Pompomberry House (6 page)

“I’m going for a drink,” I said, defiantly.

“We have sherry ...” tempted Dawn, holding up an almost
empty bottle as I stomped out of the room. “It might even make your ideas flow
a bit better.”

* * *

As much as I wanted to get away from Pompomberry House, and
more importantly, the people in it, the prospect of getting lost in the country
lanes, only to eventually drink alone, was not an enticing one.

I wondered if I should call
him
. It irked me that he
was in Cornwall the same weekend as me. This was supposed to be about me
getting away, about my freedom. At least I’d declined a lift from him. Car
sharing with your ex is not a sign of independence, even if it does save on
petrol and stop you having to fight over who gets the Lady Gaga CD.

Still, he’d apparently planned his visit to see his friend
Jack before I booked my place on the writers’ weekend. It was just a
coincidence. Nevertheless, it was one that made me greatly uncomfortable,
particularly now, knowing how close I was to calling him.

No, I had to be strong. I had to get through the weekend
without him, no matter how much I might fancy sitting with him in a pub,
laughing about Rafe’s ego, Dawn and Montgomery’s secret rivalry, and Danger
picking every possible orifice with anything that happened to be to hand.

I went up to my room to get my bag. The room was a peculiar
affair, with a four-poster bed. Dusty purple drapes, too thick and heavy to
open fully, blocked any light the room might have had.

Looking out the window, I wondered whether Biff was out
there. I cursed the remaining sliver of a waning moon, which did nothing to
light up the night. A dark cloud passed in front of the moon and I heard a
thunder clap in the distance. Was it wise to go outside?

I’d only been here a few hours and already I had cabin
fever. Perhaps I should persevere with these people. Had I really given them a fair
chance?

Suddenly, the door opened. I looked around and saw a slim
but curvy figure posed in the hallway, one knee slightly angled, like a catwalk
model.

“Yes, Annabel?” I asked, abruptly.

“I know why you’re leaving,” she said. What was this?
Perception? I wondered, for one crazy moment, if I’d gotten her all wrong.

“I’m not leaving, I’m going for a drink.”

“It’s because of me and Rafe, isn’t it?”

Well, you’re two-fifths of the way there.
“Huh?”

“The sexual chemistry I mean, obviously.”

If, by ‘sexual chemistry’, she meant her gawking at him
whenever she thought nobody was looking, then yes, I had noticed, but it was
one of
many
things that annoyed me.

“You like him, don’t you?” she said softly, looking at me
with pitying eyes.

No, he’s a slippery creep.
“I hardly know him.”

“But you do like him.”

“Not especially, no. Not in the way that I think you think I
like him.”

“Oh, come on!”

“I can assure you, Annabel, I have no romantic interest in
Rafe Maddocks.”

“Fine,” she snapped, stamping her kitten heel against the
wooden floor.
Clack.
“Have it your way.”

I turned to pick up my tortoiseshell cap, feeling it was
time for a change in headwear.

“We could have been BFFs, you and I.”

“Huh?”

“Best friends
forever
!”

I grabbed my chunky yellow scarf.

“You’ve chosen your path — your lying path!” she snarled.
Her lips shrivelled like discarded apple peel.

I tightened the laces on my purple Converse shoes and stood
up again.

Suddenly, she raised her elbow, and pushed her forearm
against my neck, in the manner that you might use if you planned to shove
somebody up against a wall. However, she used no force whatsoever and so we
just stood, face-to-face, in a rather peculiar position. I noticed that her
perfume was synthetic and disgustingly sweet.

“Back off!” she cried.

“Off where? I’m not
on
. You can
have
him.”

Her big, brown eyes narrowed. “Aw!” she cooed, stepping back
and putting her arms back by her side. She looked at me from beneath arched
eyebrows, adopting an expression usually reserved for cats and babies. “You
really mean that?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! See, I told the others you
were okay really.”

“Can I go now?”

“You’re still going to go?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want you to!” she asserted, blocking the door with
an arm.

“Please Annabel, I need to get away for a couple of hours.
Come on ... to thank me for letting you have Rafe?”

