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

  ‘What on earth are you doing, darling?’ she asked, putting an apron on and preparing to tidy the almighty mess I’d created.

  ‘Making an apple pie,’ I told her as if it was perfectly obvious.

  ‘But you don’t like cooking,’ she said, reaching for a jay cloth.

  ‘Well, I thought it was about time I learnt,’ I replied.

  ‘Oh, I see.’ She looked at me over her glasses.

  ‘I followed the recipe,’ I said, indicating to an open cookbook, which was covered with greasy fingerprints, ‘do we have any cream? I thought we could have it for dessert.’ I swept the leftover raw pastry into the bin. My mother stared blankly at me.

  ‘But you don’t like cooked apple.’

  ‘I do now.’ I wiped some flour off my cheek with my sleeve and smiled at her for the first time in living memory. She smiled back and went over to the fridge to investigate, leaving me watching the oven door.

  * * *

  I’d turned a corner. I was able to look forward to the future, and although I undertook life one day at a time, things were improving. I began to believe I was on the mend. But my dreams were still haunted by my experience in the hospital, and I found it increasingly difficult to shake the memories of that place. If anything I was beginning to remember more about my time there. My starkest recollection was of a conversation with a schizophrenic called Paul.

  I had been sitting on a bench outside in the grounds, smoking a cigarette and soaking up the hot summer sun that beat down upon my shoulders. An ant made its way through the dry jungle of parched grass near my feet. With determination and focus, it scuttled through the long stalks, its tiny black body glistening in the sunlight. I remember thinking that life as an ant must be reassuringly simple. From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a man in his late twenties walking casually over to me, whistling a tune. He was skinny and had mousey hair that needed washing. He was in faded jeans that hung loose around his waist and were worn at the knees. The blue T-shirt that was so large it swamped him. He grinned at me, revealing ugly crooked teeth. I felt uneasy but managed a cursory smile as I slid over to one side of the bench to make room for him. He sat himself down and crossed his legs.

  ‘A beautiful day,’ he said, closing his eyes and tipping his face up to the light. I said nothing. ‘You’re Annabel, right?’

  ‘Yes I am.’ I chewed a fingernail.

  ‘I’m Paul. I’m the keeper.’

  He opened his eyes and leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his bony knees. I wondered what on earth ‘the keeper’ meant but was reluctant to ask, wanting to engage with him as little as possible. I had seen him screaming at one of the orderlies and had heard other patients talk about him. He had a reputation for being creepy, and sitting there beside him, I could see why. He reeked of insanity. It clung to him and infected everything. I didn’t want any of what he had, and I felt just by talking to him that I was putting my own mind in danger.

  ‘Well, I wanted to introduce myself to you. I’ve seen that you don’t really speak to any of the people here and I thought you should know that I’m your friend. You can come to me whenever you like. I don’t judge. God doesn’t judge. Salvation is just around the corner.’ He fixed me with a stare. His eyes danced with illness.

  ‘Thanks.’ I wished I was anywhere else.

  ‘The gates of Heaven are open to the righteous. You can get to Heaven through me. I will guide you to the light. I am the light. We enter Paradise together. Only there will we be really free.’ He spoke with deluded certainty.

  On a good day I am agnostic, but since being hospitalized I had become more of an atheist. I could see no sign of God in my life or the unstable world in which I was living, but I thought it best not to get into a debate with a madman. So simply told him, ‘That’s good to know.’

  ‘I have told you my secret. You must not share it with others,’ he said. He put a finger to his lips and whispered, ‘When death is near I shall come and tell you. I will lead you through death and out to the other side where we shall live forever. Through death we will find our eternal peace. We must die. God has told me so.’

  ‘I see,’ I said.

  I looked around to see if there was anyone who might save me should he attempt to kill me there and then. I could feel my pulse quickening and terror take hold of me.

  ‘We will die together soon. God will tell me when it is to be. I will find you when he gives me my instructions. I will help us get to Heaven.’

