Page 44

T he builder’s van drove away. Rose stood on the kerb with her hands in her pockets doing mental calculations.

It might be cheaper to move to a house with four bedrooms than adapt and develop the bungalow.

She was screwing up her face trying to remember what was for sale on the edge of Kirkglen.

A modern place would be too flimsy. There was a dour grey Victorian place with disapproving gables.

It had a bit of land around it and stood on a slight hill of its own, with a straight backed stone wall around it. That might do.

Living in town would bring them closer to shops and general civilisation. On the other hand it would bring them closer to peeking and prying.

The sky was overcast and it was hard to know whether it would rain or clear, but summer still chimed around her and a light breeze lifted her hair.

There was no one for five miles. Simon was off on one of his runs.

Rose remembered the heat and bustle of the city and shook her head with a slight smile.

The countryside was casting a spell on her.

She was just wondering how much it would be to buy a plot of land and build somewhere purpose built with a cellar, when Rob’s car pulled up and the window lowered.

‘Hello, Rose.’

‘Hello. Good trip?’

‘Yes thanks. You seem miles away.’

‘I was wondering how much it would cost to build somewhere with a cellar.’

Rob said nothing. She felt herself blush.

‘A cellar. Not a dungeon.’

Rob frowned then shook his head. ‘I hadn’t even… I was just wondering why you wanted to build somewhere. Do you want to move away?’

Did she?

‘I just had someone round to do quotes for some work on the bungalow: proper office, proper music room, another loo, that sort of thing. And I wondered… ’

‘Well, you don’t pick that shyster. Let me recommend someone.’

He made no move to turn into his drive. Rose felt the blush deepen as she looked into his eyes. All she could visualise was his face, shocked by the cage, then cold as he prepared to go away.

‘About that coffee,’ they said simultaneously.

Rose fussed around in the kitchen as the kettle boiled, wondering if Rob would change his mind.

She poked her head round the door to scan the sitting room and grimaced.

It still had all the character of down-at-heel commercial hotel from before 1980.

The wedding photograph was misaligned and needed dusting.

The cello was propped up against the chair as if trying to stop someone from sitting down.

Rose had found the photograph of herself playing it and it stood at the edge of the mantelpiece as if trying to throw itself off.

There weren’t many cushions to plump. Should she put on some music?

If so, what kind? Was he really going to believe she sat around being cultural all day?

Or domestic? It wasn’t as if he’d never been inside before.

She sighed and went back to peer into the biscuit tin wondering if there was anything that wasn’t soggy or stale.

‘Anything from this century?’ He was leaning on the door-frame with a half-smile.

‘Apparently not,’ she answered. ‘Sorry.’

‘Why be sorry? Anyway, I’ve brought some home-made ones.’

He handed over a plastic bag with cookies inside. ‘Saoirse’s mother thought I might die of starvation on the way back.’

What would Saoirse’s mother think if she knew he was sharing them with a woman? What would David’s mother think if she knew Rose was having coffee with a man. Then again, they were just neighbours.

‘The coffee’s still brewing,’ she said. ‘I wanted to explain things to you.’

‘You don’t have to explain anything.’

‘I do have to.’

‘Well have a biscuit while you’re explaining. They’re good.’

Rose imagined trying to talk with a mouth full of crumbs and shook her head. If she got through this without Rob walking out halfway through, she’d reward herself later.

‘Let me give you the tour,’ she said. Rob sighed and followed her. ‘This is the sitting room, you know that.’

‘Bored of redecorating already?’

‘Overwhelmed. Also rehearsals. Also wondering about building works.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘This is the hall, which you also know. This the bathroom in its avocado splendour.’

‘I like the pigs.’

‘Reckon I should keep them?’

‘Post modern ironic.’

‘Well the bathroom’s getting ripped out but Higgins still has a supply.’

‘Sounds like a plan.’

Rose wished she felt as light hearted as he sounded.

‘This is the spare room.’

‘Ever heard of long term storage?’

‘Mmm, I don’t even remember what half of it is to be honest. But it’s why we need an office really. Then this could be my music room. I think.’

‘There’s a perfectly good one across the road you can use anytime you want.’

Was he flirting with her? She looked at him but his face was serious not suggestive. Rose sighed. ‘ That one is my room.’

‘Are you going to show me?’

‘No.’

‘I’m not planning to seduce you. Or is it just a mess?’

‘It’s more that I don’t want you to imagine me in it.

