Two Drops Of Water

CHAPTER 11

The axe swished through the air.

A bead of sweat formed on Alfredo's temple, before trickling down his cheek and becoming an irritating itch. He gripped the handle more tightly and brought the axe down once more, the blade slicing through the icy winter air before thwacking into the wood, sending an echo all across the valley. The huge log split, but more work was required to separate the two halves completely.

Frrrrsscch…

The noise of the blade rushing through the air was interrupted by a rustling sound. Alfredo paused with the axe in mid-air and felt his shoulder muscles tighten. He turned towards where the rustling had come from.

There was nothing there.

He took one hand off the axe and used the back of it to wipe the sweat from his face. With both hands now back on the handle, he swung the tool back and brought it crashing down once more into the log, which finally split clean in two.

"That ought to do it," he said, as he threw the two pieces of wood into a basket that was already full to the brim.

Added to the wood he had chopped in the previous days, today's haul would be enough to keep the fireplace going all winter. The huge pile in the woodshed was the result of a lot of hard graft.

Feeling pleased with himself, Alfredo buried the axe in the huge tree stump he used for cutting the logs and bent down to pick up the basket.

Frrrrsscch…

There it was again. Hearing it once, he could have been mistaken, but not this time. He was certain he'd heard something move, right where he was looking.

There two trees stood next to each other. Olive trees. Identical. Like two drops of water. When his father had planted them, they had obviously been much smaller than they were now, but they had looked alike even then. And the similarity had only deepened with the passing of the years as the trees grew. One day, after his parents had died, Alfredo had decided to change the B&B's name and logo. Gone was the face of a wild boar, to be replaced by two identical olive trees. White and green. White at the base of the logo and green for the trees themselves. From that day onwards, The Wild Beast was known as the Twin Olive Trees B&B.

Someone was hiding between the two trees. God only knows how long they'd been spying on him as he chopped the wood.

Alfredo took a deep breath.

'Better to be safe than sorry,' he told himself.

He stooped down a fraction to grab the handle of the axe, slung the tool over his shoulder and glanced over to where the rustling had come from.

He thought he saw an outline behind the mighty trunk of one of the olive trees. He could feel his heart pounding and could even sense the blood coursing through his veins. Alfredo resolved to be brave and took a step towards the olive trees. He felt the ice-cold air on the back of his neck, the sharp contrast between the freezing temperature and his sweat-drenched skin prompting him to shudder.

Another step towards the trees... As he got within a few yards, there it was again:

Frrrrsscch…

A definite rustle. No doubt about it.

Someone was there.

Another two paces towards the trees...

He gripped the axe with his other hand and defensively brought the weapon in front of him. Just like he'd done with the bottle that time...

He'd been slumped in his armchair in the living room watching Hitchcock's Psycho, one of his favourite films. Every time he watched it was like the first time. His eyes were glued to the screen and he had an ice-cold beer in his hand. Empty bottles were lined up on the table.

It was the first weekend of the off-season at the B&B, and like every year he was celebrating the start of his holiday alone, relaxing in his armchair, consuming a load of beer and junk food, and getting lost in Hitchcock or Dario Argento films.

Very few clients darkened his door from the end of November until the beginning of spring. There was the odd foreigner on a business trip who might stay for one or two nights, and a few couples arrived in December looking for a quiet break with good food. But other than that, not a soul for months on end.

He'd nearly finished his beer, but he was so engrossed in the film that he didn't want to get up and grab another one from the fridge.

Suddenly, something distracted him. It sounded like a window slamming, but he was sure he'd closed them all properly. Next, the sound of glass shattering.

He leapt out of his armchair and gripped the beer bottle tightly around the neck, brandishing it like a weapon. Anthony Perkins and Vera Miles continued their dialogue, but now his attention was elsewhere. Someone was messing about with some kind of metallic implement outside the house.

He made his way to where the living room met the large entrance hall and flicked the light switch.

Voices.

Footsteps moving away into the distance.

He approached the window and tentatively pulled the curtain. A gust of wind blew in through the hole in the centre of the pane. Alfredo looked down at the floor and saw shards of glass scattered everywhere. It took him a few seconds to realise what had happened. He thrust the window open wide and looked out, his fist clenched tightly around the neck of the bottle. What looked like two human figures were walking off into the distance, leaving him stood there, powerless, a cry caught in his throat.

Alfredo felt just like he had that evening. He cursed those sons of bitches who would occasionally come round. They would play all sorts of pranks on him because someone, God only knows who, had been spreading vicious rumours about the B&B.

He took another step towards the twin olive trees, the axe still tightly in his grasp.

