Midnight is a Lonely Place (53 page)

‘You’re not wrong.’ The taxi did a little shimmy sideways and the driver spun the wheel. ‘Stupid thing is, we’re nearly there. Can’t be much further.’

‘Do you think we should stop?’

‘Not here. No. Pete Cutler doesn’t give up if there’s a decent pub within sniffing distance!’ The broad shoulders quivered as he chuckled. ‘We’d freeze to death if we stopped here, mate. I reckon it’s about another two miles. Yes!’ He let out a whoop of triumph suddenly as some landmark loomed in the distance and vanished. ‘Hang on. We’ll make it.’

From the way Pete locked the taxi and followed him inside the long, low, pink-washed pub, Jon had the feeling his driver was not about to turn round and drive back to Colchester. He was right. ‘I’ll ring them back at base and tell them I’m camping down here at the old Sooty Swan for the night. Mine’s a pint of strong.’ He winked and disappeared into the passage beyond the saloon bar. Jon pushed open the door. A fire was burning brightly in the huge hearth, but the room was empty. It was several minutes before a figure appeared behind the bar. ‘Didn’t think I’d see anyone in tonight,’ the landlord greeted him cheerfully. ‘How did you get here? Hitched a ride with Father Christmas, did you?’

Jon smiled. ‘Something like that. A whisky for me, please, landlord, and a pint of strong for my mad driver and something for yourself.’ He hitched himself up onto a bar stool. ‘I don’t suppose there is any way I can finish my journey from here, is there? I’m trying to get to Redall Bay.’

The landlord was concentrating on drawing the pint. He frowned and sucked in a lungful of air through the gap in his teeth. ‘Tricky one, that. You’d need a four-wheel drive, I reckon. You going to see the Lindseys, are you? Or are you a friend of Bill Norcross? I saw he was down this weekend.’

‘I’m a friend of Bill’s, yes. And of Kate Kennedy. I don’t know if you’ve met her? She’s staying at the cottage.’

‘Writer lady?’ He set the glass on the counter and began to draw a second pint, presumably for himself. ‘He did bring her in here, yes. A week or so back.’

‘They’ve been cut off without phones for a couple of days, so I couldn’t ring.’

‘Unaccountable things, phones.’ The landlord put the second glass on the counter. ‘Always ring when you don’t want them, and won’t when you do. Do you want something to eat, sir, while I have a think about what you can do?’ He selected another glass and held it up to the row of optics.

‘I’d love something.’ Jon was cheering up by the second. He turned as the door opened. ‘Your drink, Pete.’ He took a moment to survey his companion who until now had been no more than a pair of broad shoulders and a round, red face, with a huge, lopsided grin. Pete was a large man altogether – not the ideal shape, Jon thought idly, for a life cramped behind the wheel of a cab. His brilliant blue eyes, surrounded by the gold wire rims of his spectacles, were topped by thick sandy eyebrows and he was wearing two clashing bright red sweaters beneath his anorak.

The two men moved to the fire and sat down. ‘Food.’ Jon handed him the menu. ‘The least I can do is buy you a meal after you got me this far.’

‘That’s uncommon nice of you.’ Pete grinned. ‘Any luck with a tractor?’

‘The landlord is thinking.’

‘Straining himself, is he?’ Pete leaned back on the settle with a hefty sigh. ‘I’ve known Ron Brown here for six years. He’s a good bloke. He’ll fix you up. You know, I reckon I’m starting to enjoy this.’

A chicken pie with baked potatoes, several drinks and much mutual backslapping later, Pete had wheedled Ron into lending them his old Land Rover. ‘I’m a professional driver, mate!’ he said, not for the first time. ‘You know it’ll be safe with me.’

‘In this weather and with you pissed as a newt? I’d lose my licence letting you have it.’

‘Then what say we borrow it without telling you.’ Pete heaved a contented sigh and patted his stomach. ‘I’ve had a nice time here. And I’ve heard a good story. I reckon I would like to go and do a spot of ghost hunting to round the evening off. In fact, why don’t you close up and come too? You’re not getting any more customers tonight.’

