‘It’s OK. Hold on to me.’
The words come out of the blackness. I think I’ve imagined them at first, but then the feeling of disturbance, of something in motion, judders across me and I realise something’s taking hold of me in the water. Something hard, strong and very real. I’m coughing and choking and water is pouring from my mouth, and suddenly I’m back, the night air stinging my face. I’m lying on the river bank, gulping in oxygen greedily and desperately; like I can’t get enough of it, like I’ve been denied it for years.
‘Can you walk?’
The voice again. A man’s voice. Gentle, quiet, but with a reassuring strength.
I nod.
‘OK then. I’m going to help you across the bridge here. We’re going to get you some help.’
I nod again. I don’t try to speak, but even if I wanted to I’m not sure it would be possible.
He helps me walk until I’m steadier, although once we’ve gone a little way up the path I’m shivering so much my balance is compromised. ‘Nearly there,’ he says, and then finally we stop to go through a little gate and up a winding gravel path. To a cottage.
‘No,’ I say, loudly, making myself jump with the sound. Then I realise this isn’t the place I think it is. The brickwork on this is much newer, and nicer; and it’s bigger, too. ‘Do you want to stop?’ he asks. I can’t properly see his face, but I see his mouth open a bit as if something’s just occurred to him and he says, ‘Do you want to stay out here? You don’t have to come inside. I can phone someone or an ambulance or something. I can bring out blankets. I’m sorry, I should’ve thought.’
I shake my head. ‘It’s fine, I can come in, I’m freezing.’ I say it through chattering teeth.
Once over the threshold I trip over some tiny yellow wellington boots, and the man says, ‘Sorry, watch your step.’
The normal me would be telling myself to get out, get out right now; but this isn’t the normal me. She’s lost somewhere, like a friend I’ve lost touch with. A friend I’m not even sure I knew in the first place.
‘Go into the lounge – I’ll start the fire up. The central heating’s already on, but this will get you warmed up quickest.’
He clicks about with some buttons near the mantelpiece and flames begin to glow in the hearth. I walk close and hold my shaking hands out towards the flickering warmth, feeling them steadily get their feeling back.
‘Do you want me to call someone?’
I shake my head, not looking at him, focusing on watching the water drips grow and then fall from the ends of my fingers.
‘Are you sure you don’t … need to talk to someone? A friend, or family maybe?’
I shake my head again.
‘I’ll get you a towel and some clothes,’ he says, and disappears upstairs.
I kneel down on the floor, bathing myself in the heat from the flames, and look up to the mantelpiece. Smiling faces of children beam down. School photos, some of them, but there are some family shots: a man, a woman with their arms around the little ones.
Something in the little boy’s face stirs a memory deep inside my head.
The man’s back, bringing with him a pink hoodie and tracksuit set. ‘I thought these would be most comfortable,’ he says. ‘They’re my ex-wife’s.’
I take them from him and he stands there, awkwardly. I notice he’s quite good-looking, with a severe jawline and short stubble with a slight hint of grey. He’s probably a little older than I am – on his way to fifty. Again, that stirring of familiarity rises up within me. He jerks backward a bit and says, ‘Sorry – I’ll, er, I’ll be upstairs. Just need to change out of these wet clothes.’
I turn away as he climbs the stairs and pull off my wet clothes, leaving them in a little pile by the fire, and tug on the wonderfully soft tracksuit bottoms and hoodie. I’m not sure if it’s fabric softener or just the material, but they feel close to heavenly after the uncomfortable, cold wetness I’ve been clothed in.
While I sit by the fire, my shivering abates. A few minutes pass, and I hear creaking up above. I get up, walk over to the stairs and peer up. I need the loo. The landing is dark, but there’s a light on in one of the rooms. I take the carpeted stairs carefully, listening to the movement. I wonder if the man’s kids are up here, fast asleep, or if suddenly one will burst out and ask what a strange woman is doing climbing the stairs, like an evil witch from a fairy tale.
The landing gives full view to the room with the light on, and inside I can see the man, standing in his boxer shorts, drying himself off with a towel. The landing floor creaks and he turns to look at me. ‘Oh sorry, I’m just getting dried off. I haven’t abandoned you.’
I nod, and I’m about to go back downstairs, embarrassed for finding him undressed, before I remember why I’ve ventured up here. ‘Erm … I was looking for the bathroom.’