He reached one of the trees and turned to lean his back against its considerable trunk. He was panting heavily now.

Frrrrsscch…

There it was again.

He spun around the trunk and raised the axe above his head, ready to bring it crashing down onto....oh.

Alfredo looked down and saw a pair of defiant eyes. They were black as tar and staring right at him.

The stone marten eventually broke away from the staring contest, spun around and scuttled off a few yards.

Alfredo looked up to the sky and burst out laughing. Then he turned back towards the animal, which had itself turned back and was staring right at him again. He lifted a foot and stamped hard on the ground.

The marten jumped and disappeared into the long grass.

CHAPTER 12

She'd cheated death.

It had been a real stroke of luck - a miracle, in fact. She was still sat securely in the driver's seat of her C2; her mother must have had a word with Almighty God, that was the only explanation.

Dead because of a blown-out tyre...

She felt sick at the thought of it. The car had slammed into the crash barrier and she had come away without a scratch. Just a bruised wrist and an almighty scare.

Someone was banging furiously on the window. Chantal turned to look and unlocked the door from the inside so the concerned-looking man could open it.

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah, thanks...just a bit shaken up, that's all."

Two other cars had stopped, their occupants keen to check on her well-being, but Chantal just wanted them to leave her alone.

In the end, she felt bad for thinking that because they removed her lacerated tyre and replaced it with the spare, allowing her to resume her journey.

She was running two hours late now and would have to let Alfredo know. She would call him, but only once she'd listened to the old Guns N' Roses song that had started to play over the speakers...she adored this track.

… and it's hard to hold a candle

In the cold November rain…

OK, so it wasn't November, but it was certainly raining. Better to let the candle go out and then light a new one once the rain stops or you've found some shelter.

Sometimes I need some time... on my own

Sometimes I need some time... all alone

Everybody needs some time... on their own

Don't you know you need some time... all alone…

She definitely needed some time all alone.

The brake lights of the car in front came on, warning her to slow down.

She was stationary in seconds. A traffic jam.

What the hell...?

Luckily, there was a sign informing her that there was an Autogrill a few hundred yards up the road.

Stopping at the services would be infinitely preferable to sitting in the jam like a lemon.

“Twin Olive Trees B&B, Alfredo speaking. How can I help you?"

"Hi Alfredo, it's Chantal."

"Chantal?" He sounded confused, as if it were a name he'd never heard before. "Why are you calli..."

She butted in because she knew what he was about to ask.

"I tried you on your mobile a couple of times but you didn't pick up, so I thought I'd ring you on this number."

Silence for a few seconds, then the hesitant voice of Alfredo.

"Oh, right, the mobile...I must have left it charging somewhere. What's going on? Is there some kind of problem?"

Chantal sighed.

"Actually, there is. It's more than just traffic; I think there must be an accident or roadworks. I haven't moved for about 20 minutes. Well, I have moved, but only a hundred yards or so."

She paused, wondering whether to tell him about the puncture, but decided against it for now. She didn't want him to worry.

"It's no problem if you get here a little later than advertised," he reassured her.

"I've even thought about staying over somewhere and setting off again tomorrow morning. I mean, I could be stuck in this for hours. Luckily, there's some services a few hundred yards ahead. I'll stop there and..."

"Staying over somewhere?" he repeated incredulously. "You've got to be kidding, right? You're my guest tonight. Why on earth would you pay for a room somewhere else?"

"I might not be with you till gone midnight. I don't want you having to stay up late."

"Right, good one..."

"What do you mean?"

There was a pause, and when Alfredo replied, his tone was severe.

"I'm an insomniac. I lie wide awake every single night. Trust me, waiting up for you will not be a problem."

Feeling embarrassed at having touched a nerve, Chantal cleared her throat and sought to end the conversation.

"Great, so I'll see you later then?" Okay?”

"Fine," he replied. "OK, bye."

CHAPTER 13

The clock on the C2's dashboard told Chantal it was just after ten o'clock. She was nearly there. Another 1.5 miles according to the sat nav.

The countryside all around was enveloped in a late-winter mist. The whole setting gave Chantal the creeps. She felt as though she was in one of those horror films where a Z-list actor plays the guy who gets captured and eaten by zombies. However fleeting, the thought frightened her and sent a shiver down her spine. She flicked the car's central heating up a notch, sending a blast of hot air into the passenger compartment.

A decrepit road sign told her that some place or other (she couldn't make it out) was 9 miles away. A bit further on, a wooden sign bearing a date from a couple of years earlier declared: “Simone and Clarissa had sex here for the first time”. Slightly lower down, on the same sign, was a drawing of a cock and a pair of tits underneath some writing: WE DON'T GIVE A SHIT!

