February 2018
Blobs of rain fell once more, and I turned and raced back to my hire car, the image of the poor cat prominent in my mind. Had the cat drowned?
I dived into my car, thrust the key into the ignition and turned it.
Nothing.
‘Crap!’ I muttered, turning it several more times, before leaning over to retrieve the car hire documents from the passenger seat. I tapped the company’s phone number into my mobile and, following a time-consuming effort to get through and convey my problem, they promised to send someone out – in two hours.
I sat for some time aimlessly flicking through my contacts, eventually calling Zoe.
‘Rach,’ she said, in her usual singsong voice.
‘Are you busy?’ I asked.
‘No, I’m on my break. How’s Ireland?’ And with a pretty good, if a little satirised, Irish accent, added, ‘Slept with any leprechauns yet?’
‘Only the one.’ I was trying for upbeat, although I felt far from it.
She laughed hard, but my sense of humour had deserted me. ‘So, seriously,’ she said, as though my low mood had brought her down too. ‘How’s it going? Have you found the farm?’
‘I have, yes.’
‘And?’
‘Truth is, it triggered some weird repressed memories.’
‘Oh my God. What sort?’
‘They were pretty awful. I think something happened there. I don’t know what exactly. The place is really beautiful now though …’
‘Do you think you should be there on your own? I could always come over …’
‘No, I’m fine. Honestly. I’m making progress. I’ve found Marcus McCutcheon.’
‘The bloke whose wife died in the accident?’
‘Yes … he collects gnomes, of all things – which is a bit freaky in itself. I was quite traumatised going round there. He’s got so many, and I’ve always had a bit of a gnome phobia.’
She laughed. ‘He’s a bit of a weirdo then?’
‘A little, perhaps, but I think it’s more that he’s still grieving, and dealing with it in the only way he knows how. Who am I to judge?’
‘But it’s been over thirty years, hasn’t it?’ she said, far too flippant.
‘Some people never get over losing someone they love, Zoe.’ I sounded like a mother telling a child. ‘I guess we haven’t had that kind of loss in our lives, so we can’t understand.’ I stopped, knowing I sounded preachy.
There was silence on the other end, as rain hammered on the roof of my car, penetrating my eardrums. I shuddered, already cold from sitting too long.
‘You’re right,’ Zoe said eventually. ‘I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone I love. To know I’ll never see them again. It must be impossible to deal with.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my parents.’
They lived in Cornwall and led a full life. She would sometimes go down to see them, and from photos she posted on Facebook of them hugging and laughing, it was clear they loved their daughter – and she loved them.
‘I feel bad now,’ she continued, her voice low, the brightness I’d come to depend on, gone.
‘Don’t be daft. When you haven’t suffered loss, it’s not always easy to empathise.’
‘Well, it was hard enough breaking up with Hank.’ A pause. ‘He came round last night.’
‘Oh God. Is he OK?’
‘No, he’s worse than ever.’ Her voice was low, tearful, words catching in her throat. ‘He’s acting a bit weird. Doesn’t seem to accept we’re over. I need him to stay out of my life. File him under “crap” and lock him away.’
‘Does he know you’re seeing Connor?’ I asked, glancing in my rear-view mirror. I could just make out, through the incessant rain, someone pulling up behind me, headlights on.
‘No, I wouldn’t deliberately hurt him.’ A pause. ‘Anyway, enough about me. How are things with Lawrence?’
I’d tried to put him out of my head. ‘He’s in Paris with Grace,’ I said, distracted by the car behind.
‘Oh yes, you said they were going.’
‘Mmm, and I have this awful feeling Farrah could be with them, even though I insisted he didn’t invite her.’
‘Bastard.’
‘Is the right answer,’ I said. ‘I can’t be certain, but I think I saw her at the airport.’
‘Un-fucking-believable. Listen, I’m sorry, Rach, I’d better go. Work calls.’
‘OK. See you soon. Let’s have a catch-up at the weekend, aye?’
