The Monster's Wife(70)

If she could find the place, she’d be safe there. Opening her eyes, she struggled up. Her shoulders and buttocks and the backs of her legs prickled with grains of …sand, it was called, sometimes soft and sometimes hard and sharp. She swiped it off and climbed up the bank, over the wet grass to a place she knew would be trodden down and easier to walk on. She followed along that to a long stretch of smooth, waxy earth. The sky lightened and birds began. Looking over her shoulder, she saw nothing but the fields and the sea stretching out endlessly.

On the crest of the hill, she stopped to stare down into a dip of land where a cottage sat, surrounded by bare dirt. Beyond it stretched other land and other buildings. She knew them all. Inside the cottage, the woman with white hair and a girl with red hair slept in a big bed and the dog slept there too. The fire would be burned down to ash by now, so that you had to keep all of your toes and fingers under the coverlet, or they swelled up with cold.

Stretching from the house was a line hung with sheets and shirts and skirts. Usually, that was only there in the daytime. She walked down the hill, her feet treading the smooth dirt at the bottom as if they’d trodden it many times. Her body felt good to be here, the ache inside her ebbing, although her wet dress clung awkwardly. She went to where the clothes hung. There was a white shirt that looked familiar. She pushed her face into it and though it was damp and cold, it smelled nice.

A woollen scarf hung next to it. It was a bonny red colour and it smelled nice too. She plucked the pegs off and clutched it to her, sniffing and sniffing. This smell was her, the old her and the white-haired woman and the dog. It was home. She went to the window and peeked inside, but all she saw was darkness. There was a loud noise from inside the house - a ruffing, angry noise, an animal whining. Then a small white face appeared, baring sharp teeth. It snarled and snapped as if it wanted to tear her up. Eve took a few steps back. Something wet caught her and clung to her. She turned round in a panic, came face to face with white cloth. There was a shuffling, a click, a creak. The door opened.

A woman with white hair came out. “Hello? Who’s there?”

Eve untangled herself from the sheet and stood where the woman could see her. She felt her mouth stretch in a smile, because she was so happy to see the woman, who was kind and loved her. She took a step closer, arms spread wide. Still the dog barked and the woman said harshly, Toby, down!

The woman stood blinking at the half-light, rubbing her tired eyes, her shawl huddled round her. Eve inched towards her, wanting to be held by her and comforted, to sit and grow warm by the fire. She tried to remember the right name, to think of the words to say. But instead of a word, a low moan escaped her lips. The woman with the white hair shrieked, fist pressed to her mouth, eyes wide.

“Granny.” The word came out twisted. She reached out to Granny, wanting to hold her, to bury her head in her skirts. If she could only do that once, then all would be well.

Granny stopped screaming and stared as Eve came closer, was just a step away, almost near enough to touch. And then there was a loud bang and Granny was gone and the door was shut.

Eve tried the handle, leaned on it, pressed her face on the wood. But it wouldn’t open. She heard a keening sound and thought it was Granny, then knew it was her. She banged her head on the door again and again and again.

“Oona.” The muffled voice was Granny through the door.

“Please?” The keening again.

“What are you?” Granny’s voice was so close, it was almost inside Eve’s head. “A demon returned to torment me?”

A demon. Eve hugged her arms around herself. She felt very cold. She cuddled the clothes to her chest and stared down at her muddy feet and then she ran out of the yard, up, up, into the light that was sluggishly white as a dead sea-thing. The birds shrieked too loud. She ran up to the brow of the hill where the fields had been shorn short. There were tents of gold straws there, propped against each other and bound at the top, stooks of wheat. The bundles leaned together and in the middle was a warm space. She crouched down onto the stubble and crawled into the dark place and lay down.





62


Birds filled the world with noise. Eve lay in her straw cave, shivering, smelling the damp of rotting wheat stalks. This would be fodder for the cows in winter. The men would come and heft it up and carry it to the hayloft. A demon come back to torment me. Oona. Oona with red hair.

She sat up, hearing the chords of a hymn from long ago. The words were still there, buried under layers, pushing pale and waxy horns of raw growth towards the light. Eve was Oona and Oona was Eve. She remembered that, but not the part where she’d gone from being the other her to being this.

For a long time, she watched the field birds drop down like seed scattering and wondered how long she had lived that life with that man. Victor was his name, those eyes like knives. Was it weeks, months, or years that she’d lain in the dark with just a few bright threads of memory to keep her company? Then Victor caring for her, loving her, though the things he’d done always seemed to hurt.

Last night’s wine and talk of murder seemed like a nightmare now, but the thunderheads she’d heard then still hung low over the fields, their dark bellies splitting and merging. The fine rain that had streaked the windows dripped steadily from the thatch above her and beaded the corn stubble.

It blew through the opening and coated her face, gathering in the curve of her lip as if she’d been crying. Her feet that had been satin-clad wore slippers of cloud. The mansion with its gold and glass, the neat kitchen and the ticking clock were gone as in some dream. All around her, the wet earth sent up a sweet-sour smell, the scent of turned milk, and a breeze played its comb harp in the grass. She’d left the warm place for a wilderness. Who would look after her now?