BENEATH THE WATERY MOON a psychological thriller with a stunning twist Read online

  ‘We don’t.’ he said as he bent down to pick the last remaining beans that hung from a tired looking plant.

  We passed a man in his fifties, tending to the patch. He stopped and smiled at Jude, then returned to his digging. Some beehives were on the other side of the path. We went through an arch and left the kitchen garden behind us.

  An open lawn lay before us, and beyond that, a noble red brick house stood elevated. It had a wonderful old paved terrace with steps that led in between established lavender and rose bushes. A few people sat at a rickety wooden table on the terrace. On the far side of the garden, I saw an orchard bursting with apples and pears. Among the trees a pair of tethered goats munched happily on the long grass at their feet.

  ‘This is my home.’ Jude said as he led me through the wonderful estate. ‘Around the other side of the house, there’s a lake stocked with fish. We keep chickens and pigs, some sheep, and three cows. I am proud to say we are more or less self-sufficient.’

  I walked with him, taking in all the things there were to see. It was like a miniature world of its own. As we went round the front of the house I noticed it was in a bit of a dishevelled state. From a distance it looked well-kept but up close it was clear that the roof was missing some slates and the windows were badly in need of a coat of paint. But it had a mesmerizing charm. Had the house been highly manicured, it would have seemed too grand, too daunting.

  Clothes hung from a long washing line, flapping in the breeze. Behind them was the lake, with two collapsing sheds nearby, one sheltering a number of rusty-looking bicycles. On the water’s edge a rowing boat knocked against a thick stake; the sound of wood on wood was comforting. The more I looked, the more there was to see. On a patch of ground, which acted as a roundabout in the gravel driveway, grew all sorts of herbs and the scent of purple sage carried on the air.

  Wookie, who had been bounding about, dashed back to my side, eyeing a large male peacock strutting across the gravel in suspicion.

  ‘This is Ralph,’ Jude said. He doffed his cap as the beautiful blue bird wandered passed us aimlessly.

  ‘This an amazing fucking place,’ I said, staring at a big wind chime hanging from a tall silver birch. The place imposed itself on me, and everything from the birds and trees, to the house, was larger than I was used to.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ he asked.

  ‘Got anything stronger?’

  Ignoring me, he strode over to the front door and pushed it open. As I walked inside, I felt as if I was walking into history. An oil painting of hounds chasing a fox hung in the huge entrance hall. The ornate gilt frame was dusty; a few spiders’ webs clung to the corners of the room. Our footsteps echoed on the wooden floor as we went through into a dimly-lit sitting room. Burgundy, velvet curtains hung in the massive, leaded windows that looked down onto the garden below. I saw the people sitting on the terrace again and I wondered what their relationship was to Jude.

  I suddenly noticed a strong smell of roast meat wafting in from somewhere.

  ‘Lunch!’ Jude exclaimed, rubbing his hands together, Fagin-like, before sweeping open another oak door that led into a grand dining room.

  A long wooden refectory table with beautiful carved legs dominated the room. A carver sat at each end and benches either side. On the wall was an antique tapestry, and cast-iron candelabras hung from the ceiling, the cream candles half burnt down. A worn Persian rug covered most of the floor, and against one wall stood a grand sideboard with large bowls of fruit on it. It was like a Jacobean film set.

  The smell of lamb filled my nostrils as we went into the kitchen, and I immediately felt hungry. A woman stood over a green Aga stirring a pot of steaming vegetables.

  ‘Hello, Maggie,’ Jude said to the woman. He planted a kiss on her sun-beaten cheek.

  ‘Hello, my Lord,’ she replied with a twinkle.

  I guessed she was probably in her late sixties. Her hair was tied back with a handkerchief with silver wisps escaping. Light flooded in through yet another vast window, bouncing off the yellow walls and lighting up her face. She wore a long, brown, cotton dress and a green crocheted cardigan. As she stirred the pot, bangles jangled on her wrists, and her beaded earrings swayed. She gave me a warm smile but said nothing, remaining purposeful on her task.

