The Cottage Read online

  Jan had followed her instructions exactly, so where had Tinder got cooked meat from?

  Straightening, she glanced around. Not from the kitchen. The only meat was what Camile had left in the freezer. A dustbin? But there was only her bin out here, collected once a week, and it was supposed to be animal-proof. Added to which, she hadn’t eaten meat – she was mostly vegetarian, occasionally eating fish, but that was all.

  It crossed her mind that Tinder might have got the meat from another bin, but she dismissed that idea. He hadn’t been gone long enough to make it to the village and back, and there were no other properties between Ivy Cottage and Merryless. Also, according to Camile, he never went that far. You can let him off the lead if you go for a walk, Camile had written in her notes. He won’t stray far. But he had the night before.

  Could he have got the cooked meat from the woods? Jan wondered. Was someone camping there? It was possible, she supposed. A homeless person or army cadets on a training exercise? Could that be it? They’d fed him, or he’d found their leftovers, or he’d been caught stealing their meal and they’d chased him off. That would explain why he’d landed with such force against the window. She couldn’t think of any other explanation, yet there’d been no sign of a camp when she’d walked in the woods in daylight. But then again, she’d kept to the paths and the woods stretched for miles. It was at its most dense behind the cottage, so someone could be living in there.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, returning to the sofa. ‘No more disappearing.’

  THREE

  Midwife Anne Long parked her Vauxhall Corsa outside 57 Booth Lane, switched off the car’s headlights and cut the engine. She sat for a moment staring straight ahead, then with a resigned sigh got out. Going to the boot of her car, she took out what she needed. The rest of the equipment for the birth was already in the house.

  At 4 a.m. the air was cold and the street deserted. Virtually all the other houses were in darkness, but not so Ian and Emma Jennings’s. They were up and had been all night, timing Emma’s contractions and texting Anne, until the contractions were five minutes apart and Anne had said she’d come.

  She walked stoically up the short path, worried and preoccupied, then pressed the doorbell. Usually a birth was a joyous occasion, but not this one.

  No one answered the door on the first ring and Anne’s sense of foreboding increased. She pressed the bell again. They certainly wouldn’t be asleep. Had something gone wrong already? She prayed not. Ian and Emma were a lovely couple in their late twenties and were having a home birth after their dreadful experience in hospital the last time when they’d lost their first baby. Emma had readily agreed to a home birth – she didn’t want to go near a hospital again – and Anne had overseen her pregnancy.

  The door finally opened and Ian Jennings looked at her with weary acceptance.

  ‘Sorry, I was with Emma,’ he said, his voice flat. ‘Come in.’ He took the cylinder of Entonox from her.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Emma’s in bed. I’ve put the waterproof cover on the mattress like you said.’

  ‘Good. How are you both?’ Anne asked as she followed Ian upstairs. He shrugged dejectedly. It was a stupid question, she thought. Of course they were both scared stiff and just wanted it over with. ‘Shouldn’t be too long now,’ she added.

  She went into the main bedroom. In contrast to the landing and hall it was dimly lit, the centre light turned right down. Emma was just visible on the other side of the room, propped up on a mountain of pillows, her blonde hair recently cut short.

  ‘How are you doing?’ Anne asked gently, going over.

  ‘I’m scared,’ Emma said.

  ‘I know, love. I’ll look after you.’ Then to Ian, ‘I’ll need the light up while I examine Emma. You can turn it down again after.’ She appreciated they wouldn’t want the room bright for long. The less they saw the better. But she needed some light to do her job and deliver the baby.

  ‘Light, please, Ian,’ Anne said more firmly. He was standing in a daze, staring at his wife and still holding the cylinder of Entonox. ‘You can put that down there, please.’

  As if in a trance, he placed the cylinder by the bed and then went to the light switch and raised the lights a little.

  ‘Right up, please, Ian,’ Anne said.

  Now she could see Emma’s tired, worn, anxious face more clearly. Another contraction took hold and she grimaced in pain. ‘Do you want gas and air?’ Anne asked.

