Years of working in the city had worn me down.
I was tired of commuting and being careful not to meet the eyes of the person sitting opposite me on the subway. I was sick of the dog mess smeared across the pavement and the constant noise.
I needed to move on.
One Monday morning, after a particularly hellish journey to work, I decided it was time.
A rat had got into the carriage. As it ran around, everyone freaked out. One idiot even tried to shoot it.
I got off the train soaked in sweat, walked the short distance to my office and emailed my resignation before I could change my mind.
None of my family lived nearby and I only had a couple of friends. When I told them what I had done over a drink after work, their reaction was not positive.
They told me I had made a mistake.
I ignored them.
I was getting out.
I was beginning a new chapter.
All of which sounded great in the bar as I’d celebrated my new-found freedom over shots.
The next day, hungover, and still having a month’s worth of commuting left while I worked out my notice, the world didn’t feel as wonderful and full of possibilities.
I crunched painkillers between my teeth and tried to focus on my desktop’s screen.
But, as the days and weeks passed, and I started to add details to my plan, I once again started to feel excited about the future.
To escape the grind of the city, my plan was to move to the countryside.
I imagined myself waking up to the sound of birdsong.
I dreamt of breathing in clean, cool air, and walking through fields that stretched as far as the eye could see.
It was going to be fantastic.
After a leaving party at work that was sparsely attended and being stood up by my friends at the bar later that evening, I packed up my car with the few belongings I hadn’t sold or given to charity shops, and waved farewell to my old life.
Good riddance, I thought, as the highway opened out before me.
I’d invested a slice of my savings in renting a property that bordered a national park. It was very rural and sparsely populated but, I had checked, and I would definitely be able to get online.
I obviously needed this to find work.
There should be opportunities in the nearby park, I figured.
Maybe I could even start my own business.
I could create content for websites.
I could trade stocks and shares.
Dabble in online poker.
Well, maybe not that. But there were lots of ways to generate income out there for someone like me who had an open mind.
As the buildings slipped by and began to thin out, I turned the radio up high and sang along.
It took me three days to reach my destination. I’d slept in the car to save money and washed in restrooms at gas stations, so was feeling tired and grimy as I pulled up outside my new home and stepped out of the car.
The house was set back from the road. The online listing where I had discovered it had shown a picture-postcard-pretty, wooden, single storey house that drooled ‘traditional’.
It was clear filters, and more, had been used on the photographs of the exterior I had seen.
There were cracked timbers, clumps of mushrooms growing out in places, and the guttering was like a wild nature reserve, with grasses sprouting up over the edges.
One of the windows had been boarded up, making me think of a plywood eyepatch. That had not been in the pictures.
The rusted shell of a car which sat on bricks by one side of the house had definitely not appeared anywhere on the website either.
As I hunted for the keys which I had been told would be in the porch, I was cussing under my breath.
If I had not been so tired, I would have been straight on the phone demanding my deposit back, but I was desperate for a lie down, in an actual bed. Just for a few hours.
I found the keys under an upturned plant plot being kept company by a family of small brown spiders.
As the spiders scurried away, I let myself in.
Dust motes hung in the air and there was a stale smell. I just needed to leave a few windows open and maybe it would be OK, I told myself half-heartedly, and went in search of the bedroom.
Mercifully, this was kind of clean and when I tested the bed by patting it, it felt soft. I slipped my shoes off and did not even bother lifting the covers.
I fell on top of the bed and was instantly asleep.
When I woke up, I blinked and coughed and wondered where I was – then the sound of a bird singing drifted through to me.
It was just one bird, chattering away, and it was wonderful.
I rolled off the bed and stretched my arms out.
I had no idea how long I had been asleep, but I felt totally refreshed.
I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I had felt like this. Back in the city I used to wake up feeling more tired than when I had gone to bed.
Standing there on the floorboards, I understood what ‘having a spring in your step’ truly meant.
Smiling to myself, I started to explore the rest of the house.
Bright sunshine poured through the windows – even through gaps around the edges of the plywood over the broken window.
The small kitchen had all the basic amenities – and when I opened the fridge, I was delighted to discover milk and cheese and a note:
Hi neighbour, I’m Mary-Anne Wilton. I heard you were moving in and wanted to make you feel welcome. I live a couple of miles down the way. Drop by any time!
It’s embarrassing to admit, but this actually brought a tear to my eye.
