Coombe's Wood (2 page)

“That old lady was strange,” Connor said.

Izzy nodded.

“Why was she staring like that?” he asked, and shivered.

Izzy leaned over and turned the heat up. “Dunno,” she said after a pause.

The car wound past clusters of identical houses in various stages of disrepair. A gnome sat near the gate of one garden, fishing pole in hand, a red Santa Claus hat on his head. A crack ran down the middle of his face.

“Did you notice her wonderful old cane?” Izzy suddenly said.

Three more kids stopped to stare at the unfamiliar car. She swerved past them, avoiding a football and a long line of miniature red cones.

“What cane?”

“The one behind the desk. She took it out after you two did your
‘Who blinks first’
competition. What
was
that about, anyway?”

Connor ignored the question, saying instead, “Her eyes were all slanty. Reminded me of a cat. And I didn’t like the way she stared at me. Made me feel all weird. Spacey.” He circled a finger next to his head. “How old was she, anyway? Maybe she’s like this guy I read about on the web, he’s turned a hundred, and still working. Washes cars, or something.”

“She wasn’t that old. Anyway, you shouldn’t judge people by their appearances.” Izzy squinted at a small copse of trees between some of the houses. “And did you see how she had to force herself out of her chair? I bet she’s ill with arthritis or osteoporosis or something. Those types of diseases are painful most of the time – “

“Mum, we’re here,” Connor interrupted.

“Huh
…
That’s a block of flats?”

They drove towards what first appeared to be a large house, three stories high, with dormer windows to light up the attic rooms. Izzy examined the building as they pulled closer. Whoever designed the flats
had done
a good job
of
disguising them. To complete the illusion of a grand house, four mature oaks shadowed the building in a dappled winter shade. The trees
were
huddled together, as if trying to keep warm. Moss grew in the half-light under their branches. To the front of the building, there was a length of worn tarmac. Izzy pulled in, brakes squealing, piercing the winter air as she stopped between a rusting black Escort and a newish bright red Ka.

They
had arrived.

Connor jumped out and stood back to get a good look at the building. Izzy leaned across and locked his door, staring up at the flats. This was an important moment to remember – a new beginning and a new place, and all hers.

“Shall we?” She slammed the door.

“You tell me off for doing that.”

“Sorry.” She shrugged. “We’ve got a home, Connor, just for you and me.”

Izzy switched key rings, and used the bunch with her old house key to lock the car. She switched again – now holding the new set in pole position – and strode up to the building.

“Ready?”

The lock was unwieldy, but she jiggled the key inside the mechanism and it finally released with a soft click. She put her shoulder against the door and slipped inside the lobby before the self-closer activated. She opened the door a second time to allow Connor through, taking a moment to glance back and scan the street both ways.

They climbed dirty concrete stairs to the first floor. On the landing were three solid, painted, council issue front doors, two on one side, a third on the opposite wall, dingy brass numbers screwed on the walls alongside. The card tag attached to the new keys read, “Number six”. Connor stepped up and rang the doorbell. A high-pitched buzz echoed inside the flat.

“No one home. We’d better go.” He laughed.

Izzy smiled and slipped the key into the lock. She opened the door, and Connor took a step inside. Izzy followed into a short hall with five doors leading to the rooms. All stood ajar, beckoning. Connor dashed past her and off down the hallway.

While he raced about, Izzy entered the living room and took a deep breath. The gaudy red and blue flower print on the peeling wallpaper was marvellous. The false chandelier with grubby crystals hung low enough to bump into, and would be easy to clean. Dirt-stained floorboards underfoot, she
counted five long strides along the length, and four to the width – much larger than the reception room in her old house.

She spun in the middle of the room, breathing in the atmosphere. Nicotine stained the ceiling. The embossed flowers on the walls
looked ready to fall off.
The glass was sticky with mustard coloured film. She smudged it with her fingers, pushed a door open, and walked out onto the balcony.

The fields and woods swirled together with a nauseating effect. Izzy clamped her fingers down on the railing, and waited for the dizziness to pass.

“Come
and
look!” Connor yelled as he charged into the living room. He crashed into Izzy and grabbed her shirt, pulling her back through the flat. “This room’s mine.”

Connor had picked the smaller bedroom. Stripy wallpaper peeled away from the walls and framed a wide window, which overlooked a balding patch of grass and the small car park. The Ka was gone, replaced by a blue pickup truck. Briar Lane wound back to the main road, trees lining the sides of the footpaths. Long front gardens, full of shrubs, led back to the houses, with sturdy council fences separating each property. To the left, dark woods covered the hill. Izzy could just make out where a lane emerged from the woods and transformed into a road as it passed out of the shadows. Then the side of the building cut off her view. So many places to hide, she forced herself away from the window.

“I figured you’d want the larger bedroom.”

“Thanks,” Izzy said, her eyes still fixed on the scene beyond the glass.

Connor reached up and pinched a corner of wallpaper between his thumb and forefinger. The paper fell away from the wall, and he let go, glancing at his Mum. “I thought the old lady said they redecorated?”

“Shall we see what the kitchen’s like?” Izzy backed into the hall.

“Don’t you want to see your bedroom?” Connor disappeared through another door. Izzy followed, entering a room nearly as big as the living room. Another large window looked out on the rear of the building. The lane widened and ran past emerging crops, towards the hill that led down to Pangbourne. Hedgerows and trees encroached on the tarmac
for
as far as she could see. And the woods, leaned over the lane and fields.

