KATIE MARIE

Chapter One

We pulled up outside the cottage and even from the road you could see it was a hollow shell. The windows were curtainless and dirty, the faded paint was peeling on the frames. It wasn’t the home it had been. Sophie helped me out of the car and let me walk up the garden path alone.

The garden was still neat; it had been my domain, and I kept it right. The boys had worked on it after I had moved out, to keep it nice for the sale. The grass was a healthy green, even and well fed, not a single weed breached the surface. The front door creaked as it opened directly into the living room. It was bare, colour changes on the brown walls showed where the units had been, flat spots on the carpet exposed where the couch had squatted. 

“They’re good kids.” I looked around the empty cottage. “They mean well.” I ran my fingertips over the fireplace, pointedly ignoring the dust; Molly had always been the one to dust. I had remembered to do it once or twice in the last two years, but the cottage had never looked the same after she died.

I walked through the living room, touching fixtures here and there. I stopped to look at the spot the sofa had sat, visible now through the different shade in the carpet. I remembered the kerfuffle we’d had getting the new sofa brought in. Damn thing was far too big, Mike and I had tried for ages to get it in through the front door, the back door, we’d even tried one of the downstairs windows before we’d given up. Sophie had gotten that sofa while Molly and I purchased another more modest one. Then we’d bickered for days about where it would sit best, she got her way in the end, I always caved in to Molly.

I went through to the dining room into the kitchen and stopped. The little kitchen looked so much bigger without all our stuff clogging the worktops. This had been Molly’s domain, the hub from which she led our small family. The downstairs loo was a testament to Molly’s love of pink, while the upstairs bathroom had been a testament to my failings as a plumber. The spare bedroom, which was really just a junk room, had taken Sophie days to clear, the local charity shops had no doubt benefited from that. Molly had liked to hoard things. But she’d always known what she had and exactly where it was.

Lastly, I came to our bedroom. Sophie and Mike had replaced the carpets. The old one couldn’t be saved after the night Molly died. Her blood had soaked deep, and I had been able to smell it. I could still smell it now. Even though the boys had torn the carpet up and put a new one down, Molly’s blood was engrained in the floorboards.

Sophie sniffed and wiped her eyes when I came out of the cottage and closed the front door behind me for the last time.

“You done?” she asked. I nodded. We got back into the car and drove away.

“Thank you,” I said after we’d left the cottage behind. Sophie sniffed again.

“This is the right thing,” she said after a moment. “Those stairs were getting too much, and now you’re much closer to us.”

“You act like I lived in another country.”

“I can’t imagine you living anywhere but England, no other country would have you.” Sophie took a deep breath. “It’s not like you’re leaving her behind. Mum wasn’t a house.” Her voice was shaking. I reached over and put my hand over hers where it rested on the gear stick.

“Sophie, your mum’s in here.” I touched my chest where my heart was. “And here.” I tapped my forehead. “She’s not in bricks and wood; she’s in us.” Sophie nodded and sniffed again. “But I will miss the cottage. It was a wonderful home.”

“You know,” she said after a moment of silence. “If this doesn’t work out, or if you’re not keen on the place or the people or anything else, you can move in with us permanently. Mike has almost finished the extension, so we’ll have plenty of room. You won’t have to stay in the guest room anymore. You’d have your space, your own shower. We could even put in a little kitchenette if you liked. It would be your own place, just attached to mine.”

“And have me lose my marbles in front of your boys?” I scoffed.

“Don’t say it like that,” Sophie glared at me before turning back to the road. “Lots of people live really well with … your illness.”

“Dementia, sweetheart,” I swallowed the lump in my throat, she couldn’t even say it. “At least living here if I forget to turn off my own oven then I’m only going to burn down my house, not yours.”

“Dad!” Sophie snapped.

“I’m kidding,” I said. “Thank you, love. I will keep the offer in mind. But let’s give the old codgers a try before I relent and submit myself to the role of full-time grumpy granddad.”

“You’re not that grumpy,” Sophie said, turning the car into the Willow Hill Retirement Community. The uniform bungalows that lined the narrow roads looked lived in and cosy. Net curtains lined the windows, which were mostly hidden behind hanging baskets and bushes. Small lawns squatted in front of the bungalows, all well mown and simple, some covered in gnomes, others bird feeders, and one was covered in plastic cats. Sophie pulled up outside a bungalow that was the same as all the others and smiled at me. “This is it.”

