Fallow Heart Read online

  “Look, don’t you want to hear about what I saw today?” Lori said, her voice breaking a little. “A woman was murdered this morning. Surely that’s more important than me getting attacked?”

  Matilda’s eyes widened. Lori looked deeper. There was a strange, glossy sheen over her bright gaze, distorting them a little.

  “Attacked, did you say?”

  Lori shut her mouth tightly. She looked away, examining a crack in the beige paint on the wall. The room seemed smaller than ever, the weight of a thousand questions pressing down on her mind. If she started to explain about the antlered beast – about its crimson eyes and fetid breath, the jaws which had almost devoured her – then Matilda would certainly think that Lori had gone mad with the shock of it all. As much as she desperately wanted to tell someone what she was going through, this wasn’t the time or the place. When Matilda next spoke, it was with a tone so quiet that it took Lori several seconds to realise what she’d said.

  “Attacked by what, Lorelai?”

  Lori kept up her silence, her hands fidgeting in her lap. A second or two passed, and a small detail broke through her thoughts. Matilda hadn’t said attacked by who. She’d said what. Lori gulped, clearing her throat.

  “A…” Lori said, her eyes firmly fixed on the wall. “A monster.”

  The door opened with a furious bang and, for one terrifying moment, Lori thought the beast had returned for her. But the large shape in the doorway was the hulking form of a man in smart clothing, his silver hair shorn into a harsh buzz cut. He wore a plastic badge at his hip with his photograph on it, though Lori wasn’t close enough to make out any details. He glanced at her for only a moment, his angry gaze needling on Matilda instead.

  “Who the Hell are you?” he said, one hand rising and shaking at her.

  “What?” Lori said suddenly, eyes flashing to Matilda too. “You’re not a police officer?”

  Matilda’s gaze slid her way. The glossy sheen glowed brighter.

  “Did I ever say that I was?” she asked sharply.

  “Bleeding journalist scum,” the man said, reaching for Matilda’s pointy little elbow. “I’ll be sure they never let you past the front desk again. Who was it that you managed to fool? Was it-”

  “Very sorry to trouble you, Detective Constable Walker,” Matilda said, cutting right into the middle of his speech. “I’ll escort myself out.”

  “Oh no you won’t,” he cut in.

  The constable took a moment to spare a concerned glance back in Lori’s direction. He began to speak, and in the same moment Matilda took her opportunity to slip through the doorway, opening and closing it with the same swift grace as before. Detective Walker’s whole face tightened, a grumbling sound somewhere behind his pursed lips. He opened the door again with a wide swing.

  “If you think for one second you’re-” he began, shouting out into the hallway. But something had stopped him. Lori watched the greying man’s eyes widen. He looked to his left, then back to his right. Silence filled the gap of his open mouth, freezing him in place.

  “Umm…” Lori began, “can I go home yet, Sir?”

  It was so embarrassingly high school, calling the guy ‘Sir’, but Lori reasoned that politeness was probably the fastest way through this now. She was exhausted and confused by all that had happened, and all she wanted was to be away from prying eyes and invasive questions. Walker’s reverie broke, his mouth closing slowly. He looked Lori over, cocking his head to one side. Dim blue eyes took her in, thoughts concealed behind their glass.

  “Where were you last night, Miss Blake?” he asked.

  Lori did her best not to sigh. She’d been over this already with the shock counsellor.

  “At home,” she explained. “At Fir Trees park. We have a permanent van there.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?” the officer said. He tapped a finger against his lips.

  “Me, Mum and Brian,” she added, sighing. When would they let her go? Her head was so full of images and people. None of it made sense, and every moment she spent in that tiny room was making it worse.

  “Your mother’s full name?”

  “Yvonne Blake,” Lori replied, “and Brian is Brian Hough, if that helps.”

  “Thank you,” Walker replied with a nod. He wasn’t writing any of the information down, which Lori took to mean that he knew it already. Why wouldn’t he let her go?

  “And Yvonne and Brian, they can vouch for your whereabouts last night, can they?”

