Knife Edge (41 page)

He got to his feet and walked drowsily out onto the landing, smiling as he heard the clink of mugs coming from the kitchen. Yawning, he made his way downstairs.

‘Hey,’ he greeted her, moving close behind her and encircling her waist with his arms as she poured milk into the coffee.

‘Hi,’ she replied, wriggling her small frame around in his embrace and pulling herself free. ‘Don’t get yourself all distracted – just drink your coffee and get dressed before the morning’s gone.’

Harland shrugged and let her go.

‘Whatever you say,’ he yawned.

The bags were waiting in the hallway when he came downstairs.

‘Have you got everything?’ she asked him brightly.

‘I think so,’ he nodded, patting his pockets and checking for his wallet. ‘What’s the hurry?’

‘No hurry,’ she replied, handing him his car keys. ‘I just want to get on the road before the traffic gets bad. You know what it’s like heading down to the West Country.’

He gave her a long look, then picked up the luggage and opened the front door.

Outside, Stackpool Road was quiet. Kim stared out at the street as he locked up, her expression quickly softening when their eyes met – something
was
troubling her, but there would be time enough for talking once they reached the cottage.

The car was parked a few yards further up the hill and he dragged the cases along behind him as they walked side by side along the narrow pavement. Somewhere just behind them, a dog started barking and they both looked round.

‘That’s one thing I won’t miss.’ Harland smiled at her. ‘Come on.’

He unlocked the car and lifted the bags into the boot. It had been a long time since he’d been away and now that it came to it, he found he was really looking forward to the break.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, he started the car, and pulled the steering wheel hard round to avoid the minivan that had almost boxed him in. Easing away from the kerb, they crept down the hill, past the house, and turned left onto Coronation Road.

As they pulled out into the traffic, Kim glanced back over her shoulder, then seemed to relax down into her seat.

‘Thanks for this,’ she said as she lay back against the headrest.

‘You’re paying,’ he replied as they drove out towards the motorway. ‘I should be the one thanking you.’

In his peripheral vision, he was aware that she had turned her head towards him, but when he glanced across at her she just smiled, then turned her eyes out to the road ahead.

The M5 was already busy, but at least the traffic was moving when they joined it at Portbury, and they made good time on the journey south. Kim was asleep before they reached Weston-super-Mare, her head lolling to one side, her lips parted as she dozed fitfully. Harland gazed across at her for a moment, taking in her delicate features, those wonderful dark lashes that seemed even longer when her eyes were closed, then returned his attention to the road. It was going to be a great few days.

After Exeter, there was no more motorway. The road climbed and they cut across the barren heights of Dartmoor before descending through a rolling green landscape as they approached the coast. They took smaller roads now – narrow lanes with occasional passing places, bordered on either side by high hedges or drystone walls, so they could only see where they were as they crested each new hill. Awake now, Kim watched the satnav on her phone, reassuring him that they were on the right route when she spotted familiar landmarks until finally, at the summit of a long rise, the ground fell away before them and they glimpsed the sea.

‘Wow,’ Harland murmured, slowing the car as he gazed out across the shimmering blue to the broad horizon. ‘That’s quite a view.’

Kim smiled and put a small hand on his knee.

‘I told you,’ she said.

It was the sort of place that made Harland think of period dramas – a rugged coastline, unblemished by the clutter of modern buildings or the ruinous stain of caravan parks. Even the road was free of signs and markings as it angled down into a slight valley before turning back inland, then ahead of them the ground rose up towards a grassy headland with rocky cliffs visible in the distant haze.

At the foot of the hill, Kim indicated a break in the old stone wall and they turned aside, rattling across a cattle grid and onto a potholed track that wound like a muddy ribbon over the rough grass slope. Sheep watched as they made their ascent, and Harland had to drop the car into first before they crested the slope and finally saw their destination.

The track widened here and came to an end just short of a sturdy stone cottage with whitewashed walls, square chimneys and a dark slate roof. The gables, gutters and window sills were picked out in an old-fashioned shade of green and there was a good store of cut logs piled up against one of the side walls.