“I’m going to need some paint,” I said. Sophie raised an eyebrow at me. “The colour doesn’t matter, but bright would be good. If not paint, then maybe a flag with my name on.”

“Why?” she asked.

“How else am I going to know which one mine is?” I said. 

Sophie laughed and got out of the car, coming around to help me as I struggled to get out.

“I’m sure we’ll think of something. How about a rhododendron? Mum loved those.”

“She might have loved them, but I didn’t, damn things are awful,” I smiled to let her know I was joking.

“How about a little greenhouse, then?” she asked as we walked up the short path.

“Oh! Are you a gardener?” a voice called. I glanced over at the bungalow on my left and spotted a short lady, dwarfed by a large grey overcoat. “My Gerald was good with his veg.”

“Dad’s a dab hand at carrots,” Sophie said, leaning over the little fence to offer a hand to my neighbour. “I’m Sophie.”

“Hello, dear.” The lady smiled. “I’m Doris.” She looked at me. “You’re the new boy, then? I spotted your son-in-law here early this morning.”

“Mike and I have been unpacking since six this morning,” Sophie said.

“You are a good lot then,” Doris said, turning away. “I’ll let you get settled in. But don’t hesitate to come over soon, you hear me?”

Sophie led the way inside. “She seemed nice.”

“Busybody.” I shrugged before looking around. The living room was all unpacked; Mike and Sophie had been very busy. They’d arranged the furniture the same as it had been at the cottage.

“Well,” was all I could say.

The walls were chocolate brown on the bottom half, a lighter cream coffee colour on the top. The room was warm; the colours making even my old tattered furniture and battered ornaments look comfortable and inviting. This alien place was already feeling more like home.

“We put things where we thought you’d like them.” Mike came in from a hallway on the other side of the living room. He looked even bigger than usual in the small room. Mike was Sophie’s gentle giant of a husband. The man wouldn’t have looked out of place chopping lumber, burly and bearded as he was, but he was more at home in the kitchen delighting his children by making intricately decorated cakes. “But if you want anything moved, just say.”

“It’s lovely, your mother would have adored it,” I swallowed a lump in my throat.

“But do you?” Sophie put a hand on my shoulder. “You’re the one who has to live here.”

“It’s grand dear,” I said. “Very classic. Makes me feel like I should get a pipe and one of those red velvet house coats.”

“Come on.” Sophie tugged at me. “You’ve got to see the kitchen. It’s so cute.” She tugged again, and for a split second, I had a vision of her when she was five years old dragging me onto the playground or to see something interesting she’d found in the garden.

The kitchen was small, but it had what it needed. The units were in a horse-shoe around three of the walls, with the doorway taking up most of the fourth wall. The sink sat beneath a wide window and to the right of the fridge, which stood next to the doorway. If someone opened the fridge, they’d be blocking the doorway. Handy then that I was on my own.

“I tried to put things away logically,” Sophie said. “The cups are in the cupboard above the kettle, the food is in the cupboards opposite to the fridge, cleaning stuff is under the sink.”

“It’s a small kitchen love,” I opened the cupboard above the kettle and wondered why I had so many cups. “I’m sure I’ll find my way around.”

All the cupboards were white and looked the same as each other. Sophie and Mike had painted the small amount of wall space a light sea blue to complement the white cabinets and black worktops. It was bright, clean, and functional. The only thing I wasn’t keen on was the long red strings, like the light switches you get in bathrooms. I’d seen the like in hospitals before, or disabled bathrooms; they were there to call for help.

“They’re for if you have a fall.” Mike stood in the doorway and caught me glaring.

“I’ve never had a fall in my life,” I said. Mike looked at me with an eyebrow raised. “Ok, I’ve not had a fall since they put in the new hip.”

“What about the wobble in town last week?”

“It was a wobble, not a fall.”

“They come as the standard, Dad,” Sophie came in behind Mike. “They’re in all the rooms. Just ignore them unless you need them.”

“Who comes when I pull one? The Justice League? Wonder Woman would be nice.”

“Wardens.” Mike rolled his eyes at me. “The main office is in the community centre, up where the hall is.”

