by Keane Jessie
Tiredly, she slipped on her dressing gown and her fluffy pink mules and, not bothering to shower, went downstairs in search of coffee. Then she heard it.
A baby, crying.
Jake?
She could hear Jake, crying. She could.
As she hesitated on the third step down from the top, her foot slipped from under her and she felt herself falling, tumbling, until she was at the bottom. She knew she was hurt badly, she couldn’t move and soon she started to feel herself slipping away from the world and felt grateful for it because baby Jake was dead, she knew he was dead, he was calling to her, and now she was going to join him.
59
When Nula came back to full consciousness she found herself lying in a hospital bed, machines beeping around her. Charlie was sitting there at her bedside, his eyes dark with worry, and there in the doorway of the private room she could see Terry loitering.
Shit, I must look a mess, thought Nula, seeing Terry standing there gazing at her. And then there was another thought: I’m not dead. Jake’s dead and I’m not.
But she’d heard him.
She hadn’t been imagining that; it was Jake’s cry, she knew it was, and she’d heard it just before she’d slipped and fallen on the stairs.
Worse thoughts were crowding in now. She was floaty with some sort of painkiller, but still the thoughts wouldn’t keep away. The woman on the phone, denying all knowledge of Mrs Bushell and of the Mulville woman too. And then falling, slipping on something. On what?
‘You’re back,’ said Charlie, leaning forward, taking her hand. ‘Christ, you’ve been out of it for days.’
Nula tried to speak. Her voice emerged a dry croak. Charlie picked up a tumbler of water and, holding her head, helped her drink. She spluttered. Coughed. Then drank again.
‘I . . . I fell,’ she said finally.
‘You did. The au pair heard it. It was her who called the ambulance.’
Nula nodded. ‘Am I . . . ?’ she started.
‘Bumps and bruises, that’s all, the docs said. Nasty crack on the head, though. Concussion. They were worried about that, had to make sure you didn’t have a bleed on the brain or some damned thing. But here you are! You’re back with us.’
Nula carefully raised her hand and touched her head. Bandages there. Her arm felt heavy, so she let it fall back down onto the bed.
Charlie was standing up. ‘I’ll get the nurse . . .’ he said.
‘I stepped on something and I fell,’ said Nula.
‘That’s right, babes. You did.’
‘What did I step on?’
‘Ah shit, I know, what a bloody thing, eh?’ Charlie’s face darkened with anger. ‘Harlan left his fucking skateboard there. I’ve told him, you got to put your stuff away, boy. Accidents happen that way. Well, an accident did happen. You poor mare. But thank God, you’re all right.’
Nula sank back onto the pillows. Her eyes drifted to Terry, in the doorway. And there was Harlan, right there beside him, looking blankly back at her. Nula felt a chill sweep over her skin, felt fear claw deep into her.
But Harlan always put his things away. Even the skateboard. He never left them out.
Not unless he meant to, anyway.
She thought of him crouching outside the study when she’d been on the phone to the woman at the adoption agency. Had he been listening? Did he realize how much he creeped her out? Had he heard those comments she’d made about him not being ‘there’, not being ‘right’? And hearing Jake’s cry . . . oh shit. The fear gnawed deeper now. Was she going completely bloody insane? Was that it? She’d been depressed for a long time, popping endless pills, having counselling, keeping journals, but nothing seemed to work. Was she losing her mind as well?
‘You rest there, I’ll get the nurse,’ said Charlie, and hurried from the room, leaving Terry standing in the doorway looking awkward.
Harlan moved forward until he stood beside her bed. Nula felt herself cringe. She knew the truth now. And . . . Christ, she was never going to be able to prove it. She knew in her bones that somehow Harlan had killed Jake. Killed off the favoured son, the competition. Killed her baby.
‘I’ll . . .’ said Terry, moving back as if he too would leave the room.
‘No!’ said Nula, louder than she’d meant to. ‘Stay, Terry. Stay here.’
A red-haired nurse came in with Charlie close behind her. She said: ‘Well! Mrs Stone, you gave us all a bit of a fright, didn’t you. How are you feeling?’
