The Other People

by Tudor, C. J.

  The solicitor took his small, round glasses off and offered what Gabe presumed was supposed to be a warm smile. It barely scraped past frosty.

  Still, he was right about the staff. They were good people. Especially Miriam. She had cared for Isabella for most of her life, firstly as a housekeeper and then, using her nursing experience, to oversee her care after the accident. She deserved this far more than him.

  “What about Miriam? She’s worked for Charlotte for years. This should really be her inheritance.”

  “Miss Warton has been provided for in the will.”

  “She should have the house. I want to give her the house.”

  “I’m afraid you can’t do that.”

  “But the house is mine to do with as I wish.”

  “To a point.” The solicitor picked up the will and slipped his glasses back on. Gabe got the impression he got a real kick out of doing that.

  “ ‘Seashells shall not be sold or given as a gift by the beneficiary to any other person/s. Doing so will render the will null and void and the estate will revert to the executor.

  “ ‘Exceptions are permissible only in the following circumstances: i/ The death of the beneficiary. In this event, Seashells shall pass to his next of kin. ii/ Incapacitation by serious illness or any other circumstances that mean the beneficiary is unable to adequately fulfill the duties of the will. In this event Seashells shall pass to his next of kin. iii/ If the beneficiary has no next of kin/his next of kin are dead or incapacitated by serious illness or any other circumstances that mean they are unable to adequately fulfill the duties of the will, then the house and estate will pass into a trust fund administered by a legally appointed trustee.’ ”

  She had him. Even in death, Charlotte Harris was not about to let him off the hook. The house was beautiful, worth millions, and yet Gabe would have happily seen the whole damn pile go crashing off the cliffs on to the rocks below.

  She knew that. She knew the greatest gift she could have given him would be to never see the place again. Its echoing rooms, its sterile smell. It wasn’t a home. It wasn’t even a hospital. It was a morgue. Just no one was willing to admit that their patient was dead. It was only the physical shell that was left. Isabella existed. She didn’t live.

  And he had caused it. He had put her here. That was why he couldn’t say no to the will; why he wouldn’t refuse or contest it. He could never leave Isabella. Never desert her. She was his responsibility. Charlotte knew that, too.

  But there was something else. Something that Charlotte didn’t know. Jenny was pregnant. Three months. One day, Isabella would die. It was a miracle an infection hadn’t taken her by this point. One day, he and Jenny would no longer be around. Whatever his feelings about the house, it would be a wonderful inheritance for their child. Could he really refuse that?

  He had bowed his head.

  “All right. But I have one condition. All day-to-day care is looked after by Miriam. She immediately gets a 50 percent pay raise and the house is hers to live in as long as she wants, completely free. I will pay all the maintenance and bills, but I won’t live there.”

  Mr. Barrage had almost shrugged. Not quite. Solicitors didn’t shrug. Just like they didn’t laugh at jokes, have dress-down days or chew gum.

  “As you wish, Mr. Forman. I just need you to sign here, and here.”

  Mr. Barrage held out a pen. Gabe had hesitated. Then he took the pen and scribbled a signature.

  Never had a man become a millionaire with such a heavy heart.

  * * *

  —

  “YOU LOOK TERRIBLE,” Jenny had said when he arrived home later. She handed him a large glass of wine. “What’s up?”

  He had looked at her. At her clear green eyes, wavy blonde hair, her slightly rounded belly beneath the loose T-shirt. Their baby. The thought still took his breath away.

  He should tell her. He had to tell her. He couldn’t keep something this big from his wife.

  But telling her one part meant telling her everything. And he knew his wife. Once she had finished calling him a dickhead and a liar and a fucking idiot, she would want to see the house. She would insist. And once she set eyes upon Seashells, that would be it. She would want to live there. Finally, the house of her dreams.

  He could see her eyes lighting up. Could almost hear her enthusing about which room would be the nursery and which the playroom, where they would put the trampoline and play area—and an infinity pool would really take advantage of the sunsets. Oh God, and maybe there was enough land on the other side of the house to turn into a paddock, for a pony?

  The rest would follow. It would be better to move Isabella to a separate facility, in the grounds. This was a home, not a hospital. And Miriam could find somewhere else to live, couldn’t she? They could help her. After all, Charlotte had left the house to him. Didn’t he want the best for their family? Jenny wasn’t heartless, but she was practical, pragmatic and, ultimately, the burden of guilt was not hers.

  He couldn’t let that happen. So he kept the document stuffed in his pocket. Another secret. Heavy as a brick. And, like bricks, secrets eventually drag us down and drown us.

  He took the wine and smiled at Jenny. “Nothing. Just work.”

  Lights glowed dimly from the south wing of Seashells. Gabe eschewed the main entrance and led their small group around to the opposite side of the house. The children stared up with wide eyes.

  “This is all yours?” Sam asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s like Wayne Manor,” he breathed out in awe.

  “Or Ariel’s castle,” Gracie added.

  “You don’t have a front-door key?” Katie asked.

