Thursday 27 August 1992
Sue Melrose was bored. She closed the Daily Record and threw it on the floor. Pulling her long dark hair into a scrunchie, she looked out of the window, checking the weather. It was five o’clock and the sun was shining in the sky, making the tarmac steam and shimmer.
The world seemed a happier place for everybody else.
Just not for her.
Despite her own mood, her own frustration, the woods across the road looked green and inviting rather than the dark and threatening gloom of the previous week. Today had been a bloody awful day: waiting in for a roofer who did not appear; losing two fights – one with her mother, one with her husband. Why could they not understand that just once she wanted to get out the house, to eat a meal that somebody else had cooked, put on a nice dress and not get it covered in baby sick?
Just once.
But her mother had refused to watch the kids and Steven had refused to pay for a babysitter, suggesting instead that Sue take the boys out for a walk as he was going to work late.
‘Again,’ she snapped. And banged the phone down.
There was no point in asking the fat bitch next door to look after the boys – she’d rather ask Myra Hindley.
So Sue put on her new white sundress to cheer herself up. She then pulled the sunflower hat over Bobby’s blond curls. George was ready to go. At three years old, he was always ready to go anywhere. The dirtier the better. He was the sort of kid who wouldn’t keep clean for more than two seconds. Heidi was at the door, blonde tail wagging, tongue dancing out the side of her mouth. Steven normally took the dog to work, so Heidi was feeling abandoned too. And for what, or for whom? Sue had a suspicion there was somebody somewhere, undermining her marriage.
She slipped Bobby into his baby wrap, then wound the material round her waist and neck. He settled quickly. Sue combed her hair into long brown curls, picked up her keys and hummed a Carly Simon song to herself.
They were going to pick daisies in the wood.
Sue set out of 2A Altmore Road, the soles of her feet feeling the warmth of the tarmac through her flip-flops as she lifted George by the hand to swing him round. The wee boy spun on one toe, giggling his infectious Little Boy Blue laugh, the sunflowers on his hat dancing this way and that. Letting her dress float out, she spun with him, turning to face the row of cottages with their dark, disapproving faces. So she reversed the spin and headed into the trees, rebuffing her horrible neighbours – May the moaner and Andrew the henpecked hubby. Sue pitied their daughter, wee Lorna with her blonde ponytail, only five, never allowed in her own front door without taking her shoes off, yet they let her sit on the old pervert’s knee. He would be watching her now, from the obscurity behind the dirty windows of the big house.
The old guy was never out in the afternoon; his type preferred dawn and twilight. She had seen Andrew Gyle, the henpecked neighbour, go out earlier – going to chop wood, no doubt, but he’d be deep in the forest, nowhere near the Doon. Sue entered the chill of the trees by the gap in the hedge, turning immediately north, up the hill and away from the parade, away from the casual walkers. She had never been as far in as the huge hollow, the Devil’s Pulpit, but one day she’d get there and see for herself if it was a bottomless gateway to hell. Beyond that there was the hill by the Big House, and the ruins of the old church. God at the top and the Devil at the bottom; Sue trapped somewhere between.
But that was not for today. Today was for visiting the Doon, getting her good dress covered in mud and stained with grass. They would pick daisies and bluebells, make necklaces and hang them round Bobby’s neck. Sue joined George in his happy, skipping dance, losing herself in the thoughts of moving house. George’s fingers slipped from hers, Bobby snored gently. It was wet underfoot now, but it felt rather nice, liberating even, getting her feet damp and filthy. Oh for a house without neighbours, but Steven wouldn’t … she heard a noise, a quiet mewling from behind her. She turned round.
George wasn’t there.
The branches of the trees had locked overhead, blocking out the heat from the sun. The little sunlight that filtered through dappled the path, emphasizing its emptiness. She had not realized that the forest was so dense, so deep, and so black.
‘George?’ she called out, holding Bobby a little tighter.
No answer except the wind rustling the leaves above her head. A branch creaked. Bobby started to whimper. She cradled his head and set off back along the path, calling for George. Heidi was prancing back and forward along a track that was overgrown, her hackles up, ears pricked.
Sue stood quietly, trying to calm her heart. Just a moment ago, he had been right behind her. Now the lower leaves parted, lifting with the breeze, mocking her that they had taken her son. She turned at a rush of sound, expecting to see George’s beaming smile. The undergrowth wavered, and she ducked as a crow flew out, its wings clattering in the air.
Bobby started crying, Sue started shouting, stumbling back the way she had come, the twigs pulling her hair from their roots, and scratching her skin to bleeding.
Then she heard a yelp that translated to Mum as she relaxed. The foliage opened and George came stumbling out, covered in dirt, holding late bluebells in his podgy fists. A gift for his mum. She took them and kissed his cheek, letting go of her panic.
Hand in hand, they walked on to the Doon.
‘Sore Mummy,’ said George, prising her tight grip from his wrist.
‘Sorry Georgie.’ She relaxed her hold. ‘Look, you run on, get Mummy some more flowers.’ She could see the Doon now, a sunlight clearing less than ten feet ahead. George bumbled on and starting scrambling up the big stone, moss covered and curved like a claw, in the middle of the ruined wall. It was deathly quiet; the wind seemed to have died in the last few minutes.
It had been a long time since she had last been here. She couldn’t recall when, but remembered feeling happy, so that was quite a while ago. She undid the baby wrap and placed Bobby on a flat stone, in the sunshine. He gurgled immediately and kicked his chubby legs in the air. He opened up his fingers and started pulling at the little purple flowers that poked their heads through the moss.
Then he shoved them in his mouth.
Sue walked around, enjoying the sun and the birdsong, leaving Bobby sunbathing on the stone. George was climbing up the ruins, bum in the air, clumsy little shoes scraping on the wall. Heidi pricked her ears up, listening.
Sue closed her eyes, oblivious to her surroundings.
That was her first mistake.
Her second was to turn when somebody called her name.