Текст книги "The House on Fever Street"
Автор книги: Celina Grace
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
Chapter Twenty-Six
Bella went to work the next day. She’d been off for nearly a week. She had no sick note and no real excuse, but after a glance at the black smudges under her eyes and the bones that were showing through her skin, no one commented. She went through the motions of the day, keeping quiet, nodding and smiling when required. At lunchtime she bought a cheese and ham sandwich and threw it away after one bite. She’d lost her appetite totally; even the smell of food made her feel sick. Her heart beat erratically at times, bringing her odd bouts of breathlessness. She subsisted on paper cups of coffee, holding them to her for warmth as much as refreshment.
At five thirty she left, without a goodbye to her colleagues. Her feet took her automatically to the bus stop but as she approached the crowd of people that were waiting there, she slowed and faltered. Could she bear going home? How could she face Carl and Veronica? How could she face Jake? She dithered miserably for a moment, shivering in the harsh little wind that had picked up at dusk.
She ended up in a cinema, having had a hasty evening meal of a burger oozing grease, of which she managed to eat half. She sat in the cinema in the warm dark, surrounded by strangers, staring unseeing at the fluffy comedy unfolding before her eyes. What was she going to do? When she was away from Jake, when he was physically absent from her, she could understand the enormity of what he was asking her. He was asking her for her silence. He was asking her for her complicity in covering up a crime. Concealing a body – that was a crime, wasn’t it? It wasn’t as if it was murder – but still… Did an accident count as a murder? Bella rubbed her temples. Her head hadn’t stopped aching all day.
Eventually the film finished and she was driven out into the cold. She stood in the foyer of the cinema, holding her mobile in her hand. Having switched it off for the film, she could somehow feel the weight of the myriad text messages and calls from Jake that were no doubt clogging her voicemail inbox. She dropped it back into her bag, still switched off, and pushed open the door, making her reluctant way to the bus stop.
She turned into Fever Street and began to walk hesitantly towards the house. The streetlights here were wide spaced and she stepped in and out of pools of light and blackness, a chiaroscuro walkway that her feet now knew better than the driveway of her mother’s home. She stared down at her toes, slipping in and out of her view, as her footsteps became slower and slower. At the entrance to the front garden, she paused. Inescapably, she thought of what lay behind the house, beneath the shed and a galvanic shudder ran through her.
The first person she saw as she pushed open the front door was Carl. Her heart stuttered and she couldn’t stop the little gasp that escaped her. He stood by the hall table, sifting through the wads of junk mail that littered its surface. Bella fumbled the door shut. Her hands were actually shaking.
“Hi Bella,” he said, casually. He wasn’t looking at her. Bella mumbled something in reply and edged past, trying not to betray her nervousness. She reached the kitchen, hoping that Jake was there but it was Veronica that stood by the stove, stirring something in a saucepan. She had a cigarette slotted between the long fingers of her hand, and a grey tendril of smoke curled upward towards the ceiling. She glanced up and smiled briefly.
“Hi Bella.”
“Hi.” Bella dithered by the table for a moment, wanting to leave the room but unable to see how she could do it without looking rude. She went to the fridge, hoping for alcohol. There was half a bottle of wine there, thank God, and she reached for a glass.
“Haven’t seen you for ages, it seems like.”
Bella tried to smile. “Well, yes – I’ve been busy.”
“Work?”
“Mmm.” She finished her glass in one chilly gulp. “Is – er, is Jake here?”
“Not yet,” said Carl, unexpectedly behind her. Bella jumped, she couldn’t help it. She sensed rather than saw his smile. Veronica had turned back to the stove and was frowning down at the saucepan, her cigarette-free hand moving the spoon in one constant, smooth circular motion. Bella dragged her eyes away, half hypnotised. Carl leant his long length against the kitchen counter and folded his arms.
“Jake alright?”
“What?” said Bella, jolted.
“I said, is Jake alright?”
“Yes. Of course.” She could hear the defensiveness in her voice but she couldn’t stop it. “Why wouldn’t he be?”
As she said that, panic rose up in her throat. She was trapped here with the two of them, trapped… she sloshed the remaining wine into her glass, the neck of the bottle chiming against the rim of the glass.