‘Sounds brilliant.’
The line went dead, and I leaned back and closed my eyes.
A sudden fist-thump on my window, and my eyes shot open again. ‘Fuck!’ The downpour blurred the figure standing beside my car, and my heart raced. How had I ended up so anxious? The figure bent down, and a face appeared close to the glass. It was Felix Clarke, bearing a wide smile.
I lowered my window.
‘I thought it might be you,’ he said. ‘I saw you get into a blue Fiat when you left the teashop. Everything OK?’
‘I’ve broken down,’ I said. ‘But it’s totally fine. The hire company are sending someone out.’
I went to close my window, but he slammed his gloved hand on the glass, making me jump. ‘Will they be long?’
‘Another hour and a half – but it’s fine,’ I repeated. ‘I’ve got my mobile to keep me occupied.’ I wiggled my phone.
‘You look freezing, Rachel. Why not come back to mine for a warm drink and wait in the comfort of my lounge? I’m parked just behind you. I can bring you back here later.’
‘Honesty, I’ll be just fine.’ I’d used the word fine far too much. I had so many questions I needed to ask him, but I wasn’t sure I could face going to the farmhouse again yet.
‘You’re going to freeze to death out here. I insist.’
The draw was too much. What was I doing in Ireland if I wasn’t going to ask questions?
I got out of the car, pulled up the hood of my coat, and fumbling with my keys, locked the door.
I wasn’t sure of the make of Felix’s car, but when I climbed into the passenger seat, I had no doubt it would have cost a fortune, with its heated leather seats and more gadgets than The Enterprise. In fact, it looked as though it could drive itself.
‘Nice car,’ I said for something to say, as I fastened the seatbelt.
He started the engine, and pulled away, The Cranberries’ ‘Zombie’ playing through the speakers. ‘I bought it with my last royalties,’ he said with a smile. ‘I run out of things to spend my money on.’
‘A great position to be in. I’m not jealous at all.’ I laughed, and he smiled.
‘Yes, I suppose it is.’ There was something in his voice I couldn’t quite read, and I realised I knew nothing about him. I was alone with a man I didn’t know, going to his lonely farmhouse. What was I thinking?
‘So, are you married?’ I blurted, immediately wishing I’d chosen something less personal to say.
He shook his head. ‘Not any more.’ He looked across at me. ‘What about you?’
I felt hot, realising even more how personal I’d been with him when the question bounced back to me. ‘Long-term relationship. I have a daughter. She’s four.’ I left out that Lawrence was a complete bastard. That he’d walked out on me just when I needed him most.
‘How lovely,’ he said, sounding genuine, and I began to feel a bit more relaxed.
In less than a minute, he’d pulled up on the road next to the farmhouse, and pointed a remote at the automatic gates, which opened inwards. I swallowed hard. What if the memories came back again – the blood, the child? But while part of me was afraid of the traumatic memories returning, another part of me wanted them to surface so I could find out the truth.
‘It’s such a beautiful house,’ I said, as he drove his car onto the cobbled drive, and the gates closed behind him.
‘I like it,’ he said, pulling on his handbrake.
My phone rang, and I stared at the word ‘unknown’ on the screen, knowing I would have to answer. It could be the care home, or the car hire people. I pressed answer, but remained silent.
‘Hello, who is this?’ It was a male voice. Was it the man who called me pretending to be Martin Walker? Or was I imagining it? Had all male voices morphed into every call?
‘I could ask you the same thing,’ I said, with more confidence than I felt, throwing Felix a little shrug and a roll of my eyes.
‘This is Inspector Smyth from the Hertfordshire Constabulary.’
How would a policeman get my mobile number? Was he really a cop? I was on distrust autopilot, and felt sure it was the prankster who told me my mother died. The same prankster who’d called the TV studio. ‘Please, just leave me alone.’
I cancelled the call with shaking hands, and Felix’s eyes widened. ‘Is everything OK, Rachel?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, I’m a bit jittery, that’s all.’
