19
WHEN I WENT up to change for dinner, I found Nina sitting on the bed, her head in her hands. She looked up as I came in, and her face was grey and pinched, her expression so different from her usual wry sarcasm that I did a double-take.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah.’ She pushed her dark glossy hair back from her face and stood up. ‘I’m just … ugh, I’m so fed up of being here. It feels like we’re back in school and I’m remembering everything I hated about myself back then. It’s like we’ve slipped back ten years, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t know.’ I sat down on my own bed and pondered her words. Although I’d had very similar thoughts last night, in the light of day they felt unfair. The Clare I remembered from school wouldn’t have put up with Flo for a second – or not unless she had some powerful motive. She would have nodded along with Flo’s dumber remarks, stringing her along into saying something painfully weird, at which point she would have stood back, pointed and laughed. I’d seen none of that cruelty this weekend. Instead I’d been impressed by her tolerance. It was clear that Flo was a damaged person in some way – and I admired Clare’s compassion in trying to help her. I didn’t know if I could have put up with Flo for ten days, let alone ten years. Clare was obviously a bigger and a better person than I’d given her credit for.
‘I think Clare’s changed a lot, actually,’ I said. ‘She seems more …’ I stopped, searching for the right word. Maybe there wasn’t one. ‘She just seems kinder, I guess.’
‘People don’t change,’ Nina said bitterly. ‘They just get more punctilious about hiding their true selves.’
I chewed my lip while I thought that over. Was it true? I had changed – at least, I told myself I had. I was far more confident, more self-sufficient. All through school I’d relied on my friends for self-esteem and support, wanting to be one of a pack, wanting to fit in. At last I had learned that wasn’t possible and I’d been happier – albeit more lonely – ever since.
But perhaps Nina was right. Perhaps it was simply that I’d learned to hide the awkward, desperate-to-fit-in child that I had been. Perhaps the me I’d become was just a thin veneer, ready to be peeled painfully back.
‘I don’t know,’ Nina said. ‘I just … Didn’t you think lunch was painful?’
Lunch had been painful. It had been exclusively wedding talk: where the reception was to be held, what Clare was wearing, what the bridesmaids were wearing, whether smoked salmon was overdone as a starter, and why the vegetarian option always contained goats’ cheese. It had been made worse by the realisation that I’d crossed an invisible line and gone past the point where I could have admitted I wasn’t invited. I should have said something straight away, fessed up, made a joke out of it on the first night. Now it had gone too far to look like anything other than deception, and I was trapped in a lie by omission. Clare’s sympathetic glances hadn’t helped.
‘I’m not going to say “bridezilla”,’ Nina continued, ‘because actually here I think it’s more like a bridesmaidzilla. But if I have to hear one more time about wedding favours, or leg waxes, or best-man speeches … Can you imagine James in the middle of all this?’
I had been purposely avoiding thinking about James and the wedding, like a sore bit of skin you can’t bear to have touched. But now, as I tried, I realised that I couldn’t. The James I remembered, with his head shaved at the back and a scraped-up top-knot, his ripped school tie, the James who’d got drunk on his dad’s whisky and climbed on the school war memorial at midnight to shout Wilfred Owen poems to the night sky, the James who wrote Pink Floyd lyrics on the head teacher’s car in lipstick on the last day of the summer term … That James, I couldn’t imagine in a dinner jacket, kissing Clare’s mother and laughing dutifully at the best-man speech.
The whole thing had been painful to the point of nausea, made worse by covert looks from Nina. If there’s one thing I dislike more than being hurt, it’s being seen to be hurt. I’ve always preferred to creep away and lick my wounds in private. But Nina was right. It wasn’t a case of bridezillitis. In fact Clare had been uncharacteristically quiet all through lunch. The conversation had been driven by Flo, egged on by Tom. At one point Clare had even suggested they change the subject. It was not likely that she had lost her love of the limelight since leaving school. More likely, she was thinking of me.
‘If I had more balls, I’d have said no,’ Nina said glumly. ‘To the wedding, I mean. But Jess would’ve killed me. She loves weddings. It’s like some obsessive-compulsive disorder with her. She’s already bought a new fascinator for this one. I ask you. A fucking fascinator.’
‘She’d have forgiven you,’ I said lightly. ‘Though you might have had to propose to make it up to her.’
‘It may yet come to that. Would you come?’
