The Taken (5 page)

By the time she got back downstairs, Paul was shuffling round the kitchen, still sleepy, but pulling eggs, bacon and sausages out of the fridge while sipping coffee. Simon’s hair was neatened and glasses back on, the stubble had disappeared, and Alex threw him one of Paul’s big coats from behind the door.

“That should fit you. It’ll keep the rain out better than the jacket you brought with you.”

Simon glanced at Paul’s thickening waistline. “Yep, there should be plenty of space in there for me. Especially with the way he’s been watching his figure recently.”

Paul raised an eyebrow. “Very funny. Nothing wrong with having a bit of padding.

A lot of women like it, you know. And anyway, this breakfast isn’t just for me.

I

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thought Mum could probably do with something to eat. She didn’t have anything last night.”

“How is she?” The thought of Mary’s experience in the garden reminded Alex of her own weird dream. Although hers was probably triggered by what Mary had said, she still felt unsettled by it.

“I popped my head in when I woke up, but she’s still sleeping. I’ll take her up a tray when it’s done. Hopefully she’ll be feeling better after a good night’s rest.”

“I’m sure of it,” Alex said, not entirely convinced she felt it. Remembering how frail and fragile Mary had been when she’d come into the lounge the previous evening, it would be hard to imagine that she’d be back to normal overnight.

Whether what she saw and heard in the garden was real or imagined, it had shaken her Aunt to the core. “Is there anything we need from the shop? If we’re going down there anyway, I may as well get it now.”

“Nope, we’ve got a fridge full of party food to eat our way through. Hopefully her phone line will be working.” He tossed a lump of butter into the frying pan on the stove. “Not that I can see ours being down for long. Even out here in the deepest darkest countryside, the world won’t leave you alone forever.”

Alex grinned at Simon. “So I’ve explained. Okay, Paul, we’ll see you when we get back.” Kissing her cousin on the cheek, she pulled open the back door and stepped out into the rain, Simon following her.

Even before they’d reached the end of the gravel drive, the water had found its way inside her clothes, running in rivulets down from her chin and in through the gaps around her sweater and T-shirt. Although the wind had dropped, it was still blowing hard enough to push the rain through the material of her jeans, 43

making her legs itch slightly. Glancing at Simon, she could see that his tan chinos were also darkening.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have bothered showering before we came out. I’m soaking already! Looks like you are too.”

Simon nodded, his eyes squinting slightly. “Yeah, but at least it’s not cold. I quite like summer rain.”

Alex stared at him for a second before turning left to head down into the village. Great. He liked summer rain. Another thing they had in common. Looking down the steep uneven road, she watched the streams of water running down it, forming mini rivers in the battered concrete. “I hope you’re shoes have got a good grip on them. If you fall over in this, then I fear you may be making your first trip into Watterow sliding on your ass.”

“Thanks for that. I’ll concentrate on staying upright.”

“Good plan.”

Focusing in the main on their feet, they walked down the steep hill, side by side, in a strangely comfortable silence. After passing the overgrown churchyard there were no other houses until they reached the outskirts of the tiny village about a quarter of a mile away, and it seemed to Alex as she looked down that the houses there were hidden in a haze of dropped clouds, only the occasional wall or chimney of dark gray stone standing out clearly against the lighter gray that surrounded them. The mist came halfway up the hill before it ran out of steam, beaten into submission by the constant heavy rain.

Maybe it was because of the dull light struggling to make it daytime, or maybe it was because of the sheer volume of water that had fallen, but the green of the

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leaves and fields around them sung out brightly, a thousand shades hitting the eye at the same time like a symphony of color. Paul and Simon could keep their big cities, Alex decided, sucking in the warm, wet air. Even in this gloom the countryside was more attractive than any concrete jungle could ever be. Looking over to the man next to her, she could see that he too was moved by the strange, dangerous beauty of the

day.