She smiled, and removed her smooth, depilated arm. “All
right then, it’ll be our little secret.”

Yes, ours and everyone’s who was there at dinner.

* * *

It was dark and I stumbled over boulders as my feet searched
for sand. Where was the stone causeway? I cursed myself for not having the
foresight to bring a torch. Still, at least the light from the dining room
provided some assistance.

Was this really a good idea? I mean, yes, I needed a whisky
and coke, but was I actually going to be any happier when I found a pub? I’d
just kicked my husband out. I wasn’t going to feel dandy wherever I was.

No, I’d said I was going for a drink, so go for a drink I
would do. I couldn’t have these people thinking they could push me around.
Goodness only knows what they’d do to my anthology entry if they thought they
could get away with it.

I had a few ideas for my entry. My favourite involved three
horrendous, hypocritical charity representatives competing with murderous
intent. Written carefully, it could be subtle, thoughtful and hilariously
observant. In the wrong hands, it would be a disaster. My writing career
depended on standing up to these people — at least, that’s what I told myself
as I stepped in a rock pool.
Damn, now both of my pairs of footwear are wet.

Unexpectedly, I saw somebody disappearing up the steps. At
least, I thought I did. In the darkness, it was hard to be sure.

“Hello?” I called, wondering if one of the others had
decided to come with me. If I were lucky, it would just be a mad axe murderer
instead. The menacing prediction sprang into my mind and I felt a tingle run
down my spine. I reprimanded myself for being so stupid, and continued walking.

Suddenly, the faint covering of light evaporated. I looked
back toward Pompomberry House. Somebody had closed the curtains.
Goddammit.

Oh well, I’d have to feel my way. I knew the general
direction toward the steps. My bike lights should be in the glove compartment. Once
I got to my car, I could grab them for finding my way back. The front one would
probably be of some use.

Using my phone to light the ground, I navigated my way to
the steps, thinking that the hard part was over. Alas, the stones seemed to get
more slippery the further I walked. When I was almost across, I stumbled. I
found myself grasping at the bank, to steady myself. A handful of grass came
away in my hand. I toppled backwards.

By this stage I was closer to my car, and the bike lights
inside it, than I was to the house, so there was no sense in turning back.
Carefully, I ascended the rest of the steps.

Again, I thought I saw somebody, or
some
thing
,
in the shadows. This time, I was afraid to call out. What if whatever it was
meant me harm? Announcing my presence would do me no favours.

I stood, paralysed for some moments, willing my eyes to see
in the dark. Was there really somebody there? It was almost pitch dark. I
wouldn’t see a person standing six inches in front of me.
Argh!
I wafted
the air six inches in front of me, just to check.

Go back, go back to the island!
No. I’ve come this
far.
Go back.
No, shut up inner voice, you cowardly custard.
This is
not a time for juvenile insults! Go back to the island.
Oh, shut your big
fat cake hole, will you?

 Stubbornly, I marched over to my car. Even in the darkness,
the yellow paintwork helped it to stand out. I clicked the button on the key
ring and jumped, even though I had expected the car to bleep.
Pull yourself
together.

I opened the door and dived inside. Ah, safety. I took a few
moments to laugh at myself. I wasn’t in a horror film, I was in the real world.
People who want to kill people hang out in areas full of other people, not
remote islands that are usually empty.
Unless it’s a ghost.
Oh shut up
inner voice; I’ve had enough of you for one night.

Turning the key in the ignition, I fantasised about the cool
yet warming sense of whisky on my tongue. I prayed it wouldn’t be one of those
days when Gertie’s engine failed to start. Fortunately, I heard the reassuring
hum of the engine. However, as I began to reverse, I realised that something
wasn’t right.
Dammit.
I had a flat tyre.

Angrily, I grabbed a bike light from the glove compartment,
stormed out of the car, and prodded the closest tyre. Yes, definitely flat. There
was a spare in the boot but I’d never changed a wheel in my life. I prodded it
again — yes, still flat. I took a deep breath and headed for the boot.

However, as I angrily stomped towards the back of the car, I
noticed that something else was amiss — the back tyre was flat too. Growling, I
walked around to the other side of the car, already knowing what I would find.
Sure enough, the tyres on the other side were flat too. Somebody must have
tampered with them!

