The Moon Spun Round (36 page)

Eventually the men step forward to shoulder the coffin, and the family follows them outside. The women leave next, somehow contriving to huddle together, with Claire in the centre. Abbie has used her talents well: there is little physical pain now, and the bruising has mostly faded. Claire looks brighter and feels stronger. After the first few days of rest, she has been determined to fight her way back to some sort of normality. Trying to make herself useful, she has taken to preparing their meals while Sally is working at her computer. She’s an excellent cook, and has been able to give Sally plenty of enthusiastic advice about regenerating her garden, promising to help when the season arrives. Claire laughs more often now, and at times her eyes sparkle. Sally has been surprised more than once by Claire’s sharp sense of humour. It has been like watching the real Claire emerging from a dry husk.

Naomi left the cottage after a few days to return to her workshop and her work, coming back each evening to sit with them before going back home to bed. Naturally, the others have been constantly coming and going; Naomi always through Abbie’s property, avoiding the roadway. So far as they’re aware, Ayden hasn’t followed her, nor been anywhere near the cottage, maybe because they’ve been careful, maybe because the seals are holding strong. Whatever the reason, he seems to have no idea where his wife is.

Claire has insisted on coming today, said she can’t hide forever. And she’s right about that. They have decided to take the risk of Ayden seeing them all together, and if he’s there and realizes who’s shielding her, well so be it.

The mourners follow Edward to the graveside and stand a few feet away from the opening in the earth while the box is manoeuvred into position and lowered into the ground. Claire is thinking how ridiculous he looks with his white robe billowing in the wind. She concentrates on that image to dampen her fear. Even though it is years since her father led the interrogation, the sight of a man wielding a Bible still rekindles the horror of that afternoon.

She’s aware of Ayden, of course. She whispers to Sally that he’s there, she can feel him watching her. He’s taunting her, threatening, knowing only too well how to make her afraid, his very presence is enough. She straightens her body, forcing herself to stand tall, visualizing a white light above her head and feeling the energy run the length of her spine, another current surging up through the earth to meet it. A deep breath and she feels strength flood her body. Twice she has allowed a man to take her willpower. She won’t go there again, no matter what the cost. Not after the price Ruth has paid to set her free.

Naomi is aware of Claire beside her, can feel a change in her aura. She grips her hand and when Claire looks towards her they exchange the swiftest of smiles.

The men take up their spades, the space is filled in, and Ruth is given to the Earth. Wreaths are laid on top, too many to cover the mound, and they spread over the grass, covering the new grave with a blanket of colour. The family moves away, followed by the small gathering of close friends. The women remain at the graveside, standing together and instinctively joining hands while the north wind cuts through the ranks of stone slabs, stinging their faces and scattering flower petals around their feet.

‘I’m sorry, Ruth,’ murmurs Sally. ‘I should have known where you were going. I should have stopped you.’

‘It was all of us,’ says Abbie. ‘We’re all responsible.’

‘No, there’s only one person responsible.’ Naomi looks at the others defiantly. ‘We’ll make him pay, Ruth. I swear we’ll make him pay. So mote it be.’

They’re among the last to return to their car. Fran, who had to drive Edward to the reception, has gone on ahead, but George is outside waiting patiently for his four passengers.

Claire stops, her body suddenly rigid. The others follow her gaze. And there he is, across the roadway, leaning against a gatepost, watching them. He is as Sally remembers, tall, good-looking in an overstated way, only now he appears slightly dishevelled and his face is grey in the fading light. He makes no attempt to move, but looks at them steadily. His shoulders are hunched, hands deep in the pockets of a leather jacket, the collar turned against the biting wind. Or is it to hide his face? He must have been skulking at the back of the crowd all this time, but now he stands almost alone. Sally grabs Claire’s arm and feels her trembling.

Naomi’s eyes lock onto Ayden’s and she steps out into the road. But Abbie, a beat behind her, grasps the back of Naomi’s coat. ‘No! Don’t you dare.’ She spits out the words in a harsh whisper. ‘Not in front of the police. They’re watching every move. Get in the car.’ She pulls open the door with her free hand and shoves Naomi towards it. ‘Sit down and shut up.’

Obedient, Naomi is nevertheless ready to argue, but the door is slammed before she can say a word. Sally opens the other door, and Claire, still shaking, falls into her seat.

‘What’s going on?’ George twists around as Sally scrambles into the back next to Claire.

But Abbie is already beside him, tugging on her safety belt. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘That chap’s not bothering you again, is he?’

‘No. Just get us out of here, will you?’

‘You all saw him, I suppose?’ Fran throws her coat over the back of her chair, rubbing the life back into her freezing hands. They have all gathered at Sally’s cottage.

Abbie nods between gulps of hot tea. ‘I thought he might try to follow us to the reception but, if he did, there was no sign of him near the shop when we left. Still, to be safe I told George to drive in our gate so we could cut through the back way. I know he’s bound to catch on soon, but there’s no point in inviting trouble.’

‘Well, there was no sign of him when I pulled into the lane just now. How are you coping, Claire?’

‘I’m all right, I think. Yes, I am. For a moment, when I first saw him…But then I thought, I’m not going to let him win.’

