Part 11 (1/2)
At that moment Mary felt as if she woke from a dream. With a moan she pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. ”Oh, G.o.d, what have I done? He's never coming backa oh G.o.d, you stupid b.i.t.c.h, he's deada he's deada”
A breeze rose. For a moment it seemed to rush, cold and loathsome, from some dark void beneath her feet. Branches creaked, leaves rustled. To her ears the sound came as a high giggling that mocked her stupidity.
Suddenly she saw in her mind's eye what she must have looked like. A woman standing in a graveyard at midnight, wearing a cotton nightdress that barely reached the tops of her thighs; her hair a G.o.dawful mess; her mind scrambled by griefa trying to turn back time by offering chocolate to a statue.
Christa fury erupted. How could she be so f.u.c.king stupid? That hideous little statue could do nothing! Absolutely f.u.c.king nothing!
Engulfed with rage, with self-pity, with self-hatred, with grief, she howled like a wounded animal. Seconds later, she was swearing, scrambling down on all fours, clawing up handfuls of dirt, which she hurled at the statue. Then crying out in rage, she was on her feet tearing at her hair. She ripped her nightdress open, exposing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.
”b.a.s.t.a.r.d!” she screamed. ”I'll break youa I'll break you to f.u.c.king nothing!”
She kicked at the statue with her bare feet, shattering her toes, bursting open her skin so the boy appeared to weep gobs of blood.
”I'll murder you!” Ranting wildly she dragged her nails across her own flesh from her left shoulder to her right hip. Blood ran from the furrows in the flesh, smearing her naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s.
Still she felt nothing. Even when she clawed her way forward on all fours to swing full-blooded punches at the head of the weeping boy. The crack of a snapping knucklebone didn't even make it through her eardrums to her brain. Inside her, she had become a vortex of rage. Nothing mattered now. Nothing but the overwhelming urge to destroy. And when her blows did no harm to the statue, other than smear it with blood, she realized what must be destroyed. What must be annihilated.
On broken, bleeding feet she sprinted back down the path. Seconds later she'd reached the edge of the cliff. In one fluid movement she had seized hold of the rope swing that overhung the maze of tombs below, then she noosed the rope around her neck.
She saw the moon. The roofs of Skelbrooke. The glint of the lake across at the Water Mill. She saw a misty face hanging before her. Pray G.o.d it was Liam. Her baby was welcoming her across to the other side.
”Waita mommy's coming!”
Air rushed around her ears; the nightdress rippled about her.
”No!” was the only word she managed to scream as she fell-and before the rope snapped tight. The face wasn't her baby's. The eyes bulged. They glinted with eerie lights. Veins stood out from them as thick as earthworms.
After the echoes of her final cry faded, the cemetery fell silent again, apart from a rus.h.i.+ng sound as Mary Thorp swung back and forth, hair streaming from her wide-eyed face. She swung in long, slow sweeps like a vast pendulum. While her blood fell onto the crypts below as lightly as summer rain.
CHAPTER 8.
1.
Friday morning. The day after Elizabeth's fall from the bike. Early morning mist burnt away by the sun, promising another sizzling day. John Newton walked Elizabeth to school (she couldn't wait to show off her bandages to her friends). Paul went under his own steam to the bus stop.
Later, John finished was.h.i.+ng the breakfast things as Val zipped around the kitchen brus.h.i.+ng her hair while picking lint from her business jacket. ”Why I had to choose plain black,” she said. ”It shows every speck of fluff. There. Now, shoesa shoes.” She slipped them on. The dog, interpreting this as a promising sign for a walk, wagged his tail. ”Not now, Sam. I'm going to worka right, John, I'll see you tonight.”
”Got everything?”
”As far as I know. Uh, mobile?”
”It's on the hallway table.”
”Thanksa there go the sirens again.”
”It was like that all yesterday afternoon. It sounded more like the Bronx than sleepy old England.”
He followed her through the hallway, where she paused to check her reflection in the gla.s.s. She looked composed. She was in working girl mode now. But he still remembered with a thrill how she lay naked on the bed, her hair mussed, murmuring some very provocative, not to say erotic, suggestions, while her eyes sparkled with sheer s.e.x. Christ, why did she have to go to work today? They would have the house to themselves. He could watch her stroll around naked all day.
”Down boy,” John whispered to himself.
”What's that, hon?” she asked back over her shoulder.
”I was just saying have a good day.”
”As good as I can. Roll on the weekend.”
”We on for that barbecue Sat.u.r.day?”
”If the weather holds. Oh, nearly forgot.” Val slipped her mobile into her purse. ”Can you pop round to the Haslems?”
”They're away.”
”I know, but I noticed they'd left a window open downstairs. I don't want a burglary on my conscience.”
”I'll see to it.”
”Thanks.”
”See you tonight.”
”Ciao!”
After kissing her he watched her climb into the car, then drive away in a swirl of dust.
John turned to the dog. ”There's only me and you now, kidda.”
The dog wagged his tail, then went to stand by the closet where his snack treats were kept.
”No, you've just had your breakfast. Why don't you go sit in the sun or chase rodents or something?” John clicked his tongue. ”You know, John old buddy,” he said to himself. ”You've got to stop having conversations with the dog. Or one day they'll take you away to the happy place.”
He glanced at his watch. 8:30. He should really be sitting down at the computer to tackle the first chapter of Without Trace. But he'd promised Elizabeth he'd take a walk downstream on the off chance that her moon ball had beached itself somewhere. And it was such a perfect day. The great outdoors could have been sweetly calling his name, inviting him to slip on his sungla.s.ses and stroll for a while. What's more, the sirens were now fading into the distance to be replaced by birdsong.
”Come on then, Sam, just a quick walk. Then it's back to work. If I don't have that chapter done today smelly stuff starts. .h.i.tting the fana G.o.d, there I go again. Talking to you.”
The dog p.r.i.c.ked up his ears, his bright eyes on John's.
”Yup,” he said. ”I'm on my way to be a fully fledged basket case.”