Read Online The Night Hunter by Caro Ramsay - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Caro Ramsay
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tail. A red squirrel stops in the middle of the road, perches up on his hind legs with his front paws raised as if he’s about to go three rounds with the bumper of the Merc. After a little whisker twitching, he bounces on his way to the undergrowth at the side of the road where I follow the ripple trace in the foliage until he reappears, bolting up a tree. He sits on a branch, hands on hips, looking at me. The message is clear –
what do you think of that then?
I am still smiling as I pull into the driveway at Ardno. The timer on the gates says four thirty-five and as they swing open I can see the Shogun abandoned in front of the house. I park the Merc beside it and walk round the back where the patio door is open a little. Something is not right. The door is ajar but Charlie is sitting on the swing at the bottom of the garden, on his own. Parnell’s big rule: Charlie is never to be left on his own. He is the only son of a millionaire and all that, but here the wee guy is, sitting, not swinging. He does that when he’s feeling out of sorts. I can tell that he has been crying by the way he turns his head, defiantly looking away from me. I wave at him to let him know that whatever huge issue is troubling his little mind, I am OK with it. We have already agreed on many occasions that it is sometimes a bit tricky to be four, but being four is shitloads better than being three, or a grown-up, or a monkey.
As I walk to my flat, it becomes very clear what is troubling Charlie Parnell, aged four. I hear his dad through the patio doors. They are in the kitchen, and the white voile curtains are blowing in the wind slightly, making them twirl through the gap. I hear gentle birdsong, the clunk-clunk of Charlie making circular patterns with the swing and the forceful, unpleasant voice of Alex Parnell coming from within. He is interrogating his wife, the tone hard and persistent. I can make out the question,
So where were you then? Where?
I can’t make out the words of Mary’s mumbled answer but there is fear in her voice. I’ve heard her sound like that before. Before the bruises appear.
I hear her say something about Charlie as she appears as a dark shadow at the curtains, her clumsy hands pawing them to get through. She is so desperate to escape, she is halfway across the patio before she realizes I’m standing there. The expression on her face sears into my mind. The same expression was on Sophie’s face. Shame, fear, relief. Somewhere in there are the words,
help me.
‘I’m back,’ I start, as though I have heard nothing. ‘I’ve left the Merc at the front. Do you want it in the garage or …’
The curtain is nearly ripped from its track as Parnell pulls it to one side. ‘Don’t you …’ Then he stops when he sees me. My mind fills in the unspoken words: ‘…
walk away from me …
’
‘Oh, Elvie, glad you’re here. Maybe you can shed some light on a matter I’m concerned about.’
‘If I can,’ I say cheerily. Mary wants the patio to open up and consume her.
‘Last Tuesday. Can you recall what Mary was doing?’
Now I do look at her but I keep the expression on my face to one of mild amusement. ‘Tuesday? Her book group and then some yoga, I think.’ I shrug.
‘She didn’t go out again? In the Shogun?’
‘No.’
We share a brittle silence. Charlie’s swing is quiet and motionless. Even the birds seem to have stopped singing.
‘There’s some mileage logged on it that we cannot account for,’ says Parnell. His tone is more than accusatory. He waits for an answer.
Out the corner of my eye I can see Mary looking past me to Charlie. She is scared and humiliated. I keep my gaze focused on Parnell. ‘I had it.’ My voice is simple, a bit confused.
‘Really?’
‘Fifty miles from here to Dunoon, does that account for it?’
‘Just about,’ he says, jangling his change in his pocket. Uncertain.
‘Sorry if I shouldn’t have, but I did shout on Mary and tell her.’
Mary looks at
what do you think of that then?
I am still smiling as I pull into the driveway at Ardno. The timer on the gates says four thirty-five and as they swing open I can see the Shogun abandoned in front of the house. I park the Merc beside it and walk round the back where the patio door is open a little. Something is not right. The door is ajar but Charlie is sitting on the swing at the bottom of the garden, on his own. Parnell’s big rule: Charlie is never to be left on his own. He is the only son of a millionaire and all that, but here the wee guy is, sitting, not swinging. He does that when he’s feeling out of sorts. I can tell that he has been crying by the way he turns his head, defiantly looking away from me. I wave at him to let him know that whatever huge issue is troubling his little mind, I am OK with it. We have already agreed on many occasions that it is sometimes a bit tricky to be four, but being four is shitloads better than being three, or a grown-up, or a monkey.
As I walk to my flat, it becomes very clear what is troubling Charlie Parnell, aged four. I hear his dad through the patio doors. They are in the kitchen, and the white voile curtains are blowing in the wind slightly, making them twirl through the gap. I hear gentle birdsong, the clunk-clunk of Charlie making circular patterns with the swing and the forceful, unpleasant voice of Alex Parnell coming from within. He is interrogating his wife, the tone hard and persistent. I can make out the question,
So where were you then? Where?
I can’t make out the words of Mary’s mumbled answer but there is fear in her voice. I’ve heard her sound like that before. Before the bruises appear.
I hear her say something about Charlie as she appears as a dark shadow at the curtains, her clumsy hands pawing them to get through. She is so desperate to escape, she is halfway across the patio before she realizes I’m standing there. The expression on her face sears into my mind. The same expression was on Sophie’s face. Shame, fear, relief. Somewhere in there are the words,
help me.
‘I’m back,’ I start, as though I have heard nothing. ‘I’ve left the Merc at the front. Do you want it in the garage or …’
The curtain is nearly ripped from its track as Parnell pulls it to one side. ‘Don’t you …’ Then he stops when he sees me. My mind fills in the unspoken words: ‘…
walk away from me …
’
‘Oh, Elvie, glad you’re here. Maybe you can shed some light on a matter I’m concerned about.’
‘If I can,’ I say cheerily. Mary wants the patio to open up and consume her.
‘Last Tuesday. Can you recall what Mary was doing?’
Now I do look at her but I keep the expression on my face to one of mild amusement. ‘Tuesday? Her book group and then some yoga, I think.’ I shrug.
‘She didn’t go out again? In the Shogun?’
‘No.’
We share a brittle silence. Charlie’s swing is quiet and motionless. Even the birds seem to have stopped singing.
‘There’s some mileage logged on it that we cannot account for,’ says Parnell. His tone is more than accusatory. He waits for an answer.
Out the corner of my eye I can see Mary looking past me to Charlie. She is scared and humiliated. I keep my gaze focused on Parnell. ‘I had it.’ My voice is simple, a bit confused.
‘Really?’
‘Fifty miles from here to Dunoon, does that account for it?’
‘Just about,’ he says, jangling his change in his pocket. Uncertain.
‘Sorry if I shouldn’t have, but I did shout on Mary and tell her.’
Mary looks at
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