Authors: Rosamunde Pilcher
"Hello, sonny." He was a great burly man in a tweed bonnet. A familiar sort of person. Not a stranger. As well, Henry's, legs were beginning to feel wobbly, like cooked spaghetti, and he was not certain whether he was going to be able to make that last bit of the road to Strathcroy.
"Hello."
"Where are you off to?"
"Strathcroy."
"Did you miss the bus?"
This seemed a good excuse. "Yes," fibbed Henry.
"Want a ride?"
"Yes, please."
"Up you come, then."
The man reached down a horny hand. Henry put his own hand into it and was heaved upwards, as though he weighed no more than a fly, onto the big man's knee, and then over and onto the other seat. The cab was warm and snug and very dirty. It smelt fuggy, of old cigarettes and sheep, and there were sweetie papers and match-ends littered around the floor, but Henry didn't mind this, because it was good to be there, with another person for company, and to know that he didn't have to walk any farther.
The driver slammed his door shut, shoved his engine into gear, and they moved forward.
"Where have you walked from?"
"Caple Bridge."
"That's a long walk on a wet night."
"Yes."
"Do you live in Strathcroy?"
"I'm going to see someone there." Before he could be asked any more questions, Henry decided to ask one himself. "Where have you been?"
"To the market in Relkirk."
"Did you have a lot of sheep?"
"Aye."
"Were they your own?"
"No, I've no sheep. I'm just the driver."
"Where do you live?"
"Inverness."
"Are you going there tonight?"
"Oh, aye."
"It's a long way."
"Maybe so, but I like to sleep in my own bed."
The windscreen wipers swung to and fro. Through the clean fan of glass, Henry watched as the lights of Strathcroy came closer. Then they passed the thirty
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miles-an-hour sign, and then the War Memorial. Around the last curve of the road, and the long main street of the village stretched ahead into the darkness.
"Where do you want me to drop you off?"
"Just here will do very nicely, thank you."
Once more, the sheep-float ground to a juddering halt.
"You'll be all right, now?" The man reached over to open Henry's door.
"Yes, of course. Thank you very much indeed. You've been very kind."
"You mind yourself, now."
"I will." He clambered down the great height to the ' road. "Goodbye."
"Goodbye, sonny."
The door slammed shut. The massive vehicle went on its way, and Henry stood and watched it go, its red tail-light winking like a friendly eye. The sound of the engine faded into the darkness, and after it was gone, everything seemed very quiet.
He started off again, walking down the middle of the deserted street. He felt extremely tired, but that didn't matter, because he was almost there. He knew exactly where he was going and what he was going to do, because he had laid his secret plans with the greatest possible thought and care. He'd mulled over every eventuality, and left nothing to chance. He was not going to Balnaid, nor Pennyburn, but to Edie's. He was not going to Balnaid because there would be nobody there. His mother, his father, Alexa and her friend were all at Croy, having dinner with the Balmerinos before going to Mrs. Steynton's party. And he was not going to Pennyburn because Vi was at Croy too. And even if they had all been at home, he would still have made for Edie's cottage because Edie would be there.
Without Lottie. Horrible Lottie was back in hospital. The news had been relayed to Henry by Mr. Henderson, and the relief of knowing that Edie was safely on her own again had filled Henry with courage and finally precipitated his illegal flight. It made all the difference, knowing that he had somewhere safe to go. Edie would take him in her arms, ask no questions, make him hot cocoa. Edie would listen to him. She would understand. She would be on his side. And with Edie on his side, surely everybody else would take notice of what she had to say and would not be angry with him.
The lights still burned in Mrs. Ishak's supermarket, but he kept to the far side of the road, so that Mrs. Ishak, by chance, would not see him as he passed by. The rest of the street was dark, lit only by the curtained windows of the wayside houses. From behind these windows Henry could hear muffled voices or music from people's television sets. Edie would be sitting in her armchair, watching television, busy with her knitting.
He came to her little cottage with its thatch, crouched down between its neighbours. The window of her sitting-room was dark, which meant she wasn't watching television. But from her bedroom window, light streamed brightly out, and it seemed that she had forgotten to draw her curtains.
She had other curtains, lace ones, for privacy, but it was perfectly possible to see through these. Henry went close to the window and peered inside, cupping his hands to the sides of his face as he had seen grown-ups do. The lace curtains veiled the interior a bit, but he saw Edie at once. She was standing at her dressing
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table, with her back to him. She was wearing her new lilac cardigan and looked as though she was putting powder on her face. Perhaps she was going out. Dressed in her best lilac cardigan . . .
He balled his fist and rapped on the glass to catch her attention. She turned from the niirror with a start and came towards him. The overhead light shone down on her face, and his heart leaped in a spasm of horror, because something dreadful had happened to her. She had got a different face, with staring black eyes and a mouth red with lipstick, all smeared as though it were blood. And her hair was wrong, and her cheeks pale as paper. . . .
It was Lottie.
Those staring eyes. A revulsion, stronger than fear, jerked him away from the window. He backed off across the street, out of the patch of yellow light that lay across the wet pavement. Every exhausted limb in his body was shaking, and his heart thumped against his chest as though it were trying to fight its way out. Petrified with terror, he thought he would probably never be able to move again. The terror was for himself, but mostly it was for Edie.
Lottie had done something to her. His very worst nightmare was true, was happening. Somehow, Lottie had come creeping secretly back to Strathcroy and burst in on Edie when Edie wasn't looking. Somewhere in the cottage Edie lay. On the kitchen floor perhaps, with a meat chopper in the back of her neck and blood all over the place.
He opened his mouth to scream for help, but the only sound that emerged was a trembling, faint whisper.