  Emma nodded.

  Anne took the mask from its sealed package and attached it to the cylinder, then placed the mask in Emma’s hand. She waited while she took a few breaths. Ian stood still and quiet somewhere behind her. ‘I can give you a shot of pethidine if you wish,’ she said to Emma. ‘It will be about twenty minutes before it takes effect.’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Emma said, her voice small and strained.

  Anne opened her midwife’s bag, prepared the injection and then gave Emma the shot in her thigh. Normally she wouldn’t have offered pethidine this close to the birth unless the mother really wasn’t coping with the pain. It could cause the mother to become unresponsive and affect the baby’s breathing and first feed, but that wasn’t an issue here. Emma could have whatever she needed just to get through the ordeal.

  Now Emma was more comfortable, Anne took her pulse, blood pressure and temperature. They were all normal for a woman in the active stage of labour. Ian was standing passively to one side, not knowing what to do for the best.

  ‘Come and hold your wife’s hand while I examine her,’ Anne told him.

  With over twenty years’ experience as a midwife, Anne knew that the men often needed more support than the woman giving birth, even when the birth went to plan and was straightforward, which this wasn’t.

  Taking a pair of sterile gloves from her bag, Anne went to the end of the bed and raised the sheet. She examined Emma internally and then covered her again. ‘It will be at least another two hours, if not longer,’ she said, peeling off her gloves.

  Ian sighed and rubbed his forehead in anguish. He wasn’t doing Emma any favours, Anne thought. His nervousness was contagious.

  ‘Perhaps you could make me a cup of coffee?’ she suggested. ‘I didn’t have time for one before I left.’

  He crossed the room towards the door and on his way out dimmed the lights.

  ‘It’s better if he’s occupied,’ Anne told Emma, and sat in the chair by her bed.

  Emma grimaced as another contraction took hold. Anne guided her hand to the mask, and Emma breathed in the gas and air.

  ‘You’re doing well,’ Anne said reassuringly, rubbing her patient’s arm. ‘The pethidine will take effect soon.’

  ‘I just want it over with,’ Emma cried, a tear slipping down her cheek. ‘We won’t try again for another child.’

  ‘I know, love. Just stay calm and take deep breaths. I’m here with you.’

  ‘You won’t leave, will you?’ Emma asked anxiously.

  ‘No, not until it’s all over.’

  Ian returned with the cup of coffee, then hovered, unsure of what to do next. ‘Have we got everything we need for the birth?’ Anne asked him.

  ‘I think so,’ he replied, glancing around.

  Anne knew they had. While the light had been raised she’d seen the pile of towels, blanket, Moses basket, maternity pads, bags for rubbish and a plastic bucket. Compared to the equipment that filled some home-birthing rooms, this was the absolute minimum. No candles, soft music, TENS machine, birthing pool or piles of first-size baby clothes. They just had what was needed to get the baby out and gone.

  ‘It’ll be a while yet,’ Anne said again, looking at Ian. ‘You can go if you have something you want to do and I’ll call you when it’s time.’

  ‘I’ll stay,’ he said, and sat in the chair on the other side of the bed. He took his wife’s hand and pressed it to his cheek.

  Anne’s heart went out to them. They didn’t deserve this. Emma grimaced as another c
ontraction took hold. Ian helped her keep the mask on her face as she breathed in the gas and air. Gradually the pethidine took effect and the pain became more manageable. Now all they could do was wait and let nature take its course.

  Seated in the semi-darkness, Anne looked on as Ian held his wife’s hand and passed her the mask each time she needed Entonox. She wasn’t making much fuss, not really. The pethidine helped. The minutes ticked by as the contractions increased, and Anne stood and checked Emma’s vital signs again. They were as they should be. But a few minutes later Emma let out a piercing scream.

  ‘Raise the lights, please,’ she told Ian, standing. ‘I need to examine Emma.’

  She quickly put on sterile gloves and lifted the bed cover. The baby was coming faster than she’d expected. The cervix was fully dilated. Emma screamed again.