Harlan was hustled away from the bed. Charlie and Terry left the room, taking him with them. Nula relaxed while the nurse fussed around her. When she was better, when she felt strong enough, she was going to talk to Charlie about Harlan. And she was going to tell him all about what had happened when she’d phoned the agency. She was going to get to the bottom of whatever weirdness was currently happening in their home. She knew she was in mourning and had been a bit demented with it, maybe she still was.
Jake, crying . . .
However, she was sure of only one thing: Harlan, her adopted son, who she’d nurtured and tried to be a decent mother to, had tried to kill her. And when he’d come close to her just seconds ago? She’d been on the verge of screaming the whole fucking place down.
60
Belle was out by the garages up by the big house, dressed ready for a trip to the stables and waiting for Milly and Beezer, who was driving them, to show up. What she wasn’t expecting – or hoping for – was that Harlan should pitch up instead.
She’d been standing by the big Merc in the garage and the instant she saw Harlan coming into the garage she pushed away from the car and watched him nervously. There was only a small corridor’s width between the car and the end wall, and Harlan was walking toward her, cutting off her exit.
God, she was sick of this.
Ever since she was little, Harlan had been a pest to her. Now they were getting older, growing up, it was getting worse, taking on distinct sexual overtones. She avoided him whenever she could. But when their paths did happen to cross, he never seemed to miss a chance to brush up against her or corral her in a corner like he was doing now.
‘Hi, Belle,’ he said, stopping in front of her, his eyes crawling over her lower half, which was clad in tight jodhpurs. ‘Off riding then?’
‘No, taking dancing lessons,’ snapped back Belle.
‘Funny,’ he said.
‘I’m waiting for Milly and Beezer.’ She flicked a look at her watch. ‘They’ll be right here, any minute.’
‘Right.’ Harlan moved in closer. Belle took a hasty step back, very aware that she was trapped here. She couldn’t go around the car at the front, it was tight up to the garage wall. Her only possible exit was through Harlan. And he knew it. ‘Time for us to have a cosy little chat then,’ he said.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Belle coolly.
‘Oh come on, Belle. You know you want to.’
‘Fuck off, Harlan,’ she said.
Harlan stepped closer still. He was so close now that she could feel his breath on her face.
Creep, she thought.
‘You should be nicer to me, you know,’ he said, coming closer still.
Belle stepped back again. She was nearly up against the end wall of the garage. Nowhere to go.
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because one day all this is going to be mine. You do realize that, don’t you. Not dopey little Milly’s. Mine. And that means it could be yours, too. If you play your cards right.’
‘I don’t want any part of it, Harlan. Or of you.’
‘You’re just fighting it,’ he said, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘I know we got something special going on, you and me.’
To her horror, he put a hand on her left breast, over her heart. She gave a start and pulled back, but her back hit the garage wall and Harlan was on her in an instant, fumbling at her tit again, pinching her nipple, hurting her.
Belle didn’t even think about it. She shot out a knee, catching him
square in the groin. Harlan doubled over, falling against her, nearly pulling her over.
‘What’s going on?’ said a male voice at the front of the garage.
It was Dad.
Belle shoved past the bent-double Harlan and ran to where her father stood. Her heart was nearly exploding out of her chest, she was so panicked. Harlan turned toward the pair of them, seeing Terry there holding Belle, who was white-faced with fear. Still clutching his balls, Harlan gave a teary-eyed smirk.
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Nothing at all.’
Terry looked at Belle. ‘What happened, honey?’ he asked.
Belle shook her head, wondering what the hell would have occurred had her dad not come along. All she wanted was to get out, away from Harlan.
Then Harlan said it; the words that Terry would never forget.
‘What you gonna do about anything? I’m Harlan Stone, and what are you, Terry bloody Barton? You’re just the help.’
Terry disengaged Belle’s clinging arms and gave her a push toward the door.
‘Go down and wait for Beezer by the gate. I’ll tell him you’re there, OK?’ Then he turned back to Harlan. His eyes were flinty with rage. ‘We’re going to have a talk.’