Just as she was wondering what kind of place she'd come to, Chantal noticed that the sat nav was now saying she had 2.4 miles to go.

How was that possible?

She was getting further away from her destination.

Perhaps she should turn ar...

Suddenly, there was the most horrendous noise.

Chantal instinctively slammed on the brakes.

At first, she thought maybe she'd strayed too close to the edge of the road, but it couldn't have been that because the car was fractionally over the centre line.

There it was again, that fine line...

She pulled over to the side of the road. There was no crash barrier, but there was a very steep drop as the road fell away. People round here had to be mad driving on these roads all the time.

She turned off the engine, opened the door and got out of the car. There was an icy chill in the air. Chantal looked around but there was no sign of what might have caused the noise.

She knelt down to look under the car and thought she could see something towards the rear end. She stood up, walked towards the boot and knelt down again to take a closer look. Gross! A black bin bag had got caught between the silencer and some other component that she didn't know the name of. She tried to kick the bag and gagged at the stench coming from it.

No joy, so she fetched the warning triangle from the boot and used it to unhook the bag.

Job done.

Chantal got back to her feet. Through the mist, she could just make out a shape moving close by. The triangle slipped out of her hands when she realised it was a person.

"Car trouble, young lady?"

It was an old woman whose cutting voice reminded Chantal of the witch who gives the poisoned apple to Snow White.

She took a step back, startled. The woman must have been in her eighties. She had straggly white hair and a bony face, studying Chantal with a curious and unnerving pair of eyes. One of them had no pupil, leading Chantal to suppose it was made of glass, while the other was practically transparent.

"Won't it start?" the old lady asked, pointing at the car.

"Ye...yes" Chantal struggled to get her words out. She cleared her throat. "Yes, it's fine. There's nothing wrong with the car. I just ran over..."

She paused and pointed at the bin bag.

"...that thing. It gave me a fright, but it's fine now."

"Ah, OK. In that case, I'll be on my way," the old woman replied.

Chantal stayed motionless for a few seconds, wondering what the hell an old woman was doing out in the cold on a deserted road at this time of night. Was she the local nutter?

"Excuse me?" Chantal called out.

Enshrouded in mist, the figure of the old lady stopped and turned around,

revealing her terrifying face once more.

"Can I ask you something?"

The old woman smiled thinly and inclined her head.

"I'm looking for a bed and bre..." Chantal stopped herself, unsure whether the old woman would be familiar with the English term. "I don't suppose you know of a guesthouse in these parts? It must be around here somewhere, but my car's navigation system doesn't recog..."

The old woman's smile vanished and her expression turned to one of sheer terror.

"Do you know it?" Chantal asked, persisting in spite of the additional anxiety brought on by the woman's reaction.

The old woman raised a bony arm and pointed to a dirt track Chantal hadn't noticed, before scuttling away down the road as fast as her age would allow.

Still a little spooked by the encounter, Chantal got back in the car, reversed as far as the dirt track and turned onto it. Five hairpins and a seemingly endless straight climb later, she arrived at the top of a hill. The enormous valley to her right nestled into the dark night. It must be one hell of a view in the daytime, Chantal thought to herself. By night, however, it was most disconcerting. Were someone to attack her, no one would hear her scream.

According to the sat nav, she was just 850 yards from her destination. She continued along the dirt track, which was now widening gradually. Her already scant visibility was impaired even more by the dust she disturbed as she drove along. She could just make out a light in the distance, however, and as she progressed another couple of hundred yards, the dark outline of an imposing building began to emerge. A yellow light shone through one of the windows.

The ground crunched under the weight of her car as she drove on towards the house.

Eventually, she feathered the brakes and the C2 squeaked to a halt in what seemed to be an unguarded parking lot. A crooked sign told her she had arrived at the TWIN OLIVE TREES B&B. She wondered if there really were twin olive trees hidden among all the other trees in this vast expanse of green. She looked up at the house again. Her first instinct was to turn around and head right back to where she'd come from. She didn't like this place one little bit; it gave her the creeps. It was a huge, bleak house out in the middle of nowhere. If something happened to her out here, she'd be dead before the ambulance could arrive.

She felt sick at the thought of it. Chantal figured she was too tired to begin her return journey that night, but she'd head back to Gussago in the morning. Her hometown was nothing to write home about, but at least it didn't have B&Bs that put the fear of God into you.

She closed her eyes and tried to calm down, raising both hands and drawing circles with her fingertips to massage her temples. It worked, her mind gradually emptied of each and every thought. Except one. She felt like she could sense...