‘Of course.’ I gave her a punch on the arm. ‘I’d even come to your hen. If you had one.’
‘Sod that,’ Nina said. ‘If – and I repeat if – I ever get married, I’m having a night out clubbing and that’s that. None of this prancing about in cottages in the arse-end of beyond.’ She sighed and dragged herself upright. ‘Do you know what Flo’s got sorted for us tonight?’
‘What?’
‘Only a fucking ouija board. I’m telling you, if she’s got one with “sexy” answers on the board I’m pulling that gun down off the mantelpiece and shoving it up somewhere painful – blanks or no blanks.’
‘OK, this,’ Flo said, spreading out sheets of paper on the coffee table, ‘should be fun.’
‘Magic eight ball says don’t count on it,’ Nina muttered. Clare shot her a look, but either Flo hadn’t heard, or chose to ignore the dig. She carried on busily setting up the table, dotting candles among the half-empty wine bottles.
‘Anyone got a lighter?’
Nina dug in the pocket of her denim mini-skirt and produced a Zippo, and Flo lit the candles with an air of ceremonial reverence. As each candle on the table caught, a corresponding flame kindled in the reflected view in the window. Flo had turned off the outside security lights, and the forest was dark apart from a little light from the moon. The room was dimly lit so that we could see the massing shapes of the trees, the pale snow, and the silhouette of the forest canopy against the slightly luminous sky. Now, it looked as if little will-o’-the-wisps were dancing in the trees, fragile ghostly flames, twice reflected in the double glazing.
I walked to the window, huffing on the glass and cupping my hands to see out into the night. It was perfectly still. But I thought again of the footprints, and the broken phone line, and I couldn’t stop myself from surreptitiously checking the latch of the French windows. It was fastened.
‘Mel would have hated this,’ Clare said thoughtfully as I rejoined the table and Flo lit the last candle. ‘I’m pretty sure she’s even more Christian than she was at uni.’
‘I really can’t see that communing with one imaginary friend is any different to communing with a bunch of them,’ Nina said spikily.
‘Look, it’s her faith, all right? There’s no need to be offensive.’
‘I’m not being offensive. You cannot, by definition, offend someone who’s not here. Offence has to be taken, not just given.’
‘If a tree falls in an empty forest, does it make a noise?’ Tom said, with a dry smile. He lay back on the sofa, and took a long gulp of wine. ‘Blimey, it’s years since I’ve done this. My aunt was very into all this communing with the spirits. I used to go round to her house after school and she’d make me do the traditional ouija board, you know, the one with the letters on it.’
I knew what he meant – those were the kind of ouija boards I’d seen in films. The one Flo was setting up was a bit different, more like a biro on wheels.
‘It’s easier this way,’ Flo said, her tongue between her teeth as she tried to fix the pen in the holder. ‘I’ve tried it before and the problem with the pointer is that unless you’re very quick, you can miss loads of letters. This way there’s a permanent record.’
‘Did you get anything?’ Clare asked. ‘When you tried it before, I mean?’
Flo nodded seriously. ‘Oh yes. I usually get some kind of message. My mum says I’ve got a natural resonance with the beyond.’
‘Uh-huh,’ Nina said. Her face was deadpan, but I could tell some kind of sarcastic remark was building up.
‘What did it say?’ I put in hastily, trying to head her off at the pass. ‘Last time, I mean?’
‘It was about my grandfather,’ Flo said. ‘He wanted to tell Granny that he was happy and that she should remarry if she wanted. Anyway, there, all set up. Are we ready?’
‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ Clare said. She downed the rest of her wine and set down her glass. ‘Right. What do we do?’
Flo motioned to us all to come closer.
‘Right – put your fingers on the planchette. Just gently – you’re not trying to guide it, just be the conduit for any impulses you receive from the beyond.’
Nina rolled her eyes, but put her fingertips on the planchette. Tom and I followed suit. Clare was the last.
‘Ready?’ Flo asked.
‘Ready,’ Clare said.
Flo took a deep breath and shut her eyes. Her face in the candlelight was glowing, as if lit from within. I saw her eyes move beneath her lids, darting from side to side, seeking something she could not see.
‘Is there a spirit there who wants to speak to us?’ she intoned.
The planchette swirled uneasily in loops and spirals, not forming any shapes that made sense. No one was pushing it, I was pretty sure.
