The Eight of Pentacles (Reversed)

It was still early, but Blue was tired and welcomed Mrs Park’s announcement that it was bedtime. The entrance hall was freezing after the Aga-warm kitchen, though flames still capered in the grate; Mr Park locked a guard around the hearth, wished Blue, Jago and Sabina a peaceful sleep. The windows showed a black, rainy night, and Mrs Park drew the curtains, told them not to worry about the weather.

Sabina lost pace as they neared the top of the stairs, rubbed the tops of her arms. Blue saw goosebumps rise on the nape of her neck and knew they weren’t from the cold.

‘You’re worried your door will be open again?’ she whispered, aware that the Parks were in earshot. Jago had bounded ahead, waited at the top with his muscular arms folded, and the low light caught the shadows under his eyes and made his muscles seem more sinewy than strong. His room was on the opposite side of the corridor to the women.

‘Silly, isn’t it?’ Sabina gave a mocking half-smile. ‘I’m perfectly rational, don’t worry. Even if it is open, I’ll bat it away with logic.’

‘Just remind yourself that it’s your brain playing tricks,’ Blue said. ‘That’s what I do, now.’

‘There was a time when you didn’t?’

Blue shrugged. ‘When I was a kid. But what kid doesn’t believe that stuff?’

They reached the top, and the corridor stretched out either side. In the semi-darkness, the pale green walls looked morbid grey, the bedroom doors like marble headstones.

They were all closed.

‘We can rest easy in our beds tonight,’ Sabina said.

Blue wondered which room was Milton’s.

‘I’m knackered,’ Jago said, ‘like, weirdly knackered. Do you think it’s the fresh air? I mean, I’ve barely been outside, but I guess it infiltrates, doesn’t it? No pollution, no cars … They say fresh air makes you—’ He yawned and covered his mouth. ‘My God,’ he said. ‘See you in the morning, yeah?’

They said goodnight and the women watched him walk to his room, then Sabina lowered her voice. ‘Hey, do you fancy a drink before bed? I have whisky in my room. I was scared earlier that they were going to go through our bags and confiscate it. God knows how I’ll fall asleep so early without it – I mean, ten o’clock! Can you believe it? Do you want some?’

Downstairs, Mrs Park reminded her husband to lock the front door. Mr Park sighed.

‘Maybe tomorrow?’ Blue said, not wanting to refuse outright or admit that she rarely drank and wasn’t keen on straight-up spirits.

‘All right,’ said Sabina, ‘I’ll hold you to that.’ And she disappeared into her room.

Blue went to her own, closed the door and imagined Sabina on the other side of the party wall. Should Blue have accepted the drink, had she messed up the opportunity to gain a friend? Would Sabina drink alone— Blue stopped, told herself firmly to not overthink.

She undressed, washed her face, brushed her teeth, and then tiredness hit her in earnest. It had been a long journey, she told herself, a long day.

The light from her lamp caught the trees outside, and she saw nothing else through the window; clouds masked the stars and made the night absolute, and the weather could be heard but not seen. She listened to the wind brush treetops as it ran amok in the woods, could hear it, too, in the rush of the river as it egged on its flow.

The sounds followed her to bed, infected her thoughts. The noise was nothing like water and more like a landslide, as though mud, silt and rock charged through the riverbed, carved a path through the trees and into Blue’s head, and the noise formed the soundtrack to her sleep, the imagery of her dreams.

The stones dug into the soil of the woodland, worked the roots, set them free and now the rocks were carrying the trees. They lifted them off the ground by a foot or more, carried birch, alder, hazel and beech in formation along the riverbed, broke the banks of the stream and carted their live load towards the house. The trees’ branches stretched forward, their denticulated new-sprung leaves and thin twigs curled into fingers; some beckoned to Blue, some grabbed for her, some lifted rocks from the stone river and hurled them through the air at her window.

They would break the glass; they would invade her bed; they would lift her with their many arms and push her back against the tide of the stone river, feed her to the many mouths of the many trees.