“Steady,” said Carl, sounding amused. “How are you, more to the point?”
“I’m fine,” said Bella. She took another gulp of wine and fought for something non-committal to say, something to deflect Carl’s interest. “I’m just a bit stressed, you know – “
He was still looking at her. She was very aware of the size of him, the way he seemed to fill the room, the essence of him pressing outwards, suffocating her. Bella swallowed. She took a tighter grip of her wineglass, pressing her fingertips against it, hoping to stop her hand shaking.
“You look a bit stressed. Jake not taking care of you, is that it? I should have a word with him.”
Bella made her mouth stretch at the corners in an approximation of a smile.
“Really, Carl, it’s fine. He’s a bit under the weather at the moment, actually – “
“We’ve noticed.”
Beside Carl, she saw Veronica stiffen slightly. The sudden urge to scream out I know took hold of her. Bella closed her eyes briefly, fighting down the words. Carl was looking at her intently. She felt panic begin to rise up again and fought against it. Say something, Bel, you idiot, deflect his curiosity…
Then Carl seemed to abruptly lose interest. He turned to Veronica and pulled her sharply against him, so quickly she let out a little exclamation of surprise. He kissed the side of her head with a violent smack.
“You should kick him into touch,” he said, his words muffled against the side of his girlfriend’s head. Veronica stared down at the floor, pinned against Carl’s chest. “You’re a lovely girl, Bella. You deserve better. Get that brother of mine into line. You know you can do it.”
Bella heard, or thought she heard, the menace underlying the words. Get that brother of mine into line… was he telling her that he knew that she knew? Or did he just suspect? Had – oh horror – Jake told them both that he’d told her, Bella? If he had, what were they plotting? Were they plotting to ensure her silence? Oh Christ… Bella put her glass down abruptly. The smell of pasta sauce was making her feel sick. She muttered a brief goodbye and headed for the door.
She went into the bathroom on the first floor, as it was the only door in the house with a lock. She couldn’t bear to be naked with the two of them just a floor below but she turned the shower on to fool them into thinking she’d got into it. Then she sat on the edge of the bath, enveloped in damp, billowing steam, biting her nails.
After twenty minutes, when her nails were reduced to ragged edges and the bathroom walls were just visible behind clouds of white vapour, she heard the crash of the front door. Immediately, Bella’s head shot up. She scrambled for the taps of the shower and wrenched them off, listening out for voices in the hallway. Was it Carl or Veronica leaving or – she heard a voice and sighed with relief – it was Jake. Cautiously, she put her head around the door of the bathroom. She could hear muted voices from the kitchen downstairs. Bella hurried along to the bedroom and closed the door firmly behind her.
She was in bed when Jake opened the door quietly. He came into the room quietly too, almost sheepishly. Bella looked at him and was swept with longing to have the old days back again, those first heady loved-up days, when all that mattered was when they were next going to bed. It’ll never be the same again, she thought to herself. Everything’s changed now. It’ll never be fun or light-hearted again. Tears pricked her eyes but she managed to smile.
“Hi you.”
He sat down on the side of the bed nearest her. He’d been hesitant with her since his revelation, shy to touch her. She was glad, in a way. Bella put her hand out to him and he took it, after a moment.
“You okay?”
Was everyone going to ask her that? She nodded. He looked awful; his eyes bloodshot, his hair limp with grease, the collar of his shirt yellowed and unwashed. Pity rose in her and she squeezed his hand.
“Have you had dinner yet?” he asked.
Bella shook her head. She had no appetite these days, none at all. She’d stepped on the scales in the bathroom this morning to see she’d lost nearly half a stone. Still, she couldn’t eat. All she wanted was to drink, to wipe away feeling – and memories.
“I’ll make you something. No, don’t shake your head. You’ve got to eat something, you’re wasting away.”
“You could bring me a glass of wine,” said Bella. Somehow it was easier to pretend she was ill than to work up the energy to get up.
