‘Thomas,’ I say, and he turns to look at me with enquiring eyes.
‘What’s up, sis?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ I go on; deciding the movement must have been my imagination – wishful thinking.
Vine Hill is steep. I work out it heads in the opposite direction to the sea, and the foot of the slope is in walking distance of the estate owner Michael Collis’s farmhouse.
Finn stomps his feet. ‘So, who wants to go first? Amelia?’
‘No, let Thomas and Maddie go down first,’ I say. Then it occurs to me. ‘Wait though, how the hell is Thomas going to get back up?’
‘I’ll take the bike the long way, and meet you at the bottom,’ Finn obliges. ‘No worries.’
‘I’m still not sure you should go down, Thomas,’ I say.
‘Hey, stop that,’ Thomas says, his cheeks glowing. ‘I’m going down. I’m all psyched up.’
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘On your head be it.’
‘You get on the sled first, Maddie,’ Finn says.
She looks into his eyes and grimaces, and he puts his arm around her shoulder. ‘You can trust me, Maddie,’ he says. ‘I know what I’m doing.’
She smiles up at him – is that adoration on her face? – and lowers herself onto the sledge.
‘Right!’ Finn continues, lifting Thomas onto the sledge in front of Maddie, and she grabs him round the waist, rests her face against his back.
Within seconds, Finn pushes the sledge and it hurtles down the hill, and Thomas and Maddie squeal with excitement as they zigzag through the snow, until I can’t see them anymore.
‘Your turn,’ Finn says, smiling my way.
‘Oh, I don’t know anymore. Maybe I’ll stay right here.’
‘You need a bit of fun in your life, Amelia,’ he says. ‘You’ve been through hell. Get on the sledge.’
‘Fine,’ I say, sitting down and grabbing the rough rope with my gloved hands. Suddenly I’m whizzing down the slope, snow bombarding my face. Halfway down, tears spill from my eyes, but they are not happy tears, they are desperate tears, and I wonder, as the sled hits the bottom and I fall out into deep snow, whether I’ll ever be truly happy again.
Chapter 11
A Year Ago
Ruth
Ruth liked this bit. The bit when her guests gathered for the first time in her conservatory to eat her delicious home-cooked meals. It was now she found out more about them – their history, their likes and dislikes, what made them tick.
She peered through the thick net curtain at her bedroom window to see the party of three – Jackson dressed in narrow black trousers and a white shirt, Caroline holding on to his arm, and the girl in black – leave Bluebell Cottage. They made their way through the darkness, Jackson brandishing a torch, leading the way like he was the Pied Piper of Hamelin. They would soon sit around Ruth’s rustic pine table. She would play Mum.
The aroma of roast pork cooking floated up the stairs from the kitchen. She sniffed, satisfied. Her guests loved her cooking – her creamy mash, her buttered carrots, her tender green beans. She was old-fashioned in some ways, she supposed. Women didn’t always cook from scratch anymore, but Ruth’s mother had taught her from an early age, and she loved being in the kitchen – it helped give her life meaning.
She dashed down the stairs, kicked off her fur-rimmed slippers, and pushed her feet into flat black shoes, before entering the conservatory, where she moulded her face into her usual welcoming smile ready for her first arrivals.
The side door opened, and Ruth tucked a straying tendril of hair, which had escaped from her ponytail, behind her ear.
Jackson entered first, followed by Caroline.
‘It’s still quite warm out there,’ Caroline said to Ruth. ‘Can’t believe it’s November.’
Ruth was sick of talking about the weather, but knew it went with the territory. ‘Yes, so strange for the time of year.’
‘I blame global warming,’ Jackson said, as Ruth gestured to the table laid out for her seven visitors. Finn had put out two jugs of water, the blue-and-white-checked napkins, and a beautiful vase of fresh flowers in the centre.
‘Please take a seat, anywhere you like.’
‘Where’s Lark?’ Caroline said, her forehead furrowing as she looked back towards the door. ‘I thought she was right behind us.’
‘She’ll be along in a minute, darling.’ Jackson took hold of her hand and led her to the table. ‘Try not to stress.’
