House of Malice

TWELVE

But it was a promise soon broken. Too restless to stay away from the computer, Mandy felt herself being drawn back to spend time reading back through the pages of Orgasm of Blood.

The strangest thing was that she could now barely remember having written a word of it. ‘That’s because you didn’t,’ she said out loud with a bitter chuckle. ‘Jessica Lomax did.’

Whatever the case, it was finished. Nothing more could be done except put the thing out live on Amazon and see whether anyone out there would actually want to read it. Closing down the file for the last time, she opened up her new Amazon self-publishing account, went through the file upload procedure, and within minutes the publication process had begun.

‘There,’ she said. For better or for worse, it was done.

She emailed Chester to tell him, then turned off the computer and finally tore herself away from the desk. There was a sick feeling in her stomach. She didn’t feel well, and it wasn’t the wine.

She spent a long while staring out of the window. It was getting colder. Autumn was taking a tighter hold over the landscape, trees that had looked golden and radiant in the sunshine just days before now were starting to seem gaunt and bare. The sight somehow made her feel uneasy.

As the afternoon wore on and the sky darkened, all Mandy wanted to do with herself was curl up and sleep. Just to be alone. She regretted having arranged to meet Todd at the pub later. She lay on the sofa, listening to the wind outside the window and the creaking and rattling of the old house all around her.

The dog whimpered in the dark room. She realised she’d forgotten all about his walk, felt rotten about neglecting the poor creature. Forcing herself to get up, she donned her coat and boots, grabbed the torch, and they set off.

The wind drove the mist like smoke across the meadow and blew Mandy’s hair over her face and into her eyes as she walked through the long, wet grass. She swept the bobbing torch-beam in front of her, trying to keep Buster in sight as he ran on ahead in the darkness. Seeing him halt to cock his leg on a bush, she took advantage of the pause to gaze back at the dim shape of Summer Cottage, sixty or seventy yards away through the mist.

Despite everything, she told herself, she loved her new home. She needed to be here and would never want to leave.

Uncertainty scratched at the back of her mind as she walked on, but she didn’t have time to dwell long on her doubts. Up ahead, Buster suddenly stiffened and then took off in pursuit of something he’d spotted. The torch beam caught a flurry of movement across the dark meadow: a rabbit or a hare, racing off madly through the grass. Buster tore after it, and in seconds both he and his quarry were lost in the darkness.

Mandy yelled his name, shone the torch this way and that, but couldn’t see him. Her fear was that he’d streak right across the fields to the road in the distance and get hit by a car. Cursing, she started running in the direction in which he’d disappeared. The ground was rough; what from her windows looked like a smooth expanse of lush green and wildflowers was in fact full of ruts and rabbit holes, concealed in the long grass and all too easy to stumble over. To make matters worse, the batteries in her torch were beginning to fade, the beam turning a sour sepia yellow in the thickening mist.

‘Buster! Come! Buster!’

No sign of him. She stumbled on.

Relief flooded through her moments later as the fading torchlight picked out his little white shape not far ahead. Whether the rabbit had got away from him or whether he’d suddenly lost interest in it, he’d given up the chase and was standing still in the long grass.

Standing very still. Watching something. Fixated, rigid.

As she approached, she saw his whole body was trembling, his tail sticking straight out behind him and quivering like an arrow.

She turned to look in the direction he was staring so intently. And then she saw it, too.

Summer Cottage was shrouded in mist a little over a hundred yards away, its windows glowing amber through the darkness. Mandy’s bedroom window was one of the most visible from this spot. The light was on and the curtains open.

A figure stood at the window. Just a shape, silhouetted against the dim light of the room. Looking out.

Looking out at Mandy.

A cold shudder pierced her and made the fading torch tremble in her hand.

Buster began to growl, then to whimper.

A drifting pocket of mist obscured the house for just a moment; when it passed by, the figure had drawn back from the window and could no longer be seen.

It was almost eight-twenty, and Todd was sitting in his usual place near the fire in the Fox and Hounds. He took another sip from his pint of ale, wondering where Mandy was.