“Okay.” Jake got up off the bed and took off his jacket. Bella watched him in the dim light of the bedroom and felt a miniscule pulse of desire, a pale ghost of what she’d once felt. She grasped at it, thankful to feel anything but like a willow-the-wisp, it slipped past her and was gone and she was back to nothing, emptiness. She drew the duvet cover more tightly about her.
He was downstairs for a long time. Bella got out of bed once, almost resolved on following him down to the kitchen. She stopped with her hand on the door. She couldn’t; she couldn’t sit in a room with the three of them. She’d go mad, or start screaming, or do something that would mean the game was up. She went back to bed and lay down again, trying not to cry.
Jake came back with not just a glass, but a full bottle of wine and a plate of steaming pasta.
“V told me to give you this,” he said, proffering it. Bella took it slowly. Her initial reaction was to recoil and thrust her hands out against it, warding it off.
“Did V give you this for me, just for me?”
“Yes.” Something in her tone must have shown him. He sat down and hugged her awkwardly, trying not to spill the pasta. “Don’t worry, I had some too. It’s nice.”
Bella gave up. She pushed a forkful in and chewed slowly, trying not to gag. Holding her breath, she swallowed and the masticated food slid down to her belly. She took a gulp of wine and it was wonderful how quickly its warmth rushed through her, blotting out her concern with the food.
After half a plateful, Bella was able to concede that she felt fine. She held her glass out to Jake for a refill.
“By the way,” he said, as he was pouring. “V and Carl are going away this weekend.”
Bella’s hand jerked minutely and a drop of wine fell onto the pillow in a tiny, bloody splash.
“Really? When did they say?”
“Just now. They’re going to Bath for the weekend. They’re just waiting for the traffic to drop and then they’re on their way.”
His tone was neutral but he was suppressing some strong emotion. Bella couldn’t tell if it was excitement or fear. He squashed the cork back into the neck of the bottle. Bella put her brimming glass down carefully on the bedside table.
“How long will they be gone for?”
“Just ‘til Sunday night.”
Jake had been staring downwards but now he looked up and directly at her. His face was pale but his jaw was set. She waited with a sinking heart for what she was sure was coming.
“This is our chance, Bella. We’ll never have another chance like it. Don’t you see? We’ve got to take this time to – to – “
He trailed off.
Bella said, against a rising tide of nausea ‘so what exactly is it that you want me to do?”
“I don’t know,” said Jake, suddenly sober. “I think I just need to – to know if – to see it. It. Again. I think seeing it will mean – will mean that I’ll be able to do what I have to do.”
Bella didn’t ask what he meant. She reached for her wineglass again and gulped, desperate for warmth and oblivion. How could this be happening, she asked herself, in increasing despair. It can’t be happening. I can’t really be sitting in bed with my boyfriend and listening to him talk about digging up a dead body. It can’t be true. She looked at Jake’s hands, lying limply in his lap as he sat twisted sideways on the edge of the bed. Those hands have buried someone, she thought, and felt a shudder convulse her. More wine splashed onto the coverlet.
“Easy, easy.” Jake rescued her glass. “Why don’t you lie down and keep warm. Don’t worry, Bel. I’ll take care of you. I just need you to be here for me, like you’ve always been here for me. Can’t you do that for me? Can you do just that one thing?”
Bella sighed. She lay back against the pillows, curling herself inwards for warmth, slotting her cold hands between her thighs.
“I’m here,” she said, her words muffled by the pillow. “I’m always here for you, Jake.”
“I know that, darling.” He put a warm hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “You’re always here for me. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He kicked off his trousers and got into bed with her, and held her in the dim light of the bedroom, one hand stroking the hair back from her head.
“Shhh,” he whispered and for some reason, Bella found herself shuddering again. She buried her face in his shoulder. Jake pulled her close and for the first time in over a week, she could feel him begin to grow hard against her. She gave a gasp that was almost a sob.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “It’ll all be over soon.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Bella opened her eyes the next morning to darkness. The clocks had gone back the weekend before and now, at five am, the room was black as pitch, the air icy. Darkness pressed down on her. She shut her eyes again and pulled the duvet up over her cold face. What seemed like an acre of chilly cotton lay between her and Jake, marooned in his own little oasis of warmth over on the other side of the bed. Bella shivered. She pushed one freezing foot over to him and slid it gently under his leg, sighing at the warmth. Soon, the radiators began to crackle and hum as the central heating slowly warmed the house. Bella lay in blank-eyed wakefulness, waiting for it to be day.
