In A Deep Dark Wood: A psychological thriller by Tina Pritchard

Author:Tina Pritchard [Pritchard, Tina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Inkubator Books
Published: 2021-02-27T22:00:00+00:00

The garden is looking less than its best. I haven’t been out there in weeks, and the leaves that have already drifted down are scattered across the lawn. They litter the paths, accumulate in piles at the corners of the patio, and mount up in front of the garden gates. As the month progresses, the high winds will bring down further flurries, which, if not collected, will turn into a slippery mulch with the arrival of the heavy winter rains. Pulling on an old waxed jacket and a pair of wellies, I step outside.

Buddy is overjoyed to have company in the garden. He hurtles around in ever-widening circles, stopping only to pounce on an eddy of old leaf litter lifted by the breeze, or to sniff at an especially interesting patch of moss. The sun is high and bright in a sky that is a deep chromatic blue. It feels good to be outside on such a beautiful autumn afternoon. Throwing myself into raking and sweeping, I soon have a number of neatly stacked piles ready to transfer into the incinerator bin. Our neighbours on either side are at work during the day. Out of courtesy, one of us will call round at the weekend to check they haven’t put washing out or are planning a meetup with friends for drinks in the garden, before we light a bonfire.

It’s warm work, and I pause to take off my coat and survey my handiwork. At this point, Buddy seizes his opportunity. Barking wildly, he runs through the largest of the piles, scattering leaves in all directions. I find an old tennis ball and throw it to distract him while I start to shovel spade loads of dried leaf litter into the bin.

It is close to 4 p.m. when I finish. To amuse Laurie, and as proof of my efforts, I want to take a photo to show him how hard I have worked. It will be dark by the time he gets home, and by the weekend the garden will no doubt look as leaf-strewn as it did before I started.

I’ve left the phone in the house, and when I locate it, I have had three missed calls and a text message. They are all from Mel Ingram.

‘‘Shit,’ I say out loud before retrieving the message.

Hi, Fran. I have made an appointment at the funeral place on Tuesday. It’s at 11 a.m. Let me know if you can make it. Mel.

I’m annoyed with myself for not taking my phone into the garden, and I’m also in a bit of a quandary. Should I call her back or just send a return text? I decide on the latter.

That’s good for me, Mel. Shall I meet you there or come and pick you up? I will need an address and postcode if I’m going straight there. Fran.

I keep checking the screen, waiting for a response. When there’s no reply after twenty minutes, I decide to have a shower. I’m tired and dusty and my muscles ache, stiff from lack of use.

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