Don't Look Back

by Ben Cheetham

  Once they escaped the congestion of London, the roads were relatively clear. Most of the traffic was travelling in the opposite direction. The end of the summer holidays was approaching. Many cars were packed with families returning home. Adam couldn’t help but feel smug. No more over-before-you-know-it holidays for him. From now on life would be like one long holiday.

  At the halfway point, Ella offered to take over the driving. Adam shook his head. He didn’t want to stop unless they had to. It was late afternoon when they reached Helston. A narrow, sloping high-street wound its way up between an assortment of pubs, cafes, restaurants and little shops. At the top of the street, Adam parked up, got out and approached a door with formal black lettering edged in gold on it – ‘Mabyn & Moon Personal Legal Services Est. 1975’. He pressed an intercom button and a woman’s voice inquired, “Who is it?”

  “Adam Piper to see Mr Mabyn.”

  There was a pause then, “He’s on his way to you, Mr Piper.”

  The door opened and the solicitor loomed over Adam. “Good afternoon, Mr Piper. I trust you’ve had a pleasant journey.” As usual, Mr Mabyn’s manner was strictly business-like. “I’m to accompany you to Fenton House and instruct you on the use of the boiler, electrics and such.”

  Ella raised a hand in greeting. The solicitor responded with an unsmiling nod and stooped into his Mercedes. “As friendly as ever, I see,” Ella said to Adam.

  They followed Mr Mabyn out of the high-street. Minutes later they were passing the razor-wire fences of RNAS Culdrose. Adam glanced at Henry whose eyes were shut. “It’s a shame he’s asleep. He would have liked to see this.”

  “He’ll have plenty more chances to,” Ella smilingly reminded him.

  The land opened out into rolling fields bleached by the long hot summer. Brilliantly blue glimpses of sea glimmered tantalisingly in the late August sun. Adam wound down his window. The air was crisper than the previous time they’d been there. He greedily drank it in and the tiredness of the journey dropped away. He had a vague feeling of the rest of the world receding, as if they were crossing into somewhere cut off like an island. He found himself smiling. How could he have doubted even for a second that they were doing the right thing?

  He could feel his heart beating as they negotiated the narrow lane to Fenton House. He almost gasped when he saw the place. It was even more breath-taking than he remembered. Mr Mabyn opened the gates and they entered the avenue of sycamores, whose leaves seemed to whisper, Welcome. The garden was radiant with late-summer blooms. The stained glass window sparkled as if happy to see the house’s new inhabitants.

  Adam gently woke Henry and they got out of the car. “What do you think?” Adam asked excitedly.

  Henry stared around himself. “Is this really all ours?” There was a look of dazed wonder in his eyes.

  Adam laughed. “Yes, incredible isn’t it?”

  The heavy front door creaked as Mr Mabyn opened it.

  Adam put an arm around Henry’s shoulders as they followed the solicitor into the house. Henry gaped at the lofty ceilings, the grand staircase, the tapestries and paintings, the elaborately moulded plasterwork and arched doors. “You could fit our whole house into just this bit.”

  “This is our house now,” said Adam.

  “There’s no mobile phone reception on this part of the peninsula,” said Mr Mabyn. “There are two fixed-line phones in the house. One here.” He pointed out a corded old phone in the hallway. “And another in what was Miss Trehearne’s bedroom.”

  Mr Mabyn briskly made his way to the kitchen and opened a door concealed by a curtain at the back of the pantry. It led to a windowless bare-brick room. Chopped logs and kindling were stacked against one wall. The ceiling was a tangle of lead and copper pipes, many of which sprouted from a bulky rectangular boiler that looked as if it had been there since the house was built.

  “The central heating runs off an oil-fired boiler,” explained the solicitor, handing Adam a dog-eared instruction manual. “The oil tank is buried in the garden. I’ll show you where. It’s been filled recently and should supply your needs for several months. When it needs refilling, the cost will be yours to bear.”

  “How come they didn’t build a basement for all this?” asked Ella.

  “You would have to ask Walter Lewarne that question.” There was no trace of humour in Mr Mabyn’s response. Turning his attention to an ancient-looking fuse box, he pointed out the mains switch.

  “Looks like it could do with a bit of updating,” Adam said with understatement.

  Mr Mabyn began to reel out the same line. “The cost of any repairs or improvements will be yours to–”

  “Yes, we know,” interrupted Ella. “If anything goes wrong we’re up shit creek without a paddle.”

  The solicitor showed them the mains water stop-tap, then headed for the backdoor. His movements were verging on a jog, as if he was keen to spend as little time as possible in the house.

  “I bet he gets invited to loads of dinner parties,” Adam whispered to Ella.

  “Shh, he’ll hear you,” she mouthed back, giving him a dig in the ribs for the sarcastic aside.