  I couldn’t take any more and thanking him for sharing his secret with me and told him I looked forward to going on the journey with him. I excused myself, saying I had a group meeting to get to. Wanting to run away, I thought that if I showed my fear, he might give chase. Once inside, I realized that I was shaking and started to look for Harry, who I figured was slightly safer to be around. I didn’t want to be alone again and spent the rest of the day in the protective shadow of the old soldier.

  Now, sitting alone in my bed, I wondered if either of those men were still in Redwood, or even alive. The thought brought me crashing down to earth, and I felt my stomach knot. Redwood seemed like a distant nightmare, and I wanted it left in the past where it belonged. I got out of bed and decided to pack my bag for the weekend ahead at Christie Hall.

  Standing in front of a rail bursting with clothes, it seemed like a good idea to go through my wardrobe and throw out the things I associated with being unwell. It’s funny how certain clothes remind you of times gone by. My mother said she would give me money to get some new clothes. I’d gained a bit of weight due to the medication and had been struggling to button my trousers. Worrying about my weight was the last thing I needed as I continued to fight depression. Nonetheless, it would be cathartic throwing away the old and inviting in the new. It seemed somehow fitting. I bundled some trousers, skirts, and sweaters into a bin bag, ready for a charity shop. My wardrobe looked unusually tidy afterwards.

  I pulled on some faded jeans and a black sweater, and slipped my feet into a pair of brown suede boots. The bass from Will’s speakers burst into life next door. Although my little brother annoyed me sometimes, I was so pleased he was at home. I didn’t think I could have coped had it been just my mother and me. She’d recently been getting better about leaving me to my own devices but the pressure of her concern still lingered. I understood that it was natural for her to be worried, and I knew things would be much worse if she didn’t care. But, I was a young woman trying to carve out her own existence, and my mother seemed to fail to understand that I needed time and space in which to do this.

  The visit to Southwold had come at a good time. Again I lied to her about where I was going, using the same excuse as before. She had bought my story the first time and did again. I didn’t enjoy deceiving her, but I couldn’t tell her the truth without causing her concern. It was best for everyone if Christie Hall remained my little secret for the moment.

  I packed my bag with enough clothes to last me for a couple of days and hunted out an old book of poetry I liked. I found a set of Derwent pencils and a pad of water-colour cards at the back of a drawer. Not knowing what to expect from this ‘Art’ party, I thought it best to go prepared.

  Downstairs in the kitchen, I found my mother reading her newspaper. She was shaking her head and muttering to herself. A large cafetiere half filled with coffee was on the table, so I poured myself a cup. Mum had left some bacon in the pan for me, and I fried an egg. The smell of bacon fat, and the egg bubbling in the pan filled my nostrils and whetted my appetite. Mum was engrossed in the article she was reading, and we didn’t speak for a while. I was happy to enjoy my breakfast in silence. Folding the paper and pushing it across the table my mother sat back in her chair and took her glasses off the end of her nose.

  ‘It’s just awful this business with these young girls. They are about your age and I just can’t imagine how the poor parents must feel.’

  I chewed and said nothing.

  ‘I hope they catch th
e beast responsible, soon. Serial killers are unusual in this country. We don’t expect them to remain under the radar these days, I mean, there is CCTV and DNA and all that sort of business. Science is meant to protect us. It’s like the Yorkshire Ripper or something. It feels so horrible knowing it’s happening in our county.’

  She got up and went over to the sink to begin washing up.

  ‘You’re talking about the bodies on the coast?’ I asked, reaching for the paper to see what she’d been reading.

  ‘I am, darling,’ she said, pulling on her rubber gloves.

  Though I hadn’t been watching the news since my return from Southwold, I wanted to know what was happening with the case. The newspaper rehashed the details of the murders so far and was full of speculation about the killer’s psychology, but there was little new information. It was either the police were playing their cards very close to their chest or that they had no real leads.