  A lurch tugged at Lori’s gut. Somewhere in the haze of the day, she recalled the strange conversation with Mum that morning. Where did you go? Is that what she’d said? You went outside, Lori, in the middle of the night. That was untrue, of course, and there was no way it could be otherwise, but if Walker checked her story with her mother, now it wouldn’t match. Lori took a breath for a moment, biting her lip. Don’t do it. Don’t tell anyone. She pressed her fingers together, eyes fixed on a single spot between the sergeant’s polished shoes.

  “My mum…” Lori started, her mouth suddenly dry. “She drinks. A bit. Last night was Friday, so she and Brian, well…”

  “I see.”

  Lori was grateful that the detective had cut in. She had learned several years ago that mentioning ‘parent plus alcohol’ only led to a web of further questions that she didn’t want to answer. Something shifted in the policeman’s stance, and he lowered himself to a crouch to come level with Lori’s eyes. She looked back into the dim gaze, surprised to find his expression a little less stony than before.

  “You’re not in any trouble, Miss Blake,” he said quietly, “but if you did see Pauline last night, I’d like to know.”

  “I didn’t,” Lori said, and again the flash of the half-body rampaged through her mind.

  “All right,” Walker said. “Then that’s all we need for now. But don’t be surprised if we call you back for further questions.”

  “You mean I can go?”

  Lori stood up without a moment’s hesitation, her body wracked with sudden aches. There was a small, sharp pinch in her chest, and her hand raced there to soothe it.

  “Yes,” Walker replied, also rising to his feet. “Your grandfather is waiting to pick you up.”

  Mysteries, of the mundane and the divine

  Saturday was Granddad’s day. It was where Lori had been heading when the busker had caught her ear, before the body had fallen from nowhere at all. Knowing that he was waiting for her brought some small semblance of reality back to Lori’s world. As she followed Detective Walker down the beige hallways of the station, she kept her eyes peeled for the bright green EXIT signs. A vague thought for Matilda Vane crossed her exhausted mind, wondering where the little woman might have gone to poke her nose in next. Lori hoped that she’d had no hidden cameras or anything. The last thing her reputation needed was to be splashed all over the local papers. Judging by Walker’s watchful look as he traipsed down the corridor beside her, the officer was having similar thoughts.

  A set of double-doors around a long-awaited bend finally delivered daylight. The stark September sun was low in the sky by now, putting the two figures by the door into silhouette. Lori recognised them both, her eyes drawn to the taller of the two. Her grandfather cut an aquiline shape, taking two large strides towards her. He let one bony arm sit across her shoulders and Lori looked up into his sharp green gaze, set among the creases of many lives lived.

  “Timothy,” Detective Walker said, giving her grandfather a little nod.

  “Carl,” Granddad answered. Lori saw the polite-but-stiff look that the men shared. She wondered how her grandfather knew the detective by his first name, but there were too many other questions in her mind for this one to stick. “She’s free to come home now, I hope?” Granddad added curtly.

  “Provided you’ve collected her possessions,” Walker replied, clearing his throat, “and completed the appropriate paperwork.”

  Close as she was to her grandfather’s collarbone, Lori could hear him repressin
g a scoff in his throat.

  “We doddering fools managed somehow, yes,” he answered.

  Walker gave him a pointed look, which Lori inherited as his eyes shifted on towards her.

  “We’ll be in touch if we need anything further, Miss Blake,”

  Walker turned on his heel. From the moment he was out of earshot, Lori winced at the sudden sound of impact. There was a hand smacking her grandfather’s arm.

  “Don’t be so rude to the coppers,” Huw admonished.

  “I’m eighty-five years old, my darling,” Granddad replied dryly. “What are they going to do to me?”

  Huw let out a sigh, his stocky shoulders falling. He was the shorter of the two figures, though almost twice as wide as Granddad, with a shaved head that sometimes bore a sheen of silver stubble in a semi-circle around his head. He walked on Lori’s other side as they exited the station, hooking one arm through the crook of her elbow.

  “They didn’t put you in a cell, did they beaut?”

  “No,” Lori answered.

  “Did they treat you for shock?” Huw said, eyes wide.

