The quiet space between.., p.9
The Quiet Space Between Us, page 9
‘That you don’t need to heat?’ he asked, gesturing towards the generator.
Ida shrugged, thinking. She had some crackers and cereals and a few tins of fruit. She’d manage.
‘Caught a rabbit this morning,’ he said. ‘I’ll be eating around sunset – there’ll be some spare, if you need it.’
‘Oh,’ Ida said, suddenly understanding. ‘Right.’ She tucked her hair behind her ears and watched as Walker turned to leave, picking his stick up as he did.
She looked up at the sky and towards the sun which now hung to the west – late afternoon, Ida thought. She sat down on the step and watched the man and the dog as they moved further and further away. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten meat – she had the occasional tin of corned beef or chilli, but she hadn’t eaten fresh meat since before they came here.
After a while she stood and looked at the house and the sheet of blue now covering one side of the roof, ugly but reassuring. The ladder wasn’t there anymore and Ida looked around the side of the house, noting that he’d put it back under the awning. She walked back inside and gathered the toolbox and hammer, returning them to their spot in the bathroom.
The air felt cold and damp, as though it was clinging to her skin as she padded through the house. She felt dingy; her robe smelled musty from the rain and her hair trailed over her shoulders, lank and greasy. She looked down at her feet and at the mud which still clung to them. She needed to wash but she had no way of heating the water and she didn’t relish the thought of the cold temperatures of the river; the winds from the storm had penetrated her bones and left an icy trail.
She went into the bedroom and found a flannel in the cupboard, then she took one of the big bottles of water from the bathroom and slipped a half-used bar of soap into her pocket. She lugged the bottle outside using her uninjured arm and set it down at the back of the house. She looked at it – one of the big five-litre bottles she never had any use for before – knowing that Cal would tell her not to use her emergency supply for washing. She realised it wasn’t an emergency, but she ached to feel clean and wash off the turmoil of the previous twenty-four hours. She would need to replace the water as soon as possible – she would boil some from the river as soon as she could use the generator and pour it into the bottle once it had cooled.
She wet the flannel and rubbed some soap into it until she’d worked up a lather. She started by washing her face then her neck and under her arms, moving down until she came to her feet. She poured water on them and scrubbed until they were clean. She checked around the house to make sure no one was there then she quickly dropped her robe and tipped her head upside down, pouring water through her hair. She stood completely naked as she had many times before, only now she felt exposed. Knowing that Walker was out there somewhere – just one person in the vast expanse of land – made her feel surprisingly less alone. She poured the rest of the water over her body, rinsing away the soap.
Shivering but clean, she went back into the house and closed all of the windows and doors. She took a pair of grey leggings and a beige half-zip jumper out of her wardrobe, dressed and climbed into bed, closing the curtains and shutting out the world. Sleep was calling her. As she drifted off she thought about Walker and his offer of a hot meal, her mouth watering at the thought of it. She decided, almost subconsciously, that she would let her body decide which she required more. If she woke before sunset, she would go, and if she didn’t, she would enjoy the sweet relief of sleep.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When Ida woke it wasn’t the gradual release from sleep that she’d grown accustomed to, it was sharp and sudden; one minute she was dreaming about an impending storm and the next her eyes were wide open, taking in the reality which she couldn’t decide whether or not she preferred. She sat up and pulled back the curtain, looking out at the hills to the south. Darkness was descending, the skies dulling as the sun crept below the horizon, spilling crimson streaks among the high clouds. Her tummy growled as though remembering Walker’s offer. She hadn’t eaten all day and her energy levels had plummeted. She wanted to roll over and go back to sleep but the dull ache in her tummy told her it wouldn’t come easily – she needed food.