‘Is there a spirit here tonight?’ Flo repeated seriously. I saw Nina hide a smile. The planchette began to move in a more purposeful way.
Y.
‘Oh wow!’ Flo breathed. She looked up, her face alight. ‘Did you see that? It was like it was being pulled by a magnet. Did everyone feel that?’
I had felt something. It felt more like it was being pushed by someone else in the circle, but I said nothing.
‘What is the name of the spirit?’ Flo said eagerly.
The planchette began to move again:
te … qui … long pause … te … qui …
‘“Qui” means “who” in French,’ Flo breathed. ‘Maybe we’ve got a French spirit guide?’
… l … Both Tom and Nina began to laugh as the last a trailed out from beneath the planchette. Even Clare gave a smothered snort and the planchette veered off towards the edge of the paper and then clattered to the floor as we all began to giggle.
Flo looked at the page for a moment, frowning, not getting the joke. Then she saw it. She knelt back from the table, her arms crossed.
‘Right.’ She looked from Clare, to Tom, and then to me. I tried to straighten my face. ‘Who did that? This is not a joke! I mean, yes, it’s a bit of fun, but we’re never going to find anything out if you keep playing around! Tom?’
‘It wasn’t me!’ Tom threw up his hands. Nina was wearing her most innocent expression and I strongly suspected it had been her.
‘Well, whoever it was,’ Flo’s face was pink and annoyed, ‘I’m not impressed. I’ve gone to a lot of trouble and you’re ruining—’
‘Hey, hey, Flops.’ Clare put out a hand. ‘Chill, OK? It was just a joke. They won’t do it again. Will you?’ She looked sternly round the circle of faces. We all put on our most contrite expressions.
‘All right,’ Flo said sulkily. ‘But last chance! If you mess around again, I’m putting this away and we’ll all play … we’ll all play Trivial Pursuit!’
‘What a threat,’ Tom said seriously, though the corner of his mouth was twitching. ‘I promise I for one will behave like an angel. Don’t threaten me with the pink Camembert.’
‘OK,’ Flo said. She drew a deep breath and waited as we all rested our fingers on the planchette again. It twitched, and I saw Nina’s shoulders were still shaking with suppressed giggles, but she bit her lip and subsided with an effort as Clare stared at her.
‘We are sorry for the levity of some of our circle,’ Flo said meaningfully. ‘Is there a spirit here who would like to speak to us?’
This time the planchette moved more slowly, more as if it were drifting of its own accord. But, unmistakeably, it was forming another Y, and then it stopped.
‘Are you a friend of someone here?’ Flo breathed.
? said the planchette.
This time I didn’t think anyone else was pushing – and I could see the others felt the same way. They had stopped laughing. Clare even looked slightly uneasy.
‘Do you know, Flops, I’m not sure …’ she said.
Tom patted her hand. ‘It’s fine, darling. It’s not really spirits – just the subconscious of the group making words. Sometimes the results are quite illuminating.’
‘Who is here?’ Flo had shut her eyes. Her fingers rested very lightly on the planchette. If anyone were controlling it, I was sure it wasn’t her. The planchette moved again, forming letters in a looping, free-form hand. Tom read them aloud as they appeared.
‘M … A, maybe? Or was that N? … X … W … E … L … L … OK, well that’s a word. Maxwell. Anyone know a Maxwell?’
We all shook our heads.
‘Maybe it’s the spirit of one of the former crofters,’ Nina said seriously. ‘Come to warn us against trampling on their sacred sheep bones.’
‘Maybe,’ Flo said. She opened her eyes. They were wide and green in the darkness. She looked very pale, her pink crossness of before quite gone. She closed them again and said in a hushed, reverent tone. ‘Is there anyone here you wish to speak to, Maxwell?’
Y.
‘Do you have a message for one of the group?’
Y.
‘Who of the group?’
F … fl … f …
‘Me?’ Flo’s eyes flew open. She looked startled to the point of alarm. In fact, she looked like she was regretting this idea already. ‘Do you have a message for me?’
Y.
Flo gulped. I saw that her free hand was gripping the edge of the coffee table so hard her knuckles were white.
‘OK,’ she said bravely. But the planchette was already moving.
B … U … it traced slowly, and then in a sudden, skittering rush: Y coffee.
There was a moment’s silence, and then Nina broke it with a short, barking laugh.