No, not the trees.

From behind the trees came the wet gnash of jaws and the sound of barking. The tree trunks were packed, a mesh of prison bars that shielded the animal, but Blue knew the hackled fur would be black, and the eyes would be black, and the maw would show black gums full of teeth.

Another bark and Blue woke, bolted upright in the unfamiliar bed, in the too-white room. Her head was woozy and dull, her mouth desert dry. She used the white sheet to smear the sweat from her head and neck, grabbed for her phone to check the time before she remembered it was in the safe. She rearranged the bed sheet, thought that the scratches she could hear were made by starched cotton on cotton, thought her heavy head was due to the nightmare.

The sound came again, not from outside but from in; the sound of nails on wood.

Claws at a bedroom door, but not hers.

Sabina’s?

Blue jumped from the bed, adrenaline-fuelled, made for the hallway.

Nothing.

The corridor was a tomb of cold air, disturbed by the rush of the door, by her panting and trembling.

It was nothing, she thought and ignored the distant sound of a bark. It was a fox or some other nocturnal creature. This is the countryside, what did she expect?

She stepped back into her room, was about to close her door when she heard it again. It was the grind of a handle and creak of a hinge. Blue craned her neck far enough to see around the frame and along the corridor.

Milton. He stepped out from a room at the far end, then locked the door behind him. The key scraped the mechanism. He didn’t have his walking frame, he had one hand pressed to the wall to keep upright. Blue heard his rasping breath.

She ducked her head back into her room, listened to his feet tread carefully towards the stairs. If that was his bedroom, why was he leaving it? The rooms were all en suite; each had bottled water. She heard each painstaking step as he descended to the hall, strained her ears to listen.

Did he forget something earlier? Was he looking for it now?

She followed the sound of his footsteps and heard the rustling of papers or possibly books. There was a franticness to the movements, to the noise. After some minutes, the door to the passageway opened and closed.

Perhaps he couldn’t sleep.

Blue felt woozy with tiredness, her thoughts restless and fretful. Back in bed, she lay still, determined not to overthink it or draw unwarranted conclusions. She hauled on another blanket until she was so warm that her muscles gave in and relaxed; she prepared herself for a long night of wakefulness, but she fell asleep almost immediately.

It was dreamless and so deep that the dogs and the trees and the old man were forgotten, and the fogginess of sleep didn’t lift until after she’d showered the next morning.

Saturday, she thought as she rubbed moisturiser into her skin. On Monday, it would be three years since Blue had last seen Mother. Years, too, since she’d seen Bodhi and Arlo.

She drew the curtains back, and the rain clouds were still there, as were the alder trees and birch. The wind had severed the catkins, and they drowned in the puddles on the driveway. The stream was indistinguishable from the field; the persistent rain had burst the banks further and made a nebulous wetland. The bridge poked its arch above the surface, but the path to it had gone.

Two herons stood in the water.

The woodland waited, watched, leant in.

No time to feel fear; if the weather got worse, then the roads would be impassable. No more guests would be able to arrive; no guests could— She didn’t let herself finish that thought.

Something had changed; the view altered. What was it? Her car sat in the drive, decorated with the alder’s detritus. Sabina’s Prius was still in front of the ancient, sharp-speared boot rack.

Jago’s Range Rover was gone.

Blue scanned the driveway on either side; perhaps he had moved it. The car wasn’t there. She hadn’t heard its engine start or the noise of heavy tyres on gravel, but then she’d slept solidly.

The entrance hall was empty. A fire burned in the grate; the balls of ashy-edged newspaper visible at the edges told Blue it was recently laid. Journals lay stacked on the coffee table, ready for a guest to ink out their pain. Blue walked past them.

There was no sign of Jago.

Mrs Park was on the phone in the passageway with a drawn face and worried voice. The burst bank, Blue thought, the errant guest and the flooded field. Mrs Park raised her hand, forced a cheerful smile and mouthed good morning.

