The Couple at No. 9(20)

The ground there is higher, with little pathways ahead snaking through the trees, dotted with bluebells. Lorna surveys the spot where she saw the light last night. She’s not sure what she’s expecting to find. Footprints, perhaps? Although the ground is too dry. And then she notices something. A patch of bluebells has been flattened, as if someone recently stood on them. She moves closer, her eyes scanning the ground and then she glimpses something else among the trampled flowers. Three cigarette butts.

She hadn’t been imagining it last night. Someone had crept through the darkness and into the woods. Someone had been watching the house. Watching them.





Part Two




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11


Rose



Christmas Eve, 1979


The village never looked prettier than it did the evening I first met Daphne Hartall.

Warm white lights were strung up between lamp-posts along the high street and twinkled against the inky sky; the church choir stood on the stone steps of the market cross and sang ‘Silent Night’ in front of a huge Christmas tree, and a few rickety stalls had been set up around the edges of the village square. Melissa Brown, who owned the only café in Beggars Nook – imaginatively named Melissa’s – was open late to serve hot drinks and mince pies. The smell of roasted chestnuts and mulled wine filled the air.

And that Christmas you were old enough to appreciate the magic of it all.

‘Mummy. Drink?’

I looked down at you. Your little snub nose was red with the cold and the pink scarf I’d knitted you was up to your chin. It was already dark and not quite tea-time.

‘Why not?’ I smiled, clasping your soft woollen hand in my own. ‘What about a hot chocolate?’

You squealed in excitement, trying to pull me across the square.

And that was when I saw her.

The woman who was to change my life. Although, of course, I didn’t know that yet.

She looked sad. That was my initial thought. She was standing alone by the market cross, blowing on her bare hands as she watched the carol singers. She was wearing a thin olive-green velvet coat with colourful patches stitched onto it and her cord flares were too loose around her thighs. She was thin, I observed, her collar bones sticking out from her shirt. A crocheted beret was pressed down onto long blonde hair parted in the middle, and she had a large bag over her shoulder. She was new to the village, I could tell. She had that look about her. And I made it my business to watch out for newcomers – even while keeping myself to myself. I had to. For my safety. And for yours. This backwater village in the depths of the Cotswolds was where people came to hide. And I recognized a kindred spirit when I saw one.

‘Mummy,’ you urged, tugging on my hand.

‘Sorry, Lolly,’ I said, pulling my gaze away from the stranger and following you into the café. Your huge brown eyes lit up when Melissa handed you the hot chocolate in a white polystyrene cup, whipped cream swirled on top. I laughed and told you that you’d never manage it all. Then we stood just outside the café, fingers curled around our warm cups, you licking the cream off the top of the hot chocolate and me searching for her among the knot of people gathered by the Christmas tree. I could see her moving through the crowd, her shoulders hunched against the cold, her eyes darting about as though afraid. She looked like a hunted animal. Was that how I’d looked when I came to the village three years ago, pregnant with you and desperate for a new start?

‘Hold on a sec, sweetheart. I just want a quick word with Melissa.’

I let go of your hand to step inside the café. Melissa Brown was a large woman with a greying bob, parted in the middle and pinned at the sides, somewhere in her forties, old-fashioned in both her outlook and appearance. She had never been married and had lived in Beggars Nook all her life. As a result she knew everything about everyone. Well, mostly everyone. I knew she thought of me as an enigma because she’d said it to me on many occasions. Dear Rose, usually said when my hands were clamped between her large, clammy ones. You’re such an enigma. This was often uttered after I’d avoided one of her many questions. But she had always been kind to me and had tried to involve me in village life.

The café was quiet. Most people were still gathered by the market cross or perusing the stalls filled with colourful tinsel and garish decorations. You’d already persuaded me to buy one: a little gold fairy to put on top of the tree.

‘Melissa,’ I said, lowering my voice even though it was just me and her in the café. ‘You don’t know who that woman is, do you? The thin one in the crocheted hat?’

Melissa wiped her hands on her flowery apron and stared in the woman’s direction. She shook her head. ‘Never seen her before. She could be from the next village. Oh, and before I forget, Nancy said someone was interested in the ad you put up in her window. You know, for the lodger?’

Nancy worked in the local shop and was Melissa’s younger sister. I’d kept the advert vague on purpose, asking Nancy to take details of any interested parties so that I could get in touch with them, rather than give out my own information. I didn’t even put my name on it. I couldn’t risk it.

‘That’s great.’ I already knew that if a man had enquired I’d never get in touch.

I’d made a mistake with my last lodger. She had been the right sex, but she’d asked too many questions. Wanted to be friends. So she had to go.