‘Fuck OFF!’ Flo shouted. We all jumped, and I realised it was the first time I could remember her swearing. She leapt up and sent the planchette skittering across the table. Wine glasses and candles crashed to the floor, spattering wax on the carpet. ‘Who was that? This isn’t a joke, guys! I am fed up. Nina? Tom?’
‘It wasn’t me!’ Nina said, but she was laughing so hard there were tears coming from her eyes. Tom was trying harder to hide his mirth, but he was snickering too, behind his hand.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, trying hopelessly to straighten his expression. ‘I’m sorry. It’s n-not f-f—’ But he couldn’t complete the sentence.
Flo swung accusingly round at me. I was dabbing up wine from the rug.
‘You’re very quiet, Lee, sitting there pretending butter wouldn’t melt!’
‘What?’ I looked up, genuinely surprised. ‘I beg your p-pardon?’
‘You heard me! I’m fed up of you sitting there like a malignant little mouse, laughing behind my back.’
‘I’m not,’ I said uncomfortably, remembering the way I had succumbed to laughing at Nina’s teasing when we first arrived. ‘I mean … I didn’t mean—’
‘You all think you’re so perfect.’ Flo was breathing heavily, in huge sobbing gasps. I thought she was about to burst into tears. ‘You all think you’re so great, with your degrees and your jobs and your flats in London.’
‘Flo—’ Clare said. She put her hand on Flo’s arm again, but Flo shook it off.
‘Come on,’ Tom said soothingly. ‘Look, I don’t know who did that but I promise it’s the last time anyone will mess around, right?’ He looked around the group. ‘Right, everyone? We promise, OK? This time it’s for real.’
He was trying to help, but I felt my stomach twist uncomfortably. We should have packed up when Flo blew up the first time – pushing on like this was asking for trouble, with Flo in her furious, heightened state.
‘Don’t you th-think—’ I said nervously.
‘I th-think you should just shut up,’ Flo said furiously, imitating my stutter with an uncanny precision. I was so shocked I didn’t say anything, just sat with my mouth open, staring at her. It was as if a Teletubby had spat in my face.
‘Hey, come on, now,’ Clare said. ‘One more chance, OK, Flops? And I promise everyone will take it seriously this time. They’ll have me to answer to if not.’
Flo downed her glass of wine with a hand that shook. Then she sat heavily down at the table and put her hand on the planchette. ‘Last chance,’ she said savagely.
Everyone nodded and, reluctantly, I put my fingers back on the board.
‘Let’s ask it a question this time,’ Tom said soothingly. ‘Help keep it on track. How about … will Clare and James have a long and happy life?’
‘No!’ Clare said loudly. We all turned, shocked by the vehemence of her response. ‘No – look, I’m just … I don’t want to start dragging James into this, OK? It feels wrong. This is a bit of fun, but I don’t want some pen telling me I’ll be divorced before the age of thirty.’
‘All right,’ Tom said mildly, but I felt his surprise. ‘How about me then. What wedding anniversary will Bruce and I celebrate?’
We all rested our fingertips on the board, and, very slowly, I felt it begin to move.
This time it was quite different to before. Not the stuttering push and tug, but a long, languid flowing script that looped in spirals around the page.
‘P … a … p … a …’ Flo spelled out. ‘Papa? What does that mean? That’s not a wedding anniversary.’
‘Paper, maybe?’ Tom was frowning at the sheet. ‘That makes no sense though. Paper’s like … year two or something. We celebrated that last year. Maybe it means opal. That first P could be an O.’
‘Maybe it’s telling us its name,’ Flo said breathlessly. Her rage of a moment before was gone, and she looked excited – almost hyper with it. She refilled and then drained her glass with three reckless gulps and then set it unsteadily back on the floor. I saw that her silvery-grey top, the twin of the one Clare was wearing, had a red-wine stain down one sleeve. ‘They don’t always perform to order you know. Let’s ask it. What is your name, spirit?’
The pen started again, looping swiftly over the page in large, quickly formed letters that ate up the space, scribbling over the other writing from before.
Pa … I saw and then … by further across the page. Then it slowed to a halt and Flo craned her head to read out the text.
‘Papa Begby. Wow. Who on earth is that?’
She looked around the circle of shrugging shoulders and shaking heads.
‘Nora?’ Flo said suddenly. ‘Do you know who that is?’