She walked into the kitchen and looked aimlessly through one cupboard and then another, browsing the options she already knew were there. She could eat here – it wouldn’t be the best meal she’d ever had but she could make do; a tin of fruit and some crackers or the five bean salad with some lettuce from the garden. She put her hand to her belly and felt the gentle rumblings. ‘Okay, okay,’ she conceded. She shut the cupboards, grabbed her coat and went outside. Her boots still hung on the line along with the other things she’d put out to dry. She gathered them all up and put them back inside before she left, not trusting the clouds which looked uncertain as they lingered above.
Her boots were still damp. She couldn’t decide which would be better – bare feet or damp shoes. She opted for the latter, pulling them on over a pair of dry wool socks. She shut the front door and began walking north. The fields were undulating, a slight hill up to the dirt track which descended gradually on the other side, a gentle slope to Walker’s. When she reached the crest, where the fields met the gravelly track which reminded her of Cal, she stopped for a moment, wondering what he would say if he knew what she was about to do. Cal’s imaginary protestations filled her head and almost made her turn around, but the ache in her belly spurred her on. She reasoned that Walker couldn’t be carrying the virus or she would have fallen ill by now – she’d had more than enough contact with him to have been exposed. He was a recluse, like her, so he didn’t pose a risk in that way.
Ida reflected – not for the first time – on how her idea of risk had changed so dramatically. When she was in her early twenties, meeting her friends for a night out on the town, going back to a strange man’s house in the middle of nowhere would have been unthinkable – especially someone like Walker. He didn’t exactly look like the type of man parents would want their children dating or associating with. He was the sort of man who people gave a wide berth to. If Ida would have seen him on the streets of Surrey a few years ago, she would have thought he was homeless or recently released from prison, and now here she was voluntarily wandering into his house and eating his food. She reasoned that if he wanted to kill her, he would have done it before now. He’d had more than enough opportunity – not least when she was unconscious on his couch or when he was in possession of a hammer earlier that day.
As she navigated the undulant fields, still damp and slippery from the rain, she noticed a streak of smoke in the distance coming from just behind Walker’s hut. It was barely noticeable in the fading light, the view obstructed by the gathering of trees and shrubberies, but now that she was getting closer she could just make it out, and she could smell it too. She edged round the side of the hut, suddenly worried about what she might find.
Walker was sat back on a garden chair, the heels of his boots resting on a crate and a firepit just beside him. He turned as she rounded the corner but his expression remained unchanged and she suddenly felt as though she’d intruded.
‘You came,’ he said.
‘I came. I can go if…’
Walker interrupted. ‘Just surprised to see you is all.’
‘I’m surprised to see anyone.’
She thought she saw the corners of his mouth turn into a smile, but it was fleeting. The firelight danced in his eyes as he stared straight ahead to the north, as though watching something in the distance. She followed his gaze but there was nothing to see; the land turned to rolling hills up ahead, obscuring where she knew the dirt track met with the road.
‘It should be ready soon,’ he said, gesturing towards the meat which sat atop of the firepit, skewered with what looked to be tomatoes and onions. Ida could smell it, the mild metallic scent mixed with the tang of the onions. It reminded her of being at a barbeque, the sun glaring down as she sat cross-legged on a deck chair, a cocktail glass held in her hand – it felt like another life rather than a distant memory.
‘Smells good,’ she said.
He leant down and picked up a glass bottle which clinked against the chair leg as he lifted it. Ida watched as he took a long gulp – the greenish bottle, the red label…
‘Is that beer?’ she asked.
‘You want one?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. On the other side of his chair was a bucket full of water with several bottles suspended in it. He took one out and undid the top on the side of the table, passing it to her.
She sat down on the empty chair beside him and took it. ‘I haven’t had one of these in years,’ she said, sipping from the bottle. It tasted good – better than she remembered. It wouldn’t have been her drink of choice typically, but now that she thought about it that wasn’t because of the taste but rather due to the image. She always felt more ladylike with a glass of wine or a fancy cocktail. She wondered now why she ever cared; it seemed so trivial. So pointless.
