Coombe's Wood (7 page)

Don’t get me wrong – I miss working at Morrison’s. It took me years of hard work to make manager. I hope they give the job to you, now I’m gone. I thought about starting again – there’s a small supermarket in the village with the library. But I’d need to start at the beginning. Apologies about the paranoia, but I can’t use Morrison’s as a reference – just in case.

Here, it’s so fresh and safe, all the cobwebs seem to have been blown away, it’s like I can see clearly for the first time in years. I don’t actually need to earn a fortune. The rent’s low, and Connor and I don’t need much. We’ve got a telly now, and I know he wants a computer, but hey, beggars can’t be choosy.

I’m getting off track. I wanted to tell you about my new career. I searched around and scoured the papers for work. But everything I saw, needed me to work all the hours God gives, and I couldn’t commit to that. More than ever, Connor needs me about.

Can you hear the drum roll?

I’ve started a pet sitting business!

Setting up was so easy. I called the company Home & Away, and made a sign I liked. As I said, I stuck them up all over the place. I also took out a month’s advertising in two post offices, and pinned signs up in the vets and at the pet shop. It feels so good being my own boss – woo-hoo!

Three days after the signs went up, I received my first call. I couldn’t believe it! But summer holidays aren’t so far away. And, I priced out the competition – one visit costs the same as a day’s boarding for one cat in a cattery. Anyone with two or more cats saves money, and after you add in the fish tanks and hamsters, they really make out on the deal. I’m now grandly trawling around the countryside after Connor leaves for the school bus, tending to my small furry charges.

That’s reminded me. This is a strange village. It almost seems to have no heart. Lanes turn to trails because they’re disused, and most roads seem to be major routes, with the houses perched along the edge.

The closest thing to a neighbourhood is right here, in the few streets built by the council. Once you leave the estate, nearly everything is detached and worth more than half a million pounds. Ouch!

Because most of the roads seem to go in awfully circuitous directions, the easiest (quickest) way to get from one side of the village to the other is to crash over a rough old track through the woods – argh!

More later,

Izzy

xxx

ooo

PS Love to Milo, tell him I miss him sleeping on my feet, and waking up with him purring in my ear. Thanks for saying you’d look after him. Once I’ve saved up the petrol money, I’ll come and fetch him.

PPS I forgot to tell you about my strange neighbour. He lives across the hall from me, and he’s… a bit out there. He talks about elves – can you believe it? But he’s really nice. Don’t say I’ve been taken in by him, because I haven’t. Honest! I’m just so relieved to be around someone who doesn’t seem to hate me.

PPPS I miss you. Wish I could let myself into your kitchen so we could drink pots of tea together, like we used to. Take care, and watch out for
him
.

15
^th
July

“I
told
you not to go use that road.” Feathers lay flat on the floor, his feet resting on the beanbag, a joint between his lips.

“What on earth is going to happen to me?” Izzy said. “It’s a road. With potholes. I turn my steering wheel and avoid them. Did you know cars worked like that?”

“Ha-ha.”

“Tell me, what’s going to get me? Ooo
…
perhaps there’s a bear?” She grinned at him from the sofa. “It’ll hide behind a tree, waiting hours until
I
drive past. It’ll pounce on the car and rip the roof off the car. After the
bear
beats its chest, giant claws will reach in and spirit me away.” She tried not to laugh as Feathers handed over the joint. She pinched it awkwardly between her fingers and took a small drag. Her lungs burned, and she wanted to cough, instead she held her breath and handed the smoke back.

“Bears don’t beat their chests.”

“Nor do they live in England. Isn’t that the point?”

“Look, I’ve heard horrible things can happen,” he said. “Murders, even. And none of the old-timers will go into those woods, daylight or not.”

Feathers seemed to think his words were final, stuck the joint between his lips, and sucked the end into a fiery orange glow. For an instant, an image of George flashed before her eyes, sitting in his smelly armchair, beer in one hand, remote in the other, and a fat cigar hanging from his mouth. Izzy curled up on the sofa and pulled a cushion onto her stomach.

“I may be more used to horrible things than you realise,” she said, “and murders can happen anywhere, obviously. Anyway, it’s not like you’ve been here all your life. You can’t know
everything
about Coombe’s Wood.”

The door onto Feathers’ balcony swung open on a breeze. She took the motion as an invite, jumped off the sofa and marched outside. Night had almost finished arriving and stars speckled the sky. It seemed like more light shone up there than black. In books, she’d seen skies like this, all patterns and twinkling lights designed to make you dream. Izzy stood and looked for a while, and calmed down. She searched for patterns and reminded herself once more to invest in an astronomy book, and learn the constellations. She identified the white splash of the Milky Way. It lit the fields with a little help from the moon. The woods were still dark, the night sky’s weak glow unable to penetrate. Only the very tops of the trees caught the light. They looked like black undulating clouds, clouds you might be able to jump right through and coast down to a faraway land.

Looking out across the dense black of the woods, she almost believed there was some sense to Feathers’ stories.

“What do you see?” Feathers sneaked up behind her, not even the sweet smell of patchouli emanating from his skin today warned her of his approach. “A bear? A pack of wolves? Or a swarm of miniature hell-bound monsters hiding behind tree trunks?”

“How do you do that?”

“What?” he asked peering curiously over at the woods.

“Creep about so quietly?”

