yet the trees are alive and sprung with green leaves that form a bristling barrier to the sky.
Elis shouldn’t be here. That’s clear now.
He had his chance to back out, but, like an idiot, he didn’t take it, instead hoping for things to miraculously improve.
He should’ve stayed in Queenstown and taken the next available flight.
Now it might be several days until he next has the chance to head for home.
He was a fool to think he might fit within this group.
To the untrained eye, he probably looks a bit like them.
He may even sound a bit like them. But you can’t fool these people by changing your accent.
The differences can be found if you look for them: in their confidence, their tattoo-less skin, their perfect teeth.
That’s a lesson he’s learned on this trip: if you’re required to make a judgement on someone’s background, it’s very much like buying a horse.
You need to look them in the mouth. Elis’s teeth are slightly misaligned, and he has dark fillings – both hallmarks of someone who went to a comprehensive.
He glances over at Miles, who’s joking with George about some night out in their past. It’s as if Miles is a different person to the one he knows at home.
This trip was supposed to bring them closer, but it’s had the opposite effect – Miles appears to have forgotten all loyalty to Elis, even after everything that’s happened.
On their right, a haunted-looking shack of weathered timber is coming into view, half hidden by the trees.
They pass it, round a corner and enter a clearing.
Reubyn announces that they’ve reached their destination and pulls up into a small but empty car park, coming to rest across five or six spaces.
Next to the car park is a patch of green, where two old picnic tables are half consumed by the long grass.
Reubyn opens the doors, and they all file out.
‘Is this it?’ George asks of no one in particular, his hands planted on the waistband of his mustard-coloured trousers as he looks around.
Elis was asking himself a similar question.
There’s an information board at the far end of the car park, but there’s little else to mark this place as a destination of any kind, other than some wooden signposts that point to several hiking trails.
The forest looms high and close and all around.
There is no view of anything beyond the trees, and above them thick grey clouds are gathering.
‘It’s just a camping spot,’ Reubyn says. ‘Somewhere to break up the journey.’
‘Somewhere for you to film your bloody video,’ George says.
‘Think of that as a bonus. We have to stop somewhere.’
George scoffs. ‘A bonus? Forgive me, but none of this looks like a bonus, does it?’
‘Oh, come on, it’s not that bad. We’ve got everything we need in the bus, don’t forget.’
As Reubyn speaks, there’s a faint growl of thunder. George says a few words in Latin, then mutters something about wine and heads back into the bus. He’s followed by Reubyn and Faith, who are busy making plans for their video project.
With George and Reubyn out of the way, for a minute at least, now would be a good time to corner Miles for a quick chat.
But he’s already wandering off with Jessie.
Elis watches as they amble across the car park, and then he feels a presence coming up behind him.
He spins around to see Polly. She wears a small smile that is sweeter than normal for her, and Elis wonders if what lies behind it might be pity.
He’s becoming something of a loner on this trip.
‘What do you think of this place?’ Polly says.
Elis looks around and shrugs. ‘It’s all right.’
‘You sound about as enthusiastic as I am.’
Elis laughs. ‘It could be worse. Really, a place like this will be as much fun as you’re willing to make it. Do you want to go take a look around?’
She twists the corner of her mouth. ‘Yeah, okay. I think a walk might do me good, actually.’
They walk side by side to the end of the clearing, where there’s a signpost at the entrance to a trail.
Elis ushers Polly ahead of him on to the path, which is wide enough only for single-file. Her pace is sluggish, a weariness to her movements.
‘Is everything okay?’ Elis asks.
She glances back at him. ‘Oh, it’s just been a lot, you know? What’s been going on with Miles.’
‘Of course.’
‘And I discovered something today that was quite upsetting.’
Elis is silent for a moment, unsure what to say. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
A question has formed in Elis’s mind, but he’s unsure whether to ask it.
Polly would volunteer more information, wouldn’t she, if she wanted to discuss it with him?
They step over the dead trunk of a fallen tree and continue down the path.
All about them are masses of wild ferns, and the forest smells of damp vegetation and rotting wood.
Birds make an odd collection of sounds overhead: bleep and cackle and click.
The trees, too, are peculiar and unknown.
Elis can identify most of the trees he comes across in the UK, but not here.