It had been a dreadful night, sleep clotted with violent dreams for both her and, judging by his grunts and spastic kicks and flails, for Jake as well. Bella had dreamt of sunbathing in the garden, stretched out in the warmth of the summer sun, star-fished on the lawn. She’d been wearing a swimming costume she’d never seen before, a red polka-dotted two-piece, and her hair was plaited into school-girlish ponytails. She lay in her own private corn-circle, long stems of grass forming a protective green barrier around her. Then the grass began to rustle, the long stems began to sway, and as Bella watched, trapped in the dreadful sludgy stasis of dreams, an arm, a hand came through the wall of grass, a puffy white hand, nails lined with dirt, palm moist with decay, the fingertips scraped back to raw flesh where she’d clawed her way out of the ground…
Awake, Bella squeezed her eyes tight shut, shuddering. At the feel of another hand on her hip, a warm hand this time, she gasped, the sound a thin little puff of air in the dim bedroom.
“What’s wrong?”
Jake’s voice was barely a whisper. She felt him curl himself around her cold back and sighed.
“It’s okay. I just had a bad dream, that’s all.”
He was silent for a moment.
“So did I,” he said.
“I thought so. You were moaning.”
He pressed his face into the back of her neck: the tip of his nose was cold. His stubble grazed her spine.
“I dreamt Candice was coming up the stairs after me. I couldn’t get away from her. Not her as she – she was – her, dead. God, it was horrible.”
Bella didn’t say anything. She reached for his hands and held them clasped between her palms, and they both lay there in a small pool of body warmth, surrounded by icy sheets.
“I suppose we should get up,” said Bella without enthusiasm, some minutes later. The thought was not appealing.
“Not yet,” said Jake. “Wait until Carl and V have gone.”
Bella twisted her neck to look at him.
“I thought they went last night?”
Jake looked confused. “Oh yes,” he said, a little uncertainly. “Yes, that’s right. They were going to go once the traffic dropped.” He blinked. “I totally forgot. How stupid of me.”
Bella wasn’t really listening.
“I’ll check and see,” she said and threw the covers back, emerging shivering into the raw air of the bedroom. She wanted to know if they’d truly gone. If they had, then she could properly relax. But, on the other hand, if they’d left, it meant that Jake would want to put his lunatic scheme into action. He can’t really mean it, Bella told herself. He can’t really mean to dig up a body. She wrapped the dirty white folds of her dressing gown around her. Face it, Bella, you don’t really know if you believe him or not, do you?
The idea was so startling, it stopped her in her tracks at the door, her fingers on the door handle. Did she believe him? Did she honestly think that her boyfriend had buried the body of a girl in his back garden? How could it be possible? Bella hurried along to the bathroom. Things like that just didn’t happen to people she knew. Not real people. She locked the bathroom door behind her. Surely it couldn’t be possible? She hoisted up the skirt of her robe, in preparation for sitting down. Then another thought struck her and she froze. Why would he lie?
The house was empty – Carl and Veronica were nowhere to be seen. Carl’s leather jacket was missing from the hook on the back of the kitchen door. Bella made coffee for herself and Jake, her toes curling away from the cold tiles of the kitchen floor. As she waited for the kettle to boil, she glanced idly at the shelves on the opposite wall of the kitchen. The sight was so familiar she barely saw it anymore – but today, a framed picture caught her eye and she picked it up off the shelf, bringing it closer to her face with a hesitant hand. Carl and Veronica sat on the sofa in the living room, raising champagne glasses to the camera. They looked both young, and happy, faces split by smiles, teeth glinting in the flash. Bella looked at them for a long time, marvelling at what she knew. Was it possible that these two glowing creatures had buried someone? How was it possible?
“What’s wrong?”
Jake’s voice made her jump. She wondered how long he’d been standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching her.
“It’s this photo,” she said slowly, gesturing with it. “I just can’t believe – it seems impossible to believe – “
“What?” He came and took the frame from her hand.