‘Is she OK, do you think?’ Caroline said, sitting down. ‘I hope this isn’t too much for her. She’s barely spoken since we arrived. And those tablets she’s on aren’t helping. She seems zoned out most of the time.’
‘She’s fine, Caroline. Try not to worry. This holiday is all about you, and she needs to know that. Let her get on with it.’
Ruth’s eyes drifted towards the open door. She stepped towards it, about to shut out the evening, when she spotted the girl in black – Lark – outside with the tall man in his fifties.
‘But I’m not hungry, Dad,’ she was saying, shoulders hunched, hands in the pockets of a knee-length black coat. Her anger was tangible. ‘I don’t even want to be here. It’s stupid. Mum’s dying, and we need to stop pretending we’re a happy family, because we’re not; we haven’t been for ages, and we never will be again. It’s pathetic.’
He placed his arm around her shoulders, pulled her close, and her eyes filled with tears. ‘We’re making new memories, sweetheart,’ he whispered. ‘I promise you’ll be glad we did. This is where your mum wants to be – here with us all. Please give her that.’ Despite the strength in his words, there was something in his tone that told Ruth he was struggling too. That he was finding this as difficult as his daughter.
‘Fine!’ Lark pushed away from him, and barged through the conservatory door. She whisked past Ruth, and thumped down in one of the dining chairs some distance from her mum and Jackson, and pulled out her phone.
The older man followed her in, threw Ruth a half-hearted smile, and closed the door behind him.
‘And the bloody signal is erratic as hell,’ Lark said, banging her phone down on the table, and glaring up at the ceiling.
Ruth looked away pretending she hadn’t heard. What did the girl expect? They were miles from anywhere. The signal was always unreliable. She looked at her watch, still three more guests to arrive before she could serve dinner.
Once the man was seated, she padded towards the table, and pulled a notepad from her cardigan pocket. But before she could speak, the conservatory door opened once more, and the woman in her early twenties with silky black hair, and smooth olive skin, pushed in the young man in a wheelchair. She sped across the parquet flooring, making a noise like a car engine, and leaving a trail of floral perfume in her wake. ‘We’re here,’ she said with a giggle. ‘Let the fun begin.’ She was American. Vivacious. Beautiful.
‘Good evening,’ Ruth said over her shoulder, her smile frozen. ‘I’m Ruth … the owner.’
‘Hey, I’m Maddie, and this is Thomas.’
Ah, the carer and the son.
Maddie moved a chair from the table, scraping the legs across the floor, and pushed the wheelchair into the space. Thomas looked up at Maddie, adoration in his brown eyes. ‘Cheers,’ he said.
‘You are most welcome, kind sir,’ Maddie said in a fake cockney accent, curtsying, before sitting down in the seat next to him.
Before Ruth could open her mouth, a woman of around thirty with red wavy hair to her shoulders, and a padded grass-green jacket, and jeans, opened the door and stepped in.
‘Amelia,’ Caroline said, fluttering her fingers. She patted the chair next to her. ‘Come and sit down, darling.’
‘You look nice, Mum,’ Amelia said heading towards Caroline. She kissed her mother’s cheek, and sat down beside her, unzipping her jacket, her eyes darting around the conservatory.
Caroline did look better than she had earlier, Ruth thought, with more colour in her cheeks, and a bobbed ches
tnut-brown wig that suited her.
‘Can I get anyone a wee drink?’ Ruth said. ‘Tap water is included; anything else is extra.’
‘A large white wine,’ Amelia said without looking at the menu.
‘A small glass for me, please,’ Maddie said.
‘Orange juice,’ Thomas said, and Ruth found her mind wandering. Had he been in a wheelchair since birth? She would need to find that out.
She moved her eyes to Jackson. ‘Lager,’ he said, smiling at her. He was far too handsome – it shouldn’t be allowed. ‘And a mineral water for Caroline,’ he added, as Caroline opened her mouth to speak and closed it again.
‘Nothing for me,’ Lark said, throwing down the menu. The lass couldn’t have been more than seventeen. All that black eyeliner and bright red lipstick was far too brazen, but there was no escaping her beauty – so like Kyla.
