SILENT FOOTFALL PART 8
Gina stared into the seemingly kindly eyes of the holiday park manager. She stopped mopping at the dripping mess surrounding the saucer of her coffee cup and straightened her back. “Why were you knocking on my chalet door,” she asked suspiciously. A hooded look replaced his amicable gaze.
“Oh, all part of the service. The woman next door thought she heard you calling out. She thought you needed…”
“Suit her better is she kept that crying child of her quiet,” Gina retorted.
He rose. “You staying for the Mid Summer party?” he asked offhandedly.
“Is that what they’re calling it now,” she spat.
“That is what it has always been called. That’s what it was called when your parents stayed here when you were a child. Don’t you remember?” Something in the tenor of his voice evoked a memory of a huge bonfire, orange flames shooting against the gathering darkness; a painted naked man leaping over a fire; a garland of flowers around his neck. “John, Wild man of the woods,” she said in a barely audible whisper. She was sure it had been him. “Oh, you are good!” she said aloud.” He has asked you to watch me, keep me here, until the sun sets. Hasn’t he?” she snarled. She waved her hand in the direction of the play area. “I bet the children are more tuned in to paedophiles like you, nowadays.” she hissed her voice rising.
A shocked look rushed across his face. “Keep your voice down! I run a respectable holiday location…”
Gina laughed loudly. “Yeah, right, that’s what you want your customers to believe. But I know better.” Her rising voice was drawing attention. “I remember you – skylarking – running naked painted spears on your chest, doing battle with the Sun God for the love of the Sun Goddess!” Incensed now, she lunged at him. “I bet you still have her face tattooed on your chest,” she rasped wrenching his shirt open.
The sun was setting before she was released from police custody. She noticed the bouquet of roses and mixed herbs leaning against the chalet door. Her steps faltered. Flowers and herbs were suppose to bring magical powers and ward off ‘spirits’ that came from another world during mid summer festival days. Definitely not for me she thought toeing them aside as she slid her key in the lock.
I’m finished with all that she thought tossing the door key on the small circular table and sinking down on the seat. Chalkie was lying in the same position she’d left him. After a while she went into the bathroom and splashed water on her wrists. It wasn’t exactly the same as crossing over running water but she hoped it would protect her from seeing evil that came through the thin veil between the two during the summer fest.
She straightened and stared in the small mirror above the handbasin. “They didn’t believe me,” she told her reflection,” they thought it was because I am off my medication – imagining things.. “Mr Holiday Park Manager, respectable, hardworking citizen involved in providing children for ancient rituals? Too ridiculous and ludicrous to even consider!
She had been adamant he was involved. But there was no sign of sun goddess tattoos on his chest or on any other part of him, according to the police doctor. Ranting and babbling on about him and the old house and Max skinning rabbits to use the blood to smear on ‘guests’ who would attend the fest, made matters worse. “The police think I am just another nutcase,” she moaned.
She went into the bedroom and pulled off her flatties. The police doctor had been on the verge of signing me in for psychiatric observation, she thought. She breathed out slowly. Only the complexities of a weekend admission had saved her. She had bought the doctor off by giving him Max’s mobile number and withdrawing her allegations against the park manager.
She sunk her face into the pillows. His behaviour had been worthy of an Oscar. He had promised to get his staff to take good care of her until Max arrived. She could tell the doctor was impressed by his generosity after her shrieking accusation.
Max had promised to bring medication for his wife.
His wife?” I don’t ever remember getting married,” she’d blurted out. The rookie WPC, who was ‘minding’ her while the doctor made all the arrangements, had examined her fake nails and ignored Gina’s comments.
The light coming through the thin curtains was growing dimmer. She raised herself up on her elbow. Would she get a Goldliner Translink at this time of the night? She tried the bus terminal number. No signal. Barefooted, she stepped out into the tiny decking area and tried again. It rang and rang. She snapped it off before it went to the bored recorded voice on the after hour’s service message
The flowers and herbs had fallen sideways against the door jamb; their cellophane wrapping beginning to unravel. On impulse she stooped to smell their scent. “Hothouse specimens – forced to flower before their time,” she murmured. Somehow their plight resonated with something deep within her.
