Some of this is previous work and the middle piece is new. This is the rough order, but with other chapters to be added.
Pages 1-3 are previous work some of you will have seen.
Pages 4- 7.5 are New
The part ‘A later chapter’ is also previous work.
The Attic
‘Are you going to be ok?’ Joe put his arm around Mags’s shoulder and squeezed.
Mags nodded, her eyes on the floor, whispering ‘I’m fine’. The sleeves of her jumper were frayed where she’d plucked at them. If she told him what she was thinking, he’d get worried she was unravelling again. Nevertheless, wasn’t there an inevitability about this flat? She felt Death had been close to her, all her life. Not close like a friend, because who was friends with Death? No one living, anyway. Death was nearby, then, like she could put out her hand and touch it and here yet again, death had been present when the previous tenant had killed himself.
‘Well, I’m not sure I am’. Joe turned to Mrs Hardy, the estate agent, ‘Bit of a climb that, wasn’t it?’ he laughed, and Mags felt a rush of affection for him, always stepping in to lighten the mood.
Mrs Hardy, perspiring slightly in her business suit, gave a bright lipsticked smile, ‘It is as advertised, the top floor flat and very spacious. These old houses don’t have lifts I’m afraid.’ She unlocked the reluctant door, giving it an encouraging thump, and it opened, revealing a wide hallway. ‘Generous proportions – it occupies the whole floor.’
‘Let go, Joe, I’ve told you I’m ok. Don’t fuss’, Mags stepped in, the bare planks moaning under her feet, and pulled her shoulders back. She wanted to see, and feel, the flat for herself, after all, she was the one that would be living here. She wondered if she would feel any sense of the sorrow the previous tenant must have been feeling before he…
He held his hands up in surrender ‘Ok, well. Sorry for being a concerned brother. This isn’t what I’d have chosen, under the circumstances.’ Mags gave him a look and shook her head. ‘Leave it.’
Mags couldn’t sense anything, and she relaxed inhaling the musty odour and watching the dust motes float in shafts of light that came through the open doors off the hall, but there was nothing else.
They wandered around the flat.; Mrs Hardy was right, it was spacious, ‘The kitchen faces south so it’s lovely and bright in here’ Mrs Hardy said, ‘perfect for entertaining.’
‘Might need a clean-up before that happens’ Joe said, poking a piece of cracked lino, before walking out.
‘Joe,’ Mags said in a low, warning voice. She gave Mrs Hardy an apologetic look and went to join Joe.
They wandered into the bedroom and Joe looked around, ‘Christ, it’s dark in here,’ he muttered, ambling over to the window, ‘You could cut those branches back,’ pointing to the trees, that even on the top floor were tall enough to block out much of the light.
She entered the bedroom and said softly ‘I like it, it’s peaceful. Like being underwater.’ He gave her a sharp look, before walking out, and she realised
hair, floating, darkened by the water
that was a poor choice of words. She shook it off and followed him.
‘Look they’ve exposed the beams in here. Nice’ he turned to look behind him, his brow creasing ‘Although what is that?’ He pointed to a narrow, steep stairway, almost a ladder in the corner of the room, which led to a small door, with a padlock.
Mrs Hardy said ‘Ooh I see you’ve found the little cubbyhole. That’s the attic space and isn’t included in the lease, I’m afraid. The landlord keeps it locked to stop tenants using it as a storage space.’
Joe turned to Mags ‘You could always block the stairs, I suppose?’ Mags looked at the small door, which an adult would have to duck to enter, although it was ideal for a child:
small hands held upward in supplication
…where did that come from?
She twisted the sleeves of her jumper and smiled, ‘I’d rather get rid of this carpet. Could I change it?’ she asked Mrs Hardy.
Joe looked at the polyester nightmare of pink roses on a grey background and whistled, it was truly hideous.
Mrs Hardy and Mags wandered some more, discussing the lease, but when they came back Joe said abruptly, ‘Ok, so I’ve got to ask. Where was it?’ Mrs Hardy looked confused, but Mags knew what he was asking ‘Joe!’ she protested.
‘Where did he kill himself?’ Mrs. Hardy went pale, but said ‘I believe it was the bathroom, but really, I don’t think….and the circumstances are reflected in the very generous discount in the rent’
Joe looked at Mags, but she held his stare and said ‘I’ll take it, thank you Mrs Hardy.’