  ‘Bring a towel quickly,’ Anne called to Ian. ‘It’s on its way.’

  Ian rushed from his wife’s side, brought back a towel and watched as Anne placed it beneath Emma. Just in time. The baby’s head appeared. Emma screamed again, her cry so chilling and intense it seemed to come from the depths of her being, as if she were being torn apart.

  ‘Push, love,’ Anne said. ‘Take a deep breath and push.’

  Emma gulped in the air, gave a long, hard push and screamed as the baby tumbled out.

  ‘Well done.’

  ‘Don’t look, Ian,’ Anne said.

  But it was too late. He was still by her side, now staring at the baby, his expression a mixture of awe and horror.

  ‘Ian, go to your wife,’ Anne instructed.

  He remained where he was.

  ‘Ian, now,’ she said more firmly. ‘Emma needs you.’

  He turned, dazed, and went to her side. Enfolding her in his arms, they both wept openly.

  Anne wiped the baby’s face free of mucus, cut and clamped the umbilical cord, then carried it to where the towels were. Wiping its body, she wrapped it in a fresh towel and placed the bundle on its side in the Moses basket facing away from them.

  ‘Is it alive?’ Ian asked.

  ‘No,’ Anne said.

  ‘Boy or girl?’ Emma asked between sobs.

  ‘Boy,’ Anne replied. ‘But you don’t want to see it.’

  Emma’s sobs grew.

  Anne returned to her patient and concentrated on delivering the placenta as Ian and Emma comforted each other. She checked the placenta was all there and then disposed of it in one of the rubbish bags, firmly tying the top. She checked Emma’s vital signs again. They were normal. Neither of them looked at the Moses basket on the far side of the room where the infant remained quiet and motionless. Anne gathered together her equipment and returned it to her bag.

  ‘I’ll come back for these later,’ she said to Ian, placing the cylinder and her midwife bag to one side. ‘I expect Emma would like something to eat and drink now.’

  Ian nodded dumbly.

  ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  Leaving the couple to their grief, Anne crossed the room to the Moses basket. She covered the baby with a blanket and then picked up the basket. She looked at Ian and Emma clinging tightly to each other, consumed by grief. Her heart clenched, but there was nothing more she could do here and she needed to go now. She dared not leave it any longer. She began towards the door.

  ‘Anne,’ Emma called through her tears.

  She paused. Don’t change your mind about seeing the baby, she thought. Just let me go. ‘Yes?’ she asked tentatively, keeping her back to the couple.

  ‘We called him David,’ Emma said. ‘It means loved.’

  ‘I’ll remember,’ Anne said, and continued out of the room, then carefully downstairs, the Moses basket at her side.

  She quietly let herself out of the front door. It was nearly eight o’clock and households were on the move – dog-walkers, people beginning to leave the house for work. She pulled the blanket right up over the baby’s face and hurried to her car.

  Opening the rear door, she carefully placed the Moses basket on the back seat, uncovered the baby’s face a little and secured the basket with the seatbelts. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do.

  She closed the rear door and got into the driver’s seat, then started the engine. As she did a woman appeared at the upstairs window of the house next door. Anne went cold. Had she seen her leave with the Moses basket? It was possible, although she wouldn’t have seen what was in it. When she returned to Ian and Emma’s later she’d make sure they had their story straight. One slip of the tongue, one small inconsistency, could be their undoing.

  FOUR

  What the hell!

  Jan’s eyes shot open. Panic gripped her. She stared across the room. Where was she? A small crack of light showed between the gap in the curtains. Those weren’t her curtains. This wasn’t her bedroom. She sat bolt upright in bed and stared around.

  Then she remembered. Of course this wasn’t her bedroom. It was the bedroom in the cottage she was renting. Relief flooded through her.