“Hall?” I remembered the kids mentioning a hall when they’d told me about this place. “Where the bar is?”

“Yes, Dad.” Sophie sighed. “Where the bar is.”

“Might give it a look at some point. Speaking of the bar, where is-”

“Your super-secret drink collection?” Mike said. I nodded. “The globe is in the living room, next to the sofa.”

“Your mum and I brought that back from Italy.” I walked over to the globe in the living room. It was beautiful, dark wood with gold hinges on the equator, allowing the globe to open up. The inside was hollow with a flat base a little way down which acted as a shelf for bottles.

“Yes, you brought it back because of its magnificent Italian craftsmanship, not because it’s a drink cabinet.”

“It was your mother’s idea.” It had been one of Molly’s best thoughts. She didn’t like a cabinet being used for drinks, and this was apparently a conversation starter. I liked it because it meant the whisky was close to the couch.

“Alright,” Sophie said. “The bedroom’s through there. I sorted it all out for you, the bathrooms next to the bedroom.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to go collect the kids, but I’ll come round soon to make sure everything’s alright.”

“Ok.” I nodded.

“The hall’s good for more than a bar.” Mike followed Sophie out. “There’s a little cinema, a communal games room and a restaurant as well, so if you don’t fancy cooking tonight, you don’t have to.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ve got my number if you need anything,” Sophie called from behind Mike.

“I’ve been perfectly alright for the last seventy years. I think I can handle this. Don’t worry so much.”

“Alright.” Both of them held up their hands in a surrender gesture her mother had always done.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Dad. I’ll drive you to your appointment.” Sophie climbed into her car.

I watched both cars disappear around the corner.

With the cars gone, I noticed a young man in a uniform standing across the street, watching me. I assumed he must work here because of the uniform and raised a hand in greeting. A look of surprise crossed his face, and he slowed down to stare at me, frowning. I half expected him to stop and question me as to what I was doing, but he kept moving, watching me intently as he walked away. “What an odd boy.” I turned back to head into the bungalow. “Might as well have a cup of tea, then.” I patted my pocket for the flask I knew would be sitting there.

I made it to the kitchen before the doorbell rang. I sighed and turned back; tea would have to wait. Doris stood on the doorstep, a Tupperware box in her big knuckled hands.

“I’m sorry.” She was a short lady, solidly built and stocky. Her hair was pure white and cut short. She had smile lines around her eyes and her breath smelt faintly of brandy. “I’m dreadfully embarrassed, but I didn’t catch your name earlier.”

“It’s Arthur,” I offered her my hand. “You’re Doris.” She took my hand and looked at me hopefully. I relented quickly. “I was just going to put the kettle on.”

“Oh, thank you.” Doris followed me into the kitchen. She put the Tupperware down and took off the lid. The smell of ginger wafted out. I looked at her.

“I met your son-in-law this morning; he said you liked gingerbread.”

“Very kind of you.” I opened cupboard after cupboard, looking for cups. Where had Sophie said she put them?

“Let me help.” Together, we found where Sophie had put the cups, above the kettle, and the plates, in a lower cupboard close to the fridge. It took a bit of time, but we eventually found where she had hidden the tea bags as well.

“Sugar?”

Doris shook her head, examining the small plate in her swollen-knuckled hand. “These are beautiful.”

“Molly picked them; she was always good at that sort of thing.” 

Doris put some of the gingerbread on the plate. “My Gerald, God rest his soul, didn’t bother himself about things like dishes. He wouldn’t have noticed if I’d have put his dinner on the cat as long as the beast was still.”

I put the tea on a tray stand, a little thing on wheels, bloody useful. Sophie had got it when my hip went a few years back. I wheeled the tea and gingerbread through to the living room and sat down with Doris.

“So, your son-in-law tells me you’re a widower?” Doris sat on the end of the sofa while I sat in the old armchair.

I nodded. “A little over a year since my Molly was taken.”

“Gerald passed away two years ago. He said he’d wait until I went, he didn’t want to leave me alone, but you can’t help when you go.” She sipped her tea. “It was cancer, in the end. I told him the cigarettes would do him in; he used to laugh at me.” She looked at me for a moment. “It’s nice to have a friendly neighbour again. Mr. Hamilton, the gentleman who lived here before you, he wasn’t much for talking to a silly girl like me.”

