Nevermore

Prologue

It was getting dark. The gentle glow of the amber sun was gradually being consumed by vivid purples and blues. In a few all to brief minutes, all that would remain was the light from the candle. Even the moon had taken its leave of the vale. Emmie pulled the curtain tightly shut against the gathering dark.

They would be here soon and she was the only one left to witness them.

Her door was wedged closed, the spindle back chair lovingly made by her Grandfather thrust up against the handle. She felt her heart quicken as the brass handle caught the light from her flame, now shaking with her trembling hand.

The handle turned slowly and a low sob escaped from her cherry lips. She clamped her hand against her lips, forcing them to be silent, willing them not to betray her. Then the rattling began as a steady rhythmic ever increasing crescendo, when the door knob was repeatedly forced by an unseen hand. Emmie rested the candle on the dresser and scrambled under the bed, pressing her hands to her ears, her dark curls matted with cold sweat. The smell of dust and neglect clogged her nose and then there was another smell. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and waited until she could hold her breath no longer.

Time passed and slowly, she exhaled opening her eyes. She could see the shadows cast by the light from the candle and imagined the flame flickering, though there was no breeze to disturb it.

Emmie had no time to consider her next move. She felt a cold grasp on her ankle and a sudden jerk as she was dragged, screaming from her haven.

Chapter One

“Tell him to stop!”

“You stop!”

“Both of you stop!”

The blue MPV followed the winding roads with far more care than the passengers imagined. Voices drifted up from its interior, giving some insight into the occupant’s trials. Two younger voices laced with the comfortable contempt only siblings can muster, complained bitterly.

“You’re not watching the road, you’re watching them!”

“Someone has to before they kill each other!”

“I wish someone would! Why do we have to come here?”

There, leaning her head against the window, as if to deny the existence of what lay beyond, was Rosie. She trod the awkward path between child and woman with aplomb, defying her exasperated Mother and manipulating her Father as the need arose. When Rosie was miserable, everyone was. The current source of her misery was apparent to all just after they left Uxbridge. Her phone battery had died somewhere around the last village and why no one had though to bring the charger into the car was hardly her fault. The fact that no one seemed to want to stop to fish through their various bags to find it was not her fault either. There may have been some underhand and inappropriate comments regarding the packaging of the charger, which led her Mother to decline to submit to her demands, but they were hardly reasonable. It left little to do but torment Rowan. Four years her junior and that might as well have been forty, Rowan tapped his fully working tablet provocatively.

“Oww!” Rowan said, snatching the tablet away from Rosie’s grasp.

“I am serious, you two!”

“Mum! I’m bored! Can I have the charger?”

“Look, you’ll just-“

Her mother looked around briefly and Rosie would never forget it. Chris did his best to keep out of it, thought she could see the skin on the back of his neck flushing angrily, melting the ginger freckles into one bright red blush. She hardly heard the admonition because Rosie chose that moment to look beyond her Mother and out of the windscreen. Seconds turned to hours as Rosie screamed, pointing ahead. There, frozen to the spot was a stag. Proud and tall, it claimed the road, and they sped towards it. Brakes screeched and her stomach lurched. Then the car bucked and pitched hard to the left, then to the right. There was screaming and as time sped up, Rosie realised it was her. She stopped, panting, her eyes wild.

“Is everyone alright?” her Mother asked.

Rowan managed a tearful, wild-eyed nod and Rosie restored her composure for his sake. No big deal. It was just a stupid deer. Rosie ruffled his mousey tousled hair in an attempt to placate him.

“Get off!”

The deer was forgotten already and their previous argument rekindled.

“Do you want me to drive?”

That was a red rag to a bull and Rosie waited for the terse reply. Whatever Chris thought he was to her Mother, she decided, he wasn’t.

“No, Chris. I’m fine. The car’s fine. We are all fine.”

Her Mother gripped the wheel tightly, her jaw clenched as they pulled away again. Chris did his best impression of a goldfish, but said nothing, staring ahead instead. It was his way of avoiding the argument, but there would be one eventually. Mum and Dad had separated because they argued and Mum had met Chris, Rosie was informed. Now all Mum and Chris did was argue. He would be gone soon, she was sure. Rosie wanted to ask why he had come at all. In fact, she wanted to demand why her Father had been left behind. None of those questions would come and so she continued to sulk, hoping that someone would see the injustice of her lot. No one seemed to care.

Rosie turned to stare out or the rear window, half expecting to find the startled animal. There was no sign of the deer and a low mist had begun to snake its way across the road where it stood. She shuddered. If she looked closely, she imagined a deer-shaped hollow in the mist, mouth impossibly wide, bellowing its hot breath until they were out of sight.

