Chapter One

15th March

Izzy jogged up the street to the Civic Centre, little clouds of frozen breath floating in the air behind her.
‘Mum, slow down,’ Connor called out. ‘What do you think they’re going to do? Give it away to someone else?’
She stopped, one foot on the first step, and turned around. ‘Didn’t you see the date on the letter?’ She waved a sheet of paper in her son’s direction. ‘Lucky Sheila was there. Otherwise I would have wrung bloody Tamara’s neck.’ She reached out, touched Connor’s arm. ‘I just can’t believe she’d do something so evil.’
‘Yeah. Me, too.’ Connor peered up at the building through his thick lenses. ‘I don’t think they’ll have skipped us. But I suppose the council could change their minds.’ He grinned cheekily, then bounded past her and up the steps.
The waiting room on the third floor was empty, bar a flustered receptionist. While Connor cleaned the condensation off his glasses, Izzy tried to read a magazine, her eyes flickering between the woman and a long hall that ran to the left of the counter. A phone rang. Izzy jumped, and the magazine fell closed on her lap.
‘You’re ready?’ the receptionist said into the handset. She nodded towards the hall. ‘Please go to interview room twelve. You’ll find it about halfway down. Mrs Roberts is waiting.’ She went back to her computer, next to a mound of paperwork that leaned precariously to one side. Izzy didn’t envy council workers.
‘Come on, love,’ Izzy said. She grabbed her backpack, and hurried away. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
They entered a stark room, where a woman sat behind a wide desk, leafing through a folder. She closed the file as Izzy shut the door.
‘Please sit,’ Mrs Roberts said, with a glance at her watch.
Unable to help herself, Izzy checked her own watch, before offering a too-wide smile. She sat down on one of the chairs, the letter clutched between her fingers.
Connor flopped on the other chair, grinding the legs back on the linoleum.
‘Sorry,’ he said, and half-grinned, half-shrugged at his mother.
‘Ms Santana,’ Mrs Roberts said. ‘You’re late.’
‘Only by a couple of minutes…’ Izzy said, her eyes wide.
‘I meant by several days.’ Mrs Roberts opened the file on the desk. ‘We sent you the offer on the 6th of March.’
‘I’m sorry – one of the other residents at the shelter took my post. I had no idea…’ Izzy’s voice faded. She glanced at her son, then back at the council worker.
‘Your non-communication means we offered the flat to the next person on the list.’
‘Already?’ Izzy restrained herself from jumping up and shouting. This was not fair!
‘Rules are rules.’
‘But I have your offer!’ She thrust the letter forward.
‘I’m very sorry.’ Mrs Roberts closed the file.
Izzy sensed the meeting was drawing to a close. She searched the room for ideas on how to turn the situation around. ‘Have you sent the letter out?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘The letter – the offer – to the next person.’ Her words tumbled over each other.
‘The letter is in the internal post, to be sent later this morning.’
‘Can’t you stop the letter – give me a chance to view the flat?’ Izzy leaned forward, against the desk, and put her hands together. ‘Please?’
‘You would need to sign for the property now.’ Mrs Roberts sighed. ‘It’s the only thing I could do – there are rules.’
‘Thank you!’ Izzy almost ran around the desk to give to other woman a hug. ‘You have no idea how much this means to me! Thank you.’
Mrs Roberts held up a set of keys.
‘Are you certain you want this flat, Ms Santana?’ The housing officer’s skin was leathery from too much sun, but her eyes were bright, with a thin band of dark blue surrounding large black pupils. Her glance now fell on Connor, although she continued to speak to Izzy. ‘The council will in due course provide two more choices.’ Mrs Roberts spoke with an accent Izzy couldn’t place – eastern European? Perhaps Polish? ‘But sometimes that takes a while.’
‘For what?’
‘For accommodation to become available.’
‘How long do you mean? Days? Weeks?’ Izzy turned to Connor who shrugged. ‘We’re living, together in a bedroom.’ She leaned forward and dropped her voice. ‘I don’t think it appropriate that I continue sharing a room with a thirteen-year old. Do you?’
Mrs Roberts cleared her throat. ‘I’m sorry to say, months might go by before another offer is made.’
‘Months…?’
‘Yes. And it could be anywhere. We have a turnover of sorts in central Reading. You might even get a house, but I can’t guarantee the respectability of the neighbourhood.’
‘I don’t know Reading that well. Are there some rundown areas?’
Mrs Roberts smiled. ‘Much of central Reading…I would not walk through the town in the nighttime – unless I had no alternative. The offer you received last Monday was for a property located in a village.’
‘Is that unusual?’
‘Most certainly.’
‘Then I’d rather not wait. I’ll take it now.’
‘That seems hasty.’
‘Yes, but…’ Izzy shifted in her seat, clutching the keys in her lap. How should she reply? Images of dilapidated houses, gardens full of junk and un-mown grass, kids half dressed, months of filth mottling their skin, filled her head. But none of that mattered, she wanted to say…If you were living in a woman’s shelter, with your kid, in one room, you would do ANYTHING to get out of there. Personally, I would cut my finger and sign in blood if you asked me to, without pausing to question why. Okay, a slight exaggeration – but even if we got out of the shelter today, I’ll never forget the crying, shouting – the palpable sadness that enters with every breath. It’s just…not a happy place to be.
Beside Izzy, Connor shuffled his feet, and she glanced at him. He raised his eyebrows and gave a slight nod towards Mrs Roberts. The housing officer, her silver hair drawn up in a loose bun, her hands palms down on a folder full of papers, appeared to be studying Connor.
‘Cedham is pleasant – I’ve been there,’ Mrs Roberts said. ‘I would class the place as a small village, and if you own a car, driving to the western edge of Reading will take you a few minutes. Cedham is surrounded by fields and lots of open space…and a wood that encroaches onto the back of the particular building on offer.’ Mrs Roberts pulled a biro from a drawer, and wiggled it between her fingers. The tip tapped against the desk, sounding like a woodpecker. Her eyes, dark and unreadable, once more rested on Connor. ‘Are you familiar with life in small villages?’
‘Not really,’ Izzy said. ‘What do you think, Connor? The flat sounds lovely, much better than the place Shannon was offered.’
‘Didn’t they have a drug factory or something a few doors down from there?’ Connor opened his mouth to continue, despite his mother’s widening eyes. ‘I heard the whole house was rigged for growing pot – ’
‘That’s enough. Stop!’ Izzy said suddenly.
Mrs Roberts raised a hand. ‘It is all right. I read about the factory in the Reading Chronicle. Shame how the town is turning out.’ Mrs Roberts flicked through the papers in the folder. ‘An offer of a house or flat outside of Reading is unusual.’
‘Cedham sounds so much better than living in town. And we can sign for the flat now?’ Izzy pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, the curls fighting back and falling over her face. ‘Yes. That’ll be fine.’ She thought for a second, then said, ‘You’re not suggesting I wait for the next offer?’
‘No…’ Her dark eyes rested on Izzy. ‘But if you accept, you will drop off the housing list. You will no longer be considered homeless, and for a change of residence you would need to start at the bottom again.’
‘So it seems clear – I should accept the flat…’
‘Ms Santana, that is your choice entirely.’ Mrs Roberts opened the folder. ‘To secure the flat, sign here, here, and again on this one.’ She pulled out some documents and laid two copies on the desk, the biro alongside.
Izzy scratched her signature on the rental agreements.
‘Thanks for all the help.’
The housing officer balanced her hands on the arms of the chair, and pushed her body into a standing position. With a smile, Mrs Roberts stared past Izzy, seemingly at the door. Izzy glanced over her shoulder, unsure if someone was outside the room, peering in through the vision panel. Finding no one, she turned back to find Mrs Roberts had extended her hand. Izzy grasped it, and they shook.
‘Thanks,’ Izzy repeated.
‘You’re welcome,’ Mrs Roberts said as she pulled away.
‘Come on, love.’ Izzy turned and took two steps to the door before she realised he’d not moved. ‘Connor?’
He and Mrs Roberts appeared to be locked in a peculiar staring contest. A funny vacant expression had crept across Connor’s features, as if the woman had hypnotised him.
Izzy put a hand in front of Connor’s eyes, and he reanimated.
‘Sorry, Mum.’ He stumbled away from the intense gaze of the housing officer, and bolted from the room.
‘Kids,’ Izzy said. She attempted a smile, but felt only half of her mouth curl up.
‘Keep him out of the woods.’
Izzy stopped, halfway into the hall. ‘What did you say?’
‘Take care of the woods.’
Mrs Roberts picked up a walking stick from behind the desk. It was wonderfully ornate, comprising pale and dark wood, twisted together. She leaned heavily on the handle, which ended in an adder’s head. For eyes, two gems had been inserted. They glistened between her fingers.
Izzy stared, frozen in the doorway.
‘Umm, thanks.’
‘Mum?’ Connor waited at the other end of the hall.
‘Coming,’ Izzy said, and left.


