by Amy Cross
“Is there a basement?” Scott called through from the kitchen. “There's a hatch in the floor!”
“It's locked,” John said quickly.
“So how was last night?” Sarah asked with a smile. “How was the book club with your adoring fans?”
“Fine.”
“Were you there late?”
He swallowed hard. “No. I was home before midnight.”
“Home?” She paused. “You call this place home?”
“You know what I mean. It was... Nothing much happened.”
“And how was it sleeping here last night?”
“Fine,” he replied, taking a deep breath. “Uneventful, you know?”
“Lonely?”
“I was fine.”
“And what were your little groupies like?” she asked, heading through to the front room and taking a look around. “Did you have lots of adoring fans throwing themselves at you?” She turned to him with a smile. “If some hot young fan tried to seduce you, I hope you managed to control yourself.”
“Come on,” he replied, “remember who you're talking to here.”
“The man who used to be my reserved, publicity-shy husband,” she continued, “and who now apparently goes to fan club meetings.”
“It wasn't a fan club meeting, it was a book club. It was barely even that, it was just a few people sitting around talking about what they were reading.”
“And then a real superstar writer showed up in their midst, huh?”
“It was interesting to hear their thoughts,” he replied, as Scott and Katie ran through and then began to bound upstairs. “Hey! Wait!” he called after them.
Stopping, they turned to him. “What's wrong?” Scott asked. “Aren't we allowed to go upstairs?”
“I...” John paused. “Sure you are. Just be careful, that's all.”
“Are those your cigarettes in the kitchen?” Katie asked.
“Cigarettes?” He paused. “Um... No. No, those were there when I arrived. I guess the previous owners left them behind.”
“You seem nervy,” Sarah told him as the kids headed up to the landing. “I mean, you're always kinda nervy, but it's different this time. Being in this place has really got to you, huh?”
“Actually,” he replied, “I've been clearing my head.”
“Did you drink wine last night?” Scott called down from upstairs. “There's an empty wine bottle in one of the rooms!”
Sarah raised a skeptical but amused eyebrow. “Clearing your head, huh?”
“I just...” He paused, trying to remember exactly when and why he'd bought a bottle of wine, although the events of the previous night were still a little hazy. “I guess I just fancied a drink. Is that so wrong?”
“Oh no,” she replied, stepping closer, “there's nothing wrong with buying the childhood home where you lived with your crazy grandmother, secretly running off there without telling your loving and very understanding wife, changing aspects of your personality seemingly on a dime, and then drinking a bottle of wine all by yourself. That's normal behavior, John. Everyone does that, it's practically a rite of passage.”
“You're reading too much into this,” he told her, before spotting the bottle opener and cork on the carpet, close to a splash of spilled wine. Again, he didn't remember any of that, although he had a vague memory of drinking wine straight from the bottle. “There's nothing going on,” he continued, forcing a smile. “I'm just surprised to see you, that's all. I was planning to head back to the house later.”
“The house?” She stared at him for a moment. “So this place is home, and our place is just the house?”
He sighed. “You know what I meant.”
“Well now we're here,” she continued, with a smile, “it'll just have to be the summer holiday we hadn't got around to planning yet, won't it? I didn't drive all the way down with the kids just to turn around and go straight back to London, so why don't you show us around your old hometown? You always refused to bring me here before.”
“There's not much to show you.”
“What about your old haunts? Sorry, bad choice of words, but...” Stepping closer, she put her hands on his shoulders. “You've always been so reserved when it comes to talking about your past, John. Maybe it's time to put that straight. Come on, at least for twenty-four hours, can't you show us where you really come from?”
“I...” Sighing, he realized he had no choice. “Let me just get my jacket.”
Heading upstairs, he took a quick look in all the rooms, just to make absolutely certain that Hannah had left. He was still trying to remember exactly what had happened, but he figured the wine had made his memory a little glitchy. There was no sign of her, so obviously she'd left, and he figured he needed to be less paranoid. After all, he had nothing to hide, and the house was just a house. He had nothing to hide.
Chapter Sixteen
Twenty years ago
“Yes, she did,” John said, shocked by the news of his friend's disappearance. “Just a few days ago, actually. She came and we hung out, and she stayed the night before heading back to Peterborough.”
“And that was the last time you saw Alison?” the officer asked, making a note as he sat at the kitchen table.
John nodded.
“And she definitely said she was driving back to Peterborough?”
“She did. I'm sure of it.”
“And what time did she leave here?” the other officer, a woman, asked.
“Early,” he said, turning to her. She seemed more the more skeptical of the two officers, as if she didn't entirely believe his story. “When it was getting light, whatever time that was. Seven, maybe eight.”
“Where was her car parked?”
“I'm not sure. I didn't see it.” He paused. “Haven't you found it?”