  “I don’t want to disturb Miriam—she’s the head nurse—if she’s in the main house, and the south wing is where Charlotte’s daughter is…” Gabe hesitated. He didn’t want to say “kept,” but what could he say? “Maintained”? “Looked after”? “…where she sleeps,” he finished. “We’ll go through the family kitchen.”

  “There’s more than one?”

  “The south wing is pretty much self-contained. Sleeping quarters for the nurses on shift, a kitchen, bathrooms. Charlotte had the extension specially built when she brought her daughter home from hospital, not that you’d know it was a later addition to the house.”

  “I can’t believe the hospital let her remove her daughter from their care. I mean, I’ve read about court cases where parents have been stopped from doing that.”

  Gabe inserted his key in the side door and it swung open.

  “The hospital couldn’t do anything more for her. And money lets you do a lot of things most people can’t.”

  They stepped inside and Gabe flicked on the lights. He heard Katie let out a small gasp.

  The kitchen was huge. Gleaming chrome appliances, smooth granite worktops and a shiny tiled floor that reflected the spotlights set into the ceiling. A large American-style fridge-freezer faced them. An island stood in the middle that was the size of, well, most people’s kitchens.

  “The original kitchen was getting a bit old,” Gabe explained. “Miriam asked if she could put a new one in.”

  Katie gazed around. “Miriam has expensive tastes.”

  “She works hard. This is her home.”

  “Wait? You don’t live here?”

  “No,” he said shortly, throwing the keys onto the massive island.

  “Never?”

  “No.”

  “How long have you owned it?”

  “Nine years.”

  He crossed the kitchen to a door which led out to a short corridor and then to a large oval hallway. Off this was the living room, dining room and a winding staircase which led to the second floor, the master bedroom and three guest bedrooms.

  Miriam would probably be working on the other side of the house, or a
sleep if she wasn’t on duty tonight, in which case she would be in the nurses’ quarters, close to Isabella. He didn’t want to wake or alarm her or have her calling the police because she thought there were burglars in the house. He took out his phone and quickly typed a text:

  “Miriam, just stopping at the house tonight. Will explain later. Gabe xx”

  She was bound to realize something was wrong, of course. He had missed a visit, and he had only ever stopped at Seashells once before, a couple of weeks after Jenny and Izzy.

  He had been aimlessly driving, not wanting to go back to the house which would never again feel like a home, not knowing where to go, and he had ended up here. Miriam found him weeping at Isabella’s bedside and she had taken him into the main house, forced him to eat something and made up a bed. She hadn’t asked questions, although she must have seen the news. She had simply looked after him. Gabe supposed that was her job. But whether it was duty or compassion, he had gratefully accepted it.

  Gabe looked back at the small, bedraggled group: his long-lost daughter, a waitress he barely knew and her two children, thinking that he could do with some of Miriam’s no-nonsense care right now. What was he supposed to do with them?

  He felt someone touch his arm. Katie. “It was a long journey. We’re all pretty worn out and hungry. Why don’t I make something to eat and we can talk after the children are in bed?”

  “Right. Okay.”

  Of course. He realized it had been a long time since he had had to consider anyone’s needs but his own. He was out of practice at being a parent. Or a partner. The warm imprint of Katie’s fingers lingered as she walked away toward the fridge.

  She pulled open the doors and peered inside, wrinkling her nose. “A lot of ready meals, but not much else.”

  She started opening cupboards. Gabe joined her and found several multipacks of baked beans. Katie smiled and brandished a loaf of bread.

  “No finer feast.”

  * * *

  —

  THEY ATE AROUND the breakfast bar. Gabe turned on the flat screen on the wall and CITV played in the background in a way that was both vaguely irritating and immensely comforting. Funny the things you forget you miss, he thought. Like the sound of kids’ TV, or tripping over children’s shoes, or their lack of tact and subtlety.

  “So your real name is Izzy?” Sam asked.

  Izzy nodded.

  “And you’re her real dad?” he said to Gabe.

  “Yes.”

  “Our dad left to live with stoopid Amanda,” Gracie said.

  “Right.”

  “She stinks of perfume,” Sam added.

  “And she won’t push me on the swings in case she breaks a nail,” Gracie said. “Then she goes like this.”

  The pair pulled weirdly contorted faces.

  Izzy giggled. Gabe felt something strange happen. A surge of warmth in his stomach. A desire to giggle with her. It felt strange, but nice. Happiness, he thought. This is what happiness feels like. It had been so long, he had forgotten the sensation.

  He found himself staring at Izzy again. She was alive. This was real. On the way here, he had felt as though he was burning up with questions. How? Where? Why? But right now, he didn’t care about the answers. He didn’t care how this had come to be. He just wanted to enjoy sitting eating beans on toast with his daughter. Something most parents wouldn’t think twice about, but a moment of banal ordinary life he had thought he would never experience again.

  After the plates had been scraped clean Gabe found a family packet of biscuits in another cupboard. They managed to maintain the sheen of normality as they munched on them, keeping the conversation generic. It helped, Gabe thought, that children have a shorter attention span and a much greater adaptability to new situations than adults. They just accept stuff for what it is. Sam was more fascinated with the house than how they came to be here. He wanted to know how big it was, how many bedrooms it had, did it have a swimming pool, was there a butler?