Chapter Two

March could be unpredictable, and the temperature had plummeted. Silvery patches clung to the ground where northerly shadows cloaked the land. Izzy drove slowly, studying the numbers on the houses. Two children emerged from a hidden space behind a large evergreen shrub, wandered into the street, criss-crossed in front of the car, and disappeared down the side passage of one of the houses.
‘She was a strange woman,’ Connor said.
Izzy nodded.
‘Why was she staring like that?’ he asked, and shivered.
Izzy leaned over and turned the heat up. ‘Dunno,’ she said after a pause.
The car wound past clusters of identical houses in various stages of disrepair. A gnome sat near the gate of one garden, fishing pole in hand, a red Santa Claus hat on his head. A crack ran down the middle of his face.
‘Did you notice her cane?’ Izzy suddenly said.
Three more kids stopped to stare at the unfamiliar car. She swerved past them, avoiding a football and a long line of miniature red cones.
‘What cane?’
‘The one behind the desk. She took it out after you two did your ‘Who blinks first’ competition. What was that about, anyway?’
Connor ignored the question, saying instead, ‘Her eyes were all slanty. Reminded me of a cat. And I didn’t like the way she stared at me. Made me feel all weird. Spacey.’ He circled a finger next to his head. ‘How old was she, anyway? Maybe she’s like this guy I read about on the web, he’s turned a hundred, and still working. Washes cars or fixes them, or something.’
‘She wasn’t that old. Anyway, you shouldn’t judge people by their appearances.’ Izzy squinted at a small copse of trees between some of the houses. ‘And did you see how she had to force herself out of her chair? I bet she’s ill with arthritis or osteoporosis or something. Those types of diseases are painful most of the time – ’
‘Mum, we’re here,’ Connor interrupted.
‘Huh…That’s a block of flats?’
They drove towards what appeared to be a large house, three stories high, with dormer windows to light up the attic rooms. Izzy examined the building as they pulled closer. Whoever designed the flats had done a good job of disguising them. To complete the illusion of a grand house, four mature oaks shadowed the building in a dappled winter shade. The trees were huddled together, as if trying to keep warm. Moss grew in the half-light under their branches. To the front of the building, there was a length of worn tarmac. Izzy pulled in, her brakes squealing, piercing the winter air as she stopped between a rusting black Escort and a newish bright red Ka.
They had arrived.
Connor jumped out and stood back to get a good look at the building. Izzy leaned across and locked his door, staring up at the flats. This was an important moment to remember – a new beginning and a new place, and all hers. Somewhere to rest after a long day of work, and no fear perching on her shoulder.
‘Shall we?’ She slammed the door closed.
‘You tell me off for doing that.’
‘Sorry, love.’ She shrugged. ‘We’ve got a home, Connor, just for you and me.’
Izzy switched key rings, and used the bunch with her old house key to lock the car. She switched again – now holding the new set in pole position – and strode up to the building.
‘Ready, love?’
The lock was unwieldy, and she had to jiggle the key inside the mechanism before it finally released with a soft click. She put her shoulder against the door and slipped inside the lobby before the self-closer slammed on her. A finger trap, she thought. She opened the door a second time to allow Connor through, taking a moment to glance back and scan the street both ways. Satisfied, she propped the door open and son passed by.
They climbed a set of dirty concrete stairs to the first floor. On the landing were three solid, painted, council issue front doors, two on one side, a third on the opposite wall, dingy brass numbers screwed on the walls alongside. The brown card tag attached to the new keys read, ‘Number six’. Connor stepped up and rang the doorbell. A high-pitched buzz echoed inside the flat.
‘No one home. We’d better go,’ he said.
Izzy smiled and slipped the key into the lock. She opened the door, and Connor took a step inside. Izzy followed, a nervous tremor in her hands as she locked them in a short hall with five doors leading to the rooms. All stood ajar, beckoning. Connor dashed past her and off down the hallway.
While he raced about, Izzy took her own exploration at a slower pace. She entered the living room and took a deep breath. She loved the gaudy red and blue flower print on the peeling wallpaper. A false chandelier with grubby crystals hung low enough to bump into. Dirt-stained floorboards underfoot, she counted five long strides along the length, and four to the width – much larger than the reception room in her old house.
She spun in the middle of the room, breathing in the atmosphere. Nicotine stained the ceiling. The embossed flowers on the walls looked ready to fall off. The glass was sticky with mustard coloured film. She smudged it with her fingers, pushed a door open, and walked out onto the balcony.
Too much had happened in one day. The fields and woods swirled together with a nauseating effect. Izzy clamped her fingers down on the railing, and waited for the dizziness to pass.
‘Come and look!’ Connor yelled as he charged into the living room. He crashed into Izzy and grabbed her shirt, pulling her back through the flat. ‘This room’s mine.’
Connor had picked the smaller bedroom. Stripy wallpaper peeled away from the walls and framed a wide window, which overlooked a balding patch of grass and the small car park. The Ka was gone, replaced by a blue pickup truck. Briar Lane wound back to the main road, trees lining the sides of the footpaths. Long front gardens, full of shrubs, led back to the houses, with sturdy council fences separating each property. To the left, dark woods covered the hill. She could just make out where a lane emerged from the woods and transformed into a road as it passed out of the shadows. Then the side of the building cut off her view. So many places to hide, she thought, and forced herself away from the window.
‘I figured you’d want the larger bedroom,’ Connor reached up and pinched a corner of wallpaper between his thumb and forefinger. The paper fell away from the wall, and he let go, glancing at his Mum.
‘Thanks,’ Izzy said, her eyes still fixed on the scene beyond the glass. ‘Shall we see what the kitchen’s like?’ she asked, backing into the hall.
‘Don’t you want to see your bedroom?’ Connor disappeared through another door. Izzy followed, entering a room nearly as big as the living room. Another large window looked out on the rear of the building. She could see the lane better now, as it widened to road and ran past emerging crops, and towards the hill that led down to Pangbourne. Hedgerows and trees encroached on the tarmac for as far as she could see. And the woods, unwelcome, looked almost as if they were forcing themselves upon the village, leaned over the lane and fields.
‘This is a good room. Imagine what I might have in here, one day…’
Connor laughed, and ran off to the kitchen.
Take care in the woods. That’s what that odd woman had said. The trees swayed in the wind, almost rhythmically. Like they were breathing. She turned away from the window, and followed Connor into the kitchen.
‘Everything’s coated in…grime.’ Connor wiped a finger across the counter and held it up to Izzy. ‘Yuck,’ he said, and rinsed it under the tap. ‘I’m going back to my room.’
Izzy forced herself away from the window, and started her own search of the kitchen cabinets. They weren’t as bad as Connor made out. The counters were dusty, but that’s what happened in empty places. She looked at the finger trail he’d made. At first she thought the countertop was grey, but it was pale silver, with copper and black flecks. Pretty, at second glance. She drew her hand across the surface, amazed at the depth of the dust. The flat must have been empty for a long time.
‘Hey, Mum,’ Connor called. There was a sound of ripping. ‘Come here.’
Izzy straightened up and clapped the dust off her hands. ‘Where are you, love?’
‘I’m in my room. You should see this.’
She didn’t like the edge in his voice. Izzy wiped her palms on her jeans and hurried down the hall.
Connor stood by the wall opposite the window, a sheet of wallpaper between his hands. Two lengths had been pulled off entirely. A third was still half-attached, and underneath, Izzy could see bits of scribbles, childish drawings of trees and what seemed to be a strange sun drawn in thick black marker.
‘What on earth?’ She walked up and tugged on the paper. It came away easily, and underneath, the sketches gave way to faint writing. Glue, and the last remnants of the wallpaper, partly obscured the words, but not completely.
‘Mum, this is creepy…’ Connor backed away from the wall. ‘It’s like an evil omen or something.’

