Cruel Minds (9 page)

At first, she thought they were coming from outside her window. Then, as her mind snapped awake again, she turned towards the wall.

There were two voices, male and female. The woman sounded angry; her words hushed yet aggressive, firing out like muted gunfire. The man’s voice rumbled through the wall, deep and low. Emily sat up. The woman’s voice came back again, a little louder and a little angrier. She was cut off by the man, whose tone was now sharp and threatening. For a long time, the only sound was Emily’s breathing. Then, her tone short and final, the woman spoke again. Footsteps moved across the floor. A door opened and closed. Emily listened as someone moved down the hall, their footfalls growing softer and softer until they were swallowed up by the quiet. Lying back down, Emily stared into the darkness, wondering what she’d just heard.

T
he dull clang of the electronic bell resounded through the house and the garden and out towards the trees, startling birds from branches. Jerome was up, showered, and dressed in loose clothing. He’d slept well—surprisingly well, he thought, considering the mood he’d been in—and now that he was finally hangover-free and feeling refreshed, it seemed like a good idea to keep the positive energy flowing by getting some exercise. But first, there was breakfast to attend to. After all of his complaining about a distinct lack of meat on the menu, last night’s dinner had been exceptional. He hoped that meant breakfast would be just as delicious.

Leaving his room, he put his ear to Emily’s door and assumed the quiet meant she was already somewhere downstairs. These days, the only reason Emily would ever sleep in was if she were sick, and then you’d have to force her back under the sheets. Being induced into a three-month coma against your will would do that to you, Jerome supposed. As he cleared the stairs and strolled towards the dining hall, he wondered if Daniel would be taking part in the yoga class. Last night, he’d seemed a little hesitant—yoga was new to him and he was reluctant to take his first class surrounded by the more experienced. Jerome had put him at ease by announcing he was a beginner too. It was a white lie, of course—he’d been taking yoga classes for over a year until his diminishing income had forced him to quit—but it had earned him points and a smile from Daniel. Stopping in front of a wall mirror, Jerome checked his appearance, rubbed his palms over his cropped hair, then entered the dining hall.

The room was empty. Bowls half-filled with gloopy leftover porridge still sat on the table. Evidently the bell he’d heard had signalled the start of the yoga class. Just how long had he slept? Unable to contain his disappointment at missing out on a meal, Jerome grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. By the time he’d reached the garden, the apple was but a distant memory.

Pamela Hardy and a majority of the guests were sat on yoga mats on the front lawn. Emily was not among them. Daniel, however, was sitting in between Helen and Janelle, shifting awkwardly on his haunches. Upon seeing Jerome, he straightened up and flashed him a smile that caught the morning sunlight.

“Nice to see you, Jerome.” Pamela held up a hand. “I hope you slept well.”

Jerome nodded as he stooped to pick up a yoga mat from a small pile on the lawn. “Oh, like the dead. Actually, it was so dark for a while there I thought I
was
dead.”

Dressed in matching designer tracksuits, their expressions more suited to a funeral than a yoga class, Ben and Sylvia turned to stare at him.

“Good morning,” Jerome said, giving them his widest smile. He moved to the back of the group and placed his mat directly behind Daniel.

“So you decided to brave it?” he said to him.

Daniel nodded. “Only now I’m worried I may embarrass myself.”

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine. And don’t worry, I’ve got your back.” Next to Daniel, Helen rolled her eyes.

“Where’s Emily?” Janelle asked. “Is she not joining us?”

“That’s a good question,” Jerome looked up at Emily’s bedroom window. The curtains were open. Perhaps she was hiding away from everyone. After all, she did like to spend an inordinate amount of time on her own. And last night, she’d been worrying that her past was about to resurface like a drowned corpse.

A burst of colour distracted him from his thoughts. Dressed in a flamingo pink leotard, Melody scurried out of the house and towards the group.

“Sorry! Sorry everyone!” she called. She swept up a yoga mat, then headed straight for Jerome. “I slept straight through the bell.”

“Both bells,” Jerome winked, as she sat down next to him.

Melody responded with a sheepish grin and a giggle.

