Chapter Eleven

The phone woke me up and I answered it without thinking, without checking. ‘Hello?’

‘I think we need to talk, Molly.’ My mother. ‘There are … it’s important.’

‘I don’t have anything to say to you.’

‘Then maybe you could listen. I’ve had some news from—’

I slammed the phone down so fast that the handset bounced back out of its cradle and fell onto the floor, where I left it, kneeling myself over to the far side of the bed as though it was a cobra, interrupted mid-strike. My heart was in my throat, swept there on a tide of nausea and bile, but prevented from escaping by my gritted teeth.

‘You think I want to talk to you?’ I screamed, so loudly that the words cracked. ‘You think I ever want to talk to you again?’ And then, embarrassingly, I fetched the phone from the floor and beat it with my slipper until the buttons made a strange buzzing sound and the battery fell out. It didn’t really help, but it made me feel a bit more proactive about the situation. Then, breathless, I sat back.

Why did she ring? To apologise? To explain? But those aren’t things I would ever associate with her, the woman who blithely rattles through life as though performing a series of complicated manoeuvres simultaneously is her natural state of being. Unless … No. That part of my life is done and over. She can’t hurt me any more, can’t fail to be there for me any more, can’t make me feel like a disappointment any more. She denied me the childhood I wanted and took away from me the life I should have had. Now all I can do to protect myself is stay well away from her.

York. I’d go into York for the day. The city environment would be the perfect antidote to the claustrophobic angst that my life seemed to have fallen into, it would get me away from the phone if it rang again, I could do some shopping and maybe look for a proper job, hell, even shelf-stacking in one of the big supermarkets would pay more than I was bringing in with my articles.

Friendship was all very well but life was expensive; I couldn’t expect Caro to keep subsidising my misery and besides, maybe it was time to move my life forward rather than let it keep circling the emotional drain.

And York would be busy. There would be people on the streets. I could lose myself in the crowds and pretend that none of this had ever happened – maybe get to the library and hunt down some local history books, research some folklore … yes. Throw myself into real life and forget that I’d ever seen those lights. Or taken that phone call.

My car had been relegated to one of Caro’s old hay barns by lack of use and had been subjected to a slight attack of horse during yesterday’s mass breakout. One of the wiper blades was askew and there was a small dent in the bonnet where a pony had jumped clear over it to avoid capture but, bless its little Japanese heart, it started first time.

Thankfully Caro was out schooling her mare and, while she raised a hand in greeting as she cantered around an ever decreasing circle, she didn’t stop to ask how my date went – perhaps my obviously being alone and lacking radiant vibes prevented her. Perhaps she still felt guilty for making me late. It wasn’t just my car that still bore the traces of the escaped herd; Stan had been put out to graze as far from the others as possible, in the equine world’s equivalent of a Gulag camp, with only a bad-tempered Shetland for company.

I got into the car, removed the clutch of eggs from the back seat, cleared the windows and prepared to drive off, only to be brought up short by an incredible rattling sound from somewhere underneath. I got out, peered dubiously into the strawy depths under the car, couldn’t see anything. Pulled forward a few inches and the rattling started again.

I got out again and tentatively poked at the exhaust pipe which bore traces of having been barged against at some point by swinging freely from side to side. I couldn’t fix it and I couldn’t drive to York in a car which sounded as though its insides were making a bid for becoming one with the road. Could I? I got in again and revved the engine, which made smoke billow out from somewhere mysterious, then pulled forward a few more inches.

If I drove carefully, keeping my foot away from the accelerator, the noise wasn’t too bad, and the smoke wasn’t too noticeable. I made an executive decision – York might be too far away, but Pickering wasn’t. Ten miles, only one major hill. It was either that or start digging a tunnel to freedom. I’d fix the car when I got back. Caro would have wire somewhere.

I drove very, very carefully into town. No one turned to look as I passed by, at least as long as I kept the speed under thirty-five miles an hour, and I parked, pulled myself together and headed for the library.

