Chapter Two

 

After Radclyffe returned downstairs, she made a big fuss over Don, fetching a loaf from the pantry and tearing it into hunks, smothering them with butter and piling them on a plate which she put down on the table in front of him. He shyly accepted it, nibbling a crust before cramming it into his mouth.

 

Brett nodded towards a succulent breaded ham Radclyffe brought out of the pantry and set out on the table with a carving knife and five plates. “Good food and a bit of country air’s all that’s needed. Help yersel', lad. Yer'll rally soon enough," he said.

 

Much as Ivy wanted to believe this would happen, she worried about Don even before they fled the Metropolis. He was drained from his combat with the Master. Instead of having days to recuperate, while Janus dealt with the day-to-day business of government now that the old authorities were ousted, they were forced to run away. There were times in the car when she feared that Don was unconscious. It was going to take more than farm air and a stroll in the hills to set him to rights.

 

When she didn't reply, Brett rolled his eyes. He settled into an easy chair beside the stove and filled his pipe. A small brown-and-white terrier curled up at his feet, and he played with its soft ears affectionately.

 

Radclyffe poured the tea, and Gerald handed out the steaming mugs. As he put Ivy’s in front of her, he left his fingers resting around it. They fleetingly touched each other’s hands, and he smiled tenderly.

 

Radclyffe had lines around her eyes. Her movements were slow. She was run down and exhausted. Ivy couldn't bring herself to relish being dependent upon Brett for any length of time if this was what it did to a woman.

 

A wave of despair engulfed her at the prospect of spending much time under Blackacre’s roof. She dreaded saying goodbye to Gerald in a few moments time and being left to defend herself and Don against the house's trickery and venom. This place was malevolent. Blackacre's reluctance to see them shelter within its walls had imprinted itself upon her from the moment of their arrival.

 

Brett sucked the end of his pipe against his front teeth and rested it in the corner of his mouth between puffs. Its sweet aroma filled the kitchen, mingling with that of the bread and ham, and with the warm scones fresh from the oven. He surveyed the room, slowly taking everyone in. The corners of his mouth twitched as he observed Ivy and Gerald's emotion, and she blushed under his scrutiny.

 

As Radclyffe bent over Don and plied him with ham and homemade pickle to go with his bread, he worked his way stolidly through his meal. He never showed much interest in food, let alone bolting huge mouthfuls. The colour returned to his cheeks, and he seemed inclined to trust Radclyffe. Ivy forced herself to do likewise.

 

Finally, Brett tapped the ash from his pipe onto the flags around the fire and cleared his throat. “Been chaos down in the Metropolis today, so I hear," he said. "Not surprised you feel it’s safer up north. We heard about Uncle Ian’s death. I’m sorry, Gerald. Your father and my old man never saw eye-to-eye on anything, but he was still a Flint. Dad always said that.”

 

Radclyffe bustled over and placed a large wooden tray of the scones, butter and jam before everyone. When Gerald didn't reply, she shook her head at her husband, but Brett swatted away her unvoiced criticism of him for raising the subject of Ian's death so soon. “Our TV service was suspended all day," he continued. "The Internet was blocked, too. Radio bulletins on the hour told us pretty much nothing. That's when I really knew things were bad. Then this other newsreader, this new voice, said the resistance had killed Uncle Ian. What happened? Were you with him when he died?”

 

At the unexpected question, Ivy choked on her tea. Don dropped his knife, and the clatter of fine steel against bone china set her nerves even more on edge. A feeling of awkwardness spread around the table. Brett watched his cousin cagily, but he didn’t press the question when Gerald’s reticence deepened.

 

Eventually, Gerald got to his feet. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take a few moments alone with Ivy to say a proper goodbye,” he said, taking her hand and drawing her up out of her chair.

 

Brett chuckled under his breath. Radclyffe swiped him with her elbow, but he ignored her and jeered, “Young love! Go on, then. Hope this great relationship lasts. Not much of a one for settling down, are you, Cousin?”

 

In the parlour, Ivy burst into tears and flung herself into Gerald’s arms. He murmured reassurances into her neck, but she shoved him away. He gazed into her eyes, slipped his arms around her waist and softly kissed the tip of her nose. “I could leave Don here with Brett and Radclyffe, but he needs you,” he whispered.

 

That's true, she admitted to herself. She and Don went way back. They must stick together.

 

Gerald took her hand, and she let him pull her out of the farmhouse and through the orchard of budding apple trees to the farmyard. The moon sailed across the cloudless sky. The wet smell of the trees tickled her nostrils, and she sneezed. Laughing, he picked her up in his arms, carrying her through the muddy yard and out into the meadow. A giant haystack, damp at the base from standing over the winter but dry on top, sulked on the far side of the field.

 

Throwing her onto the haystack, he clambered up after her. She scrambled up, trying to get her footing, but the bales were rough and uneven. One end had sunk down over the winter, and she slipped and fell onto her knees. She burst out laughing in surprise. He reached the top of the stack and sat down heavily, pulling her down so she lay on her back. When he leant over her to kiss her, his lips were soft and warm. She wrapped her arms around him and sighed as he edged his weight onto her slim frame.