“Well, unless anyone else is joining us, we should begin,” Pamela said, straightening her spine. “If you’d like to bring your hands together in front of you and close your eyes, I think we’ll begin with an Intention.”

The guests did as they were instructed. Pamela drew in a breath. Before she could speak, a blood-curdling scream rang out from the forest and echoed over the meadow. Jerome’s eyes snapped open. He turned in the direction of the trees. A second scream quickly followed

“Emily!” he said.

He was up and pelting towards the forest before the others had even leapt to their feet.

E
mily had been awake since dawn. She had slept badly; tossing and turning in the throes of recurring nightmares. Climbing out of bed, she dropped to the floor and spent the next thirty minutes stretching her limbs. Although her body had recovered from the trauma it had endured at the hands of Doctor Chelmsford, she continued the daily exercise regime set by her physiotherapist with military-like rigour. When she was satisfied that her muscles were sufficiently loose, she sprang to her feet, took her antidepressant with a drink of water, grabbed her toiletry bag, and headed towards the bathroom.

After a hot shower, Emily dressed into loose-fitting clothes, combed the knots out of her wet hair, then stood in front of the window for another fifteen minutes. Not knowing the time was disorienting, but also strangely freeing. Usually, she would be calculating exactly how many hours and minutes of sleep she hadn’t had, then approximating how early she would have to retire to bed in order to catch up. Not that she’d ever caught up. Now, although she knew her sleep had been patchy at best, there was nothing she could do about it except to acknowledge the fact and move on.

After another five minutes of pondering, she became restless. There had been no electronic bells yet, which meant it was still early. Perhaps she would go for a walk to clear her mind before breakfast. Then, she might think about joining the yoga class. After all, she couldn’t avoid Helen and Oscar forever. And by avoiding them, wasn’t she setting a precedent for the rest of the weekend? People were inquisitive. People made judgements. That was human nature. But did it really matter what strangers thought of her anyway? What really mattered were the opinions of the people closest to her. The people that cared about her.

Feeling a twinge of renewed determination, Emily took in a breath to centre herself. Letting it out, she left the room.

Silence greeted her. She thought about knocking on Jerome’s door, but picturing his bleary-eyed, irritated face changed her mind. Moving along the corridor, she thought about the altercation she’d heard coming through the wall last night. She stared at the door next to hers, realising she had no idea who occupied the room. It made sense that it was either Ben or Sylvia. They were, after all, the only couple currently in residence at Meadow Pines. Plus, at dinner last night, they’d both seemed deeply unhappy. Perhaps what Emily had heard then, was a lover’s quarrel.

As she drifted along the corridor, Emily’s mind wandered back to a time when she’d shared her home with Lewis. Again, she found herself wondering how he was getting on in his life. Again, she batted the thought away, confused at why she was thinking about him so much lately. Was it that she was missing companionship? Jerome certainly kept her in good company, but friendship, as wonderful as it was, lacked the intimacy that a relationship brought. Was it intimacy that she was missing then? That interminable closeness of togetherness?

Annoyed that she was suddenly feeling so needy, Emily hurried along the landing and made her way downstairs. She’d never bought into the idea of needing to be with someone in order to feel complete. If anything, she was a stoic believer that happiness must be achieved within the self, and that any intimate relationship should enhance, not validate her existence. But with Lewis she had fallen too much, too soon. When he had proposed she had said yes without a moment’s deliberation. And when he’d walked out on her, leaving her with the press swarming at the bottom of the garden, she’d been the first to blame herself. Now, a year on, a different story was unfolding. If Lewis had truly loved her, he wouldn’t have left her that day, slipping through the back door, the end of their relationship contained in the hastily scrawled note left on the kitchen table.

A sudden rush of anger heated Emily’s insides. She reached the foot of the stairs and marched across the foyer, wondering if she would be able to let someone get as close again. Perhaps she wouldn’t. Perhaps that would be fine.

Deciding to walk off the dark mood that had settled on her shoulders, Emily passed the closed door of Pamela’s office and headed out to the garden.

The sky was a clear blue, peppered with wisps of clouds. A light breeze soothed her hot skin. Shaking any last thoughts of Lewis from her head, Emily pushed open the garden gate.

