A couple of packets of crisps she had in her suitcase would fill the remainder of the gap that Veronica’s lovingly prepared sausage roll had failed to do, Emily was sure. As she walked back to her holiday let, she thought about the single telling phrase which had helped define the girl.
‘Peter is your boyfriend?’ Emily had asked.
A shrug. ‘Kind of. Well, maybe. No. I don’t know.’
Before Emily could clarify anything, Veronica had turned and disappeared into the kitchen. She was gone a long time, during which Emily finished the rest of the soggy, lukewarm sausage roll and drank her tea. Wondering if the girl had perhaps gone home, she got up, left a ten pound note on the counter—more than double the marked price—then called, ‘I’ll pop around in the morning!’ before heading out into the dark.
It was only a little after seven p.m. when she got back to her holiday let. Lights were on in the pub windows on the other side of the village green, but Emily saw no one inside. It was only Wednesday, so perhaps at the weekend it would see more action. In any case, she hadn’t yet spent much time getting to know the house.
In the kitchen she found a complimentary bottle of local wine in the fridge, a pleasant touch which went some way to easing the abrasiveness of Nathan’s demeanour. She opened it, poured herself a glass, and retired to the small living room, of which she had only taken a brief look earlier.
Cramped but cosy, a sofa faced a log fire with an armchair to the side. A TV stood in the corner. Next to the fireplace, a fresh pile of cut logs had been stacked, along with some firelighters and a box of matches. On the mantelpiece overhead was a laminated computer printout with information on how to light a fire.
With the teahouse also having a log fire—one of Emily’s winter duties had been to drive out to the firewood wholesaler once a week and stock up, if possible on cherry tree wood, as Elaine considered that to have the most comforting smell—setting and starting a fire was easy. Within ten minutes, a fire flickered in the hearth, filling the room with warmth.
She tried the sofa, finding it extremely comfortable, eventually settling into a position with her back propped up by a couple of cushions against one armrest and her legs leaning over the other. Perfect. Position established, she got up, moved a coffee table into range for her wine, before browsing the selection of a small bookcase standing in the corner. As she read over the titles, however, she wished she had picked a couple from Veronica’s collection to bring with her. Among a selection of particularly nightmare-inducing horror novels were a few non-fiction books, some on true crime and others on war. She finally thought she’d hit the jackpot when she pulled out a book with a Christmas tree on the front, only to find it was a list of macabre and gothic Christmas traditions from Europe.
She gave a little shake of her head. It was almost as though the owner of the holiday let had something against people being happy. Nathan—despite the astonishing looks which still gave Emily a little tickle in the stomach when she thought of him—had come across as moody and negative. Quite the brooding hunk. But to purposefully try to create a negative experience for one of his guests?
Emily shrugged. Perhaps a previous occupant had left the books behind.
However, the selection of DVDs wasn’t much better: several bargain bin horrors and a series of documentaries on serial killers.
Luckily, Emily had brought her laptop with her, so she went and got it from her bag and set it up to roam for a Wi-Fi signal in order that she could watch something more festive online.
But … nothing. No connection. She found her phone, but she only had ten percent battery, and after a frantic search realised she had left her charger at home. Sure, it was only a half-hour drive, but she had now been drinking, albeit only a sip. Frustrated, she returned to the living room, grabbed the least horrifying of the novels and picked up her wine, which had now warmed up due to its proximity to the fire.
‘Merry Christmas,’ she whispered to no one, taking a sip, having a sudden moment of clarity that she was a fish out of water, had no business being here, and really shouldn’t be trying to enjoy herself anyway. She was running away from her life, trying to hide her sorrows behind a pretence.
Sooner or later she would wake up, smell the coffee, and get on with her life.
But she supposed that in order for that to happen, she needed to go to bed first. The time had somehow crept on to nearly nine o’clock, but it had been a long day. She downed the last of her glass of wine, then checked the fire to make sure it would burn itself out safely.
Upstairs, she took a shower and put on her pajamas. As she went to get into bed, she paused, went over to the window and peered through a crack in the curtains at the square outside. The lights were still on in the pub. A couple of men were playing pool, but there were no other customers she could see. A couple of lights lit up the front of the church, and three streetlights cast a pretty glow over the village green.
All she’d heard since she arrived was people bemoaning the remoteness of Cottonwood, how it was a dead-end village in the middle of nowhere, but when you ignored all the criticism, it really was quite pretty. Emily could only imagine how pleasant it might be with a few benches on the village green, a couple of quaint restaurants with tables spilling out into the road. And at Christmas time, it would surely look splendid with a tall, illuminated tree in the green’s centre, a few stalls selling Christmas food and treats, perhaps a small stage for some carol singers, and a line of fireworks exploding into the sky.
She sighed. It was exactly the kind of thing her grandmother would have talked about. Perhaps Emily had more of Elaine in her than she had ever realised.
Just as she was about to close the curtains and turn away, movement caught her eye. A figure had appeared from the road to the right, wearing a black jacket with a hood pulled up. Something long was held under the person’s arm. From the broadness of the shoulders she surmised it was a man, even before he turned onto the green and walked up the gentle slope to the centre. There, he lifted up the object he had been holding. For a few seconds Emily was unable to see what he was doing, then he stepped away, and in the light of the streetlights she saw a signboard had been pushed into the ground.
As the man walked away, back down the road to disappear into the dark, Emily gave a surprised shake of her head. Even at this distance the words on the sign were big enough to read:
KEEP OFF THE GRASS.