“The elves taught me to be stealthy.” He winked at her, dropped his voice to a whisper and said: “They live in the bramble and hawthorn at the edges of fields. And even
they
won’t go near the woods.”

“You don’t say.” Izzy stared at him for a moment, her eyes half-closed. Above, the celestial mosaic called to her. “I have never seen so many stars before,” she said, once more with her head tilted back. Feathers didn’t come near enough to touch, but stood so close to Izzy, her skin tingled. She straightened, pulling in her stomach, and, unable to stop herself, flicked her head so her chestnut curls swayed across her back. For the umpteenth time, she wondered whether he felt only friendship between them. He wasn’t married, in a long-term relationship or gay. She thought he was nice, and so far not violent. And he could cry. Izzy had noticed tears in his eyes not two days before.

Her bed arrived from Terry’s. She’d been back to the eclectic shop since she bought the rocking chair, still searching for a chest of drawers. But this time, she came away richer one bed. The mattress seemed bug free, and the bedstead was solid. Terry must have thought her insane as she leaned and pushed against the wood, checking for creaks.

The deliveryman arrived just after Izzy left for a pet-sitting visit. Mr Brown let them in, and kindly told the man: “Leave the bed in the lobby.”

Izzy was testing the weight of the individual parts when Feathers walked into the building.

“Need some help?”

“God, yes,” Izzy said. “How could he tell them to leave the bed here?” She tutted, hands on hips. “Why not have them leave it upstairs?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Feathers said, and grabbed the edge. “I’ll give you a hand. Come on, grab the other side.”

They manhandled it onto the landing at the top of the stairs, panting from the exertion. With the frame balanced between them, they rested for a minute to catch their breath. A large bluebottle flew up through the stairwell, dipping and diving. It whizzed past her face, so close she felt a breeze.

“Blame the pig farm over the next field.” Feathers followed its flight. “They breed them as a by-product.”

“But it’s huge – what are they feeding on? It’s
…
like, a bumblebee sized poo-eater!”

She pointed as it buzzed past Feathers.

“I never knew flies could be as loud as helicopters.” She grinned, and then swished at the bluebottle as it returned and got tangled in one of her dark curls. Without any warning, a pale hand flashed past Izzy.

Her instinct was to duck. She was quicker than the hand, and jerked away.

She dropped her side of the frame onto the ceramic tiles of the hall. The bed landed with a sharp wooden thunk, and caught Feathers’ feet as it fell flat. He let out a yelp of surprise. She backed up, three quick steps into a corner, collapsed onto the floor, one arm thrust up to cover her face.

Feathers also fell to the floor and sat there rubbing his feet, his blue eyes turning to water.

She watched him, over the arm. Slowly, she began to control the tension.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

She hadn’t told Feathers
much abou
t her arrival at the council flats. She’d only said she was a single Mum and she deserved the flat. She’d dropped in a question about who he’d slept with to land a flat, being male and single, he’d smiled and said he didn’t want to say, and the topic had been dropped.

“Why did you do that?” His voice low.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “There’s no need to be afraid now.”

Feathers jumped to his feet, and came over, holding a hand out. She stood up, turned her face away, tears brimming, and pressed back into the corner.

Slowly, Feathers raised a hand to her cheek. For a second he touched her, his fingers like a breeze on her skin. Then he withdrew, as if he’d burnt his fingertips. As swiftly as he’d swatted at the fly, Feathers turned and wiped his sleeve across his face.

After a few seconds, he leaned over to pick up the fallen bed.

“Shall we?” he asked, blinking.

A creeping chill from the balcony tiles pulled Izzy from her recollections. She curled her toes and pulled the sides of her cardigan around her body. The image of Feathers, distressed, a damp smear across his cheek stuck in her mind. She could almost believe he cared.

The trees shook with a chill wind that swept out of the woods, and past the flats where it brushed against Izzy, laden with a musky scent. She filled her lungs with the breeze, trying to clear her mind of George, when Feathers bumped against her. For a few seconds, she froze, uncomfortable with the sensation of his bare arm rubbing against her own. There was heat in his skin, he felt feverish
…
then there was another sensation. Electrical, as if with his other arm, he’d reached down and pressed his fingers into a socket. Power jumped off his skin and coursed through the air and into her veins. Her body tensed, her scalp tingled, and then, the surprise, a heat kick started between her legs. Izzy shifted her weight to her other foot and moved over a few centimetres, and away from Feathers. The hair on the back of her neck prickled up, the electricity still darting through the air. She went hot and cold, her skin shrank, her head span, her nipples hardened. She couldn’t think. She shifted again.

“You got lots of business now?” Feathers asked, interrupting her discomfort.

“Yes, thanks.”

She
had discovered Feathers sent
people her way. He knew people all over the village. Over pints in the pub, he’d promoted her business by handing out business cards, interrupting conversations of forthcoming holidays and mentioning her name whenever possible. She also cleaned, for now, the income from pet-sitting alone not enough to cover her expenses. Funnily enough, she earned more per hour scrubbing urine stains from toilets and bleaching kitchens than she
ever
had as a manager in a shop.

“Just don’t go down Coombe Lane, Izzy,” he said.

“Why do you pronounce my name like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re from Scotland,” she said.

“The elves speak like that. I suppose I picked it up from them.”

“So, when do I get to meet these elves of yours?” She nudged him and laughed.