Flowers for the Dead

скачать книгу бесплатно


There is something very urgent to her question. Like finding an old book in the attic, one you loved as a child, as badly as you loved your cat and your parents and the stars, and suddenly realising you never finished it. ‘Yes,’ I lie. My eyes are still searching the trees. The corner of my mouth twitches upwards. ‘Thank you so much for your recommendations.’

A leash is dangling from her right hand, but still no sign of a dog. ‘Not to worry. Just because I never heard from you again. Professional interest, you see. It is hard to contain.’

She laughs again, but it still sounds urgent.

‘I trained as a florist,’ I say, on my way to working up the nerve to ask, I know it’s a little out of the blue, but did you know it wasn’t a stranger at all who attacked me nineteen years ago? Oh, and who’s the alcoholic who lives on the High Street and stole Jacob Mason’s name, eyes and grin? And what about Teoman Dündar? Since when has he been back? ‘All the wildflowers here, that’s what made me think it would be good. I wanted to care for something.’

‘How lovely,’ she answers. ‘Mark and Sue mentioned it, actually.’

Again I open my mouth to ask her at least one of those questions. I could start with Jacob.

A cracking sound. It came from the woods to our left, the trees separating our grounds from the Kenzies’.

‘Kaitlin mentioned you were looking for work?’

I take a step down the stairs. The chimes are singing in the wind. The bags are turning to lead in my hands. Miss Luca does not seem to have heard the noise, the noise in the woods. She is looking only at my face. ‘You know, I would love to invite you over for tea before you leave again, Ms Wilson. Kaitlin said you might not be here to stay? I’m so curious about how you have been, and we were all so sad to see you go, back then, you know. Sad that we didn’t get to see you again.’

‘Yes!’ I say, perhaps a little too quickly. ‘Yes, I’d love that. I’d love to talk to you. You know. About things. About things that happened. Here.’

She is observing me closely as I try to tear my eyes away from the woods. ‘Right.’

‘Just because being here,’ I say, struggling to get the words out, ‘it … it brings things back.’

She nods, slowly. Looking down. It gives me pause. It’s as if she can’t look me in the eye for a moment.

‘I am so happy to hear you have chosen to come back to this house,’ Miss Luca says. ‘It looked sad with nobody living in it. Besides, it means that you must have come a long way. Being able to live here. After everything.’

There. I see it again. The flash of a movement. A silhouette, making its way through the forest, moving from trunk to trunk.

The chimes are singing, right next to my face.

It is the white silhouette. From the top window.

‘Wait!’ I shout. ‘Stop!’

Even as Miss Luca flinches, the silhouette stops.

Then it turns around and runs.

Without thinking twice, I drop the grocery bags where I stand and run after it. Miss Luca calls my name, shocked, but I pay her no heed. All I can think about is the chimes, and the doorbell that rang in the night, and how I woke up with traces of sweat like fingers on my skin.

Twigs crack beneath my feet as I dash towards the tree line. Even before I’ve reached the first row of trunks, I’m out of breath. I don’t work out. I keep running. The silhouette isn’t so far off that I can’t still see it, white like a ghost in the frosted woods. ‘Stop!’ I call again. Why would a person run if they were only here on a walk? Why would anyone run from a stranger calling for them? And if it isn’t a stranger, then …

I speed up. My lungs are burning. I know I used to be faster than this. I remember I could run from this porch all the way to the Kenzies’, all the way through the forest, all the way without any trouble whatsoever. I remember only last year, I could run from our flat to the river and back, I could …

That was three years ago, actually. Maybe it would have been better not to make fun of Kaitlin and Miss Luca.

The silhouette seems to be getting away. With every ounce of willpower I possess, I try and speed up even more. Frost crunches under my soles. Branches break. I’m getting closer. It feels like I’m getting closer. There it is, a white shadow, a ghost, a ghost in the shape of …

My legs give out. I stumble. The burn in my lungs has grown so bad I can’t go on. My hands and knees hit the ground as the silhouette takes off. I didn’t come close enough to recognise the person. But I did come close enough to see that they were holding something. It looked thin and long and black against the frost, like a club. Or a rifle.

Behind me, I hear hurried steps. Miss Luca has followed me. I wouldn’t have thought she’d have it in her. Not wearing shoes like that. ‘Ms Wilson, gosh, are you okay?’

Slowly, I rise, grateful for her hand on my elbow, supporting me. Blood is pumping through my legs, my arms, my entire skin prickling. My body feels hot and pulsing, my breaths coming in short bursts. I’ve completely forgotten what it felt like to exert oneself. To run further than the bus stop when you spotted the driver pulling up a few yards ahead. Further than to the jammed front door. I thought if I always took the stairs, I’d be fine. Bloody lie, that.

‘Ms Wilson, what happened?’ Miss Luca says. ‘Tell me what happened. Take your time.’

I remember her voice. Her inquisitive voice, not making demands, just asking questions. But never looking at me when we talked about it. Not once.

I remember, very suddenly, that I liked her.

‘The chimes,’ I tell her. ‘Somebody’s come back with my chimes.’

THE DETECTIVE INSPECTOR

Sexual violence? No. No, no, no. And if we did, believe me I’d make sure to get the bastard myself. We haven’t had anything like it in … nineteen years?

And even back then, it was an anomaly. I still think it was someone from outside, you know? Outside the community. No one would have done a thing like that, no one who lived here. Everybody knows each other, you know? You wouldn’t have got away with it.

No, whoever did that to poor Little Linny, he must have got in and out within the same night. I mean, the motorway is only twenty minutes away. What would stop you from coming here, finding that abandoned road, that lass alone in her house …? And then taking off again? Two hours, and you could be in Manchester; hell, you could be in Turkey in four if you made straight for the airport.