Six minutes from home. I bumped and rattled, careened and skidded over branches and loose stones. I was fast these days, and could have followed the path without the lamp, I knew it so well. But I was also petrified and the thought of crashing, or falling, kept my fingers on the brake, legs restrained.
Another couple of minutes. The path curved. I braced myself, kept the bike as close to the left as I could. Thought about turning back. Or abandoning the bike and legging it into the forest on the other side, finding a tree to hide behind and calling for help.
Calling who, Jenny? I screamed in my head. And telling them what? That I can hear footsteps? That there’s something moving about in the forest?
I held my breath, gritted my teeth and kept on going. And, as I whizzed past the bend, nothing leapt out. I listened hard but couldn’t hear the footsteps any more. The only sounds were the whirr of pedals spinning at about two hundred miles per hour and my heart trying to escape out of my chest.
Until the path straightened out again, when a burst of laughter exploded into the night. Deep, raspy, gleeful. It sounded like sticky, black slime would if it could cackle. Like the menace that had roamed the labyrinth in my head for three long years after my breakdown.
I couldn’t even remember the last half-mile. I must have dumped the bike beside the door because that was where I found it in the morning. Throwing myself inside, hands shaking so hard it took three horrible attempts to get the key in the lock, I slammed the door, locked it, and hurtled straight up the stairs before throwing up the whole of my guts, my newfound confidence, my can-do attitude and any peace I’d managed to garner through finally owning a home, in one ugly splatter.
Pride abandoned, I tried banging on the wall between the two cottages, but there was no response. I didn’t have Mack’s number, of course, so couldn’t call him. I felt too scared to go back downstairs, let alone outside to knock on his door. Should I phone the police? To report that a man in the woods laughed?
Head whirling, I couldn’t form a coherent thought. The ebbing adrenaline left me trembling and exhausted.
I wedged a chair under the bedroom door, crawled into bed and pulled the duvet over my head. Some hours later I drifted off to sleep, the distant echo of cackles reverberating through my nightmares.
After unconsciously pressing the snooze button a few times, I finally dragged myself out of bed in time to pour half a gallon of coffee down my throat and swap the clothes I’d slept in for something that didn’t reek of cycling for my life. I felt desperate for a shower, to scrub off the terror and the bad dreams, wash that laugh out of my eardrums, but it would have to wait. Shaking off the temptation to call Tezza, I decided the best way to deal with my churning stomach and frazzled nerves was to get right back in the saddle. Literally.
Stepping out into the spring sunshine, seeing the butterflies dancing past, I sucked in a lungful of fresh, bright air and took a good look around. A little brown bird hopped across Mack’s picnic table. I spied a rabbit disappearing into the bushes. It seemed more likely I’d encounter Snow White skipping through the woods than a freaky, creepy cackler. With no time left to work myself into a state, I picked my bike up and creaked off, managing to look behind me no more than every ten metres or so.
And if I arrived at work a little dishevelled, and somewhat clammy, hey, at least I was on time.
For reasons I hadn’t yet made up, once the kids were in school I cycled back home along the main roads. What a lovely change, I trilled, ambling alongside houses and hedgerows. Ooh, look, some sheep. And a middle-aged couple on a ramble. All these sights I’ve had missed if I went the normal, boring, quicker, lunatic-riddled route.
After stashing the bike away, I knocked on Mack’s door. Or possibly pounded, continuously, for the six minutes it took him to open it.
‘What have you done now?’ he rumbled. ‘I’ve not had breakfast yet so it had better be good. Or should I say bad?’ He peered at me through bleary eyes. ‘You’re dry. And clean. That’s a hopeful start.’
‘Can I come in?’
‘There’s no emergency?’
‘No. Yes. I don’t know.’ To my horror, a glob of panic started working its way up my oesophagus. I blinked, hard, and did my utmost to swallow it back down. ‘Were you out running late last night, in the woods near the Common? Because if you thought it was funny, to race beside me when I couldn’t even see it was you, it wasn’t. And I really didn’t appreciate being laughed at, when I was quite clearly scared out of my wits, because whoever that was was definitely laughing at me, not with me.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Mack stepped back, hustled me inside and sat me down, his face waking up.
Oh. Not him, then.
Quietly, fighting to keep my voice steady, I told him what had happened.
‘Have you spoken to the police?’
