Chapter 43: Shadows Around the Bend

Dinner wasn't quite as bad as Cully feared: baked fish with a white sauce (a touch lumpy and starchy as usual), boiled potatoes, and peas that were a little more grey than green, giving off the particular vegetable smell that appealed to no one. In comparison to some of her mother's more experimental spreads, it came together remarkably well. The conversation veered this way and that, nothing of much importance—what would need to be cut back in the garden, a few projects that needed doing around the house—and Cully found herself listening more than speaking. Just as well, she thought.

It was strange, sometimes, now wanting to talk with Gavin first. For much of her life, her closest confidants had been her parents, apart from Nico and a few less serious boyfriends in secondary school and university. Whether the news was good—her acceptance to Cambridge—or bad—like those final days with Nico—or painful—crying almost inconsolably after the early death of her grandmother—they had almost inevitably been the first to know, to experience things at her side. It was, it seemed, something special she shared with them that many of her friends did not.

Dropping her eyes to her plate, Cully tried to ignore the clinking of metal on ceramic, concentrating on the voices around her. Her father was still muttering about Gavin and his theories, though her mother spent more time asking if she had selected where she meant to audition, and as she sat back in her chair, almost catching the hem of a jumper sleeve on the bottom of a spoon set too close to the edge, she just shook her head. Pay attention! she thought as the final dribs and drabs were finished.

She and her father cleared the table, washing the dishes while her mother continued flipping through her gardening encyclopedia in the sitting room, occasionally humming and muttering about one flower or shrub or another. He scrubbed the plates and flatware as she dried them before returning the various pieces to the cupboard and drawer, and he asked her a few more short questions about her monologue as they did. ("Any idea what she's wishing for yet?" "Still no, Dad. I don't know if she's supposed to know." "Modern theater, is it?" "Not really. More just—a sketch." "Sounds like not much happens." "Don't you start...")

Once the dishes were put away, she sat with her parents for half an hour or so in the front room, still reading through her notes, occasionally scribbling something new. The only sound was the occasional turn of a page, or the scratching of her pen, or the birds chirping outside to welcome the early nighttime. Tucking her feet beside her on the couch—her trainers sat by the door, left there when she arrived home that afternoon—Cully drummed her fingers against her thigh as she read and reread her short piece. The cadence was beginning to pound in her head as a distinct, constant beat. Almost shouting here, perhaps whispering distraught words there, defiant to the end…

It was nearly eight when her father interrupted her studies. "Shall I read your lines with you now?" he asked, and Cully glanced up. In the armchair across the room, he was looking at her, the book he had been reading—she couldn't quite read the title on the spine—in his lap.

"No, Dad," she said quietly, closing her notebook, "but thanks all the same. I think I still have some more to do—on my own."

"I see."

"It's all right," she said, standing. Her legs tingled all the way down to her toes as the blood began to rush back. "I think I'll be going, now."

"Already?" her mother asked.

"I didn't get as much done as I wanted with...I mean, I think I'd rather work—on my own, right now." Well, that's half true, Cully thought, her eyes dropping to the carpet. Just...it didn't feel right, reading with her father, when those moments had become some of the pleasant memories of time shared with Gavin. Sitting and talking, laughing at his incomprehension of theater, watching him smile, his skin flush, and…

"Still finishing the easy part?" her father asked after a moment.

"Tom..."

Cully let herself laugh for a second. "Almost." She glanced at the window, sun now diving below the horizon. "There isn't that much of it."

"Maybe tomorrow, then," her mother added, glancing between the two of them.

"Maybe. But I need to be up earlier tomorrow. Gavin has a cricket match in Causton, starting at ten."

"Oh?" her mother asked.

"I promised him I'd go," Cully added, twisting a finger through her short hair. "Didn't I tell you?"

"Not that I recall," her father said, frowning as he sometimes did when she mentioned such things.

Hadn't she? "Oh, sorry. I thought I had." Well, they knew she attended whenever she could, though she had missed the last one due to a performance. Plus, with all he had helped her, they couldn't fault her for returning the favor!

"You've had plenty of other things on your mind, Cully dear," her mother said.

Her father shook his head. "Just..."

"Tom."

Crossing her arms over her notebook, Cully bit her lip. "How about tomorrow, Dad? After the match is done?"

He smiled at last, opening his book once more. "That, I'll hold you to."

"I won't forget. I promise."

Her mother shook her head, just a little. "You sound just like your father."

"Good night!" Going round the back of the settee for the stairs, her knuckles tighter around her notebook than she meant, she clamored up the stairs a little quicker than she meant. As she reached the hallway on the first floor, Cully slowed, dropping her head back with a deep breath. It wasn't fair on them, she knew, refusing to talk with them about Gavin, about...well, not everything, but about much of it. Sometimes, she could still hear her father's increasingly angry words from that afternoon a few weeks earlier, her own rising to battle them.

"Can't you just leave it alone?"

"Leave what alone?"