I sat in a comfortable chair with a pile of books on local history, my notepad and a pen. Wrote nothing. Didn’t even open a book. Just sat, chin in hand, my blood pressure singing up and down the scale as I tried to work out what the hell I was going to do. That phone call from my mother had rattled me more than I’d admit to myself. A reminder of a past life where money and excitement had ruled; posh cars, designer dresses, dinners at restaurants with names in the paper. A life that was never coming back, a life I never wanted back. So, what did I want?

Bugger.

I gave my head a little shake, which probably looked odd to the other library patrons. Why should I give up everything I’d worked for? Why should I change my life, just because …

Screaming, accusations. A double betrayal, by the two people who should have cared most about me, bringing everything I’d ever thought to the fore. I wasn’t worth loving, and they’d proved it. However much I tried, however much I threw myself into life and hoped a man would catch me, in the end I’d always just been on the outside of everything …

All these thoughts ran through my head while I stared blankly into the middle distance and tapped my pen against my notebook. I was facing towards the half-dozen computers that the library made available for customers, not really registering the comings and goings of the handful of people using them until I became aware that the back of one head was vaguely familiar. It wasn’t so much the head itself, more the way it kept tipping back, hair hanging over the back of the chair that was recognisable. I’d seen it only the other day, on my own couch.

‘Phinn?’ The distraction of the realisation that he was here was so welcome that I almost yelled his name across the book-filled silence.

He spun the chair around so suddenly that he hit both knees on the desk and the monitor rocked alarmingly. ‘Molly? What are you doing here?’

‘Getting out of Riverdale. Research. Stuff. You?’

‘Yes. Although I suspect my “stuff” is somewhat different to yours, unless your eyesight is worse than it appears.’ He took his glasses off and blinked those big, black eyes at me. ‘Optician. Apparently these are still doing fine.’

‘Why would you … oh.’ Only now did I look at his computer screen, where he’d got the results of a Google search for ‘optical illusions night sky’. ‘But I saw them too! How could I see your optical illusions?’

‘Well.’ He turned back to the screen, typed a few more words and another search result popped up and I read ‘Telepathic transmission of crisis images’.

‘There’s the possibility that we were involved in a hallucinogenic incident where I somehow “sent” you a vision of what I was seeing.’

‘Bollocks.’

He nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I’d pretty well come to the bollocks conclusion myself.’ He pushed the chair back and it wheeled a few squeaky inches away from the table, letting him stretch his legs out. ‘But scientific methods, you know.’

‘Eliminate the impossible and whatever’s left is the answer?’

The glasses went back on. ‘Mangling Sherlock Holmes is not scientific methodology, Molly. And everything about … about what we saw is pretty impossible. Eliminating it isn’t leaving me with much.’

A librarian came over. She was young and blonde and pretty and she propped herself between the computer and Phinn in a way that gave her bust maximum exposure. ‘Doctor Baxter? Your half-hour is up but we’re not busy. I can let you have another half-hour if you’d like.’

Phinn looked from me to her and back again, as if trying to work out how two members of the same species could be so different. ‘Hold on a second. Molly, would you like to come and have a coffee?’

I glanced behind me at the unopened books, at my unmarked notepad and unused pen. ‘Yes, please.’

‘Right. In that case, no thank you. I’ll leave the computer for someone else.’

The librarian’s face dropped, she shrugged and took her boobs somewhere else, but for one second I saw Phinn as she must have; tall, dark and with that attractive air that comes when men don’t have the faintest idea of how attractive they are. He’d got another leather jacket on today, obviously the septic tank one had been binned, and this one was more biker than SS officer. His jeans were probably the same ones he’d worn last night but he’d got a plain black T-shirt over the top and the ‘all in black’ look suited him.

‘What? Why are you looking at me?’ He looked down, checking his fly probably.

‘I don’t know. You just look different.’