‘Christ, no!’ I said, reflexively. To tell the truth, I was more than a little creeped out. The other stuff had been fairly obvious joking around. This felt distinctly odd. The others looked as unnerved as I felt. Clare was chewing the end of a piece of hair. Nina was looking elaborately unconcerned but I could see her fingers playing with her lighter in her pocket, nervously twisting it around beneath the cloth. Tom looked frankly shocked, his face pale even in the dim light. Only Flo looked genuinely thrilled.
‘Wow,’ she breathed. ‘A real spirit. Papa Begby. Maybe he’s the guy who owned this croft? Papa Begby,’ she spoke respectfully into the space above our heads. ‘Papa Begby, do you have a message for us here tonight?’
The pen started moving again, more jerkily this time.
M … I read. For a moment my heart sank. Not more jokes about coffee.
M … m … m …
The script went faster and faster and then there was a sudden crunch and the planchette grated to a juddering halt. Clare lifted it up and put her hand to her mouth.
‘Oh Flops, I’m so sorry.’
I looked down at the table. The biro had gone clean through the page, and into the polished wood beneath.
‘Your aunt—’
‘Oh never mind,’ Flo said impatiently. She pushed the planchette away and lifted up the sheet. ‘What does it say?’
We all looked, reading over her shoulder as she turned the page slowly this way and that, reading the curving spiral of writing.
M m mmmmuurderrrrrrrrrrrrrer
‘Oh my God.’ Tom put his hand to his mouth.
‘That’s not funny,’ Nina said. Her face was pale and she took a step back from the group, scanning our faces. ‘Who wrote that?’
‘Look,’ Tom said, ‘hands up, I did the coffee one. But I didn’t say that – I wouldn’t!’
We all looked at each other, searching for guilt in each other’s eyes.
‘Maybe you’re barking up the wrong tree,’ Flo said. Her flush was back, but this time I thought it had an edge of triumph rather than anger. ‘Maybe it was a real message. After all, I know some things about you, about you all.’
‘What do you mean?’ Tom said. His voice was wary. ‘Clare, what’s she on about?’
Clare said nothing, just shook her head. Her face was quite white, her lips bloodless beneath the gloss. I found I was breathing hard and fast, almost hyperventilating.
‘Hey,’ Nina said suddenly. Her voice had an odd, far-away quality. ‘Hey, Nora, are you OK?’
‘I’m fine,’ I said, or tried to say. I wasn’t sure if the words came out. The room seemed to be closing in even as the great glass window opened out, like a mouthful of pointed piney teeth, waiting to swallow us all. I felt hands grabbing at my arms, pushing me down on the sofa, my head between my knees.
‘You’re all right,’ I heard Nina’s firm voice, and suddenly it was easy to remember that she was a doctor, a professional medic and not just a friend that I went drinking with every few months. ‘You’re all right. Someone get a bag, a paper bag.’
‘Drama queen,’ I heard Flo say in an angry hiss, and she stomped out of the room.
‘I’m fine,’ I said. I tried to sit up, pushing away Nina’s hands. ‘I don’t need a paper bag. I’m OK.’
‘You sure?’ Nina stared into my face, searchingly. I nodded, trying to look convincing.
‘I’m absolutely fine. Sorry, I don’t know why I came over so funny. Too much wine. But I’m all right, I promise.’
‘Too much drama,’ Tom said under his breath, but he said it soberly, and I knew he didn’t mean me.
‘I just— I think I’ll go and get some fresh air. It’s too hot in here.’
It was hot, the stove was pumping out heat like a furnace. Nina nodded.
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No!’ I said, more violently than I meant. And then, more calmly, ‘Honestly, I’d rather be by myself. I just want a breather. OK?’
Outside, I stood with my back against the sliding glass doors of the kitchen. The sky above was deep blue velvet and the moon was astonishingly white, ringed with a pale halo of frost. I felt the cold night air envelop me, the chill cooling my hot face and sweaty palms. I stood, listening to the pounding of my own heart, trying to slow its beats, trying to calm down.
It was absurd to be so ridiculously panicked. There was nothing to say the message was about me. Though, what was it Flo had said at the end?
I know some things about you …
What had she meant? Which one of us was she talking to?
If it was me, there was only one thing she could have been referring to. And Clare was the only person who knew what had happened. Had she told Flo?
I wasn’t sure. I wanted to think not. I tried to remember all the secrets I’d confided to Clare over the years, secrets she’d kept faithfully.