I knew I was stressed in the city, but I think it was only then, when the pressure tap had been opened and I was starting to feel a sense of release, that I realised just how unhappy I had been.
I was also suddenly starving.
Sniffling and wiping at my eyes, I devoured the cheese and drank down the milk.
Nothing had ever tasted so good.
I belched and headed out to my car.
There was a moment of unease when I realised I had not locked the front door before going to sleep.
I had three chains on the door of my apartment in the city and always used to double check they were on before I went to bed.
But did it matter out here if I locked my door or not?
In another wonderful rush of emotion, it occurred to me that it did not matter in the least.
Because I was living in the countryside.
I stepped outside.
The sun was high in the sky and there was a cool breeze. I’d been so focused on the house when I had arrived, I had not taken in the trees that rose all around it.
I could see the occasional flutter of movement high up in the branches and hear more birds singing and the calls of animals – though I had no idea what they were.
“Welcome to happiness,” I said out-loud to myself then went to fetch my things from the car.
As I made a few trips back and forth, the exterior of the house still struck me as a mess, but now, I thought of it as a charming mess.
I was so glad I had not made any angry calls saying there was no way I could live here.
Once I had my things inside, the first on my to-do list was to set up my laptop. As it powered up, I crossed my fingers… and, yes, I had a signal.
I had my space from the rest of the world, but I was also connected when I wanted to be.
I grinned and rubbed my still rumbling belly.
Next of the list was to stock up on supplies.
On my way here the day before, I had passed a ramshackle building with a sign over it proclaiming: Ged’s Emporium – Fresh and Tinned Products and Helpers for your Home.
Well, Ged was going to have a profitable day today, because I needed all the basics and cupboards full of food.
The drive out to the store took me back along the narrow road that was as much dirt as tarmac and every now and then I felt a jolt as one of the wheels hit a rut.
Thankfully it did not take me too long to reach my destination. Ged’s Emporium was in front of me, its sign looking to me as welcoming as an old friend. Next to it, was a bar. All drinks half price until the end of time, was painted on its window.
An old dog lying across the road looked up at me as I parked then closed its eyes.
The sun had hazed over now and the breeze checked out. I wiped sweat from my eyes and headed into Ged’s.
I was hoping there was air-conditioning – and there was, but apart from rattling fit to raise the dead, the unit seemed to have no impact. It was even hotter inside than out.
Canned goods were piled onto shelves that rose in layers above my head. There were mops and buckets and washing lines and clothes pegs scattered around. There were squat bottles of detergent and a whole host of insect repellents in one corner marked out with a skull-and-crossbones inside a triangle. Next to this tomatoes that had started to shrivel sat in a tray. They were the only fresh produce I could see as I headed for the counter.
A man, about my own age, sat behind it reading a magazine. Concentration lined the skin of his brow and around his eyes.
“Hi,” I said brightly. “I’m new round these parts.”
He looked up from his reading and a slow smile uncreased his face. He put the magazine down.
“I’m Ged Jnr,” he replied. “My old man opened this shop forty years ago. It’s mine now, and my beautiful wife. Welcome friend.”
Saying this he held out his left hand to shake, and I noticed that the fingers of his right hand were missing, all the way down to four stumps.
Then I felt my skin tingling with embarrassment. I’d been staring, I realised.
Just for a moment, but long enough to be downright rude.
“I’m grateful for your warm welcome,” I said, too loudly, trying to cover up my ignorance, then added in an attempt at a joke: “I’d like one of everything.”
To his credit, he kept on smiling his friendly smile.
By the time I emerged from the store, a bag packed to the brim balanced on each arm, my good mood was back in full swing.
I rolled all the windows on my car down to try and get some air circulating and put the pedal to the floor.
After unloading my supplies at home, I strolled back out to my car carrying a bottle of sparkling wine I had bought with a special purpose in mind.
Mary-Anne Wilton had not left directions with her note other ‘a couple of miles down the way’ and as I had not passed any houses on my way to the store, and there was only one road round these parts, I set off with my present for her resting on the passenger seat, confident I could find her place easy enough.
This was what my new life was all about.
There were no problems – apart from the big, ugly hornet that flew into the car just after I set off.
I screeched to a halt, jumped out and waited while took its own sweet time buzzing around before finally deciding to leave.
I waved it Adios, then resumed the journey – with the windows wound firmly down – and in no time at all was approaching a house on the right-hand side of the road. Like mine, it was set back and nestled in the centre of a yard overgrown with weeds.
