The Pull of the Moon (30 page)

‘Now then, young lady,’ Vic interrupted Gordon’s latest monologue – spoke right across him in fact. ‘How about another cup of tea?’

I bristled. No one except my father called me young lady – and he only did it because he knew how much I hated it. I swallowed my resentment – on the being patronised front, the
score now stood at approximately Local Builders 30, Hippies nil, but we dared not stop humouring them.

‘Right ho,’ I said.

Gordon went to stand by the concrete mixer, slightly apart from the others. When I approached to get his cup he gave me a knowing wink and said: ‘Have to get rid of her, did
you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘That Trudie – causing trouble, was she – between you and the other lads?’

‘No.’ I went for indignant, but didn’t quite manage it. Instead my voice emerged in a cruel parody of Minnie Mouse. ‘We didn’t – haven’t got rid of
her.’

‘I thought he said she’d gone.’

‘She has – but she was only staying with us for a while.’

‘Where’s she gone then?’

I wasn’t prepared for this. It wasn’t that he was suspicious – he was just making idle conversation: but we still hadn’t worked out exactly what to tell people, which
left a real risk that I might pluck something out of the air, only to have Danny or Simon contradict it later – and that
would
make him suspicious. I let the cup I was holding slip out
of my fingers. It fell on the grass and didn’t break, but it was enough to divert his attention and enable me to make my escape.

When I brought out a fresh brew of tea Gordon hung back until everyone else had taken a cup from the tray, then gestured me to one side, a little way from the others. I didn’t like the
look of this but I couldn’t see any way out, so I followed him a few steps towards the edge of the lawn, as if we had discovered something of mutual interest under a clematis-draped arch.

‘You’re in trouble, aren’t you?’ he said, keeping his voice low, eyeing the others to see if they were watching us.

The idea that he must know about Trudie lurched crazily into my head. I couldn’t see how – but somehow he must have found out. Maybe he’d been hiding in the woods that night
– or detected something amiss with the base of the pool. Irrational as drunks, these thoughts weaved around my mind while he awaited my answer. When none was forthcoming, he said,
‘It’s all right. I won’t say nothing to Vic’ When he lowered his voice the local burr intensified – Trudie would have called him ‘a country boy’ or
‘a local yokel’.

‘Nothing about what?’ I stuttered.

‘About you bein’ pregnant. I know the signs, see – sick in the morning and jumpy as a cat. My sister got herself into trouble last year. I can get the address of this clinic
off her, if you want.’

Only intense indignation prevented me from laughing out loud. ‘I am not pregnant,’ I said, haughtily. I stalked back to the house in a fine state of high dudgeon. Once in the kitchen
I began to laugh. It came out in a gush, like water released by the collapse of a dam. I had to sit down before I buckled under its weight, laughing until it turned into sobs which hurt my throat
and wrenched my chest.

The noise of the cement mixer ground on all through the day. My head became so full of it that every turn it took seemed to slice painfully into my brain. The outside temperature had risen to
baking point again, weaving a blanket of heat across everything like a deadweight. There had been several thunderstorms already and I guessed we were in for another one. My head started to throb in
unison with the mixer, but when I sought refuge in the kitchen the sound intruded even there. We kept the transistor radio on one of the kitchen shelves and in a desperate attempt to blot out the
sound of the machine I reached up and turned the lower of the two dials. The radio came to life with a loud crackle of complaint, followed by Johnnie Walker’s voice talking about a postcard
he had received from some holidaying listeners who hailed from Manchester: a welcome reminder that somewhere in the world people were focusing on normal cheerful things, instead of secrets and
death.

‘And now,’ said Johnnie, ‘we have Anne Murray singing ‘Danny’s Song’.

I waited by the radio intrigued. I hadn’t realized there was a song for Danny. An instant later I almost broke the knob in my haste to turn it off. I hadn’t known the title of
that
particular number was ‘Danny’s Song’. It was the song Trudie and Danny had sung as a duet, that first afternoon on the beach. The first song they ever sang together. A
terrible vista yawned ahead of me – of a world in which everything led back to just one thing.