But I remembered going back to school to sit my French comprehension exam, and one of the other girls in the queue putting a hand on my arm. I’m so sorry, she’d said, you’re so brave, and there was genuine pity in her face, but also a kind of glee, the sort you see sometimes when teens are interviewed about the tragic death of a friend. The sadness is there, and it’s real, but there’s an underlying thrill at the drama of it all, the realness of it all.
I didn’t know for sure what she meant – she might have been talking about me and James breaking up. But her reaction seemed extreme for that, and I began to wonder if Clare had told someone what had happened. All through the exam I worried, and worried at the question. And by the time the two hours was up, I knew what I had to do. Because I knew that the doubt would send me insane.
I never went back.
Now, I shut my eyes, feeling the cold on my face, and the snow penetrating my thin socks, and listening to the soft sounds of the night, the crackle and rush of snow-laden branches breaking beneath their weight, the hoot of an owl, the strange haunting shriek of a fox.
I had never lived in the country. I’d grown up on the outskirts of Reading, and then moved to London as soon as I turned eighteen. I’d lived there ever since.
But I could imagine living here, in the silence and the solitude, only seeing people when you wanted to. I wouldn’t live in a vast glass bell jar, though. I’d live somewhere small, inconspicuous, part of the landscape.
I thought of the crofter’s cottage that had once stood here, before it had been burned to the ground. I imagined a long, low building, its silhouette like an animal trying to go to ground, like a hare flattening its form into the grasses. I could have lived there, I thought.
When I opened my eyes the light blazing from the house onto the snow hurt my retinas. It was so brash, so wasteful – like a golden lighthouse, beaming its presence into the darkness. Only … a lighthouse was to tell ships to keep away. This place felt more like a beacon, like a lantern drawing in the moths.
I shivered. I must stop being so superstitious. This was a beautiful house. We were lucky to be staying here, even for just a few days. But I did not like it, I didn’t trust Flo, and I couldn’t wait to be away tomorrow morning. I wondered how early I could decently leave. Nina and I had seats on the 5 p.m. train, but my ticket was flexible.
‘Are you OK?’ The voice came from behind me, followed by a long exhalation of cigarette smoke, and I turned and saw Nina standing there, fag in one hand, the other arm wrapped around her ribs against the cold. ‘Sorry. I know you said you wanted to be alone. I just … I needed a fag. Needed to get away. Ugh, that Flo! She gives me the heebie-jeebies. What was all that weird stuff about knowing secrets about us?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said uncomfortably.
‘It was probably just bullshit.’ Nina dragged on her fag. ‘But I must admit, I was sitting there ticking off all the stuff I’ve told Clare over the years and it wasn’t a very comfortable feeling, thinking about what she might have passed on to Flo. And Tom looked pretty shaken up, didn’t he? Wonder what the skeleton in his closet is?’
‘I don’t know,’ I repeated. The cold was starting to strike through to my bones, and I shivered.
‘I think Melanie had it right,’ Nina said at last. ‘Flo’s not normal. And her weirdness about Clare – “not healthy” is an understatement. All that copying Clare’s clothes – it’s a bit Single White Female, isn’t it? If you ask me, she’s a couple of Xanax away from re-enacting the shower scene in Psycho.’
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ I snapped. Flo was odd, but that was really not fair. ‘She’s not psycho, she’s just not very confident. I know what it’s like, always feeling second best. Clare’s not always the easiest person to be friends with.’
‘No. No, don’t try to make excuses for her, Nora. The clothes and stuff – I mean, whatever, it’s weird, but if Clare wants to put up with it, it’s her call. But that little exhibition tonight was directed squarely at us, and I’m not having it. Look, I was thinking, tomorrow— I know we’re booked on the five p.m., but—’
‘But can we go early? I was thinking the exact same thing.’
‘I’ve had it up to here, to be honest. If I was sober I’d go tonight but I’m in no state to drive. What do you reckon – straight after breakfast?’
‘Flo will flip,’ I said soberly. There were more activities planned for tomorrow; I wasn’t sure what, but the instructions had been clear – leave at 2 p.m., not before.
‘I know. I was actually thinking …’ Nina took a long drag. ‘I was thinking we could just slip away. Is that cowardly?’
‘Yes,’ I said definitely. ‘Very.’
‘Oh all right.’ She sighed, exhaling a cloud of smoke, white in the moonlight. ‘Maybe I can invent some sort of hospital crisis. I’ll think of an excuse tonight.’