“It just seems so hard to believe that – well – that they’re criminals.”
“We’re not criminals!” His suddenly raised voice made her flinch back. “We never murdered anyone. It was an accident, don’t you see? She just fell – “
Bella swallowed. “All right. I’m sorry.”
Jake turned away from her. He put the photograph back with a fussy little click, and straightened it so its edges were parallel with the edge of the shelf.
“She fell,” he muttered.
*
As the day lengthened, Bella could feel the tension begin to grow. She was conscious of it in her own clenched jaw, suddenly realising that for the last ten minutes, her teeth had been locked together. She would breath and relax and there, ten minutes later, her molars would be jammed against one another again. She could see it in the rigid set of Jake’s shoulders, the way he roamed from window to window in the front room, twitching at the curtains. She wondered what he was looking for. She could feel an ache in her own shoulders as she sat wedged into a corner of the sofa, attempting to read a week-old newspaper. At four o’clock, she opened a bottle of red wine, and they both gulped down the first glass as the light began to drain from the sky outside.
“Does it have to be dark?” she’d asked and at his grim nod, felt her nervous stomach begin to cramp and twist. She didn’t want it to be dark – but then, she asked herself, do you actually, truly think there’s going to be a body there? Her mind fluttered. She oscillated between absolute belief and desperate scepticism. Another glass of wine helped, calming the almost imperceptible trembling of her fingers.
At nine thirty, Jake stood up. Bella looked at him, standing tall by the ash-choked fireplace. They hadn’t spoken to each other in over an hour. She felt the tension in her body screw itself a notch tighter.
“Is it time?” she said, and her voice sounded rusty from disuse.
“Yeah.”
Jake looked distracted. She wondered whether he was thinking of the practicalities; of how to remove the boards of the shed floor without noise, of how to scrape away all the dirt. She felt a sudden pulse of nausea. Bella leaned back against the back of the sofa, weary already, and closed her eyes.
She opened them to find Jake standing over her and stifled a little shriek. He held a hand out to her.
“Come on, babe. It’s time.”
“No,” said Bella, involuntarily. She was suddenly very afraid, too afraid to move. I can’t go and look, she told herself, beginning to shake. I can’t.
“It’s alright,” said Jake, impatiently. He made a grabbing gesture with his outstretched hand and she flinched back, unable to help herself. Immediately, he was contrite. He sat beside her on the sofa and drew her rigid body against him, folding her into his arms.
“Oh Bella, my Bella, poor darling. Poor baby. I’m so sorry to put you through this, I’m so sorry. I’d do anything not to do it, to not make you go through this. But I can’t do it without you, darling. I can’t. Please help me.”
Bella sighed. She disentangled herself and pushed herself gently away.
“I’m here,” she said, looking down at the sofa. Her hair fell in front of her face, obscuring her vision. Jake brushed it aside and took hold of her chin, tilting her face up to his.
“You’re so wonderful,” he said softly. “You’re my saviour. Just a bit more time, my darling, and this will all be over. It’ll be fine.”
Outside, the lawn glittered with tiny beads of water. The night sky was huge, dusty with stars, ragged clouds chasing each other across the moon. Bella shivered, despite her thick winter coat. She squinted through the darkness, trying to make out the square outlines of the shed. Jake hesitated beside her. Then he strode forward, his boots leaving black prints as he walked across the beaded lawn. Bella plunged her cold hands further into her pockets and set off after him.
By the time she reached the shed, her eyes had adjusted somewhat to the darkness. She could see outlines in shades of grey, the edges of her vision smeared with darkness, Jake’s back a blacker smudge in the gloom. Their breath streamed out in front of them in long white plumes.
“We should have brought a torch,” Bella whispered.
“I’ve got one.” Jake patted his pocket. He put one hand out to the padlock on the shed. “Lucky I took the spare key to this. Carl had the one we used to lock it, God knows what he’s done with it.”
His tone was oddly jaunty. Bella felt her stomach twist and cramp again. It was full of red wine, and little else – she’d eaten almost nothing again today. How could she, faced with the knowledge of what they were about to do?