  ‘A cup of your finest chamomile tea for our guest.’ Jude said. He sat down and put his feet up on the kitchen table.

  ‘Of course.’ Straightaway, Maggie abandoned her cooking and filled the kettle.

  I stood awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, not knowing whether to offer help or sit down. I wasn’t used to being waited on.

  Jude was picking at the remains of a baguette that lay on a breadboard on the table. Brushing crumbs off his lap, he got up and told Maggie that we would like the tea under the pergola.

  ‘And when it’s ready, bring a tray with two plates of the lamb, please.’ he added.

  The way they behaved together was curious. He wasn’t rude to her, but he spoke with authority and she seemed to jump at his every word. I supposed this was the way people spoke to staff. I smiled a thank you to her and followed Jude outside again.

  * * *

  Saving my life

  You accidentally saved my life

  With the words you spoke

  But didn’t plan to say.

  Underneath your rough skin

  Lies a melancholic requiem

  Written in messy blood.

  You might be someone

  To love, though controversial.

  And although

  You may never know

  I will owe you my life.

  But all that I have to offer

  Is an intrusive headache.

  For now.

  Back at the Swan, lying in a hot bath, I went over the day’s unexpected events. The Hall was a remarkable and enchanting place. I had been bowled over by it. It seemed happily removed from the modern world. There, it seemed, the human condition was accepted and embraced, not fought against. I loved the philosophy of the place.

  Over a long, lazy lunch with Jude he explained to me exactly how it had all come about. He told me he’d inherited the property from his grandparents, who had raised him after his parents had chosen to go and live in the wilds of Africa. According to Jude, they had decided that it would be best if he remained in England and went to boarding school. He had only seen them briefly during his school holidays and had had a fairly distant relationship with them before their deaths.

  Jude revealed that during his time at Cambridge, where he’d studied History of Art, he’d become an alcoholic who whiled away his existence in a drunken haze. He didn’t elaborate, but simply said he’d had a moment of clarity, deciding to pack in his boozing habit and ‘go back to basics’. He’d gone home to Christie Hall, found the house and land much in need of love and attention, and set about building what he called a ‘family’ to live there. It had started with two of his friends and had now grown into a small community of eight people who lived permanently in the house and to whom it was home. Jude explained that there were a few others who came and went as they saw fit, but that the ‘family’ remained small and tightly knit.

  I asked him how he went about extending invitations to new members. He sat back in his chair and put his arms behind his head, looking up at the white sun that streaked down through the pergola. He hear about people, he explained, people who needed it. I didn’t really understand what he meant and went back to eating the lovely food that Maggie had prepared.

  There were, apparently, a number of unwritten laws everyone adhered to at Christie Hall. Jude said it was a democracy and people were free to come and go as they pleased. Under his breath he muttered that it had been referred to as a cult. He then dismissed those claims as utter nonsense. They all encouraged each other to be creative and to embrace all aspects of what it was to be human. At the time, I felt sceptical about the hippy-dippy spin he put on it, but soaking in the bath, I began to see what an id
yllic set up they had created.

  There was still much I didn’t understand about Christie Hall, and I looked forward to another opportunity to quiz Jude that evening. We had made plans to meet at an Indian Restaurant for supper. I wasn’t really sure what it was that I found so intoxicating about his company, but somewhere inside me he’d lit a small flame and it was the first time I felt alive for a long time. For reasons I didn’t understand, Jude had awoken something in me, and that thing was hope. His nonchalant attitude to society’s rules and his dogged faith that we can each be the master of our own destiny was appealing. I needed to see him again and dinner couldn’t come too quickly.

  In the back of my mind I was already beginning to dread the idea of going home. The three nights in Southwold were speeding by too quickly and I began to think about extending my stay. I knew my shrink was expecting to see me later that week and I tried dreaming up an excuse to put my appointment back. It was screamingly obvious that my mother would voice concerns, but I felt confident I would be able to persuade her that I was safe and well with my friend Toby.