Chapter two

Miriam hated the expression mixed race. She found the entire notion that she was somehow a jumble of parts disgusting. She was just Miriam. Her father had been white and her mother had been darker. That was all she was prepared to say on the matter and when she met Tony, he seemed to get it, which was more than her cousins ever did. She did not feel the need to be defined by her skin and in her youthful nativity, imagined everyone felt the same way.

That was before.

Then the children came along and suddenly, they hardly knew each other and were expected to make decisions neither of them felt prepared for. Suddenly her heritage became important because they were part of it and suddenly, Tony no longer was. The phrase growing apart, she decided, meant one person had grown up. It was not Tony. Consequently the kids loved him. He was never the one to make the rules, stick to a routine, and discuss real issues with them. What had been exciting became reckless. Passion became demanding and before she realised it, neither of them wanted to continue. At least Tony had been happy to walk away until another man came along.

Then there was Chris. He could not have been more similar and yet he had shown some commitment. Not any man would get involved with a single Mum of two, with a jealous, possessive ex in the mix. It had to count for something and a holiday together was just the thing to cement their relationship.

The three of them were on the front lawn running about like things possessed. Chris had the retrieved charger and had no intention of giving it to Rosie. Miriam smiled, remembering happier times and wondering how long it would last before one of them ruined it.

She had been pleasantly surprised by the cottage, if not by the name.

Nevermore.

Unlike the dark allusions she imagined, the neat little flint building sat nestled between wildflowers and rolling countryside. Even the gravel driveway and white painted shutters were picture perfect. The brochure advertised it as sleeping four comfortable. It had two upstairs rooms and two downstairs rooms, all pleasantly furnished with a modern yet sympathetic feel. It was quaint without being twee. She could smell the fresh paint, slightly musty but not unpleasant in the yellow half wallpapered room. Peacocks and pastel vines fought for their place on the wall behind the four poster bed, replete with a festoon of cushions. It seemed far too large for the room itself, and consequently, storage consisted of a dresser with a triple antique mirror. In the corner, a spindle backed chair completed the look of country meets chic.

The kitchen was a well-equipped shaker affair in cream without, she was pleased to find, the addition of a range cooker. There was even space for a small pine table with four well-worn chairs. The letting agent had left a welcome basket with tea, coffee and biscuits. Rowan had found those as soon as they arrived.

Rowan was on Chris’ shoulders and Rosie, who appeared to have remembered she was a teenager, had the coveted charger. Miriam heard the door slam as Rosie came in search of electricity and Facebook. She checked her watch. It had lasted almost thirty minutes. Her suggestion that they leave all technology at home and connect with each other was met with such horror that she immediately regretted it. They had agreed to share meal sans phone and one evening a week was devoted alternately to family time. Rosie’s perfect pout had been hard to resist. Leave the phones? Was she mad?

She sighed, then remembered that her phone was in her bag and she had not checked…No.

She pulled tomorrow’s clothing choice out from the case and made the best use of the chair. Unpacking sensible clothing and a few less sensible ones, she left half the drawer space for Chris. Makeup bag and moisturiser claimed their place on the dresser and the holiday home was a home, at least for a week. She knelt down and pushed the mostly empty case under the bed. It was because Rosie called her that she did not notice the raked linear scratches gouged into the floorboards, as fresh as if they had happened only yesterday.

“Mum!”

Her voice was urgent and Miriam’s maternal instincts flew to the rescue. Even she balked at the scene which greeted her in the kitchen. There perched on the windowsill was a crow, dark-billed and gleaming, as unafraid as it was large.

Miriam smiled at her startled daughter in a kindly reassuring way until Rosie rolled her eyes. Whatever had alarmed her deserved more respect that the townie attitude she was giving her. Rosie held up a hand as if to command attention, then she made her way to where her phone lay, its umbilical unplugged. With slow deliberate movements, she plugged the phone in to the nearest socket. The crow let out a piercing shriek, beating its wings against the glass. It rose up, scratching and pecking, as if it could break the glass, and Miriam saw a fierce determination in its beady eye. Miriam reasoned it might shatter the window and Rosie nodded in agreement, feeling her stomach churn.

Rosie pulled out the phone charger, urged on by her Mother’s insistent waving to hurry. The crow stopped its assault immediately, turned one watchful eye towards them, ruffled its feathers and hopped down from the sill. Gingerly the two women peered out of the window and down onto the gravel path behind the kitchen. A distant caw made them both jump but there was no sign of the crow.

“Weird, “Miriam said. “It must be sensitive to the noise of the phone charging. Maybe leave it off for tonight?”

Rosie nodded slowly.

Chapter Three

When Chris had been introduced to Tony, he expected some natural animosity. After all, he was taking his place like it or not. He had not expected the sustained and often creative attempts the man made to undermine him at every turn. Not that Miriam noticed at first. Not that he would have told her. Sure Tony was not her favourite person but he was still the kids’ father and she wanted to work with him. They deserved to have parents who could do that. So Chris said nothing. He kept quiet at the family get together when Tony took great delight in telling him a story Chris had shared her thought in confidence. He maintained his cool when Tony reminded him of every sexual fantasy he had enacted with Miriam, in minute detail. He was the taller man, he was smarter and he was not going to give up his woman without a fight.