‘I’ll have a lager too, please, love,’ the older man said.
Ruth disappeared to the small bar area, and as she poured drinks, she picked up on the awkwardness behind her – the silences. This family were deeply troubled. This could get interesting.
Everyone but Lark began talking, and Ruth handed round the drinks, before making her way to the kitchen, returning five minutes later with Finn to hand out a silver platter of roast pork, and a tray of roast potatoes.
‘I’m veggie,’ Lark said brusquely.
‘I know, love, don’t worry.’ Ruth blew her damp fringe from her forehead, as she put down the serving dishes. ‘I’ve made you a quiche, love.’
‘Christ sake, I hate bloody quiche.’
‘Mum’s doing her best,’ Finn said, glaring at the girl.
Ruth touched his arm. ‘It’s fine, Finn.’ And making eye contact with Lark she said, with a smile, ‘You will enjoy my quiche, I promise.’
Once her guests were tucking in, and the room was awash with clanking cutlery and low chatter, Ruth looked at her son, who was leaning against the counter, staring at his phone. She hoped he wasn’t messaging that wife of his. She wasn’t good for him. But then she wouldn’t be back. Ruth had sent her away when she came looking for him a few weeks back. She’d had an affair – cheated on her son. She no longer deserved him.
‘By the way, everyone,’ she said to her guests, who all looked up. ‘This is my son, Finn.’
He looked up from his phone. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Great to meet you all.’
The lass with the red hair – Amelia – caught his eye, and they exchanged a coy smile.
I’m afraid he’s not available, dear girl. So don’t go getting any ideas.
Chapter 12
A Year Ago
Amelia
Amelia glanced again at Finn who threw her another smile – a nice smile. Despite taking no pride in his appearance, there was something she found cute about him, in a dishevelled kind of way.
‘Finn!’ Ruth was staring at Amelia, something dark in her expression as she turned to her son. ‘The dishwasher needs filling.’
‘Fine.’ He shoved his phone in his pocket. ‘I’ll maybe see you guys at the ghost tour later,’ he said, leaving the dining room.
*
It was almost 9 p.m. and Amelia sat alone on the crumbling wall surrounding the Drummondale House ruins, almost swallowed by darkness. It was cooler than earlier, and she was huddled into her duffel coat, her phone torch barely lighting the area.
She shuddered as the moon peeped out from behind a cloud, picking out the jagged shapes of decaying walls and broken statues. The thought of exploring the woods searching for phantoms wasn’t her idea of fun. She was sceptical, and not at all interested in anything supernatural, but also acknowledged the whole subject gave her the heebie-jeebies.
Her mum had been a member of the Berwick-upon-Tweed Paranormal Society before she’d moved to Tweedmouth to live with Jackson. She had always been a fan of TV shows that saw celebrities creeping round allegedly haunted locations in the dark, jumping at noises and shadows. Once, some years ago, her mum came to London to visit Amelia, and they’d taken a ghost tour around Hampton Court after dark. It had frightened Amelia, and she vowed she would never do anything like it again. Yet here she was, doing it for her mum. But then she had to really. Thomas couldn’t – Finn had told him his wheelchair wouldn’t be suitable for the route, and Maddie had insisted she should stay with him, and was now probably curled by the fire, updating her video log.
Maddie started her vlog on YouTube with her older sister – a TV presenter, and wannabe actress at the time. It was long before Maddie began caring for Thomas. In the early posts the sisters talked about the grief of losing their mother. Later, Maddie put on a few posts explaining that her sister was suffering with depression, so she was manning the vlog for now. Now the vlog was mainly about Thomas’s day-to-day life. Amelia hated Maddie sharing her brother’s life online, and stopped watching when Maddie added her mum’s fight with cancer to her daily spiel. But while her mum and brother didn’t seem to mind, even said it might help others in similar situations, Amelia mostly kept her opinions to herself.
A chilly breeze, as if from nowhere, made her shiver once more. She pulled up the hood of her coat, and hunched over her phone, and while she had a full signal, fired off a message to William:
Hey, You! I’ve arrived safely. I’m not going to lie, it’s not easy here, but I’ve got to get over myself and do it for Mum. Don’t forget to feed my fluffy ball of love. Hope work is OK. Love you. A X
She pressed Send.