  I hated feeling like I had people to answer to. I wanted to be left alone to work through what had happened without the interruption of other people’s opinions. Thinking more about my situation, I began to reflect on what I’d told Jude about my recent history. The fact that he hadn’t shied away or seemed concerned by my instability was a breath of fresh air. It had taken a total stranger to make me feel normal again, something my prescription hadn’t managed.

  Putting all thoughts of returning home to the back of my mind, I applied some make-up and fixed my hair. It had been so long since I’d paid attention to my appearance and it felt strange. I found it hard to look at myself in the mirror still. My face didn’t match my head. I half expected to see a monster staring back at me. Instead the reflection of a young woman looked back at me. Once upon a time, I had been popular with the boys but now I couldn’t imagine why. I looked lost, and any sparkle my eyes might have had, had gone. It was difficult to imagine that I might ever be that girl again, and picking up on my flat mood Wookie came over and sat looking at me with his kind eyes, slowly wagging his tail. I ruffled the fur on his head and made a conscious effort to shake the glumness away. I had made a fascinating new friend, I told myself as I got ready to leave my bedroom. Remembering the fate the dead girls had suffered, I focused on the idea that things could be much worse.

  * * *

  After a long dinner, we left the restaurant and sat on a bench where we gazed at the stars in the dark blue sky. Below, the sea roared and the waves crashed on the black sand with restrained anger. I had learnt so much about Jude in such a short time and I felt as if he knew me well too. He took something out of his pocket and told me to close my eyes then put out my hand. I did as instructed and seconds later felt something small and cold in the palm of my hand. When I opened my eyes I saw a silver bracelet with a charm attached.

  ‘I found it in the car park. I guess it’s yours,’ he said, still looking out over the ocean. I was speechless. It was exactly like the bracelet I had described to him. But it wasn’t mine because I’d made up the story of the lost bracelet. I suddenly felt queasy and found it hard to swallow. I didn’t know what to say. I came to the conclusion he had bought it out of kindness, and felt warm and grateful. I didn’t want to lie outright by pretending it was mine, so I simply thanked him and put it on. I was glad to have something tangible that would remind me of him. I held the charm between my fingers and looked up at the canopy of stars.

  ‘You will come back and visit again?’ he asked.

  ‘Hell, yes. Very soon.’ I said. I knew then my life had changed.

  Night flight

  The evening was light as a feather.

  Pinpricks in the autumn blanket

  Reflect the quiet twinkle of eyes.

  Vertical landscapes, hushed and deadly

  As the silent mamba, hunting.

  There is a haunting stillness so brutal,

  While tonight you have me.

  A wet grinning moon watches over

  While the silk night is sliced

  By a single shining arrow.

  Lying on the midnight sand,

  I watch your soaring arrival go by

  Overhead, interrupting my birth tonight.

  Chapter 5

  I was alone, downstairs in the family’s house, as the dawn began to creep up. The noise from the television had become an irritation, like the buzz of a mosquito. I reached for the remote control and hit the off button. The house was like a tomb. A ripple of claustrophobia ran through me as I went to the kitchen, convinced that tea would drown the odious feeling. The silence remained suffocating until half past ten when Will came downstairs in his black flannel dressing gown. Rubbing his grey blue eyes, half smiling, half yawning, he wished me good morning. I decided not to mention that I hadn’t slept.

  Sitting in front of the blank television, I clung onto my mobile phone. Jude promised to text me, and I was waiting for his message with great anticipation. I missed being by the sea, and since getting home, I felt hemmed in.

  I’d seen my doctor who’d told me I was doing well but needed to keep taking my pills. He assured me they would start to kick in very soon and that when they did, I would be back to my old self in no time. The funny thing was that I didn’t want to be my old self any more. I longed to be someone else, someone new. In Southwold I’d rediscovered a part of me that I’d forgotten existed. My true self had been lost some time ago, and I’d become foreign.

