Simon Beckett - Stone Bruises

‘Not tonight. I took it the first time you went into town.’

I don’t know which shocks me more, the fact she took my passport or that I never noticed it was missing. ‘Why?’

‘Because I didn’t want you to leave without telling me. I have a favour to ask, but now we need to go. Are you ready?’

Favour? ‘I can’t get the boot on,’ I say, more confused than ever.

‘Do it later. We have to hurry.’

She’s already ushering me from behind the statue. I’ve no choice but to carry the boot, the rough ground gouging into my bare foot.

‘Careful,’ she says, steering me away from a patch of shadow. At first I don’t know what she means, then I make out something hard-edged hidden in it.

So much for Arnaud not setting traps near his statues.

But Mathilde seems to know where to tread as she hurries me back to the track. I limp along as fast as I can, fresh hurt coming from my foot each time I set it down. The clouds covering the moon are shredded, allowing a sickly light to dapple through. I risk a glance towards the lake, but can’t see Arnaud.

‘What favour?’ I ask, keeping my voice low.

There’s enough light to see her tuck her hair behind her ear in the familiar gesture. I can’t make out her face but I can sense her agitation.

‘I want you to take Gretchen with you.’

‘You what ?’

‘Shh, just listen.’ Mathilde grips my arm, her voice low and hushed. ‘I have to get her away from here, and she’ll go with you. I know it’s a lot to ask but I don’t expect you to support her. I’ll send more money, as much as I can.’

‘Jesus, Mathilde…’

‘Please! I could have told the police about the drugs in your rucksack.’

Of course she’d know, I think, too stunned to feel shocked. I was feverish for three days. A stranger: did I really expect her not to search my things to see who she was looking after? The only surprise is that she let me stay anyway.

Unless she had her own reasons.

The overhanging leaves cast a shadowplay on Mathilde’s face as moonlight breaks through the clouds. The track comes to life around us. Past the wood, the vine field is thrown into sharp relief, the rutted track clearly etched on it like lines drawn in charcoal. I think I see a flicker of movement on it as Mathilde urges me to walk faster.

‘Hurry, we—’

The sudden crack of a gunshot rings out. It comes from behind us, the direction of the lake, and we both flinch as it’s followed by a second. Mathilde pulls me off the track.

‘Down here!’

The trees close in like a tunnel as she leads me down the fork to the sanglochon pens. Branches whip at me as I run just behind her, favouring my cut foot, and then we’re in the ammoniac stink of the clearing. The full moon shines overhead like a beacon, picking out the sows slumped asleep like hairy bolsters. Hoping they don’t wake, I limp behind Mathilde. I expect her to head towards the wood at the far side, but instead she goes to the cinderblock hut.

‘In here,’ she pants, pushing open the door.

There’s no time to argue. I hurry inside and the light is cut off as both halves of the stable door swing shut. The reek of offal and old blood closes in around us. It’s pitch black and our laboured breathing sounds too loud in the enclosed space. There’s no window, but as my eyes adjust I see chinks of light seeping through gaps in the mortar. Mathilde brushes past me and peers through one.

‘Is he there?’ I whisper.

‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’

I go to look for myself, and there’s a muted clinking as my shoulder brushes something. I give a start before realizing it’s the chain hanging from the pulley. Groping in the dark to quieten its swaying, I feel my way around the stone slab standing in the middle of the hut. I press my face against one of the chinks in the rough wall, blinking as my breath huffs away dirt and sand. The small crack doesn’t allow much of a view, and the clearing is already darkening as another cloud covers the moon. But there’s no sign of Arnaud.

‘If he’d seen us he’d be here already,’ Mathilde murmurs. At least the hut’s walls won’t let our voices carry: Arnaud would have to be right outside to hear us. ‘He must have been shooting at shadows.’

‘Then let’s go.’ I’m already regretting coming in here. I move towards the thin line of light leaking around the door, but Mathilde reaches out to stop me.

‘Not yet.’

‘Why? Shouldn’t we go while he’s still at the lake?’

‘He could be on his way back by now. We could walk right into him.’

She’s right, but I’m loath to stay where we are. The cinderblock walls might stop a small-calibre bullet, but if Arnaud guesses we’re in here we’ll be trapped.

‘What about the woods on the other side of the clearing? Can we get out that way?’

‘No, it’s too dangerous. There’s no path and my father laid traps in there as well.’

Oh Christ. I try to think. ‘So what do we do now?’

‘We wait. In a few minutes I’ll go out and see if it’s clear.’

‘What if it isn’t?’

‘Then I’ll tell him you slipped away while he was at the lake. Once he’s gone to bed I’ll come and get you.’

Mathilde sounds as calm as ever. For an instant I feel a sudden fear that she might bring her father here, but of course that’s ridiculous. She wouldn’t be doing all this if she meant me any harm. I have to trust her.

I lower myself to the floor as she takes another look outside, hoping I’ll be able to get my boot on. My foot feels raw and swollen. I brush the dirt from it and give an involuntary gasp as I catch the torn flesh.

‘Are you all right?’ Mathilde asks.

I nod before I realize she can’t see me. ‘It’s just my foot.’

‘Here, let me.’

There’s a rustle as she crouches down. Her hands are cool on my skin as she gently feels my foot in the darkness. I draw in a breath as she probes something tender.

‘You’ve reopened some of the wounds and gashed your instep. Have you anything to bind it with?’

‘No.’

‘Never mind. I’ll help you get your boot on.’

Her hair brushes against my arm as she starts to work the boot over my foot. ‘Why do you want Gretchen to leave so badly?’ I ask, trying to ignore the discomfort. ‘Because of what’s in the lake?’

There’s the smallest of pauses. ‘That’s one reason.’

So she does know about it. I feel a sense of unreality that we’re having this conversation. I wish I could see her but she’s just another shape in the darkness.

‘What happened to Louis, Mathilde?’

She continues trying to ease the boot onto my foot. For a moment I don’t think she’s going to answer. When she does her voice is quiet and resigned.

‘I found out I was pregnant while he was in Lyon. I was going to tell him when he came back. I had a little money, so I hoped I could persuade him to take us away somewhere. Gretchen too. She was… fond of Louis. But I should have known she’d tell my father. There was a scene. He and Louis fought…’

I flinch as the boot slips home. ‘So then your father drove his truck into the lake?’

‘He wanted to get rid of everything that showed Louis had been at the farm. He came straight here from Lyon. It was night, so no one knew he was back. Afterwards… we just pretended nothing had happened.’

I feel her hands fall away from my boot as though her mind’s already elsewhere. I reach down and start to fasten the laces as she gets to her feet.

‘What about the body?’ The truck’s cab was empty, but now I can’t help but think about the crumbling patch of concrete in the barn again.

‘My father brought it down here.’