Coombe's Wood (11 page)

6
^th
Sept

Dear Alana,

Rant Warning!

Sorry, Alana but I am so angry right now, I could blow, I really could. I was in the next village on Monday, renewing an advert, and guess who walked by the post office. Joseph!

I couldn’t believe it! I’m sure it was him. He was wearing one of his wide brimmed hats and, even though it was pretty hot that day, the long coat that he always had on. It hung on him, – he’s even thinner than he used to be. He saw me first, and ran off. God he’s quick. I didn’t stand a chance. He disappeared around the corner, and there was no way I could catch him. But can you believe the nerve! I’ve spent the last eleven years thinking him dead. And there he was, walking around bold as brass. Ooo, I could just spit. How dare he leave me like that, no explanation, no warning, not even a simple postcard saying, “Don’t worry, I’m not dead, just couldn’t hack having a kid…”

How dare he!

I’ve spent the last two days searching the next village. I guess he’s gone to ground. Maybe he didn’t know I’d moved to the area, and now he’s trying to figure out what to do!

But it’s dredged up all the old emotions. I thought I’d got over him, and now there’s this little flutter in my heart, all mixed in with the anger. It’s all so confusing. Why does life have to do this? I’ve just got away from George, and now Joseph somehow slides back into my life. I missed him for so long, Alana. I hate men!

ARGH!

Izzy x

23
^rd
Sept

Izzy paced her living room. Connor was out with Oliver,
doing
survival training under Feathers’ tuition, and she’d driven down to Pangbourne to get some dinner.

She came out of Somerfield’s with a retourte pack of curry and pilau rice in her backpack, sparkling water in her hand. She took a sip as she scanned the streets, up under the railway bridge, along the high street to the left, and then to the right. She needed some stamps, and walked off,
trying to spot
Joseph’s head bobbing above the others in the streets.

With the bottle still to her mouth, she stopped mid-sip. Bubbles tingled her tongue and reminded her to swallow. Her eyes widened. Then suddenly, she dropped the bottle to her side, and threw herself into a doorway.

Izzy inched backwards, and bumped into an old man.

“Sorry, so sorry about that.” She stared at him, frantically, then down the high street.

“Don’t worry, dear.” He took a step, and then turned around. “Are you all right?”

“Sorry, I’m fine.” Izzy didn’t make eye contact, staring beyond him. Suddenly, she lunged backwards again, this time crashing into a rack of flowers. She steadied them, the water bottle dropping from her fingers. The plastic bottle rolled unsteadily towards the road, waves of water gushing out. She hardly noticed, her eyes back on the high street. She watched for a long time, clenching and unclenching her hands. People moved past her, old women, Mums and babies, school kids eating sweets and laughing at the world. A young man pushed past her and into the bookshop, whose entrance she hid in. Izzy ignored him, and took a step, turned and ran back to the car park.

Izzy locked the car, and leaned against the steering wheel, trying to catch her breath. She jumped as someone banged a car door beside her. A woman pushed a screaming toddler into a buggy. The woman struggled to strap the little girl in. The child threw her stomach out so the harnesses couldn’t be locked. The woman yanked, and there was a click. The child, now secured, fixed Izzy with a baleful stare, tears on her rosebud cheeks. Izzy started the car, and sped from the car park.

Izzy walked one more length of the room, then left the flat and went upstairs. She knocked on the door to number eight. Cathy opened the door, and frowned as she saw Izzy.

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Izzy looked at the floor. “I have, kind of.”

“Well, come on in. I’ll brew up a pot of tea.”

Izzy sat at Cathy’s kitchen table, wringing her hands. “I saw him down the village.”

“Who?”

“George.”

Cathy stopped fumbling around in a cupboard, and looked round, then stood up; a packet of hobnobs in her hands.

“You saw George?”

“No, it wasn’t him, but I thought it was. That man is etched on my brain. I’ll be searching for him until the day he dies.” She tried to smile at Cathy. “This man came out of the Little Ditty who looked just like George. I ducked into Madame Tulia’s, and watched him walk down the high street, towards Reading. And I
still
thought it was him. I couldn’t imagine he’d walked there, so I thought he must have parked his car on one of the side roads. I stayed in the entrance to Madame Tulia’s and watched him go.”

“You’re absolutely certain that it wasn’t him?”

Izzy nodded. “When
the man was just about out of sight, h
e turned round, nearly giving me a heart attack. And he was nothing like George.”

Cathy put the teapot on the table, along with a milk jug and a matching jar filled with amber coloured sugar cubes.

“The weird thing is,” Izzy continued, “I saw Connor’s real dad the other day. Except he saw me first, and ran off.”

“He ran away.” Cathy poured the tea, averting her face. A muffled burst of laughter escaped. “From you?”

“It’s not funny, I couldn’t catch him! He raced through the village
…
and I lost him under the railway bridge
...
I think, or up the high street
…
He was fast, I couldn’t tell which way he went.”

Cathy put a hand over her grin, and cleared her throat. “Sorry love, you’re right. Your ex running at the sight of you is very, very serious.”

“It’s
not
funny!” Izzy said, laughing along with Cathy. She sipped at her tea, and then looked at Cathy, a
mischievous
gleam in her eye. “Maybe they’re all having an Izzy’s Ex-boyfriends’ Convention. I’ll see if I can spot any of my school boyfriends mulling about in Pangbourne!”