He wouldn’t have been worried, if she hadn’t been acting so strangely. It was beginning to dawn on him how little he really knew this woman: he had to remind himself that they’d only just met. Was she always like this, so highly strung and prone to extreme bouts of nervousness? She might well be, he had to admit to himself.

Todd hated to think it, but he was actually looking forward to his trip to Cornwall, just to get away. It’d be good to have some time apart because, frankly, she was driving him around the twist with all this tension. Was it the stress of moving house, taking on the responsibility of a big place as a single self-employed person with no guaranteed income? Or perhaps it was simply normal behaviour for writers; he’d never known one before, after all. Maybe, he mused, that was just the price they paid for being creative, for delving into the dark recesses of their own minds. God knew there was obviously some dark stuff going on in Mandy’s. He’d been more shocked by the content of her new book than he’d been willing to let on.

But, as he fervently hoped, things might settle. For all he knew, when he returned from Cornwall he’d find that her pre-publication nerves, or post-move jitters, or whatever the hell was going on, were done with and she’d get over this weird phase.

It had to be that way. He truly cared about her, and wanted nothing more than for this relationship to survive and develop.

Fifteen more minutes went by before Todd saw her enter the pub. Spotting where he was sitting she hurried over to his table. Right away, he knew that something was up. She looked flushed, flustered and very angry.

‘Put down your drink, Todd,’ she said breathlessly.

‘What are you talking about? Why?’

‘Because I want you to come with me. I want you to witness something.’

She was heading for the door before he could say another word, motioning urgently for him to follow. He went after her, bemused. Outside the pub, he saw she’d left her Kia parked on Main Street with the engine still running. The dog was sitting in the back, nose to the glass.

‘Get in,’ she said to Todd, like a command.

He shook his head. ‘First you tell me what this is about. You’re acting really odd, Mandy.’

‘Trust me. Please. I’m begging you. I need you there.’ Her look of rage melted away to one of pleading, and by the light of the streetlamp he could see tears welling up in her eyes. She clutched at his hand, leading him towards the car.

With reluctance, his own annoyance tempered by serious worry about her state of mind, he got into the car. He’d no sooner slammed the passenger door than she threw the Kia into gear and took off, accelerating harshly away up Main Street.

‘Now will you tell me what’s going on?’ he asked over the noise of the car. ‘What is it you want me to witness, Mandy?’

Silence. Tight-lipped, she sped on towards the outskirts of the village.

‘Why won’t you answer me? And please slow down. You’re driving too fast.’

‘We’re going to that old bitch Bannister’s place.’

‘What on earth for?’

‘To challenge her. To have it out with her. And I want you to be there. Then you’ll know I’m not crazy, Todd.’

‘I never said anything about you being crazy!’ He could no longer hide the anger in his voice.

‘You don’t need to,’ she said, glancing sideways at him. ‘I can see it in your eyes.’

Mandy tore out of Fairwood and on through the winding country lanes, bypassing Summer Cottage. Soon afterwards, she was braking to a screeching halt outside the small, ivy-fronted house where her neighbour lived. ‘Here we are,’ she fumed, jerking the handbrake and throwing open her door. ‘Now for some truth.’

‘What truth?’ he asked, but she was already out of the car and marching towards Mrs Bannister’s gate. All Todd could do was follow her, thoroughly confused. Mandy thumped on the front door. Turning the handle and finding it open, she pushed her way inside. ‘Mandy, please!’ Todd called helplessly in her wake.

Mandy walked right into Mrs Bannister’s low-beamed living room. The old woman was sitting in a flowery armchair with one foot propped up on a stool, turning to stare in wide-eyed bewilderment as first one, then two unexpected visitors suddenly appeared in her home. There was a blanket laid over her legs. A glass of pale sherry on a little table next to her. A soap opera was blaring on the TV. Cats lay everywhere, stretched out on the rug, draped over the back of the sofa and the windowsill. One or two of them looked up lazily at the intruders.

Mandy marched straight over to the television, switched it off and turned to face Mrs Bannister. ‘Right, you old bag. Where did you get it? Did Ellen give it to you? Whatever. Just give it back to me. I know what’s going on and I’ve had enough of your bloody games!’

‘Mandy—’ Todd began.

