Simon Beckett - Stone Bruises

‘Just swimming.’

I’m trying to gauge how much she knows, if it’s possible she isn’t aware of what’s in there. But I’m shivering so much it’s hard to think straight.

‘I told you, Papa says you shouldn’t swim in there. It isn’t safe.’ Safe for who? ‘If I tell him he’ll be angry.’

‘Then don’t tell him.’

‘Why shouldn’t I? You’re leaving tomorrow anyway.’ Her gaze is cold and distant. ‘You don’t care about me or you wouldn’t be abandoning us.’

‘I’m not abandoning anybody.’

‘Yes, you are. I thought you were different but you’re not. We trusted you, and now you’ve betrayed us.’

She said the same about Louis. ‘Look, I’m sorry if—’

‘No, you’re not. You led me on.’

‘That’s not true—’

‘Then promise you’ll stay.’

‘Gretchen—’

‘You have to promise. Or I’ll tell Papa.’

Christ. I glance back at the water. Whether she knows about the truck or not, I don’t want her saying anything to Arnaud. Not until I’m well away from this place.

‘OK,’ I tell her. ‘I’ll stay.’

Gretchen stares at me. I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck start to stand on end.

‘Liar.’

‘No, I—’

‘I don’t like you any more.’

‘Gretchen, wait—’ I shout, but she’s already running up the track. After a frozen second I set off after her. I’ve no idea what I’ll do, I only know that I can’t stay down here while she tells her father. But I’m out of shape, and with my boots unlaced and flapping it’s like running in a bad dream. Gretchen races through the wood ahead of me, flickering in and out of the moonlight like a wraith. My chest and legs are burning as I pass the statues, and then one of my boots slips off and I’m tumbling onto the track. The breath explodes from me. Winded, I push myself up in time to see Gretchen’s white figure running out of the wood and through the vines. A cloud obscures the moon, dimming her from sight, but it’s obvious I’m not going to catch her now. Not before she reaches the house.

I bend double, wheezing for air. Shit, shit ! I try to think clearly. Maybe I’m overreacting, and there’s an innocent explanation. Maybe the truck’s just an old one that was dumped. I desperately want to believe it but the memory of what I found in the lake is too strong. And I can’t take the chance: if the pick-up is Louis’s then Arnaud won’t risk me telling anyone.

He isn’t going to let me leave the farm.

As if on cue, his raised voice carries distantly from the courtyard, bellowing incoherently. I think I can hear Mathilde as well, a pleading counterpoint, then a door slams and there’s silence.

He’s on his way.

I look around for my missing boot, but the moon is still overcast and all I can see are shadows. There’s no more time. Stones and twigs stab into my bare foot – the newly healed one – as I hurry off the track to hide in the trees. Once Arnaud’s gone past I can cut back to the road: I’ll worry about my rucksack later.

I’ve not gone far when there’s a sudden snap as I step on something sharp. I throw myself back, heart banging as I tense for the bite of iron jaws. It doesn’t come: it’s only a dead branch. But in my panic I’d forgotten the woods down here are still full of Arnaud’s traps. I daren’t go any further, not when it’s too dark to see where I’m treading.

There’s a flicker of movement off through the trees. I look back towards the vine field. The moon is obscured and for a moment all is shadows. Then it reappears, and I see the unmistakable figure of Arnaud hurrying down the track. He’s carrying something that glints in the moonlight, and when I realize what it is any hope of reasoning with him vanishes.

It’s his rifle.

The moon goes behind another cloud, cutting off my view as though a curtain’s been drawn. But he’s much closer than I expected. It’s too late to retrace my steps and make a run for the lake. Even if I avoid the traps he’ll be close enough to see me, and on the track I’ll make an easy target. Desperate, I look around for somewhere to hide. I’m not far from where we cut down the silver birch, and most of the trees around me are either saplings or stumps. None are big enough to provide cover, but then a ripple of moonlight breaks through the branches and reveals the statues.

I run over before the brief light fades, hoping Arnaud won’t have put traps near them. Throwing myself to the wet ground, I huddle behind the monk’s stone robes. I’m out of breath and my bootless foot is throbbing. It feels sticky: I must have gashed it on the dead branch, or maybe the wounds have reopened. But that’s the least of my problems. I peer round the statue. Without the moon the woods are made up of different depths of black. Nothing moves, and then I see a shadow coming down the track.

I duck back, pressing myself against the cold stone. Above me the sky is a patchwork of clouds and stars, but down here all is dark. I stare up through the trees, praying for the moon to stay hidden. I want to take another look but I’m afraid he’ll see me. So I lie there, listening for his approach. The breeze stirs the leaves and branches, drowning out other sounds. I shut my eyes, trying to visualize where he’ll be. I tell myself if I count to thirty he’ll have gone past by then. But when the half-minute’s passed I still don’t move. What if I’m wrong, or he’s stopped? I squeeze my hands into fists, trying to decide. I can’t stay here indefinitely: my best chance of making it to the road is while Arnaud is down at the lake. He must have gone by now. I tense, getting ready to look again.

There’s a muffled crack of a twig breaking.

I lie perfectly still. I’m holding my breath, not daring to breathe. I strain to hear past the rustling trees, willing the clouds to stay for a few moments longer. But the high wind is already dragging them clear, their black silhouettes becoming edged with an argent glow. I watch helplessly as the moon slides out from behind them, flooding the world with opal light. Then another twig snaps only a few feet away.

‘Sean?’

Mathilde’s voice is hushed. The release of tension takes the strength from me.

‘Here.’

She’s looking towards the other statues. She turns at my whisper and hurries over, glancing off through the trees towards the track as the Judas moon hides its face again, plunging the wood into shadows.

‘You have to leave,’ she says in a low voice, crouching down beside me. ‘My father thinks you’re still at the lake. You need to go before he comes back.’

Even now I’d been hoping she’d reassure me I’d nothing to worry about, that it was a misunderstanding. I start to get to my feet again but she pulls me back down. She’s just a shadow herself, her face all but invisible in the dark.

‘Not yet. Give him a little longer to get out of sight. Here, put this on.’

She pushes something at me. I can’t see it but I recognize it by touch as my boot.

‘I found it on the path,’ she whispers. ‘That’s why I thought you’d be here.’

‘Where’s Gretchen?’ I ask, blindly trying to pull on the boot. My foot is slick with blood but too swollen for it to fit.

‘With Michel.’

‘What did she tell your father?’

‘Never mind. Take these.’ Mathilde presses something else into my hands. Keys and what feels like a small roll of money. ‘It’s not much but it’s all I have. And you’ll need this.’

She passes me something thin and flat. It takes me a moment to realize it’s my passport.

‘You’ve been in my rucksack?’ My thoughts are still sluggish, but I can’t see how she’d have had time to go up to the loft.