“Well, more fool him.” I leaned over and reached into my pocket and pulled out my flask. It was an 8-ounce stainless steel flask wrapped in burgundy leather. Molly had bought it for me years ago.

“Would you mind?” Doris held out her cup. I smiled and topped her tea up. “Thank you. Gerald always laughed at me for nagging him about his smoking but then having a tipple to warm me up.”

“Nothing wrong with a drink now and then.”

“You’ll be a fan of my cakes then,” Doris laughed. “My son says there’s more brandy than flour in them.”

“I imagine I will be then.” I took a piece of gingerbread. It was firm with a tad too much ginger, but not bad at all.

Doris explained she had lived here for three years. She had moved in three summers ago with her husband Gerald, who the old girl obviously missed more than she tried to let on. She ran the hall’s bingo night every other Thursday and had two sons who visited when they could. Doris talked until the clock chimed seven and my stomach growled.

“Oh, I am sorry. I’ve been talking your ear off for far too long.”

“Nonsense.” I stood up, my back and knees stiff from sitting. “It’s been lovely.”

“Well, Maximillion will want his tea. Max is my cat, and he’s none too shy about letting me know I’m late with his dinner.”

“I didn’t know they allowed pets here?” 

“Oh, yes.” Doris opened the door. “Well, it’s been a pleasure, Arthur. Don’t be a stranger.”

“Nor you.” I watched her walk down my path and up her own. “Good night, Doris.”

“Good night, Arthur.” 

I closed the door.

“Pets, well, that is a pleasant surprise.” I headed to the bathroom to use the toilet. I opened the door and laughed out loud. The bathroom was bright pink.

When I was done, I went into the kitchen and heated some of the soup Sophie had sneaked into the fridge during the move. “Maybe I’ll get a little dog? Some company and a good reason to go out and about.”

I was still muttering to myself about getting a little dog, maybe a Jack Russell, when I sat down in the living room and made a start on the soup. It wasn’t bad; Sophie hadn’t inherited her mother’s skill in the kitchen, but she wasn’t completely without talent. Molly had always teased us both that we could burn water, but Sophie had married well; her husband, Mike, was a chef at a local restaurant, so her skill never mattered much. I wondered briefly why Mike had let Sophie make the soup.

With dinner done, I flicked through the local news on the telly. I was watching a report on the tension in the Middle East when I must have drifted off.

I woke with a start to the sound of Molly calling my name. I blinked blearily around the living room, confused for a moment. The newscaster was long gone. I flicked the telly off and stood up. I shambled past the kitchen, glancing in at the washing up. Resolving to do it in the morning, I headed to bed. 

*****

“Arthur, wake up,” Molly’s voice was a hiss in the darkness. “Arthur, wake up, someone’s in the house!” I rolled over and wrapped an arm around her.

“It’s just the cat. Go back to sleep,” I mumbled, pulling her close to me. She was warm and smelled like the fruity shampoo and rose-scented bath soap she used. Her normally soft body was tense in my grip and I could feel her trembling. I opened my eyes and looked at her in the gloom.

“Arthur, it’s not the cat.” There was a loud thump from downstairs. Someone was in the house. My heart instantly sped up, forcing me to take a few deep breaths to calm myself. Trying to remember my Air Force days and the tricks I knew for staying calm in stressful situations. I sat up and slid my legs out of the bed. “Arthur, I’m scared.”

“Don’t worry,” I reached over and lifted the phone out of its charger and handed it to her. “Call the police. I’m going to see what’s what.”

“Arthur, no,” she clasped my arm. “Don’t go down there!” There was another thud from downstairs.

“You stay here,” I freed myself from her. My blood rushed to my head as I stood up. I wobbled for a second before stepping forward. “Move the chair in front of the door after I’ve gone. Make sure you put it under the handle so it can’t move.” Dread washed over me, drowning out the fear. I had to make her stay here or something terrible would happen. “Promise me you’ll call the police and stay here.”

“Stay with me.”

“Promise me!”