Some tower straight up, and others are bony-thin and poke out at strange angles.
Many of the tree stems harbour life of their own – flesh-eaten, clumped with moss or strangled by the tendrils of climbing plants.
After a minute or so of silence between them, curiosity gets the better of Elis, and he decides to ask.
‘This upsetting thing you found out – do you want to talk about it?’
Polly looks back over her shoulder. ‘Not really.’
‘Okay.’
‘Let’s just say someone I thought I could trust has decided to stab me in the back.’
‘Oh no, that’s awful.’
Polly responds by glancing at him, her lips pursed to confirm the awfulness without words.
Elis says nothing more, and they carry on down the path.
After a couple more minutes, the outline of the wooden shack is becoming visible through the trees.
It’s bigger than it appeared from the road – maybe thirty feet wide.
At one point in time, the wooden boards that make up its sides were stained with dark varnish, but only streaks remain.
A set of wooden steps leads up to the entrance, but there’s no door.
Without discussion, they head straight for the shack.
Polly continues to lead the way, climbing the steps and raising her forearm to banish a cobweb laced across the door frame.
Her footsteps beat a hollow sound out of the wooden boards as she enters.
Elis follows and finds three windows of grubby glass that look out on to a pond, with tiers of banked earth behind and a sparse collection of trees.
There are a series of feeders, and that they’ve been replenished with seeds is the only sign so far that anyone else has ventured into this part of the forest in months.
‘What is this thing?’ Polly asks.
‘It’s a bird hide.’
Polly sits on the bench and presses her nose to the glass. ‘I can’t see many birds out there.’
Elis sits next to her. ‘We might need to be patient.’
‘That’s not my strong suit.’
He points at a hole in the ground, a little like a badger sett. ‘You see where the earth is dug out, just there?’
‘I think so.’
‘That might be a burrow. Keep an eye on it.’
They wait in silence. There’s the occasional twitch of movement in the trees, but the sources aren’t up to much – a silvereye and a robin.
After five minutes or so, Polly gives up watching the burrow and turns her face to his. ‘Do you know what, Elis, I was thinking earlier – I hardly know a thing about you.’
Elis shrugs. ‘I hardly know a thing about you, either.’
She places a hand on his bare forearm. ‘Go on, then. Ask me anything.’
Elis is quiet, his lips bunched up in thought.
She grins. ‘Anything at all.’
He scratches his head.
‘Oh, come on,’ Polly says. ‘There must be something you want to ask me.’
Elis racks his mind for the sorts of questions he should ask in this situation, but none form. Meanwhile, the questions that are on his mind burn with a fire so fierce that it engulfs anything else. He frowns. ‘What do you think happened to Caira Kennedy?’
Polly’s smile vanishes. She removes her hand from his arm and her face stiffens. ‘I try not to think about it.’
‘Same here.’
Polly stuffs her hands in her pockets and stares out at the birdless scene in front of them.
The atmosphere between them has gone cold. Elis needs to explain himself, or at least fill the silence. ‘It’s just that, now Miles has been found not guilty, do you not wonder what actually happened?’
Polly shifts on the bench. ‘Like I said, I try not to think about it.’
‘Well, I think about it a lot.’
She continues to stare dead ahead. ‘Do you?’
‘Yes. And the more I think about it, the less sense it makes.’
Polly shakes her head irritably and flashes a scowl at him. ‘What are you talking about?’
Elis pauses to think. Continuing down this road would be a bad idea.
But, on the other hand, being consumed by thoughts about this, and not being able to discuss them with anyone, is a torment the like of which he’s never experienced until this year.
If there’s anyone who is safe to talk to about this, it would be Miles’s own sister.
‘Look, I know Miles didn’t do it. Obviously.
But I was there listening to the trial, and a lot of what he was saying, it didn’t . . . add up.’
‘This isn’t much fun, is it, birdwatching?’ Polly quickly replies. ‘I think I’m going to head back.’
With that, she stands and leaves the bench. Elis is startled by the sudden speed and purpose of her movement, her long legs marching towards the exit.
He opens his mouth to call her back, but no sound escapes his throat.
And he’s glad of it.
There’s no doubt it’s for the best. Because, just then, for a sickening second, it crossed his mind to tell her the truth.