She turned her face away from the ball of orange sun reflecting off the chalet windows but she couldn’t step inside without turning about and paying homage to its beauty and light. Her stomach rumbled. They had given her weak tea and a soggy sandwich (some copper had obviously left over from their lunch) while the police doctor had documented her ‘issues.’ Her stomach growled. She knew there was no food in the chalet but she opened the cupboards in the kitchenette and looked anyway.
The baby next door was screaming again. She threw herself on the crumpled bed and covered her head with a pillow. Her hand touched something and it rustled. Sweet Christ! They don’t even bother to check chalets for rubbish. Probably don’t even change the sheets, she fumed. She closed her hand around the rustling paper and drew it out. Inside were little green shoots. “Fern seeds,” she gasped. She knew now the flowers outside were for her. She was supposed to put them under her pillow to dream of the one she would marry. The fern seeds were to make her ‘invisible’ to the evil spirits.
A stray shadow slid through the slatted blinds darkened the foot of the bed; lying there like something sinister watching, waiting. Gina closed her eyes. She’d had enough for one day. All she wanted to do was get something to eat and sleep until bus time the next morning.
She lay motionless grasping the fern seeds as the room darkened and the shadow crept up the bedclothes. Her stomach felt as if it was concaved. To get something to eat she’d have to go back up to the cafe. She cringed. It wasn’t an option. She doubted they’d even serve her. The police had taken her way in handcuffs after she’s trashed the tables yelling like a banshee. She’d heard a woman say in a disgusted tone,” Must be going to be a full moon tonight.”
She wished she’d brought her Mp3. Music always soothed her – put her to sleep.”And my earphones would block out the sound of that yelling brat,” she muttered resisting the urge to hammer on the adjoining wall.
The sound of a car engine brought her up in the bed. Max!
Her heart fluttered against her breastbone. Had it been him who had left the flowers? Was it his way of saying he was sorry for being in the house – helping with the preparation for the ‘babes in the wood’ celebration when the sun went down? Was she glad he was here? Did she still trust him? She wasn’t sure. She waited for his step but none came. She lay down in the bed again; another car swept past and her heart raced again. After a while she realised the cars were residents and campers returning from a night out.
Body rigid, hands clamped into fists now, she realised Max wasn’t coming. If only I could sleep,” she moaned. She felt about for her handbag and drew out a box of sleeping tablets. She startled as the touch lamp at the side of the bed lit up her face and the bedside cabinet. Standing on the bedside cabinet was a glass with amber coloured liquid. Her brow furrowed. Why hadn’t she seen it earlier? She sniffed at it and tried some of it on her tongue. It was her favourite. Brandy.
Relief washed over her. Max had been here earlier – before she got back from the police station. Before you were escorted back, her inner voice jeered. She opened the box of sleeping tablets and washed some down with a slug of the brandy. Leaning against the headboard she swilled the golden liquid about in the glass. She smiled. Max, like her, liked the better things in life. “And the little touches of luxury,” she murmured fingering the crystal brandy goblet.
Outside the holiday park had quietened down for the night. She could hear cows in the fields that bordered the park lowing; and somewhere a dog barked intermittently. She was much more relaxed now. Max would be back soon, “He’s probably driven into Duncannon to get a lovely Chinese takeaway,” she murmured. She looked down. The box of tablets was still clutched in her hand. Had she taken them? She didn’t want to be out of it when Max got back. She sipped some more of the brandy. It was making her feel quite woozy. She giggled. Max knew how to treat a woman. No small run of the mill brandy glass with a thimbleful of brandy in its base. No, a large goblet full to the brim. She slid into a more comfortable position in the bed “Come back soon Max,” she murmured as she tipped her head back and drained the glass. “Ugh!” She screwed up her face. Some kind of sediment in the dregs, she thought as the glass slipped from her hand. She never heard its dull thud as it rolled for a little while on the rush matted carpet before coming to rest at Max’s feet.a
Gemma Hill Writeyou Writeme 