There was an old couple sat on the porch.
They were grey-haired and lines were worn deep into their faces, and they looked so content, just sitting there. As I slowed to a stop, the old lady rested her head on the old man’s shoulder, and he kissed her on the forehead.
I wondered how long they’d been together – a long time, I figured. They were still clearly very much in love.
I climbed out of the car and gave them a friendly wave.
I kept my eyes fixed on the old man’s face.
I did not want to repeat my rudeness of earlier by staring.
His right leg was missing, up to his knee. Her left arm was gone altogether.
“Good day,” I said. “I am new to the area. I was actually looking for the home of a Mary-Anne Wilton, though I sure am glad to meet you good people as well. Sir.” I nodded at the man. And again, at the woman. “Ma’am.”
The old man cleared his throat and it sounded like a lifetime of tobacco was catching up with him when he spoke: “She lives off the road. If you walk past our house and follow the path, you’ll not miss her.”
“Thank you kindly,” I replied and, after getting the wine from the car, set off.
A few minutes easy walk along a path brought me to another house with its own collection of weeds.
Maybe, I wondered, I should start a gardening business. I’d have plenty of customers.
I was smiling as I knocked on the front door.
I’d been in love once in my life, and falling in love had been a long, slow dive. I’d met her at an author’s reading at a bookshop. We went for a drink afterwards, which had turned into a meal and then a night together. The morning after, we’d both been a little embarrassed, and that could have been the end of it. Only, on the spur of the moment I’d asked her a few days later if she would like to go see a movie, and when she said yes, I felt a rush of happiness that took me by surprise. We spent six months together but never really let anyone know. Then, one morning, she told me we couldn’t do this anymore – and my heart broke. I realised I was in love with her and here I was saying goodbye.
When the door of that simple wooden house opened, I fell in love for the second time in my life.
This time it was instant.
Cupid striking with a high-powered crossbow.
I was utterly smitten with the young woman standing in the doorway.
She was beautiful, but not in the way society and the media proclaim beauty to be.
There was a gap in her front teeth as she smiled at me. Her long dark hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in a long while and was tied up kind of chaotically with bits of ribbons. In the corner of one of her brown eyes there was a fleck of red.
Other people might call it a flaw. I was transfixed.
She also had all her fingers and toes – it wouldn’t have been an issue if she hadn’t, but this was something I now noticed.
My new life was happening in a wonderful and strange place, where to fall in love at first sight felt perfectly natural.
“Hey,” she said.
Every nerve in my body felt like it was one fire, and I was not sure if the ones connecting my brain to my vocal chords still worked but I gave it a try.
“Hey,” I managed,” my nerves still functioning, and held out the bottle of sparkling wine, like a kid on prom night producing a bouquet of flowers for his date.
She laughed, maybe a bit uncomfortable about the wine. I wasn’t sure. But she took it and said, “You must be my new neighbour. One of my cousins owns the house. They’re away at the moment and asked me to leave a little welcome for you. I wasn’t expecting anything in return. Thank you, though, and please do come on in.”
The interior of her house was, like mine, pretty basic, but there’d clearly been a lot of effort put in to keep it clean and there were little loving touches everywhere I looked.
Wildflowers rested in glass vases, some fresh plucked from the look of their vibrant colours, others brown and withered. Rugs that appeared hand-made rested on the wooden floor in places. A pencil drawing of a tree was stuck unframed onto a wall in the kitchen – which was where she led me and asked if I wanted a glass of lemonade, after putting the wine in a cupboard.
Assuming I knew why she had done this, I said, “Sorry if you don’t drink wine. It didn’t occur to me that you might be teetotal.”
She laughed, “I’m not an abstainer. I love a glass of wine, it’s just a bit early in the day for me.”
I don’t know if I visibly blushed, but I certainly felt like I was, and I was relieved when she changed the subject by asking, “So, what brings you to our little corner of the earth?”
I told her about the city and how it had been dragging me down. I told her about the rat on the subway.
This made her laugh again.
“Lordy,” she said, “I hope you’re not afraid of things with tails that walk around on all four legs. You’ve come to the wrong place if you have.”
I laughed as well. “I’m fine with rats. It’s feeling hemmed in by thousands and thousands of other people and the collective craziness that sets in, that I couldn’t take any more of.”
“So, ultimately, you want to be on your own?” she asked. There was the hint of a smile on her lips as she did.