But Harland’s eye was drawn to the lighthouse.

A faint path led round the side of the house and away towards it, leading up through the tufted grass and the gorse bushes of the headland. Like the cottage, the lighthouse was built of whitewashed stone, a squat turret on a high precipice with a smaller glass chamber above it, topped by a white metal dome. It stood a few hundred yards beyond the cottage, stark against the sky.

‘So this is where the lighthouse-keepers used to live?’ he asked her as he pulled up and switched off the engine.

‘I think so,’ she nodded. ‘There’s nothing else around here, so I suppose that must have been what it was built for.’

They got out, Harland stretching to release his muscles after the long drive before he walked a few paces away from the car to get a better view of the headland.

‘Does it still work?’ he asked, turning back to her. ‘The lighthouse, I mean.’

‘As far as I know,’ she replied. ‘I think it’s automatic now, but I remember it came on at night the last time I was here.’

He gazed at her for a moment, then turned back to look along the coastline.

The last time I was here.

Something in the way she’d said it made him uneasy, and he wasn’t sure if it was her being guarded about something, or him not wanting to think about her coming here with someone else. But either way, this wasn’t the moment to discuss it.

His eyes followed the horizon, past the cottage and on along the rest of the coast, where a bank of darker clouds were gathering.

‘Kim?’ he said, walking round to the back of the car and opening the boot. ‘Shall we dump the bags inside and go for a walk?’

‘Don’t you want to have a drink first?’ she asked, joining him and lifting her bag out.

‘I think we might want to go now,’ he said. Then, seeing the question in her face, he pointed past the cottage to the distant sky. ‘There may be a storm coming.’

Outside, the wind howled around the cottage, rattling the tiny kitchen window. Harland stirred the two mugs of hot chocolate and dropped the teaspoon into the sink.

‘Listen to it,’ he said, gazing out into the darkness as rain lashed against the glass. ‘It’s really coming down.’

He picked up the drinks and edged his way around the small, farmhouse table that occupied most of the room, sitting down opposite Kim.

‘Thanks,’ she murmured, warming her hands on the mug he’d placed before her.

‘No problem.’

She looked thoughtful, preoccupied. They had spent the evening talking, trying to make sense of everything that had happened, but somehow her mind seemed elsewhere. He lifted his own drink and considered it for a moment, then decided to continue.

‘So how long were you with him?’

She glanced up at him briefly, then lowered her eyes again, staring into the past.

‘Almost three years.’ Her finger traced a line down the side of the mug. ‘It seems like a long time now, but I suppose that’s all it was.’

‘Were you happy?’

Another brief look, but she didn’t answer him. It was a stupid question, and a selfish one. Annoyed with himself, he tried a different approach.

‘When did you first suspect that things weren’t right?’

‘I always suspected him,’ she said softly, then looked up. ‘I don’t mean—’

She broke off, a pained expression on her face.

‘I thought he was cheating on me,’ she explained. ‘I was always … accusing him of stuff.’

‘And was he? Cheating on you?’

‘Probably,’ she sighed. ‘I don’t know, maybe I pushed him into it.’

She shook her head and took a sip of her hot chocolate. Harland could feel the distance growing between them and tried to pull the conversation back around.

‘What about the other stuff?’ He reached across the table, gently touching her hand. ‘What about Severn Beach? How long have you suspected what he was?’

She slowly wrapped her fingers around his.

‘A few months … at least, that’s when he first said anything.’

She looked up at him for a moment, her large eyes wary, vulnerable.

‘We were staying here when he told me.’

Was she worried about past associations with the place? No, she probably felt a sense of guilt that she’d stayed with him. She knew what he was going to ask next.

‘You didn’t leave him though?’ He said it gently, letting it hang in the air between them.

‘No.’ Her hand had tensed a little, but she didn’t draw it away.

‘Was that because you were frightened?’

‘Yes.’ She answered very quickly, then looked down at the table and reluctantly added, ‘That was part of it.’