“This is a good room. Imagine what furniture I might have in here, one day
…
”

Connor laughed, and ran off to the kitchen.

Take care in the woods.
That’s what that odd woman had said. The trees swayed in the wind, almost rhythmically. She turned away from the window, and followed Connor into the kitchen.

“Everything’s coated in
grime.” Connor wiped a finger across the counter and held it up to Izzy. “Yuck,” he said, and rinsed it under the tap. “I’m going back to my room.”

Izzy forced herself away from the window, and started her own search of the kitchen cabinets. They weren’t as bad as Connor made out. The counters were dusty, but that’s what happened in empty places. She looked at the finger trail he’d made.
At first s
he thought the countertop was grey, but it was pale silver, with copper and black flecks. Pretty, at second glance. She drew her hand across the surface, amazed at the depth of the dust. The flat must have been empty for a long time.

“Hey, Mum,” Connor called. There was a sound of ripping. “Come here.”

Izzy straightened up and clapped the dust off her hands. “Where are you, love?”

“In my room. You should see this.”

Izzy wiped her palms on her jeans and hurried down the hall.

Connor stood by the wall opposite the window, a sheet of wallpaper between his hands. Two lengths had been pulled off entirely. A third was still half-attached, and underneath, Izzy could see bits of scribbles, childish drawings of trees and what seemed to be a strange sun drawn in thick black marker.

“What on earth?” She walked up and tugged on the paper. It came away easily, and underneath, the sketches gave way to faint writing
.
Glue, and the last remnants of the wallpaper, partly obscured the words, but not completely.

“Mum, this is creepy
…
” Connor took a step back from the wall.
“
It’s like an evil omen or something.”

Don’t go in the woods

Where eyes hide between

And behind the trees

Waiting for you

Following

“What the hell is this?” Izzy tore off the sheet and crumpled it into a ball. “We’ll buy some paint tomorrow,” she said, and turned away.

“But Mum!”

“It’s just some creepy words, and I’m not going to let them scare me. Are you?” She put her hands on her hips. “Come on,” she said, taking her keys out of her pocket. “Let’s go and get our things from the shelter.”

“What about the woods?” Connor grabbed her sleeve.

“What about them?” She wrenched away from his grasp, refusing to go near the window. Izzy jogged from the room, and down the hall.

Connor caught up to her and stood against the door. “Mum!” He put a hand out. “Why would someone do that?”

Izzy stopped and crossed her arms, hugging herself. “I don’t know. How would I know? It was probably some crazy person from a long time ago.” She glanced down the hall to his bedroom. “Maybe you should do what it says, and don’t go in the woods.”

Connor put his hand down, and moved to the side, his mouth pursed. “I don’t like it.”

Izzy pushed past. “We’ll buy some paint, and fix it today. Okay?”

He looked up at her, probably the last year he’d be doing that. A growth spurt beckoned, and this might be the year. He nodded, his eyes flicking back down the hall, towards his room.

“Can I choose the colour?”

“Course you can, love.” She pulled him gently from the flat and locked the door, pausing to stare, as if through the wood, down the hall and into Connor’s new bedroom. She could read the words from the landing. The thick black marks on white paint, a short while ago, unseen beneath magenta stripes and thin bands of black and white pinstripes.

Don’t go in the woods

Where eyes hide…

A shiver ran down her back. “Maybe it’s best stay away from the woods,” Izzy said, her back still to Connor. “Keep to Briar Lane, just until we know a little more.”

Izzy and Connor drove back to the east side of Reading without speaking, pulling in outside the shabby Victorian mansion that housed the shelter almost an hour later. Two suitcases waited by the door inside their room, along with a battered cardboard box and a roll of black plastic bags ready to be filled. Izzy managed to send Connor off to the common room to watch television before her tears began to fall. She emptied drawers and cupboards and cleaned the room,
dabbing at her eyes every few minutes. Everything was going to be okay… and certainly, peculiar words scribbled years before and hidden under wallpaper were no threat. She smiled, despite her inability to stop crying.

Izzy finished her search of the room, took one last look at the wild garden below, her tears drying as she stood by the window, fingers splayed on the glass for a few seconds. She pulled the curtains and placed the screen carefully between the beds and backed out of the room slowly, amazed they had managed to live in such a small space for five long months. She locked up and went downstairs to join Connor in the day room.

“Time to go. Ready to have a bedroom of your own?”

“God, yes.” Connor flicked the telly off, and followed his mother down the hall. “Remember to stop for paint.”

Izzy brushed the side of his cheek gathered the black bag into her arms, and headed down the hall.

They left through the kitchen, with its gleaming stainless steel. A sign hung from one of the walls –
A place for everything, and everything in its place.
How many times had Sheila, the head carer at the shelter, sneaked up behind her or one of the other residents, and bellowed those words?

Izzy ran her fingers over one of the two huge larder fridges.
She opened the door of one and peered inside at her
empty shelves, and slid her nametags from the holders. Jessica had almost thumped her, right here, with the door open, and the cold air leaking over her feet. There were so many arguments over food. Someone was always stealing – the staff called it borrowing. But there was a certain finality to foodstuffs disappearing, and with tight finances and stressed women, violence always seemed close by.