Joe came back from the bar with their drinks, holding two packets of crisps in his mouth, and put a drink in front of Mags, the foam dribbling down the glass. He aimed his mouth over the table and dropped both crisp packets. ‘Well, at least there’s a decent pub nearby. So, are you happy with it? It’s not too quiet there?’ he asked, opening the crisps.
‘Yes, very. And I like the quiet’, Mags said, taking a long drink of cold beer. She almost groaned it was so good.
‘Yeah, but you know…’.
‘Oh Joe, please don’t start! And what was all that ‘where did he top himself’ crap?’
‘I did not say ‘top himself’. I just worry that’s all, after last year and everything.’ He meant her little holiday in the psychiatric hospital.
‘Well don’t. I am fine. Even Victoria says I’m ready to ‘fly free’’ She mimicked her therapist’s phrasing, and they laughed.
‘I swear to God, I have no idea how she is an official NHS therapist’ Joe shook his head. ‘She’s batshit. But if she says my little sis is ok, that’s good news. I’ll bring the furniture around on Thursday, if you like?’
Mags smiled her appreciation. Joe could be a pain in the arse when he started his big-brother protective act, it became suffocating sometimes. He needed to let her ‘fly free’ as well. This was her first bit of independence since her breakdown and she wanted normality, a space to think and breathe.
‘Thank you’ she smiled, raising her glass to him.
‘Have you spoken to Dad?’ he asked, and her smile vanished like a doused fire.
‘No, and I don’t intend to anytime soon, so don’t start on that either.’
‘He worries about you too.’
‘Joe. We have had this conversation a million times. And…. I just can’t at the moment. I went to him for help, you know I did.’
Joe nodded, ‘I know, it’s just he keeps asking…’
Mags slammed her glass onto the table, and the people nearby turned to look.
‘I was ill, Joe. I was having a breakdown, and do you know what he said? He said I should pray. If I prayed, God would help me.’
‘Shhh, Mags, ok’ Joe said, trying to calm her.
Mags continued, voice rising ‘It wasn’t a breakdown I was having. No, apparently it was the devil inside me and if I prayed hard enough, and repented earnestly enough, I would be free and cured. And you know the next bit! You found me with him, on our knees, after we’d been praying for hours. Hours, Joe. My knees were bruised. I was exhausted, broken…’ she gave a cracked sob.
‘I’m sorry. It’s ok. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up’ He held her hands, and people looked away again, the drama disappointingly over.
They didn’t speak for a while until Mags’s breathing had calmed.
Presently Joe said ‘Anyway, I’m going up there this weekend, so I’ll tell him I’ve seen you and you’re doing well.’
Mags shrugged, ‘Sure, tell him what you like.’
‘His house is looking a bit worn and I think I should lend a hand with some bits. So, I might stay a few days. You’ll be alright up in that flat, won’t you?’
‘Joe…’ Mags said warningly. ‘Go. Leave me alone. Anne’s coming around soon, anyway. If she knows you’re coming on Thursday, she’ll definitely be there.’ She thought that might make him laugh, but he rolled his eyes, ‘No thank you, you know I’m spoken for, and Melissa wouldn’t find that funny.’
Melissa, the po-faced miserable cow, who wouldn’t find anything funny, Mags thought, sourly. How her wonderful brother could end up with someone like Melissa…That was the problem with small villages, everyone knew you, and Melissa had been welcome in their home since they were children, their fathers being friends in the House of Divine God Church. Under other circumstances, Joe wouldn’t have looked at her twice.
.
‘Oh my god Mags, this is… er…great?’ the speaker shouted from the bathroom, her voice unsure and Mags laughed. Typical Anne, trying to sound upbeat in the face of the obvious grottiness her friend was living in. Anne came out of the bathroom, her tall frame hunched over as she whispered, ‘Is that where…?’ she jerked her head back towards the room and shuddered dramatically, ‘I don’t know if I could, darling, it gives me the willies.’