Watched her phone, willing William to reply.
‘Amelia?’
She startled, jolted her head upwards, and grabbed her chest. ‘Christ!’
‘Sorry.’ It was Finn coming through the darkness with his torch on full beam, wearing a top hat and black cloak. ‘I was going to ask if you’re ready to be spooked, but I’m guessing you already are.’ He lowered the beam. ‘You scare easily.’ His Scottish accent was smooth, and held a hint of humour.
With her hand glued to her chest, her heart thrumming under her fingers, she continued to look up at him. ‘I challenge anyone not to jump when a man looking like the ghost of Jack the Ripper creeps up on them.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘I’m a total sceptic, by the way,’ she said. ‘Don’t expect to convince me.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ He removed the hat, and laid it on the wall.
‘Basically, I’m only here because my mum made me come.’ She smiled. ‘OK, I realise that makes me sound as though I’m about eight.’
He laughed, and sat down beside her, far enough away not to invade her space, for which she was grateful.
A silence fell between them, and she spent the quiet moments staring at her phone, willing William to return her message. Wishing he was there supporting her.
She’d arrived far too early for the ghost tour, wanting to get out of the cottage – tired of Thomas and Maddie messing about, of Maddie’s shrill laughter. The young fun-loving American couldn’t help being silly and yet oddly responsible – Amelia understood that – and it was good to see Thomas happy, but if she’d stayed in the cottage any longer she would have said something she regretted, or possibly throttled Maddie.
‘So do you live in Scotland?’ Finn asked, as he flicked his torch on and off.
She shook her head. ‘I grew up in Berwick-upon-Tweed.’
‘And now?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Do you still live—’
‘Oh, no.’ She shook her head, and curled a wave of her hair around her finger. ‘I live in London with my cat.’ She had no idea what stopped her mentioning William. She loved him, didn’t she? They’d even talked about having a baby one day. Though she’d done most of the talking.
‘I’ve never been to London, would you believe?’ Finn said with a sigh. He looked about him, and as though caught on an invisible line, his eyes met hers. ‘Spent my life here with Mum mostly.’
‘Mostly?’
‘A brief marriage that didn
’t work out.’
‘Sorry.’
He shrugged. ‘It wasn’t to be. My mum never liked her – didn’t trust her, said she was the type to cheat, and then she went and proved Mum right. Anyway, my mother needs me here.’ A beat. ‘Christ, ’ark at me sharing my life story.’
‘It’s fine. I don’t mind.’
He smiled. ‘So you’re here because of your mum? She’s ill?’
Amelia turned from his gaze, keeping her eyes forward. She didn’t want to talk about it – it made it too real – but still words formed in her head. A painful group of words that made her eyes sting with tears. ‘We’ve been told she’s only got six months.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’
‘Yeah. Thanks.’
She was relieved when the door of Bluebell Cottage opened, and her mum, Jackson and Lark appeared. Within moments, her dad came through the darkness too from the other direction.
‘Welcome,’ Finn said, rising to greet everyone, and putting his top hat back on.
Amelia stared at her mum who was laughing and clapping, smiling up at Jackson, so excited. She was no longer wearing the wig she’d worn at dinner – it made her head itch, that’s what she’d told Amelia – and she’d pulled on a beanie hat, a khaki-coloured parka, and a navy scarf was wrapped around her neck and covered most of her face.
Amelia straightened her shoulders and smiled. ‘OK. Let’s do this thing!’ she said, surprising herself.
‘Right, ghost hunters, follow me.’ Finn strode off into the darkness, his torch lighting the ruins. And, as they set out following him, yet another shiver ran down Amelia’s back. This place was creepy, and Finn hadn’t even started to tell stories of ghosts and ghouls.
He led the way round to the front of Drummondale House, where it had been restored. New windows had been put in, and the façade had been repointed. It looked every bit as it would have in the eighteenth century.
I Lie in Wait: A gripping new psychological crime thriller perfect for fans of Ruth Ware! Page 6