But it wasn’t, though. Far from it. And that was a much bigger problem than being chased through the woods by phantom cacklers.
We kept silent for the rest of the way, Mack alert and watchful, me wondering when my tongue grew so big I couldn’t swallow properly, while trying – and consistently failing – not to flinch at every rustle from the other side of the fence. I was suitably distracted from my inappropriate Mack-related feelings enough to thank him, politely, as he waited patiently for me to unlock my door.
‘I told you,’ he huffed. ‘It’s in my own interest to hunt down monsters running about in these woods.’
‘And you thought they might be hiding in the Camerons’ front garden? I thought we were past all that pretending not to be nice to each other.’
He grinned, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.
‘Do you want me to come in and do a quick search for beasties?’
I opened my mouth, working hard to make sure the right words came out…
‘Let me guess. You’re fine, right?’
I nodded.
‘Night, then. Try not to have nightmares.’
Mack waited while I went inside and shut the door. I dragged my confused, shattered body to bed and fell asleep before I could worry about nightmares.
25
PC Brenda popped round the next day to tell me they’d not found anything to be concerned about, and while they’d keep checking in on the woods she was certain it was kids messing about. She did suggest I rethought travelling alone at night all the same. ‘You could break your neck on a branch. Or skid on a patch of mud and go head over heels, impale yourself on a fence post. Believe me, Jenny. These things do happen.’
Nice.
I messaged Mack to say Ellen would drop me home.
He replied the next day:Car ready. Key in ignition. Petrol tank full. Be careful.
And when I replied by asking how much I owed him for the battery, I got the longwinded reply of:£45.
I tested the Mini out on Friday morning by driving to a large supermarket, seven miles away, almost reaching the speed limit on the quieter roads. I danced up and down the aisles (which seemingly stretched on forever in endless rows of wondrous variety) splurging on items never to be found in Middlebeck (luxuries like avocados, cinnamon bagels and winged sanitary towels), feeling deliriously wild and carefree enough to toss a bottle of wine and a chocolate cheesecake into the trolley.
I drove home, brushed my hair, practised my casual,but of course we’re just friendssmile and knocked on Mack’s door. Phoned him, still standing on his doorstep. Knocked again. Went home, sorted out a suitcase full of tatty old maps into the ‘useless rubbish for recycling’ pile and called round again. This time he answered.
‘Oh! Are you ill?’
Mack eyed me. His beard, which had reached the point where it could be classified as a separate life-form, eyed me too. Pale-faced, hair like a toilet-brush, smelling nearly as bad, in a T-shirt I had almost certainly seen in the women’s section of French Connection: Ouch.
‘I brought wine, and cheesecake. To say how grateful I am for the loan of the car. Oh, and the money I owe you.’ I adjusted the bag on my shoulder and offered an envelope.
He took it. ‘Thanks.’
‘But perhaps now’s not a good time?’ I let the question die away…
‘Not really.’
‘Do you, um, want the wine and the cake anyway?’ There was probably a law about not offering alcohol to a man in that state, but I didn’t know what else to say. Mack rubbed a hand through his hair, looked as though he was trying to remember how to speak in full sentences. ‘Maybe another day.’
‘Are you okay?’ I considered whether this time I could force my way inside, and offer some sort of intervention. Intervention against what, exactly, I wasn’t sure…
‘Yes. No. The car… brought back memories. I’ll be fine in a few days.’
‘Mack, if the owner of the car has, um, passed away, you should have said. I’d never have accepted it if I thought it would upset you this much.’
He shook his head, irritated. ‘I’m notthatupset.’ Then his eyes widened, and a look of utter dejection and misery fell across his face. ‘And they haven’t died.’