  As they made their way around the side of the house, Mr Mabyn rambled on mechanically about the transfer of utility bills and other practicalities. Adam stopped and turned in amazement at a sound he hadn’t heard in a long time. Henry was balancing along the low wall bordering the patio. Another little laugh escaped Henry’s lips as he jumped to the lawn. Adam felt a swell of tears, not of grief but of joy. Smiling, Ella reached for his hand.

  “If you’d please,” Mr Mabyn hurried them along, “I have other business to attend to.”

  The oil tank was in a concrete pit accessed by a metal trapdoor. Nearby was a tap that operated a rusty sprinkler system. Mr Mabyn led them to a garage and a little cluster of adjoining outhouses that contained a plethora of tools, plant pots, composts, weed killers, fertilisers, insecticides, a lawn roller and a sit-on mower. “Do you wish to retain the gardener’s services?”

  “I’ll be doing the gardening,” said Ella.

  Adam looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Are you sure? It’s a hell of a big garden.”

  “I’ll have plenty of time on my hands. If it gets too much, we can always hire some help to tide us over.”

  “And what about the cleaners?” inquired Mr Mabyn. “Miss Trehearne employs a local firm.”

  “I’ll be doing the cleaning too,” said Ella.

  “In that case our business is concluded and I’ll bid you good day.” Mr Mabyn handed Adam the bunch of keys, turned on his heel and strode to his car.

  Chapter 11

  Adam and Ella watched Mr Mabyn drive out of the gates. Their gazes moved over the garden and house before landing on each other. Neither of them seemed to know quite what to say. Adam puffed his cheeks and broke the silence. “I suppose we’d better start unloading.”

  They each picked up a box from the trailer. As they carried them into the house, Henry asked, “Where’s my bedroom?”

  “Do you know I hadn’t thought about that,” said Adam. “Which bedrooms are we going to use?”

  “Let’s go and choose,” said Ella.

  Henry excitedly led the way upstairs, his eyes as bright as the stained glass windows. Adam and Ella found each other’s hand again. “Wow, look at all these doors,” exclaimed Henry. He ran to the nearest one. He took one look at the four-poster bed, the stuffed peacock and the animal paintings and said, “I don’t want this room.”

  “I think this room would be good for us,” Ella said to Adam.

  “I preferred that other room. You know, the one where we...” Adam paused suggestively, “liked the view.”

  “Too many windows. It’ll be cold in the winter. Besides, we’ve already discussed this. It’s too far away from the bathroom and too close to...” Ella glanced upwards. She’d made it clear that she didn’t want any of them to be sleeping under the observatory tower when the first winter storm swept in.r />
  Henry checked out the neighbouring room, poked his head into the bathroom and moved on. The next room elicited another negative response. Unlike the deep reds and dark oak that dominated the rest of the house, the walls of the final room on that wing of the landing were sea blue and the furniture was made of pale plain wood. A leaded window overlooked the rear garden. There was a little stone fireplace flanked by a wardrobe and a wall-mounted long mirror. A painting of a rosy-cheeked sleeping baby hung above the single-bed’s headboard. There was a plaque on the picture frame. Henry read the name etched into it, “Heloise.”

  “That was the name of a girl who once lived here,” said Ella. “Perhaps this was her bedroom.”

  “Can it be my room?” asked Henry.

  “Are you sure you want this room?” asked Adam. “It’s the smallest one up here.”

  “That’s why I like it.” Henry pointed to the window. “Hey, look.” A robin was perched on the window ledge, looking into the room.

  “It’s our little friend,” said Ella. “We saw him last time we were here. Rozen – the lady we told you about – used to feed him.”

  “Can I feed him too?”

  “We haven’t got any bread. That’s a point. We haven’t got any food at all. I’d better go shopping.”

  They returned to the entrance hall. Henry peered into the shadows under the stairs. “The Lewarne Room,” he read out loud. “What does Lewarne mean?”

  A look passed between Adam and Ella. They’d told Henry nothing about Fenton House’s strange history. All he knew was that they’d won a competition to live there. “A man called Walter Lewarne built this house,” said Adam.

  “I want you to stay out of there,” said Ella.

  “Why?” asked Henry. “What’s in there?”

  “Some valuable and very breakable antiques.” Ella shepherded him out of the front door. Adam cocked an eyebrow at her. “You know how sensitive he is,” she whispered. “Those paintings might upset him.”

  “And you know what little boys are like – telling him to stay out will only make him all the more curious to see what’s in there.”

  Adam unhooked the trailer. Ella headed off in the car while Henry and he piled up bags and boxes in the entrance hall. After a few trips back and forth, Henry pulled a bored face. “Can I play in the garden?”

