Jennie Ensor - The Girl in His Eyes

‘Let’s stay for a few minutes, shall we?’ she said, sitting down on the bench. They watched a pair of moorhens negotiate the water lilies. A line of little ones trailed behind, stepping over the leaves. ‘I wonder what it’s like being a duck. You wouldn’t have to go to work or anything. You’d just paddle around all day, looking out for tasty morsels, making sure your ducklings didn’t swim off or get eaten.’

He squeezed her hand, laughing. ‘You’d have to enjoy swimming in cold, slimy water all day, and screwing in public. You wouldn’t be a good duck, Suzanne.’

They lapsed into silence. The lake’s surface became still. Paul was sitting very close to her, his hand resting loosely over hers. The gremlins in his head had gone somewhere, thank goodness. He seemed relaxed and happy, more so than he’d been for ages. If only he could stay like this forever.

They followed the path further into the woods. Suzanne scanned the grounds for the promised pheasants, but saw nothing – except for what looked like a hen scratching in the dirt. Then, as open grass replaced the woods, she made out something large and dark behind a nearby bush. A head thrust towards them, crowned with a mass of antlers.

‘What’s that?’ she cried out.

‘Only a deer.’

‘What’s a deer doing here? He looks fierce.’

Paul took her hand. ‘He won’t hurt us, don’t worry. Walk on slowly.’

When she turned back a few seconds later, the deer had gone.

The path inclined gradually at first, then more steeply. Below, far away, fields merged into a blur of bluish hills. Paul wrapped her hand inside his. She breathed in the pine-scented air, glancing up every so often to his unshaven face, with its bold contours coated with stubble, and his always-alert eyes. A feeling of almost overwhelming happiness grew inside her, tinged with wonder. How could she help loving this man? How could she stop loving him?

It took a while to reach the vantage point. They sat against a fallen log, where they could take in the expanse of Somerset below. Paul pulled Heinz’s box from his backpack and brought out two bottles of pear juice, two filled baguettes, two apples, and two slabs of fruit cake.

‘We should head back.’ Suzanne opened her eyes. She’d dozed off – they both had. Paul was pulling on his leather jacket. ‘If we stay any longer, we’ll be going back in the dark.’

She checked her watch, surprised at how much time had passed. Quickly, she gathered the remains of their picnic.

The sun glared, too low in the sky for her liking. The breeze was getting chilly. Though they were going downhill, it seemed a long time before they reached the woods.

Suzanne stopped at a fork in the path. ‘Are you sure it’s left?’

‘Come on.’ He spoke impatiently. ‘I know the way.’

A twinge of doubt. Paul had a good sense of direction but the light was slipping away. If they took a wrong turn they could end up lost.

They hurried on, past the one-armed statue and the vine-clad tree trunk. Fir trees stood darkly against an orange-pink glow. The hotel was among them, somewhere.

They crunched acorns underfoot, heard the last flurry of birdsong. A dot glowed high above the line of trees – Jupiter, perhaps.

‘Do you recognise any of this? I don’t.’ She stopped at a dead, hollowed-out tree. Its bark had warped into a crust of blackened ridges.

When there was no answer, she turned, and looked all around. Paul wasn’t there.

It didn’t make sense. He’d been right behind her a few seconds ago. The path was empty now. She bit her lip.

‘Paul, where are you?’

Something crackled in the undergrowth. Suzanne peered into the gloom. A squirrel ran towards a tree and disappeared up its trunk.

‘Paul, are you there? Stop playing games.’

She strained her ears for a sound. He couldn’t have just disappeared. But all she could hear was the creak of branches.

Then everything went black. Something clamped itself over her eyes – a hand. A gasp bubbled up in her throat.

‘Gotcha!’

The hand fell away. She turned and stared at Paul, her relief turning to anger as a damp patch spread in her underwear. He’d sprung out from behind the dead tree.

‘Sorry, Suze, I couldn’t resist it.’ He was laughing.

‘Jesus, Paul! You gave me one hell of a fright. What the bloody hell did you have to do that for?’

‘I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to scare you that much. I was only fooling around.’ He pulled her against him and tried to kiss her. ‘Don’t be upset.’

‘Paul, you’re unbelievable.’ Suzanne pulled away. ‘You haven’t grown up at all, have you?’

They walked on, not talking. She was too angry with him to care if they never got back to the hotel. Then he pointed ahead. ‘I recognise that tree over there,’ he said. ‘We’ll be back in a minute or two.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Come on, Suze.’

She was wondering if he was right, even as she saw the hotel through the trees right in front of them, its windows bright and a coil of smoke unfurling from the cluster of tall chimneys. As they approached, she studied the plinths on either side of the heavy wooden door. On top of each one, perched an alarming winged creature, each with a grotesquely shaped, wide-open mouth. A shiver slipped down her spine.

Safely upstairs, Suzanne shut the bathroom door behind her. She ran the water as hot as she could bear then lay outstretched, her body invisible under the foam. Her sigh billowed into the steamy air. Why had Paul wanted to frighten her like that? Sometimes it seemed he was still a boy at heart, the one she’d glimpsed during his occasional childhood stories, who got a kick out of throwing the family cat out of his bedroom window, and laughed when his drunken friend tripped on the kerb and knocked out his front teeth.

However, he had another side – a wonderfully warm and generous one. He was always thinking of her, in different ways. Without warning he would bring home her favourite chocolate truffles, or an M&S orange cake, or a stunning bouquet of roses. He made an effort to plan and to arrange things so as to surprise her – in a good way. The hot air balloon ride he’d arranged for her fiftieth birthday, the handbag he’d bought after her operation, the trip to Paris on Eurostar last year. Katherine complained that Jeremy never did anything romantic. If Paul were always as calm and predictable like Jeremy, she would probably die of boredom.

Suzanne stepped carefully onto the rather grand staircase, gripping the handrail. Her heels were higher than usual, designed for glamour rather than steadiness.

Downstairs, a suited young woman greeted them and showed them into the lounge. Paintings of dark rural scenes lined the walls, their frames heavy and old-fashioned. She scanned the menu while Paul immersed himself in the wine list.

Heinz came in and walked towards the fireplace, a taper in his hand. A lick of flame grew from behind the grate.

‘Did you find the lake?’ he asked.

‘Yes, thank you,’ Suzanne replied. ‘It was lovely in the sunshine, watching the ducks.’

‘There’s not so many now. We’ve had a few fox attacks – they’ve taken most of the ducks, unfortunately.’

Paul grinned. ‘Sitting ducks, were they?’

Heinz nodded, blank-faced, and left the room.

They ordered drinks and settled into the leather armchairs. She looked around the conservatively decorated room. On the mantelpiece, a pair of marble frogs squatted, their heads tilted upwards on thick necks like bulldog’s heads. Further along, a black wolf-dog reared, its paws grasping a tray with a white candle on top.

‘The decor’s a bit morbid, don’t you think? I wouldn’t want to come here on my own. This place would give me nightmares.’