The Grieving Stones (4 page)

She remembered coming downstairs early one morning, unable to sleep for reasons long forgotten. She had gone into the kitchen to pour a glass of milk, then into the lounge to watch some early morning television before her parents got up for work.

She had seen the fur first. Huge clumps of it on the carpet, the sofa, even a few bits stuck to the wall, low down near the skirting board. Long fur. Tabby fur. Then there was the blood. Like a delayed reaction, she only saw the blood after the fur. There was a lot of it.

Terrified, she had backed slowly out of the room and sat at the bottom of the stairs until her father got up. He disposed of the mess without making a fuss. The black cat – Oscar – simply vanished from the house the next day, without either of her parents saying another word about it. Nobody had asked her how she felt. It was like some dirty little secret they were never allowed to mention again.

A few days later she was playing outside in the garden. She saw a small black shape moving in the bushes. Slowly, she made her way over to the spot where she thought she had seen Oscar. Bending down, she pushed aside some foliage and looked under the bushes. There was nothing there. The feeling of having just missed seeing the cat stayed with her for a long time. She often glimpsed dark movement at the periphery of her vision, but whenever she turned her head there was nothing to see.

It was like catching sight of a ghost, or a visual echo, a living memory.

She’d never owned a cat again, despite experiencing the occasional urge to buy one. Sometimes she felt as if that beautiful yet savage black cat had never left her; it stalked her from a distance, watching from the borders of her life.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Alice?”

She stood, straightened her back, smiled. “Sorry…I just phased out for a moment. Dead animals make such a depressing sight.”

“Come on; let’s get back to the van. Nobody’s hurt. We’ll be fine.”

“Except the animal, whatever it is.”

“Yes, except that.” He took her by the arm and led her off the road to the verge, then halted. “Do you need to sit down? Or would you like a drink of water?”

Alice glanced over at the van, where the other two men were fussing around Moira. She was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, milking the moment for every ounce of sympathy she could drain from the situation. Alice didn’t hold it against her. Everyone had their own way of dealing with trauma, and Moira’s was to soak up the pity of others, to bathe in it and allow it to give her suffering some kind of shape and meaning. “No thanks. I’ll be fine. Really.” She smiled at Clive, trying to allay his worries, and in that moment she had the realisation that he wanted her. It was there in the way he was looking at her – so brazen, so nakedly desirous – and for a second or two she felt the full force of his need before it dissipated in the face of his concern.

So that’s how it is, mister?
She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about this turn of events, but she had to admit that it was flattering to be desired. She had not felt wanted for a long time, even by Tony when he was still alive and sharing her bed. All she’d ever got from him was the sense that he wanted to own her. There had been times during their marriage that all she felt was possessed, just another item that he owned – like the gadgets he liked to acquire, or the cars he changed every three years for a newer model.

Moira had calmed down a little by the time they reached the van, but she looked flushed and on the verge of another outburst.

“That poor creature,” said Alice.

“I don’t think it suffered,” said Clive.

Steve was back in the van, tip-tapping the screen of his iPad, probably updating his Facebook page with details of the accident.

“There, there,” said Jake, putting his arm around Moira’s shoulders. “There’s no need to get worked up again. We’re all fine. Nobody’s hurt, just a little shaken. We’ll all feel a lot better once we’re back on the road.”

“What about that thing…the animal.” Alice glanced back at the lump in the road. “Shouldn’t we at least drag it to the side of the road so no one else will hit it?”

“That’s a good point. I’ll do it.” Clive set off back to the spot in the road where the carcass was lying.

“I’ll help.” Jake trotted after him, catching up to speak quietly with the counsellor.

“It’s horrible. Horrible…” Moira rubbed at her forehead, leaving a small red mark above the bridge of her nose.

“Oh, behave. It was just an accident.” Alice hadn’t meant to snap at the woman, but she was losing patience with her performance.

“Well, you don’t have to shout at me.” Moira was pouting. She looked like an overgrown child who’d been told off by a teacher.

“Sorry.” Alice turned away and watched the two men as they dragged the dead animal to the side of the road. Clive was holding its front legs and pulling; Jake was at the rear, trying to push and slide the thing across the tarmac. It didn’t take them long. They were strong and determined, quick to take action in any given situation. The kind of men, thought Alice, you’d want to have around in a crisis.

Once they’d cleared the road, they stood there for a few moments talking. Clive kept glancing over at the van.

Alice turned back to Moira. “They’re done now. Why don’t we get back inside?”

Moira shrugged. She was still pouting, but less so.

Stupid bitch,
thought Alice, and then felt guilty about it. Moira couldn’t help being emotional. She was carrying a burden, just like the rest of them. Nobody was the same as anyone else. Alice had to remember that and try to be more charitable.

She watched Moira climb into the van, then looked over her shoulder at Clive – who was staring again – before following the other woman inside, leaving the door open for now. Steve glanced up from his little screen, raised one eyebrow, and then looked down again, preoccupied. Despite his rugged good looks, Steve wasn’t like the men outside. Not a man of action. Alice didn’t have much faith in his influence on events this weekend; he’d probably stay in his room the whole time, playing with his tablet. She wondered why Clive had invited him. Surely the whole point of this trip was to bond and commit to some kind of intensive group therapy?

“Let’s go.” Clive slid onto the front seat and pulled the door shut. He started the engine as Jake tugged the rear door firmly back in place. Alice smiled at the latter man; he grinned back, but nervously, as if embarrassed by her attention.