Don’t go in the woods
Where eyes hide between
And behind the trees
Waiting for you
Following

‘What the hell is this?’ Izzy tore off the next of the sheet and crumpled it into a ball. The words jumped off the wall at her. Don’t go in the woods. ‘We’ll buy some paint tomorrow,’ she said, and turned away. Now the woods filled the window, dark, malevolent.
‘But Mum!’
‘It’s just some creepy words, and I’m not going to let them scare me. Are you?’ She put her hands on her hips. Where eyes hide between and behind the trees. ‘Come on, love,’ she said, taking her keys out of her pocket. ‘Let’s go and get our things from the shelter.’
‘What about the woods?’ Connor had gone a pale milky colour. He grabbed at her sleeve, pulling like a small child.
‘What about them?’ She wrenched away from his grasp, refusing to go near the window. Waiting for you, following. Izzy jogged from the room, and down the hall.
Connor caught up to her and stood against the door. ‘Mum!’ He put a hand out. ‘I don’t like it, why would someone do that?’
Izzy stopped and crossed her arms, hugging herself. ‘I don’t know, love. How would I know? It was probably some crazy person from a long time ago.’ She glanced down the hall to his bedroom. ‘Maybe you should do what it says, and don’t go in the woods.’
Connor put his hand down, and moved to the side, his mouth pursed. ‘I don’t like it,’ he said, his voice barely controlled.
Izzy pushed past. ‘We’ll buy some paint, and fix it today. Okay?’
He looked up at her, probably the last year he’d be doing that. A growth spurt beckoned, and this might be the year. He nodded, his eyes flicking back down the hall, towards his room.
‘Can I choose the colour?’
‘Course you can, love.’ She pulled him gently from the flat and locked the door, pausing to stare, as if through the wood, down the hall and into Connor’s new bedroom. She could read the words from the landing. The thick black marks on white paint, a short while ago, unseen beneath magenta stripes and thin bands of black and white pinstripes.



Don’t go in the woods
Where eyes hide between
And behind the trees
Waiting for you
Following

A shiver ran down her back. ‘Maybe it’s best stay away from the woods,’ Izzy said, her back still to Connor. ‘Keep to Briar Lane, just until we know a little more.’

Chapter Three

Izzy and Connor drove back to the east side of Reading without speaking, pulling up by an imposing Victorian house almost an hour later. Two suitcases waited by the door inside their room, along with a battered cardboard box and a roll of black plastic bags ready to be filled. Izzy managed to send Connor off to the common room to watch the television before her tears began to fall. She emptied drawers and cupboards and cleaned the room, dabbing at her eyes every few minutes. Everything was going to be okay, she thought. Certainly, peculiar words scribbled years before and hidden under wallpaper were no threat. She smiled, despite her inability to stop crying.
Izzy finished her search of the room, took one last look at the wild garden below, her tears drying as she stood by the window, fingers splayed on the glass for a few seconds. She pulled the curtains and placed the screen carefully between the beds and backed out of the room slowly, amazed they had managed to live in such a small space for five long months. She locked up and went downstairs to join Connor in the day room.
‘Time to go, love. Ready to have a bedroom of your own?’
‘God, yes.’ Connor flicked the telly off, and followed his mother down the hall. ‘Remember to stop for paint.’
Izzy brushed the side of his cheek, his skin still china white. ‘They were just words, nothing more.’ She gathered the black bag into her arms, and headed down the hall.
They left through the kitchen, surrounded by stainless steel; even the counters were shiny like silver. A sign hung from one of the walls – A place for everything, and everything in its place. How many times had Sheila, the head carer at the shelter, sneaked up behind her or one of the other residents, and bellowed out those words?
Izzy ran her fingers over one of the two huge larder fridges. She opened the door of one and peered inside at her empty shelves, and slid her nametags from the holders. Jessica had almost thumped her, right here, with the door open, and the cold air leaking over her feet. There were so many arguments over food. Someone was always stealing – the staff called it borrowing. But there was a certain finality to foodstuffs disappearing, and with tight finances and stressed women, violence always seemed close by.
Sheila, all short red hair and bird-like physique, stood waiting by the door to the kitchen. ‘Is it a nice flat?’ she asked, taking the last black bag from Izzy, and walking with her to the car.
‘It’ll do…’ Izzy glanced at Connor and said, ‘It’s on a road called Briar Lane, in Cedham. Do you know the village?’
Sheila shook her head. ‘I’ve heard the name, that’s all. Rural?’
‘Yeah, half the place is woods,’ Izzy said, as she carried the last bag to the car. ‘The other half seems to be fields.’
‘Be careful, all right?’ Sheila opened the door for Izzy. ‘And you – keep being good for your Mum.’
Connor grinned, a little flash of colour returning to his face. ‘As always,’ he said.
Izzy thought again about the cane on the drive back to Cedham. Mrs Roberts, the housing officer, had used an odd walking stick. The image had stuck in her mind. The curve of the wood, the design of the handle – it was familiar.
‘She had a cane a bit like your real dad’s.’ Izzy’s foot relaxed on the accelerator. ‘Ai, meu deus, that’s been driving me crazy – I’ve been trying to remember where I’d seen a strange cane before.’ She sped back up. ‘Maybe they bought them from the same shop.’ There was silence for a few seconds. ‘You know, he was originally from around here.’
They pulled into the end of Briar Lane, both silent.
‘Cedham?’ Connor said abruptly.
‘What?’
‘He lived in Cedham?’
‘I don’t know. Funny if we got housed in the same village.’
The bitter cold of the afternoon didn’t stop three teenagers from standing across the way. They watched as Izzy and Connor emptied the car.
‘Is that all you own?’ A girl with long dark hair walked over. She stood near Connor, her mouth slightly open. White gum flashed in and out of view as she chewed.
Connor spoke first, ‘The rest is coming in a van.’ He shot his mother a look. Izzy pulled out a bag, held it in her arms and checked on the other two teens. They leaned against a fence, laughing and jeering.
‘Yeah right,’ one of the boys called, and threw a handful of rotten leaves. Wet from the melting frost, they landed with a soft splat near the car. The two boys ran off, hooting and shouting.
‘See you around.’ The girl gave Connor a thorough visual inspection, then walked off after the others.
‘Well, at least the neighbours are pleasant.’ Izzy watched them go, her expression solemn, before hauling another bag from the car.
‘Bloody idiots.’
‘Take this bag up. I’ll follow in a second.’ Izzy pulled out the suitcases and locked the car. She scanned the area, and seeing no one, picked up her things and went inside. They dumped the suitcases and black bags in the living room and went to Connor’s bedroom.
They’d stopped at a hardware shop in Pangbourne, and she thought they had everything they needed.
‘Shall we?’ Izzy put the supplies down, reached up and grabbed the curled corner of the next sheet.
Connor went to the other side of the room. ‘Shall we see who can get more off?’
‘Sure,’ she said, smiling, and pulled.
The glue behind the wallpaper was old, brittle, and the paper fell away with little effort. Their initial playfulness evaporated, as they found more scribbled pictures, of animals, humans and violent deaths, like modern cave drawings. Eyes were a theme; they were everywhere, sometimes as a frame to other sketches. Under the last strip, they found a tally that counted to nineteen.
‘Can I do it?’ Connor asked, after they had sanded the walls, and wiped them down. He held a roller in one hand, turquoise paint dripping into the tray.
Izzy nodded, and he ran the paint over the words first, rolling back and forth at a furious pace, until the faint black writing was gone.