  “I… I’m not sure,” Lori stammered back. “There was a counsellor woman.”

  “Did they give you a shock blanket?”

  “One of those silver things?” Lori asked.

  “That’s right,” Huw answered. She nodded in reply. “Any medication?” he went on.

  “Oh, leave the poor girl alone, will you?” Granddad cut in. “She’s been through enough.”

  Huw raised his brows, eyes widening.

  “I am ensuring that our lovely Lori has been given proper treatment,” he said crisply.

  “Once a nurse, always a bloody nurse,” Granddad scathed, but there was a sparkle of warmth in his eyes now.

  Lori couldn’t help but smile. Huw had a comforting lilt to his baritone voice, so different to her grandfather’s scathing drawl. They were two halves of a coin, a perfect complement, and Lori had never known them to be any other way. When she tried to imagine Granddad back in the eighties, still straight and married to her French grandmother, Grandmere Patricia, the image didn’t add up.

  “It was okay, actually,” Lori added as they emerged into the car park. “There wasn’t a proper interview, even. I talked to this counsellor about it. She wrote stuff down.”

  “Poor love,” said Huw, patting her arm.

  “It’ll hit you again, Lorelai,” her grandfather warned. He jingled his pockets, looking for the key to the Clio. “Good thing you’re with us for the weekend. We’ll see you over the first hurdle.”

  “The weekend?” Lori asked. “I’m not going home tonight?”

  The car was open, and Granddad was already getting in. Huw let go of Lori gently, then opened her door for her. He gave a little shake of his domed head.

  “Tomorrow night, beaut,” he assured her. “You’re best off with us for now, like your tadchi says.”

  If they thought that Lori had missed the pointed look that passed between the driver and passenger seats, then they were much mistaken. She buried her head, looking down at the fabric folds of her hoodie, then immediately trying to straighten them out a little. Perhaps her father was a mess. Perhaps he was crying right now, alone somewhere, or with one of those police counsellors like the one Lori had seen. Lori hadn’t thought about him until now, and that gave her a deep sickly sensation in her gut. Mum and Brian would be sobering up too, being told the news that their daughter had had half a corpse thrown at her on her walk through town. It seemed that Lori couldn’t do anything normal these last two days.

  Normal, you? Ha.

  Lori shut her eyes. What was going to happen at college? Would she have to see some grief counsellor there too now, part of their pastoral care bullshit? Lori could only hope that she wasn’t going to be assigned some in-class aide to ‘support’ her, which would definitely prompt the other teens into a bullying frenzy. Things were difficult enough without there being issues at school. If she made it through the weekend in one piece with Granddad and Huw, then Monday morning at college might be her chance to start forgetting it all. Even as she tried to convince herself of that, the shadow of horns reared its head in her mind. Lori’s eyes snapped open again, and she found Huw watching her in the rear-view mirror.

  “The worst part’s over now, love,” he said with that soothing lilt of his.

  Lori wanted to believe him.

  Lori loved to spend time with Granddad and Huw, but there was a specific reason that she always saw them on Saturdays. She opened her eyes on Sunday morning to the sound of knocking, and it took her a moment to locate herself. The nautical motif of Granddad’s spare room shone pale blue, the morning barely breaking to bathe the tiny space in light. Lori groaned, and the door was thin enough for her to hear Granddad’s sigh on the other side. He knocked again.

  “Sunday morning, Lorelai,” he said, “I think it will help, today of all days, don’t you?”

  Lori hauled herself up, feeling larger than ever in the narrow single bed. Her head ached ferociously, like some great spike had been driving itself through the centre of her forehead.

  “But I don’t have any church clothes,” she said, hoping against hope that it would change her grandfather’s mind.

  “I doubt that’ll bother Sister Agnes,” he replied. “She hasn’t seen you in four years, my girl. Come along now. Breakfast in ten. Church in thirty.”