‘I was kind of hoping I wouldn’t have to.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m choosing not to get offended by that, appreciating that me being the creep is slightly less horrific than it not being me, and that you’re clutching at straws here.’
‘I thought it might be some bizarre countryside custom.’
‘Running about the woods scaring the pants off women?’ He handed me his phone. ‘Call the police. It’ll make their day, something more interesting than a missing cat to investigate.’
‘But it’s not really a crime, is it? I wasn’t hurt. I didn’t even see them.’
‘No, but they can keep an eye out.’
I hesitated.
‘You might prevent something awful happening.’
I called the nearest police station, and a straight-to-the-point policewoman who instructed me to call her Brenda promised to visit later that day. Mack’s gaze was steady. ‘You should have knocked on my door last night.’
‘I was too busy panicking to think.’ I tried to smile. ‘I did bang on the wall a few times.’
‘That was you?’ He looked apologetic. ‘I thought it was the boiler playing up.’
‘Maybe I should have your phone number?’
Not the circumstances in which I’d imagined uttering that sentence.
We swapped numbers, and I stood up. ‘Right. I’d best get back, then. Don’t want to miss PC Brenda.’ I put my phone in my jeans pocket, took it out again and looked at the screen for no reason, slid it back in. Nodded my head a few times. ‘Thanks for listening. And for your phone number. Good to know you can call me if you need rescuing.’
I shuffled over to the door, opened it, turned back to face Mack but couldn’t think of a single other excuse to delay going back to the empty, lonely, rustly side of the building.
He’d gone. Without even saying goodbye.
‘Sorry.’ He hurried back into the kitchen. ‘I was getting my laptop. Oh, and I need my shoes. Hold on.’ He vanished into the hall again, popping back in a few seconds later. ‘Right. Ready. Let’s go.’
‘Um. Go where?’
‘To your house. To wait for the police.’
‘You’re coming with me?’ I asked, momentarily confused.
‘Would you rather I didn’t?’ Mack said. ‘Because from the way you were dithering by the door I assumed you were nervous about being home alone.’
‘I wasn’t dithering. Sheesh, Mack. Every time you do something kind you have to open your mouth and ruin it.’
‘Yeah. So I’ve been told.’ His face darkened, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the telling had probably been done by the invisible was-she-real-or-invented-to-keep-me-away wife.
‘I don’t need you to babysit me. I’ll lock my door and keep my phone close by. I’ll be fine,’ New Jenny said.
Please delete that comment, Old Jenny shouted in my head.
‘I’ll only be sat here worrying about you,’ he grunted.
‘You think I should be worrying?’ A shiver scampered up my back at the thought that Mack considered it a possibility that whoever it was might come to my house. Followed by a traitorous thrill right on its heels at the thought he’d be worrying about me. The shiver slunk back down with the realisation he would probably only be worrying about getting dragged into facing a madman. Or that after a few days my mutilated corpse would start to smell. Or that the house would get burnt to the ground, taking Mack’s side with it…
‘I think there’s zero chance of that moron making an appearance.’ He shifted his laptop from one arm to the other. ‘But it’d be abnormal not to be freaking out a bit. It’s only neighbourly to provide you with some company.’
I smiled at him. ‘I think you’re scared to be alone in your cottage. And, in that case, you may come and reassure yourself with my presence while I sort through the filing cabinet I managed to pry open yesterday.’
‘Thanks.’ He nodded, sombrely. ‘I owe you one.’
‘Ooh, I think we’ve stopped counting who owes who what, haven’t we, neighbour?’
‘Get out of here,’ he growled. ‘I’ve work to do.’
‘Wipe that look off your face!’ I hissed at Mannequin Diana as I caught her smirking at me through the open master-bedroom door. There was no way she could tell whether I’d been spinning an elaborate, detailed daydream about me pottering about upstairs while my lovely husband worked at the kitchen table, him calling up to offer me a cup of tea, leaning in for a kiss as he handed it to me, then getting caught up in the moment, putting the tea on the dressing table before he lowered me manfully yet tenderly to the bed…
‘Jenny, do you want tea?’ Mack called up the stairs. My face: virtually bubbling with molten embarrassment. Diana’s face: smug and suggestive at the same time. I spent about two minutes sticking my head out of the window to cool down before he appeared.
‘It’s a bit stuffy in here.’ Mack offered the tea. I backed away so far he had to lean forwards and stretch his arm out. ‘You must be boiling – your cheeks are pink.’
