The Forever Home by Sue Watson

Chapter Fourteen

Half an hour later, I’d cleaned up the broken mug, the spilled tea, and was sitting trance-like on a kitchen stool when the police finally arrived. Two officers in uniform checked the house, the garden – none of which gave us any answers. I told them about the sand, the letter in the blue envelope, the photographs, and by the time I got to the smashed vase, I could almost see it in their eyes – ‘we’ve got a right one here.’

‘Could we see the note?’ one of them asked. I knew he wasn’t interested, and when I told him it had gone from the drawer, I might as well have just said, ‘I’m mad, I’m mad as a hatter. I just called you for company in the middle of the night.’

There was nothing more they could do then, though they assured me they would ‘follow it up’, by which I understood they’d probably go back to the station and have a good laugh about Mark Anderson’s crazy wife. Because, in truth, that was what they were most interested in – Mark and the house, and the fact it was ‘famous’. With my permission, they even did a nice little selfie in the middle of the living room.

When they left, I couldn’t go to sleep, I just curled up on the sofa, covered in a huge throw, with a baseball bat hidden underneath. Because I knew, whatever reassurances the officers had tried to fob me off with – it was a stormy night, it was probably just a tree in the distance, a shadow of a branch – I knew someone had been out there, looking in at me.

I was keeping my eye on the glass doors when the front doorbell rang. I didn’t move. I glanced at the time. No way. I had no intention of opening the front door to anyone at 7 a.m., and just stayed very, very still.

I waited in silence, and even though I was expecting it to ring again, when the doorbell rang, the sound pierced my chest. I tried to distract myself and absently noted that the early morning was breathtaking over the sea. But I refocused on the glass, not what was beyond, figuring if someone had put their hands against it, there might still be marks. The police officers hadn’t really even inspected it, let alone looked for fingerprints.

I got up off the sofa, still clutching the bat; if I could see fingerprints, I’d know I wasn’t going mad. I could call the police again and this time I’d have concrete proof someone had been in the garden. I moved towards the window and put the baseball bat down, placing my own hands against the glass on the inside. Everywhere was still and quiet and I concentrated really hard, desperately trying to see something. Suddenly I focused, as two eyes stared back at me. I screamed, grabbing the bat and pointing it in a threatening gesture, as I saw the hands raise, but this time, they were surrendering.

‘Ryan, what the hell?’

He was standing exactly where whoever it was had stood just a few hours before, then came round to the door, which I unlocked to let him in.

‘I’m so sorry, Carly, did I scare you? I thought I’d make an early start,’ he was saying as he walked in. ‘I’ve been ringing the doorbell for ages. Whoa, what’s going on?’ He looked at the bat, still in my hand. ‘You can put that down for a start.’

I felt very foolish. ‘Sorry. I’m a bit freaked out.’

‘Why, what’s happened?’

I made coffee first and, after the first few comforting sips, told him what I’d seen, and how I’d called the police.

He seemed genuinely concerned. ‘Shit, the police? You must have been so scared. Carly, I really don’t think you should be here on your own. It’s remote and at night, anyone could break in. No one would hear or see anything. You’re completely isolated.’

‘I realise that, but I’ve been here all my life. I can’t be scared in my own home. I won’t!’ I said, trying desperately to convince myself I wasn’t scared, when really I was.

‘You know, you don’t deserve any of this,’ he said, putting his arms around me.

I reciprocated, telling myself this was a friendly hug and I needed it. But it was giving me so much more, and when I eventually pulled away, he was looking at me with such tenderness, I wanted to bury my face in his neck.

‘I want to protect you. You bring that out in me.’ He paused. ‘I want… to kiss you,’ he murmured.

‘Are you sure… you aren’t just saying that out of pity, are you?’

He didn’t answer me directly, just shook his head. ‘I feel that you and me have a connection. I think about you all the time, Mrs Anderson, and trust me it isn’t pity I’m feeling,’ he breathed.

And this time, I kissed him. It was passionate, with no awkwardness. Having not kissed anyone but Mark for more than twenty years, it felt like fire. I’d forgotten the power of first kisses, the sheer intensity was overwhelming, and after a few minutes I had to pull away.

‘I don’t know what’s happening here,’ I said, but he pulled me in again, his tongue pushing between my lips, his breath hot, his face prickly with stubble. This was going to go further and we both knew it. I felt like I’d taken illegal drugs but couldn’t stop and was heading straight for something my rational mind wasn’t completely sure about. But my body wanted this more than anything, and when Ryan pushed me onto the sofa, I knew I had to have him. But then, the doorbell chimed again.

‘Leave it,’ he mumbled, holding me tighter, pushing his face into my neck.

‘I have to answer it…’

‘No, don’t leave me,’ he begged. I could feel his energy throbbing through us both, and as much as I wanted this, I knew this might be a sign that I should take a step back. I was heading for dangerous territory.

‘Sorry,’ I said, pushing him away with force, and feeling like I’d just landed back on earth with a bump.

He smiled, and flopped down onto the sofa.

‘Let’s talk about this in a minute,’ I called behind me, as I ran from the room, straightening my hair and opening the door.

There was a delivery man bearing a big cardboard box, which I signed for and carried back through to the living room.

‘This looks interesting,’ I said as I made my way over to Ryan.