Don’t go in the woods
Where eyes hide between
And behind the trees
Waiting for me
Following

The words echoed in her head. ‘Call me if you need any help,’ she said, and left the room.
An hour later, he’d transformed the room. Izzy looked around, pleased. Connor had caught the skirting a couple of times and there were a few streaks at the edges of the ceiling, but otherwise, the colour was solid, darkening to a greeny-blue shade, like postcards she’d seen of the Mediterranean Sea.
‘Scoop up that pile of paper, would you, love?’ She pulled a black bag from her back pocket, left over from moving.
They stuffed the paper in, scouring the floor on their hands and knees. When she bought a hoover, she’d vacuum properly. She put the rubbish in the hall, and came back with a different bag.
‘You want to sleep in the living room, until the stink’s gone?’
‘Nope, this is my room.’ Connor opened the window, a cool breeze pushing back his hair. He took his glasses off and picked at a couple of spots of paint. ‘I’ll be fine. It’s healthy to sleep in a cold room. Didn’t the Victorians do that all the time, out on their verandas?’
‘They also rarely washed, and wore clothing they were stitched into.’ Izzy laughed, and emptied the bag of bedding in the middle of the room. ‘Have it your way, just don’t blame me if you wake up with the sniffles.’
Izzy layered half of the blankets into a makeshift mattress, put his duvet and pillows on top, and placed his beanie toys around the ‘bed.’
‘There. You should be comfortable for a few days.’ She stood back, and surveyed her work. ‘You know, until we can find a couple of cheap beds. Okay, love?’
‘Sure, Mum.’ Connor knelt down, and started rearranging the beanies.
Izzy was finishing her own bed when a knock sounded on the front door.
She froze for a couple of seconds, a funny tingling in her limbs, her heart bashing against the inside of her ribcage.
‘It’s just someone at the door,’ she said to herself.
She stepped back, away from the door, and then forced herself across the floorboards, to the entrance of the flat. Izzy shook her head, and put her eye to the peephole. A tall man stood on the landing. The rounded glass distorted his face, like she was peering through a fish eye lens. He wore a tweed overcoat and a hat straight from the 1950’s, the rim almost hiding his blue-grey hair. Tufts curled out. Escaping, she thought with a smile, and her heart steadied to a less frantic pace. The old man leaned forward to rap again, his head swelling to bulbous proportions as he moved closer.
‘Hello?’ Izzy asked, opening the door, the man’s hand poised in the air. ‘Can I help you?’
He withdrew his arm, and bowed a little.
‘I’m Charles Brown,’ he shouted. ‘I live downstairs.’ He pointed down. ‘Right below you,’ he bellowed.
‘Hi. I’m Izzy. Nice to meet you.’ She put out her hand; he crushed it in his own.
He put a hand to his ear and asked, ‘Sorry, young lady, I didn’t catch your name.’
She grinned. ‘Izzy,’ she said louder. He frowned. ‘My name is Izzy,’ she shouted.
‘Ahh. Izzy. Short for Isabel?’ He caught her nod. ‘That’s a pretty name. Old-fashioned.’ He smiled and then said in the tone of something preciously confidential being imparted, ‘My grandmother was called Isabel.’
‘It’s a good name. Mr Brown, I’d like to invite you in, but my furniture hasn’t arrived yet.’ She enunciated her words carefully. Then her shoulders sagged. The furniture hadn’t even been purchased yet.
‘Oh, no, Isabel. I don’t want to come in. I wanted to tell you something.’ He paused. She tried to think of what she was expected to say. But he began again, ‘I have tinnitus.’
It was her turn to frown.
‘I hear ringing in my ears. Sometimes, I think someone else is making the noise.’
‘Oh.’
‘So if I bang on the ceiling, and you’re not making any noise, it’s only my ears playing up.’ He smiled at her and stuck his hand out again.
‘Thanks for letting me know.’
Izzy allowed the old man the privilege of crushing her fingers once more, and watched him shuffle down the stairs. She waited on the landing, a little befuddled, until she heard the door to his flat click closed, then shut her own. Almost immediately, faint sounds of music filtered through the floorboards. Did that mean she could beat on the floor to make him stop? She walked with a sway, in time to the waltz below, into the kitchen, rolled up her sleeves, and put a sponge under the tap.

Chapter Four

Later that evening, Izzy stood by Connor’s bedroom door, watching as he rolled over under his duvet, clutching his teddy bear. Nearly thirteen years ago, his father had came home with it, and Connor had loved it ever since. It was missing an eye, and a small cloud of stuffing was escaping from a hole under one of the arms, but even at his age, he wouldn’t sleep without the bear. Maybe it was the smell.
Izzy closed the door with a soft click, and went to her room. She piled the clothes from her suitcase on the floor, uncovering a cheap bottle of wine. She twisted the top off and went to stand on the small balcony, taking sips from the bottle. After testing the strength of the railings, she leaned against them, marvelling at her long and arduous journey to get to Cedham. This was her flat, perched on the edge of a beautiful village.
A bat the size of a finch swooped by, inches in front of her face, and ducked into the woods. Another darted out from the fields, snatching moths from the air. As the bat flew away, Izzy noticed the stars. They glittered like fairy lights and seemed to whisper, ‘Look at me.’ Izzy gazed upwards, swigging wine. With a large sigh, she began to relax.
‘Hello, you just moved in?’
‘Meu deus…sorry…’ The bottle almost fell from her hands. She clutched the neck with white knuckles. A man with a bushy blond beard peered around the wall separating her balcony from the next. Izzy put a hand to her chest where her heart pounded in audible thuds, and stepped away. She blurted, ‘God, you got my heart going!’ and took another step back. He stretched further around.
‘I try my best,’ he said with a grin. ‘I’m Feathers, nice to meet you. And you are…?’ He stuck an arm around the wall. She took a tentative step back in his direction, and grasped his hand. They shook, arms suspended above Mr Brown’s patio.
‘Feathers?’
‘You too, what a coincidence!’ His blue eyes sparkled in the light from her balcony.
‘No, I’m Izzy… but it’s not a normal name.’
‘No… I’ve heard the name Izzy before. I think.’
‘Not mine, yours!’
‘You’re saying my name is strange?’ He leaned further out – so far he should be falling. ‘What did you say when I first looked around?’
‘What?’ She took a step back.
‘Those words, they were foreign, I’m sure.’
‘Oh…I spoke Portuguese. Meu deus. Means: Oh my God.’
‘You lived there?’
‘No. My Dad’s Portuguese. He made me speak the language as I grew up.’
His eyes bored inquisitively into her.
Izzy shrugged and forced a smile, and found she couldn’t maintain eye contact. ‘Nice to meet you, Feathers.’ She backed away, wine bottle clutched between both hands. She could use it on him if need be.
‘You should come over for a drink one night. When you’re ready.’ His expression changed from curiosity to smiles as she bumped against the door.
‘Oh, you wouldn’t want that. I have a son,’ she said.
‘Really?’ He raised his eyebrows. Izzy released one hand from her wine bottle and felt for the handle. ‘Bring him along. How old is he?’
‘Thirteen and a major trouble. You wouldn’t want him in your flat.’ She found the handle and began to pull the lever down.
‘Thirteen…’ he said, looking out towards the woods. ‘Has he started dating?’
Izzy blushed. ‘Not so far as I know…Feathers, I’ve got to go. I’ve got lots to do before I can go to bed.’
‘Oh, sure…’ He put a hand up. ‘If you require any assistance, feel free to knock.’
‘Thanks.’ The door finally swung open behind her.
Izzy ran to her bedroom, collapsed on the duvet, and took a swig of the wine. Another gulp followed rapidly. She drained the bottle, and buried her face in a pillow. She should have been happy.


