‘It’s a fox.’ Paul pouted. ‘Well, actually Bonnie found it, not me.’
The animal was lying inside a wardrobe at the end of the upstairs corridor. The floorboards here were creaky and the outline of the watermark left by a leak in the roof some time ago was still visible on the wallpaper. Jørgen had fixed the roof, Jasmin recalled, and had almost fallen off at one point, but he’d laughed it away. He always faced every difficulty with a smile and a shrug. For a moment, she found herself yearning for him – wishing he was here to take her in his arms.
Then she suppressed the thought.
You need to do this alone.
He doesn’t believe you.
Nobody does.
But can you blame them?
The fox couldn’t have been dead for very long – perhaps a day or two. The smell emanating from it was unpleasant, but nowhere near as strong as when she’d first entered the house. The stench was gone from the rest of the rooms, the wind having driven the stale air out through the open windows. Jasmin fetched her work gloves from the storage room and carried the corpse outdoors.
The tall grass in the back garden brushed against her legs and whispered quietly in the breeze. ‘We have to bury him,’ said Paul, who had followed her outside. Bonnie was lying on the veranda watching them; her dark, floppy ears pivoted attentively in their direction so she could keep track of what her humans were up to.
Bury him.
Jasmin glanced at Paul. He’d brought a small shovel with him and was yawning with all the weariness of a five-year-old after a tiring day like today. She stroked the top of his head. ‘Let me do it,’ she replied. ‘Later on.’
‘Do you promise?’
‘Of course. Scout’s honour.’
Paul reached into the pocket of his blue raincoat and showed her a small figure of an animal made of folded paper. It looked like a fox. Ever since her sister had taught him about origami, Paul had been quite a fan of it; his guidebook and the heavy paper that folded so well were the first things Jasmin had packed. ‘I made this. For him. I think we should give it to him as a present.’
‘Is that from your book? I didn’t know . . .’
‘No, it’s not.’ Paul shook his head. ‘I made it up myself.’
‘It’s very beautiful, honey.’
‘So he isn’t so alone, you know? I don’t think he should be alone.’
‘No,’ she replied quietly, swallowing to clear the lump in her throat. ‘He shouldn’t.’
Jasmin spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the house, clearing the cobwebs from the corners, dusting the curtains and the furniture, making the beds and lighting a fire in the stove.
She and Paul had a light dinner while Bonnie ate her favourite dry food from her bowl. Then Paul tested out the television in the living room to see if it still worked.
As it turned out, it did. With her little boy snuggled up beside her, Jasmin was able to relax somewhat for the first time since leaving home. They watched a quiz show, and the quiet hum of the washing machine at the other end of the hall made her drowsy. After an hour, Paul began muttering softly in his sleep, and she carried him gently upstairs and tucked him into bed.
‘Sleep well, champ.’
‘Will you read me something?’ He blinked up at her through his half-closed eyes and Jasmin couldn’t help but smile. The box of books she’d brought with her was still out in the corridor. ‘You can barely keep your eyes open as it is. Just go to sleep.’
‘Night, Mummy.’
‘Good night, little bear.’
Jasmin left the corridor light on and went back downstairs, where she peered through the windows and turned the key again in the front door. The bolt gave a convincingly metallic clunk, which reassured her a little.
Was that the staircase she could hear creaking? Was there something coming up from the cellar? Pushing at the door, rattling it against the cabinet? She blinked and rubbed her eyes. Clearly she was overtired.
Jasmin’s thoughts turned to what had happened down there. She’d never forgotten it – had never been able to forget. The man who’d presented the property to them had given them a tour, showing them the garden, the path down to the beach, the whole house from the cellar up to the attic – and then, while they were sitting together over a cup of good, freshly brewed coffee, he’d told them the story. ‘I can’t sell it to you,’ he began, ‘without mentioning it, as it wouldn’t be right otherwise.’
Jasmin had glanced across at Jørgen, who’d responded with a smile, as if to say: here come the ghost stories, but whatever he tells us, the two of us have already fallen deeply in love with this little old house. Yet what the man said next wiped the smiles from both their faces.
‘Somebody died here. It was suicide, downstairs, in the back room of the cellar – that was where they found him hanging from one of the beams running along the ceiling, his face all—’
Jasmin had rushed out of the room, her hand pressed to her stomach, which was clenched tight beneath her cardigan. ‘We don’t have to buy it,’ Jørgen had said as they drove off afterwards. Jasmin had looked over her shoulder. The old captain’s house had gleamed in the light of the setting sun.
Come back, it seemed to be calling to her.
Now you’ve stepped over my threshold, I’ll never let you go.
Somebody died there, she’d thought. But that’s all. You’ve never been superstitious or sensitive to vibrations, like your mother. The house is gorgeous and so close to the water – it’d take us a long time to find anything better.
And so she’d pushed all doubts aside.
All the same, she had never set foot in the back room of the cellar again.
Chapter 3
The night was clear and the stars glittered like ice crystals woven into a soft blanket of blue-black velvet as Jasmin dug a grave for the fox in the back garden. The wind whispered through the dry leaves of the poplars and birches as if it were trying to tell a long-forgotten story. She worked first with her spade, then the shovel, digging a good two feet into the earth. Carefully, she lowered the fox into the hole and placed Paul’s origami figure beside it.
So he isn’t so alone.
The things Paul comes up with.
In the nearby forest, a branch cracked. Like a heavy boot treading on it, she thought. Jasmin’s eyes scanned the darkness anxiously, but she couldn’t see anything beyond the inky, formless void that the world had vanished into tonight. A bush waved in the wind, its branches like the outstretched arms of a stranger.
Jasmin threw the spade and shovel over her shoulder and went back to the house, leaving small clumps of soil behind her on the steps.
Clear evidence, she thought. Guilty as charged, Ms Hansen, with the sentence to follow.
Her shoulders and arms protested painfully, but it had been good, honest work, as her mother always used to say, and it seemed right to her not to simply throw the cadaver into the forest. Quite apart from the fact that Bonnie might have found it again and – God forbid – dragged it into the house, which would have left Paul deeply disappointed in Jasmin.
And that was the last thing she wanted.
Jasmin looked at herself in the mirror of the small, eggshell-coloured bathroom. You’re tired. And you’re still a long way from your usual self.