CHAPTER FOUR

Back on the road, Alice ignored the occasional scraps of conversation inside the van and watched the broad ribbon of the landscape as it unfurled on the other side of the windows. Open fields, distant hills, swathes of green-brown grass nibbled at by bored-looking sheep and cows. A solitary stone building with no doors or windows, just black holes cut into the rough exterior. A small farmhouse perched precariously on a crumbling hillside. An abandoned flatbed truck with peeling paintwork; the metal beneath turning a dark, blood-hued rust-red. The remains of an old drunken scarecrow, its torso all shabby and falling apart, the stake that tethered it to the ground leaning at an extreme angle as if drawn mysteriously towards the northern horizon.

The sky was now a beautiful shade of cornflower blue, but the straggly remains of grey clouds threatened to solidify and take on depth. She’d checked the weather report before leaving home and had been pleased to see that the weekend was meant to be fine and dry, with not even the hint of a shower after today. That was unusual for the Lake District: it usually rained there more than it was dry.

She had the crazy idea that by running down that animal in the road they had guaranteed good weather. Like a blood sacrifice, its violent death had been accepted by strange forces and in return the group would experience a fair climate during their stay in the countryside. Life, she knew, was filled with obscure little rites and rituals. The trick was to recognise them when they occurred.

Before long they were climbing: narrow roads with uneven borders that ran up and along the sides of the hills. Clive was silent, concentrating on his driving. The rest of Alice’s companions seemed to have picked up on this and were now lost in their own little worlds, ignoring each other. Perhaps the accident with the mystery animal had something to do with it, or perhaps it was just a mood that had crept among them, bringing with it a strange sense of melancholy.

“Look down there. To your left.” Clive’s voice shocked her, as if he were an intruder invading her thoughts. But she looked anyway.

“That’s Ullswater.”

The great lake lay beneath them, its blue surface sparkling in the sun. Seen from this vantage point, it was a majestic sight, and she took it all in, feeling a sense of contentment. The water snaked between the undulations of the landscape: a fat blue ribbon amid the green. She had not been here for years, since she was a child in fact, and had forgotten how breath-taking Cumbria could be. Tony had come here often, with his odd survivalist friends, but he had never allowed her to join them on those trips. Knowing what she did about him, it was probably a good thing. She doubted that she would have enjoyed running around in the darkness with Tony and his cronies, pretending they were at war with someone other than themselves.

She threw off those thoughts, not wanting them to sully the sight below. This was beauty: that was ugliness. She needed to keep the two separated for now, if she was still able to do so.

Just a little longer,
she thought.
Then I’ll confront it all. I promise…

“It won’t be long now,” said Clive.

“It’s beautiful,” said Moira, and for once her response didn’t annoy Alice.

“I hope I can get a decent Internet connection up here.”

Alice glanced at Steve, but he smiled and held up a hand, palm outwards, to show that he was joking.

She shook her head and grinned, mildly amused.

The three passengers fell back into easy conversation, making small talk. Clive continued to drive in silence. Before long, they turned onto a dirt road and began to climb. The van managed to navigate the steep, tricky terrain but it was a bumpy ride. Eventually, Clive brought the vehicle to a halt.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to walk it from here. There isn’t any access unless you’re on foot.”

“Oh,” said Moira, the preamble to another whining session, no doubt.

“Don’t worry. It’s only a five-minute stroll along that little pathway.” Clive stuck his arm out of the open window and pointed along a path cut into a stand of trees. “That way.” Then he opened the door and climbed out of the van. They all followed him outside, and waited while he unloaded their luggage. “I’m glad nobody brought a lot,” he said.

Alice grabbed her bag and stepped to the side, staring along the narrow path. It was nothing more than a partially overgrown desire line, cut into the surface by the feet of whoever had lived in the house a long time ago. Grass had grown back in places, but the path was formed by a shallow runnel. She walked a little way along, and then stopped. It was quiet in there, as if the birds had stopped singing. But then the normal sounds started up again and she realised that she had simply experienced a natural lull, as sometimes happens in the countryside. That exquisite moment when nature takes a breath and the only thing to be heard is the movement of the air.

“You lead, Alice.” Clive had come up behind her; the others followed in turn. “You can’t miss it. As soon as you get through this screen of trees, you’ll see the house.” He put a hand on her arm. “I warn you, though, it’s nothing special.” He smiled.

“That’s okay. I wasn’t expecting five-star accommodation.” She continued along the path, and after a short while it opened up and the trees fell away to reveal a narrow open field. A waist-high three-bar timber fence stood between them and the land upon which the house had been built and there was a rather decrepit looking wooden stile immediately in front of them. The indented pathway continued for a short way on the other side, terminating at the house.

“Oh, is that it?” Moira was moaning again.

“It’s beautiful,” said Alice, pausing to take in the sight.

The house was small, and stood approximately half way up the visible portion of another steep rise. The earth had been cut away on this side of the hill to provide an earthen platform for its foundations. The house itself was modest, with a bay window dominating the ground floor. At one point it must have been a simple single-storey dwelling, but judging by the angled windows in the sloped roof, the attic had been converted into a habitable space to provide an additional storey. The house was like something out of a gothic novel. The word that entered Alice’s mind was
brooding
.

The others walked past her towards the crooked stile as she stood there looking at the house. Eventually she was able to drag her gaze from its dark walls and watched her companions as they climbed over into the field beyond. Moira struggled, as expected, and had to be helped over by Jake.

She followed them, climbing over the stile with ease, but remained a few yards behind, wanting to experience the approach on her own. She wasn’t sure why the house was having such an effect on her. She could see why Moira had thought it so ugly, but there was a dark, perhaps even brutal elegance to the simple structure that made her feel buoyant.