‘Yes,’ I mumbled. ‘My cheeks are pink because it’s stuffy.’
He turned around, leaning on the sill. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Tediously. How about you?’ I asked.
He shrugged. ‘So-so.’
‘I’m sorry I’ve distracted you.’
‘No.’ He sighed. ‘It’s not you.’ He opened his mouth as if to say more, but was interrupted by a knock at the door.
‘That must be her,’ I said, while the tone of my voice said, Eek!
Mack led the way, swiping a golfing umbrella from the hallway as he did.
Brenda was way better than I expected. I decided then and there I flippin’ loved the police. She listened, carefully, wrote everything down, asked questions, nodded sympathetically and promised to keep me informed.
‘We’ll have a look for evidence of anyone hanging about in the forest. I’ll make some calls, see if any of the usual suspects aren’t where they’re supposed to be, and follow it up if I smell anything suspicious. We’ll have a patrol officer make themselves known the next few nights. That’s usually enough to deter any more funny business. My gut instinct? Kids messing about. I really don’t think you need to worry.’ She nodded. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
I expected Mack to make a move once she’d left, but instead I found him rummaging in the fridge.
‘Do help yourself.’
He pulled back out, a pot of soup in his hand. ‘Do you mind? I didn’t have breakfast. Or lunch.’
‘Crap! Neither did I. Why didn’t you say something?’
‘I figured you didn’t have much of an appetite.’
My stomach, suddenly realising that, yes, today of all days it deserved a darn good lunch, made itself known. ‘I’ll heat the whole pot.’
A few minutes later, as we sat eating together, not at all like a married couple, and I wasn’t thinking at all about Mack’s wife, he put his spoon down and took a deep breath.
‘Do you think you’d be better off using an alternative form of transport, just for now?’
‘Like what?’ I took a moment for my brain to catch up with my ears. ‘The Mini?’
I sighed. ‘I’ve not heard back from the DVLA yet. And even if it is mine, I still need to get the battery and whatever else might be wrong with it sorted. Never mind insurance and tax.’
‘It’s taxed and insured as of this morning. The battery can be swapped over in a day. Borrow it for as long as you need.’
I stopped eating before I dribbled soup on my chest. ‘It’s your car?’
He scratched his chin. ‘It’s, well, complicated. I bought it as a gift for, um, someone. But it’s not practical for them to use it right now. I didn’t think it would do any harm to keep it in Charlotte Meadows’ shed temporarily.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier?’
‘I did offer.’
‘You’re sure it’s okay if I drive it? Just until this gets sorted? The owner won’t mind?’ The owner – or for the purposes of this conversation shall we refer to her as Mrs Mack?
He nodded. ‘It’ll do it good to get a run out. And you can use it in exchange for storing it in your shed. I’ll pick up a new battery and give it a once-over. The last thing you need is to break down in the middle of nowhere.’
‘I’ll pay for the battery.’
Mack frowned, about to say no. Then he paused. Looked at me. Looked down at his bowl. ‘Thanks. I’ll let you know how much it is.’
He glanced at his watch during the awkward silence that followed. ‘Don’t you have to leave soon?’
I checked the clock. ‘Damn. Yes. And I don’t have time to cycle the long way now.’
‘I’ll come with you.’ He got up. ‘Give me two minutes to get changed.’
‘You have a bike?’ I called after him, already out of the back door.
‘I don’t need one,’ he retorted. ‘I’ve got legs.’
‘Really?’ I huffed. ‘And you think your legs can keep up with my wheels? We’ll see about that.’
Which was probably the whole point, I realised, pumping my way along the path, Mack a blur alongside me. Even bearing in mind the bumps slowing me down, he could at least have had the decency to be gasping for breath by the time we reached the Common.
I hopped off and wheeled the bike towards the village exit, waving at Sarah through the café window. She wiggled her eyebrows and smirked when she spotted Mack, mouthing ‘call me later’ while holding an imaginary phone to her ear.
‘I’m fine from here,’ I said, indicating towards the dog-walkers milling about up ahead. ‘Thanks for keeping me company.’
‘What time do you finish?’
‘Oh, I’m staying late again this evening. Ellen and Will are going out for their anniversary and won’t be back until ten. I’ll—’
‘I’ll be there at ten.’ Before I could reply he had sprinted off into the trees.
‘Traitor,’ New Jenny jeered at the smile that refused to stop curling up the side of my mouth all the way to school.