‘I’m fine. I’ve been fine for ages. I wish everybody’d stop worrying about me.’
And it was true. Rachel was looking healthier than she had looked for many weeks. She’d been living at home with her mother in the months since her discharge, and she was rested, and she was happy again. She had put it all behind her.
‘Come on, then,’ said Alison. ‘Those plums aren’t going to pick themselves. Chuck them down and I’ll catch them in the basket.’
‘Right you are.’
Rachel reached across to the furthest bunch. There had been another wonderful crop this year. They were purple and luscious, perfectly ripe, with soft powdery skins.
As she plucked the first one, a spider ran out from beneath it. She held out her arm, and allowed it to scuttle along the pale skin of her underarm until it had reached the neighbouring branch, where it ran off to safety. Rachel watched it disappear between the cracks in the bark. Then she threw the plum down to Alison.
‘Here, catch!’
They continued like this, throwing and catching, throwing and catching, for a minute or two, until Alison stopped and said:
‘Do you miss Jamie, Rache?’
‘A bit.’ She threw down another plum. ‘What about you, do you miss Selena?’
‘A bit.’
‘Well, if you ask me,’ said Rachel, ‘we’re better off single.’
‘Too right,’ said Alison. ‘You know what, though?’ she added, a thought having just occurred to her. ‘Perhaps we should be a couple.’
‘You and me?’ Rachel laughed dismissively. ‘Dream on,’ she said. ‘This lady’s not for turning.’
‘Suit yourself,’ said Alison. ‘I don’t fancy you anyway.’
Rachel laughed again, and plucked one more plum from a bunch of four. She took the fruit, rubbed it clean against her T-shirt and bit into it. The juice was deliciously sweet in her mouth. It was the taste of her childhood; the taste of home; the taste of autumn sunshine.
20
My name is Livia and I come from Bucharest. I have been living in London for more than five years, and my job is taking the dogs of very rich people for their daily walk.
But that is not all.
Strange things have happened in this part of London. Six people disappeared, and they have never been found. The police keep making enquiries, looking for connections. They came to interview me. But the real connection between these six people is something that they have never noticed.
They all had dogs.
I am Livia, and I come from Bucharest. I have lived in London for five years, and I know not just its streets, but also its secret places, above ground and below. None of these places is deeper, or more secret, than the place beneath the tall house in Turngreet Road, eleven floors beneath the ground, beneath the wine cellar and the vault and the swimming pool where the palm trees grow.
There is a tunnel. And beyond the tunnel there is a room. And there they hang, in the dark. Each one wrapped in a cocoon of silver threads. Watched over by the vengeful creature with the amber eyes.
My vengeance takes many forms. My body takes many forms.
We have a saying in my country, by the way: Dupǎ faptǎ şi rǎsplatǎ. Which means, measure for measure, or the biter bit.
If you understand the saying, you will understand my nature. I am not merciful. I am not just. I cannot be tamed. I attack whomever I want, and whatever I want.
I am not angry. I am anger itself.
You may feel pity for my victims. That is your choice. You may place your sympathies with them, or with me. That is your decision.
In the end, I believe, we are all free to choose.
Acknowledgements
The section of this book entitled ‘The Crystal Garden’ was inspired by the piece of that name by Harold Budd, recorded on his album The Pavilion of Dreams (OBS 10) in 1978.
Michele O’Leary, Andrew Hodgkiss, Ralph Pite, Philippe Auclair, Georgia Powell and Vera Michalski all assisted me with valuable background material. My heartfelt thanks to them, but above all to Louise Le May, for letting me take her beautiful song ‘Sink and Swim’ and put it at the centre of Val’s story.