  Footsteps echoed away, and Lori lay back down for a moment with another groan. She had slept in thin pyjamas with a camisole, a set remaining from her summer stay-overs, and her hand wandered automatically over the bare skin of her chest, to the crescent-moon scar above her heart. Its too-smooth ridge made her shiver, a gory mass of memories racing back to her mind as she ran her fingertips over the bumps. She was surprised that she hadn’t had nightmares again, though perhaps she’d slept deep enough to bypass dreaming altogether. What was left of Saturday had been filled with chatter, mostly Huw’s, and online homework, which Lori was unusually grateful to get stuck into.

  But the shock had returned now, as Granddad had promised it would. There was a sickly, sour taste in her mouth, and Lori forced her fingers away from the scar. The crimson eyes of the antlered beast mingled with the blood trickling down Pauline’s bony, tanned legs, and Lori’s stomach gave an ugly heave. She sat up again, rubbing her clammy face, pushing one hand to her jaw and holding it shut. Church was a sufferance she hadn’t endured since she’d been deemed ‘old enough’ to decide for herself, but today it seemed a whole lot better than sitting alone and dwelling on the ever-increasing barrage of carnage in her mind.

  Breakfast was a no-go, though Huw tried relentlessly to persuade Lori to eat. She was pretty sure the two of them had never experienced this problem before, and the poor man seemed more worried than ever by the time Lori and her grandfather left the little terraced house to head to St Werburgh’s Roman Catholic Church. It was within the Roman walls of Chester itself, tucked away between the Grosvenor Park and Eastgate Street. Lori was sincerely glad that they didn’t have to walk down the dreaded street itself in order to reach the church, though being so near to the place where Pauline’s half-body had dropped like a stone sent a shiver through her body. As they skirted the park, Lori’s grandfather took her hand, giving it a squeeze with his bony digits.

  “Why do I have to go to church if Huw doesn’t?” Lori asked.

  “Huw isn’t what you’d call a man of faith, darling girl,” Granddad replied.

  His sharp features were trained on the sky, which was white with clouds. In the morning light, his skin shone almost as silver as his hair, translucent in places where the odd shadow of a blue vein peeped through.

  “Neither am I,” Lori retorted.

  The imposing roof of St Werburgh’s, a triangular prism of blue Welsh slate, was visible around the bend, and the closer Lori got to the building, the more she regretted not kicking up a fuss about going.

  “You always made me go,” Lori pushed, letting
her grandfather’s hand slip out of her grip, “and Mum. She goes on about it even now.”

  “I’m a staunch Catholic, and I always have been,” Granddad said simply.

  “So that’s why you go?” Lori said, trying to nail him down to the point, “Obligation? Pressure? Habit?”

  They had reached the corner where the imposing building stood, and Lori’s grandfather stopped to lean against the tall, black railings attached to the low outer wall. Opposite where they stood, a smart row of red-brick Victorian buildings shone in the sunlight. Lori glanced from them back to her grandfather. He looked up at the sky, pale eyes drinking in the paler clouds.

  “I go to church because I have a need for faith,” he explained in that low, patient voice of his. “Huw’s led a charmed existence, even for a man who was gay before it was legal. I’m afraid he’s never seen true sufferance, or darkness in this world.”

  Lori saw the light changing in her grandfather’s eyes as he spoke. Her chest tightened, the sickly feeling rising again, burning at the back of her throat.

  “But you have?” she said quietly.

  “When the world presents us with dark happenings, things that we wish we could change, things that don’t make sense, God provides a light. A way forward. Believing that has helped me many times in my life, so I go back to Him, to pay homage so to speak. If it only ever helps you this one time, Lorelai, then so be it. You’ll find your own strength in this world, your own way of coping. But for now, I’m showing you mine.”

  There was a hard lump in Lori’s throat that she couldn’t swallow. For all the years they’d spent together, all the times Lori had cried to Granddad about her parents’ split, her mother’s drinking, her father’s endless stream of irritating girlfriends, she had never felt this close to him. He was already turning away, heading into the left-hand door of the porch, which was domed by a great gothic arch. Lori followed hastily, watching his slender shape as he mingled through the small congregation and wound his way down the central aisle. The church was as large inside as Lori recalled from her childhood, adorned with bright tapestries on red sandstone pillars, its polished wooden pews laid out with the Good Book and the hymns for the day.