Both men had listened avidly to Jon’s story about Kate’s ghost, a story he had shamelessly embellished in the interests of camaraderie.

‘No fear, I’ll head for my bed, thanks.’ Ron shook his head. ‘I don’t fancy going anywhere in this and you wouldn’t either if you had any sense at all.’ He stooped and groped under the counter, standing upright again to toss a bunch of keys to Pete. ‘Just get it back to me in one piece tomorrow, boys, OK?’

Jon stood up. ‘Thanks. We will.’

On the doorstep they nearly changed their minds. The wind had risen and the snow was driving straight at them; there was a sting in it which cut into Jon’s face.

He hesitated. They could always wait until morning, when the sanders had been through, and go then. He glanced at Pete who was obviously thinking the same thing. Their eyes met.

‘A bit of an adventure?’ Pete said with a grin.

Jon nodded with a sudden surge of high sprits. He was right. This was an adventure.

They found the old Land Rover (the registration made it more than twenty years old, Jon calculated) in a lean to garage round the back of the pub. Facing away from the wind, it was surprisingly sheltered round there, and little snow had driven in under the roof. The two men climbed in and Pete, who had patted the bonnet as though greeting an old friend, inserted the key into the ignition.

‘Are you sure you’re OK to drive?’ Jon looked at him dubiously. He wasn’t worried about there being any other cars on the road, but he was imagining what it would be like if they skidded into a ditch.

‘Right as rain.’ Pete started the engine first go. ‘Don’t worry. I blotted up that beer with chicken pie and coffee. I’m all right. Not that any one will be driving their best tonight. You just keep your eyes skinned for this track down to the bay.’

The Land Rover backed out easily, its huge tyres holding their own in the slippery yard and gripping the road easily. They backed out past Pete’s taxi – now covered in snow – and turned onto the road again. The pub behind them, with its thatched roof and string of coloured lights looked reassuringly cosy as it faded abruptly behind them and disappeared.

‘A mile, he said.’ Jon leaned across to peer at the milometer. He snorted. ‘I wonder how many times this baby has been wound back.’

‘Probably only once. I reckon Ron has had her most of her life.’ Pete was leaning forward again, a frown between his bushy eyebrows. He did indeed seem remarkably sober suddenly.

‘A mile will be a guess, I suppose,’ Jon went on thoughtfully. ‘People are notoriously bad at judging distances.’

‘No, I think he’s right. Look.’ Pete slowed the Land Rover down in the middle of the road and stopped. They peered out into the darkness. A track led down steeply into the trees on their right, the features of the route flattened and hidden by the snow. Nearby was a notice, the message obliterated. They could see a car, almost hidden under the snow, parked close in beneath the trees.

‘Private road to Redall Bay?’ Pete glanced at Jon. ‘Want to take a shufty?’

Jon let himself out onto the slippery tarmac with its coating of impacted ice and snow and slid across to the notice. Brushing off the snow with his sleeve he peered at it. ‘Private R—d to Red– -ay. The words, blistered and worn were just visible. He walked over to the other car. Pushing the snow from the windscreen he peered in. ‘Europ-car.’ He could just read the sticker on the windscreen.

‘That’s it.’ He climbed back in. ‘And that must be Anne’s car. She must have hired it at the airport. She got this far safely, anyway. What are we going to do? Try and drive?’

Pete screwed up his face. ‘Ron said it was a bastard of a track even when the weather’s all right. I can’t think why folks put themselves through such sweat. Why not get someone to come in and flatten it for them and tip a load of tar? It wouldn’t cost the earth and they’d save a few axles.’ He pulled the Land Rover into the side of the road. ‘I vote we walk.’

‘All right by me.’

Jon grinned at him. His relief when Pete had enthusiastically volunteered to join in the expedition, had been so overwhelming it had surprised him. He had not realised how much he had been dreading the thought of braving a long walk from the pub through the darkness alone. He did not believe in Kate’s story about a ghost for one minute, but the incredible loneliness of the night, the snow, the silence, the wind, were all a bit unnerving.