Now that I had silenced the radio, the cement mixer seemed if anything louder than before. I remembered that we had a bottle of soluble aspirin somewhere: Trudie had bought it a couple of weeks
ago, somewhat annoyed that she had to buy the larger size because the little chemist had run out of bottles of fifty. I hunted about until I found it, unscrewed the cap and prised the lump of
cotton wool out of the neck. When I tipped the bottle half a dozen tablets tumbled into my palm before I could stop them and I had to feed all but two back in. These I dissolved in a glass of
water, gently agitating it to speed up the process. They were all but gone when Danny popped his head round the door.

‘You okay?’ he asked. ‘I came to tell you that the pond’s finished.’

‘Why is that bloody machine still going then?’

‘He’s cleaning it out. They do it with stones.’

No wonder it sounded noisier than ever. Danny went back to join them. After a while the machine stopped. There was a longish period of quiet before I heard the engine of the departing pick-up.
It sounded a long way off, although it was really only down the hall and just the other side of the front door. As the sound faded into the distance I experienced a curious sense of desolation. I
had not liked Gordon and Vic, but their departure left me feeling stranded. They had their truck to take them away, back to that other world of normal life, where normal people did normal things,
but there was no escape for me.

It’s the heat, I told myself. It’s so oppressive.

I went outside to find the guys. They were standing beside the pond.

‘He says we can fill it with water tomorrow,’ said Simon, as much to himself as to us.

‘It’s going to take a lot of filling,’ said Danny. ‘How long do you reckon it’ll take, Si?’

I noticed the way Danny sounded almost cheerful. The sight of the finished pond temporarily lifted my spirits too. After all, the chances of discovery had just been radically reduced in our
favour. By contrast Simon’s voice was completely flat. ‘Ages,’ he said. ‘Maybe all day.’

‘Could be,’ Danny agreed. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked me.

‘A bit better – specially now they’ve gone.’

‘If you don’t feel up to making our dinner, I could rustle something up.’

I was on the point of accepting but then I noticed how tired he looked. Dark curls of hair were sticking to his forehead. His clothes were pale with dust from the sacks of sand and cement.
‘I’m much better,’ I said quickly. ‘I’ll be all right.’

‘Great,’ he said. He put his arm around my waist as we walked back towards the house. ‘It’s all over now, babe,’ he whispered into my hair. I wished I could believe
him, but I knew he was wrong. It was too hot for displays of physical affection and I disengaged myself as soon as I was decently able.

After we had eaten we sat outside, well away from the newly completed pond. It was obvious that a storm was coming – the sky had faded into shades of mauve and grey and, although we saw no
lightning, every so often a prolonged rumble of thunder reached us from far away in the Welsh mountains, sometimes followed by a breeze which rushed through the garden, leaving the trees and bushes
whispering nervously among themselves.

Danny had discovered some lemonade at the back of the pantry, which he used to dilute my whisky. I drank quite fast. It was something to do with my hands. Our desperate attempts at conversation
were interspersed with lengthy silences. It was as if we had already said everything there was to say to one another – or else that everything left was unsayable. Several times I caught Simon
looking at me speculatively, but each time our eyes met he looked away. It was starting to spook me. When Danny went inside to the bathroom, I could stand it no longer. ‘Stop staring at me,
will you? You’re giving me the creeps.’

My shrill protest seemed to annoy him. He fixed me with an unremitting stare. ‘You’re crazy about Danny, aren’t you? I wonder how far you would really go for him. What’s
your limit, Katy?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I said. There was a wobble in my voice and I edged sideways across the grass, putting an extra couple of feet between us. Rachel Hewitt had been
crazy about Danny and look what happened to her. She had been stabbed with Simon’s screwdriver – no – wait – that wasn’t right – she had been strangled –
with Trudie’s scarf. I stared into the shrubbery, not wanting to look directly at Simon but conscious that he was still watching me.

Danny flopped down beside us. ‘It reckon it must still be over twenty degrees in there,’ he said.

I heard him without comprehension. I stole another quick look at Simon, but he was dismantling a daisy he had plucked out of the lawn: picking it apart petal by petal, with ugly ragged nails.
From nowhere I remembered how perfectly shaped his nails had been at the beginning of the summer, before they were ruined by the digging. What had Simon been saying a minute or two ago – had
he in fact been saying anything at all?

