sharply.
‘Listen, it’s all OK, Sand. It’s fantastic. I mean, I feel really, really better just since yesterday.’
‘Great.’Sandy got up and took the mugs to the sink. She rinsed and drained them, emptied the teapot and sluiced it out. Then she glanced round. ‘What are you going to do today then?’
‘Go and buy the right things to eat. Clear out the rubbish from the cupboard and the fridge.’
‘OK, but don’t chuck mine out as well.’
‘Then I’ll go out and walk … like he said. Walk and walk in the fresh air.’
‘Right.’Sandy went to the door. Hesitated. ‘Listen, Debs, don’t take this the wrong way – only you say you can’t remember everything that happened … you sort of came to and you were lying on the couch … do you think he might have given you something, or –’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Don’t jump down my throat. I just mean you have to be careful. You were on your own in this room with him and –’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Sandy. It was just like he sort of hypnotised me.’ She thought of Dava’s eyes and his soft voice.
‘You do look better.’
‘I feel like I’m reborn, you know? He’s rebirthing me; that’s what he said he was going to do, only it hasn’t finished, but when it is I’ll be new … a new Deborah. He said when it was complete, I would change my name – I would feel a real, deep urge tochange it … I won’t be Debbie then, I’ll be Deborah. Deborah Parker.’
She straightened her back and felt herself to be a foot taller and floating above the ground as she went out of the kitchen.
The sun slid off the wall, leaving the room in shadow.
Eleven
Jim had to do something, had to be out, and besides, the house was too quiet. When the postman came through the gate, there was silence, and when the milkman whistled and the dustcart turned into the street. Silence. He had often cursed Skippy’s high-pitched bark that made him start up in his chair, but he hated the silence more.
He had combed the Hill and beaten about with a stick inas much of the scrub and undergrowth as he could. Every day, Jim Williams spent most of the morning there, starting out very early, as he had done on the day the terrier had vanished, and often returning, to search and call and whistle until it grew dark.
Christmas he had spent alone and it had meant nothing. Now, it was the New Year and no one else was out on the Hill. He was waiting for thewoman with the Dobermanns, who had been absent for a week. It was damp and mild and there was no sign of Skippy.
He had heard a report on the radio about a missing prize pedigree dog, and after that, he had gone through the
Lafferton Echo
the previous week, and the
Bevham Post
every night, for reports of dog-stealing gangs. Phyl had told him about them.
‘They take cats, too, they go for vivisectionwhen they don’t go to the canning factory and wind up as pet food. You have to look out.’
But he had not, he had let Skippy off the lead as she never did, and the terrier had gone. He had probed down every rabbit hole he could find and stood listening for some faint bark or whimper of a dog stuck underground.
Silence, except for the wind rustling the dry undergrowth and blowing into his facedown the Hill.
He should give up, he knew that in his heart. He wasn’t going to find the dog. He was frustrated and angry and baffled but he should give up all the same.
But not yet, not just yet. What was a week? The terrier had chased off after something and missed a turn, found himself among unfamiliar streets where nothing smelled right, and wandered off, perhaps been into a house, or maybehe’d curled up in a garage or a shed and then been locked in.
Just a week.
He thought he might put an advertisement in the free paper.
Then he heard the yelping bark of the two Dobermanns and saw the woman striding with them towards him up the slope. Jim Williams felt like rushing to her with open arms, so sure was he that
‘Listen, it’s all OK, Sand. It’s fantastic. I mean, I feel really, really better just since yesterday.’
‘Great.’Sandy got up and took the mugs to the sink. She rinsed and drained them, emptied the teapot and sluiced it out. Then she glanced round. ‘What are you going to do today then?’
‘Go and buy the right things to eat. Clear out the rubbish from the cupboard and the fridge.’
‘OK, but don’t chuck mine out as well.’
‘Then I’ll go out and walk … like he said. Walk and walk in the fresh air.’
‘Right.’Sandy went to the door. Hesitated. ‘Listen, Debs, don’t take this the wrong way – only you say you can’t remember everything that happened … you sort of came to and you were lying on the couch … do you think he might have given you something, or –’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Don’t jump down my throat. I just mean you have to be careful. You were on your own in this room with him and –’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Sandy. It was just like he sort of hypnotised me.’ She thought of Dava’s eyes and his soft voice.
‘You do look better.’
‘I feel like I’m reborn, you know? He’s rebirthing me; that’s what he said he was going to do, only it hasn’t finished, but when it is I’ll be new … a new Deborah. He said when it was complete, I would change my name – I would feel a real, deep urge tochange it … I won’t be Debbie then, I’ll be Deborah. Deborah Parker.’
She straightened her back and felt herself to be a foot taller and floating above the ground as she went out of the kitchen.
The sun slid off the wall, leaving the room in shadow.
Eleven
Jim had to do something, had to be out, and besides, the house was too quiet. When the postman came through the gate, there was silence, and when the milkman whistled and the dustcart turned into the street. Silence. He had often cursed Skippy’s high-pitched bark that made him start up in his chair, but he hated the silence more.
He had combed the Hill and beaten about with a stick inas much of the scrub and undergrowth as he could. Every day, Jim Williams spent most of the morning there, starting out very early, as he had done on the day the terrier had vanished, and often returning, to search and call and whistle until it grew dark.
Christmas he had spent alone and it had meant nothing. Now, it was the New Year and no one else was out on the Hill. He was waiting for thewoman with the Dobermanns, who had been absent for a week. It was damp and mild and there was no sign of Skippy.
He had heard a report on the radio about a missing prize pedigree dog, and after that, he had gone through the
Lafferton Echo
the previous week, and the
Bevham Post
every night, for reports of dog-stealing gangs. Phyl had told him about them.
‘They take cats, too, they go for vivisectionwhen they don’t go to the canning factory and wind up as pet food. You have to look out.’
But he had not, he had let Skippy off the lead as she never did, and the terrier had gone. He had probed down every rabbit hole he could find and stood listening for some faint bark or whimper of a dog stuck underground.
Silence, except for the wind rustling the dry undergrowth and blowing into his facedown the Hill.
He should give up, he knew that in his heart. He wasn’t going to find the dog. He was frustrated and angry and baffled but he should give up all the same.
But not yet, not just yet. What was a week? The terrier had chased off after something and missed a turn, found himself among unfamiliar streets where nothing smelled right, and wandered off, perhaps been into a house, or maybehe’d curled up in a garage or a shed and then been locked in.
Just a week.
He thought he might put an advertisement in the free paper.
Then he heard the yelping bark of the two Dobermanns and saw the woman striding with them towards him up the slope. Jim Williams felt like rushing to her with open arms, so sure was he that
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