“Don’t like it.” Edwin buried his face into my shoulder. Ruth stopped dancing.
“It’s only Mummy, Edwin,” I said. “It’s just a costume. Isn’t it a pretty skirt?”
Edwin shook his head without looking.
Ruth put her hands on her hips. “Well, Alex is picking me up in a minute. Don’t wait up for me, Laura—just keep the annex door propped open. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Have a nice time,” I said.
She swished out of the room, and Edwin rubbed his fists into his eyes.
“I don’t like Mummy like that,” he said.
“Me neither,” I whispered. “But she’ll be back to normal tomorrow, don’t worry.”
I read him more stories, and sat with him afterward, stroking his hair until he fell asleep. Then I cleared up the kitchen, covering the top of the half-empty red wine bottle with a square of foil.
I dragged my pillow and duvet onto a sofa in the day nursery to be closer to Edwin if he needed me, but my sleep was undisturbed. A gray mist swirled outside the curtainless windows when I woke, the sun barely breaking the horizon. In the hall, Ruth’s black boots lay on their side, shining wet. Beads of water glistened on the tiles in a pattern that suggested a larger pair of boots had recently stood next to them. I planned to make a cup of tea and retreat to the annex, but something caught my eye through the hall window on my way back to the kitchen. I took a couple of steps closer and peered out through the gloom.
Something swayed under the trees at the entrance to the drive. Was that people out there? I stepped closer to the glass, blinking. Two figures hovered at the corner of the lawn. All traces of sleep left me. I backed toward the phone, my heart thumping. Should I call the police? Should I wake Ruth? My feet grew chilled on the tiles while I hesitated. Perhaps I should go back to bed, wait for the sun to come up properly. Probably they were innocent neighbors and had already wandered away down the lane.
A faint squeal cut through my indecision then—a high-pitched squeak that repeated itself twice more. It sounded familiar. I crept back to the window. Michael stood facing the figures, and he slowly lowered his wheelbarrow. There was something wrong with the swaying shapes, I realized—they weren’t people standing on the ground.
I grabbed wellies from the cupboard, hauled my coat onto my arms. My hands shook as some instinct made me press the door handle down before looking for the keys. The door swung open. My stomach lurched. I stepped outside.
Michael watched me approach, his expression grim. The rising sun was beating back the mist, and it was clear now that the two figures were shapes hanging from the branch of one of the ash trees. I stepped closer.
“They’re not real,” I whispered. Michael made no response but stood with his gaze fixed on me, as if waiting for me to do something. I stretched out trembling fingers and felt velvet—wet black velvet. The cloaks that Alex and Ruth had worn to the party, hung up by their hoods.
I made a noise like a laugh, from relief rather than humor, but when I turned to Michael, his face was more severe than ever.
“That ent right,” he said. He shook his head, no longer looking at me. I stumbled away then, back to the house, locking the front door behind me. I dragged my bedding back through to the annex and lay under my duvet until I heard Edwin’s cartoons blare out in the day nursery an hour later. When I looked out to the driveway in the gray daylight, the cloaks were gone.
Edwin and I stayed indoors all morning. The yellow sports car announced itself with a scatter of gravel while we were making sandwiches for lunch. I pushed the sitting room door open and peered into the shadows.
“Alex is here,” I said.
Ruth sprang up, her hands on her cheeks. The doorbell rang. She whisked the curtains open and ran her fingers through her hair.
“I told him not to come back,” she said. She straightened her shoulders. “It’s fine. Let him in.”
He stood empty-handed on the doorstep, his gaze flicking past mine to search the hall behind me, his dark hair slick in the drizzle. I stepped back to allow him in, and nodded at thesitting room door. Edwin and I ate our sandwiches in the day nursery and watched cartoons all afternoon, not venturing into the main house again until the car had gone.
Dominic arrived late that evening with bags of groceries in his trunk. He was dicing onion and crushing garlic the next morning when he asked, “So, what time’s Alex coming?”
Ruth leaned against the sink with her back to us. I peeled Edwin’s banana for him and gestured for him to follow me out.
“I’m not sure he is coming,” she said.
Dominic paused with his knife poised. “Why not?”
Ruth shrugged.
A minute later Dominic strode into the day nursery, where Edwin was laying out fresh sheets of paper for painting.
“Hey, Edwin. Fancy a trip into the village to see Uncle Alex?”
Edwin scrambled off his chair. “Yes, yes!”