‘It’ll be fine when I’ve cleaned it up’, Mags said, holding up the bleach and cloth she’d been employing in the kitchen, as evidence. ‘Anyway, people die in houses all the time. If we didn’t live in houses people had died in, there’d be a housing crisis.’ She reconsidered for a second, ‘More of a housing crisis.’
She gave a cough and pulled the kitchen door closed. ‘Phew! Let’s sit down, I want the bleach to soak for a while. That plug smelled like old meat’. Anne grimaced, ‘Yes you look like you could do with a rest,’ pointing at Mags grubby t-shirt, and gritty face. ‘You look like you’ve been down a mine or something.’
They went through to the living room, where Anne surveyed the limited seating options: a lumpy looking armchair in worn and faded green velvet, and a wooden box. ‘You have the armchair,’ Mags said, sitting on the corner of the box. Anne folded her long legs under her as she slumped onto the chair and Mags sat on the box.
‘Very minimalist. I like it.’ Anne said, gesturing to the chair, the box and the otherwise empty space around her, before wincing as something poked her, ‘And I think the springs have gone, darling.’ Her cut-glass accent was always more apparent when she was being mildly sarcastic. Mags stuck her tongue out at her. ‘Ha ha. I’ve got some old furniture in storage at home, Joe’s delivering it at on Thursday.’
‘Ooh, Joe, your amazingly sexy brother. I might have to come over.’ She wiggled her well-groomed eyebrows.
Margeret laughed, but said, ‘You leave him alone; you know he’s spoken for.’
‘Melissa Fielding,’ they said simultaneously in gloomy accents.
‘Well, it was worth a shot,’ Anne continued ‘There’s no decent-looking men where I work. Well, there’s Jeremy, but unfortunately for me, he doesn’t play with girls, so we’re just friends.’ She sighed and opened one of the beers she’d brought, tossing one to Mags. ‘So, that’s it, my womb will be a desert of tumbleweed, my tubes will shrivel up and I’m going to die an old maid, all alone. Mummy and Daddy are overjoyed ever since Iz produced an heir, but now he’s four and running around, all they want to know is when I’m giving them a grandchild.’
Mags rolled her eyes, ‘Firstly, you’re 32. Hardly past it. And secondly, you’re gorgeous’, she waved her beer at Anne’s blonde hair, and toned body, courtesy of a lifetime of Pilates and horse-riding, ’so you’ll have no problem meeting someone. Your biggest obstacle is that you work in that gallery, run by the succubus, Portia, who consumes any decent man that comes within her orbit, seducing them before you’ve even noticed they’re there.’
Anne inclined her head in agreement, and they clinked cans.
‘You need to change jobs.’ Mags said with decision.
‘Maybe’ Anne said, her voice doubtful, but Mags knew she wouldn’t. The job was made for Anne. People thought she only worked there because her father had got Anne the job through his contacts, which was partly true, but she was also an art fiend and genuinely good at it. Jobs like that didn’t grow on trees.
Anne rummaged in her bag, pulling out a pencil, before pulling her hair up into a bun and pushing the pencil through it, and tilted her head back, looking above her, frowning as she saw the attic door, ‘So, have you been up there?’
‘Nope. Haven’t even tried, I’ve got enough to do cleaning this place up.’ Mags sighed. ‘Its not my space, I mean its not part of the rent.’
Anne got up and pulled herself up the precipitous stairs. ‘Wow. That’s the biggest padlock I’ve ever seen. They definitely do not want you to go in there!’ Anne examined the padlock, ‘This looks old. And needs an enormous key.’
‘They don’t want anyone up there.’ Mags said, ‘So please come down. I haven’t even moved in properly yet, so I don’t want any trouble.’
‘But…what if it’s a drugs stash? Or money. Or…’ she made her voice low and spooky ‘it’s where they keep the bodiiiiesss’.
‘Stop it! I’ve got to sleep here tonight!’ Mags hugged herself, she wasn’t good with scary stuff.
Anne came down and embraced her. ‘Sorry darling, I’m only joking. Come on, more beers. And then get cleaned up, I’m taking you out for whatever counts as a restaurant in these benighted parts. I really don’t think I can stand to look at that carpet for a minute longer.’