‘No way is he going to win,’ Naomi mutters.

‘Bastard’s as guilty as sin, as far as I could see,’ says Fran. ‘He knew the police were on the lookout. The very fact he made no attempt to approach you, Claire, well that just proves it. What do you think, Sally?’

‘Well, obviously he wasn’t trying to draw attention to himself. I suppose if there’d been any sort of confrontation at the funeral the police might have started looking more closely at what the argument was about on New Year’s Eve.’

‘Exactly,’ Abbie agrees. ‘What do you think he’s told people, Claire? The neighbours must realize you’ve moved out.’

‘Perhaps not. It’s winter, gets dark early. Most of them are out at work all day, so they might not have noticed. Besides, he didn’t like me getting involved with the neighbours.’

‘Yes, I can believe that.’ Fran gives a cynical smile. ‘Sign of the times we live in—a woman disappears for nearly a fortnight and nobody notices she’s gone. What about his family?’

‘We don’t see them that often,’ Claire replied. ‘It would be easy enough to make up some excuse—I’m not well, my nerves are bad. He’d think of something. However, I think seeing him today has helped me decide. From now on I’m going to come out of hiding. If it becomes common knowledge that we’ve split up, well, there’s no reason my leaving him now should be linked with Ruth’s death two weeks ago.’

‘That’s true. But do you think you’re ready to deal with this? He could make things very unpleasant for you,’ says Abbie.

‘Yes, I’m ready.’

‘It’s almost like we’re colluding with him again,’ says Sally.

‘Yes, but—’

Abbie lays her hand on Claire’s shoulder. ‘We’ll find a way to deal with him.’

There’s a sharp clattering sound from the hallway. Fran jumps, slopping her tea. ‘What the hell’s that?’

‘Only the cat-flap,’ Sally laughs. ‘Her ladyship has decided to grace us with her presence.’ The kitchen door is nudged open a couple of inches and Cat slides through to join them. ‘Ah, there you are. Where have—Oh, good grief, what’s she got in her mouth?’

‘It’s a mouse.’ Abbie is very matter-of-fact. ‘Probably dead.’

‘Oh, that’s disgusting.’

‘It’s what cats do. Don’t worry, I’m used to dealing with dead mice.’

‘Well, I’m not.’ Sally shrinks back into her chair as Cat saunters past her and sits down on the rug, placing her catch between her paws. She looks up at her audience, as if awaiting their approval. The seemingly inert body suddenly twitches and turns over.

‘It’s still alive!’ Sally shrieks, instinctively drawing her legs up under her. ‘Oh Abbie, get it out the house.’

‘Don’t you dare stand on the chair, Sally Lavender!’ Naomi laughs, but she backs away herself.

‘It’s not funny. Oh, look, somebody
do
something.’

‘Don’t be such a wimp, Sally,’ Fran scoffs.

‘It’s a matter of getting it away from her.’ Abbie is approaching cautiously. ‘She’s too quick for us. If she thinks we’re trying to steal her supper, she’ll only run off with it.’

‘Could we try throwing something over it?’ Naomi offers. ‘We don’t want to hurt it.’

Meanwhile Cat is studying the small creature as it turns onto its feet, quivering with terror. Believing its persecutor has relented, the mouse makes a sudden dash for cover. Cat sits back, watching with apparent lack of interest as it scuttles across the floor and almost makes it to the shelter of a cupboard door. Then Cat leaps. One spring-loaded pounce and the poor thing is again trapped beneath her feet. She takes it in her mouth, carrying her trophy around the room. This time there’s a small bead of blood on her fang.

‘Make her stop!’ cries Sally while Claire looks on, motionless and horrified.

‘We’ll have to grab her, force her mouth open.’ Abbie moves to confront the proud hunter.

‘No! No, wait!’ shouts Naomi. ‘She’s trying to tell us something.’

‘I’ll tell
her
something if I can catch the little beggar,’ says Fran.

‘No, Abbie, leave her. This is important.’ Naomi’s voice carries the power of command. ‘Wait. Please. She wants to show us.’

Cat releases the mouse yet again. Now injured, it lies panting, a smear of blood on its side. Cat washes her paws, looks the other way. Desperate to escape, the mouse struggles to its feet and darts to one side, tumbling across the floor. Claire, sickened, whispers that they ought to rescue it. But Naomi still insists they do nothing, and even while she is speaking Cat springs again, turning in mid-air, to land on the mouse and again take it up in her teeth.

‘This is awful,’ Sally shudders. ‘How could she do that?’

‘Because she’s a cat,’ says Fran. ‘Because it’s what cats do best.’

‘That’s it, don’t you see? It’s a message.’

‘No, Naomi, I don’t see. What are you talking about?’

‘We’ll do what we do best. Use the knowledge and skills we have. Only we’ll do it slowly, like Cat. We’ll take our time. Let him think he’s got away with it—then, when he thinks he’s safe, we attack. Again. And again. Yes, that’s the way. We’ll destroy him little piece by little piece.’

They look from one to another, each grasping at some level what Naomi is saying. Then they watch, fascinated and horrified, as Cat torments and tortures the mouse, finally parading past them, carrying her still-gasping prey out of the room.