Emily nods but the truth is, she didn’t get past the lack of an en suite bathroom before clicking away from the barn’s primitive little website, in despair.
The farmer offers her a hand to help her up.
“I’m fine,” she says. She tries to smile at him, but the effort dies on her lips. She feels intimidated by his gruff demeanor and his swarthiness and is a little repelled by his weathered hand.
The interior of the Land Rover is basic and not all that clean, the bench seat hard. Emily perches on it, wriggling to fit in beside the bags, and straps in. Ruth gets up with a grunt, accepting help from Mr. Elliott. He shuts the door.
Ruth makes a freaked-out face at Emily and in spite of herself Emily can’t help smiling back, grateful that she’s not the only one finding everything rough around the edges. Jayne doesn’t look bothered, in fact she looks like she’s relishing everything as she climbs in the front beside Mr. Elliott, but then she and Mark are outdoorsy types. Rain slides down the windscreen.
John Elliott drives aggressively. The pitch and roll of the car makes the journey feel more like sea travel than four-wheel travel. In the front, Jayne’s hand is clamped onto an overhead safety bar. Emily feels as if her internal organs are being redistributed.
Ruth tucks her arms beneath her breasts to stop them bouncing painfully and makes another face. Emily giggles, she doesn’tmean to, it just bursts out of her, and, bracing her elbows against the back of the seat to stabilize herself, cups each of her own boobs with a palm. Her laughter is infectious, Ruth catches it, and it quickly escalates into hysteria, which both try to manage silently, as if they’re naughty schoolkids afraid of being told off by the adults in the front.
They’re no longer smiling by the time they arrive at Dark Fell Barn but desperate for the drive to end. The rain has eased but the wind whips at them as they get down from the Land Rover and buffets them as they take in their surroundings.
“Talk about the definition of off-grid.” Ruth raises her voice a little to be heard. She links an arm through Jayne’s. “Well done, Jayney. You’ve exceeded expectations.” For years, the men have been pushing for these weekends to be spent in more and more remote locations. Jayne has taken them further than they’ve ever been.
They stare out at the landscape, at the absolute desolation of the place. Jayne’s sense of satisfaction burgeons. Ruth can feel panic gnawing at her. She checks her phone. No reception whatsoever. She’d been warned, but it felt easier to cope with in theory. Mr. Elliott has carried their bags inside and is about to leave. She has a strong urge to get into the Land Rover with him and tell him to take her back down to the farmhouse. She’ll go home, collect Alfie from her mother. It’s on the tip of her tongue to call out to Mr. Elliott to stop and wait for her but the shame of being a quitter and the feeling of Jayne’s arm linked through hers stops her.
As John Elliott drives back down to the farmhouse, he has thoughts about their newest guests. They told him their names and he’s already forgotten them, but their faces are clear in his head.
Only one of the women might be worthy of Dark Fell Barn, the one who rode in the front with him. Maggie told him she made the booking. He liked her steady, serious face, plain and pale, open somehow, the flinty gray eyes that narrowed in awe as she took in the sight of the barn and the view. In the car, she had sensible, respectful questions about the history of the area, wondering about the location of the ancient burial chambers that can be found up here, the Neolithic remains. She knew the correct term for them was barrows and he appreciated that. She was dressed appropriately, too, unlike the other two who will spend the weekend cold and burn too much wood trying to warm themselves.
The youngest is a slip of a creature, with flaming red hair, the sort who doubtless barely eats. She wore flimsy clothes, full makeup, and dangling earrings and a watch so expensive it should have stayed at home. She’s noticeably younger than the others and it makes him wonder for the first time what the absent husbands are like, why they’re not here with their wives, who they are. When she took off her dark glasses, he saw that the green of her eyes was watery, and he thought they carried a flinch deep in them the way it lurks in the eyes of wild animals.
The third woman wore tight clothes, though they were not clothes designed to be worn that way. He suspected she had grown too large for them. Her hair curled, dark and unbrushed, as if it belonged to someone wilder, yet everything about her seemed soft and tamed. She looked ready to bolt from the moment they arrived. Preoccupation hovered around her like a cloud of midges. She must have left her mind or her heart behind at home. Her chatter didn’t disguise it from John. Among the expressions of delight and thanks there were too many questions about what they should do if something went wrong.
“Don’t leave the barn in the dark,” he said. It was all they needed to know.
They’re on their own, now.
Emily watches John Elliott drive away. The clock’s ticking, she thinks, until Paul gets here. I just have to endure this. Wind hurtles up the valley and whistles around the barn. It’s too much for Emily; it feels as if its prodding through every seam in her clothing and it pulls her hair out of its topknot, lashing strands of it across her face. She has not dressed or packed for this weather. It feels more like winter than the start of autumn.
She takes shelter in the doorway of Dark Fell Barn. Framed by the thick walls, she feels small and intimidated by the building. There’s something unyielding about it. Stubborn and cold. She shudders.
Jayne and Ruth stand on the patch of ground in front of the barn, their backs to Emily, looking out over the wide beyond. She notes their linked arms and how they’re shoulder to shoulder. It’s hard not to feel jealous of their friendship.
Emily slips into the barn.
She sees the present immediately. It’s at the far end of the hallway, on the kitchen table. With its shiny wrapping it almost seems to wink at her out of the gloom of the barn’s interior. It looks like a shiny beacon amid the muted tones and old surfaces. Emily walks briskly down the hallway toward it and her heart fills up as she does. This is just the sort of gesture that Paul makes: a thoughtful surprise, something to let you know he’s thinking of you or that he’s sorry.
She touches the present, runs the lovely ribbons through her fingers, and picks up the envelope. It’s addressed to all three of them.
She’s slightly disappointed that it’s not addressed to her alone, but Paul’s fair as well as generous. He wouldn’t want to play favorites. She glances back over her shoulder. The front door’s ajar, and the others are still standing where they were before, looking at theview. She doesn’t think she needs to wait for them to open this. It can be her treat.
She smiles as she opens the letter.
Hi Ladies,
Your weekend starts here! I hope you have a great time!
I didn’t come along because I know I’m not welcome.
This is goodbye. I’m going away.
But I wouldn’t want you to forget me.
By the time you read this, I’ll have killed one of your husbands.
