Spider Light(78)
What if they were still there? They would not look very nice by this time. Their skin would be yellowing and dried out from being in the dark for so long, and the bones of their hands would be sticking through the flesh from where they hammered against the ancient bricks to get out.
Maud would not have thought she would be able to hear their fingerbones and knucklebones beating against Twygrist’s walls from inside Latchkill, but she could. At first she thought the sounds came from outside, but presently she realized they were directly under the floor of her own room. This was surely impossible, but then Maud remembered again how very cunning they had been, and she counted up all the days and the nights they would have been down there, and she began to understand. They must be digging their way out–making a tunnel from beneath Twygrist all the way across the fields and lanes, until they reached Latchkill and Maud. And one night–it might be very soon–they would burst through the floor of her room.
But Maud was going to be ready for that. Thomasina and Simon might think that the spider light would hide them–they might even believe it would smother the sounds–but Maud was cleverer than those two by far! She began to lie down on the floor, pressing her ear closely against the floor boards so she could hear better, and so she would know exactly where they were, and how near to the surface they were. This was a very good idea indeed, and even though she was shut away in this terrible place, she began to feel safer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The realization that Antonia Weston would have to be punished had grown gradually in Donna’s mind. But before she could make a plan about this, she needed to know more about the bitch’s life–where she lived, if she had any other besotted young men in tow. Donna took a few days’ holiday from the restaurant. She was sorry to give such short notice of this, she said, but there were some family problems she had to sort out. No one questioned this and she thought it was an excuse that could be stretched to cover a fortnight if necessary.
It was easy to find out the times of Antonia’s various clinics, then to wait for nights when Don was not around, and not using the car. Donna waited in the hospital car park and followed Antonia home. She was very discreet about it careful to keep at least two cars between them.
Weston lived in a bungalow a few miles from the hospital. It was not in the same class as the house where Donna and Don had grown up, but it was quite big and was a whole lot better than the poky flat which was all Donna could afford now. The sheer unfairness of the last few years rose up like bile in her throat.
The following day she went back there. It was four o’clock, a time when most people would be out at work. She drove slowly past, seeing that it looked comfortable and that there was a big garden at the back with a large lawn sloping down to some trees. Donna glimpsed a table and chairs beneath one of the trees. She imagined Antonia having meals there in the summer or inviting colleagues for evening drinks. Her parents used to do that. Her mother always ordered canapés from Harrods and her father always complained about the cost. It was only after their deaths Donna realized her father must have been on perilously thin financial ice for years.
She drove to the end of the tree-lined road, reversed, and came back. This time there was a definite movement in the large bay window; Donna pulled into the kerb, pretending to consult a map. For some reason she had assumed Antonia lived on her own, but she might be married or living with someone, or even have children. She parked in a side road, and walked back. At first she thought she had been mistaken: nothing moved inside the bungalow at all. Could she risk waiting, hoping to get a better look? Yes, she could. She needed to know as much as possible about Antonia Weston’s life. Donna pulled a notebook from her handbag and pretended to consult it as if looking for a particular house number or name.
There was someone in the bungalow! Standing by the gate she had a clear sightline through the side pane of the bay, and she could see a man seated at a small grand piano. Baby grand, did they call it? Boudoir grand? Whatever it was called, it looked as if he was playing a few bars and then breaking off to make some kind of note. Donna was not near enough to see clearly but she had an impression of someone dark-haired and quite young. Late twenties or early thirties, maybe? She walked on, her mind seething.
So the bitch already had a husband or a live-in lover–a musician from the look of things. Perhaps he was a music teacher or attached to one of the big orchestras. They would have a good life together, living in this extremely nice part of North London, in this comfortable-looking bungalow with its big garden. They would have friends and money and interesting jobs, in fact, you could say that Antonia Weston had it all. The knowledge sent hatred searing through Donna. The bitch had so much, but she had still taken the one thing in the world that Donna wanted and needed above all else. She had taken Don.
Somehow she got back to her car and drove home. By the time she reached her flat, she knew exactly and precisely the form Antonia Weston’s punishment would take.
These days, on most mornings Don said offhandedly not to bother about supper for him. If Donna asked where he was going, he always said, brusquely, ‘Out.’
He treated the flat as if it was a dosshouse these days. His bedroom was a disgusting mess. Several times Donna had been late for work at the restaurant because Don had taken her car without telling her. But all this was Weston’s fault, and so Donna put up with it. She cleaned Don’s room, and bought a steering-wheel lock for her car and hid the key so Don could not use it without her knowing.