The Monster's Wife(69)

The storm howled down the chimney and shivered the bricks of the house. The man paced the room. His footsteps were heavier now and his eyes were smudged underneath. He sat down in the chair by the empty grate and steepled his jittery hands. He looked sad, as if the passion he’d felt for this new game or plan or whatever it was had faded from him. Eve watched him slip down in the chair, lids drooping, mouth growing slack. Eventually light snores puffed between his teeth.

Outside, an owl called through the gale, or maybe it was a dog that howled, or a man coming to marry her whistling. She had to get away, just a bit further away, to breathe. Edging up from the chair, she winced at the stiffness of her back. She was almost standing when the man moved and muttered to himself. His head lolled onto his shoulder, spit flowering damply on his white shirt, hand trailing the floor. He began to snore deeply. She let out a heavy breath. It would be such a simple thing to put her hands around that fragile neck and snap it. She knew she had the strength to and part of her wanted to for the things he’d done, the way he’d hurt her.

Another part cried no! After all, he was the only person she knew, or remembered anyway.

Sidestepping the loose board, she slid over the smooth floor on slippered feet. The door was ajar. It led down the corridor, down to somewhere else. She remembered her arms full of laundry, a bucket, heavy and sloshing, the smell of fish frying, potatoes roasting. Was there a kitchen through there? She felt sure she’d cooked there, cleaned and sung there, that once she’d worked here. And there’d been another with dark hair and sweet, sad eyes. It was so real, the thread of that memory tugged from some sampler upon which her past life was stitched, a half-known name on the tip of her tongue.

Softly, she crossed the room. She was almost to the door when a board creaked. She stopped mid-step and looked back to the chair. The man didn’t stir. He lay there snoring as she crept through the door and tiptoed along the dark hallway. Light flared. A dark rumble followed, thrilling her skin. She spun around. A sheet of light whitened the window. A man stood behind it.

Eve shrank into the wall. Darkness. Another burst of lightning.

The man was gone.

She’d only seen him for a moment, but she was sure he’d been there. Thunder snarled. Maybe the man had woken from his stupor and was looking for her, or maybe her husband had come.

It was hard to breathe. She clasped her throat. Something was wrong. She shouldn’t be here. She peeled away from the wall. It hurt between her legs and in her chest. She knocked into something that stuck out, hard and cold. A doorknob.

She turned it, stole into a room where the lightning showed a stove and hanging pots. Rain spattered a small window. She knew this smell of fish and potatoes. This was the place in which she’d scrubbed and cooked and sung. She opened a door and found a small room full of sacks and hanging meat. A board creaked above. She stopped to listen to another creak and the banging of boots. Heavy steps moved overhead.





61


Eve knew there was another door. She went to the stove and turned around to one side, bumping against one wall, the other. More footsteps thumped and her heart’s clock ticked.

Her hands groped in front of her, felt plaster, a panel, a handle, a door. And she knew – knew! – that this one did not lock with a key, but with a heavy bar that always jammed, except that when she lifted it, it slipped out easily and the door swung open and out and she lurched through it, feet touching soft, wet stuff, the moonlight making her skin glow white as pearls. There was a round thing, dark shapes, a byre, a path.

She looked behind: nobody there. She began to run, the things she knew pouring into her like rainwater flooding a burn. If she turned round and ran past this house, she would be close to the sea.

Running was like walking, but faster. She put one foot in front of the other, the other foot in front of the other, breathing harder. She could see it now, like the square of light but so huge.

The ground punched her in the face. Her chin throbbed and her mouth tasted bitter. She spat and let out the hiccup of a sob. Pushing herself up on all fours, she crawled through damp grass that soaked her slippers.

Then up on her knees, her feet again, and running until the grass thinned out and turned to rough stubble that scratched her calves. And behind her still nothing, nobody following. She ran through the field, across stones flung over a burn, ran until her chest burned and her feet sank into something soft and white. Sharp stones poked the soles. Others were large, flat, slippery. Then she was there in it, swallowed by it, lapped by it. The sea kissed her and stung her. She loved to walk in it, smell it, look at it. It was a place to hide if you crouched down as she was now. It lapped and nibbled her legs, running back in a smooth little suck.

She swam in up to her shoulders. It bit her, but it soothed her too. She splashed her neck and breasts and face, kicked off her slippers and pushed her toes deep into the sucking sand beneath that welcomed her like a friend. A big wave pushed her over, knocking the breath from her, filling her mouth with salt. Her nose and eyes smarted. Spluttering, she crawled back to the shore and lay with her legs in the shallows, letting the sea nibble her pale legs stretched in the moonlight like a sea creature.

The sky was fading, the darkness ebbing from it. The stars were becoming less clear, the moon sinking down at the end of the sea. Closing her eyes, she saw green grass stretching out, and birds, a house, a woman with white hair and pegs in her mouth and a dog who ran in circles round her legs. She could feel its hot tongue lick her palm.