Working title; The girl in the Mist
Chapter one
I stare out of the window. The view is as beautiful as Bill
said it would be when he wheeled me into the light. The sky is blue, with a
strangely shaped cloud hiding the sun. A cloud that looks like the devil.
From here I can see other houses, dotted along the hillside,
white, modern, unlike this one which has survived many generations. The families in these houses go out in the
morning. Some take their children with satchels in their hands. Most don’t
return till evening.
Maeve and Alasdair don’t leave the vicinity, though. They
are retired and live in the next house along. I know because they arrived on
our doorstep no sooner than we had unpacked.
‘We came to welcome you,’ said Maeve. ‘I knew you’d be tired
after travelling, so I thought you might like to share our dinner. I always
make plenty.’ Short and stout with wavy white hair and soft looking skin like a
powdery marshmallow, she held out a casserole dish covered with a red and white
checked tea cloth.
Alasdair, taller. thinner, wispy-haired with a small
moustache and glasses, clutched two bottles of wine, one in either hand, white
and red.
Bill hesitated. We had planned a quiet night, just the two
of us, but then he asked them in. Bill would. He would consider it rude not to.
‘I hope you like wine,’ said Alasdair. His incredibly perfect teeth looked too big
for his mouth and they clicked when he spoke.
‘This is my wife, Sally.’ Bill turned to me. ‘Look, love, I
don’t need to cook after all.’
‘Thank you.’ I forced a smile.
Maeve’s beady eyes took in the wheel chair, the rug covering
my legs. ‘Accident,’ I said.
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ she looked away quickly.
Bill removed the lid of the casserole. ‘Have you eaten?’ He
looked at our guests. ‘Seems like there’s a lot of food here.’
‘I have more at home. I always make a full pot and freeze
some, don’t I, Alasdair?’
But neither she nor Alasdair moved.
‘Then maybe you’d like to join us.’ Bill avoided my eyes
which were pleading with him to shut up.
‘Oh, you don’t mind? We don’t want to be a bother. We would
never be that, would we, Alasdair?’ Her soft white face lit up.
‘It’s no bother,’ said Bill, setting the casserole dish to
one side and taking the bottles from somewhat reluctant hands. I guessed this
wasn’t Alasdair's idea at all.
‘Were you badly hurt in the… accident?’ Maeve leant over and
patted my shoulder.
‘She doesn’t like to talk about it.’ Bill spoke sternly,
disapproving eyes meeting mine.
‘I’ll tell you sometime,’ I said, enjoying Bill’s
discomfort.
By the end of the meal I knew all about everyone who lived
in each of the houses nearby. ‘There’s the Simpson’s,’ Maeve’s voice was almost
a whisper. ‘Fiona and Ian. The big bungalow nearest ours. Two kids. Boys,
eleven and twelve. Right little hooligans. Cheeky too. Aren’t they, Alasdair?’
‘I think they’re likeable enough, but yes, maybe a bit
cheeky.’
‘The parents both
work. She’s an estate agent and he’s a solicitor. Her mother lives in the next
house along, the little cottage. She watches the kids after school and in the
holidays.’ She chewed in silence for a minute. ‘The house below them, Maggie
and Donald Pottinger. They’ve been here since they married, twenty-seven years
ago. Three teenage kids. The oldest is in university, the second has a child of
her own and she doesn’t work. The youngest, a lad, he’s about sixteen. There’s
something not quite right about him.’ She tapped the side of her head with her
forefinger. ‘Know what I mean? Then
there’s that hippy chap from the cottage nearest the shore. He’s an artist or
something. Has a boat. Long hair. Where did you say you came from?’
‘London.’ Bill answered filling everyone’s glass with the
last of the red. ‘I must say, this is amazingly good stew.’
‘And what do you do?’ Maeve drained her glass and stared at
the empty bottle.
‘I’m a headmaster of a primary school. We grew tired of the
city. I’ll be starting a new job in Inverness next term.’
‘We’ve been here for two years now. Great place to retire
to. Isn’t it, Alasdair? But the locals, they are a bit nosey.’ Her eyes fell on
me. ‘And what did you do dear, I mean, before…’ She glanced at my legs.
‘A pole dancer. I fell from the top of the pole. Cracked my
spine on the edge of the platform.’
Her face grew pink. ‘Oh.’
They didn’t stay long after that. Bill saw them to the door
and returned shaking his head. ‘A pole dancer? Why do you do that?’
‘Would you rather I told them the truth? Anyway, she was
doing my head in with her personal questions.’
‘They meant well, and the food and wine were good.’
I laughed. ‘You just couldn’t be bothered to cook.’
‘You do realise the whole neighbourhood will believe you
were a pole dancer by tomorrow?’
‘Who cares? If anyone else asks, I’ll say I was a stripper.
I don’t think she was stupid enough to believe me anyway.’
‘It was as good as saying ‘mind your own business.’ Not very
neighbourly, Sally.’
I rubbed my head. ‘I want to go to bed, now.’
That was two days ago. I’ve seen Maeve scurrying around her
house, throwing occasional glances towards my window, but she has not returned.
I’m glad of that. I came here for peace, not to make friends.
Summoning all my courage, I wheel my chair to the door and
out into the pale sunshine. I can do this.
Two boys are flying a remote controlled plane. It buzzes
round my house then heads straight towards me turning up at the last minute and
crashing into the wall above. They both run in my direction.
‘Sorry Missus,’ stammers the oldest. ‘We just got it. My
little brother hasn’t got the hang of it yet.’
I assumed this was Fiona and Ian’s boys. The hooligans.
‘What’s your names?’ I ask as the elder retrieves the plane and inspects it for
damage.
‘Stuart,’ says the younger staring at my legs. Without
moving his eyes, he continues. ‘He’s called William. Why are you in a
wheelchair? Did you fall off a pole?’
‘You don’t ask things like that. It’s rude,’ snapped
William, his face growing pink.
I shake my head. ‘I’ll tell you, but it’s a secret.’ I
beckon the boys closer and lean forward. ‘Promise you won’t say anything.’
Their eyes are open wide, they both cross their hearts and
whisper ‘promise,’ in unison.
‘I’m a secret agent. I uncovered a plot to take over the
British government, but I was shot while I was phoning for back up.’
Now the mouths were as round as the eyes. ‘Who…what…?’
begins William.
I hold up my hand. ‘I’ve said too much already.’
They look at each other. ‘We’ll never tell anyone, honest
missus,’ declares Stuart. At that moment, Bill’s car drives up. ‘Is he a secret
agent too?’
I shake my head. ‘He’s part of the plot. I’ve got him under
surveillance.’
‘Thanks for letting us get our plane back,’ says William,
grabs his brother’s arm and they turn
and run down the hill towards their own house.
‘What have you been telling them?’ askes Bill. ‘That I’m the
bogey-man?’
‘Just that I’m a secret agent and you’re one of the bad
guys.’
Bill rolls his eyes. ‘Come on’, he says, ‘I’ve got lunch,’
and he wheels me indoors.