“Oh, don’t!” Cathy bent over double, laughing hysterically. “Maybe that mystery guy downstairs is one of them!” she said, and dapped at her eyes with a tissue.

“I’ll be in the village, and there’ll be men radiating away from me!” Izzy shrieked, then clapped a hand over her mouth in surprise.

“Oh, Izzy.” Cathy took a deep breath. “You’re good for the soul.”

“Thank you,” Izzy said. “What did I do to deserve such a wonderful compliment?”

“You make me smile
…
you and your mysterious ex boyfriends, some which should be winning gold medals in the next Olympics!”

“Talking about mystery men, did I ever tell you about Connor’s invisible friend?”

“No,” Cathy popped two sugar cubes in her cup, and stirred thoughtfully. “Another boyfriend trying to hide from you?”

“Ha-ha. No.” Izzy dunked a biscuit in her tea. “When Connor was five, he invented an invisible man.” Izzy munched at the soggy Hobnob. “Strangely, he was an old guy called Joey. Connor said this chap taught him how to move ‘superfast’.”

“They have great imaginations at that age.”

“Yes, well this old boy, Joey, was the apparent cause of most accidents in our house.”

“Really.” Cathy smiled. “How like a boy
…
”

“Precisely. So I didn’t pay that much attention. But the really weird part was this old boy’s appearance.” She sipped slowly.

“Well
…
what did he look like?”

“Funnily enough, I never met Joey. But Connor reliably informed me he was incredibly old. Even stranger, he apparently dressed like some Lord of the Manor, in short old-fashioned trousers, pulled up thick socks, and smart walking shoes. And a waistcoat under a tweed jacket.” She looked away, thinking. “Oh, and a felt hat, I think.”

“I’ve never heard of invisible friends like that
…
My boy, Geoff, he had Pinkie. I had to set the table and Geoff occasionally hocked me out of a chair, because I was squashing this damn thing. I’d ask Geoff what he looked like, but the most I’d get was large, round and squishy.”

“Talking of kids, I’ve been meaning to ask for ages. Was there a family in my flat, before Connor and I moved in?”

“Now you’re asking. Number four stayed empty for years.”

“Years? Explains the dust
…
”

“There was a man downstairs when Lou and I moved in. His name was Donald
…
I think.” She sipped at her tea, her eyes distant. “Yes, I’m sure he was called Donald. Bit of a loner that one, nobody in the building really knew him. Then one day he disappeared.”

“Gone, completely?”

“He left his stuff, and puff, like a magic trick, he never came back. There were theories. Marg, Mr Brown’s late wife, she thought he’d gone down to Beachy Head, in Eastbourne, and jumped off the cliff. She thought that of anyone who moved on with any haste. I think her brother or someone topped himself there.”

“So what happened to Donald?”

“No one ever found out. After a while, the council came and cleared out his belongings, put some things in storage, in case he ever came back, and the flat’s stayed empty since.”

“Blimey. How long ago was that?”

“Oh, now you’re asking. Must be twenty-ish years ago. He disappeared the summer we had Live Aid, what year was that?”

“Nineteen eighty-five. I was fifteen, watched the whole thing, start to finish on the telly with a couple of friends. It was well worth watching.”

“Then he’s been gone for twenty-one years.”

“So why didn’t the council let the place to anyone else? Isn’t there a shortage of housing round here?”

“You’re asking the wrong person, Izzy. Why’d you want to know, anyway?”

Izzy spun her cup around on the saucer. “We found something in the smaller room.”

“Like what?”

“Connor started pulling the wallpaper off, and there were drawings and
…
words scribbled on the walls. Bit freaky. First room we redecorated.”

“Words?”

Izzy tried to take a sip of tea, but there was only the last gritty drop. “There were rough sketches of the woods in black marker, and he must have felt watched,
because
there were loads of freaky eyes everywhere. And there was a poem.”

“A poem, my goodness. What’d it say?” Cathy gave the teapot a slosh, and then got up to boil another kettle.

Izzy stared down at her fingers.
“Well, it wasn’t a real poem.
I don’t remember.”

6
^th
Oct

A key slotted into the lock, and the front door creaked open a crack. Feathers poked his head in.

“Hey Izzy, can I come in?”

“Sure. I’m in the living room.”

Balanced on a stool, wet sponge in hand, Izzy wiped the wallpaper in long swoops. Dribbles of water ran along her arm, dripping off her elbow and onto the tarpaulin.

“
Meu Deus
, I hate this job.” Mountains of ripped paper lay in piles around her. She peered down, searching for the scraper.

Despite its curling edges, the flowery abomination clung unduly to the walls. Perhaps the nicotine behaved like extra glue. The front door slammed, and Feathers wandered in filling the room with a woody fragrance. He traced her profile down to her toes, lingering midway on the way back up to her eyes. She ignored his examination of her backside and concentrated on pushing the sponge about.

“Can I help?”

“Thought you’d never ask. I’ve even got some aspirin in the bathroom cabinet.”

“Aspirin?”

“Yup. You’ll need some for your arms. A few hours of this, and you’ll be begging for mercy.” She stretched a little, curving her back, the rear of her hand pressing against the bones.

“Hurts?” Feathers asked. Uninvited, he pushed his palms against her muscles. She braced on the damp wall, gasping with each manipulation.