William Elliott drives up the valley
William Elliott drives up the valley, toward the farmhouse where he grew up. He wears his police uniform; his cap sits on the passenger seat beside him.
It’s been a terrible night up here.
The storm only passed an hour ago, just before dawn. Still air has congregated in its wake, inspecting the damage that was wrought overnight, respectful of it, careful not to press too hard where things might hurt, on the tree trunks bearing fresh wounds where branches have been ripped from them, on unearthed roots which are glimpsing daylight for the first time.
William drives through bands of fog and thinks of them as a cool salve on the landscape, treating it gently while it decides how best to recover.
Ahead of him, a barn owl takes flight from the edge of the woodland, wings beating powerfully. It gathers its shoulders, its wings taking on the shape of an embrace, white plumage on its underside reflecting the milky yellow sunlight disrupting an ashen horizon. The owl is completely still for a perfect moment before it plummets, talons spread, to take a mouse from the field and carry it away.
The sight is ethereal. His dad would be transfixed by it.
Maggie Elliott hears William’s car as it approaches the farmhouse. She steps outside, thankful to get some respite from being in the same space as the young woman, Emily, who’s been so distraught.
They made an official call to the police, but it was impossible to get anyone to come up to the farmhouse and speak to Emily last night. The letter wasn’t considered enough of a threat while there was no proof that Emily’s husband was harmed or missing. The storm was too violent to allow a courtesy call. It could wait until morning, was the official advice. Then it would be followed up if necessary. It seemed sensible to Maggie, but not to Emily.
Afraid that Emily would become more hysterical, Maggie called in a rare favor from her son, William. He promised to come as soon as he could.
She opens the gate. His car headlamps push through the fog and into the yard. Visibility is very poor.
She and William embrace when he gets out of the car and she feels her heart grow and the relief of having another adult with her, to bear some of the responsibility for all of this. John bathed and went to bed while she was tending to Emily.
“Bacon sandwich?” she asks William.
“I wouldn’t say no.”
She already has bacon out, beside the hob. Four rashers. Her skillet is ready.
“Egg?”
“No, thank you.”
He kneels down to fuss the dogs, lets them lick his face.
“You’ll have hair all over you.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“But your uniform.”
“Mother,” he warns and scoops Annie’s hind legs up, lifting her so she’s sitting on his lap. Birdie lies down and rests her head on his knee. He pets them both.
Maggie watches. “You look handsome.”
“Mother. Stop.”
She smiles. “Thanks for coming, love. The young lass, Emily, is asleep upstairs. You should have seen the state of her last night.”
William eases the dogs off him, stands and brushes at his trousers though Maggie’s face says it won’t do any good if what he’s after is getting rid of their hair.
He takes his usual place at the table. She puts a cup of tea down for him.
“Tell me again what happened now that I’m awake enough to take it in properly,” he says.
“She’s one of the guests at the barn and your dad found her on the lane last night, in the middle of the storm. Just her, she’d gone out on her own. She turned her ankle on the way down so she was stuck there when he found her, absolutely freezing, soaked through. I don’t know what would have happened if he hadn’t been out there.”
William notices the unfamiliar clothing draped over a clothes horse in front of the Aga. Nothing suitable for last night’s conditions.
“What was she thinking? Didn’t you warn her about going out at night?”
“Of course, we did! But she was determined to phone her husband.”
“Because of this letter they got?” He feels as if he doesn’t have a complete understanding, yet, of what’s happened. It sounded like such a tall story when his mother recounted it on the phone in the middle of the night. He could barely keep up with it.
“The letter arrived here by a motorcycle courier along with a present and your dad and I took it up to the barn and left it out for them. There were special instructions telling us what to do. I thought the letter was something nice, but apparently it wasn’t at all. It contained a threat against their husbands. She was terrified. Your dad knew, you know, that it wasn’t anything good. I wish we’d never left it there, now.”
“Did she bring the letter down with her?”
“No.”
“It’s still up at the barn?”
“I suppose so.”
“I’ll have to take a look at it.”
The bacon spits in the pan and the smell of it fills the room. Maggie puts a bottle of ketchup on the table in front of William. As she slices bread and butters it thickly, she describes in detail how the letter was delivered and what the instructions meant for her and John said.
As he watches and listens, he pays close attention but he’s also aware that this is how he thinks of his mother when he’s not here, working in the kitchen with fluent movements. Her strength, her big heart, and her sharp mind have been the glue that holds their family together.
“Right,” he says. “And she dialed 999 with this, did she?”
She nods. “Asking them to get a car out to her home, to see if her husband was alive. I think she believed the threat in that letter with her whole heart.”
She puts the sandwich down in front of him and sits opposite him. He eats it in a few bites. It tastes sweet and smoky. Bacon fat and melted butter oil his lips.
Maggie says, “She got very upset when they said the letter wasn’t enough of a reason to get a car out.”
“It wouldn’t be. Not in the middle of the night.”
“So, I called you.”
“And I take it the letter wasn’t signed?”
“Only with an initial. An ‘E.’ That’s how they know who sent it.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Not even a name? That’s a bit cryptic, isn’t it? How can they be so certain about who this ‘E’ is? I think if I was them, I’d be asking myself questions about that because it sounds as if someone’s playing games with them. What a strange affair.” He finishes his tea in two big gulps. “I’d better have a chat with her, then.”
“She’s sleeping like the dead.”
“Can you wake her?”
As she leaves the kitchen, he asks, “What was Dad doing out there in the middle of the night, anyway?”
Her shoulder blades twitch and freeze. This micromovement is another memory he holds. How you can wound her, but only in the seconds before she gets her guard up.
“He wanted to check on the sheep in the top field.”
If she turns around, she’s telling the truth, he thinks. And if not . . .
She continues into the darkness of the hallway, the patterns on her housecoat claimed by shadows.
“Where’s Dad now?” he shouts.
“Out again.”
“Without the dog?”
She doesn’t reply.
William removes a notebook from his pocket and lays it on the table, placing his pen parallel to it. The sound of his throat clearing makes Birdie open an eye.
He gazes out into the yard. After a few moments, his dad emerges from the barn and walks around the back of it, glancing at William’s car as he does. It’s unlike hi...