And now Lottie was there, at the window, raising the lace curtain to peer out into the street, her horrible face pressed against the glass. In a moment, she would go to the door, she would be after him.
He forced his legs to move, backed away up the road, and then turned and ran. It was like running in a dreadful, treacly dream, but this time he knew that he would never wake up. His ears were filled with the thud of his own footsteps and the rasping of his breath. It was difficult to breathe. He tore the Balaclava helmet from his head, and the cold air streamed down on his head and cheeks. His brain cleared, and ahead, he saw his refuge.
The bright windows of Mrs. Ishak's shop, stacked with the usual colourful display of soap powders and cereal packets and cut-price bargains.
He ran to Mrs. Ishak.
Mrs. Ishak's long day was winding itself down. Her husband, having emptied the till of the day's takings, had disappeared into the stock-room, where each evening he totted up all the cash, and then locked it away in his safe. Mrs. Ishak had been around the shelves, replacing tins and goods, and filling up the gaps left by the day's customers. She was now busy with her broom, sweeping the floor.
When the door burst open so suddenly and with such force, she was a little startled. She looked up from her sweeping, her brows raised over her kohl-rimmed eyes, and was even more startled than ever when she saw who it was.
"Henree."
He looked terribie, wearing a mud-stained tweed coat sizes too big for him, and with his socks falling down and his shoes covered with dirt. But Mrs. Ishak was less concerned by his clothes than the state of Henry himself. Gasping for breath, ashen-white, he stood there for a second, before slamming the door shut and setting his back against it.
"Henree." Mrs. Ishak laid down her broom. "What has happened?" But he had no breath for words. "Why are you not at school?"
His mouth worked. "Edie's dead." She could scarcely hear him. And then again, only this time he shouted it at her. "Edie's dead."
"But . . ."
Henry burst into tears. Mrs. Ishak held out her arms and Henry fled into them. She knelt to his height, holding him close to her silken breast, her hand cupped around the back of his head. "No," she murmured. "No. It is not true." And when he went on crying, hysterically asserting that it was, she tried to soothe him, speaking to him in katchi, that intimate and unwritable dialect that all the Ishak family used when they spoke among themselves. Henry had heard the soft sounds before, when Mrs. Ishak comforted Kedejah, or sat her on her knee to pet her. He could not understand a word but he was comforted too, and Mrs. Ishak smelt musky and delicious, and her lovely rose-pink tunic was cool against his face.
And yet he had to make her understand. He pulled away from her embrace and stared into her confused and troubled face.
"Edie is dead."
"No, Henry."
"Yes, she is." He gave her a little thump on her shoulder, maddened that she was being so stupid.
"Why do you say this?"
"Lottie's in her house. She's killed her. She's stealing her cardigan."
Mrs. Ishak stopped looking confused. Her face sharpened. She frowned.
"Did you see Lottie?"
"Yes. She's in Edie's bedroom, and . . ."
Mrs. Ishak got to her feet. "Shamsh!" she called to her husband, and her voice was strong and urgent.
"What is it?"
"Come quickly." He appeared. Mrs. Ishak, in a lorfg stream of katchi, gave him instructions. He asked questions; she answered them. He went back to his stockroom, and Henry heard the sound as he dialled a number on his telephone.
Mrs. Ishak fetched a chair and made Henry sit on it. She knelt beside him and held his hands.
She said, "Henree, I do not know what you are doing here but you must listen to me. Mr. Ishak is telephoning the police now. They will come in a patrol car and fetch Lottie and take her back to hospital. They have been warned that she left the hospital without permission, and have been told to watch out for her. Now, do you understand that?"
"Yes, but Edie . .
With her gentle fingers, Mrs. Ishak wiped away the tears that dribbled down Henry's cheeks. With the end of her rose-pink chiffon scarf, which she wore draped around her shining black hair, she dabbed at his snivelling nose.
She told, him, "Edie is at Balnaid. She is staying there for the night. She is safe."
Henry stared in silence at Mrs. Ishak, terrified that she was not telling him the truth.
"How do you. know?" he asked her at last.
"Because on her way there, she dropped in to see me, to buy an evening newspaper. She told me that your granny, Mrs. Aird, had told her about Lottie, and also that Mrs. Aird did not want her to stay alone in her own cottage."
"Vi was frightened for Edie too?"
"Not frightened. Mrs. Aird would not be frightened, I think. But concerned for your dear Edie. So you see, it is all right. You are safe."
From the back of the shop, they could hear Mr. Ishak speaking on the telephone. Henry turned his head to listen, but could not catch the words. Then Mr. Ishak stopped speaking and rang off. Henry waited. Mr. Ishak came through the door.
"All right?" asked Mrs. Ishak.
"Yes. I have spoken to the police. They will send a patrol car. It should be in the village in about five minutes."
"Do they know where to go?"
"Yes. They know." He looked at Henry, and smiled reassuringly. "Poor boy. You have had a bad fright. Bu
t i
t is over now."
They were being very kind. Mrs. Ishak still knelt, holding Henry's hands, and he had stopped shaking. After a bit, he asked, "Can I ring Edie up?"
"No. It is not possible to do that because your telephone at Balnaid is out of order. Edie reported it to Faults before she left her home, but they said that they could not attend to the matter before tomorrow morning. But we will wait a little, and I will make you a hot drink, and then I will walk with you to Balnaid and you will be with your Edie."
It was only then that Henry was truly convinced that Edie was not dead. She was at Balnaid, waiting for him, and the knowledge that soon he would be with ,her was almost more than he could bear. He felt his mouth trembling like a baby's and the tears filling his eyes, but he was too tired to do anything about them. Mrs. Ishak said his name and once more gathered him into her silk and scented embrace and he wept for a long time.