Hiding From the Light. Barbara Erskine

changed her mind, she would ring him immediately. Last but not least, she had on that last terrible, miserable day, removed all her possessions, including Max and Min, from what was now Piers’s flat.

      The cats had at first been astonished and nervous at finding themselves the owners of an entire house and a three-acre area of ground. But the fear was slowly wearing off and now they were intrigued, anxious to explore. She had only let them out for the first time yesterday, all eight paws duly buttered, and they had proceeded cautiously out onto the terrace, sitting close together, the swagger and bravado they had displayed when looking out of the windows all gone. She had watched them fondly, at first afraid they might run away and disappear. She needn’t have worried. The first sound of a car in the lane had them bolting back into the kitchen and up the stairs. But it was only minutes after that they were creeping downstairs again, their eagerness to explore and their excitement outweighing their caution.

      The furnishing in the house was as yet sparse. Peggy and Dan had come up to see her only three days before, bringing with them a small antique pine table and four chairs for the dining room – soon to be linked to the kitchen by the removal of the lathe and plaster between the studwork – and the oak side-table and the pair of Victorian velvet granny chairs had come from them as well. Upstairs, the bed was new. The Victorian chest of drawers had been her grandmother’s, the oak coffer had been Peggy’s. But still it didn’t feel like home. Thankfully she had not heard the voice again.

      She wandered outside. A robin was singing its thready, wistful, autumn song from the collapsed pergola halfway down the garden. That would have to be mended, as would so much of the fencing, the trellises, the gate. The list of work to be done out here was endless, the work to do on the house equally so. She stood still, feeling the sun on her face, breathing in the soft, slightly salty air. She could see down to the widening estuary from her bedroom window and already recognised the fresh cold smell of the mud as the tide crept out leaving the broad dark grey glitter of the river margins exposed.

      She perched on the wall for a few moments to get her breath back after her strenuous morning’s work on the house. But stopping for too long was dangerous. It was then that the doubts crept in. Her happiness, her sense of absolute rightness, her triumph at finding herself here was not enough all the time, to blot out the worry at what she had done. She had turned her back on a first-class career. She had moved out of the home she loved with the man she adored, and she had spent without a thought a good chunk of her savings and for what? A dream. A fantasy. Even the prospect of doing a bit of freelance work for David didn’t entirely comfort her. The income she made from that would never be huge. She glanced up at the window of the back bedroom where her computer sat on a wooden table. Sitting at it she could look out over the garden. That would be her office, if and when she got round to organising it.

      Min landed on her lap with a small chirrup of greeting and she bent and kissed the cat’s dark head. ‘You like it here, don’t you, darling,’ she whispered. She sighed.

      She longed to ring Piers, if only to hear his voice. Glancing back at the kitchen door she could see the phone from here. It was blue, to match the Aga which would be fitted next week. No. What was the point? He would see through her, sense her loneliness and she would rather die than admit she might have made a mistake.

      Standing up, she set the cat down on the moss-covered wall and began to walk down the garden path. ‘You coming?’ She turned and clicked her fingers at Min, who cautiously jumped down and followed her, sniffing at the grass. As Emma watched, the cat paused and began to paw at a bare patch of earth, patting, sniffing, and leaping back, her hair on end.

      ‘What is it, Min? Be careful.’ Emma went over to see what she had found.

      Lying there, partially exposed, was a knotted length of muddy red cord. Emma picked it up with a frown. She examined it closely. There was something unpleasant about it, although she wasn’t quite sure what. ‘It’s only a piece of string, Min. Here, do you want a game?’ She dangled it in front of the cat invitingly. Min backed away and spat.

      Emma jumped. ‘Sorry! I thought you’d like to play.’

      But already Min was trotting back towards the terrace. There, she sat down and began to wash her face. That was enough exploration for one day.

      Emma moved on, pushing the string absent-mindedly into her pocket.

      The lawn was a matted tangle of knee-high grasses and wild flowers. Two old apple trees, laden with small hard green fruit, stood one on either side of the path and once-symmetrical beds of roses featured beyond them where the pergola had collapsed beneath its riot of blown and dying flowers.

      She paused, suddenly uncomfortable. Each time she walked down the garden she stopped here and without quite knowing why, looked round, glancing over her shoulder. She shivered and hurried on. Beyond lay the gate into the herb garden. Beds of herbs, woody and untrimmed, lay around an old boarded barn and behind it there was a poly-tunnel, torn and mildewed, where the young plants had been raised. She loved the barn. It had obviously been the centre of activities when the place was a business and boasted water and electricity that worked, two benches, shelves of pots and broken tools, labels, jam jars, all the stuff which she assumed had not been worth saving.

      Two sides of the gardens were enclosed by an old brick wall, some eight feet high. On the third side where she had come in, most of the wall was hidden beneath ivy and wisteria and once-trimmed espaliered pear trees. The shelter the walls gave from the wind created a wonderful fragrant haven. This had once been, she understood, one of the kitchen gardens for the manor house up the road. On the fourth side of the herb garden the wall had almost gone completely, to be replaced by a high untrimmed hedge. Beyond that lay the two-acre paddock – wind-sewn with thistles and ragwort. Wandering between the beds, she snapped off a piece of rosemary and rubbed it between her fingers. Next spring would be the time to start some sort of project here. Until then she would spend her energies on the house itself and on finding her way around the district. Another spontaneous wave of out and out happiness swept over her. At whatever cost, she knew it was right to have come.

      When she returned to the kitchen it was with a posy of herbs and roses which she put into a glass and carried through into the living room. Frowning, she glanced round. It was still too dark, even with all the lights on. And there was a strange feeling in the room, as though someone had just walked out of it. She frowned, looking out of the window, but the front garden was empty, the gate closed. There was no one there. She tried to push the sensation aside. Perhaps if she moved the table-lamp closer to the chair and threw another log on the fire the room would cheer up a bit.

      It was as she was standing there, at the window, that she became conscious suddenly of the piece of red cord in her pocket, nestling against her hip. It felt hot. Unpleasant. With an exclamation of disgust she pulled it out and stared at it, frowning. What on earth was it? She glanced round for Min. The cat had spat at it. Why? She walked over to the fire. Whatever it was, there was only one place for it. As she threw it onto the smouldering logs, the flames hissed and flared almost angrily. In seconds they had devoured it totally. Suddenly the room seemed lighter.

      When the phone rang that evening, she was standing at the sink, washing earth from her hands. She had been weeding the old flower pots on the terrace, dragging them into new positions, working out where a garden table and chairs would go.

      ‘Em?’ Piers’s voice rang in her ear. ‘Just checking to see how you’re getting on.’

      She closed her eyes, fighting the pang of anguish his voice provoked. ‘I’m fine. Really happy.’ She realised that there were sudden tears trickling down her cheeks. ‘You will come down and visit us one day, won’t you?’ She took a deep breath, steadying her voice with difficulty.

      Their parting had been so hard. Nothing had been said to emphasise that this was the end of their relationship, but what else could it be? Piers had not relented. He had helped her pack up sadly, resigned to her going. He had helped her load the cat baskets into the seat beside her, he had kissed her goodbye and waved as she drove away and then – nothing.

      She had waited and waited for him to ring, her pride preventing her from being the first to pick up the phone in case