Mr Park was in the kitchen refilling coffee pods for the espresso machine. ‘Porridge is cooking,’ he said by way of hello, ‘and there’s fruit on the table. Can I get you a coffee or tea? Or any toast?’

‘You sound like Mrs Park,’ said Blue.

‘Who did you think made me ask you?’ he said with good nature.

‘The stream’s flooded,’ Blue said, ‘and the drive—’

‘I know.’ Joshua Park washed a hand over his face, sighed and rolled his shoulders. ‘I’ll wait until Sabina and Milton come through and then I’ll talk to you all about it. I don’t fancy going through it all three times.’ He had combed his grey hair, and he looked neater this morning, but the stress scored his face. ‘What can I get you to drink?’

‘Tea, please,’ Blue said. ‘Where’s Jago?’

The kettle rumbled in the corner of the room and Mr Park licked his lips before speaking, put a tea bag in Blue’s cup, got the milk. He didn’t look at her and she wondered if he’d heard.

‘Mr Park?’ Blue said. ‘Did something happen? Is Jago all right?’

‘He’ll not be with us for the rest of the retreat. He had to go, some urgent family business to take care of.’

‘Poor Jago, what was it?’ Blue said.

‘As I said, family business. I can’t divulge – guest confidentiality, you understand.’ Mr Park stirred the mug with a careful hand. A scratch ran the length of his right thumb, the knuckle bruised.

‘Are you OK? Your hand—’

A patch of tiny glass shards glistened on the stone floor, and Blue thought he must have smashed a glass, grazed himself, but Mr Park said, ‘Yesterday – I knocked it when I tried to sort the damn stream. Here’s your tea, look.’

Blue had finished it by the time Milton shuffled in, complete with walking frame and wheeze. Sabina appeared shortly afterwards and asked Mr Park for a double espresso, no sugar, no cream.

Mr Park went straight to the point. ‘Jago’s gone. He had some urgent family business to take care of.’

‘Urgent family business?’ Milton said.

‘What happened? When did he leave?’ said Sabina.

‘Crack of dawn. It was all very sudden.’

‘How did he find out about it?’ Milton said. ‘His phone was in the safe.’

‘We had a call on the landline,’ Mr Park said. ‘What’s more, the last two people set to join us this week can’t make it.’

‘Because of the rain?’ Sabina asked.

‘Because of the flood, more’s the point. We got gentle weather, by all accounts. The rest of the region’s underwater.’ Mr Park sat heavily on the chair next to Blue and drank his black tea. Mrs Park’s voice drifted through from the passageway.

‘You’ve seen the stream, no doubt, and the state of the drive,’ he said, ‘and the road’s flooded; I wouldn’t recommend driving through it.’

‘How did the boy get away?’ Milton had declined tea and sipped at bottled water.

Mr Park said, ‘Just a minute, I forgot to put your breakfast in,’ and put Milton’s pre-made porridge in the microwave, then reached for a bowl and a spoon for the old man. The guests were silent. Milton’s question hung in the air like midges above a millpond.

‘It’s hot, watch yourself.’ Mr Park put the bowl on the table and then sat back down. He kept his scratched right hand beneath the table.

Milton didn’t touch his spoon. He looked pale and unwell, and it reminded Blue of Jago’s vague jaundice. Maybe Jago was seriously ill, she thought. Maybe that’s why Mr Park is hesitant to answer; patient rather than guest confidentiality.

‘Well?’ Milton said. ‘How’d he escape?’

‘You make it sound like a prison,’ Mr Park said and he looked gratefully at Sabina when she scoffed. ‘Jago had a Range Rover,’ Mr Park said. ‘And he was so keen to get away no weather would have stopped him. But unless you’re in a four-by-four, I wouldn’t recommend it.’

‘So we’re stuck?’ Sabina looked from Mr Park to Milton to Blue, waited for a contradiction.