  ‘It’s like the old days. It’s been a while now and the police don’t seem any closer to catching the person responsible. By the sound of things they seem to be waiting for another rotting body to show up, hoping that it might reveal more about the killer. Not very reassuring for young women who live in the area: they must be shitting themselves.’

  ‘Language, Annabel! I’m sure the police are on the trail.’ My mother said, trying to sound upbeat.

  ‘You’re probably right, Mum. I just hope more young women don’t have to meet the Almighty first.’

  She scrubbed away at a frying pan. I knew she was thinking about Lucy. How could she not? The death of any girl reminded her of her own loss. I decided to change the subject.

  ‘I’m going to leave after I’ve walked Wookie.’ I pushed my chair under the table and took my dirty plate over to her.

  ‘That’s fine. I hope you have a nice time in Oxford. Don’t forget your pills, will you?’

  ‘No, Mum, I won’t forget the bollocking pills.’

  I left her alone in the kitchen to lose herself in the washing up.

  Chapter 6

  My heart began to flutter as I pulled into the long driveway of Christie Hall. The remaining leaves on the trees leading up to the house were beautiful, autumnal shades, and the gentle sunlight filtered through the half-bare branches. I was soothed by the sound of the gravel crunching beneath the tyres of my small car. Some pigs snuffled in the dirt of a field to my right.

  There were a few cars parked outside that hadn’t been there on my first visit. I pulled up under a large chestnut tree and turned the engine off while I tried to steady my nerves. I had been looking forward to the weekend. I’d built it up in my mind so much that I was now concerned that it might not live up to my expectations, and I would make a fool of myself. My self-esteem was still not back to an agreeable level. My palms felt clammy and my breathing was shallow. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the headrest while I got a grip of myself.

  Seconds later, there was a rap on my window and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Jude stood looking as calm and cool as I’d remembered him. He opened the car door and beckoned for me to get out. It made me feel special as I stepped out of the car.

  ‘Welcome back,’ he said in a more formal tone than I was prepared for. I smiled and reached for my bag on the passenger seat.

  ‘Follow me.’ He led the way up to the house. ‘I’ll show you to your room.’

  We went into the foyer where trestle tables were laden with food. The room smelled of cheese and over-ripe fruit. The scent of fresh bread mingled with the distinctive smell of homemade lemonade. It was like being at a luxurious harvest festival. Jude’s cowboy boots echoed across the wooden floor, the sound held familiar comfort. We went up the stairs, and the distant sound of guitars floated through the house. I could hear a number of voices coming from somewhere, and wondered just how many people were there. We passed a number of decorated doors along a wide corridor before Jude ushered me in through one with daisies painted on it.

  ‘You will stay here,’ he said, indicating one of the two beds in the room. ‘Ella is happy to share with you. I’ll introduce you when we go down.’

  Jude pulled a book off a shelf and flicked through the pages.

  ‘Oh, right,’ I said, unable to conceal my uncertainty.

  ‘It’s not a problem is it?’ He eyed me closely.

  ‘Erm, no, no. Not a problem at all,’ I said with false enthusiasm, putting my bag down on the bed.

  ‘Great. Let’s go down, then.’ He slammed the book shut and bounced towards the door.

  Walking quickly through the house and talking at a rapid pace, Jude explained what the weekend held in store. A number of ‘like-minded’ people had been invited to stay and join in the party. He said that each person had a gift or talent and would share it with the rest of the house while we feasted together.

  My heart leapt into my throat and again I began to feel panic rush through my veins. I stopped and found myself unable to speak.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ He spun round to see me frozen to the spot.

  ‘But I don’t have anything to offer.’ I felt like a little girl who had forgotten to do her homework.

  ‘Do you know a song or a poem or anything?’ He put a hand on my shoulder. ‘It doesn’t have to be anything original, just something you like that you want to share.’

  I remembered the book of poems I’d put in my bag and a wave of relief flooded me.

  ‘I don’t know anything off by heart . . .’ I confessed.

  ‘That’s not a problem.’ He smiled encouragingly, ‘Come and meet everyone.’