Tucking the Land Rover in under the fir trees next to the red Fiesta, they reached into the back for the canvas holdall – Jon’s – and a plastic carrier containing four cans of lager, donated by Ron as a farewell gesture. They locked up and stood looking down the path.

‘Ready?’ Pete grinned at his companion.

‘Ready.’

Jon forced himself to smile back, but suddenly he had begun to shiver.

LXI

They were there again. Nightmare voices. Hatred and anger, forcing her from her bed, until she stood, listening, in the centre of the room. Listening to something far away. The sea. The sea was the danger now. She could hear the roar of the waves, see the walls of spume crashing across the dunes.

Tell them. Tell them my story
.

Claudia was the stronger now. Her voice rising above his in the howl of the wind.

Tell them. Tell them. Let the people judge
.

Then he was there. Marcus. His voice the louder. Hatred. Anger.

‘No!’

Spinning round slowly, Alison raised her hands to her head and clutched at her hair. They were fighting; fighting inside her; fighting for the last of her strength.

The grave. She must go to the grave.

She must save it from the water.

She must die.

Die with the bitch whore in the clay.

Live.

Die.

The door opened quietly and she walked out onto the landing, her bare feet warm on the thin carpet. Turning towards the stairs, she began to walk down, seeing nothing but the vision in her head. In the dark at the bottom of the stairs her fingers went unerringly to the latch on the inside of the door, though it was pitch dark there, without lights. The door opened and she stepped into the living room. Silently she moved between the sleeping figures towards the hall.

By the fire Paddy stirred uncomfortably in his chair, but, worn out, he did not open his eyes, even when the cold draught from the open front door stirred the logs into flame in the hearth.

Still barefoot she stood on the doorstep staring sightlessly out into the snow. Something made her pause – in her sleep some inner guardian directed her to step into boots and jacket – then she was gone, closing the door softly behind her.

In the living room the others slept on.

LXII

Their boots sliding in the snow, Jon and Pete tramped slowly down the track. Pete’s cheerful patter had finally died away and apart from the occasional heartfelt curse as he slipped in the hardening ruts, he had fallen silent. Jon stopped every now and then to stare gloomily ahead. The snow had lessened now, and he could see clearly all round them. The moon, high above the clouds cast a flat, white radiance across the woods. He was sure they were lost.

The track they had been following seemed suddenly to have petered out and they had been forced for the past twenty minutes or so to follow what could have been a rabbit path through the undergrowth. Whatever it was it was narrow and full of brambles, and the thick snow had on several occasions piled in over the top of his boots.

Behind him Pete cursed again. Jon grinned. Stopping, he turned. ‘Can’t be far now.’

‘No? I reckon this place of yours is like some kind of Brigadoon. It only appears every hundred years or so.’

‘Please God, you’re wrong.’ Jon’s reply was heartfelt. He shuddered as a gust of wind tore at his clothes.

A hundred yards further on the woods began to change. The thick oak and hawthorn copse became more sparse. The air grew if anything colder and, turning a bend in the track Jon and Pete found themselves at the edge of the dunes.

Narrowing his eyes against the wind, Jon stared round. ‘Now where?’

‘I can hear the sea.’ Pete cupped his hand around his ear. ‘Just over that sand. Bloody hell, it’s close.’

They scrambled up to the top of the dune and found themselves overlooking the beach. Huge lines of angry breakers creamed up the shore, crashing onto the sand, and over the water they could see racing towards them the brown, bellying clouds which carried the snow.

‘Another five minutes and we’ll have a white-out.’ Jon turned to Pete, worried. ‘Which way do you think?’

‘Left.’ Pete spoke unhesitatingly. ‘You said the farmhouse looked over the estuary. We’ve come too far to the east. We’ve got to the sea for real here.’ Turning he began to tramp along in the lee of the dune. ‘Come on. We’ll get some shelter down here. God help us when that lot hits land.’

It seemed like hours before they saw the cottage looming before them in the darkness. Eyes screwed up against the snow Pete grabbed at Jon’s arm and pointed. ‘Found the bugger!’

Jon grinned with relief. At last. Thank God. Kate.