The storm advanced slowly until the thunder was menacing us from close at hand, rolling up the slope from Bettis Wood, challenging us to flinch before it. Although we had been monitoring its
approach the first raindrops took us by surprise. We heard them before we felt them, huge drops which had darkened the paving stones of the terrace before we managed to scramble up and dash inside.
I weaved unsteadily into the kitchen, banging my arm on the door jamb and grabbing the edge of the table for support. You’re drunk, I thought. Madly, disgustingly drunk. The notion was oddly
pleasing.

‘Phew,’ exclaimed Danny. ‘The way that rain’s pelting down, we won’t need to use the hose pipe to fill the pond tomorrow.’

A barrage of thunder drowned Simon’s reply. I instinctively put my hands over my ears; as I did so I felt the house vibrate though the soles of my feet.

‘I’ve never known a place like this for storms,’ I shouted, my words emerging unnaturally loud in a lull between the thunderclaps. Another prolonged burst of noise – like
giants moving their furniture in a flat directly overhead – precluded any reply. For a moment or two the storm was directly above us, then the rain ceased as abruptly as it had begun. The
thunder diminished, almost as if it had lost interest in the game. It was as hot as ever – the house was still airless – and outside the evidence of the rain was already
evaporating.

I looked across at Simon. His face wore a desperate expression. ‘God, this is an awful place,’ he burst out.

‘We’ve had worse storms,’ I began. ‘The night of the seance—’

‘Shut up,’ Simon shouted. ‘Just shut up about that, okay?’

‘We’ve got to clear that up,’ I said stubbornly. A combination of Dutch courage and Danny at my side meant that I wasn’t about to back down. ‘There’s still
candles lying around – and Trudie’s stuff is all over that bedroom. Someone’s got to get rid of it.’

Simon grabbed the nearest chair and flung it across the kitchen. ‘Shut up about it,’ he yelled.

I cowered towards Danny, still not quite giving in. ‘I’m only saying it’s got to be done.’

Danny gave my arm a squeeze. ‘Just leave it for now,’ he said. He crossed the kitchen to where the chair lay on its back against the twin tub, calmly lifted it and returned it to its
original position by the table, before saying, ‘Come on, Si, don’t let things get to you. You know Katy only means for the best. We’re all on the same side here.’

‘Are we?’ Simon continued to stare at us, like a creature at bay who thinks an attack may be imminent. I watched him nervously, wondering what he might do next, but Danny evidently
entertained no fears. He draped his arm around Simon’s shoulders, saying, ‘Come on, mate. Let’s sit down and have another drink. The way to get through this is not to think about
it.’

Simon allowed himself to be steered into a seat at the table. When he spoke again his voice was much steadier. ‘Well, I have been thinking. I’ve been thinking about a certain
screwdriver.’

I shivered as if someone had laid its cold metal stem against my bare back. The others didn’t notice.

‘You managed to explain about the screwdriver. You’ve got nothing to worry about there – nothing at all.’ Danny spoke over his shoulder as he opened the pantry door and
reached out the lemonade bottle. He brought it across to the table, saying, ‘Come on. Let’s have a nightcap.’

Simon didn’t reply immediately. When he did speak, Danny was banging about in one of the cupboards looking for something else, so he didn’t hear as Simon said to no one in
particular, ‘Sometimes people can’t even see what’s under their own noses.’

‘I don’t want another drink,’ I said to Danny. ‘Let’s go to bed.’ I wanted to get away from Simon. I didn’t like the way his eyes kept flickering from
me to Danny and back again.

Danny acquiesced without further discussion and we went upstairs together, leaving Simon alone at the kitchen table. Danny wished him goodnight but Simon had withdrawn into himself, morose and
silent. Once we were in bed Danny began to make the inevitable advances, but he desisted as soon as I said I didn’t feel like it.

‘Sorry. I forgot you haven’t been feeling well.’ He rolled away from me and lay on his back, with one arm crooked under his head.

‘Danny,’ I said. ‘What was it that Josser found out about Simon?’

‘What?’

‘Josser – you said he found out something about Simon – what was it?’

‘Whatever made you think about Josser? Forget about him. He won’t bother us again.’

There was a short silence. He hadn’t denied that it was Simon about whom Josser had some kind of intelligence. I wanted to ask whether it was only that Simon was a homosexual, but I was
afraid Danny might ask how I knew and I didn’t want to go into that just then.