‘How would you know?’ I said. ‘Given there’s no mobile reception and no phone?’
‘Well that’s another fucking thing, isn’t it. Supposing the crazed locals do come up the hill, banjos playing, pikes alight, what the hell are we supposed to do? Throw snowballs at them?’
‘Don’t be so melodramatic. There aren’t any crazed locals. Flo’s aunt probably torched the place herself as an insurance job and blamed it on the farmers.’
‘I hope you’re right. I’ve seen Deliverance.’
‘I’m happy for you, but back to the problem in hand …’
‘Oh, I’ll just pretend a stray text got through overnight. Anyway even if Flo doesn’t believe me, what can she say?’
Plenty, was my guess, but unless she barricaded the door, I didn’t think it would work to deflect Nina.
There was a long silence, Nina blowing smoke rings with her cigarette into the still night air, me huffing out clouds of white breath.
‘What happened back there?’ Nina asked at last. ‘That little panic attack, I mean. Was it the message?’
‘Sort of.’
‘But you didn’t think it was about you, did you?’ She looked at me sideways, curiously, and blew out a smoke ring. ‘I mean, what could you have possibly done to kill someone?’
I shrugged. ‘No, not really. Anyway, it might not have been murderer. It could have been murder. There were so many repeats I’m not sure what the word actually was.’
‘What, like a warning you mean?’ Nina asked. ‘So we’re back to the crazed locals, are we?’
I shrugged again.
‘I’m not going to lie,’ she puffed out another ring, ‘I thought maybe it was directed at me. I mean – I’ve never killed anyone purposely, but there’s people who’ve died because of mistakes I made, for sure.’
‘What – you thought it was a genuine message?’
‘Nah.’ She took another drag. ‘I don’t believe in any of that kind of thing. I just meant, I thought someone was taking a stab in the dark, trying to wind me up. It was definitely Flo, no question. I think she was pissed off because we were messing around at the beginning and decided to punish us. I did that tequila message. She probably knew.’
‘Do you think?’ I looked up at the clear sky. It was not black, but deep, navy blue, a colour so pure it made my eyes hurt. Far up a satellite was travelling towards the moon. I tried to remember back, to Flo’s face as she read out the word, to her closed eyes and rapturous expression. ‘I don’t know. I’ve been standing out here trying to think it out, but I’m not sure it was her. She looked genuinely shocked. And she was the only person who really believed in the whole thing. I don’t think she’d have messed with the spirits by pushing it.’
‘So now you reckon it was real?’ There was scepticism in Nina’s voice. I shook my head.
‘No, I didn’t mean that. I think someone was pushing it. I’m just not sure it was her.’
‘So what – that leaves, Tom and Clare?’ Nina dropped her cigarette and ground it out in the snow with a hiss. ‘Really?’
‘I know. That’s partly what upset me. I think it was …’ I stopped, trying to disentangle my unease at the whole thing. ‘It wasn’t the message, it was the spite. Whatever you think, whoever you think did that, human or not, it was a horrible thing to say. Someone in that room wanted to fuck with our heads.’
‘And they did.’
We both turned to look back at the house. Through the window I could see Clare moving around the living room, rounding up glasses and picking nuts out of the carpet. Tom was nowhere to be seen – I guessed he had gone up. Flo was loading the dishwasher in the kitchen with a nervous, savage energy, crashing the glasses in so hard I was surprised they didn’t break.
I didn’t want to go back in. For a second, in spite of the snow, in spite of the sub-zero temperatures that were already making me shiver, I was seriously tempted to borrow Nina’s keys and sleep in the car.
‘Come on,’ Nina said at last. ‘We can’t stay out here all night. Let’s go back in, say good night and head straight up. Then first thing in the morning, we’re out of here. Right?’
‘All right.’
I followed her back through the kitchen door, and closed it behind us.
‘Lock it, please,’ Flo said shortly. She looked up from the dishwasher. Her face was bleary, her mascara halfway down her cheeks, her hair straggling across her face.
‘Flo, leave it,’ Nina said. ‘Please. I promise we’ll help in the morning.’
‘It’s fine,’ Flo said tightly. ‘I don’t need any help.’
‘All right!’ Nina threw up her hands. ‘You said it. See you at breakfast.’ She turned and then muttered, ‘Fucking martyr,’ as she left the room.