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He turns to the final entry. So, her writing ends here, he thinks, the day she promised that she would destroy the journal. Except that she didn’t. It’s the first time he or Sasha have ever caught her in a lie. It makes him nervous.
He reads the entry carefully.
I’ve just got back to bed. It’s still dark outside and I can barely see because I don’t dare turn a light on so I’m working at thewindow, using the dawn light, but I need to write this down before I forget any of it.
I woke up earlier when it was still pitch-dark. I’d come back here after fainting in the Coach House, and left Olly and Sasha with Kitty. I’d fallen asleep and had terrible dreams about the confrontation, and I knew I couldn’t get back to sleep. I wondered what had happened after I left.
I started to worry about the bonfire because I wasn’t sure if anyone had put it out at the end of the night, so I tiptoed downstairs and wasn’t surprised to find the door unlocked after everything that had happened. I went outside. Clouds raced across a bright half-moon. The front lawn was empty of people. They’d all gone back to the field at the end of the drive where they were camping.
I checked the bonfire. The embers were glowing. If someone had tried to put the fire out, they hadn’t done a good job. Before I dealt with it, I knelt beside it for a moment. It was chilly and I wanted to absorb some warmth.
I could see the Coach House from where I sat. Moonlight paled the slate tiles on its roof and cast shadows over the whole scene. For a few moments, I let myself imagine that what happened last night with Kitty had been a dream. I fervently wished it was so. I sat there, sleepy, woozy from hunger because I realised that I hadn’t eaten the night before. I was rubbing my tired, itchy eyes when two figures emerged from the Coach House, and at first I thought I was seeing things. I made to stand up and was about to call out to them, but something – some feeling of dread – made me think better of it. I watched, instead. I couldn’t see well, but I thought they were dragging somethingheavy. It made a similar sound to the one I hear behind the panelling in my room: a scraping noise.
They didn’t speak at all.
‘Olly? Sasha?’ I asked under my breath. Was it them? It could be.
After a few seconds I couldn’t see them any longer. They’d disappeared into shadow, where the woods meet the Coach House garden and where there’s access to a footpath that leads down to the site of the ruined chapel and its graveyard, by the riverbank.
The night was ghostly quiet. I heard an owl; leaves rustled in a gust of wind. A few seconds later it was as if it had never happened, as if they were never there. Did I see something? I wondered. Or had I imagined it? I stood up, my bones creaking, and carefully kicked earth onto the fire until all the embers were covered. I stood still for a long time, half listening, half afraid to move, until I began to feel as if I was no more substantial than a shadow itself. I considered going to the Coach House, to check on Kitty, but I wasn’t brave enough. Eventually, I worked up the courage to go back to the Manor.
I took my shoes off, turned out the light downstairs, and debated over whether to lock the door. I checked to see if Olly and Sasha’s bedroom door was shut, and it was. I wondered if they were in there but didn’t dare look. I left the front door unlocked because, if it was them that I’d seen outside, I didn’t want them to know I’d been there.
And now I’m writing this because I don’t know what I saw but I want to record it. I’m not sure I saw anything. It can’t be what it looked like – that’s surely my brain playing games with me –because it looked like two people carrying a body. If I believe what Olly said, Kitty has been responsible for me thinking I’m losing my mind. But perhaps I am losing it. Perhaps it’s not Kitty’s doing.
I can only tell myself that everything will be fine in the morning. I’ll go to the Coach House to check on Kitty first thing, to speak to her alone, because although this has been ugly, she and I go back years so I owe her that, at least.
I’ll be kind and as understanding as possible, and steel myself to ask her to move out quickly. It’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.
Olly rereads the passage, shuts the journal and drops it onto his desk, as if it has burned him.
He opens his study door and listens. Sasha and Kitty – or should he say Anna now? Has her mask slipped for good? – are talking as they walk down the hallway. The dull timbre of Anna’s voice infuriates him. The fact that such an insignificant human being can put him in so much danger is enraging. He wants to wring her neck.
He sits heavily on his sofa and puts his head in his hands until he’s managed to contain his anger and channel it into a coherent plan. His fists clench as he thinks, and his fingertips dig into his skull, but after a few minutes he has an idea of what he should do next.
First, he’ll put the journal back, so Anna’s none the wiser.
Tonight, he’ll talk to Sasha about what he’s thinking but he can’t wait to warn her about this.
He texts Sasha: She knows.
42
THE DAY OF HIS DEATH: 09:31
Tom
Tom considers putting the model sheep in the garage but Nicole’s likely to find it. She regularly inspects anything he leaves down there and insists he unpacks boxes and recycles the cardboard because she doesn’t like clutter. Another option might be their unrestored outbuilding because Nicole’s afraid of it so she never visits it. It’s a tiny structure and was probably used for grain storage. They considered making something of it but when they toured with the architect, he pointed out witch’s marks on the old beams and that was enough for Nicole to decide that they’d leave it well alone. It’s partly ruined, but it has a roof. Tom decides to take a look at it. ‘I’ll be back,’ he tells the sheep.
He walks around the side of the house, past the pool. The sound of crickets is becoming louder and sharper as the day warms. He takes the serpentine decked path that cuts through theprairie planting. Within moments banks of grasses close in around him. They’re taller than him, they block the breeze, and he feels hotter and hotter as he walks. The path narrows until it’s just wide enough for one person, and feathery fronds touch his shoulders and upper arms, spooking him. He tries to brush them away but it’s a losing battle. He’s relieved when the path ends.
He pushes open the door of the outbuilding and peers inside. It’s stuffy. A shaft of sunlight penetrates a small, cobwebbed window and illuminates the poky space. A little creature scrabbles for cover, startling Tom. It must have been a mouse because there are droppings everywhere. His nose wrinkles. This won’t do as a place to hide Nicole’s sheep. It’s filthy. He’s about to close the door when he notices a canvas bag, shoved into a corner. He picks it up and opens it. It contains some books – fiction and what look like academic texts – and a set of juggling balls.
He studies it for a moment and concludes that somebody must have left it here on purpose, maybe for safekeeping. It could be one of the people who camp here sometimes. He wonders whether to leave it or remove it. Perhaps he could go looking for the person and hand it over, let them know that they can’t store stuff here. He doesn’t have a problem with people camping on his land occasionally, but if they’re going to, they need to keep themselves to themselves. It occurs to him that whoever left this here could be the person he saw last night. If they’re settled semi-permanently in the area, he’s not happy with that and Nicole will be totally freaked out, especially if he tells her that he saw someone after dark.
Back on the path, the grasses irritate him even more and his claustrophobia intensifies. This path should have been built much wider. Why did he keep his mouth shut when the landscaper said he wanted this area of planting to feel like a maze? At the time, all Tom could think about was how that idea reminded him ofThe Shining, but he signed off on it because he felt too intimidated to disagree. It was another of those moments where he kept his real thoughts to himself and marvelled at how Nicole seemed to embrace the suggestions that were being made. One of his greatest fears is that she’ll grow tired of him, because she’ll transition smoothly into this new life and he’ll be left behind, inadequate, a fish out of water.
He rounds the final bend in the path and glimpses the Barn but stops short when someone steps in front of him suddenly, blocking the way out. It startles him and for a moment he can’t tell who it is – those damn swaying grasses – but then he recognises them.