Chapter Five

6th March

Dear Mum and Pai,

Sorry it’s been a while. The council finally gave us a flat and I’ve been bogged down trying to find furniture. I wanted to tell you before someone else did. I left with almost nothing. I stuffed the car full and drove away. I left all the things you gave me behind. It’s my own fault. I should have hired a truck, taken everything with me. At the time, it was all I could do to think straight and leave. But most everything belonged to you. The guilt’s killing me. Hopefully one day, I can get some things back. I’m so sorry.
You’re probably wondering where I’m living now. But I don’t want to hand out my address yet. I will call when I’ve had a line connected. And I’ll write – short and sweet, but it’s the thought that counts, right? So, I am going to give you a big hint about where I moved to, but I won’t say the exact name of the village. It’s the place where Joseph grew up. How bizarre? Don’t tell anyone, and I mean it! George can be extremely convincing, and I don’t want to be found. So promise as you read this – do not mention to anyone where I am. Promise!
I visited Joseph’s Aunt’s house, the one he went to when he disappeared. That was strange. My back got all prickly, and I was sure someone was watching me. But the house is empty. I knocked on the door. When no one answered, I peeked through a window – there’s no furniture inside. It’s bare, right down to the floorboards.
And Connor’s asked some questions. He still doesn’t know the whole story. I guess now fate has put us in Joseph’s village, I should explain to him what happened to his father. What do you think?
Must admit, every time I’m in the next village, getting some groceries, or going to the post office, I search for him. Do you suppose he’s still here?
Ja chegar. I’ve waffled on too much. Hope the weather is better than rainy old England. Wish I could be there, as the postcards say. Must be warm enough to go in the ocean. I miss the sun. I’m so pale now – I’m like you, Mum, all pasty. A real English beef!

Gosto muito de ti, Pai.
Love you, Mum
Izzy
Xxxooo





Chapter Six

27th April

‘Ai, meu deus.’ Izzy’s breath fogged up the windowpane as she stretched to see the car. ‘Que chato!’
‘Who’s a jerk?’ Connor called from his bedroom.
They’d purchased an old set of shelves earlier that morning that he insisted on rebuilding on his own. Izzy had to fight an impulse to go in and sort him out. She managed to ignore the loud bangs and the occasional cry of pain, and busied herself standing by the kitchen window, watching life on the street.
‘Hey!’ she shouted at the window. The kids circled her car. ‘Get away from there.’ She rapped on the glass. ‘Get away…’
Connor stuck his head out of his room to see Izzy run out into the hall.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Those horrible kids, Kyle and Ritchie, they’re messing with my car.’ She wrenched the door open. ‘And now they’re going to get a piece of my mind.’
‘What’ve they done?’
‘Nothing…yet.’ She stepped out onto the landing. ‘God knows what they’re planning. I certainly can’t afford to fix the car this month.’
‘Don’t go, Mum. You’ll make them worse.’ He rushed down the hall and put a hand on her arm. ‘When you shouted at them last week, they took it out on me in school.’ He released her from his grip.
‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’ She came back into the flat, the door swinging closed as she let go. Izzy studied her son for a second, and then ran back to the kitchen. She got to the window in time to catch them streaking off down the road.
‘Right, they’ve gone,’ she said to Connor as she strode past. ‘You won’t stop me going down now.’
Connor followed her to the car. They examined the windscreen for a minute before Izzy walked around to see if they’d done anything else.
‘I’m sorry, Mum.’
She ran a finger across milky white marks. ‘Naõ faz mal. It’s only soap. I’ll get a bucket and sponge.’
‘Get two sponges.’
She plodded back up to the flat and filled her washing-up bowl with warm water, and carted it back to the car.
‘They can’t even spell ‘weirdo’.’ She nudged Connor. He searched her face with a sombre expression.
‘Are they that bad, love? Wouldn’t the teachers do something about it?’
He grabbed a sponge and started rubbing the water into bubbles.
‘Should I phone the school?’
‘The school’s good,’ he said facing the windscreen. ‘It’s when we get on the bus, trouble starts. Worse once we get off.’ He pushed harder. His fingers turned white with the pressure.
‘What can I do to help?’ She started scrubbing on the other side of the car.
‘Nothing.’
They worked in silence until the soap graffiti disappeared.
‘Hey, Connor,’ a boy called out on his way to the flats. Izzy took the sponge from Connor.
‘Hi, Oliver.’
She squeezed the suds from the sponges and walked to the drain with the dirty water. She emptied the bowl, discreetly searching the street for Kyle and Ritchie.
Oliver walked up to the front door and rang a buzzer. Connor opened one of the car doors, and tried to appear busy collecting litter from the footwell. Seconds later, Feathers burst past the door, with an infectious smile.
‘Hey there, Oliver. And hello, Izzy.’ He patted the boy on the shoulder, by-passed him and came over. ‘How are you settling in? Do you need any help with anything?’
‘No thanks, we’re settling in okay.’ She flicked her eyes up at him and walked back to the car.
‘Have you met Mr Brown yet?’ Feathers said, nodding at the ground floor windows along side them.
‘Yeah, same day I met you. I haven’t seen him since. Heard him.’ She chanced a smile.
‘Jazz, right? I can hear it in my flat sometimes. Must be like a concert over at yours. Did he tell you to keep the noise down?’
She looked up, properly this time, and then peered in Mr Brown’s kitchen window, which faced the car park spaces.
‘Yeah…he did.’ She put the tub down and threw the sponges inside. ‘Should we be talking about this here?’ She thumbed over her shoulder.
‘No worries, he’s deaf as a post.’
Izzy laughed. ‘Is that why he shouts?’
‘And he’s terrible around people. His wife used to take care of the socialising. But she died a few years ago. He’s been a bit lost since.’
‘Oh. How sad.’
‘Invite him round for a cup of tea when you’re settled in, and offer him some triple chocolate chunk cookies. He’ll be all yours.’ Feathers smiled, and a warm glow came over her. Surprised into a blush, she concentrated on Connor, who was still fiddling in the footwell.
‘Anyone else I need to know about?’ she asked. The heat on her face had cooled, and she turned back.
Feathers thought for a second, scratching at his beard as he considered what to say.
‘You okay with gays?’
Izzy blinked. ‘I guess so.’
‘An old guy called Gilbert lives on the top floor, in number seven. He’s a bit of a recluse. He paints, mostly landscapes. Was better at his art, then he got obsessed with the woods. Now he hides up there and creates…mostly abstract, black, swirling landscapes.’
‘The woods are kind of ominous, aren’t they?’
‘Mmm.’ Feathers winked at her. She frowned and walked over to Connor.
He peered into the car and said, ‘I have an arrangement with Oliver’s parents to take him out for survival training once a month. Would your son like to come along?’
She examined Connor’s face for clues. He had a smile growing, but she wasn’t a friend of Feathers, not even an acquaintance. March had turned into April, but she’d kept to herself. Time in the village flowed fast, weeks disappearing in a haze.
‘What kind of survival training?’
‘Naming trees, making shelters, how to build a fire. It’s fun. Boys love that kind of stuff.’
‘Thanks, but Connor’s building a set of shelves, I’m not sure if he’d want to go.’
Connor got out of the car. ‘No, it sounds really cool. Can I?’
‘You sure you want to go? Don’t you need to finish putting those shelves up?’ She shook her head almost imperceptibly.
‘I can finish them any time.’ He took a confident step towards Feathers.
‘Connor, I really think you should stay.’ Izzy turned away from Feathers. ‘We don’t know him,’ she mouthed.
‘I don’t care, I want to go,’ Connor said loudly, and tried to push past.
‘Connor, I’m not comfortable with you going.’ Izzy took a deep breath and turned around. ‘Sorry, Feathers. Connor’s going to have to miss out on this one. Maybe next time.’
‘Not a problem. He’s welcome any time.’ Feathers patted Connor on the back as he passed by with Oliver.
‘No. I want to go now.’ Connor tagged along behind them.
‘Connor!’ Izzy said, ran up and grabbed him by the arm.
Feathers and Oliver stopped, watching as Izzy leaned in towards her son, and said, ‘Please, you’re embarrassing me. I don’t want you to go.’
Connor stepped back. ‘No. You’re embarrassing me. I’m actually friends with Oliver – well, I was. Now he knows my mother’s insane…’
‘Connor!’ Izzy backed off, confused. ‘I was only trying to do the right thing.’
‘Yeah, well, no thanks.’ Connor leaned against the side of the Toyota.
Feathers cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry, Izzy. I didn’t mean to start a family row. Connor will be welcome to come next time.’ He cocked his head, his blue eyes twinkling. ‘Maybe you should come around for that drink, so you can say, “Yes,” next time?’
Connor’s face was dark, a scowl over his features, his eyes squeezed into slits behind his glasses. ‘For God’s sake, Mum. We’ll only be across the road in the field. Isn’t that right, Oliver?’
Oliver shuffled his feet in the dirt at the side of the road, his eyes flickering up to Izzy’s for half a second before returning to examining his shoes. His blonde hair flopped over his face as he said, ‘Feathers never takes me very far.’
Izzy looked from one face to another, as they waited for her to say something. ‘I’ve stuck my foot in it, haven’t I?’
‘I could cut the tension with a knife,’ Feathers said. ‘But that’s okay. No one minds.’
‘I mind,’ Connor grumbled, and kicked at the underside of the car.
‘Perhaps I was a little hasty…’ Izzy began, faltering as Connor looked up, his expression already transforming from anger to a tentative smile. ‘You only go across the way?’
‘Just the fields to the side of Coombe’s Wood,’ Feathers confirmed.
‘Well?’ Connor asked. ‘Can I, Mum?’
‘How long will you be gone?’ she asked Feathers.
‘About three hours.’
‘Three hours.’ Izzy thought for a moment. ‘Seems like a long time for a bit of survival training.’
‘Mum – ’ Connor said, and opened his mouth to say more, but Feathers put up a hand to silence him.
‘We’ll be trying to catch a rabbit or two. We’d be quicker if I owned ferrets, but I can’t keep them in the flat.’ Feathers paused. ‘They’d stink the place up. We’ll be trying some of the techniques common in the 18th Century. If we catch any, we’ll go foraging for vegetables.’ He scratched at his beard. ‘I’ve got a good idea, why don’t you come over around six? If we snare a rabbit, there’ll stew for dinner.’ He smiled, and Izzy caught a scent of – what was that, lavender?
‘Stew?’ she questioned.
‘You’re not a veggie, are you?’ he said.
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I guess…yes, that’ll be fine.’
She pursed her lips, angry with herself for not being able to say no. That was how she’d got into trouble, too many times before. ‘Be good, Connor.’
They were already gone. Oliver and Feathers paired off, chatting animatedly as Connor trailed. Her instinct was right, but maybe the source was not Feathers directly, but the awful time Connor would have while the other two joshed at in-jokes, maybe at her son’s expense. Then, as they crossed the road, Feathers told Connor to keep up, and said something too quiet for her to catch. Connor laughed, and Feathers stepped aside so he could walk between them.