"Dad!"

"What do you want me to do?"

"To stay out of it."

"Stay out of what?"

"Dad, don't pretend—"

"This is not something I want to do, Cully."

"What?"

"Let you make another mistake."

"You don't want to let me?"

"Watch you, then."

"I'm the one who has to decide if it's a mistake or not!"

"Fine, I'll just watch—"

"Like you did before?"

"Cully—"

"What, do you think I don't know? Because whatever it is, you're wrong."

"Cully—"

"What did you say to Gavin?"

He had never admitted what it was, that conversation with Gavin, but whatever he said...it had stifled everything growing between them, then. And she didn't want that, not now, when things were beyond wisps of possibilities: wished for, still unseen, but approaching through the uncertainty of the future. "Sorry, Dad," she whispered, slipping into her dim bedroom and flicking the overhead light on. Her twin bed, table and lamp, and bookshelves sprang to life from the darkness. "Not this time."

After a quick shower—she didn't bother washing her hair this evening, not sure if it would dry before she fell asleep—and donning her pajamas, Cully tossed a second quilt across her bed over the thinner white one. The chill in the air had only grown as the evening wore on, and her arms were still a little cold as she sat up in bed, once again reading over her short script, now just in the light of the small lamp streaming beneath the beige lampshade. As the minutes passed, she grew more certain that she had every line committed to memory, though she wouldn't highlight the remaining—

A sudden ringing shattered her thoughts as her mobile's small screen shone bright electric blue on the side table. Folding her script into her notebook again, she reached for it, flipping it open. "Hello?"

"Hi."

Gavin. "Oh. I—wasn't expecting you to call."

"I—uh—" His voice trailed away, and Cully was certain his face was red once again.

"No, that's not what I meant," she said quickly, dropping her notebook on the table. "Just—you didn't have to that's all."

"I know—"

"But I'm glad you did." As the warmth she so often felt around him spread, Cully pressed her back into the pillow sitting upright against the white wall. "How was the rest of your day?"

"Bit of a wild goose chase."

"Oh?"

"Angel needs to spend a day learning his arse from his elbow."

"What?" she asked, drawing her knees up to her chest, still beneath her sheet and blankets.

"That call I had?"

"I remember." She pressed her mobile closer to her ear, the heat spreading over her cheek as a wind kicked up outside her window with a low howl. Farewell, summer.

"Someone loitering around a bunch of fancy cars, at a garage outside a fancy house." He laughed for a second, though it was clipped, just as his speech was when he was annoyed. "More like a group of four boys barely in secondary, tagging some junkers up on blocks, rusted solid."

"Maybe he does need a refresher course," Cully said, laughing as well. Tap. The sound was quite loud, like a heavy tree branch slapping against the wall. "Those hardly sound the same," she added, peering out the window, but not seeing much with white curtains hanging at either side blocking much of her vision. The wind still moaned, but the tree branches just rustled, one or two lightly brushing against the glass...nothing more.

"And for good reason. Next time, I might interrogate the twat before rushing—"

"We both know you can't do that," she said, turning away from the window as she heard Gavin cough, to hold back a chuckle. "Not really."

"Would still be nice to know how much I need to rush." He stopped, and Cully thought she heard footsteps on his end of the line. "Were you able to do much work on your monologue?"

"Some. This just...it's a lot more than the lines."

"Isn't it always, like you said earlier?"

"Yes, Gavin," she said, wrapping her free arm around her knees, her chin on her elbow. "But some pieces are just as much about how you say your lines, not just what they are. When there are so many spaces in the piece...even more."

"Sounds like a lot to worry about all at once."

"It is."

"So, why do you do it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Because I enjoy it."

"I'd hope so."

Sitting up straight and running her hand through her short hair once more, Cully asked, "Well, why do you play cricket?"

He laughed again, a sound she had missed over the past weeks. "Walked right into that one, I guess."

"Maybe you shouldn't make it so easy."

"That'll be the day," he said quietly.

"I didn't mean—" Tap. There it was again, as loud and sharp as before, almost...deliberate. Climbing onto her knees, Cully touched the window pane, just a foot or so from her bed; the wiry branches she could see now were hardly jostling in the light of the waning moon, despite the wind's groans. "How—" She had to start again. "How do you think the match will go?"

"Dunno."

"You don't sound confident," she said, sitting back onto her feet, still peering outside.

"They put up a solid side last time, but we still won by thirty, I think."

"It's a wonder they'll still have you, you know." As silence fell outside again, Cully blushed; she wasn't one for superstition, so why worry now?

"Now that is a way to hurt an Englishman."

Rolling onto her stomach, Cully dragged her pillow back down, propping her chin on it. The old thing yielded immediately, worn flat and soft over the years. "Well, how many practices have you missed lately?"

"There's no reason to ignore talent."

Cully buried her face into the pillow, muffling her laughter. "I can't help think—"

TAP.

