Wake Wood (17 page)

‘If I was asleep I wouldn’t have heard anything,’ Louise replied logically. ‘What kind of music?’

‘Voices singing my name.’

Louise’s blood ran cold. She glanced across at Patrick, who appeared to be concentrating on driving. ‘No, I didn’t hear anything.’

‘I did,’ Alice said matter-of-factly.

Without warning Patrick slammed on the brakes. Ahead of them, three cars were parked in a lay-by. Half a dozen men were standing in a circle at the entrance to
an
abandoned building on their right. The ground at the men’s feet was stained with blood.

‘Stay in the car,’ Patrick ordered Louise and Alice. He wrenched open his car door and shouted to the men, ‘What’s going on here?’

One of the men cried out, ‘Quick! Scarper! It’s the vet.’

Two men ran off. Patrick strode up to the other four and looked down at the ground. Two dogs lay in the dirt. Both were battered, torn and bleeding from dozens of wounds, bites and puncture marks.

‘Proud of yourselves? Forcing dumb animals to fight to the death for your amusement?’ Patrick questioned scathingly. Disgusted with the men, he crouched down and examined the dogs.

The remaining men shuffled their feet in embarrassment, turning their faces away from Patrick’s judgemental eye.

‘This dog’s dead,’ Patrick pronounced bitterly to no one in particular. ‘You’d better bury it. This one’s alive but needs treatment. Get me a blanket or something I can carry him in … Fast!’ he emphasised when no one moved.

One man scurried off to one of the parked cars.

‘Whose dog is this?’ Patrick demanded forcefully, finally looking up at the men.

‘The owner’s gone. He left him for dead,’ a young boy volunteered.

Patrick stroked the dog’s muzzle tenderly. ‘It’s OK, boy; you’re all right with me. I’ll see to you.’

The man returned from his car with an old coat. He handed it to Patrick, who laid it on the ground. Patrick
eased
the dog on to the coat, wrapped the animal in it and scooped it into his arms. Returning to the estate car, he laid it in the back and settled it down before climbing into the driving seat.

Alice turned and leaned over the back of the estate. The dog was lying flat, whimpering in pain. She reached down.

Patrick saw her move in the rear-view mirror. ‘Alice, don’t touch him,’ he shouted. ‘He’s injured and frightened and could bite.’

‘It’s all right, Dad.’ Alice stroked the dog’s head and it fell silent. ‘He’ll be fine now. He knows I’m not going to hurt him.’

Louise took a deep breath. Weak with relief, she gazed at Alice. ‘You have Dad’s touch with animals, sweetie,’ she complimented.

‘I do.’ Alice continued to pet the dog. ‘And Dad and me will soon have him better. Won’t we, Dad?’

When they reached home Louise headed for the kitchen so that she could start making a meal. Patrick carried the dog into the outbuilding he’d converted into a surgery. Alice followed and watched him sedate the dog before cleaning and disinfecting his bites and wounds. When the sedation took hold and the dog fell unconscious, Patrick began to stitch his injuries.

‘Dad?’ Alice drew closer, watching him work on the animal.

‘Mmm, yes, honey?’ Patrick concentrated on drawing two pieces of badly torn skin together.

‘Can I do it?’

Surprised, Patrick looked down at her. ‘If you want to. But you’ll need to put on surgical gloves. They’re in that box.’ He pointed to the shelf where he kept the disposable items he used every day, such as paper sheets, tissues and antiseptic wipes.

Alice took a pair of latex gloves from the box, pulled them on and joined Patrick. He handed her the implement he’d been using.

‘Now hold it like I did … that’s right. And pull it tight.’ He watched as Alice carefully tugged the suture and closed the wound he’d been stitching. ‘Now push the needle through again, just here.’

Alice did as he asked and inserted the tip of the curved needle neatly through the lips of the wound. She frowned in concentration but no emotion registered on her face, either in her eyes or her mouth, as she carried on closing the dog’s injuries.

‘People shouldn’t hurt animals, should they?’ she asked after she’d finished the second suture.

‘No, they shouldn’t,’ Patrick agreed warily, wondering what she was going to say next.

‘And animals shouldn’t hurt people either.’

Patrick hesitated before replying, uncertain what, if anything, she remembered about the dog that had attacked her. ‘It’s not the same,’ he ventured. ‘Because animals can’t think logically the way we do, they don’t mean to hurt people in the same way that people mean to hurt them.’

