‘No, it’s fine. Hello.’ I’m scratching him behind his ears, patting his flanks. Blue is standing up now, tail wagging. As I stand he nuzzles against me.
‘I’m sorry about Jim,’ Frankie says in a low voice as we climb into the van. ‘He puts some work my way occasionally, rents me the space over the workshop. Sometimes he can get confused.’
‘Yeah,’ I say, but I can see that neither of us believes that, and I’m relieved when we leave the workshops behind. His heart, he’d said. But it hadn’t been, had it? Not according to Frankie. What was it he’d told Marco and me that first day? My brain is soft as a cushion.
By the time we get back to Chy an Mor it is full dark, and I am ravenous. The moon is a bone-white rind hanging between the trees. In the kitchen Frankie is removing cartons from a plastic bag, stacking them next to him on the table.
I study him as he sifts through the cupboards, removing plates and cutlery from the drawers, occasionally talking to Blue. His skin is dark, tanned from summers of work outdoors. His eyes crinkle into amused half-moons when he smiles. Frankie brings plates to the table, catching me yawning.
‘Are you staying for dinner?’ I ask.
‘Do you want me to?’
‘Yes.’
He studies me indifferently. I know I’m not his problem and I tell him so.
He laughs. ‘You’re no one’s problem. What a strange thing to say.’
‘I just don’t want to be by myself.’
‘That’s why I brought Blue over, to keep you company. He can do the night shifts, look after the place for you.’
‘Here, you mean?’
‘Where else?’
He lowers himself into the chair opposite and his eyes don’t leave me. I reach across the table and put my hand on top of his.
‘Right now I just want some human company. Do you understand?’
He nods. I am embarrassed by my neediness and wish I could have a drink. I miss it, glasses of white wine, slightly frosted. Long stems of gin and tonic poured over ice. The crisp, slightly cloying taste of cider. Whisky, peaty and earthy and amber-coloured. All those ghosts of cigarettes and beer and spirits and nights which bled into mornings. I miss drinking. I miss my friends.
Later, when we are clearing away the plates, Frankie retrieves my phone from beneath the table, handing it over to me.
‘You know, they have satellites that can pinpoint your exact location just from your mobile signal,’ he says. ‘Every time you switch that thing on, you’re never alone.’
I stare down at it in my hand. It’s so bulky and unfamiliar still, this phone. What had happened to mine again? Lost, Marco had said. Like my friends.
‘What about me?’ I ask him. ‘Can I find someone else through their phone? See where they are?’
‘Depends. I guess you could. Who did you have in mind?’
Joey Fraser, I think immediately, remembering the phone call of earlier, the way his voice had snaked into my ear. I heard you’re losing your mind. About time, I’d say. Surprised it didn’t happen sooner.
‘Stella? You okay?’
‘Huh?’
‘You’re away with the fairies.’
‘I’m sorry. I heard some bad news today. An old friend died. Actually, not a friend, not really. We worked together. Long time ago.’
‘I’m sorry to hear it.’
‘Drove her car right into a tree. The Marigold! Curse, they’re calling it. One by one we’re all dropping like flies.’
‘You don’t believe that though, do you? Curses, I mean.’ Frankie leans his knuckles on the table, voice soft. ‘Because I can put your mind at rest there. They’re not real.’
‘Oh! I almost forgot!’ I say, and hand Frankie the photograph and the note I’d found beneath the box of eggs. Frankie holds them inches from his face, shaking his head in puzzlement.
‘This is weird. You said they just turned up? Out of the blue?’
‘That’s right. Do you know anything about it?’
‘Nope. Don’t recognise the writing. Don’t know who this is either. Do you?’
I shake my head, disappointed.
‘It’s horrible. Looks like someone beat her up pretty bad. You need to go to the police, Stella. This is more than trying to scare you. This is an out and out threat.’
‘They won’t do anything. I’ve had this before, with a stalker. He used to send me stuff to my home when I was a kid. Seven or eight years old. I was – sort of famous for a while, on the television. He was a fan. He signed his letters “Uncle”. The envelopes would be full of really weird stuff. The police said they couldn’t do anything until he actually did something to physically harm me. The threats weren’t enough. We moved out not long after, and it seemed to stop.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Lost a bit of faith in the process after that, to be honest.’
I consider telling Frankie about the phone calls, the ones in which the silence bristles with menace and static, but instead I pick up the photo and slide it with the note between the pages of the Reader’s Digest Book of Perennials. Frankie watches me carefully, his hands in his pockets. Something is nagging at me, I can feel it persistently, like a toothache. It wasn’t there before, when I first arrived.
‘You’ll keep Blue here with you tonight then, yes?’
I nod.
‘He’s a loud barker, an excellent mouser and a rampant breaker of wind. So be warned. I’ve bought him some food. It’s in the fridge.’
Blue is looking over at us, head tilted.
Frankie winks at him. ‘You’ll look after this lady tonight, boss? Make sure she sleeps safe?’
Blue whines down in his throat and wags his tail. Frankie and I laugh.
‘Good boy.’ He turns to me. ‘Found him hiding under my truck about six years ago. He spent nine days under there, shivering. I had to pass him food and water.’
‘How did you get him out?’
‘Persistence. I’m a dogged bastard.’ Frankie flashes me that easy, roguish grin again.
‘Poor Blue. Poor baby.’
‘Oh, keep talking, darlin’, he’s going to love you. If you need more wood, you’ll find a stack of it in the shed. Don’t lose the key, it’s the only one. And – uh – careful as you go in. There’s piles of boxes in there, really old stuff.’
We move into the hallway and I switch on the light. Frankie whistles long and low.
‘Wow. How long has that been there?’
A huge patch of damp covers the wall from floor to ceiling. It is black and wet and ugly-looking. Frankie presses his hand against it, but the thought of touching it revolts me, turning my stomach. Blue flattens himself low to the ground, walking down the hallway in a crouching gait. I stare at it.
‘I don’t know. I’ve never seen it before.’
‘It almost looks’ – Frankie is hesitant, turning his head this way and that – ‘like a person. Wouldn’t you say? Like the outline of a figure.’
I bristle with a sudden chill. He’s right, of course, that is exactly what it looks like. A looming silhouette beaded with condensation as though something were pressing through from the other side of the wall.