House of Malice

NINE

The pair met that night in the Fox and Hounds in Fairwood. Todd got up from his seat near the crackling log fire when he saw Mandy walk into the crowded pub. They kissed hesitantly, like nervous teenagers. He squeezed her hand and looked at her with concern. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘You’ve lost weight, you look drained, you’ve got dark circles under your eyes… ’

‘Thanks. Just the look I was going for,’ she said with a tight smile.

‘No offence. It’s just you look absolutely knackered. You’re not ill, are you? Here, come and sit where it’s warm.’

She sat with him by the fire. ‘Really, I’m fine,’ she insisted. In truth, the dizziness that had come on after finishing the book was still lingering, leaving a slightly nauseous feeling. She felt odd, strangely detached somehow. ‘Been working hard the last few days, that’s all,’ she added. ‘That’s why I didn’t answer the phone.’

‘I tried calling about a hundred times. I’d have come round in person, but I’ve been so busy myself, and on the road. That shoot up in Scotland I told you about.’

Her mind had been so filled with her writing that she had to make an effort to remember. ‘How did it go?’

He shrugged. ‘Oh, you know. Nothing special, just some shots for a posh golf club website. Weather was glorious. But never mind that. Let me get you a drink. You look like you need one.’

The only variety of red wine they served in the Fox and Hounds was a thick-tasting syrup the colour of blood, but Mandy sipped it gratefully as they sat close together by the crackling fire. ‘Listen, Todd, I need your help. Your professional help, that is.’

‘I’m intrigued. Let me guess, you want a photo of yourself outside Summer Cottage, like Ellen Grace’s picture?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I need you to design a cover for the book I’m working on. Can you do that?’

‘I’m pretty good with graphic design, Photoshop and stuff. Sure. But don’t publishers have departments to do all that for writers?’

She explained her plan to go indie. Even more intrigued, he asked her what she was writing about, and she told him.

‘Horror?’

‘I know, it’s a departure. Came as a surprise to me, too. Just kind of crept up on me.’

‘That sounds appropriate to the genre, I suppose. How long’s it going to take to write it?’

She shrugged. ‘It’s already done. Finished it in a week.’

His mouth gaped open. ‘A week? Well, that explains the circles under the eyes. You can’t do that to yourself, Mandy. It’s not healthy.’

‘Can you help?’ she asked. ‘I’d need it really soon, so I can get the ebook out there as fast as possible. I’ll pay you.’

‘Hey, no money talk, not between us,’ he warned her gently. ‘I suppose I’d need to read it, to spark off a few visual ideas?’

‘No need for you to read it,’ she said quickly. ‘We can discuss ideas.’

‘Scared I’ll get too many insights into your darker side?’ he said with a smile.

‘I’m scared of it myself.’

After a few more drinks, Todd invited her back to his place on Fairwood’s Main Street, just walking distance from the pub. ‘Not tonight, Todd,’ she said. That feeling of nausea still hadn’t gone away, and as close as she wanted to get to Todd, she somehow felt the urge to get back to Summer Cottage.

‘I didn’t mean—’ he began, then flushed.

‘Nor did I.’ She gave a weak smile. ‘I’ll see you soon, all right?’

‘Are you sure you’re all right, Mandy?’

‘I’ll be fine. Just need a good night’s sleep. Alone.’

‘That’s a hint I can take,’ he said ruefully.

‘I like you, Todd. I mean it. A lot.’

‘I’ll call you,’ he said.

She nodded, kissed him and went to her car.

As Mandy drove home through the dark lanes, drops of the first rainfall since her move to Fairwood speckled the Kia’s windscreen. The trees seemed to loom over the road ahead, and a prickly sensation of anxiety nagged at her mind. What’s wrong with you, she asked herself. You found your haven here in this place. And you found a man you could settle with, maybe. You should be so happy. Life is good. Isn’t it?

But the feeling wouldn’t go away.

As she reached Summer Cottage, the warm glow from the windows glimmered through the branches. Crime was by all accounts pretty much nonexistent in and around Fairwood, but for security reasons she liked to leave lights on when she went out in the evening, to give the impression someone was at home, and for the comfort of returning to a lit-up house.

Buster didn’t greet her at the front door, the way he normally would have. If the little guy didn’t perk up soon, she’d have to call the vet. She fed him a snack and then let him out into the back garden for a few minutes while she made her nightly mug of cocoa. Then she closed up the house and climbed the stairs. Her legs felt heavy as she walked down the long, brightly-illuminated corridor that led to her bedroom, clicking off the old-fashioned switches of the wall lights as she went.

The rain was falling harder now, pittering slantwise against the bedroom windows as she shut the curtains, undressed and got into her pyjamas. She slipped under the duvet with her Ellen Grace novel, but not even immersing herself in the cosy fiction world created by her idol was enough to keep her eyelids from drooping. It wasn’t long before she turned off the light and nuzzled into the soft feather pillow.

Please don’t let the dreams come again tonight, she prayed. She felt so exhausted in mind and body, it seemed to her instead that she’d tumble into a black hole and sleep the sleep of the dead until dawn came. It was a comforting final thought before she let herself begin to drift off.

Sleep came over her like a soft blanket.

Then her eyes flew open in the darkness. Her senses suddenly jangling. Too tense to breathe.

She knew what it was she’d just heard. The distinct clunk of one of the corridor light switches being flipped.

This was no dream. She was not alone in the cottage.