61
When Nula was out of hospital, she bided her time until Milly and Harlan were out of the way before cornering her husband. ‘So what’s the truth then, Charlie?’ she demanded.
The woman from the government agency had never phoned her back. Probably thought she was a crank. Probably, she was right. Nula felt like her grip on things was loose, at best. She was shaky. Full of anxiety. Her chest was tight every day and her head ached. She hardly slept for fear of waking up one night with Harlan looming over her, knife in hand. Something wasn’t adding up about Harlan, something was off about the kid, and she was going to find out why.
‘About what?’ He looked startled.
Yeah, of course he did. Does he think I’ve found out about him fucking Jill Barton against her will? She hoped he was sweating over it, the arsehole. She hated him, but she was stuck; frightened. She didn’t want to lose the lifestyle she’d craved and was now so used to. And she couldn’t divorce Charlie Stone, not knowing all that she knew. She’d been inside the tent pissing out, and it was too late to think of doing the reverse. He’d kill her. Christ, if he knew all the stuff she’d been putting in her journals, about him and all his crooked goings-on, he’d wring her neck right now.
‘About Harlan. I contacted the adoption agency.’
‘You what?’
‘I contacted them and I asked to speak to that Mrs Bushell woman who sorted out all the paperwork, the one who came here with Harlan a couple of times when he was a kid. You remember her?’
‘Where’d you get the details from?’ he asked. Suddenly he looked mad.
‘In your bloody desk, Charlie,’ snapped Nula.
‘But I keep that locked.’
‘I levered the damned drawers open. Broke the locks, then had the thing repaired. You didn’t notice anything, did you. Didn’t even smell the fresh varnish in there. If you’re never going to be straight with me about anything, what else am I supposed to do but take things into my own hands?’
Charlie jumped to his feet and paced about. Then he rounded on her.
‘I’ve been straight with you. I’ve done fucking everything for you.’
‘Those two things ain’t the same, Charlie. You’re so used to doing hooky deals that you probably think they are, but they’re not. I’m not a child. I don’t need shielding from the world. So tell me – did you really get Harlan from the agency? That Mrs Bushell, was she really an official, or just one of the people on your payroll? Christ knows you’ve got plenty. And you got print men coming out of your arse, aintcha? Forging a few official-looking documents would be a piece of shit to them.’
‘Look . . .’ started Charlie.
‘Don’t bullshit me. I mean it: don’t.’ Nula was trembling with the force of her rage. He really was the lowest of the low. Egging her on so that she ‘partook’ in those wild parties, the dirty bastard. And then raping another woman – his best friend’s wife! There was nothing he wouldn’t sink to. Whenever Charlie tried to initiate sex with her these days – and thank God it wasn’t often – all she could think about was him forcing himself on Jill. ‘That weird little fucker tried to kill me. And now I want an explanation. I want the truth.’
Charlie was running his hands over his balding pate, over and over. He’d aged, she thought. But then – so had she. ‘Christ Almighty,’ he muttered.
‘There’s worse, Charlie,’ said Nula quietly.
‘Worse?’ He spun around, stared at her. ‘Jesus, Nules, ain’t we had enough shit to last a lifetime?’ He blinked and for a moment Nula could see that he was on the verge of tears. ‘Losing our boy that way? Little Jakey? And now you’ve got this rubbish in your head about Harlan . . .’
‘It ain’t rubbish. I spoke to Chrissy Foster . . .’
‘That bitch? We should never have left her in charge of our boy. Never.’
‘She woke up one night and Harlan was standing over her bed. He had a knife in his hand.’
That stopped Charlie in his tracks. He stared at her, dumbfounded.
‘You’re fucking kidding me.’
‘I wish I was. I’m not. She said she thought there was something wrong with him. That he had . . .’ Nula frowned, groping in her memory. ‘She reckoned he had a thing called reactive attachment disorder.’
‘This is bollocks,’ said Charlie.
‘No! She was serious. And if you don’t believe her . . .’ Now Nula hesitated. The next part was terrifying.
‘What?’ prompted Charlie when Nula fell silent.