‘Oh. Do you really think so?’

Patrick took the needle from her. ‘You’re doing very well, but I’ll finish this last one. It’s awkward.’

The door opened behind them and Arthur walked in. ‘I heard there was a bit of trouble, Patrick.’

‘You could say that,’ Patrick concurred quietly, looking at Alice before giving Arthur a warning glance.

Alice continued to stroke the dog’s head while Patrick worked. ‘Dad, can we keep him?’ she asked suddenly.

‘I don’t see why not.’ Patrick looked up and saw Arthur watching both of them.

‘Mum said we could,’ Alice added.

‘Oh, she did, did she?’ Patrick smiled.

Alice stripped off her gloves and dropped them into the bin at Patrick’s feet. ‘I’ve decided to call him Howie.’

‘Howie,’ Arthur repeated. ‘It’s a good name for a dog. I like it.’

‘I’m going to see Mum and help her make dinner.’ Alice left and closed the door behind her.

Arthur leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. ‘Patrick, it will be only three days. Don’t make it hard to say goodbye,’ he warned.

Patrick looked up from the dog. ‘I don’t need a reminder, Arthur.’

‘Just don’t forget it, that’s all.’

‘I can’t and I won’t, Arthur, not for an instant.’ Patrick looked back at the dog and carried on stitching.

‘HOW’S HOWIE?’ ALICE
asked when Patrick returned to the living room after checking on the dog.

‘He’ll be stiff and limp on three legs for a while but he’ll be up and about in the morning, thanks to your brilliant doctoring, honey.’ Patrick sat on the sofa and looked down at his veterinary case on the coffee table. He’d brought it in from the surgery so he could clean his instruments.

They’d finished supper two hours ago. Louise had cooked Alice’s favourite, macaroni cheese followed by chocolate ice-cream sundaes. After she’d cleared the dishes, Louise had made hot chocolate topped with marshmallows and cream for Alice and coffee for them. Patrick had stoked the fire and it blazed cheerfully in the hearth. The curtains had been pulled and, although there was a cold wind blowing outside, the atmosphere inside was warm and cosy.

Patrick picked up a scalpel but he was more intent on watching Louise and Alice than polishing the tarnish from his tools. Louise was trimming their daughter’s fringe. It was a normal, everyday scene that in the days before Alice’s death he would have accepted without a second thought. Now he wanted to savour every
moment
and imprint every word Alice uttered and every movement she made, no matter how small, on to his memory.

The way his daughter was sitting bolt upright, back straight, hands relaxed in her lap on the low stool. So much taller than she’d been a year ago. Her dark brown eyes shining as she glanced curiously around the room, studying every object in turn.

‘Mum?’ Alice began.

Louise ran her fingers through Alice’s thick hair, combing it back away from her face. ‘Yes, sweetie,’ she murmured.

‘This place feels strange. If we’re really here for a holiday, why do we have so many clothes with us? The wardrobe and drawers in my room are full. You seem to have brought everything I own.’

Patrick felt the need to reply. ‘Because everyone needs clean clothes, honey. If we only had one or two sets, Mum would be spending every day washing to make sure we had something clean to put on the next day.’

‘But you’re working, Dad,’ Alice pointed out. ‘That’s peculiar when we’re taking a break, isn’t it?’

Patrick tried and failed to think of a suitable reply. Louise came to his rescue by changing the subject. She made a final snip at Alice’s fringe. ‘There, all done, sweetie, and very beautiful. I think it’s sleepy time now, don’t you?’

‘How about a story?’ Alice begged.

‘“How about a story?”’ Louise repeated teasingly.

‘Please …’ Alice coaxed.

Louise capitulated. ‘You can have one, but only after you’re tucked up in bed.’

Patrick grabbed Alice and kissed her cheek as she ran out through the door. He followed his wife and daughter when they climbed the stairs.

Alice ran into her bedroom and jumped up and down on the bed. Louise caught her mid-jump, pulled back the duvet and settled her under the covers before sitting next to her.

‘Story?’ Alice’s eyes seemed even larger than usual as she looked up at Louise.

Louise hugged her daughter, loving every minute of what had been their bedtime ritual every night of Alice’s short life. ‘Once upon a time, there was a little tearaway called Alice—’

Alice interrupted her. ‘No, not Alice – called Louise,’ she contradicted.