He smiles and gestures to the left. I see the door and give a small smile in thanks.
Then I notice something that makes me stop and turn. There are two, distinct lines along the side of his torso – quite visible in the bright yellow light in his bedroom – and as I take a step closer, I see what they are. They are scars.
They disappear as a t-shirt is dropped over them. ‘You all good?’ he asks.
‘Yes … yes, sorry.’ I quickly walk into the little bathroom, trying to comprehend what I’ve just seen.
I end up staying the night on the sofa downstairs, the fire still on but turned down a little lower. Sleep comes surprisingly easily, my mind closing down, allowing so still and deep a rest to come it feels medicinal, like a healing blanket falling around me.
When I come to, the room is full of daylight, and the smell of toast and coffee is strong. I’m amazed at how good these familiar scents feel, even if my surroundings are strange and new.
‘Good morning,’ the man says, coming into the lounge. He’s holding some toast in one hand and a mug of something in the other.
‘Morning,’ I say, straightening up against the cushions.
‘Coffee,’ he says, more as a statement than a question, and hands me the mug. ‘I’ll get you some toast, too.’
I shake my head. ‘I’m fine. I mean, coffee is enough, thanks.’
‘Nah, you should eat something.’ He comes back with a plate topped with a freshly buttered slice. It looks and smells delicious, so I accept it without protest.
‘Do you want to talk about last night?’ he asks, his voice a little gentler, perching on the arm of the chair facing me.
I take a bite of the toast and chew it slowly, trying to work out how I feel. ‘I don’t think so. Not properly. I’d … just got myself into a bad place. I’m very grateful to you for … what you did.’
He smiles. A kind, genuine, warm smile. The kind I haven’t seen in a long time. ‘Happy to help. I go for night-time walks around here. I’m part of the team that manages the forest, and I own a few cottages dotted around its borders. Rent some of them out as AirBnBs, and the others have long-term tenants.’
Silence passes for a few beats while we both sip from our mugs, then he says, ‘Do you live nearby?’
I shake my head. ‘No, I live in London.’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘Christ, that’s a long way to come.’
‘I know. I needed to get away.’
‘Well,’ he says, setting his empty coffee mug down on the floor, ‘if you needed to … get away for a bit longer … you’re welcome to stay in one of my places. I’ve got a small cottage free; just been done up, as well. It’s nice, even if I do say so myself.’
I feel a sense of panic within me rise, like a distant alarm bell going off. ‘Where … where is it? Is it in the forest itself?’
He shakes his head. ‘No, just on the edge, this side of the stream. I can show you, if you like.’
I breathe out, worry giving way to relief. ‘Is there still a cottage in the forest, right in the centre?’
He’s on his way back to the kitchen, but stops. He looks back at me and gives me a slightly odd look. ‘Yes. Well, there used to be. How did you know? Have you been here before?’
All I can manage is a nod.
‘Well, it’s gone now. It sort of went to ruin, and it was unsafe, especially with families and Scouts and people doing things in the woods these days. It was demolished about five or six years ago. I think there’s a children’s play area on the site now. Slides and swings, that sort of thing, and a place to eat sandwiches. A picnic ground. It’s probably for the best. It was a horrible place.’ He shakes his head a little, almost like a shudder.
I don’t respond at first. Just stare at the pattern on the blanket he gave me last night.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ he says, peering at me.
I snap back into focus, and nod quickly. ‘Yes, sorry. Just … a lot on my mind. I think I will take you up on your offer. To stay in one of your cottages. I think I’d like that. I’ll pay, of course.’
His lovely smile returns. ‘Splendid. Well, it’s all kitted out with a shower and washing machine and tumble dryer. Let’s get you over there – I’ll get a bag for your wet things – and you can settle in.’
He goes into the kitchen but comes out again almost straight away. ‘Sorry, that probably sounded a bit rude. I don’t want to chuck you out … you’re welcome to stay a bit longer …’
I hold up a hand in a little wave. ‘No, no, I’d like to see the place. It sounds like a bit of a lifeline, actually.’
He gives me a thumbs up. ‘I’ll be with you in two ticks.’ He laughs a little and says, ‘Sorry, I don’t think you said what your name was. I’m Levi, by the way.’
Goosebumps flare along my skin like sparks. I hold on to the side of the sofa, steadying myself, then say, ‘Lovely to meet you. I’m Katherine.’