I wanted to tell her that that was the last thing I wanted now. My heart was beating like crazy and I was tingling all over because of the feelings about her rushing around inside of me.
I counted to ten, then tried to keep it light: “I think living here would be even better if I had someone to share it with.”
Her smile spread to her eyes. They sparkled and my heartbeat went from overdrive to meltdown.
Then someone yelled out.
In pain.
From somewhere in the house.
The happiness fled her face. “I’m sorry,” she said. “My father’s sick. I’m his carer.”
“I’m sorry,” I echoed, then asked, “Is your mother not here?”
She glanced down as she answered. “She left us for that much better place ten years ago. I miss her everyday.”
I couldn’t think what to say to this.
She looked back up at me. “Well, I need to see to my father now. It’s been lovely meeting you. Thank you for visiting and thank you for the wine. Maybe next time we can open it.”
I nodded.
Then I made my own way out, closed the door behind me and walked to my car, started it and drove back home.
I couldn’t remember doing any of these things as I opened the door to my house, but I must have, to have got from A to B.
I sat down and smiled at the wall.
Love.
What can you do!
I wanted to go back to see her the next day. I had not been able to think about anything else but her.
Mary-Anne. A dream come true.
But I left it.
I dug my heels in and forced myself to wait.
I had no idea if she had feelings for me, but if she did then I could not risk scaring her off by coming on too strong.
I needed to try and play it cool.
I made it through to the following afternoon. Till the time passed five p.m.
I had told myself I would not set off till at least five-thirty, but the thought of another half-an-hour was too much.
I got in my car. My hands were shaking so much it took me three tries to get the key in the ignition.
By the time I was headed along the path to her house the shakes had spread to my legs as well and, despite the two showers I had had that day and the deodorant I had sprayed liberally, sweat soaked through my shirt.
This wasn’t going well, I figured – a thought confirmed when I saw a couple of bicycles propped against the porch.
It looked like she had visitors.
I sighed and carried on putting one leg in front of the other. Knocked. And waited, keeping my arms down straight by my side to hide a couple of the sweat patches.
The door opened and there she was.
She was stunning, somehow even more so. And the temperature felt like it had suddenly risen by another twenty degrees.
I think even my eyeballs started sweating.
I blinked, trying to clear my vision.
“Hey,” she said brightly. “Come on in, there’s some people I’d like you to meet.”
I followed her through the hall, hoping I wasn’t leaving puddles of perspiration in my wake.
We reached the kitchen.
A young man and woman sat there, a jug of lemonade between them, and three cups.
“This is another of my cousins, Andrew,” Mary-Anne said, “And, as of this last night, this is his fiancé, Jess. They came round to share the good news with me. Aren’t they just the sweetest!”
Her enthusiasm and happiness were infectious, and I was smiling broadly as I congratulated Andrew and Jess.
They were a sweet couple. Both looked to be twenty-one at the oldest. Andrew had smart, short black hair and wore a white collarless shirt and dark slacks.
Jess had girl-next-door good looks. Her auburn hair was loose over her shoulders and she wore a pretty, sleeveless summer dress – which made it impossible to miss the mark on her upper arm.
It curved across her freckled skin, a mess of angry red and white welts.
It looked like a bite mark.
I had only glanced at it for a moment, then made myself stare at the glass of lemonade I had been handed by Mary-Anne so as to not once again seem rude, but I was sure that was what it what.
Something had given her a nasty bite, not so long ago, and it was going to leave her with a deuce of a scar.
I didn’t say anything. This was a celebration, and I did not want to ruin it.
Besides, how would I have started the conversation?
So, what bit you?
After a couple of hours, Andrew said they needed to make tracks. I wanted to stay but Mary-Anne had gone to check on her father, so I thought it best if I go as well.
I called out goodbye as I left.
“Don’t be a stranger,” she called back – and I was left floating through the air.
The next day I could not even hold back till early evening. I left my house shortly before noon and arrived on the dot of twelve.
I knocked and waited, my heart racing.
The door opened slowly.
Mary-Anne’s face was streaked with tears.
She looked at me with bloodshot eyes and said, “My father died in the night.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, and without thinking what I was doing, I moved towards her and held out my arms.
She rested her face on my neck and placed her hands around my waist.
As gently as I could I embraced her.
The tears moved through her body, and she held me tighter.
After what must have been only a few minutes but felt like a lot longer, she slowly stepped back, and the embrace broke in two.