‘Probably because I’m not naked, drunk or falling over anything.’ He gave me a half-smile and something inside my stomach revolved. ‘Let’s find that coffee.’

We sat in a steamy little café at the top of the marketplace and blew foam off our cups. Phinn had gone quiet again. He seemed to have the ability to just sit, not speaking, seemingly absorbed in his thoughts as though nothing going on around him could touch him. It was an ability I envied, I thought as I sipped my coffee. I would have loved to have been able to take no notice of my surroundings.

‘So, then.’ He dunked a small almond biscuit that had come with the coffee.

I took a sip. It felt odd being here rather than being in Riverdale. Somehow Riverdale was like being in a bubble, enclosed by people I knew, even if only by sight, while this was more like Real Life. Having Phinn in it with me gave me a shivery feeling that I couldn’t place. ‘Mmmm?’

‘How many times have you seen them? The lights I mean.’ Steam rose from his coffee and for a moment his eyes were obscured. ‘Not that there’s much else I could be talking about, all our conversations seem to revolve around those bloody things.’

‘Two … no, three times. Last night with you, the night before and … just before I found you up on the moors. Yes, three.’

‘Never before?’

I shook my head. Looking at the night sky had hardly been a priority but, even so …

‘Odd. I’ve only seen them three times too.’

‘Well, you’ve not been in Riverdale long, have you?’

He shrugged. ‘Not this time, no. But over the years I’ve spent a long time in the village, what with one thing and another.’ He drummed his fingers lightly on the tabletop as though trying to decide something. ‘Howe End belonged to my uncle. I used to spend holidays there sometimes when my parents …’ His voice drifted for a second, his eyes lost focus and then he closed them briefly. ‘I had an odd childhood.’

‘You’re having a pretty odd adulthood too, I’d say.’

I got a smile for that.

‘I was reading that Howe End is haunted,’ I said, to draw him away from whatever thoughts were causing that creased look around his eyes. ‘I’ve got this book about local folklore, fascinating stuff.’

‘Seriously?’ He seemed to welcome the change of subject too. ‘Haunted by what?’

‘It’s not specific. Something that moans in empty rooms, apparently.’

‘Yeah, I’ve got that. Link will just not shut up about the lack of furniture. Or the weather, for that matter. He was born with “moan” as a default setting, it’s like living with Victor Meldrew. I’ve had to buy him a futon to sleep on just to keep him quiet.’ His eyes were warmer now, watching me with interest.

‘He needs a hobby.’ I fiddled with my cup. ‘Apart from verbal sexual assault.’

‘Well, he rides, so I sent him over to your friend. Maybe an hour galloping around the countryside will cheer him up a bit.’ Phinn grinned now. ‘Or he might fall off, break his leg and have to go back home to be nursed. Either is good.’

We finished our coffee and I looked at my watch. ‘Well, I’d better go. I only parked for two hours and that’s pretty much up.’

‘Do you know what time the next bus goes back to Riverdale? I got a lift in with Link but he’s gone back to ride. Or chat up a horse, wouldn’t put it past him. So I said I’d make my own way back.’

We both stood up. ‘There’s only one bus back, at three.’

‘Oh.’ Phinn pushed his hands in his pockets. ‘What time is it now?’

‘Half past twelve.’

‘Oh.’ A pause. ‘I don’t suppose …’

‘Yes, I’ll give you a lift.’ That got me another smile. ‘And … you know … if you ever want to use a computer … you can borrow my laptop.’

‘No electricity. My uncle never got round to putting it in. Not really one for mod cons was Uncle Peter, hence the septic tank and the spring. Still, if the whole of civilisation founders, at least Howe End will remain untouched.’

‘Yeah, untouched by central heating, proper toilets and hot water.’

‘Well, there is that.’

We walked down to the car park. ‘This might be a bit … noisy,’ I warned, slipping the car into gear and trying to ignore the way people looked up at the sudden onset of a rattling noise accompanied by puffs of smoke. ‘I’ll do something creative with metal when we get back.’