Mags hung out the window and shouted down to the little group walking up the front path, ‘Come up, come up!’ before ducking back inside. She did a last-minute check of the room, the fresh flowers in the vase, the drinks tray, the new rug, the smell of the bread baking in the oven, all ready for her small housewarming gathering. It couldn’t be called a party with only five people coming, and even that was only because Anne had asked – begged – to bring her sister, Isobel and nephew along. They were staying with her for a week or so and she smiled as she remembered Anne’s desperation, ‘Please say they can come, darling, its been three days already and its absolutely rancid. Arden is the spawn of the devil. I love Iz I really do, but I cannot listen to another word on Arden’s brilliance, or how advanced he is. According to Isabel he’s the next Stephen Hawking/Elon Musk in-waiting. Ted Bundy more like.’ She’d laughed, even though the language made her pause. She was no longer in the House of the divine God, but it was hard to shake her upbringing and its superstition about using His name in vain or joking about the devil.
Mags handed Iz and Anne wine, whilst a quiet, well-behaved Arden drank lemonade without fuss. ‘He seems cute,’ Mags said to Anne, under her breath. Anne rolled her eyes, ‘He’s been bribed with the cinema, sweets and toys. We shall see if it lasts.’ Joe and Melissa walked in, Joe waving a bottle of wine, whilst Melissa, sat at the table looking irritated, her normal entrance in other words. Mags couldn’t help but compare them, Anne and Melissa: Anne tall, blonde and vivacious, always well dressed, and happy in company, and Melissa: dark and plain, an attitude of superiority and severity, earning her the ‘ice queen’ nickname at home.
Anne sidled up to her as Arden was showing Joe and Melissa his Lego car, and said, ‘Well, your brother is still gorgeous.’
‘Stop it,’ Melissa glared at her before smiling. She looked at her brother, eyeing him critically, as if seeing him for the first time. Thick brown hair, lighter than hers, blue eyes, and some stubble, yes, she could see why Anne was always keen to meet him. But he was also kind, that’s what mattered most for her, remembering how he had held her as she was lying marooned in the midst of her breakdown.
Mags did a guided tour for Iz, Arden, and Melissa. She left Joe and Anne in the kitchen with a parting look of warning for Anne, she knew she was more than capable of flirting with Joe under Melissa’s nose, and she wanted a harmonious day. Anne winked at her and looked mischievous, and she groaned inwardly.
‘And finally, the living room!’ she announced. Isabel wandered to the window holding Arden up, to look out over the garden, ‘Aren’t we high up?!’
‘Very nice’ Melissa said coolly, at her shoulder. ‘Such a shame you are renting, not buying.’ This was typical Melissa, Mags thought, an apparently reasonable comment that concealed a scalpel-like jibe. Melissa knew Mags had a tight budget; this was London.
‘Well, apparently the landlord is open to…negotiations,’ she said carelessly. This was even true. The estate agent had mentioned it in passing, but Mags, her overdraft straining at the seams with all the bits she’d had to buy for the flat had parked that under a file called ‘One Day’.
Melissa gave a thin smile, and placing a hand on Mags shoulder, said, ‘And you’re sure you’re alright now?’ Mags had to fight not to shrug her hand off. Another layered comment, superficially kind but designed to remind you of your problems, just when you felt you were finding your feet. Maybe she was being too sensitive, but Melissa raised her hackles, she couldn’t help it.
From comments Joe had let slip, she knew Melissa had thought she was getting above herself, leaving the church and the village, moving to London, and suspected she’d been gratified that Mags had had her spell in the hospital. It gave her opportunities to remind Mags, purely in the name of concern of course, that Mags had lost her mind.
I need wine, Mags thought, turning for the kitchen; Melissa was always more bearable through a haze. She grabbed the wine bottle off the kitchen counter and rolled her eyes at Anne as she poured and downed a glass of wine, and Anne grimaced in sympathy. Then she noticed Joe was looking flushed and Anne like a naughty child. Oh blimey. But thinking of Melissa’s supercilious look as she inspected the flat, thought ‘Go get him, girl’, as she downed another drink.
Melissa came and sat by Joe, at the table, taking his hand in a proprietorial manner and brushing his hair off his face, as she smiled sweetly at Anne. The message was unmistakeable: back off, but Anne merely did her best angelic look and drank more wine.