Except that Miriam was not going to be bargained over. Chris smiled a small smile of victory when she dressed him down in front of the entire family. She was with him now. Tony had to get used to it for the sake of everyone. For the sake of the kids. It was bringing the kids into it which had finally driven some sense into the man. After all, they suffered more than anyone when their parents argued. So an agreement had been reached, albeit a reluctant one.

The cottage was his apology, his way to make amends for the email with an explicit attachment which almost cost Chris his job as a TA. Let it go. Chris took a deep breath in and he could feel the healing power of green reaching into every corner of his soul. Let it go.

Rowan had found a large and rather interesting snail, which he was poking experimentally with a stick, equally disgusted and amused by it.

“Have you never seen a snail?” Chris asked him.

“Sure! Loads but not like this one,” he replied, continuing to torment the creature.

Peering over his shoulder, Chris watched the creature in its attempts to escape, thwarted at every turn by Rowan and his lance. He removed his glasses and cleaned them on the edge of his t-shirt before putting them back on, pushing them home with a decisive finger. There was nothing unusual about the snail at first glance. Rowan poked it and it retracted its body into its shell. Chris was about to suggest, in a not too paternal way, more friendly advice really, that it might be kinder to leave it alone, when the snail bit the stick firmly. It pulled with all its tiny might, trying to win an impossible game of tug of war with the child. One elongated eye peered at Rowan. Rowan tilted his head and the snail…

Chris shook his head. It was just a snail. There were lots of them. He looked around. There were far more of them than he had noticed before, some on the plants and some in the neatly cropped grass. They all seemed to be heading in the same direction, which was towards Rowan, with a single-minded determination to do what he could not say.

“Let’s go inside, “Chris advised. “Time to eat anyway.”

Rowan dropped the stick, already tired of tormenting the snail and trotted in after Chris. Chris shut the door firmly behind them, chaining the door as he did so. Rowan eyed him suspiciously. He was right. It was weird. He unchained the door and went to find Miriam.

“What do you think of the place?” she asked, throwing her arms around his neck.

“It’s better now!”

“Gross!”

“Rowan, go and sort your things out. You can sleep upstairs or down,” Miriam advised, heading for the other room.

“I’m sleeping down! “Rosie insisted, reappearing from the next room. “There’s a TV in my room and a really comfie sofabed. I’ve moved the table out of the way.”

Miriam peered into the room. She had already drawn the curtains to set the right mood. The room was darkly furnished and Rosie’s clothes were strewn over the floor. She closed the door when Miriam tried to venture further in and Chris smiled to himself. Some things never changed. He knew Miriam hoped the holiday would strengthen their relationship and what Chris wanted to explain was that it did not need to be. Rosie was doing just fine. She was simply learning to live without her and that was something only Miriam would have an issue with.

He tested the sofa in the living room. It wasn’t bad, a bit too soft for his liking but it would do. There was a fireplace with a freshly made up grate, suggesting a working hearth. That would be interesting. Two armchairs had been placed either side of it, seeming almost too contrived. At least there wasn’t a clock on the mantle, which would have made it almost ridiculous.

“Look what I found in my room!”

Rowan had reappeared carrying a dark cased clock. He seemed about to drop it and Chris sprang into action, retrieving the weighty case before the deposit was lost. He smiled. Tony’s deposit was lost. Vandalism was just not in his nature. No. That was an incredibly childish thing to think, never mind do. He placed the clock on the mantle and tapped the face. Still, accidents were bound to happen with two children around.

“It’s wind up. Maybe there’s a key?” Miriam suggested.

“If it chimes, no thank you! “Rosie called, providing a well noted insight into the soundproofing of the cottage.

He gave Miriam a knowing look. ”Thin walls.”

“Mmmm.”        

“Why don’t we go out for dinner?” Chris suggested. “Pizza?”

Rowan’s eyes lit up with the prospect of pizza; he was easily pleased and Chris had won him over on their first meeting with cheese and pepperoni. Rosie was an entirely different matter. She had done her vegan phase, as Miriam called it, lasting almost a month. He had been impressed by her commitment. She had settled on a quasi-vegetarian style entirely of her own design and with her own unique set of rules. They seemed to have been created to maximise her following and irk her mother. Not that Miriam would endorse animal cruelty. She simply struggled to understand the difference between eating cheese and drinking milk, the latter Rosie had no issue with.

“Not Pizza!” Rosie yelled. ”I’m becoming lactose intolerant! I think I caught it from Gemma.”

Chris shared a smile of solidarity with Miriam. ”Chinese it is then. We passed a place not too far from here.”