The Girls In The Woods. Helen Phifer
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rolled her eyes and lifted two fingers to her head, pretending to shoot herself.
‘Very funny. Now make sure you look smart and don’t be cheeky when they ask you straightforward questions. Look them in the eye and do your best to answer them.’
‘Argh, Dad, get out. Now you’re just being insulting.’
He stood up and grinned.
‘Just checking. Oh, and I wouldn’t mention that you’re allergic to the hoover or washing machine either.’
He walked out and as she shut the door behind him, she felt her stomach churn. She didn’t care about lying to her mum but she hated lying to her dad. But hopefully he’d never find out. She only had to meet the photographer, have her photoshoot and then come home again. Tilly had found his details through Facebook. Some of her friends had liked his page so she’d clicked on it and had been impressed with some of the photographs. There were lots of prom photographs and a few before and after makeovers; one of the women had looked like an old dog before so he must be good to have taken the after photo where she looked quite nice. There was a voucher on there for a free photoshoot, no obligation to buy the photos if you didn’t like them. He sounded perfect and he didn’t look like some sort of major pervert. He wasn’t based in Barrow, he was in Hawkshead – which was a bit far away and trickier to get to – but she could do it. There was a bus route and if she got stuck she could go and see Annie for a lift home. She would tell them she didn’t like the manager at the hotel and didn’t want to work there anyway, so that would put an end to this argument. Then hopefully she would be able to send off her portfolio to the modelling agencies in Manchester and London. Her mum would have a complete shit fit when she found out that she wanted to move away to a city, but she wouldn’t be able to stop her once she was eighteen. She would be able to do whatever she wanted and get out of this dead-end town. The last three years she had done nothing but dream about becoming a model and living a far more glamorous life than the one she did now. If she didn’t try she’d never know, and would spend the rest of her life regretting it.
Joanne Tyson opened her eyes and wondered why she was lying on a damp, hard, concrete floor. For a moment she didn’t have a clue as she blinked and her vision semi-cleared, then she remembered exactly where she was. One eye was swollen shut and she opened her good eye; he had gone, she couldn’t hear him stomping around. Which was good. She tried to sit up but felt queasy and lightheaded; he’d managed to really do some damage this time. Joanne wondered what it was she’d said to make him fly off the handle; she thought back but couldn’t think of anything that had warranted him giving her a black eye and knocking her unconscious. He was getting much worse – for a while everything had seemed okay and he seemed to have forgotten about using her as a punching bag, but lately… She shuddered. Well, lately it was getting more painful to be around him. The floor was freezing and she remembered where she was – she had come into the garage to ask him if he wanted some dinner, and he’d flipped. Now here she was. She heard his heavy footsteps as he came back through the door and walked towards her. She sat up, tucking her knees under her chin and wrapping her arms around them. She felt the air cool as his dark shadow loomed over her and she flinched once more; he bent down and stroked her head.
‘I’m so sorry, Jo, I didn’t mean it. You caught me off guard – you know I don’t like you coming in here when I’m working. It puts me off my stride; if you put me off I lose my momentum, then I can’t get it back – and the bills won’t pay themselves, will they?’
She whispered, ‘I’m sorry, I forgot. I just wanted to see you. I get so bored on my own all day.’
He reached down and stroked her hair like she was some kind of pet dog. ‘I’m nearly done for now. How about you go and clean yourself up and I’ll come inside, make us both a sandwich?’
He reached down, putting his hands under her arms, then pulled her to her feet. He brushed her down and she had to stop herself from flinching at his touch. Keeping her one good eye on the ground, she didn’t look across at the bank of steel fridges that were now lined against the back wall. She remembered now that she had stared at them when she’d come in and that had been why he’d hit her. She’d never seen them before and wondered why he wanted those monstrosities, which looked like something out of a television morgue. He must have seen the shock on her face and that was when he’d hit her. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind. They weren’t morgue fridges. What would her husband want with second-hand fridges that had been used to store dead bodies in? It wasn’t right and he had no use for them – he was a photographer, not a pathologist. Maybe they were for keeping his equipment in, or something to do with developing his films. She pushed all thoughts of them to the back of her mind and stored them in the little black box where she kept the flashbacks of the kicks and punches he had hurt her with previously. She would lock them away and forget about them. She had no right prying into his business. If she kept out of here and did as she was told then he would be happy with her. She cursed herself under her breath. What on earth had she been thinking, coming in here?
She walked out of the garage, through his workshop and out through the studio, keeping her head down. He had been so busy lately and she had been so restless it had seemed like a good idea to come and see him. He hadn’t hit her for at least six weeks; what a fool she was, thinking that once again he had realised how cruel he was being to her and was a changed man – the same old stupid dream which had kept her going year after year. It was never going to come true. Now they were back at square one; she wouldn’t be able to go out of the house until the swelling had gone down and it was the height of summer, the weather was glorious. She supposed she could potter around the garden and there was nothing stopping her walking through the woods at the back of the house, although she didn’t really like them. On the rare occasions she’d gone walking out there she had always felt as if someone was hiding in the trees watching her and it freaked her out even though she knew it was just her imagination running wild. She didn’t need to go into the village really; it was easy to do an online shop now that every supermarket did home delivery, and the swelling would go down before she knew it. She went straight to the downstairs cloakroom to look at her reflection in the mirror. Her swollen eye was already turning blue; she’d never learn. Running the cold water tap she put the flannel underneath it, wrung it out, then sat down on the toilet and pressed it against her eyelid. ‘Ouch.’ She stayed that way until she heard the loud footsteps coming down the hallway towards the toilet. They paused outside the door and she felt a cold shiver run down the entire length of her spine, making her drop the flannel into the sink. She picked up a towel and patted the water from her cheek.
‘I’m coming, sorry, I won’t be a minute.’
Then she flushed the toilet, blew her nose and opened the door. There wasn’t anybody outside; she could have sworn she’d heard him walking towards the bathroom door. She looked around, not daring to call his name in case it made him angry again. Maybe she’d knocked her head when she hit the floor and was hearing things. Turning to wring out the flannel and fold it up, she put it back so it didn’t look untidy. She glanced into the mirror one last time, and screamed. There was a much younger woman watching her from inside the glass. Her face was pale, with huge dark circles under her eyes. Her long dark hair hung around her face and the left side of her head was covered in thick, almost black, dried blood. Part of her skull was showing where the flesh had been eaten away. Jo gasped and stepped away from the mirror; terrified the woman was behind her, she turned to look… but there was no one there. She looked back at the mirror, hoping she had gone – but the woman was still watching her. The fear which filled Jo’s heart was different to anything she’d ever felt. It was a cold, creeping feeling, like her entire body was freezing itself from the inside out. The woman in the mirror watched Jo for a little while longer then lifted her hands, which were bruised purple and black, and slammed them against the glass of the cabinet. The glass bent with the force of the blow and Jo turned and ran, expecting it to shatter everywhere. Slamming the door behind her she ran into the kitchen to see him coming through the door which led from his studio.
‘What’s