‘Ask Beezer. Ask him what he saw at four o’clock on the morning that . . .’ Her voice broke. ‘. . . That little Jake died.’
Charlie was staring at her, open-mouthed. ‘Beezer?’ he echoed faintly. ‘What the fuck’s he got to do with anything?’
Nula stood up on shaking legs. ‘Ask him,’ she said, and walked over to the door and opened it. Harlan was there, hanging his coat on the hook that was a mere five feet from the sitting room door. Had he heard? Milly and Belle were upstairs, thumping about. Then Milly’s sound system was cranked up to full volume and the bass started pounding faintly through the floor. The Bay City Rollers, ‘Bye Bye Baby’. You always knew when Milly was in the building. She wasn’t exactly dainty. Now Nula could hear her daughter and Jill’s singing along up there. Harlan was different. He was quiet as a mouse. No, not a mouse. A cat, maybe, stalking about silently, in pursuit of a kill.
‘Hi, Mum,’ he said.
Nula went past him, into the kitchen. And then she heard it. Not just Milly’s music. She could hear Jake, crying. It was real.
Harlan had followed her into the kitchen.
‘Can you . . .’ she started to say, then her voice died on her and she had to gulp and start again. ‘Do you hear that, Harlan? That noise?’ she asked him.
‘What noise?’ Harlan was staring at her blank-eyed. ‘What, Milly’s row, d’you mean?’
Nula didn’t reply. Instead she hurried out into the hallway and up the stairs and along the landing and up more stairs. Then she was running, she was sprinting along the second-floor hallway and then she reached the door. The nursery door, next to her and Charlie’s bedroom.
Her hand reached out to the doorknob and then she drew it back, fearful. She could still hear Jake crying, and it was a sound that wrenched at her. She didn’t believe in spirits, in ghosts, but what if she was wrong, what if Jake was crying for his mother somewhere, in torment?
She opened the door and stepped into the room.
‘Jake?’ she whispered.
Her voice echoed back at her from the walls. The room was completely empty. After Jake’s funeral, Charlie had insisted all the nursery stuff be disposed of, he’d said it was too upsetting for them both to have the room left like some sort of shrine. Nula had resiste
d, cried, pleaded, but deep down she knew Charlie was right. There was no point holding onto the past. It was gone. It was dead.
She stood there in the empty nursery, shivering with dread. There was nothing now, nothing but the noise of Milly’s music and the frantic beating of her heart.
The crying had stopped.
I’m going mad.
‘Mum?’
She whirled around with a shriek. Harlan was standing there, staring at her.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked her.
Nula was shaking her head. ‘Nothing, nothing,’ she muttered. She was going insane. Completely crazy. The baby wasn’t crying. The baby was dead.
62
‘You know what? I think she’s going off her fucking head, my girl,’ said Charlie. He was in the gatehouse kitchen, talking to Terry.
‘What d’you mean?’ asked Terry. He’d had his own thoughts about Nula’s grip on sanity too, but he’d never voiced them. He stood there, leaning against the sink, arms folded, staring at the top of Charlie’s head. Charlie was losing his hair. He was getting older. Well, they all were. Older and sadder, it seemed.
Belle would be home from her secondary school soon, with Jill. Since Jill had told the authorities about those shipments and spoken to Terry about it, he’d been on pins whenever Charlie came down here. What if Charlie found out? What if Jill acted odd around him, somehow gave herself away?
‘D’you know what she keeps saying to me? You know that time she fell down the stairs? She said Harlan left that skateboard on the stairs deliberately, that he wanted her to fall.’
‘That’s crap,’ said Terry after a beat.
Actually, though? It wouldn’t have surprised him. He didn’t like Harlan. Harlan was quiet – the exact reverse of Charlie. But you always felt he was scheming. Harlan was getting tall now, and handsome. But . . . sort of wrong, somehow. For quite a while Terry’d disliked the boy’s attitude around Belle, and then to find her in a state of panic after Harlan had clearly been groping her in the garage, intimidating her . . . well, he’d flipped. Given the boy a slap. Warned him, Stay away.