I nodded my head.
“You have to remember, the place where you’re going, it’s just emptiness. Anything that’s in it, whether it’s fear or pain or sadness, it’s just what you brought into it. There’s nothing there that you didn’t already know in the first place. Nothing she can surprise you with. Nothing but what you bring with you. Just in the absence of everything else, you can see it. Clearly and probably for the first time. Look at it. Own it. And she’ll have nothing she can use against you.”
I held the red thread in my hands, one freshly bandaged by this strange woman. I felt the weight of it all. There was still one thing I didn’t understand.
“Why are you helping me?” I asked.
“You gave the money back,” said the old woman. “The notes Roger dropped that first time you crossed Bodach’s Brig.”
God, it felt so long ago. I remembered that morning. I hadn’t been motivated by goodness, or fear of reprisal. I’d wanted to take the money and then I’d just given it back anyway.
“It’s not who I am,” I said.
She gave my arm a squeeze then wiggled the joystick for her chair. All the times I’d seen Roger pushing it, I’d never realised it was electric. He’d pushed her around with him all the same.
“Good luck,” she said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need another stout and a nap.”
Callie-Ann went to the bar. I left The Curtyard.
Outside the sun was starting to break through the cloud cover above.
Maybe the old woman was mad. Maybe I was mad. But it was the first time I’d felt like I had some sort of grip on the thing since I’d arrived. Not so much a map, but a narrative. A story for myself that wasn’t the same awful tale I’d been telling for years.
Why don’t people like me? Why am I so unhappy? Why can’t I figure out my life?
No matter how much I pretended otherwise, I’d been telling the same sorry story over and over. I was ready for it to end. One way or another.
I would go into the darkness, and I would look and see what was in there. After that, I would just have to figure out what comes next. It sounded like a terrible idea to be honest, but it was better than going on like this.
I took the needle out of my pocket. Daylight flashed along its sharp point. I took it off the key’s thin wire ring. It was time I got a better keyring anyway. Then I took the spool of thread Callie-Ann had given me, something about it still itching at the back of my mind, and threaded the end of the red string through the eye of the needle.
I was ready.
It was time to go home.
Into Hell
CHAPTER 41
The clouds had burned away by the time I got back to the house.
The air was still. Not a single breath fluttered the leaves in the elm tree in the driveway. The Sgàthan Sìth cottages stood on the hill against the sun, their scandalised face in shadow, watching me return. I thought I’d feel afraid, but I just felt numb. A cold acceptance of what needed to happen next.
I took my key, still new, still shining, and placed it into the lock for my half of the house. Once again, I noted the deep scratches sunken beneath the thick, fresh coat of gloss paint. I saw them differently this time.
How long did they last? I wondered.
I also noticed the dirt on my unbandaged hand. I hadn’t washed in a while. I probably still had leaf litter in my hair. What a state I must have seemed to the villagers, to Callie-Ann. Things must have been bad if no one said anything. I turned the key in the lock and stepped back inside.
The house was quiet, as if it were holding its breath.
Dust motes were frozen in place in the beams of golden light that broke in through the kitchen window. My arrival sent them dancing, like my presence alone was enough to disrupt the peace, or bring life to this husk of a home.
Get used to it, I thought. Because I’m staying.
I kept my shoes on and went through the kitchen cupboards. I pulled out the remaining tins I’d bought and began to cook their contents, one by one. First the soups which I crumbled crackers over and mopped up with slices of bread. Then the second tin of chili which I covered with cheese cut thin enough to melt in the residual warmth of the pan. Once I was finished with my feast, I drank straight from the tap over the sink, splashed my face with my unbandaged hand, then picked at the remaining crackers. I felt a bit more ready now I’d eaten something.
In the corner of my eye, I spotted the metallic edge of the axe. I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. Callie-Ann had said my neighbour would be on the attack. But she’d also said I’d be tempted to give in to my less well-intentioned impulses.