“I promise, Arthur,” she dialed for the police. I opened the bedroom door and stepped into the hallway. The downstairs light was on. I could hear movement, someone walking through the house. I stopped at the top of the stairs. Molly had put an umbrella stand at the top of the stairs for my walking sticks. I kept leaving them downstairs and upstairs, so she had bought me several sticks and had them on both floors. I picked up a stick as quietly as I could, but it clanked against the china stand and the noise was loud in the otherwise quiet hallway.

I froze and waited, but the movement downstairs remained constant. I started down the stairs, ignoring the pain in my hip as I tried to go slowly and quietly.

At the bottom of the stairs, I blinked in the light and turned towards the kitchen where the noise was coming from. I headed closer and peered inside. There was a lone man, dressed in dark colours, a mask covering his entire face save for his eyes. He was searching through the drawers. Anger bubbled up inside, the dread and anger overwhelming my fear and making me bold. How dare he? How dare he come in here and try to steal from us? We, who’d worked hard for our entire lives. How dare he!

“You won’t find nothing but cutlery in there, my lad.” I lifted my stick. He leapt back away from me. I watched him for a moment as he took stock of me, his initial panic being replaced with confidence when he saw a small old man. I played up to his perception and leaned on the doorframe.

“Look, mister.” He raised his hands. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I need the money.”

“I don’t want to hurt you either. But I will, unless you leave right now.”

“I can’t leave,” the man’s voice sounded distant, like he was somewhere else, not present in the moment.

“Sure, you can. I won’t press charges if you go now.”

“Press charges?” His body language transformed when my words sunk in. He tensed, drawing himself up to his full height, and stepped forward, hands clenched into fists. “You think you’ll press charges on me?”

“Calm down, lad.” I held my ground but deliberately tried to look smaller, hunching my shoulders. I would have trembled if I could have done it convincingly. Come on, you punk, I thought, I’m just a helpless old man with a bad hip and dodgy eyesight, come a little closer. I gripped my stick, nice and firm.

“You’re not going to do anything. Sit the fuck down, old man.” He put his hand on the kitchen worktop and pushed the kettle, sugar pot, and tea bags onto the floor. The sound was loud, and I winced as the sugar pot shattered on the tile floor.

“That was my great aunt’s.” I raised my stick and swung down hard on his hand. The crack under my blow was satisfying, as was his scream, but I instantly regretted not aiming for something more vital than his hand. I should have known better. Broken fingers wouldn’t stop him from attacking me, and as angry as I was, I could not overpower him.

I heard the bedroom door open and swore. Molly had promised me.

“Arthur?” she called. The man smiled through his pain at me.

“Your wife?” I lifted my stick again. He would not get past me.

“Who are you?” Molly’s voice came from the upstairs landing. “What are you doing in my house?”

“Molly, go back to the bedroom!” I yelled.

“I’m the tooth fairy,” a deep voice boomed from the upstairs hall. My arms turned to ice, numb and useless. There were two intruders.

“Get your hands off me!”

How dare they lay a hand on my wife! The flood of anger seemed to wash away my old age. I suddenly felt like I had in my twenties, strong, virile and, best of all, with military training. I moved smoother than I had in years and swung my stick with precision and strength. The boy in front of me crumpled, possibly dead. I didn’t care. I turned and ran, something I’d not been able to do for years. While waiting for my new hip, I could barely walk. But now I was suddenly strong. I took the stairs two at a time. There was another man at the top of the stairs, pulling my Molly towards the top step, meaning to throw her down. Over my dead body, he would. I leapt over the last step and tackled him, wrapping my arms around his chest and hitting him with such a force that we both fell back away from the stairs, Molly fell with us. She cried out in fright and pain, but she was safe. She hadn’t fallen down the stairs.

“You bastard.” I raised my stick up. Somehow, I had kept hold of it. It was bloodied from my early altercation with the one downstairs. I brought it down hard and sharp and the body under me went limp.

I had done it. I had beaten them.

“Arthur?” Molly’s hand touched my shoulder. “You did it, Art.” I stood up and wrapped my arms around her tighter than I had in years. “You did it, Art. You saved me. I’m alive because of you. I’m always safe with you.”

“Molly.” My voice cracked. “I saved you. You’re ok. I saved you.”

I blinked as my vision faltered. I wasn’t at home in the cottage; I was in the new bungalow. Molly wasn’t safe. She was over a year dead. But in my hands, I clutched her pink dressing gown, bloodstained and smelling of her.