Now, all I’ve got to do is figure out how best to move her from here.
Saturday
William Elliott drives up the valley
William Elliott drives up the valley, toward the farmhouse where he grew up. He wears his police uniform; his cap sits on the passenger seat beside him.
It’s been a terrible night up here.
The storm only passed an hour ago, just before dawn. Still air has congregated in its wake, inspecting the damage that was wrought overnight, respectful of it, careful not to press too hard where things might hurt, on the tree trunks bearing fresh wounds where branches have been ripped from them, on unearthed roots which are glimpsing daylight for the first time.
William drives through bands of fog and thinks of them as a cool salve on the landscape, treating it gently while it decides how best to recover.
Ahead of him, a barn owl takes flight from the edge of the woodland, wings beating powerfully. It gathers its shoulders, its wings taking on the shape of an embrace, white plumage on its underside reflecting the milky yellow sunlight disrupting an ashen horizon. The owl is completely still for a perfect moment before it plummets, talons spread, to take a mouse from the field and carry it away.
The sight is ethereal. His dad would be transfixed by it.
Maggie Elliott hears William’s car as it approaches the farmhouse. She steps outside, thankful to get some respite from being in the same space as the young woman, Emily, who’s been so distraught.
They made an official call to the police, but it was impossible to get anyone to come up to the farmhouse and speak to Emily last night. The letter wasn’t considered enough of a threat while there was no proof that Emily’s husband was harmed or missing. The storm was too violent to allow a courtesy call. It could wait until morning, was the official advice. Then it would be followed up if necessary. It seemed sensible to Maggie, but not to Emily.
Afraid that Emily would become more hysterical, Maggie called in a rare favor from her son, William. He promised to come as soon as he could.
She opens the gate. His car headlamps push through the fog and into the yard. Visibility is very poor.
She and William embrace when he gets out of the car and she feels her heart grow and the relief of having another adult with her, to bear some of the responsibility for all of this. John bathed and went to bed while she was tending to Emily.
“Bacon sandwich?” she asks William.
“I wouldn’t say no.”
She already has bacon out, beside the hob. Four rashers. Her skillet is ready.
“Egg?”
“No, thank you.”
He kneels down to fuss the dogs, lets them lick his face.
“You’ll have hair all over you.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“But your uniform.”
“Mother,” he warns and scoops Annie’s hind legs up, lifting her so she’s sitting on his lap. Birdie lies down and rests her head on his knee. He pets them both.
Maggie watches. “You look handsome.”
“Mother. Stop.”
She smiles. “Thanks for coming, love. The young lass, Emily, is asleep upstairs. You should have seen the state of her last night.”
William eases the dogs off him, stands and brushes at his trousers though Maggie’s face says it won’t do any good if what he’s after is getting rid of their hair.
He takes his usual place at the table. She puts a cup of tea down for him.
“Tell me again what happened now that I’m awake enough to take it in properly,” he says.