With the washing-up bowl under her arm, Izzy locked up and strolled along the side of the building. As she walked past Mr Brown’s windows, she made a mental note to buy triple chocolate chunk cookies.
She climbed the stairs to the flat, stopping to stare at the innocuous door across the hall. Later, she’d be forced to knock, dinner prepared and waiting for her. Her stomach constricted at the thought. She didn’t want to be in a man’s house. He might be psychotic. He could be anything.
She bolted herself in, and made a pot of tea. With no chairs or sofa, she sat cross-legged on the floor by the balcony, staring through the lower pane, past the iron bars of the balustrade, and out to the woods.
After she finished her tea, Izzy lay on the floor of the living room and timed five minutes, her head resting to one side as she watched the second hand moved past each number. Part of a nursery rhyme came back to her. What’s the time, Mr Wolf? She dearly hoped this Feathers character was not a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The time read ten-past-four. She got off the floor, her back aching from lying on the floorboards, and paced the living room. Then she re-washed the lunchtime plates. She examined the shelves in Connor’s room, took them apart and put them together properly. She opened all the windows. Then it was too cold, so she closed them. She dried the dishes. Another forty minutes had passed.
A nervous shiver finished in an all-over sweat. She wiped her palms on her jeans and walked to her front door. She hadn’t heard them come back. With luck, they’d not caught anything. She’d say thank you from the threshold, and leave. She paced back through the living room, and out to the balcony.
A bitter wind blew, and she wrapped her arms around her body. Night had fallen early and thick clouds blotted out the view, only vague outlines of the hills distinguishable. She wondered where they were, perhaps in those woods. Maybe Connor was in trouble, and there was nothing she could do about it. She had let the best part of her life out of sight with some strange man.
She’d caught the scent of lavender on him earlier. Or thought she had. What normal man wears perfume? Certainly, no cologne she knew resembled lavender. Izzy paced back into Connor’s room, put the shelves against the far wall, and arranged his magazines and books on them. One of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld books slid down. She picked it back up, leafing through the pages. Rincewind amused her, and for the first time that afternoon, her worries faded away as she entered the bizarre world of wizards and living luggage.
A bang on the door sounded. Izzy jumped, dropping the book, and then jumping to her feet. She glanced at her watch, how long had she read? There was a second knock, followed by a woman’s voice calling, ‘Hellooo?’
‘Who the hell?’ Izzy muttered. She stayed in Connor’s room, not sure she wanted to meet anyone. Then the person rapped again.
‘Coming,’ Izzy called out, and put the book back on the shelf.
She opened the door to a middle-aged woman, a large bunch of colourful flowers obscuring her face. She peeked out between two sprays of gypsophilia. Pink lilies, carnations and chrysanthemums hid the rest of her face.
‘Hi, hope I’m not disturbing you. My name is Cathy. I live in number eight, the flat above yours.’ She held the bouquet out, exposing a skin creased by laughter. ‘Sorry it’s taken me so long to knock, but I lose weeks like some people lose socks.’ She pushed the flowers into Izzy’s hands. ‘These are for you, a welcoming present.’ Cathy grinned. ‘Hope you like them.’
‘Thanks. I’m Izzy.’ She took them, breathing in their perfumes. ‘I love lilies, and don’t they smell lovely?’ She opened the door wider. ‘Would you like to come in?’
‘Love to.’
‘You’d best come through to the kitchen. We haven’t got much furniture yet. I can do tea, though.’
Cathy peered into the rooms as she passed by. ‘Reminds me of when Lou and I moved in. For months, all we had was a bed.’ She giggled. ‘Didn’t need much else.’
Izzy glanced at the clock. Quarter-to-six.
‘Milk and sugar?’
‘Ooo, yes. Two spoons. I never did manage to give up the sweet tooth. You know, Lou and I put a spare sofa in our storage unit. Would you like it?’ She took her mug, and leaned against the counter. ‘It’s almost new, but Lou found a half-price deal at a furniture shop in Reading. He’s always wanted a leather one, and couldn’t resist. We were going to sell the old sofa, but apparently if there’s no fire rating thingy, no one’s interested.’
‘I couldn’t pay you much…’
‘We don’t want money.’ Cathy chuckled. ‘Lord knows. You’d be doing us a favour.’
‘You sure?’ Izzy asked.
‘Yes. I’ll tell Lou to get the trailer out and bring the sofa around tomorrow night. That soon enough?’
‘Fabulous, thanks!’
‘So, where’d you move from?’
‘Chester. You been there?’
The other woman shook her head. ‘Don’t travel well. How far away is that?’
‘Took us five hours.’
‘Must have been a big reason for the move – work?’
‘No. Personal.’ Izzy shifted nervously against the counter.
‘Bad break-up?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Shame.’ Cathy put her half-full mug in the sink. ‘Sorry I can’t finish the tea. Lou’s back soon, and I need to get the tea on. You should come over, and we’ll have a proper chinwag, and a pot between us.’ She smiled at Izzy. ‘Well, I’d best be off. Won’t forget about the sofa. And I’ll search around for any other things that might help.’
‘You’re very kind.’
Cathy stopped halfway down the hall to the front door. ‘Don’t you have a son?’
‘Connor. My very own shifty teen.’
‘He’s quiet,’ she said, smiling.
‘He’s not here. He went out with Feathers and a boy called Oliver. Went on survival training.’
‘He’s a strange one, Feathers. Harmless, but…different.’
‘He is?’
‘It’s nice to see the flat lived in again.’ Cathy patted Izzy’s arm. ‘See you about, dear,’ she said, and let herself out.
Izzy stood by the door, thinking. She wanted Connor back. Agitated, she took up pacing in the living room once more, striding in time to the second hand. She stopped dead as it ticked over to six o’clock. She didn’t want to face Feathers. She didn’t want to talk to him. How could she do this, look at him, smile. Connor would be waiting. Maybe he was desperate, wanting to leave.
With a deep breath, she went to the front door, she even got as far as putting her hand on the doorknob, and then she walked away. In her mind, common sense told her: Feathers was just a man. No harm would befall them during a simple dinner.
Cathy had said, Harmless, but different. What did that mean?
Seconds ticked by. She had to go.