  We wandered through the house and towards the sound of music. The sitting room was packed with people. Some sat on brightly coloured silk cushions on the floor, others were crammed onto the sofas. A man and woman strummed playfully on their guitars and hummed a song I didn’t recognize. The room smelled of vanilla joss sticks and marijuana. Beneath one of the tall windows a number of paintings leaned against the wall.

  ‘You remember Maggie, don’t you?’ Jude asked as he pulled the woman over to us. She smiled at me while puffing on a joint.

  ‘Hello again,’ I said.

  She slipped her arm around Jude’s waist.

  ‘Welcome to our little gathering.’

  The older woman studied me with bemusement. I started to feel self-conscious and wondered why I had come. The room suddenly felt hot and stuffy. I couldn’t bear her eyes on me.

  ‘Here,’ said Maggie, taking a long hard drag from the joint and handing it over to me. I felt as though I was being tested and happily took her up on her offer. Jude winked at me as I took a harsh breath and held the hot, herby smoke in my lungs. Then the pair laughed.

  ‘Come along, girls.’ Jude smiled and put his arm across my shoulder. Maggie and I were either side of him, and people parted to make way for us as we floated through the room and over to a table with bottles on it.

  ‘Fancy a drink?’

  Maggie poured herself a glass of something from an unmarked bottle.

  ‘Sure.’ I said. I was trying to work out what was on offer.

  ‘We’ve got homemade cider, lemonade, elderflower wine, and my personal favourite . . . moonshine.’

  I immediately looked over to Jude and remembered he told me he was on the wagon. I didn’t understand how he could have alcohol anywhere near him.

  ‘Go ahead,’ he said, waving an arm over the table and taking the joint from my lips. I pointed to a bottle of something that I thought might be cider. Just then someone began to play the bongos.

  Jude jumped up onto a chair and cleared his throat loudly. The room fell silent and everyone turned to face their host.

  ‘Welcome, people of the free world!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s that time of year again. So please fill your bellies with the foods nature has provided and your soul with imagination! Be merry and creative! Be one another’s muses! Go forth and love.’

  A cheer erupted from his disciples. An old man with a banjo began to p
lay and women bashed tambourines with their palms. The room took on a new energy and burst into life. I had never seen or experienced anything like it. It was almost like being at a festival, surrounded by people who were all there to see one particular rock star.

  Jude remained standing on the chair, his head thrown back, his arms outstretched, and his foot tapping in time with the music. I watched in awe and within seconds found myself joining in the merriment, losing all inhibitions and feeling at one with the people in the room. I danced and twirled round in the crowd. A young woman I hadn’t met before tucked a joint behind my ear. Then we linked fingers and began to form a circle with the others, surrounding the people with the instruments.

  * * *

  I had so much fun that day. I felt free and good about myself. Everyone was so kind and warm it was difficult not to get into the spirit of it and catch the happiness that hung in the air. On reflection, it was clear that the people who’d left behind their normal lives to live at Christie Hall were all trying to escape ghosts of their own. This seemed like a place where that was possible. All the rubbish that cluttered our minds was trapped in a dream catcher that hung near the front door.

  Before I drifted off to sleep that night, I remember thinking that we were safe there from the outside and safe from ourselves.

  In honour of Ted Hughes

  Swept off my feet, unable to swim.

  ‘What you fear will kill you’,

  The scream echoed too long.

  He stayed and poisoned my pleasure,

  Frightened the life into me.

  Because I dared to love him,

  Neptune wanted me drowned

  And I didn’t refuse his death.

  I left the house at midday on Monday with a spring in my step. Jude and his friends had embraced me without judgment or question, and I was glad to know them.

  Driving home, I remembered one of the lows I’d experienced before I was hospitalized.

  I was at university in Newcastle, living in a student house. One April morning, after handing in an important essay, I’d walked out onto the street still wearing my pyjamas. I stared out over the green park, opposite the place I lived.