Cold Boy's Wood by Carol Birch (if you liked this book TXT) 📗

darkness and silence of night. And anyway it had no effect, the whispering skittering went on, up and down the stairs, along the landing, in the kitchen. He closed the door, locked it, went upstairs and went to bed, leaving the landing light on.

So what?

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, turning away from the door so that the light didn’t disturb him too much, but half an hour later he was still wide awake, still listening to the whispering and skittering of the cats, their tiny paws never still. What time was it? Reached for his watch on the bedside table. Christ, only eleven. Surely not. Felt like three in the morning. What had happened? Had he lost some time? No, gained some time. No, didn’t know, just – this wasn’t right. Shouldn’t only be eleven. No wonder he couldn’t sleep. Too much was happening.

Might as well get up as lie here.

The fire was still glowing. Three cats on the sofa, all looking at him with their wide haunted eyes.

Two more in the armchair.

‘OK,’ he said, ‘so where am I supposed to sit?’

He threw some coals on the fire and shoved one of the cats off, the big orange one, making room for himself. Going deaf, that cat. It went and sat on the chair, looking like a grumpy old man. Like me, he thought.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he said.

But the cat went on looking anyway, green eyes full of reproach.

‘So what you gonna do about it? Eh?’

The cat made a strange movement with its head as if it was about to charge but then thought better of it and settled down.

Everything was wrong. He sat there, just sat and sat and everything was wrong, and the night was hissing. No, that was just the fire. And all the hairs on his neck were on end.

Oh stop.

Stop.

And he thought of that woman still out there and was angry at her for making him feel bad. Packing her things. Where would she go? Fuck, what a life, eh? Horrible. Losing a child like that. And then the bloke buggering off. No wonder she was bonkers. Still. If she was normal, probably the daughter would take her. But then. No. Couldn’t see her and that daughter living happily together, wasn’t going to happen, was it? And I mean really, you had to see the daughter’s point of view.

‘What do you think?’ he asked the orange cat.

Fucked if I know, said the cat. Nothing to do with me.

Whatever, he thought. The poor daft thing’s probably harmless. Out there alone, mad. Could see her point. What’s it to them if she dies of cold? You just want to be alone in your head sometimes and they never leave you alone. He drew in a long stoical breath through his nostrils and stood up. Like it is sometimes, you don’t actually make a decision or think anything through, your body just does it for you, gets up and puts the guard on the fire, finds itself unlocking the back door, stands in the awful darkness at the top of the back steps, calls out: Are you OK?

And of course no one answers.

Because it’s all nonsense, life is nonsense.

He looked up at the incredible starry sky. Fuck, that’s amazing. His head spun. That’s real. What the fuck more do you want? Oh Christ, just go out. See what happens. He was shivering. Take it as it comes.

He walked to her den. The wood chuckled and rustled, the shadows pulsed, the whole place breathed at him. She wasn’t there. He went on to the old ruin. Every step recoiled. She wasn’t there but she was on the hill beyond. Bloody woman was mad, what was any normal person supposed to do? There went a shooting star. Make a wish. Can never think of one at the time. She was sitting with her back against one of the great stones, cuddling her rug.

‘Hello,’ she said.

‘Come down now,’ he said. ‘You’re not well.’

She stood up, very quickly it seemed to him, not in a natural way. Big man that he was, survivor of sea voyages, he was scared. He heard his teeth chatter, fast like a woodpecker, and that made him more scared.

‘Does the wood hate me?’ she asked. Her voice sounded funny, lower. ‘I can’t get my words out,’ she said and giggled.

She’s lost it, he thought. The thing, he thought, is to get her to take some of those pills. I should have brought them out with me.

‘Of course the wood doesn’t hate you,’ he said.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m fucking sure.’

She took hold of his arm, her fingers urgent on his sleeve. ‘Why are you always so angry?’ she said.

‘I’m only angry when there’s something to be angry about.’ He shook her off. ‘Come down now, you’re not well.’

‘Listen,’ she said, as if she was hearing something.

‘No.’

‘Oh please,’ she said, ‘don’t be scared.’

This was all too embarrassingly intimate.

‘Come on now,’ he said, rough, ‘come on, you’re not well.’

‘Listen,’ she said more urgently, ‘I want to show you something. It’s not nice. Please.’ With her face crumpling.

‘Stop it!’ He took her arm above the elbow. ‘Pull yourself together! You come down to the house and have some tea and a lie down.’ He started pulling her, but she held back, surprisingly strong, crying out, ‘Wait!’

But he was stronger. He started walking her down the hill, pulling her along.

‘Please,’ she said, stopping short and digging in her heels, dragging him back by the arm. This moment of intimacy on the side of the hill was horrible and strange for him.

‘Oh, to hell with you,’ he suddenly shouted. ‘Just fuck off then, you’re nothing but a nuisance. A fucking nuisance, you fucking hear me, that’s all you fucking are, just a fucking useless human being, now fuck off and stop hanging round.’

And he walked off.

*

‘Well, if you won’t come,’ she whispered, and ran the other way, down and back into the wood, down to