Out in the farms dotted around the village, people would have been up and working for at least a couple of hours by now, but in the houses around them the residents would only just be stirring, and the cobbled streets were empty and silent as they trudged past the wooden sign welcoming them to Watterrow. On the other side of the village there was a newer one, black lettering on white metal, the kind seen all over Britain, another hint at the shrinking nature of the world, but this one had been in place for at least a hundred years. And it would be there long after Alex was gone. That much was for sure. She ran her fingers over its rough surface as she passed, just as she had since she was a child.

There was a kind of comfort in the action that she couldn’t quantify and didn’t try to.

As they were swallowed up by the blanket of mist, the houses around them became clearer; walking through the main street, she could see lights coming on as people slowly woke up to the new day.

The shop was out toward the other side of the village and Alex quietly pointed out the interesting quirks of the town as they passed them. Buildings that had been there for hundreds of years ranging from the local pub, The Rock Inn, to the old schoolhouse, which was now the closest thing they had to a library. In the

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small square they saw the site of the original maypole, although there were rumors and legends, all joking aside, that it also had a more sinister history.

It had been a place of trials and judgment when visiting magistrates or knights would pass through, and people would wreak their revenge on neighbors who’d done them wrong. If the records were to be believed, then plenty of locals had been hung and burnt there, suspected witches included.

She wasn’t sure if he found the town and its history as engaging as she did, but he nodded and asked the occasional question.

“Hey, look at that.”

This time it was Simon that was pointing something out to her, and Alex followed his gaze. It stopped at the corner of one of the narrow side streets that petered out at the edge of the bank of woods.

“Isn’t that a bit odd?”

She stared. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

There were two children standing in the rain face-to-face on the road, and as she and Simon got closer she could hear they were singing, or at least reciting something. The one whose back was to them was a girl, wearing a black tunic dress and thick tights over her thin frame, and the boy facing her had glasses on, as wet as Simon’s were. Alex didn’t recognize either of them, which was strange because she was pretty sure she knew all the kids in the village, at least by sight.

“What the hell are they doing out at this time in the morning? And not wearing coats?”

Simon shrugged. “God knows. My experience of children and parenting is pretty limited. Maybe they’ve snuck out.”

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As Alex and Simon came up level with them, the words and the way the children were standing began to make sense. Neither child broke the rhythm as they turned their heads and smiled at the two adults.

“Patty cake, patty cake, baker’s man,

Bake me a cake as fast as you can. …”

They clapped their hands together in patterns that are lost from memory as childhood passes, and as she walked by them, Alex found their smiles a little uncomfortable. Too confident. Not like children should be.

“Roll it and pat it

And mark it with B

And put in the oven for baby and me. …”

The girl looked no more than fourteen and the boy was a couple of years behind her. His jeans and sweater didn’t match with her more formal clothes either.

Their voices jarred as they recited the nursery rhyme, her accent Liverpudlian but his more Yorkshire, the abrasiveness of each clashing with the other. So they weren’t local. Maybe they were staying at The Rock or the caravan park a couple of miles away. Either way, Alex was pretty sure they shouldn’t be out so early.

She paused and Simon stopped beside her as she called back to them. “Hey, kids.

Do your parents know you’re out playing? Don’t you think you should go home and get some coats on?” She tried her best disarming smile, despite feeling suddenly awkward. Maybe it was the way the children were looking at each other and smiling as if there were a joke being played on her, and not a nice one at that.

“You don’t want to waste your holiday catching the flu, do you?”

The little boy stared at them for a moment, his 47

rain-splashed glasses making his eyes look blurry, and as both children broke off the game and rhyme in perfect synchronicity, he took a battered red New York Yankees baseball cap out of his back pocket and pulled it onto his head. The girl gave them one more smile and then took the boy’s hand.

Alex expected them to turn around and head back to The Rock, but they didn’t, instead breaking into a run up the side street that led nowhere but the woods.

Beside her, she felt Simon’s jacket brush close to her own.

“Do you think we should go after them?”