  She rested her head back on the pillows and waited for her pulse to settle. Judging from the light outside, it was morning. But what time was it? She reached for her phone. It was 9.10, later than she normally woke, but she hadn’t gone to sleep until very late. And then she’d been plagued by nightmares in which someone or something had been chasing her through Coleshaw Woods. Even now she was awake she could remember the terror she’d felt as she’d run from the inescapable horror. She guessed it was hardly surprising she was sleeping badly after what had been happening all week. Tinder was downstairs, shut in the kitchen, now waiting for his breakfast. Camile didn’t allow him on her bed, but if Jan was honest, she would have found his company reassuring.

  A loud knock sounded on the front door, making her start. Someone was here at this time? It could have been the sound of the door knocker that had woken her with a start in the first place.

  Getting out of bed, Jan pushed her feet into her slippers – all the floors in the cottage were stripped wood, making going barefoot uncomfortable and cold. She put on her dressing gown and went to the small casement window that overlooked the front. Parting the curtains, she looked out. How much braver she felt now it was daylight.

  The autumn sun flickered between the trees. Looking down, she could see her car parked to the right of the cottage, but not the person at the front door, which was immediately beneath the window. She opened the window a little and called down, ‘Hello! Who’s there?’

  The visitor stepped back into her line of vision. ‘Oh Chris, it’s you. You gave me a shock. I was asleep.’

  ‘Sorry. I thought you’d be awake by now on a glorious day like this.’

  ‘I should be, but I had a bad night,’ Jan admitted.

  ‘Sorry to hear that. I brought you some eggs,’ Chris said, holding up a box of eggs. He lived in Merryless and kept chickens. ‘Shall I leave them on the doorstep?’

  ‘If you can wait while I put on some clothes, I’ll make you a coffee,’ Jan offered. Chris usually came in for a coffee when he visited.

  ‘Sounds good, thanks.’

  Jan closed the window and began dressing. She had met Christopher – or Chris, as he liked to be known – a few times since she’d moved in. A friend of Camile’s, he called on her from time to time, ostensibly to check she had everything she needed. Jan suspected there was also an element of making sure she was looking after the cottage and Tinder, which she didn’t have a problem with. After all, Camile had entrusted her home and dog to a complete stranger.

  Running a brush through her hair, Jan checked her face in the mirror. It would have to do. She liked Chris, but suspected he was more than just friends with Camile. Although he’d never said as much, she’d noticed a warmth creep into his voice whenever he spoke of her. But Jan liked his company and was grateful for it, especially now after the worries of the last few nights.

  She went down the narrow cottage stairs, thinking she might ask him about the animals that inhabited the wood
s. He had lived in the village most of his life so knew the area well. He was an electrician by trade.

  ‘Come in,’ she said, smiling, as she opened the front door. The sunlight flooded into the small hall. ‘It is a nice day. Are you not working?’

  ‘It’s Saturday,’ he reminded her.

  ‘Oh yes.’ She laughed. ‘I’m losing track of the days here.’

  ‘Camile says the same when she’s home for more than a week,’ he said, following her to the living room. ‘She usually goes into the village each day to buy a paper or something as part of her routine.’

  ‘I get news alerts on my phone,’ Jan said, and opened the living-room curtains.

  ‘But you don’t get the local gossip,’ Chris pointed out with a smile.

  ‘That’s true.’

  Chris opened the door to the kitchen and Tinder rushed to greet him, tail wagging.

  ‘He’ll be wanting his breakfast,’ Jan said, joining Chris in the small kitchen.

  She picked up Tinder’s food bowl and scooped in a measure of dry dog food. Chris placed the box of eggs in the fridge. He was at home here and knew where most things were from all the years he’d known Camile. Jan refreshed Tinder’s water bowl and then filled the coffee machine. One thing she, Chris and Camile all had in common was their love of decent coffee.

  ‘So, is everything OK here?’ Chris asked, as he always did when he visited.

  ‘Yes, fine, thanks.’

  ‘You’ve got plenty of coins for the meter?’

  She’d told him about her scare when she’d first moved in.

  ‘Yes. I won’t do that again. I keep plenty.’

  ‘You can always phone me if you have a problem. You’ve got my mobile number.’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’ Camile had included Chris’s contact details in her instructions, saying she should call him if she needed help with any matter in the cottage.