Coombe's Wood (20 page)

She directed her yellow beam away from Feathers, and flashed it over her car. She fished her keys out, and walked over.

“Shall we?”

“Drive?” he said, a laugh in his voice. “Let me show you something. Here, take my hand.” He grabbed for Izzy, interlacing fingers with hers. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Just do as I say.”

“You’re kidding,” she said, taking a step back.

“Really.”

She forced her eyes closed, and felt a queer tugging on her arms. The breeze picked up as they took a few steps.

“Open them,” Feathers said, standing close enough for her to smell the flowery scent that had been wafting off his skin since Friday.

They were standing in the village hall car park. She knew, from her rounds as a pet sitter, that the hall was 1.1 miles from her block of flats. But they’d covered that distance in a few seconds.

Flabbergasted, she stared at Feathers.

“Told you there were elves,” he smirked.

He walked away, the gravel not acknowledging his presence. She followed, her footsteps seeming loud enough to wake the neighbours.

Inside the village hall, a crowd of men shouted and brayed. All tried to outdo the other with volume and perseverance. To Izzy’s relief a few women sheltered in the corner – as if, like her, wishing they hadn’t come.

“Mary
…
Hi,” she shouted over the din.

“Hello, Izzy. Why are you here?” Mary had no children. Perhaps she was there to support her husband. Izzy realised, looking around, that all the other women were either childless or their children had grown up, and left home.

“I’d rather be here than at home.”

“Yes, I heard about your situation
…
” Felicity spoke from the back, her face full of false pity. Izzy hated that look. She didn’t much care for Felicity either.

“What situation?” Mary asked, glancing away from the developing brawl.

“My dead rabbit situation. I thought the whole village knew,” she said, perhaps too sharply. “My ex, the one that caused me to move south found me. He left an unsavoury gift outside my flat yesterday.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that, Izzy.”

“Yeah, me too.”

She looked at the men at the front of the hall. They seemed to be agreeing on something.

“What are they going to do?” Izzy asked.

“You mean to find my Billy?” Emily spoke from the back with an educated accent and tear stained face. “They’re going into the woods to hunt for that creature and put it down once and for all.” She buried a fist in her other hand, staring at the men.

“Look, they’re going,” Felicity spoke up – her eyes sparkling in the bright light of the hall. Even tonight she had taken the time to perfect her make-up.

The men began shoving their way out of the hall, as if off to find pitchforks and fire-lit torches to wave around. Whiskey Dave stood to the outside, seemingly sober. The crowd grew and shrunk, pulsing like a heart, as the men jostled and pushed forward, Dave and Feathers bumped against each other, then pushed forward, disappearing into the centre.

Emily turned away, and dabbed a tissue against her eyes. Hands touched her shoulders, her arms, rubbed at her back. Izzy stood aside, an outsider.

Somewhere, deep inside, there was the sensation of being the hired help. She, Izzy, was the one that cleaned the toilets of several of the people here. Her clothes felt cheap, her shoes tatty, her hair a mess, and fingers un-manicured. She moved, like a ghost, in and out of their lives, clearing up their houses, and loving the pets left behind while the owners disappeared off on exotic holidays, exploring places she’d only ever see on the telly. For a second time, she wished she were at home, or in Feathers’ flat, with Connor, watching a movie, eating popcorn and snuggled up on a comfy sofa.

“
Stop!
”

Joe stood between the double doors to the hall; leaning two handed on his cane. The mob obeyed. Silence slowly descended over the men, until the hall echoed with the sound of breathing.

“Hey, that’s Joe,” Izzy whispered, peering over the stilled crowd.

“You know Joe?” Felicity whispered. “How can
you
possibly know Joe?”

Izzy winced at Felicity’s over-perfect pronunciation.

“He came to my flat today. He needed to talk to me. Insisted I let him in.” She stretched as tall as she could, puffing her chest out against this horrid woman.

“Why on earth would Joe come to
your
flat?”

Izzy’s eyes pursed into slits.

“I gave him custard creams and we discussed the weather.”

“You gave Joe custard creams?”

“And tea,” Izzy said. Her voice dropped. “With two sugars. He said he liked it sweet.”

Across the hall, someone – possibly Felicity’s husband – shouted, “We’re not waiting here while that boy is ripped to shreds by the creature!”

“What the bloody hell do you expect us to do?” Stan called, a tea towel hanging from his back pocket.

A round of comments, fired like ammunition at the elderly man, led Izzy to the conclusion that Joe had just ordered them not to go into the woods. Bodu was not to be harmed.

“
Will you all stop
.
” Joe spoke deep and loud, his crumpled body straightening and growing with each word until he seemed to tower within the doorway. “We already rescued the boy, come outside and see for yourselves. He needs a doctor and some home care for a few days.”

Joe shrank back down to his former hunched shape, turned and left the hall.

Silently the crowd followed, out into the car park and onto the dimly lit playing field, where a group of tall thin people huddled. Their dark clothes camouflaged them, and without Joe’s direction, the group might have remained invisible.

There were eight of these people – elves? They parted as the crowd approached to reveal a small bundle on the grass.

Wrapped in what looked like animal furs, only Billy’s face was exposed to the night air. His eyes glinted in the moonlight, his face calm and serene.

“Billy!”

Emily broke away from the crowd, her husband Dave close behind. They crouched at their son’s side, not noticing as the eight who had surrounded him, blended into the shadows until they were gone. Izzy watched them glide away towards the woods that grew on three sides of the playing fields.

No one else looked, she searched from face to face, and realised everyone had missed it. Her eyes fell upon Joe. He was watching her, smiling in an approving manner. Then he stepped away after the others. No one seemed to see this, either.