‘Time for food!’ Mags announced, hoping to line everyone’s stomachs before the drink had too much effect. She had kept it simple, a roast chicken, salad, and fresh crusty bread, and they were just finishing coffees, deep in discussion on London house prices, when Isabel came rushing back into the room. ‘Where’s Arden? I can’t find Arden!’
As one, the group got up, Mags saying, ‘He can’t have gone far. Did you check the bathroom?’ Iz nodded, ‘Yes! Everywhere!’ her voice impatient, and hurrying out of the room, she shouted, ‘Arden! Arden!’
‘Check the bedrooms!’, Mags shouted, ‘Under the beds.’
‘He’s probably playing hide and seek,’ Anne said trying to soothe Iz, but earning herself a blistering glare from her instead.
‘The flat door is locked,’ Mags said, ‘he couldn’t have got out. Split up take a room, he’ll be here somewhere.’
They searched under beds, wardrobes, the bathroom, and under the kitchen table, until Joe’s voice sounded ‘Look!’ from the front room. Rushing in Mags saw his arm pointing up the steps to the attic door at the top. It was unlocked, the padlock hanging from the latch, still swaying, the door slightly ajar. ‘What the…? That’s impossi…,’ Mags started, but Joe was already bounding up the steps, pulling himself forward and pushed his way into the attic, bending a little under the old door lintel.
‘He’s here!’ he shouted, his voice slightly muffled, and Isabel gave a small gasp of relief ‘He’s sleeping!’ Joe yelled, ‘and very dusty!’ Iz climbed up, followed by Mags, as curious about the room, as Arden, now he was safe.
The door was slightly smaller than a modern one, but Mags could walk through it without bending, although she saw Iz, had to duck. It opened into a large space, dusty and cobwebbed, stifling with the heat of the day. Mags realised they were above the kitchen and second bedroom and part of the hallway. Half of the floorspace of the flat. It was a great empty space; what a waste. She thought of the second bedroom, guests having to clamber over various things that could be better stored up here.
She was jerked out of her musings by Iz’s panicked voice, ‘He won’t wake up! He won’t wake up! What’s wrong with him?’ She had been shaking Arden’s limp form ever more firmly and now started wailing, whilst everyone stood frozen. Mags mind was moving like syrup, slow and gloopy, until Joe – thank goodness for Joe – scooped Arden up and ran, shouting, ‘We’ll drive, its ten minutes and it’ll be quicker than waiting for an ambulance!’ trailing a crying Iz and a frantic Anne hunting for her keys.
The door slammed, there was the thump of panicked feet on the stairs, receding, and the slam of the front door. Mags and Melissa ran to the window in time to see the party bundle into the car and take off, and unsettled by the sudden stillness, sat down wordlessly to wait.
Her phone rang, she saw ‘Anne’ on the screen, and she snatched it up, ‘What’s happened? Is he ok?’ she held her breath.
‘He’s fine.’ Anne sounded both relieved and exhausted, adrenaline having left her washed up like detritus at high tide. ‘Oh Mags, I was so scared. And after I’d called him the devil child too.’ Mags gave a small shiver. It means nothing, she told herself. ‘I would never have forgiven myself if…’
She nodded to Melissa who was watching her face with anxious concern, ‘He’s ok, he’s ok.’ She told her and Melissa closed her eyes in relief sinking back into the chair.
‘What did the doctors say?’
Anne said, ‘Nothing so far. It was so strange, but by the time we were running into A&E he had started moaning and then as they examined him, he was waking up. They’ve done scans but nothing obvious. They’re keeping him in overnight for observation, but if he is ok, they’ll let Iz take him home. I’m so tired I could sleep for a week.’
‘Thank goodness he’s ok. It happened in my flat too, I can’t believe it. Please tell Iz I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
‘Well…I know but I’d still feel better if you tell her. Please.’
‘I will. Joe is heading home now; he’s been a rock. I don’t know what we’d have done without him.’ Mags looked at Melissa on the chair, but her eyes were still closed.
Anne continued, ‘I’m heading home soon. Iz is staying here next to Arden’s bed, on an old chair. Theres no moving her, she’s like a tigress, she almost mauled me when I suggested going for something to eat. I’ll get her something from the shop before I go.’
‘Ok, thank you for calling. We’re so relieved.’