‘How’s the roof?’ Walker asked.
‘Better without the hole in it.’ She took another drink of her beer. ‘Thanks,’ she added. It was fast and quiet but there it was, the thank you she’d been wanting to say to him. She took a deep breath, realising she didn’t feel as though she’d given any part of herself away by expressing her gratitude.
Walker nodded but didn’t say anything. They sat like that for a while, the sky darkening until it revealed the stars. The clouds still loomed but they’d scattered, whispers of the storm remaining as though she needed a reminder. Ida took off her coat and sat back in the chair, the beer cradled in her hands. It was a warm evening, still and peaceful. She rested her head back, admiring the stars as she often did. When she glanced sideways at Walker she saw that he was doing the same, his head turned up towards the sky.
‘What can you see?’ she asked, then instantly regretted it. He wasn’t Cal, nor was he her friend.
‘Orion’s Belt,’ he answered, much to Ida’s surprise. ‘The hunter.’
‘He’s a hunter?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. Depends whether you believe Greek mythology I guess.’
‘From what I remember, it’s full of chaos and destruction. I’d say it sounds pretty accurate.’
Walker turned to face her and held out his bottle. ‘To hiding from it all,’ he said. She held out her bottle and tapped it against his, the clinking of the glass sharp against the stillness of the night. The wind had died down but the water still rushed, the river remembering the storm for much longer than the land.
Walker stood and placed his bottle down on the table, stepping over to the firepit and prodding at the skewers with a pair of metal tongs. Clearly deciding they were ready, he removed them from the fire and placed them on a large rectangular plate. Ida edged forward in her seat, her stomach so empty it hurt.
‘Just got to let the skewers cool,’ he said. ‘You’re hungry, huh?’
‘I haven’t eaten since…’ she had to think about it for a moment, ‘yesterday morning.’ She’d had a handful of mixed nuts with her morning tea, sat doing a jigsaw in the blissful ignorance of what was about to come. It seemed such a long time ago now.
Walker tossed some wood onto the firepit and stoked it before sitting down and reaching into the bucket for another beer. Ida took another drink of hers and felt her shoulders loosen, the tension easing. ‘You want another?’ he asked.
‘Don’t you want to save them?’ They were a precious commodity now, she didn’t want to be taking something from him that he couldn’t replace.
Walker looked puzzled and shook his head. ‘Not particularly.’ He reached into the bucket and took out another, undoing the top before passing it to her.
Ida sat with a bottle of beer in each hand and a plateful of food in front of her, feeling like she’d hit the jackpot. She drained the first bottle and placed it on the table.
Walker leant forward and felt one of the skewers, apparently satisfied they wouldn’t burn her. ‘Tuck in,’ he said, sliding the plate across to her.
Ida reached out and grabbed one. She couldn’t help herself, she wanted to take it slow and relish the flavours, but she was too hungry. Walker took one for himself and leant back in his chair, taking his time, clearly not eating with the same urgency as Ida who chewed greedily, barely stopping to swallow. She finished the first and placed the empty skewer beside the plate, hoping Walker would encourage her to take another.
‘Don’t hold back on my account.’ Walker wiped the grease from his mouth with the back of his hand and she noticed he’d barely made a dint in his.
She gulped down a mouthful of beer then took another from the plate. The onions were soft, the tomatoes sweet, and the meat was juicy and tender, cooked just the way she liked it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed a meal this much.
‘It’s so good,’ she said, her mouth full of the food and her head fuzzy from the beer.
‘Glad you’re enjoying it.’ He placed his empty skewer down on the table and wiped his hands on his T-shirt.
‘Aren’t you going to have another?’
‘I think you need it more than I do,’ he said casually. Ida understood there was no deep and meaningful sentiment behind it but rather an observation; she was hungry, he was not so. He seemed to sense her apprehension. ‘I’ve got plenty to eat if I’m hungry later. Go ahead.’ He gestured to the plate where the last skewer remained, loaded with meat and vegetables.
