“The letter’s a hoax!” Jayne says.
“But what if it isn’t? Why does she say in the letter that she’s leaving? And make a point of saying that we didn’t want her here? Does she think we’ve done something to her? Is she blaming us for something, and this is her revenge?”
“What? No. Don’t believe a word of the letter. Not one word.”
Ruth glances at the window. Rain is still lashing down, the slope at the back of the barn is saturated. Jayne looks, too.
“Listen, if you want to walk down at least wait a bit to see if the rain eases up. You saw the state of Emily and me when we got in. I’ll go back out with you later if you like. I said the same to Emily. But please know that whatever your mind is telling you right now, this letter absolutely isn’t a real threat. I promise you. And you know it. Remember the stories about the hoaxes that Edie did when the gang were at school? The ones they always tell when they’re drunk? And don’t forget that she’s grieving hard. She’s not in her right mind.”
Jayne is shocked. She never expected Ruth to react like this. Jayne feels like she’s playing catch up; that her friend’s mental state is far more fragile than she ever imagined.
Ruth catches the depth of concern in Jayne’s words and her expression and is horrified to be the object of them.
“You’re right,” she says. “I’m sorry. I know it’s a hoax, of course I do. It’s just that since Alfie, I’ve been a little anxious. You know? Hormones maybe?” She sounds unconvincing to herself. She’s fudging the facts, understating what it’s been like. She notices that her hands are clenched into white-knuckled fists and unclenches them.
“Don’t let Edie get into your head.”
“I won’t. I’m not.” Yet Ruth knows why she feels that her family is the intended target. The reasoning has fully assembled itself in her head and sits there now, a small, hunched figure in silhouette, waiting.
But it feels impossible to articulate this to Jayne because if she does, she’ll have to admit that it might be true.
In the silence after the engine dies my breathing sounds unbearably loud.
I crouch down behind the car reflexively, and my knee hurts like hell. I hear footsteps approaching.
“Hello?” A male voice. I don’t think I have any choice but to stand up.
“Hi,” I say.
The sun is behind my visitor so it’s hard to see his face, but I think it’s the man who rents this place to me, which is good news. He wasn’t a man of many words or much curiosity when I met him the first time.
“How are you?” I add. I raise my voice a little because I’m behind the car. It’s a vulnerable feeling.
“Have you got yourself stuck in there?” he asks. It’s definitely my landlord. He has a gravelly West Country accent with a flat undertone of world weariness.
“No, no! Everything’s fine. I’m just loading the freezer.” I wish I hadn’t said that, but it’s too late. And don’t they say that the best kind of lie is one that’s close to the truth?
I’m glad he can’t get near enough to observe the sweat patches forming under my arms, or to hear me swallow as I speak. I wish I was in the car. I imagine driving into him, solving the problem of him with a little tap on the accelerator.
He squints and peers, trying to see me better. It unnerves me. I must distract him.
“Moving some stuff around?” I ask him, nodding at the parked forklift.
“I’m emptying another unit for a mate,” he says.
I nod. When will he go?
We hear an indistinct shout from the other end of the yard. My landlord raises a hand in its direction.
“That’s him, then. Sure you’re not stuck?” he says to me.
“No. Nope. All good here. Very good.” I force a smile. “Nice to see you.”
“Right,” he says.
I watch him leave and sag with relief once the forklift is out of sight. I’m a little wobbly as I climb back through the car and drive forward far enough that I can get out, shut the hatchback and lock the unit. The forklift is working at the other end of the yard. I wonder why the landlord came up here at all. Perhaps he’s nosier than I thought. I tell myself not to get paranoid. Not now.
Once I’ve made the unit secure, and you can believe I triple-checked the lock, I get back into the car. Every nerve in my body is jangling. It’s hard to stay upbeat. I can feel my ability to focus starting to wane, weakness creeping in. But I give myself a pep talk and tell myself that the worst is over.