Feathers’ door opened at her second knock. Connor stood there with a giant smile and rosy cheeks.
‘Hi, Mum. What took you so long? We’ve been back for ages!’
He moved to the side, and a wave of tempting aromas tumbled over Izzy.
‘We caught four rabbits,’ Connor said brightly. ‘The farmers let Feathers trap on their land, because it helps keep the population down. I got to gut and skin one.’ He spoke fast, his excitement bubbling over. ‘All the insides gooed out in a slimy pile. And the skin came off easy, like peeling an orange.’
‘It did?’ She took a step back, peering over her shoulder at her own front door.
‘Come in, the stew’s almost cooked. We found the herbs as well, growing wild. Have you ever heard of alexanders? It’s a mix between parsley and celery. Feathers said it adds a peppery flavour. And there’s wild garlic growing in the woods.’
‘Wild garlic? Hang on, you went into the woods?’
‘Just near them. And nettles, he just threw them in the pot, they’re like a spinach or something. Lots of Vitamin A.’
She couldn’t stay on the landing. She’d been invited. Connor stood with his back to the door as he waited for her to enter.
‘You’ve perfect timing,’ Feathers called out.
‘Go in.’ Connor gave her a gentle push.
‘Your boy is a wealth of information,’ Feathers said as Izzy walked into the kitchen. A thick stew bubbled and popped in a large pot on the hob.
‘Um, yes. He reads a lot.’ She leaned against a counter on the other side of the room. ‘Looks good.’ She nodded at the stew.
‘Connor’s a natural. With a little more tuition, he’d survive lost in the woods for months.’
Izzy frowned. So much for the dangerous woods, then. It was clear there was some other reason she was being warned off.
Feathers sampled from the pot, ground in a mixture of spice from a tall wooden pepper mill, and threw in a handful of what looked almost like parsley. ‘You want a try?’ He went to dip the spoon he’d sipped from back in the pot. She shook her head. She didn’t know what to say to this man. She concentrated. She could think of something if she tried hard enough.
‘Thank you for taking him out. He seems to have enjoyed himself.’
‘No probs, he was a pleasure. Helped that Oliver and Connor get along so well.’
‘They do?’ She tapped her fingers on the counter, examining the kitchen; unmarked pots filled with dried herbs filled a shelf. Underneath, fresh bunches of greenery hung from hooks.
‘So, are you all moved in yet?’ Feathers stirred the stew.
‘Well, as much as we can be.’
‘Why’s that?’ He tapped the spoon on the side of the pot, and turned off the gas. To the right of the hob, a stack of large bowls waited. He began to ladle stew into them.
‘Well, we don’t own much.’ Her tummy rumbled.
Feathers didn’t look up.
‘Actually, Connor has a bed.’
Feathers stopped ladling.
‘I bought a set of shelves for his room this weekend. Oh, and a coffee table.’
‘You don’t have anything else?’
‘Money’s a little short. You know how it is. Or, maybe you don’t.’ She gave a sharp burst of laughter. ‘You probably don’t.’
‘It’s okay Izzy. You shouldn’t be nervous.’
She stared, unblinking.
Feathers took out a stack of bowls. ‘How much would you like?’