Harland waited, giving her time.

‘I didn’t want to drive him away,’ she murmured.

‘Drive him away?’

Her shoulders sagged and she bowed her head.

‘I always seem to screw things up.’ She broke off, drawing her hand away now, closing up a little before she continued. ‘I don’t know … I just didn’t want to ruin another relationship.’

Harland sat back a little, studying her – those long lashes hiding her downcast eyes, her small hand touching the silver pendant that glistened at her neck.

‘But he told you he had killed someone.’

How could she think it was her fault?

Kim leaned forward, absently hugging herself as she stared at her hot chocolate.

‘I thought he loved me.’ She seemed to be talking to herself.

The window rattled again as the storm raged on, and a chill seemed to slither through the room. She looked so small and sad now – they weren’t getting anywhere tonight.

‘Come on,’ he told her with a weary smile. ‘It’s getting cold in here. Let’s go through and I’ll light the fire.’

He got to his feet and opened the door, stepping through into the passageway and waiting for her as she stood up slowly and followed him. The whole place felt cold now, but he’d noticed a few logs piled beside the fireplace when they arrived, and staring at the flames would be comforting for them both.

He opened the lounge door and approached the hearth. There was no kindling in the grate, but he thought he’d seen some bundled beside the logs—

Behind him, Kim let out a shriek.

He whirled round to see her framed in the doorway, frozen. Her eyes were wide and he turned further, following her terrified gaze to the opposite corner of the room.

It was Naysmith.

He stood there, a tall figure with a chillingly calm expression, looming up against the back wall of the room, dripping wet and glistening in the shadow. His dark hair was plastered down from the rain and he wore a grey sweatshirt under a slick black anorak, but it was the evil-looking machete that caught Harland’s attention. Naysmith held it calmly, easily, the two-foot black blade pointing down, dripping water onto the floor.

Kim reacted first.

‘Run, Graham!’ she screamed, turning and bolting from the room as Harland stood reeling.

Naysmith gave an eerie smile.

‘Yes. Run, Graham.’

He straightened, seeming to grow taller as he stepped towards the middle of the room, his movements agile as he began sweeping the blade around in easy, fluid arcs.

Harland stumbled backwards, turning and running after Kim. Bursting through the doorway, he raced down the hall and into the kitchen, where she was jerking open the back door. A sudden blast of cold air swirled into the room.

‘Kim,’ he called, ‘wait!’

‘No!’ She looked back over her shoulder at him, eyes wide as she shook her head. ‘Come on!’

And then she disappeared out into the howling gale and he was skidding around the damn table, cursing as he leapt after her. The wind and rain smothered him as he followed her into the storm stealing his breath and stinging his face, whipping the long grass into billowing waves.

She was going the wrong way!

Their best hope would have been to head inland, down the hill so they could make for the road, but she’d run straight ahead, sprinting along the cliff path that led up to the lighthouse. As he chased after her, he struggled with his pocket, trying to find his phone so he could call for help, but it wasn’t there – he must have left it in the bedroom –
shit!

‘Kim!’ he yelled. She was only ten yards ahead of him, but the gale threw his shout back in his teeth. He tore after her, his ears catching the deep crash of breakers rising from the rocks far below, mingling with the wind. They were close to the cliffs now. He could almost make out the crumbling edge on his left, where the last of the grass gave way to a sheer drop with rocky coves on either side of them.

‘KIM!’

Finally, she looked back, glancing over her shoulder, slowing as she saw him, then looking past him at something in the darkness behind.

He flailed out a desperate hand to her, grabbing her arm as he turned to see what she had seen. Behind him, the path wound away into the gloom, leading back to the distant yellow lights of the cottage windows. And there, close enough that he could make it out through the rain, an advancing silhouette came after them, the long blade swinging at its side.

Harland looked round quickly. The headland came to an end at the precipice ahead of them, and there were sheer drops on either side. They were trapped.

He pulled Kim close to him, hands gripping her shoulders as he bent his face close to hers so she could hear him against the wind.