‘Why don’t you take it to the garage?’

‘Because we don’t all have professor-sized bank balances.’

‘Then why do you live here, middle of nowhere, where there’s no work? Why not move to where you’ve got family?’

I froze him out, keeping my eyes on the road, on my mirror, my hands on the wheel. ‘I don’t have family.’

‘You’re from … somewhere south. London, Home Counties? Not much of an accent, but enough. There’s no family pictures anywhere in your house, you have a caller display on your phone – you’ve got family all right, you’re hiding from them.’

The wheel twitched under my fingers and we nearly hit the kerb. ‘How on earth do you reason that one out?’

Phinn sighed and tipped his head back again. It seemed to be something he did when he was thinking. ‘If your family had died you’d have pictures. Old ones, but they’d be all over the place. You don’t even have anything beside your bed – yeah, okay, I admit it, I did poke my head into your room yesterday but only by accident when I was looking for the bathroom. No pictures. You don’t want to be reminded of them. Caller display – they’re alive but you don’t want to take their calls. From the south but no connection to Yorkshire – you’re hiding. Am I getting warm?’

I pulled the car over to the side of the road. ‘No. What you are getting, is out.’

‘So I am right.’

I leaned over him to open the passenger door. ‘Get out of my car.’

‘Molly, you asked how I reasoned it out, so I told you. Besides, I have no idea where I am. Put me up there,’ he jerked a thumb at the sky, ‘and I can navigate my way round any one of three hundred galaxies and counting, but down here …’ a shrug, ‘… I’m a klutz with no sense of direction and a whole host of social anxieties. Please don’t make me ask for directions, I might die.’

Despite myself I laughed. ‘You forgot to mention your persistent use of hyperbole.’

‘I was hoping you’d take that one as read.’

As the anger ebbed I became aware that I was still leaning over his body with my back pressed into his chest and my arm stretched across his groin. He still smelled slightly of my best sandalwood bath oil overlaid with coffee and the soapy, organic smell of his leather jacket. In the close confines of my Micra it was very noticeable. I couldn’t think of anything else to say, or a graceful way of extricating myself, but that problem was sorted for me when a car coming up fast behind us blared a horn at our less-than-ideal parking position and made me jump.

I jerked backwards and my elbow connected firmly with Phinn’s crotch which made his legs twitch upwards and a whole host of involuntary swearing broke out while he hunched miserably over his mid-section and I rubbed fervently at my forehead where he’d kneed me in the side of my temple.

‘Y’see?’ He eventually managed to force out from between gritted teeth. ‘You wouldn’t want to release me onto the general public, would you?’

‘Technically that was me.’ I straightened away. ‘But still, how do you ever manage to measure stars or whatever it is that you astrophysicists do, without terrible things happening?’

‘Stars stay put.’ There was a moment of furtive rubbing and he managed to sit up properly again. ‘Mostly. Sometimes they go boom but that’s not generally my fault. And, up there I can’t do them any real damage. It’s down here I manage to cock up spectacularly.’ There was another layer to his words, an underlying bitterness.

‘Is that why your wife left you? Because you cocked up spectacularly?’ He deserved it for all the prying and poking he’d done into my life. ‘What did you do, fall over a woman while naked and she wouldn’t believe it was an accident?’

Phinn went very still. ‘I was never unfaithful,’ he said quietly. ‘Never.’

‘So why did she leave you?’

Now the black eyes turned my way and they were full of something, some nameless emotion. ‘Technically she didn’t leave me. Well, no, she did, but then she came back, and then she died. All it needed was for her to turn into a vampire and rise from the dead and I’d have levelled up.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Let’s go home.’

‘Phinn, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’ My words sounded thin, so inadequate for what he must be feeling that it was like trying to kiss better an amputation wound. ‘I’m really sorry.’

‘Yeah.’

I started the car again and we drove back to Riverdale in silence.