In the northwest corner of the meadow, she saw two figures moving towards her—the chef, Sam, and Marcia Hardy. They walked side by side, deep in conversation, seemingly oblivious to Emily’s presence. As they moved closer, she watched as their arms swung by their sides and their hands touched. Fingers grazed each other, twining and untwining. They were almost at the gate before they looked up and noticed Emily. Immediately, the space between their bodies opened up.

“Good morning,” Marcia said, a polite smile on her lips. Her eyes darted sideways to where Sam stood before flicking back to Emily. “You’re up early.”

“It’s a bad habit,” Emily said.

An awkward silence filled the gap between them.

“Breakfast won’t be ready for another hour yet,” Sam muttered. He stared at the ground, his face fraught with concentration.

“That’s fine. I thought I might take a long walk. Clear out the sleep.” Emily looked past Marcia and Sam, retracing their route. “You don’t live here in the house?”

Soft pink blossoms spread across Marcia’s cheeks. “I do. Sam lives over in Lyndhurst.”

Suddenly feeling like an ageing chaperone, Emily uncrossed her arms and stuck her hands in her pockets. “We passed through there yesterday. It seems very nice.”

Sam nodded. Marcia looked towards the house.

“Will you be joining the yoga class later?” she asked. Her face was now a deep shade of scarlet.

“Perhaps. I’ve never done it before.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything. Personally, I like to run. I usually do a lap or two while Pamela takes care of the yoga.”

Emily stared at the young couple, the space between them thickening like cement.

“Well, we’re running a little late so we best get in,” Marcia said. “Sam needs to get breakfast under way and I should see if Pamela needs any help. Enjoy your walk.”

Emily watched with mild amusement as Marcia hurried through the garden, then stopped to scowl at Sam, who seemed happy to take his time.
Young love
, she thought.

Above her, the sun was already heating up. Shutting the garden gate, she set out across the meadow. By the time she reached the treeline, beads of perspiration were dampening the back of her neck. It was going to be another hot June day, no doubt about it.

The forest was thankfully much cooler. At first, Emily walked aimlessly, following paths that either brought her back to the meadow or became so buried in the undergrowth that she was forced to turn back. Some of the paths were signposted while others were left anonymous, as if the forest had secrets to hide. Eventually, she came upon the signposted trail that would bring her to the lake.

It didn’t take long to get there. Soon, she sat on the edge of the jetty, admiring dark green waters and breathing in the minty odour of nearby pines. Slowly, her mind began to clear of thoughts, settling down until it was as smooth and tranquil as the lake’s surface. She sat perfectly still, watching a family of swans glide away from the bank. Remembering the noises that she and Melody had heard last night, she glanced over her shoulder at the trees behind. In the daylight, it seemed silly to think someone had been watching them. After all, the forest was filled with all kinds of wildlife, large and small.

As Emily returned to watching the many birds occupying the water, she found herself thinking about Melody’s lake house daydream. Last night, it had filled her with sadness—it was the loneliness of it all, she supposed—but now, as she pictured herself in Melody’s place, she felt a deep yearning to return to the countryside.

London life certainly had its merits—you could eat food from any country in the world, enjoy a wealth of vibrant and diverse cultures, visit hundreds of theatres, museums and galleries, and admire centuries-old architecture—but the pandemonium of millions of people living in one place was sometimes unbearable. Emily was getting used to it, slowly. But there were days when she wanted nothing more than to head out into a field or a wood, where she was completely alone and free to sit in silence for hours.

After Phillip’s death, she had wanted to disappear. London had allowed her to do just that. It was like a vast ocean; she needed only to dive beneath its surface to never be seen again. Now that time had passed, however, and Emily had undergone yet more life-changing events, she had started to feel the need to resurface.

A large splash pulled her from her thoughts. The heron from last night had returned. She watched it glide along the lake, then dive beneath the water in search of breakfast. Suddenly aware of aches and pains in her lower spine, Emily got to her feet. How long had she been sat there, wrapped in blankets of thought? An hour? Perhaps more? Without clocks or watches, time had become as slippery as the fish the heron now battled with.