Coombe's Wood (10 page)

Izzy pictured poor Doris. Even in fiction she came alive, lost and alone despite a constant stream of visitors, holding her children until they wriggled in her tight embrace. One of those children had been Harold.

“It was then that Simple John wandered into the hall. He was covered in cuts, and his clothing was torn and bloody. A murderous silence fell over the assemblage, until John opened his mouth to explain. Even as they strapped him up to the tree, he shouted that a creature in the woods had attacked him, that he hadn’t murdered anyone. He wept as the stool was pulled from under him and then all was quiet.

“Even as he swung in his impromptu and illegal execution, children were collected and warned away from the woods. Later that year it was named Coombe’s Wood, so no one would forget what happened that summer.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Stan
whispered, nodding
.
“That’s a grand story.”

“Is
any of it
true?” Izzy put a hand to her mouth.

“As Harold told me the story, it’s all true.”
Dave finished his pint in one long gulp.
“But a few others whose parents were brought up in Cedham also know the story, I’ve asked about, the tale never varies.”

“So, why am I not supposed to drive through the woods then, I mean this John Coombe died
…
?”

“1890.”

“1890, so why do I have to be worried?”

“The hauntings, has Feathers told you nothing?”

She turned to Feathers – his face covered by the pint glass that he held tight to his face. He drank slowly.

“What hauntings?” Izzy started to wonder if there wasn’t a little inbreeding at work here.

“Tell her Feathers, I’m off for a piss.” Dave stretched and left the table, a short squat fellow, he staggered off towards the gents.

“Did you know all this?” she accosted Feathers. Stan grinned and left to arrange more glasses.

“Yes. Okay, I knew. It’s just that Whiskey Dave tells the story better that anyone I know.”

“What hauntings?”

“The ghosts of John Coombe and his victims wander the woods. Boys insist on going into the woods on dares, but they never go alone. Apparently, Simple John is still looking for new victims. But, he’ll only attack a person when they’re on their own.”

“Ghosts? You’re all afraid of ghosts!” She laughed. “So that’s what this is all about.”

“Not just a ghost!” Feathers slid along the bench to the place Whiskey Dave had been. He grabbed Izzy’s hand, looking deep into her eyes with his pale wash of blue. “There have been disappearances in those woods since John Coombe was executed. Except no one else has ever been found.” He leaned in further, so that she could smell the beer on his breath. “That’s why the workmen won’t work there, if they are left alone, they see things, scary things that send them screaming for company. Enough years of that happening, and the rumours spread. Now they won’t work there at all.”

She stared back, pulling away just a little, not sure now if her companion wasn’t more crackers than she had previously thought.

“Tell me you will avoid the woods.”

“Okay, I’ll avoid the woods.” She pulled her hand out of his clasp and clambered awkwardly off the bench. “I need to check on Connor.” She walked off, her head a muddle with the
strangely fake
ghost story Whiskey Dave had told them. One that was apparently familiar to all, except for her.

Connor was happily prodding insects with Oliver. “Can I have a cheese burger with chips or something?” he asked. It was more of an order than a request. He leaned back against Oliver, shoulder to shoulder as they captured and tested the endurance of yet another many-legged beast.

“You all right?” Feather said. He’d followed her out to the garden, walking softly, as if his feet were shoed with air.

“Fine. It’s just a ghost story, with a village bogeyman added in the mix. It must stop the kids from wandering a little, if they think a murderer is stalking the woods in wait of fresh meat.”

“I suppose.”

“The missing kids probably just ran away or something.”

“Perhaps
…
Is it worth finding out?”

“Or maybe Simple John was telling the truth. Maybe there’s some other creature in the woods, and he was the only one that escaped.”

“Who knows, so long as you don’t go there any more. Look, I’ve got the menu. Do you want to have a look? Oh and the specials board has some corkers on it
…
”

They wandered back inside to place their order. In the back of her brain, Izzy replayed the story over and over. She came to the conclusion that it was a damn fine ghost story, enjoyably creepy. Then she thought about what she’d said to Feathers. She had promised to avoid
Coombe’s Wood. But that didn’t mean she could never drive through it again.

4th Sept

The rain tore down in sheets, the wind howling as early autumn gales replaced the summer sun. Izzy pulled up to the end of Briar Lane and indicated right, and towards Pangbourne. A little way up, trying to shelter under a chestnut tree, Poppy and Romeo waited for the bus.

Izzy pulled up alongside, and leaned over to roll down the passenger window.

“You need a lift down the hill?”

“Ta, Iz. We’re gettin’ bloody soaked!”

Poppy chucked the pushchair in the boot, while Izzy kept hold of Romeo. He cooed at her, then bunched up a fist and tried to stuff it in his mouth.

“He’s teething,” Poppy said, and got in the back seat. “That’s where we’re going, to pick up some gel and stuff. My mum said that’s what he needed. Really appreciate you doing this, Iz.” She buckled in, and put the baby on her lap. “Where’d all the sunshine go?”

“South!” Izzy said, and laughed. She could see Romeo in the rearview mirror.

He looked right back and said, “Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma.”

“Did you hear that, Izzy? He’s not even eighteen months old, and he’s talking. My little genius, aren’t you?”

Izzy shifted her gaze to Poppy. She was small, stick-thin, with long silky black hair that fell about her shoulders and halfway down her back. It was wet now, and clung to her scalp, but that didn’t take away from her angular beauty. A few years younger, and she’d have been in the same school year as Connor. Izzy shook her head, thinking fatalistically, how everyone had a cross to bare. How very Portuguese.

Izzy shifted into first and drove off, to the repeated singing of Incy Wincy Spider. She parked behind the supermarket, the rain slowing to a heavy drizzle.