‘Oh, before I forget, an odd thing – did you see what he was holding?’
‘Who?’
‘Arden. He was gripping something tightly even when we drove to the hospital. It must have come from the attic, Iz has never seen it before.’
‘What sort of thing?’
‘I don’t know really, it’s a weird little thing. A carving, of black wood, of an animal. A deer, I think’
A later chapter
(before the halfway point)
The attic keeps calling to her, no matter what she does to block it out, and she has tried, she has tried so hard. Her head is burrowed under the duvet and pillows, her hands clamped around her head to stop any sounds, and even though the attic is across the hall and up the stairs, she feels its magnetic pull, and her mind’s eye sees its dark maw. The padlock is off again, even without seeing it, she knows that’s the case. She doesn’t know how the padlock gets opened, she never knows because it’s always locked in the daytime and most nights, sometimes with such a long gap she’s sure she’s imagined it all. But on nights like these, when she has the dream, the padlock is off, and she is sure she can smell something dank, as if from a deep, dark place.
Despite her fear, and the strain in her arms holding the pillow tight, against the siren call, she falls back into the dream. The attic and her dream seem parts of the same whole and she seems unable to stop the constant sliding between the unconscious and waking worlds.
She is in the wood, a world of golden light and translucent green leaves, a place of brights and dark, illumination and shadow. She’s walking to the Deerpond and sings high and sweet, swinging her arms as she skip-hops along the damply earthy trail, beneath the trees, her sandals slipping over the roots. She is alone and happy, until she becomes aware of the footsteps behind her, but she is not truly scared yet and she laughs a high skittish giggle and walk-runs faster, hearing the footsteps behind her keep pace. She thinks of her mother and her warnings and however tempted she is, she won’t leave the path.
But she must make it to the Deerpond before dark. It’s a long way on the far side of the woods, and the sun is lowering sending shafts of light into her eyes, blinking between the trees as she runs. She is running both toward something and away from something, but she can’t remember what those things are, although she must not look behind to see what she is running away from; that she knows. So, she picks up her feet and races, her breathing coming faster in hitching hiccups, and she imagines her legs like a blur fast, and faster, yet behind her, she senses a hand reaching out almost near enough to touch her shoulder…
She wakes and finds she is standing in front of the attic door, gazing into that dark space, and she feels all the vulnerability of being illuminated, a performer on a stage, whilst the faceless presence is safely obscured. There is a watchfulness about the doorway, a silent black scrutiny. They observe each other, she and the dark, and she feels a weight building upon her, the longer she is inactive. It is pressuring her to move, to come inside, but she resists.
Suddenly she is outside her body as if she has been expelled and is now merely a spectator in what’s to come. She watches as she steps toward the doorway. Is she awake or dreaming? Is this a dream in a dream, or is she awake as she believes? She is becoming unmoored, the attic and dream nesting one inside the other, an infinite fractal, with the sense she is crossing boundaries without her control.
She steps into the attic space, standing just inside where the light from her living room creeps timidly over the threshold, as if afraid of trespass. Ahead is a darkness so complete it seems light is annihilated, but little by little her eyes adjust and she sees that the full moon has found chinks in the roof and sends in silvery shafts, just enough to discern the darker shadows in the corners from the dark space before her.
There is something in here with her, the feeling that this is true is so strong she doesn’t question it, this knowledge the end result of a billion years of evolution, of prey hiding from predator. Her primitive lizard system is frantically sending electric messages to her conscious self, but she isn’t there. She is out here in a beautiful cocoon of detachment observing herself over her right shoulder, once-removed from the shaking, icy sweat her corporeal self is experiencing. She watches her breath clouding in feathery plumes from her mouth and watches curiously as a darker portion of shadow detaches itself from the roof space and slips down to the floor, crossing the dusty space towards her.
She can feel her heart from here, behind herself, the tripping flutter of a butterfly trapped under a glass, with no way out.
The dark slides closer and touches her foot and she watches as her toe goes blue-white with cold. The dark hisses inside her head
price
What price? For what? The dark continues to creep along her ankle, up her calf, over her knee, under her nightdress. Her two selves collapse into one, and she runs…
…she is in bed, the dawn chorus in the trees outside her window. This night is over.
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