‘Leave that,’ he said huskily. ‘Open it later, I want to pick up where we left off.’ He tried to pull me down onto the sofa next to him, and as much as I wanted to go back to the kissing, I was dying to know what was in the parcel.

‘No, let’s open it,’ I urged. ‘I wouldn’t be able to concentrate for wondering what it is.’

‘Okay,’ he sighed, reluctantly sitting up from his recumbent position, reaching out his hand for me to sit next to him.

I sat down, and ripped off the parcel tape, quite excited to see what I’d been sent. ‘Who can it be from? No one ever sends me gifts,’ I said, pushing my fingers under the flaps of cardboard to open the lid. We both peered inside, almost bumping heads. It made me giggle. ‘You’re almost as excited as me!’

Ryan nodded vigorously, still looking at the box expectantly. But inside was another box. This one was white, with a matching white ribbon.

‘Is it something from The White Company?’ I said, half to Ryan and half to myself. I shook the box – it was bigger than a shoebox, but not huge. ‘It’s very light. It could be a silk scarf?’ I guessed, although I wasn’t sure who would send me a scarf or why. It wasn’t my birthday, Mother’s Day had been and gone, and I wasn’t one to get gifts unexpectedly, that had always been Mark. Some of the things he got sent beggared belief, but I’d checked the name and this box was definitely for me.

‘Too heavy for silk. Any sign as to who sent it?’ Ryan said, putting his hands under the box to feel the weight. ‘It could be from an admirer?’

‘I don’t have any.’

‘You have one at least.’ He looked at me and smiled; his dimples appeared, and I almost forgot the parcel.

I could feel myself blush. ‘You don’t have to say that.’

‘I know,’ he said.

‘Could be from Jake, or Phoebe… Ooh, I wonder if it’s Erin,’ I said, glancing over at Ryan, and raised my eyebrows while trying to undo the ribbon which was tightly tied.

‘Erin… Who stole your husband?’

I nodded, my eyes still on the knot, waggling it with my finger and thumb. ‘I saw her in the village the other day, she was pretty vile – might be a peace offering? Or it could be Mark?’

‘Why is he sending you gifts?’ Ryan asked, and I heard the irritation in his voice.

‘Who knows, perhaps it’s to say sorry and we’re finally on the road to a happy divorce?’ I suggested doubtfully. ‘Ahh, finally.’ The knot eventually loosened, and I carefully folded the ribbon and placed it on the arm of the sofa.

‘Come on, you’re driving me mad, open the bloody box, woman!’ Ryan said, pretending to be annoyed.

‘Sorry, I’m infuriating,’ I acknowledged, giggling as I slowly lifted the lid off the box. It slid up easily, and inside was white tissue paper, which I began to remove slowly.

‘Rip it,’ he commanded. ‘Go on, just rip it off and delve inside.’

I did as I was told, and excitedly ripped the tissue paper off, throwing each layer in the air, until the tissue paper further down seemed to turn pink, and then deeper pink, then red. And sticky.

I couldn’t work out what it was. A red candle that had melted? Sticky strawberry sweets that hadn’t survived the journey? Then it came to me, in complete horror.

‘It’s BLOOD?’ I cried.

‘What the…’ Ryan was now standing up, like he didn’t want to be close to whatever was in there.

But I was compelled to keep going, driven to prove myself wrong. It wasn’t that – it couldn’t possibly be blood. So I just kept lifting the tissue paper bit by bit. I refused to believe it could be anything horrible, and if I kept on, I’d be rewarded by a wonderful gift. That was me, ignoring the signs, always hoping for the best. But the tang of metal had already reached my nostrils, and when I lifted the final red-soaked sheet from the ‘present’ inside, I gasped, in sheer revulsion, and knocked it to the ground. The look of disgust on Ryan’s face said it all.

‘Get it out,’ I yelled. ‘We have to get it outside.’ I was shaking, as we both stared at the raw, bloody meat lying on the pale sheepskin rug. Maggots were feeding on it, a white mass crawling all over it, devouring it, the movement making it seem like it had a life after death.

Ryan kicked at the meat with his foot, sending the maggots scattering through the rug, and as I grabbed one end of the rug, I yelled at him to grab the other. With blood now seeping into the fabric of the white rug, we lifted it, and both ran into the back garden, hurling it as far away as we could. But the maggots continued, relentless in their pursuit, moving as one across the grass, back to their host.

‘What the hell IS that?’ Ryan said. He was really shaken; so was I.

My heart was pounding and I started to retch, as thousands of maggots continued to swallow the meat, a moving, consuming white entity.

‘Who… who?’ so horrified he was unable to say anything more.

‘I don’t know, I don’t know,’ I replied, tearfully, shuddering, as if the maggots were eating my flesh. Ryan walked down the garden, and inspected the horror from a safe distance. ‘We need to get rid of them,’ he said. ‘What about bleach?’

But I knew that would ruin the grass and might kill some plants, so for the next half an hour, I boiled the kettle and pans of water and Ryan simply poured the boiling liquid on the whole horrible scene.

‘That meat’s fetid,’ Ryan said, wandering in with yet another empty pan. ‘I think the maggots have all gone now, because I could finally see what the “meat” was.’ He sighed, and walked towards me, putting both his hands on my shoulders. ‘Don’t freak out, Carly, but it looks like someone sent you a dead rat.’