‘You’re my witness here,’ she snapped at him. ‘Just listen, okay?’

‘G-give what back?’ Mrs Bannister asked, staring wildly at Mandy.

‘The key to Summer Cottage. The key you’re using to let yourself into my place to try to scare me. What are you doing it for? Why?’

Todd couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

‘You were there this evening, weren’t you?’ Mandy raged at the old woman. ‘I know it was you I saw at the window. By the time I got back to the cottage, you’d slipped out. And this afternoon, too, sneaking around the bedroom and banging doors downstairs. Just like you were banging on my bedroom door last night. Switching lights on and off like a maniac. I’m warning you. Stay away from me and my house or else—’

‘Mandy, please!’ Todd yelled.

She turned to him, her face contorted with anger. ‘It’s true, Todd. I know it’s her, even if I didn’t get a good look. Who else could it be? I wouldn’t be surprised if she even let that cat in there on purpose, to scare me!’

‘But why would she do that?’

‘I think I know the answer to that one,’ Mandy seethed, turning back to stand threateningly over the old woman, who was shrinking into her armchair. ‘She knew Ellen Grace, they were friends and she’s got it into her twisted old head that she resents me for being at Summer Cottage. That’s right, isn’t it? You think you can scare me into leaving. Answer me, you b—’

Mandy broke off mid-word as another woman suddenly appeared from a doorway on the far side of the room. She had shoulder-length fair hair and bore a faint resemblance to Mrs Bannister, but was at least thirty-five years younger.

Todd thought she looked vaguely familiar. Hadn’t he seen her somewhere before?

Glowering at the two of them, the woman strode into the room with her fists clenched. ‘Who are you to talk to my aunt that way?’ she shouted. ‘How dare you come bursting in like this? Get out of here!’

‘Or what, you’ll call the police? Let’s do that, shall we?’ Mandy retorted furiously. ‘They’ll know how to deal with a loony old stalker!’

‘I am the police,’ the woman said.

‘Oh, shit,’ Todd breathed. Now he remembered where he’d seen the woman before: driving around Fairwood in a patrol car. She looked different out of uniform, with her hair loose.

‘WPC Mitchell to you. And if you don’t withdraw these accusations and leave right now, you’ll be facing much more serious charges yourself.’ Stepping over to Mrs Bannister’s armchair, the policewoman grasped the blanket draped over her legs and drew it away.

‘Jesus,’ Mandy groaned, suddenly crestfallen.

Mrs Bannister’s lower right leg was enveloped in a thick plaster cast that encased her shin all the way down to the foot resting on the stool. Her wrinkled bare toes stuck pinkly out from the end of the cast.

‘She hasn’t been anywhere for two days,’ said her niece. ‘Broken ankle. She can’t even get upstairs to her own bed, never mind walk all the way down the lane to your house. I’m off work to look after her, and I’ve been with her nearly the whole time. So you’ — jabbing a finger at Mandy — ‘had better put a sock in it before I arrest you for disturbing the peace, threatening behaviour and harassment of a sick, elderly, vulnerable member of the community. Get me?’

It was a painful, mortifying few minutes before Mandy and Todd finally extricated themselves from Mrs Bannister’s house and walked back out into the chill air. The night was clearing to give way to a bright, clearly crater-pocked gibbous moon. The silhouetted figure of WPC Mitchell glared at them from the doorway until they were off the property, and then slammed the door.

‘Don’t say it, Todd, please,’ Mandy muttered.

‘I tried to stop you,’ he said.

‘I know you did.’

‘What the hell’s got into you?’

‘Something’s happening, Todd. If it wasn’t her, then what? You tell me. What?’

Todd’s throat was tight with emotion. ‘I’m sorry, Mandy, I can’t do this any more.’

She saw his expression and looked at him with pleading eyes, brimming with tears. His own eyes were moist. ‘I really like you,’ he blurted. ‘I think I even love you, all right? But we need to be apart until you get yourself sorted out. I’m sorry. I’m just very fucking sorry it had to be like this.’

‘Todd!’

‘Bye, Mandy,’ he said in a strangled voice. And he turned away from her and walked off into the night.