The padlock sprang open under Jake’s groping fingers. Bella caught her breath. Jake pulled the padlock from the door and promptly dropped it. It fell with a thud onto the toe of his boot and he cursed, jumping back into Bella, who was unable to stop a little shriek of surprise from escaping her.
“Quiet!”
“I’m sorry.”
“Fuck, my toe – “
Bella felt hysterical giggles rising up in her throat and she clamped her gloved hand over her mouth, choking down the sounds that were trying to come up. Was she laughing or crying? She didn’t know anymore. She bent over, heaving, tears running from her eyes.
“Shut up,” hissed Jake.
“I can’t, I’m sorry – I can’t – “
She dug her woollen-clad fingers into her palm, the pain muted by the layer of cloth. Slowly, her laughing fit abated, leaving her gasping in the cold air. She straightened up, gingerly, wiping her wet face.
Jake was staring at her.
“What’s wrong with you?” he said, quietly. “Why are you laughing?”
His tone did more to sober her than any slap in the face. Bella felt a chill that went deeper than the frosty air surrounding her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, whispering. “I got hysterical. It’s the tension. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
All of a sudden, his shoulders relaxed. He even grinned.
“I know,” he said. “It just doesn’t seem real, does it?”
He turned away from her, back to the shed door. As he pulled gently at it, Bella was again gripped by nausea. Would there be a smell, still? Jake had told her about the smell. You can’t even describe it, he’d said. It’s like nothing you’ve ever smelt before.
The door to the shed gaped before them, a greyish outline to a blacker darkness beyond. Jake reached for the torch and the little beam came on suddenly, jittering in the night air as his hand shook. The light strobed over the interior of the shed and they both looked down at the scuffed and dirt-smeared boards of the floor.
“Christ,” whispered Bella. She was cold to the bone now, beginning to shake. Her blood felt as if it were slowly congealing in her veins but despite this, her heart began to beat faster. She could feel it, thudding away on the inside of her ribcage, beating away at her bones like a tiny, insistent fist.
“Come inside. We need to get the door shut; someone might see the light.”
Jake pulled the door fast behind Bella. She stood, clutching her elbows with numb hands. Jake propped the little torch against the wall and its faint beam showed motes of dust glittering in the snowstorm of their nervous breathing. He began to feel for the ends of the boards.
“We didn’t nail them down very securely,” he said, almost to himself. “We can’t have done, anyway, I can’t feel the nails.”
“Are they loose?” said Bella, just for something to say. She felt light-headed, swamped again with another wave of unreality. I’ll wake up in a minute, she told herself. Jake will be lying next to me, in our bed.
“Yes.” He pulled tentatively at one and it pulled away from the floor with a thick, grinding sound. Bella cringed back against the wall of the shed, terrified of what was about to be revealed.
“Help me then,” said Jake, looking at her in appeal. His eyes were lost, his mouth held in a tight grimace. Something moved inside her – he could still do that to her, even now. She bent to help him.
They pulled up four boards, each one coming loosely away in their hands. Jake was frowning now, his black brows stitched together. The beam of the little torch was beginning to grow dimmer. Jake seized it and directed it at the earth beneath the hole in the floor. Holding her fingers over her eyes, as if she were watching a horror film, Bella looked, shrinking, along its beam.
The earth lay flat, dotted here and there with ghostly tufts of grass that had tried to grow in the darkness, withered and died. A large black beetle scurried across the failing beam of the torch. Frost crystals glittered in the soil.
For a moment, the two of them regarded it in silence. Then Jake leant forward and began to slowly scrape away at the earth. Bella heard herself make a small sound of protest. He took no notice, the rhythm of his hand beginning to gain in speed, his other hand beginning to dig, dirt beginning to shower against them both, clods of earth caught momentarily in the fading light of the torch. Bella gasped out something, some protestation, some inarticulate plea for him to stop. The earth gaped beneath his plunging fingers. Soon he had dug a hole some two foot deep and eighteen inches wide. Bella stood frozen, her eyes wide. Before the torch beam flickered and died, she could see that there was nothing buried beneath the shed, in the cold earth. There was nothing there at all.