 

When she pulled him towards her, he kissed her slowly at first but then more vigorously. She caressed the nape of his neck, and he caught his breath unsteadily as she ran her fingers over his soft skin. She loved his hair. He was young, but he had silver hair that he loved to gel up and wear in different styles when he wasn’t on duty at the hospital. He was so conservative and respectable, but his hair was the one thing about him that was wild. The first time she spotted him a year ago, it was the first thing she noticed about him.

 

He caressed her neck with his lips, and she tickled behind his left ear. He snatched her hands and pressed them above her back onto the hay, shuffling upwards so that he looked down at her. He smiled at her knowingly, and her heart flipped over at what was to come.

 

As he unbuttoned his shirt, she ran her fingers across his chest. The hairless skin was lovely and soft, but muscles bulged underneath. She sat up and tugged her jumper over her head. She wriggled out of her trousers and lay back on the hay. It felt scratchy against her skin, but he watched her in appreciation, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. She unhooked her bra and slipped it off. When she reached out to him, he pulled off his clothes and lay down on top of her.

 

“Have you seen any kind of doctor about a licence to ovulate?” he asked.

 

The lover instantly became the gynaecologist, and she shrank from the suddenness of the transformation. Southern population control was managed by hormonal injections during girlhood. Lucky women in East Metropolis got genetic clearance to have a family, provided they passed a few simple tests, and were given tablets to induce fertility. The rest, including all women in West Metropolis, would never be lucky enough to have children. This was a source of immense pain, and even now she longed for a child.

 

Shaking her head, she blushed furiously.

 

“Ready?” he asked.

 

She nodded. She wanted this every bit as much as he did.

 

*

 

Afterwards, they lay in each other's arms drinking in the night sky. Ivy stroked Gerald's chest and cuddled up against him.

 

“When I was twelve, and having sexual desires for the first time, stuff I didn’t really understand beyond the fact that my right hand helped it go away, I looked it all up in a medical textbook. I lay here one night and imagined a first time under the stars with someone I really loved,” he mused.

 

She didn’t push the topic. However he lost his virginity, she doubted it was like that. But she appreciated that he wanted it to be like that for her first time, even so.

 

Very gently, he kissed the top of her head. “The stars are so beautiful! D’you know much about astronomy?” he asked.

 

“I grew up in the hovels of the west. I don’t know much about anything.”

 

“Blackacre’s got a fantastic library. Lose yourself in there for a few days while I’m away. We will be together just as soon as I can sort everything out with Janus. He’ll pay for betraying you and Don, I promise,” he replied.

 

She longed to be dignified at the moment of farewell, and she forced herself to nod along. God only knew what he was leaving her to face in this house of pure oddities. Blackacre. She shivered at the prospect of what lay ahead.

 

*

 

Don hung back in the doorway while Ivy said one last goodbye to Gerald by the car. Beneath her calm exterior, Don spied her glazed eyes and quiet demeanour.

 

The two of them had known each other since he was five years old. They were close, and all her family were gone. That left the two of them to depend on each other and Gerald, but now he was abandoning them in the middle of nowhere.

 

This odd place might never feel like home, and he didn't want it to. He trusted Radclyffe, but Brett was an enigma. He hated uncertainty and longed to be back in the Metropolis, where dangers abounded but he always knew the lie of the land.

 

Even though he ached to shout out to Gerald not to go, he slipped an arm around Ivy’s waist as their friend got into the car and started the engine. She sagged into him as he drew her away from the vehicle and ushered her back inside the farmhouse.

 

When Radclyffe came into the parlour, she was carrying two bottles of baby milk and a fluffy woollen blanket embroidered with baby octopi. Brett followed his wife through from the kitchen. He yawned expansively and stretched. “Time for bed. We’re up at dawn. You too, kids!” he said.

 

Ivy guffawed, “Get up when I like, thanks.”

 

“My roof, my rules!”

 

As Brett stomped upstairs without waiting for her reply, Don watched their host go with little regret, careful to stay silent until he was definitely out of earshot. “We don’t have to stay here,” he whispered. "Let's sneak out before dawn. The place is horrible."

 

She shook her head and barged upstairs to the room she'd been given next to their hosts. A door slammed on the far side of the house, and seconds later the wailing cry of an infant erupted. He sighed at the realisation that she wasn't going to support the idea of leaving, and he trudged up the wooden staircase after the others. Brett was waiting for him at the top.

 

There's nowhere else for you to go, he thought. Whatever darkness you detect within these walls, you have the strength to counter it. You've fought off much worse.

 

The stairs creaked ominously even under his slender weight. The banisters were of a dark wood that reeked of the polish of centuries back when the farmhouse had live-in servants. He stared up at the dusty ceiling, neglected, cracked and damp. Spiders’ webs clung to the corners and, just out of his peripheral vision, something black scuttled away. He shivered and drew his coat around him.

 

It was best not to hurry in uncovering the farmhouse’s secrets. There was time enough for Blackacre to work its dark magic upon his soul, he reminded himself, but he shuddered at the thought of what he would uncover.