‘I can see that.’ He placed his hand on my arm. ‘Let’s get you inside, shall we? A nice cup of tea will help.’
Relief swam through me, as I entered the farmhouse and no memories invaded my head. In fact, the place was stunning in an old-fashioned, cosy kind of way. The lounge was square with quaint nooks where heavy, antique furniture stood, including a bookshelf full of hardbacks, mostly his own. There was a grandfather clock in the corner, ticking into the peace, and two large sofas positioned opposite each other, in front of an open fireplace where a fire blazed. There was an aroma of baking too, and my stomach rumbled.
‘Take a seat,’ Felix said. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
But I remained standing, looking at the paintings on the wall – mainly landscapes. One caught my eye, and I moved closer. It was one of my mother’s, a picture of the lake I’d seen, and a tingle tickled my neck. I turned to glance at the photos on an antique dresser of Felix with various recognisable authors and celebrities.
‘Ah, you’ve seen my hall of fame, then?’ Felix said with a laugh, heading into the room with a tray rattling with mugs, a jug of milk, a pot of sugar, and two large slices of cake that looked absolutely yummy.
He sat down and I joined him on the sofa. ‘Shall I be Mum?’ he said. ‘Sugar? Milk?’
‘Just milk, thank you.’ I looked about me again. ‘Your house is amazing.’
‘Why, thank you. I renovated and extended it a while back.’ He handed me a mug. ‘Cake?’
‘Please,’ I said. ‘Red velvet – my favourite.’
‘So what do you do, Rachel?’ he said, leaning back in the soft-cushioned sofa.
‘I’m a psychotherapist,’ I said. ‘I run a practice from my house.’
‘And where’s that?’
‘Finsbury Park.’
‘You’re a long way from home.’
‘Yes … as I said before, I’m researching my family history.’ I sipped my tea and took a mouthful of cake. ‘This is delicious,’ I said.
‘Did they live in this area?’
‘Oh, yes, yes, my mother grew up around here.’ He was asking so many questions. I was supposed to be doing the questioning.
‘Fascinating,’ he said. ‘So what have you discovered so far?’
I looked into his eyes. There was no doubt they were warm and friendly – but something stopped me telling him any more about myself. I glanced back at the painting. ‘What a lovely study,’ I said.
He rose, and looked at it more closely. ‘Painted by the artist Laura Hogan. She lived nearby, a long time ago.’
‘So how long have you lived in the area?’ I asked, as my phone rang again. Another withheld number.
I pressed answer, but again remained silent.
‘Rachel Hogan?’
I didn’t reply.
‘Hello, is that you, Miss Hogan? This is Philip’s Car Hire. Just to say I’m with your car now, but I can’t see you.’
‘Oh, OK. I’ll be there in a few minutes,’ I said, ending the call, and putting down my mug. I grabbed another bite of the cake, before rising to my feet. ‘The hire company are with my car,’ I said through crumbs, oddly relieved I was leaving.
‘That was quicker than you expected,’ he said, rising too.
I glanced down at the cake, and up into his face.
‘Take the cake if you like,’ he said, seeming to read my mind, and I picked it up and took another bite.
We headed into the hall, and I was putting on my shoes and coat, when I heard a creak above my head. I looked up the stairs, but Felix didn’t enlighten me.
Once we’d made the short journey to my car, and spotted the man from the hire company, I got out of the passenger seat, and closed the door, thankful the rain had stopped.
Felix buzzed down the window, and leaned over. ‘Well, I hope to see you again, Rachel.’
‘Yes. I’m sure we’ll bump into each other,’ I said, bending to look back into the car from the puddled pavement. ‘I’m here for a few more days.’
‘Miss Hogan!’ the hire chap called, shoving his hand in the air.
I shot a look at Felix. ‘I’d better go,’ I said.
‘Me too,’ he said, sliding his car into first gear, and pulling away.