‘Doesn’t make much difference, does it?’ Blue said. ‘Considering we’re booked in until Thursday, we wouldn’t be leaving—’

‘– That was by choice.’ Sabina’s voice was tinged with panic. ‘It’s different if we’re trapped. Sounds like Jago got out just in time.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’ Milton peeled away the cellophane from his porridge bowl and ate. His hand shook, and his spoonfuls were careful and small.

‘You’re not trapped,’ reassured Mr Park. ‘The rain’s due to ease off by lunchtime; by this evening, the road will be clear enough to drive through should you choose to. As it is, I’m going to have to excuse myself this morning and clear the culverts. Something’s blocked the passage beneath the bridge – most likely branches and debris from the woods – hence why the stream’s overflowed. If I can clear that, then some of the water will flow.

‘Molly and I realise that this isn’t the experience you’ve signed up for. We would understand if you would rather head home – once the road is cleared, that is – and rebook for another time. We’d give you a full refund—’

‘What would happen if we stayed?’ said Blue.

‘Well, Molly will continue with the therapy and therapeutics as normal, but I may not be on hand to do the other things we advertise – the photography, the walks and so on – until the flood’s dealt with.’

‘I can help you with that,’ Blue said. She didn’t want to spend the anniversary of Mother’s death on her own.

‘I will too,’ said Sabina, resigned. ‘I brought my wellington boots, after all, and I’d rather do something then sit trapped inside.’

‘The taxi’s collecting me Thursday. I’m not leaving before then,’ Milton said.

‘Right, that’s that, then,’ said Joshua Park, clearly relieved. ‘We’ll sort out some kind of discount for you, to make—’ But Sabina waved her hand and said there was no need, and Blue wished she hadn’t because she wouldn’t have minded a bit of money back. It was more expensive than a holiday abroad, this retreat. Not that Blue had ever made it out of the country.

‘I’m not helping with the river,’ Milton said.

Mrs Park walked in as her husband served the porridge, her anxiety plain. ‘You heard about Jago?’

‘I’ve explained,’ Mr Park said.

‘It’s his poor m—’

‘Molly,’ Joshua snapped, red-faced and tense, ‘it’s confidential, we can’t say anything.’

‘Of course, I’m sorry, it’s the shock of it. I forgot myself.’ She moved and stood near her husband, and Joshua reached his arm around her waist and told her that they’d agreed to stay and the women would lend him a hand with the stream.

‘That’s good of you and probably for the best.’ She rested a hand on Sabina’s shoulder and grimaced. ‘I don’t think the roads will be cleared today after all. Our nearest neighbour was on the phone; their house is a couple of miles away, but their farmland stretches to our border. A fire engine’s coming to pump some water out of the road, but not until later. There are a few places near here struggling with the weather.’

‘As long as it stops raining, we’ll be fine,’ Mr Park said, and they all turned in silent agreement to the window, where the rain gently rattled the glass.

‘It’ll stop in the end; it always does,’ Milton said.

‘So, three of you this week rather than seven,’ said Mrs Park. ‘A little different from the usual course, but you’ll get more one-on-one time. Silver linings, and so on.’ Mrs Park cleared the table, carried the bowls to the sink with a light step, looked out at the rain as though it were the sun.

‘Well, no time like the present.’ Joshua Park finished his tea and wiped a napkin over his lips, said to Blue and Sabina, ‘I’ve some waterproof over-trousers and macs you can borrow; bring your boots down, and I’ll meet you at the front in ten minutes.’

They followed him along the passageway to the main hall, the warmth lessening with each tread.

The fire was out.

‘Damn draught,’ said Mr Park. ‘Still, no need for a fire if we’re outdoors.’

The weather outside was a squall, and Sabina looked at Blue, one eyebrow raised, and whispered, ‘Wish I’d got a lift with Jago.’

Mr Park went to gather the spare waterproofs; Blue followed Sabina up the stairs. At the top, she stopped dead. Blue knocked into the back of her.

She followed Sabina’s gaze.

The bedroom door stood wide open.