“I’ll be about half an hour, if you want a lift back up to Cedham.” Izzy said, taking the umbrella from the boot, and popping it open.

“Ta very much, Iz. See ya.” Poppy strapped Romeo in the buggy and pulled the plastic rain-guard down. She walked off, singing London Bridge is Falling Down. Romeo clapped and laughed in time.

Izzy smiled and turned in the opposite direction. The rain slowed to a drizzle, and she took her time walking to the post office, lost in thought about bills, schedules, Connor’s need for new school clothes. She renewed her advert in the window, replacing the original ad with a newer, more colourful version. As she stuck it in place, a man with a wide brimmed hat walked past the window. He was tall, sinewy, and looking back at her with wide eyes.

“Joe!”

Izzy ran out of the shop and tripped over a badly parked tricycle. She fell towards the road, still searching down the pavement. She could see him, head and shoulders above most folk, bobbing between them, heading for the park.

“Joesph!” she yelled, and charged through the crowd.

Izzy ran down the high street, across the zebra crossing, a Land Rover screeching to a halt, its bumper inches from her thigh. She put up a hand of thanks, but didn’t stop to meet the driver’s eyes, or, no doubt, their shaking fist. She tore around the corner, and realised she’d lost sight of him. He was too fast, already disappeared under the railway bridge, and around the corner to the Thames. Or down the road to Whitchurch. Or up the road to the roundabout, and then to either Streatley or towards Reading. Izzy wheezed, still running, searching. How could he just vanish?

“Hey Iz,” Poppy said, as she emerged from the pharmacy.

“
Ai, meu deus
, Poppy!” Izzy cried, as she narrowly avoided colliding with the girl, her momentum carried her to the edge of the pavement, into the path of yet another car, but she swerved in, and came to a stop by the bank next door. She leaned against the wall and tried to slow her breathing.

“Where’s the fire?” Poppy asked, peering around the corner, in the direction of the post office. “Or you been nickin stuff?” She giggled, and gave Izzy a playful punch on the arm. “Only jokin’.”

“Thought I saw someone I knew,” Izzy said, panting, and stared under the bridge. “Someone I haven’t seen in years.”

“Guess he saw you first,” Poppy said. She laughed, and backed the pushchair out of the shop.

“Maybe
…
” Izzy resisted the urge to start after him again. “Probably wasn’t him
…
”

“Ooo, I’ve got to go somewhere else, you ain’t got to go yet?”

“You’re all right, I still need to get bread and milk. I’ll wait by the car for you.”

They parted company, Izzy pausing to peer past the Chinese restaurant and down the road. There was another Mum and buggy heading away from the village, and an old lady walking slowly with an empty string bag coming towards Izzy, but no men.

She made her purchases, and waited looking out over a little stream that ran alongside the car park. A large trout darted upstream, picking bugs off the surface and leaving bubbles to mark his path.

Memories jumbled about, starting and stopping. Joseph taking her boating, Connor’s birth, and the expression of total love on his face as he held his baby for the first time, Redecorating her house, and getting into a paint fight, the love they made after they cleaned up. Izzy pressed her index and middle fingers against her temples, and rubbed slowly. Meeting in Chester, the wave of love as their eyes met. They were drawn to each other, and sat on a bench under the clock, ignoring the tourists, and talking for hours. The day he was supposed to come back from here, from Cedham. She’d waited up all night and called the police in the morning.

Izzy leaned against the wall that bordered the stream, and held her head. Just one image, she thought, not this jumble of shorts.

“
Izzy,
” Joseph called from across the stream.

Her head snapped up, and there he was, holding a little baby. Connor. Joseph was grinning, one hand under his son’s bottom, the other cradling Connor’s wobbly head. She was trying to take a photo, an artistic shot. They’d stripped Connor, and Joseph had taken his shirt off. Just as she focused the lens, a yellow liquid squirted out and ran down Joseph’s chest. After that, she was laughing so hard; she couldn’t keep the camera still enough for a photo. Why did he run away from her? Why did he leave with no explanation? She’d mourned him. Hands suddenly came down on her shoulders, and Izzy jumped, almost falling over the wall and into the water.

“Sorry Iz, you away with the fairies?”

“Something like that.” She held onto the wall for a few seconds, to try and regain her composure. “Don’t do that again, okay?”

“Thinkin’ about that man, weren’t ‘cha?” Poppy pulled some bags off the handlebars of the buggy, and piled them by the back of the Toyota. Romeo squinted as the sun broke through the clouds, and put his hands out to Izzy.

“Just thinking,” Izzy said, and went round to open the boot. “What did you get from the pet shop? You don’t own any animals.”

“Well, it’s a surprise for Romeo, a present for turning a year and a half,” Poppy said, leaning close. She whispered in Izzy’s ear, “Sarah, she lives in number ten, her dog had litter of puppies a few months ago, and she’s found a home for ‘em all, but one. He’s a runt, and ain’t no one that wants him, so she said she’d give him to me for free.”

“A dog? You sure about this? There’s hardly any room for you and Romeo in that flat of yours.”

“The council are going to re-home me into a two-bed. They got to, it’s against the law, us in a one-bed.” Poppy put Romeo on the back seat of the car, and collapsed the buggy.

“So why didn’t you get my flat? Would have made sense, to simply move you up a floor.”

“Didn’t offer it to me. I’ve got my eye on number 18. Old Mrs Hanley is nearly eighty-six. And I heard from John, next door to her, he said she’s got a wicked cough, and she’ll pop her clogs soon enough.”

“Poppy, that’s not very nice!”

“Well, it’s true! People get old and die. Sometimes, they just die.” Poppy slipped onto the backseat next to her son, and strapped in. “Ain’t no point in pretending it don’t happen, Iz.” She shrugged. “Hey, can we stop by Sarah’s?”