The Shadow House(57)

‘Ah, shit, what the hell do you want?’

I froze. The frail old gentleman had gone; the man on the other end of the line now had sunken cheeks, bad teeth and a comb-over.

‘Just leave me alone, will ya?’

‘But, Mr Kellerman,’ I spluttered. ‘I need to speak to you about your son.’

‘Fuck off.’ The line went dead.

I held the phone away from my ear and stared at it.

As I did, the door to the storeroom opened and someone walked in.

Maggie.

The atmosphere in the storeroom changed immediately. She froze when she saw me, her face changing from a neutral, bored expression to something active, something dynamic. Her jaw slid to one side, her nostrils flared, proverbial daggers flew from her eyes. God, she really hated me.

Unsure how to respond, I did as little as possible, and eventually Maggie pursed her lips and pushed past me to a shelf at the back, making a point of not thanking me when I pressed myself awkwardly against the flour to make room for her. She slapped her hand down on a box of candles and pulled them from the shelf as if cross with them, deliberately imbuing her movements with hostility. You’re on my turf, her body was saying. I’m in charge here. I rolled my eyes. Weren’t we both too old for that crap?

Grabbing two more boxes of candles, she made to push past me again, but the parent in me bristled. If she wanted me to move, she would have to use her manners.

She glared at me. I glared back.

‘Ex-cuse me,’ she said at last.

‘That’s better,’ I replied, and gave her a few inches.

We faced off again, neither of us prepared to back down. It was like a Western set in a wholefoods shop. Middle-aged Mean Girls.

I broke first. ‘If you’re trying to intimidate me,’ I said, ‘don’t bother, because it won’t work.’

‘Intimidate you?’ sneered Maggie. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh, my mistake. All this time you’ve been trying to make me feel welcome. Sorry, I must’ve misunderstood.’

‘No,’ she said, bluntly. ‘You’re not welcome.’

I opened my mouth, comeback at the ready, but then stopped. Was that what had been going on? The boxes, the symbols, even the note? Had Maggie been trying to scare me away? Was the whole village in on it? Perhaps it was how they got rid of ‘undesirables’: they fucked with your head so that you walked away first.

‘I know what you’ve been doing,’ I said, taking a gamble – and just briefly, Maggie’s face went slack. She looked guilty as hell, and now I had no doubt that she was hiding something.

But then she looked me right in the eyes, drew back her lips and bared her horsey teeth in what I assumed was meant to be a smile. ‘You know,’ she said, languidly, ‘the problem with people like you is that you are so … flat. One-dimensional, like a paper doll. You only see things one way. Whereas I’ – she lifted her gaze to the roof of the store – ‘I see everything. I hear everything.’

I made a face. ‘O-kaaay. Well, maybe I see and hear more than you think I do.’

‘Mmm.’ Maggie shrugged and licked her lips like a kid eating an ice cream. ‘Or maybe you just see what I want you to see.’

I thought about that. ‘Um … what?’

‘Exactly.’ Maggie laughed. ‘You don’t get it because you’re not up here with me.’

I glanced at the ceiling, then down at the floor. When I looked back at Maggie, I noticed that her pupils were dilated. Her eyes were flat black dinner plates edged with gold. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘So, is that code for “I’m really fucking high right now”?’

Maggie made a soft guttural sound in her throat, as if hacking up a fur ball. I was concerned until I realised she was laughing. Raising a hand, she unfurled a finger and waved it in front of my face. ‘Open your mind, Little Red Riding Hood.’

I flinched – I thought she was about to tap me on the nose. But then she curled her hand into a fist, brought it to her lips and giggled.

‘You’re diseased,’ she hissed. ‘You know that? You’re like a virus. You bring the world with you like shit on your shoe; I can smell it.’ She inhaled sharply through her nose to demonstrate her point.

It’s not me who smells, I thought, catching a whiff of something acrid – and oddly familiar. I went to say as much, but Maggie had already turned her back and was opening the door to leave. Sunlight rushed through the gap, momentarily blinding me.

Silently repeating my resolve – I am done with being pushed around – I followed, catching the door as it swung back. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ I yelled after her. ‘What happened in your life to make you such a …’

But the words died in my mouth. All of a sudden Maggie’s retreating silhouette was the very last thing on my mind.

Because someone was standing on the road outside the food store.

No, two people: one tall, one short. They were talking. The shorter person was a child: Amy. The taller person was an adult. Someone I’d never met, but whose crooked outline I knew well. Someone who stood hunched over Amy, whispering in her ear, gripping her wrist hard so she couldn’t walk away. Someone with a stooped spine, wild grey hair and a pale green raincoat.