Chapter Seven

‘Stew? Just a little,’ Izzy said quickly.
Feathers’ eyes bored into her own, then he dunked the ladle into the pot and scooped up chunks of meat and vegetables.
‘It’s good,’ he said, and handed her a full bowl.
Not the little she’d requested, but the food looked tasty, rich…and exotic. She gave a shy smile and sat down at the table, found in a space more like an alcove between the living room and the kitchen.
The boys were sat at the table, tucking in.
Savouring the first mouthful, she tried to place the unusual flavours. One was lemon, but the other – aniseed? The chair next to her shifted back, and Feathers sat down. She should compliment the chef; be polite and say a word or two about the quality of the food. But comments would lead to questions – and necessary interaction.
‘Would you like some wine?’ Feathers asked.
She glanced over to see he’d carried more than just stew from the kitchen. A large bottle of Piat d’Or now stood on the table flanked by two wine glasses. She gave a timid nod, and he unscrewed the top.
They ate in silence. Izzy shifted in her seat, the lack of conversation a physical weight on her chest, nothingness ringing in her ears. She swallowed with difficulty, and took a large sip of the wine. She glanced up at her host. His eyes were closed, perhaps savouring a chunk of meat. The boys on the other side of the table uttered small noises, sounds of pleasure as they scooped the food into their mouths. They hardly stopped for breath, chewing, swallowing, then pausing momentarily between mouthfuls to appreciate the dinner. She scraped her bowl, the pendulum clock in the hall loud, marking the passing of time in half-second increments. The boiler in the kitchen clicked, followed by a series of small ticks, and then flared into life. Izzy sipped at her wine, her eyes returning to Feathers.
‘How did you get your nickname?’ Izzy blurted, as he got up to clear the table.
‘How does anyone get a name?’ he said, and stopped by the door to the kitchen. ‘It was given to me by elves.’ Feathers smirked, then disappeared into the other room. ‘But seriously,’ he called out, ‘it’s such an uninteresting story, I wouldn’t want to bore you with it.’
‘Elves?’ Connor laughed.
‘Don’t knock it,’ Oliver said, pushing his chair back. ‘Why shouldn’t they be real?’
‘Because they aren’t!’ said Connor. ‘Only crazy people believe in things like that.’
‘Don’t be rude,’ Izzy said, spinning her wine glass by the stem.
‘What’s your flat like?’ Oliver asked.
‘Nice, I suppose,’ Connor said. ‘Do you want to go over there? Mum, is that okay?’
‘I guess so.’
‘Thanks for the meal, Feathers. It was really cool catching rabbits with you.’ Connor said cheerfully, and walked to the door.
‘Any time, my friend.’ Feathers’ voice floated out from the kitchen. ‘Any time.’
‘Oliver, do you want to come over to mine?’
‘Sure.’ Oliver patted his stomach and got up from the table. ‘That was tasty.’ He gave a wave to Feathers as he passed the kitchen, and followed Connor to the door. ‘You got a Play Station?’
‘No.’
‘X-box?’
‘I haven’t got one of those, either.’
‘What do you have?’
‘I’ve got some books.’
‘Oh.’
Connor opened the front door.
‘Why’s he called Feathers?’ he said to Oliver as they went out.
‘Sorry about that.’ Izzy got up from the table as Feathers emerged from the kitchen, and followed him into the living room. There was a sweet smoky odour she couldn’t place, and she walked around trying to find the source, and looking for something to comment on. ‘You like Hendrix, then?’ she said, pointing at a poster.
A cocoon-like basket chair hung in the corner. The rattan creaked worryingly as Feathers sank into it and drew his legs up. He followed her with his eyes as she picked up a small wooden box and traced a finger along the carvings. She put it down and looked around. A ragged throw rug partly hid one of two sofas, and Izzy tentatively touched the fabric as she walked towards the window.
‘I’m kinda stuck in the 60s.’ He swung back and forth, his forehead wrinkled in thought. ‘You know, some Apache Indians named my grandfather. He went out to America in the 40s to research the tribe for a historical novel he was writing. Apparently it was a big honour to be named by them. They called him Geronimo, because he just wouldn’t stop fighting for the truth. He liked the name so much, he changed to it by deed poll when he got home.’
‘Mmm. You like growing things?’ Izzy looked out the window, to the balcony. A bushy plant filled one end. ‘Hey, isn’t that a…?’
Feathers looked past her. ‘Marijuana plant?’ He chuckled. ‘I certainly hope so.’
‘Hmm.’ She turned around and sat on the smaller sofa. ‘Do you work?’
‘Why wouldn’t I work?’
Izzy grabbed a fake-fur cushion and hugged it. ‘I’m sorry. I suppose that sounded a bit rude. Because we’re in the middle of a council estate…’ That comment was even worse. Pretty soon, she would ask something really gauche, and then he might feel justified to retort with something equally awkward.
‘I work in London.’ He swung gently in the chair. ‘I mix oils.’
‘What? Edible oils? For cooking and salads?’
‘Scented. For aromatherapy and the like.’
‘Aroma – is that why you always smell?’ She clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘I didn’t mean in a nasty way…’
‘Cheers,’ he laughed. ‘I’ll never be a proper man again.’ He sat forward, the chair groaning as he moved about. ‘Try and guess what I was mixing yesterday.’
‘Easy, lavender.’
‘You’ve got a good sense of smell. My grandmother couldn’t identify a scent to save her life. Got a hockey stick in the nose when she was at school. You could break a rotten egg right beside her, and she wouldn’t know.’
‘Huh.’ Izzy squeezed the cushion harder and forced a smile. What a klutz, couldn’t she ask a sensible, normal question?
‘You know, it’s essential in tasting food. There was this guy who had a job at a tea factory. His job was making sure the blends were mixed right.’ Feathers climbed out of the basket chair and went over to a record player. ‘A group of scientists wanted to know what made him the best taster in the place, but found that he had an average amount of taste buds on his tongue.’ He sat cross-legged and leafed through an enormous collection of LPs. ‘So some bright spark tested his ability to detect odours. Turns out he was off the scale.’
A small knock sounded on the front door.
‘Can you get that?’
‘Sure, uh, okay. I can do that…’ Izzy found Connor on the landing.
‘Oliver got bored and went home. He said I didn’t have anything interesting in my room. I told him the rest of my stuff was coming on the truck.’
‘Connor, you can’t keep doing that.’ She ruffled his hair, and tried to throw an arm around him.
‘Can I come in?’ He dodged her, almost spilling the comics he had grasped under one arm.
‘Connor, listen to this.’ Feathers chose a hallucinogenic pink and baby blue, swirled record sleeve, and slipped the record out like a precious jewel. He placed the disc delicately on the turntable. ‘See if you – or your mother – recognize the song.’
Feathers studied the fine ridges on the black disk before he lowered the needle down. The room filled with loud hissing, pops and crackles. Then the white noise swapped for a light hearted and simple melody, straight from the 60s. She recognised the tune, but shook her head as she tried to place the melodies.
Connor flopped down on one of the sofas. Izzy followed him back into the room and climbed into the basket chair. The chair wobbled uncontrollably, she gripped the sides and tried to figure out how to make it swing.
‘It’s from The Lion King, Mum,’ Connor said. He spotted a brown corduroy beanbag and got up, dropped the comics on the floor, and slumped there instead. After a few seconds of wiggling about, he flipped over, and kicked his feet in the air. He pulled a Beano off the top of the pile, and spread it out on the floor in front of him.
‘You’re right. Is this the original? Sounds sort of… different,’ she said, listening to the tinny tones. The song sounded plain and irritatingly uncomplicated to her modern ear. She pursed her lips and tried find a redeeming quality. ‘Not sure if it’s quite my thing. I prefer layered, complex compositions.’
‘That’s deep,’ Feathers said, turning the volume down. ‘Did you just make it up?’
‘I…’ Izzy closed her eyes, suddenly sleepy. ‘I think I did. Never really thought that much about music…’
The melody whispered through the speakers now, barely audible, as she got comfy in the protesting basket chair. Her eyelids dragged – lead weights pulling her down to dreamland. She forced her them back open, and stared wide-eyed into the room.
‘You gotta love it,’ Feathers said.
He closed his eyes and nodded slowly to the beat. His long thick hair swayed around his face – like hay in a field when the wind brushes past. It mesmerised her, golden locks, fields, flowers – woods with strange intoxicating scents. The lead weights came back. She blinked languidly, surfacing out of the beginnings of a dream.
She yawned. ‘I think I’d better get some fresh air.’
‘Have a drop more wine, first.’
Leaning on the balustrade, with three glasses of white wine dulling her senses, Izzy scanned the fields.
Night had fallen, but she could still make out the green of growing crops. She thought the one across the road might be a crop of rapeseed, for the brewery. Connor would be suffering once the little yellow flowers bloomed.
‘Never take the road that cuts through the woods,’ Feathers called out behind her. ‘It’s bad luck.’
‘What?’
‘You could get lost….’
‘And never be found again,’ Connor added from the living room, with a sinister laugh. ‘You’d better teach me some more survival skills.’
‘Big ears,’ Izzy said.
She gazed past the fields, and into the shadows of the trees. Light patterns by the edge of the woods flickered.
The words, hidden under the aqua paint in Connor’s room came back to her. Don’t go in the woods, where eyes hide between and behind the trees, waiting for you, following.
She shivered, and straightened up, unable to turn away. ‘Enough of the melodrama, though, Feathers. you’re scaring Connor.’

Feathers gave Izzy directions to a second-hand furniture shop, located in an alley off Oxford Road, in Reading. She drove there on Monday, circling the area several times, until she gave up trying to find the place in the car, and parked on the main road. Eventually she noticed an old junk shop almost hidden between the back end of an Indian restaurant and the start of a long row of terraced houses that extended up the hill for half a mile. A weather-beaten sign above a dirty window read: Terry’s.
A bell jangled as she opened the door and an old man appeared from a back room. He nodded a welcome and sat down by the till, watching Izzy over his reading glasses as she nosed around. To her left, chairs leaned in drunken stacks; to the right, sofas spooned. A row of wardrobes lined one wall, back-to-back, with just enough space to peek in and view the front.
Hidden behind a tallboy, Izzy came across a beautiful rocking chair. She needed a chest of drawers, but none appealed. She could ask, in case there were more stored in the back. The man by the till, now reading an aged copy of Readers Digest would, no doubt, show her. But the chair needed to be on her balcony, pointed in the direction of the woods. She ran a finger across the wood, and pushed. It creaked back and forth. She listened, her thoughts drifting to Feathers until the old man appeared behind her.
‘Will you be making a purchase today?’ he asked.
Izzy bought the chair, and squeezed it in the back of her Toyota.
Somehow, she dragged it up the stairs without breaking its delicate runners, and pushed it out to its final position on the balcony.
She sat down, the chair groaning and creaking. The runners ran over the tiles, creating a sound as they passed across grout lines of an almost silent train. The ‘chug-chug-chug’ effect had a lulling effect, and Izzy sank back against the wood.
The early summer sky glowed baby blue along one edge of the horizon, deepened into ruby-purple, and turned inky-black with a dose of silver sprinkles as the night arrived. She pointed herself in the direction of the woods, choosing to watch the bats come swooping out of the trees and hear the screams of woodland animals as they tried to survive another night. So many warnings issued, she brushed them like dust from her memory. The beauty of Coombe’s Wood nurtured fascination, fear vanished, words faded. ‘Don’t go in the woods.’ She chuckled quietly. Scribbles in a child’s hand – had she ever been scared?
Izzy left the balcony and made her way to bed, only to dream of a liquid dark. The essence of the woods fed the nightmare, and a barrage of woody and earthy scents seemed to cling to the air long after she awoke.
Drawn back to the balcony in the morning, she stared out again at Coombe’s Wood and the warm velvet trees growing there, as they reached out their branches in welcome.