Now, her heart pounded, her breath caught in her throat, and her fingers shook so forcefully, she dropped her mobile onto the sheets, the screen glowing as it fell. There was no mistaking that, not when she looked out the window once more...to motionless branches. Don't be ridiculous.

"Cully?" His voice was far away, metallic and thin. "Are you still there?"

Her left hand still trembling a bit, she picked her mobile up again. "Yes. It's nothing," she said quietly, hearing her own voice quiver.

"No, what is it?" After a moment, he went on. "Are you all right?"

Nothing else for it. "Did you hear that, a few seconds—" Tap. Tap. Tap. No need to listen for them, now, they were so clear this time. "And that?" They had come closer, quieter but just as sharp and harsh.

"No. What—"

"Sorry, Gavin—"

"But what happened? You sound worried."

"Probably the wind," she said, turning away from the window. The tree branches were switching again. "Or a branch."

"But you're not scared of the wind or tree branches."

"No..." She burrowed beneath her blankets, colder than before. You're being silly, you know that!

"Then what?"

"It sounded like..." Cully took a deep breath; how was she not going to sound foolish? "Like something tapping, just on the outside wall."

"Tapping? You're too far off the ground for schoolboys playing pranks, unless you've got someone tossing rocks at your window."

"I know that, it's why I didn't want to say—"

"So why do you sound like you're afraid?" he asked quietly.

"I'm not," she said, tugging the quilt right up to her chin. "It was just...odd."

"But you don't believe in those sorts of things."

She clenched her right hand into a fist. "I know."

"Then why are you worried?"

"It sounded like..." She fell silent as she opened her hand, a few white marks from her fingernails left in the fleshiest part of her palm.

"Like what?"

"Like they were meant to be heard."

"I don't know what you mean."

She sat up again, tossing the blankets toward the shadows at the foot of her bed. "It wasn't like a tree branch, or something scraping or scratching."

"Cully, it could be anything—"

"I know, but if it was anything..."

"What?"

"Well, it doesn't make sense—how they sounded." Just outside, the branches still swayed, though no noises came. "Three, and then they stopped. And then again."

"That's still no—"

"But twice like that?"

"Shouldn't you hear them on the front door?" he asked.

"Gavin!"

"I'm not trying to—" On the other end of the line, he sighed. "I'm sorry you're worried." After another moment, he asked, "Do you want me to stay on the line at all?"

Cully pressed her right arm against her body, still cold—whether from the chill in the air or uncertainty…? "I'm not frightened, I just—I've never heard anything like that. With nothing I can figure to have made them."

"Well, if you're going to be having those sorts around your house, better that than a big black cat to give your dad an allergy attack."

In spite of the last few minutes, Cully laughed. "Thanks for the reminder, Gavin."

"And what can happen tomorrow, beyond the usual: the occasional motor accident, schoolboys in fisticuffs?"

She laughed once more. "Never forget where you live. This is Midsomer."

"True," he said, and Cully thought she heard him laughing himself. "Who knows what could happen to someone around you."

"You've made your—"

"Maybe I'll whack myself upside the head with my bat?"

Lying back in bed, her wrist pressed against her forehead, Cully rolled her eyes. "Well, don't try."

"Of course not, they might think it improves my casework."

"So then Dad will have to take all the notes."

"Well, don't tell them that."

"Why not?" she asked, her forehead creasing.

"CID will have me scrubbed from my side for fear of illegibility," Gavin said before coughing hoarsely, the sound fading as though he pulled his mobile away from his face.

"You're not catching cold, are you?"

"No"—he coughed once more, gentler, this time—"just something in my throat."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

Cully sat silently for a few seconds, tracing a few circles on the top of her quilt as she dragged them back from her feet. It was all she had really needed, someone to listen. "Thank you," she said, wishing more than ever that he was by her side, her fingers tracing over his palm instead of a blanket.

"Of course."

"I didn't mean to keep you up like this," she added. "I know you'll be starting out earlier than me, tomorrow."

"No—it's nothing," Gavin said quickly. You're blushing again, aren't you? she thought, a small smile crossing her face. "I wish I could have done more than—listen."

"I know." Most nights, she wished she felt his arms around her, his voice whispering in her hair, his chest rising and falling against her own body. But tonight, his absence ached, and all she needed was his warmth to chase the deep-seated cold from her bones, to hold her and envelop her...for him to kiss her and take her breath away, sweep away the unease, and... "Well, then I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah." She heard him swallow. "Sleep well."

"You, too." Pressing her thumb against the red button on the right hand side to end the call, Cully snapped her mobile shut. Returning it to her bedside table and its charging cable—and double checking her alarm clock was set for the next morning—she shivered as she drew her covers up to her chin once more, ready to seal out the cool darkness as she switched her bedside lamp off.

What's the matter with you? she asked herself, clamping her eyes shut. You don't jump at noises like that...But they usually don't sound like that. "Oh, stuff it," she muttered, turning onto her other side. Tomorrow, it would all be like a bad dream.