She shrugged. “I don’t think so. She was old enough to look after him.” Raising an eyebrow, she glanced up at the tall man. “And they weren’t exactly friendly.

My aunt would have crucified me for being so rude to adults when I was a child.”

She tried to make a joke to break the weirdness of the moment. “Kids these days, eh?” But once again she’d been reminded of her strange experience in the night.

He nodded, but he was still staring after the children that had already disappeared into the woods, and Alex knew he was only half-listening. “You okay?”

Simon didn’t speak for a moment, chewing his bottom lip, and then he met Alex’s gaze. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. It’s just that there was something familiar about that boy, and I can’t put my finger on it. I can’t possibly know him, but I feel like I do.” He stared off into the distance again for a minute and then shook himself. “But I guess he might just have had one of those faces.”

A thought came to Alex. “I wonder if it was one of those kids that played the trick on Mary yesterday.” Almost as soon as she’d vocalized it, she dismissed the idea. How the hell would they have known about 48

Melanie Parr? Or the Catcher Man? Still, it was more credible than Mary thinking the little girl’s ghost had come back.

Continuing on their way, the silence that had been so comfortable now seemed deafening, the rain like a shroud, and Alex was relieved when they climbed the short steep hill up to the store.

“Here we are.”

Alice Moore’s store was an all-in-one that served as the local post office and as a grocery shop with all the basic essentials. Despite her advancing age and generally nervous disposition, she had a good head for business, and over the past few years she’d increased her stock to ensure that everyone in the village’s pennies came into her till. Along one wall at the back was her DVD

rental selection, and she’d also leased a Basic Baker, which cooked hot rolls, baguettes, and pies. The smell when you walked in was enough to make you leave with a bagful of food that you weren’t exactly sure you needed in the first place.

Alice was just turning over the sign to open as they stepped up, and she smiled at them through the glass before pulling the door open.

“My, you’re up early, Alex.”

Alex smiled to herself as Alice’s eyes ran up and down Simon. Alice may have been talking to her, but her attention was definitely focused on the stranger beside her. The shop didn’t yet have the smell of baked bread that would fill it by nine, but Alice herself was perfectly made up, her hair set neatly in those curls that women of the sixties preferred and stuck to as they’d aged. Her eyes flitted from Simon to Alex and back again, the question hovering obviously in the air.

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“Hi Alice.” Alex kissed her on the cheek. She may as well put the old woman out of her misery, if only to make Simon feel more comfortable. “This is Simon, a friend of Paul’s. He came down with him for Paul’s birthday.”

Smiling, the older woman shook his hand. “Welcome to Watterrow.” Her brow furrowed. “And how’s Mary this morning, Alex? Has her head cleared?”

Alex nodded, her stomach twisting slightly with the lie. Alice Moore was an old friend of her aunt’s and had been on the list of guests invited to Paul’s canceled birthday. A migraine had been the only excuse she’d been able to think of in the aftermath of Mary’s panic attack when she’d had to ring round and cancel—it wasn’t as if what had happened was anyone else’s business. People were people wherever you went in the world, and underneath all the country charm, which big city dwellers like Simon were so entranced by, were all the personality traits that could be found everywhere else: pettiness, jealousy, the need to gossip.

But with country people, along with these traits came an ingrained toughness that was the result of living so close to nature. Country people dealt with things. Country people took care of their own business, and yes, that strength could work for you, but if someone chose to be cruel, well, they could do it better than most. She’d had her share of snipes in the pub and sharp, knowing looks when Ian left, not that anyone in town, apart from Dr. Jones, knew the cause of the split, but that didn’t stop them passing judgments.

“She was still asleep when we left.” Simon answered Alice smoothly. “I’m sure she’ll be right as rain when we get back.”

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“Well, that’s all right then. As long as she’s okay.” Alice smiled. “Now, what can I get you two so early in the morning?”

“It’s the phone line at the house,” Alex said. ‘It’s not working; I think the storm must have done some damage somewhere. We just wondered if yours was still on and if Simon could use it to make a call.”