An ambulance siren pipped a few roads away, mobiles were out, and someone had called for help. It pulled into the car park, and the crowd finally began to
disperse.
Two men in green overalls rushed out, and one of them started talking to Emily and Dave. The other placed a large box at Billy’s side and began an examination.

Feathers emerged from the crowd – the idea of chasing the beast in some kind of medieval witch-hunt had evaporated from his mind, and that of the groups. He came over to Izzy, appearing vaguely confused.

“What the hell’s going on here?” She grabbed Feathers’ arm, pulling him to the side of the hall. She pushed him into a deep shadow.

The ambulance crew were loading Billy, now strapped to a hospital gurney, into the back of their van. The crowd of men were waving cheerful goodbyes, leaving in their Jags and Land Rovers.

“What are you talking about?” Feathers grabbed her around the waist.

“Feathers, no.” She shoved him away, taking another glance at the emptying car park. “Why aren’t you and that crowd marching into the woods braying for blood?”

Feathers looked curiously at her. “What were we going to do?” he finally asked.

“Billy – remember Billy Jenkins?”

“What – that annoying little kid from Long Drive?”

“He somehow ended up in the woods – Coombe’s Wood – and the beast attacked him. Do you remember that? We were in my flat, I got a horrible message on my answer phone.”

Cold dread settled as that episode replayed. With the mixed up events of the evening, she’d briefly forgotten the message on her phone.

“Yeah, I came in to listen
…
then it all turns dream-like. Connor came in, I’d got a phone call.”

“That’s right,” she spoke quietly, as she might a child. “All you men were going to go hunting.”

Feathers frowned.

“Hunting for the creature,” Izzy prompted.

“Wow, was that all real?” He scratched his beard. “There were these elves
…
in dark robes, in my dream. And an old guy, balancing on this wonderfully carved cane. It was like a snake, a black adder. The top, the knob where he lent was its head.” He looked off into the dark while he recalled.

“That was Joe.”

Lights flickered through the bushes as the cars drove up the lane and away to million-pound mansions.

“I must have been standing right next to him, then – if it happened. How come you remember, and I don’t?”

“I’ve no idea.” She cuddled up against him. “Take me home, please.”

“Fine,” he said. He sounded lost. “Ready to close your eyes?”

Dutifully Izzy nodded, wondering if he would remember even this, and held one of his hands tight.

Home was before her when she opened her eyes.

In silence, they entered the building.

Feathers rubbed at his temples, frowning. Was he trying to remember strange dreams, figure out which were actually real? Quiet thoughts of elves and how many times they’d turned an event to dreams, or dreams into an event? Izzy didn’t envy Feathers his confusion. She had her own preoccupations. Her head swam with answering machines, dead rabbits and the sad expression on Connor’s face.

Upstairs, as they rounded the last step onto the landing, Feathers mumbled something.

“What’d you say?”

“I said, oh bollocks.” Feathers stopped on the last step, blocking her way. Her face fell. Obviously something else had been deposited on her doorstep.

“Feathers, whatever it is, I want to look. You shouldn’t stop me.”

She pushed past to the landing, and stared at the ground. Nothing was there.

“What the hell is the matter with you Feathers? There’s nothing bloody there!”

Then movement caught her eye. She looked up, to the top of the doorframe. A thin rope had been tacked into the wood. Her eyes followed the rope down to where a tiny noose had been knotted. Inside the noose swung a cat. George hadn’t picked any cat off the street. This was the Parkers’ cat, she was sure. Theirs was a striking tabby with unusual yellow eyes, these now bulging from strangulation. It was impossible to miss their gold colour.

Izzy held onto Feathers, unable to turn from the swinging cat.

“Feathers
…
”

He pulled away, placed a finger to his lips, and dashed up the stairs. He was back before she could drag in three painful breaths.

“Sorry about that. I thought maybe he was still here. We must have missed him on the way in.” He gestured towards her door, miming that she should unlock it. She realized with horror that he suspected George might be inside.

Numb with fear, she put the key into the door and turned.

Feathers ducked under the hanging cat, and crept in. He closed the door behind, and Izzy waited, watching the cat swing slowly.

Feathers’ blond head reappeared at the door a couple of minutes later. He had a pair of scissors, and he reached up to cut down the cat. It dropped into his arms.

“You should have left him there. They would need him strung up.” Izzy said.

Feathers shrugged. “Didn’t seem right leaving him there.”

Izzy stroked the top of Button’s head, her vision blurring with tears. “He was such a lovely cat. What’s the family going to do?” She took the cat from Feathers’ arms. He was still warm. So warm she had to fight the urge to put her mouth to his furry one, and breathe life back into the little body. She cuddled him. “They have little girls, Feathers, two little girls. Charlotte and Ellie. They’re only five, what’re they going to think?”

“Get inside the flat, we’ll figure it all out there, just get inside.” Feathers stopped, listened, and pushed Izzy inside, bumping her past the remains of the rope.

“Connor
…
I need to know if he’s okay
…
” She fell onto the sofa, still cradling the cat, soft tears wetting his fur.

“I’ll check on him. It’s late, I’m sure he’s asleep by now.”

Feathers left her stroking the dead cat. He was gone considerably longer than when he dashed upstairs or even when he searched the flat. She thought about going over, but couldn’t figure out what to do with Button. She didn’t want to leave him here alone, nor did she want Connor to see. Stuck like that, she waited.

“Hey,” Feathers said, coming back in. “He’s fine.”

“I need to call the police,” Izzy said.

She wrapped the cat in a blanket, and placed him carefully on the sofa. She rifled through the pockets of her backpack, and pulled the policeman’s card out. The red light on the answer phone reminded her she had a saved message. She tore her eyes away, focusing on the card.