“Thank you,” she said and wiped at her eyes with her hand. “I’ll be marking father’s passing in a few days’ time with a small gathering of friends and family. This Saturday, at Three. It would mean a lot to me if you were there.”
I know how awful this is going to sound. She was bereaved and hurting. But at those last words, my heart soared.
“I’ll be there,” I said and left.
The heady cocktail of emotions which possessed me bubbled away out of control as the days and nights passed. I can’t really remember the details of what I did.
The world only came into clarity when I knew I was going to be with her, and as I stepped up to her house, in a carefully ironed shirt and the smartest trousers I owned, every moment felt razor sharp.
There were voices coming from around the back of the house, so I headed straight there.
The buzz of chatter and the scents of home cooking filled the air as I stepped into the backyard.
A long table had been set out. It was crowded with bowls of salad and stacks of corn on the cob and little dishes filled with various sauces.
A dozen or so people were gathered around the table. I recognised Ged Jnr, from the shop, the old couple who lived in the house a few minutes away, and Andrew and Jess. There was no sign of Mary-Anne.
Jess saw me and gave me a little wave.
I wandered over to her. “Hi,” I said. “Where’s the lady of the house?”
Jess smiled sweetly and replied, “She’s in the kitchen. She should be here in a minute with the special dish.”
And sure enough, a few moments later Mary-Anne emerged carrying a big brass pot with a lid on it, which she placed in the centre of the table.
Her skin shone with sweat and once again the sight of her set my pulse racing in a way that could not have been good for my health.
She noticed me and smiled, and I was the happiest man in the world.
I tried not to grin. This was a memorial after all. And people were growing quiet. Mary- Anne cleared her throat and said, “I’d like to thank you all for coming here today. I know my father would have been delighted that the people who meant everything to him had gathered to say goodbye. He would have also told me to stop gabbing and get serving. So don’t be shy. The meal is served.”
She took the lid off the pot and started ladling out what looked like a stew. I got myself a plate and joined a short line.
When I reached the front, I looked in Mary-Anne’s eyes and said, “I’m so glad I can be here.”
“Me too,” she replied and ladled out a portion.
She had other guests to serve but I knew we would have chance to talk later so was happy to find a spot to eat my food.
I looked down at my plate… and a cold chill ran down my spine.
There was a body part in my stew.
A human body part. From Mary-Anne’s father. It must have been.
I was horrified.
Sickened.
I looked away from the thing on my plate. Everyone else was still chatting away quite happily and eating their stews.
Including Jess.
She was chewing on a different body part.
I dropped my plate and ran.
They were cannibals.
Monsters.
And I lived among them.
I reached my car. Waves of fear rippled inside me.
Was I going to be next?
Were they going to cook me?
Put me in a stew and serve me up with a coleslaw dip.
Somehow, I made it home without crashing the car and hurried inside my house. I now cursed the fact there was no lock on any of the doors and huddled down in the corner of the bedroom.
I hugged my knees to my face and tried to make myself very small.
I was frightened beyond reason.
… And someone was opening the front door, walking in my direction…
I managed to get to my feet. I needed to defend myself. But what with?
I was looking around desperately for a weapon, when Mary-Anne walked into the room.
My emotions swung from one extreme to the other.
My heart ached for her – yet she had done the most terrible thing.
She sat on the edge of my bed and said in a quiet voice. “I am sorry that you’re so upset. I should have explained what was going to happen. But I’ve been so wrapped up in my own thoughts, it did not occur to me how shocked you would be. If you will give me the chance, I would like to try and explain.”
The way she spoke was so gentle and so calming, and I loved her so desperately that I nodded, and mumbled, “OK.”
“You see,” she said, “For us, eating someone is an act of love. It is never with a stranger, never against a will. It is after your kin or cherished neighbour has passed. It is between a husband and wife, together, tasting a little at a time. It begins when love begins. With a single bite, like Jess and Andrew. Like…”
She paused. She looked suddenly nervous, then took a deep breath and said, “I love you.”
I began to cry, overwhelmed by everything that had happened. And what was happening now.
Somehow, I managed to reply, “I love you.”
She got up off the bed and walked over to me. Then she took my hand and a cheeky smile lit up her face as she asked, “Would you like to go to first base?”
I was scared and I was excited, and I had never wanted anything so much in my life as I wanted this.
I leaned in for the kiss and stayed for the bite.