  After exhausting the questions and the Custard Creams and Jammie Dodgers, Gracie started to yawn. It had somehow got to almost seven o’clock.

  “I think it’s bedtime,” Katie said meaningfully. She glanced at Gabe. “We’d better sort out where the children are going to sleep. I mean, obviously, you’re not short of rooms.”

  Gabe thought. “Well, the master bedroom is probably made up. I’m not sure about the others.”

  “I don’t want to sleep on my own,” Gracie immediately said.

  “Me neither,” Sam added.

  Izzy didn’t say anything, but she seemed to shrink a little closer to Gabe.

  “Okay, well—”

  “Why don’t Sam, Gracie and Izzy share the master bedroom?” Katie suggested. “I’m presuming there’s a double bed, so they can top and tail?”

  “Right. Good idea.”

  “And what about us…I mean?”

  “Erm, well, there are two more doubles. I can probably find some bedding.”

  “Great.”

  “I’m tired, Mummy.” Gracie yawned again.

  “Okay, sweetheart. Let’s get you upstairs.” Katie smiled. “Hey, at least you’re already in your pajamas.”

  Gabe led them into the hall, flicking on lights as he went. The vastness still surprised him. He watched Katie and the children staring around in awe. Imagining it through their eyes, it also seemed unnecessary. Who needed this much space, this many rooms? A small home could burst with love, and yet this place, despite the plush carpets and silk wallpaper, seemed threadbare of joy.

  They trailed up the winding staircase. It had been a long while since he had been on this side of the house, and it felt more unfamiliar than ever. He paused on the landing. Which was the master? Right, he thought.

  “Just down here,” he said.

  “You could get lost in this place,” Katie said, but something in her voice made it sound more like a criticism than a compliment. He felt a strange urge to defend Charlotte.

  “I think Charlotte’s husband bought it as a family home, but then he died, Charlotte never remarried, never had any more children and then…there was the accident.”

  His fault. All his fault.

  He pushed open the bedroom door.

  “In here.”

  “Whoah,” Sam muttered.

  The bedroom, like everywhere else, was huge. The bed was a four-poster, easily enough room for four adults, let alone three children. Sam and Gracie threw themselves on it, the long journey, the exhaustion, the strangeness of this unfamiliar house instantly forgotten.

  A massive bay window took up most of one wall. The curtains were open. In the day, you could see views that stretched out over the ocean. Tonight, you could just make out the dark body of water, rising and falling restlessly. Above it, the wind whisked scudding clouds past the semicircular moon.

  Izzy walked toward the window. The windows were double glazed, but you could still hear the buffeting of the wind, the distant roar of the waves.

  Against the dark panes, she looked frighteningly small and fragile. Gabe had an urge to grab her, to pull her back from the storm building outside.

  Instead, he walked over and stood beside her. Their own shadowy reflections stared back at them, ghosts hovering in thin air.

  “You can see miles out to sea on a clear day,” he told her.

  Izzy raised a hand and touched the glass. “The beach is down there.”

  “Yes.”

  “Have I been here before?”

  Gabe frowned. “I don’t…” And then he remembered. Jenny had been ill. He had told her he would take Izzy to work for the day, but it had been a Monday so they had come here. Izzy could only have been eight or nine months old.

  “Once,” he said. “But you were just a baby.”

  She withdrew her hand and clu
tched the rucksack to her chest. It rattled and clicked, and Gabe realized what the sound made him think of. Pebbles. But why would Izzy carry around a bag of pebbles? And then he remembered something else, something he hadn’t thought about in years.

  When Izzy was a toddler, she used to have these odd sleep episodes. Obviously, toddlers napped quite a lot, but she would just suddenly fall asleep, anywhere, one minute awake and gabbing, the next gone. Gabe had felt sure she would grow out of it (like her weird fear of mirrors), but Jenny had insisted it wasn’t normal. Then, one day, when Izzy was about three, he’d arrived home from work to find Jenny hysterical.

  “She did it again. Just fell asleep and, when she woke up, I found this in her hand.”

  “What is it?”

  “A pebble?”

  “Oh. Where did she get it?”

  “That’s it. I don’t know. What if she’d put it in her mouth, what if she’d choked?”

  He had tried to be sympathetic, but he had been tired and distracted and probably made Jenny feel that she was overreacting. Kids picked up stuff, right? And it hadn’t happened again, at least not that Jenny had mentioned.

  But now, he wondered. Pebbles. The beach. And then another thought thrust itself into his head—the strange shiny stone in the Samaritan’s tooth. An icy draft seemed to seep through the windows and wash over him.

  “She wanted us to come.”

  He glanced back down at Izzy. “What? Who?”

  But Izzy was already backing away from the window, shaking her head, whether at him or something she could see in the glass, he wasn’t sure.

  “No. Not now.”

  Who was she talking to?

  Then he jumped as Katie clapped her hands briskly together.

  “Okay. Let’s get you all into bed.”

  * * *

  —

  THE CHILDREN CLIMBED into bed with surprisingly few complaints. The room smelled a little fusty but the bed was large and comfortable and the somnolent effect of soft pillows and clean sheets soothed them almost instantly.