I mean -’ she blushed and Rob smirked - ‘I mean, it’s very pink and frilly which isn’t my taste at all.

’ After a moment, she prodded the door open with her foot.

Her white broderie anglaise duvet looked virginal and twee in the midst of blushing walls and damask pelmets.

‘What colour do you want it to be?’

‘Lots of colours. Sultry, like something from the Arabian Nights.’ It came out before she could stop herself.

Rob’s eyebrows raised. A smile played on his lips and then disappeared again. He said nothing and didn’t catch her eyes.

Rose drew a breath and crossed the hall. ‘And this is Simon’s room.’

‘Any wildlife today?’

‘No. But I want to show you properly.’

Inside, she pulled the bed out and opened the wardrobe doors to expose the cage, neat and clean.

‘Simon is…’ Rose bit her lip. It was now or never. If she didn’t tell him, her lies would come across in her music and he’d know. But then, if she told him, he would think she was mad.

‘Let’s go and have that coffee,’ he said.

It had started to drizzle outside so they sat in the sitting room with their mugs, the bag of cookies untouched on the coffee table.

‘Nice photo,’ said Rob, picking up the one of Rose and the cello. ‘It really captures you.’

‘David took it.’

‘It’s wonderful.’

‘Rob, really, I’ve got to tell you about Simon. I know you think I’m a bit mad and when I tell you, you’re going to think I’m completely mad, but I have to tell you anyway.’

‘I’m willing to accept that there’s something wrong with him which means he could harm himself, just surprised that a cage is the only option.

I don’t think you’re mad, but I can see you’re stressed.

Beyond stress perhaps. But grief’s like that.

You need to give yourself a break. What’s so wrong with Simon that you are afraid he’ll harm himself?

I’m no expert, but he doesn’t seem the sort. ’

‘It’s not himself that he can harm, it’s others. Simon is… a werewolf.’ She’d said it. A thin strand of cobwebs spiralled in a draught above Rob’s head. He was looking towards her but not looking at her, very still. ‘You don’t believe me. Why would you believe me?’

Rob looked into his mug and got up.

‘Oh god…’ Rose put her face in her hands.

‘Just going to get more coffee, do you want some too?’ said Rob.

Rose parted her fingers. He was holding his hand out for her mug. She passed it up. When he returned with the coffee, she had the footage from the Danish forest ready to play.

‘What’s this?’

‘It’s edited out bits of the filming from last summer. Look,’ she pointed at the man in the shadows and then the clip with the stalking werewolf. ‘You can see it’s not a real wolf. And it’s sick. Compare it with the others. And the pack is nervous.’

‘And that’s Simon? The production company went out to film wolves with a werewolf as the presenter?’

‘No! I mean, no, that … thing… is the one who… which attacked Simon.’ She fast forwarded it.

‘Surely they haven’t got that on film too?’

‘Yes but they didn’t know what it was. It all happened too fast.’

She played the final moments, the attack, the panic, the second attack, the shooting.

David rushing from his Skype call, the bullets from nowhere, the men falling, the werewolf running into the forest, the other wolf - it must be Sky - fallen on the ground and ignored as the crew tried to save David and Simon. The film ended.

How many times would Rose be able to see it until it was simply a piece of history. She picked up her mug and her hands shook. Rob put his down and reached for her. She didn’t respond.

‘How many times have you tortured yourself with that?’

‘You don’t believe me.’

Rob said nothing, his hand still poised to reassure.

Rose ran the film over in her head. Did the werewolf look like anything other than a diseased, malformed wolf?

It was in shadow and darkness. There was nothing to show any sort of transformation.

One minute there was a man under the trees and then there was a wolf.

And Simon wasn’t even convinced it was the same person who had attacked him.

Rose put her mug down and ran her fingers round her eyes. ‘There’s something else.’

She took the memory card from the camera and put it in the TV. Here was Simon in his cage, under a blanket. Rose’s voice could be heard. ‘You want me to record you changing?’

‘Yes,’ slurred Simon.

She could hear the tears in her own voice. Simon settled in the cage, his back to her. ‘Your cage too.’

She had never watched the transformation properly. She usually sat with her eyes closed till she knew it was over. Simon’s hair grew, the curve of his spine changed, his hands and feet…

Rob reached over and turned the recording off. ‘That’s enough. You’ve had enough. Eat a cookie.’ He took one out of the bag and put it in Rose’s hand. ‘Right, it’s stopped raining, we’re going for a walk.’

‘What?’