Her eyes bolted open just as the thought entered her head.

...someone.

She screamed with such ferocity it burned the back of her throat. Her mouth remained locked open, now emitting nothing more than a frightened moan.

The figure outside the car approached the door and opened it.

Chantal threw herself across to the passenger seat and tried to open the other door. She was panic stricken, unable to think clearly.

"It's alright," said a man's voice. "It's me, Alfredo."

Relief flooded over Chantal, but she still didn't manage to speak. The man bent down and his curly-haired face appeared inside the passenger compartment.

"You must be Chantal. Are you feeling alright?"

Chantal realised she'd made an absolute twat of herself, and she just wanted the ground to open up. She took the hand extended to her, shifted back across to the driver's seat and clambered out of the car. She felt light-headed and, as she leant on Alfredo for support, she appreciated the white musk fragrance emanating from his skin.

"I'm sorry," she stammered.

"I gave you a fright," he replied, running his fingers through her hair. "It's me who should be apologising." He coughed and smiled. "I didn't think I was that ugly!" he said, attempting to lighten the mood.

Chantal suddenly realised she was still in the man's arms.

"You're not," she said, looking away and detaching herself from him.

An awkward silence ensued,

and Alfredo took it upon himself to break it.

"You must be exhausted, Chantal. Perhaps you should get some sleep."

She nodded.

Alfredo helped her with her bags and they walked towards the entrance to the B&B. As they reached the enormous green door, Chantal's gaze was drawn to the sign.

TWIN OLIVE TREES B&B

She stared at the logo, with its two identical trees that seemed to merge into one.

"Do you like it?"

"Sorry?" she replied, distracted.

"I asked whether you liked it," Alfredo said, nodding at the sign on the wall. "I drew it myself."

Chantal thought of the memory the logo had provoked. She forced a smile to hide the sadness she was feeling inside.

"Yes, it's lovely. You've got the talent to match your imagination."

"Thanks." Alfredo gestured towards the door. "Please, go in. You'll freeze to death out here."

She smiled and entered the B&B, which had a welcoming, homely feel. Above five feet of wood panelling, the walls were plastered white. As she looked around, Chantal felt a sense of warmth, hospitality and security. To her right, there were glowing embers in the fireplace, above which was mounted the stuffed head of a wild boar. Hunting scenes were depicted in paintings hung either side of the dead animal. The other wall was more like an ordnance depot. There were shotguns, old pistols and a huge crossbow, all hanging down from varnished wooden hooks. To her left was what she assumed was the reception desk. Chantal wondered if most of her working time here would be spent in front of the old computer.

"So? What do you think? You like it here?" asked Alfredo.

Chantal hesitated. She was still thinking about the twin olive trees.

"Very much," she replied, almost on autopilot. "It's nice. Really has a unique style," she added, snapping out of whatever daydream she was in.

"Good! I'm pleased you like it. There's no point working here if you don't like the place."

Chantal nodded and smiled weakly. Having initially struggled to string two words together, she soon found herself talking ten to the dozen, filling Alfredo in on everything that had happened: the puncture, the traffic jam, her encounter with the old lady, her anxiety upon seeing the size of the B&B and the fright that Alfredo had given her.

Well, almost everything. She neglected to mention that the tyre blowout - it hadn't just been a puncture - had nearly killed her. She didn't know why she kept that a secret, only that it just didn't feel right telling him. Almost as if she didn't want to worry him.

Which was weird - she barely knew him!

As she spoke, her worries and fears seemed to disappear one by one.

"So, you could say it was a pretty hectic journey," she concluded.

"Sounds like it," Alfredo replied, gesturing to one side with his head. "Come on. I'll show you your room and you can get your head down." He set off down a corridor and, after a few yards, turned back towards her. "Tomorrow's another day."

Chantal forced another smile.

Once he had shown her into the room, Alfredo had the decency to beat a hasty retreat. Chantal was incredibly grateful.

She got undressed, put on the pyjamas she had left on top of the other clothes in the case and went to the bathroom to take off her make-up and go to the loo. As she took care of her ablutions, she was too tired and weak to take in her surroundings.

As she wrapped herself in the freezing bed covers, her thoughts returned to the B&B's logo. Those two identical olive trees merging into one reminded her of the similarity between her and her mother.

She imagined her mamma Teresa's face in front of her,

then pictured her own alongside.

She focused hard on them until they merged.

Eventually, from somewhere in the dark recesses of either the room or her mind, her mother's voice came through crystal clear.

You and me, we're like two drops of water.

She didn't even have time to smile. Her thoughts faded away as tiredness took hold and carried her off into sleep.