“About half a mile away,” the male officer explained, still making notes. “We've spoken to her parents and they don't know why she'd have parked in Vauxhall Road, but we're still looking into that. You don't happen to know whether she had any friends in that area, do you?”
John shook his head.
“So you're the only person she knows around here?” the female officer asked.
Turning to her, John realized that she definitely seemed the more suspicious of the two of them, as if she actually thought he might be hiding something.
“She just dropped by because she was home for a couple of days,” he explained, trying not to let on that he was starting to panic. “She did that about three or four times a year.”
“And were you and her...” The female officer paused, as if she wasn't quite sure how to phrase the next question. “Well, I have to ask. Was your relationship with Abigail of a romantic nature?”
He shook his head.
“Just friends, then?”
“Just friends. Totally.”
“But she stayed the night?”
“In a separate room.”
“Right.” The female officer paused again. “And you live here by yourself?”
John nodded.
“Do you own the property?”
“My father does. I lived here with my grandmother, but she passed away a few days ago.”
“I'm sorry to hear that,” she told him, glancing around the room. “So now it's just you?”
“For now. I'm still working out what to do. I haven't had much time to think, though, because of the funeral and everything.”
“How did she die?” the male officer asked, not looking up from his notebook.
“Aneurysm, I think,” John replied.
“Quick,” he muttered. “At least that's something.” He turned to a new page and made some more notes. “My Nan died of one of those. Much better than my Grandad, he had a stroke. Now that's no way to go. He was basically like a vegetable for a while, although he seemed kind of aware of everyone around him. He recovered a little, but not much, not enough to really have any kind of a life. At least with an aneurysm, it can be as quick as just keel
ing over like someone's flicked a switch. Small blessings, eh?”
“I suppose,” John replied, before seeing that the female officer was still watching him with a hint of suspicion. “I'm sure you'll find Alison soon. She's only been gone, what, two days?”
“That's still a long time for a young woman to be out of contact with everyone she knows,” the female officer pointed out. “No phone calls, no ATM visits, no sightings. Plus, if she hasn't got her car with her... Do you know if she might have anything she wants to keep from her parents? A secret boyfriend, maybe, or something that might cause a problem in her life?”
“She has a boyfriend in Peterborough.”
“I'm aware of that, but we're looking for something closer to home. Drug use?”
He shook his head.
“I think we've got everything we came for,” the male officer said, closing his notebook and getting to his feet. “Obviously, since so far you're the last person to see her, we might have to come back and ask you some more questions. And if she gets in touch with you in any way, please tell her to contact her parents or to at least give us a call at the station, just so we know she's safe. She's not in any trouble, people are just worried about her.”
“Of course,” John replied, leading them to the hallway and opening the door. “You don't think anything's actually happened, do you?”
“Nah,” the male officer said, “it's probably nothing.”
“It could be something,” his colleague added, following him out to the front step and then turning to John. “We take it very seriously when young women go missing. There have been some nasty cases in recent years and we don't want Alison Blackstock being added to that list, do we?”
“I'm sure she's fine,” John replied, swallowing hard as he realized he was probably coming across as a little weird. Trying to look more relaxed, he forced a smile, although he immediately felt that this hadn't really worked. “Say hi to her when you find her,” he added, before realizing that this, too, might seem strange.
Once the two officers were gone, John lingered in the kitchen, keeping just out of sight as he watched them out by the front gate. They hadn't got into their patrol car yet, and instead they were talking while the male officer looked through his notebook. Taking great care not to get spotted, John could tell that whatever they were talking about, it seemed to be causing a minor disagreement between the two of them, and finally he ducked back as the female officer turned and looked toward the house. He waited, worried that they were about to come back with more questions, but thirty seconds later he heard a car door being slammed, following by the sound of an engine starting.
Peering back out through the window, he saw to his relief that the police car was pulling away. Even though he knew he hadn't done anything wrong, he'd felt distinctly uneasy during the officers' visit, but he told himself there was no point worrying now, that he just had to relax. Sighing, he headed across the kitchen, stepping over the hatch to the basement as he made his way to the stairs.
Chapter Seventeen
Today
“Christ, it's windy out here,” John said, as a gale blew in across the sea and the beach, “are you sure you don't want to get out of this weather?”
“And miss seeing where you grew up?” Sarah asked, even as her hair was blown across her face. “You've spent the past decade very carefully not telling me much about your old life. It's catch-up time.” She looked across the beach and saw Scott and Katie throwing pebbles into the rough sea, trying in vain to make them skim the surface. “Besides, the kids are loving it. When was the last time they got to play on a beach, huh?”
“Sure,” John muttered, clearly feeling uncomfortable as he adjusted his scarf.
“So was that you once?” she asked, spotting a group of teenagers hanging around a derelict bandstand a little further up ahead. “Did you and your mates sit around, talking and wasting the days? Setting fire to bins, that sort of thing?”
“No,” he said with a faint smile, “nothing like that.”