I inspected the wheels carefully, there was no sign of
damage to the tyres themselves, they didn’t appear to have been slashed or
deliberately punctured. It seemed that somebody had let the air out.

Who would do such a thing? I mentally skipped through the writers.
I doubted any of them were fond of me, but surely I hadn’t offended anybody
enough for them to vandalise my vehicle?

In my mind, I retraced my steps. Apart from calling them a
motley crew (in jest), expressing surprise that Danger was a bodyguard (who
wouldn’t?) and giving Annabel the impression that I liked Rafe (I didn’t), I
hadn’t done anything offensive whatsoever.

Suddenly, I heard a loud beating, as if one hundred
umbrellas were opening and closing. I wouldn’t mistake that sound again.

“You!” I cried, shining my bike light at the creature before
me — a giant seagull.

* * *

“I don’t think a seagull pecked your tyres flat,” said
Montgomery, pacing around on his big, round, beetle-like feet. The furniture
shook with his purposeful steps.

“Well, something did!” I cried. “The seagulls around here
are vicious.”

“On the contrary, I think they’re rather cute!” Rafe
objected.

“You mustn’t feed them,” declared Dawn, the authority on
food. “The owner was quite clear. The more you feed them, the more they want.”

“Nonsense!” laughed Rafe. “They’re just birds.”

“I’ll get you a cup of tea, shall I?” asked Dawn, wrapping
an arm around my shoulder. I was amazed by how comforting her arm actually was.

I nodded.

“And you said you saw somebody?” asked Annabel, passing me a
packet of chocolate biscuits. She almost threw them into my hands, as if holding
them might cause her to absorb calories through the skin.

“I think so.”

As the five of them rallied around me, with blankets, sweet
treats and hot drinks, I wondered if I’d been wrong to judge them so quickly. I
mean sure, they were largely vain, condescending, hypocritical and bitchy, but
did that make them bad people?

“Do you think we’ll be trapped for long?” asked Annabel.

“We’re not trapped,” I pointed out, passing the biscuits
back to her.

“Maybe they’ll find us here in fifty years, all old and
changed,” suggested Dawn, through a wrinkled mouth in a craggy head, beneath already
greying hair.

“We will have run out of food by then,” stated Danger, bluntly.

“Unless!” cried Rafe, leaping into the centre of the room. “Unless
we start eating one another!”

Annabel shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Why would we
eat one another?”

“That’s what happens when groups get stranded. They have to
pick the weakest one, and eat them!”

“Him or her,” said Montgomery, clearing his throat. “They
have to pick the weakest one and eat
him or her.
We
are
here to
improve our writing.”

“Of course,” agreed Rafe, winking at me, Dawn, Annabel,
Danger and the furniture.

“How would we know who is the weakest?” asked Danger.

“Tests!” cried Rafe, splaying his immense hands with
excitement. “We conduct a series of tests.”

“How would you define weak?” Danger asked, clutching his
scrawny upper arm with his even scrawnier hand.

“The weakest, in a cannibal situation, is the one who is of
least help in aiding the survival of the group as a whole.”

“Can we stop this?” I asked. Ordinarily, a little ‘what if?’
speculation would be right up my alley, but the day had been weird enough
already, and Rafe’s hypothetical munch fest was making me increasingly
uncomfortable.

“What’s eating you?” he asked, and then roared with
laughter.

“I get it! ‘What’s eating you?’ That’s hilarious,” laughed
Dawn, patting the back of Rafe’s thigh.

He looked perturbed and stepped out of her reach.

“It’s just been a weird day,” I said, “You know, with my tyres
and everything.”

“I bet it was Enid Kibbler,” offered Montgomery.

“Oh, come on Monty!” sang Dawn. “Ignore him, Dee. He thinks
all the world’s problems are caused by one woman.”

Montgomery’s cheeks blew up like puffer fish.

“I can’t place the name,” I said. “Is she a politician?”

“No!” scoffed Montgomery. “Thank gumdrops!”

“She’s a reviewer,” explained Annabel, throwing the biscuits
at me once again.