Patrick remained in the doorway, watching them, unwilling to leave the scene that was so familiar – and so emotional. Tears welled in his eyes. He looked away lest Louise see them.

‘So this is going to be about me, is it?’ Louise asked Alice.

‘Yes, it is.’ Alice nodded enthusiastically.

‘All right,’ Louise conceded. ‘Once upon a time there was a little tearaway called Louise. And she lived with her brothers and sisters—’

‘And their sheepdog,’ Alice interceded.

Patrick smiled as Alice recounted word for word the opening of the story Louise had told her so many times.

‘And their sheepdog,’ Louise added, answering
Patrick’s
smile with one of her own. ‘And they all lived together in a big house on the side of a hill overlooking the city …’ Louise faltered when Patrick slipped out of the room, but a tug on her sleeve from Alice prompted her to continue.

‘… The house had a field and an orchard and every year the trees in the orchard would be laden with more fruit than they could pick and …’ Louise saw Alice’s eyelids droop and dropped her voice to whisper, ‘… eat.’

Alice’s eyes finally closed.

Louise switched off the bedside light. Patrick returned with a quilt and pillows. He set them down on the floor and made a makeshift bed beside Alice’s bed. Louise snuggled down next to him, settling where she could still see Alice’s face and watch her breathe.

When Louise woke with a start the room was in pitch darkness. She had no sense of time or how long she’d been asleep. Disorientated, she only knew that she was uncomfortable. She’d fallen asleep in her clothes and they were bunched up around her waist, bulky and chafing. Moving slowly and quietly, trying not to disturb Patrick, she began to undress under the quilt.

Her subterfuge didn’t work. Patrick felt her move, nuzzled her back and embraced her. He slipped his hand low, into the waistband of her jeans and into her panties. She gripped his fingers, kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear.

‘Not here – outside.’ She rose to her feet and stole out of the bedroom.

Patrick picked up the quilts and pillows and crept out of the room behind her. He pulled the door to without clicking the lock. Louise waited until he’d spread the quilts and pillows before wrapping her hands around his neck and tugging him down on to the landing floor. They kissed and began to slowly undress and caress one another with a tenderness that had been absent from their lovemaking since the morning Alice had died.

Engrossed in the pleasure they were giving and receiving, neither of them noticed the door to Alice’s bedroom swing wide and remain open.

And even if they had, they might have assumed that there was simply a draught blowing through the house from the open bathroom window.

Patrick woke and opened his eyes wide. Louise was lying, eyes closed, beneath the quilt next to him on the landing directly outside Alice’s door. Moonlight streamed in as bright as daylight through the skylight above them, silvering the walls, bedclothes, Louise’s face and blonde hair. He looked up and jumped.

Alice was standing over them, her eyes wide, unblinking.

Patrick sat up and stared at his daughter for a few seconds, wondering if she was sleepwalking.

Louise opened her eyes, saw Alice and, even before she was fully awake, reached out instinctively to her. ‘What’s wrong, sweetie?’

‘I heard music again,’ Alice murmured. ‘People singing my name, over and over again. Didn’t you hear it?’

‘No, there’s no music, Alice. You must have had a dream,’ Patrick reassured her.

‘As Dad says, there is no music, sweetie. Come on, back to bed for you.’ Louise scooped Alice up and carried her back into her bedroom. She tucked her in and curled up beside her on the bed. She lay there holding Alice until Alice’s eyes had closed again and her breathing steadied to the soft regular rhythm of sleep.

Louise waited while ten minutes ticked past on the alarm clock on the bedside cabinet before creeping off Alice’s bed and out through the door. The landing was empty. Patrick had taken the quilt and pillows and retreated to their bedroom. Tired, she stumbled into their room and joined him in the bed, leaving the door open lest Alice wake again.

She was unaware that the moment Alice had heard her walk away, she’d opened her eyes wide again and was staring blankly up at the ceiling.

Alice left her bed before the sun rose in the sky. She showered, dressed and went down the stairs to the kitchen. She searched through the cupboards until she found a roll of black plastic bin bags. She took it and returned to her room. Ripping off a sack, she opened it and went around the room, picking out toys from the shelves and clothes from the wardrobe and drawers that she then dropped into the bag one by one.

When the sack was full, she tied the top in a knot and carried it out of her room to the top of the stairs and dropped it to the floor. She knelt beside it and studied
the
outside, tracing the outlines of the contents through the thin layer of plastic with her finger.