“Somehow I figured. I'm guessing you were a good boy, weren't you? Safe and sound at home?”
“Something like that.”
“But you had friends, right? I know you don't seem to be in contact with anyone from around here anymore, but you had friends back then, didn't you?”
“Of course.”
“Thank God. I was starting to worry you were some kind of loner. So tell me about them.”
“Well... I don't know, there were a few people. Mainly from school.”
“Are you going to look them up while you're in town?”
He smiled at the suggestion. “No, I don't think so.”
“Why not?”
“Because that was all twenty years ago.”
“So maybe it'd be fun to catch up,” she replied, as they stopped to watch the kids still throwing pebbles. “Twenty years is a long time, a lot can happen. Besides, you've become this rich, successful author. Don't you want to show off a little?”
He shook his head.
“What about a girlfriend?”
He turned to her.
“You must have had a girlfriend around here,” she continued with a faint, knowing smile. “Did you come down and snog her on the beach after dark?”
“No snogging.”
“Wasn't there anyone?” she asked, seemingly a little disappointed.
“I...” He paused. “I had a few female friends.”
“Name one.”
“Uh... Well, there was Alison Blackstock.”
“Ooh, Alison Blackstock,” she said with a grin, as a seagull waddled past. “Sounds like a right little tart. Come on, then, spill the beans, how were things between you and this Alison Blackstock hussy?”
“We were just friends.”
“Really? That's kind of disappointing, John. I'd like to think you had at least one bout of teenage kicks while you lived here.” She stared at him for a moment, watching as the wind ruffled his hair. “Don't take this the wrong way, but you were really a bit of a shut-in, weren't you?”
“You make me sound like a hermit.”
They both turned as they heard shouting from the bandstand. They watched for a moment as a minor scuffle broke about among the teenagers, but whatever had caused the argument was quickly diffused and a couple of hoodie-wearing boys sulked off, leaving the others with their energy drinks.
“You'd rather I'd been like that?” John asked, turning to Sarah. “Seriously?”
“I'd like to think you were doing something productive with your time,” she continued, still watching the teenagers. “No-one's a saint, John. You need to learn the rules of social interaction from somewhere. I mean, those kids aren't hurting anyone, are they? It's normal for a teenager to want to rebel against. I hate to break this to you, but when our kids become teenagers, we're in for a world of stress.” She turned to him. “Didn't you ever want to rebel when you were younger?”
“I was just trying to find my way.”
She stared at him for a moment, before leaning closer and planting a kiss on his cheek. “I love you,” she told him. “I just wish you'd had a better childhood.”
“I can't blame my childhood for everything.”
“But still -”
“I was fine. I got by.”
She turned and looked at Scott and Katie, who were still throwing pebbles into the sea.
“So are you going to contact her?” she asked finally.
“Who?”
“Alison Blackstock.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but at the last moment he held back. “No.”
“No? Come on, it might be fun.”
“I can't.”
“Doesn't she live around here anymore?”
“She...” He paused, watching as Scott managed to get a pebble to skip a few times. “She disappeared, actually,” he continued finally, turning to her. “She just upped and vanished one day and no-one ever heard from her again. So no, I don't think I can contact her
, because as far as I know she's still missing.”
***
“It's just Reginald,” he said a little while later, checking his buzzing phone as the four of them sat in a cafe near the beach. He took a moment to read the text message. “Huh. He's got in touch with the couple who owned the house before I bought it back.”
“Why's he done that?” Sarah asked, glancing up from the menu.
“Oh, I...” He paused. “I asked him to, that's all, but it doesn't matter now. Turns out they only moved across town, but...” His voice trailed off for a moment, before he put his phone away. “Never mind.”
“What did you want to talk to them about?”
“Just their experiences in the house.”
“Such as?”
“Such as...” He paused again, wishing that he'd never mentioned the message at all. “Honey, I'm a writer, I look for stories wherever I think I can find them. I had this vague idea that I wanted to know what life had been like for them in that house, but suddenly it doesn't seem quite so interesting.”
“Huh.” She watched as he studied the menu. “Seems a bit odd, that's all,” she continued finally. “I mean, you obviously cared enough to get Reginald to contact them, and now suddenly you're not interested. Is there something about the house that you're not telling us?”
“Like what?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
“It's not...” She paused. “It's not, like, haunted or something, is it?”
He turned to her.
She smiled.
“John, it's not, is it?”
“Of course it's not. No house is haunted.”
“Is the house haunted?” Scott asked. “Really?”
“No!” John said firmly.
“Wow,” Katie said, her eyes wide with shock.
“Nothing's haunted,” John continued, trying not to sound annoyed. “There's no such things as ghosts.”
“Says a man who writes about ghosts.”
“That doesn't mean I believe in them,” he replied, clearly a little irritated as he tried to focus on the menu. “Does everyone know what they want?”