Ida took it, enjoying the feeling of being full almost as much as the feeling of being less alone. She didn’t need him to talk; she wasn’t sure if she even wanted him to. She didn’t need him to sit close or offer her things to eat or drink. It was enough to know that all this land wasn’t as vacant as she’d believed, and this big wide world wasn’t quite as cruel.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
After Ida had finished eating and drained her second beer, Walker got up and added some more wood to the fire then pulled another couple of bottles out of the bucket, leaving it empty.
‘Another?’ Walker asked.
Ida wanted another. She definitely wanted another. But the logical part of her mind – which was slightly less straight-thinking than usual but still functioning – told her it was a long walk home in the dark. She didn’t fear the land, but she respected it, and she needed her wits about her for that. A fall in the night could leave her vulnerable, open to the elements and the weather she couldn’t predict. Exposure could kill her out there, with no one to notice she was even gone.
‘I’d better not,’ she said reluctantly. ‘Long walk back and it’s already gone to my head.’
Walker put the bottle down on the table in front of her rather than back in the bucket. ‘Got a torch?’ he asked.
She pulled it out of her pocket and held it up to show him.
‘Small torch for such a lot of land,’ he said.
‘Small doesn’t necessarily mean weak.’ She turned it on and pointed the beam of light away from the fire, out to the west where the darkness lurked, the river running somewhere beneath it. The nights were so absolute out in the midst of nothing, the absence of any light oppressive and suffocating. Cal had brought the torch with them when they came to the house; it was powerful and robust and it had come to her aid many times. She looked back over to Walker who raised his eyebrows.
‘Not bad,’ he conceded.
Ida felt a spot of rain fall on the top of her head. She looked up to the sky to see that clouds had blown over from the east, blocking the milky light of the moon and the stars which surrounded it.
‘Rain,’ Walker commented, more to himself than to Ida.
Before she’d had a chance to gather herself and think about the journey home, the spotting of rain had turned into a downpour. The firepit sizzled in protest and turned to smoke. Walker gathered his things off the table and opened the door to his place, Chief rushing inside. Walker looked back to Ida who sat there in the rain, wondering what on earth she should do. The alcohol had slowed her reactions and blurred her thinking. She knew she needed to get home fast; it would be a cold night on the fields if she lost her way.
‘You coming?’ he shouted over the noise of the rain.
Ida stood. ‘I… I should go.’ She looked around aimlessly, trying to think straight.
Before Walker could reply there was a crack of lightning over the forest; the sudden ferocity of it made Ida jump and cower away from it, moving over to Walker and the refuge of his hut. She thought about her house and the already fragile roof, the blue plastic sheet the only thing protecting it from flooding once more. She looked back to the forest and then to Walker who stood with the door held ajar, waiting for her to make up her mind.
She was soaked, her hair sticking to her forehead and her jumper clinging to her skin. She thought of the damage the lightning had done to her house and couldn’t help but fear the damage it could do to her. As if encouraging her to make up her mind, the lightning came again, followed by a deep rumble of thunder. She took one last look over her shoulder, grabbed her coat off the chair, and went inside.
Walker let the door slam shut behind him. He walked to the other side of the room and set the plate and skewers down on top of the kitchen worktop, if you could call it a kitchen – it consisted of two cupboards with a makeshift board on top. Ida stood by the door dithering in her wet clothes, her arms folded across her chest, her coat clutched in her hand. Walker didn’t seem to notice at first, he was too busy tending to the things he usually did alone. Ida suddenly realised there was a light on overhead, a single bulb casting an artificial glow around the small room.
‘You have electricity?’ she asked him. She hadn’t expected him to. She looked around, searching for things he might want to power, beside the light – but she couldn’t see anything. He had an open fire for heat and he obviously hunted for food which he cooked on the firepit – his one luxury must be light.