  Staring at the screen, I decided I needed the distraction of something mind numbing. I flicked through the channels but Will came in and snatched the remote control from my hand. He wanted to watch a DVD he’d received in the morning post. I didn’t argue. I’d had enough depressing reality to last a lifetime.

  Will fiddled with the cellophane wrapped around the DVD box as I went over the images of Christie Hall in my head. The place had left such an impression on me it felt I was carrying its spirit everywhere I went. It made being at home worse and the longing for escape all the greater. I didn’t know when I would next visit Jude and his commune, but I hoped it would be sooner rather than later. I’d had enough of my current existence.

  For a few hours at Christie Hall I’d shaken myself free of illness. It was as though I’d left it at the gate along with my other demons. The place was alive with love and happiness, and I thought it might be the only space on earth I could find contentment. For most of my life I’d felt like a nomad, constantly looking for somewhere to feel at ease. It seemed like I’d been waiting all my life to reach Christie Hall. I stared hard at the screen of my phone, willing Jude to make contact.

  Never is a promise

  Till the day you die.

  Never is a promise

  Never is a lie.

  Promise is a never

  Promise till I die.

  Will cursed at the DVD’s wrapping and silently handed me the case, allowing me to have a go at getting it off. I ripped the wrapping with my teeth and gave the box back to him with a grimace. He rolled his eyes in amusement and slotted the disc into the machine, passing me the box.

  ‘It’s meant to be really good. Based on a true story apparently.’ he said.

  I read the blurb on the back. The film, Into the Wild, told the story of a young American man who grew sick of the rat race and opted out. He’d sold everything he owned and had gone on a journey of discovery. It sounded captivating, so I stayed put in the armchair to watch the film with my brother. I didn’t have anywhere else to be and I liked the idea of whiling away a few hours immersed in someone else’s story.

  We weren’t disappointed. It was a remarkable film. The main character had abandoned the life his family had wanted him to lead. He’d been brave and adventurous, but tragically his journey ended with his death. The moral, as far as I understood it, was that no one should underestimate nature or be so arrogant as to think they could conquer it. Nonetheless,
I felt saddened by his death and wished he could have continued to live the free spirited existence he’d wanted. I was left feeling reflective about my own reality. All my thoughts seemed to lead me back to the same conclusion. I decided to take the dog for a walk. I needed to blow away the cobwebs.

  Stepping outside, I was greeted by cool October air. The leaves in their autumn colours rustled in the breeze, which threatened to strip them from their branches. Wookie bounded down the garden to the old wooden gate and waited for me to open it. We stepped through into a field of long grass and headed down towards the river at the bottom. I felt better, being outside again, and enjoyed the wind that nipped at my nose and cheeks. My hands felt chilly and I plunged them deep into my warm, cream, cardigan pockets. Wookie began a manic search for a stick for me to throw. He sniffed about in the reeds, his nose glued to the bank, his tail waving about like a rudder. The water bubbled lazily below and looked icy cold and clean. Finding a rather pathetic twig, Wookie bounced over to me and dropped it at my feet, stepping back and cocking his head to one side. His predictability was comforting and I threw the stick into the flowing water below. Leaping without grace, he splashed in and swam with focused determination towards the escaping stick. And then my phone beeped in my pocket. My heartbeat quickened as I removed it to read the message:

  28 October. Art Party. You can stay at Christie Hall. Bring an apple pie. Jude.

  It was a strange text but excitement bubbled in me like the river below me. I had a date to look forward too. I wondered what an ‘Art Party’ was and realised I needed to brush up on my baking skills. I’d never made an apple pie before. I whistled for Wookie to come out of the river and set off home to raid the larder cupboard and work on my pastry skills.

  When my mother returned from an afternoon of playing bridge with her boring friends in the village, she discovered her kitchen covered in a fine layer of flour. Every pot and pan was out, and a large heap of apple peelings lay accumulated on the kitchen table.