  Adam hesitated to reply, thinking about the broad pond and towering cliffs. Rozen’s words came back to him – There’s nowhere better in the world to be a child. The sea, the fresh air, the freedom... Freedom. That was a big part of the magic. Possibly the biggest part. “OK, but be careful and don’t leave the garden.”

  Nervousness prickled through Adam as he watched Henry run to the faux-ruined wall by the pond and clamber onto it. At the same time, it felt good to see him forgetting his fear. Keeping half-an-eye on Henry, Adam continued unloading. By the time Ella returned, the trailer was empty. “I picked up some bits and pieces from a little shop in Mullion,” she said, taking the shopping into the kitchen. “The nearest supermarket is in Helston.”

  “Good. The further away the better.”

  Ella laughed. “I’ll remember you said that when you’re moaning about having to drive ten miles for that Columbian coffee you like.”

  He slid his arms around her waist. “Can you believe we’re really here?”

  “Ask me again in a few days.” Ella wriggled free, approached the deep ceramic sink and turned on the cold tap. The pipes clanked and spluttered out yellowish water that cleared after a few seconds. She filled the electric kettle they’d brought with them and glanced around for somewhere to plug it in. “Huh, I was going to make us a cup of tea but...” She indicated a socket that had three round pin connectors instead of rectangular ones.

  “Maybe there are some adaptors around here somewhere.” Adam began rifling through drawers of dishcloths, tea towels, cutlery and kitchen utensils.

  Ella opened a cupboard stacked with cups and saucers. “I wonder why Rozen left all this stuff behind.”

  “Her mum probably told her to.”

  Ella shot Adam a glance. “We agreed not to talk about that, especially not when Henry might hear.”

  “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. No adaptors but I found this.” Adam held up a blackened whistling kettle.

  Ella turned her attention to the old Rayburn. “Now all we need to do is work out how to use this thing.”

  Adam opened the oven’s thick metal doors. One side of the stove’s interior was piled with crumpled newspaper, kindling and logs. “It’s already set. We just need to light it.”

  “I got these in case we wanted a fire.” Ella produced a box of matches. She lit the newspaper. Crackling flames quickly took hold.

  Henry came running into the kitchen. His face was flushed and sweaty. A bloody graze glistened on one of his elbows. Adam went cold at the sight. Suddenly, as if he’d stepped from a dream into a nightmare, he was back in the porch with Jacob and the blood. So much blood...

  “What happened?” asked Ella.

  “I fell over,” Henry answered breathlessly.

  She reached for his arm. “Let me see.”

  “It doesn’t hurt. The robin came to see me. Can I have some bread for it?”

  Ella cleaned the graze with a dishcloth. She opened a loaf and gave him a slice. “Don’t feed it too much.”

  “Thanks, Mum.” Henry exited the room as rapidly as he’d arrived.

  “Slow down,” she called after him. She shook her head with a bemused smile. “It’s like someone flipped a fear on-fear off switch in his head.” She turned to Adam and her smile faded at his tense face.

  He sighed. “Will I ever be able to see blood without thinking about Jacob? Or think about Jacob without seeing blood?”

  Ella stroked his arm.

  They spent the next couple of hours putting their clothes in wardrobes and drawers and making up their beds. An evening chill crept in. Adam fired up the boiler. The bulky cast-iron radiators gurgled as hot water flowed through them. He set up his computer in the study and sat in the high-back leather chair behind the desk, resting his fingers tentatively on the keyboard. He noticed something digging into his thigh. He took Jacob’s toy car out of his pocket and gently, almost reverently, placed it on the desk.

  Ella chucked a pizza in the oven. They ate at rusty white furniture on the patio, bathed in lengthening shadows. Henry animatedly told them about the fish and frogs in the pond, the trees he’d climbed, the warren of burrows he’d discovered and how the robin had followed him everywhere. “I’ve given it a name. I–” He clammed up as if he’d said more than he meant to.

  “What do you call it?” asked Ella.

  “Just Robin.”

  Ella and Adam exchanged a glance. It was obvious Henry was lying. They didn’t press the conversation further. It had been such a physically and emotionally exhausting day, but also a day full of promise and hope. They didn’t want anything to spoil it.

  After their meal, Ella took Henry upstairs for a bath. Adam stayed on the patio, drinking wine and watching the light fade on the sea. Ella poked her head out of a first-floor window and shouted for him. He tipsily made his way to Henry’s bedroom. Henry was tucked up in bed, his eyelids already heavy with imminent sleep. Jacob’s old grey stuffed bunny was propped on his pillow.

  Adam bent to kiss his son’s forehead. “Night, sweetheart. Sleep tight.”

  “Night, Dad. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  Ella switched off the light and they retreated from the room, leaving the door ajar and the hall light on. “Well that was easier than I expected,” she murmured as they returned to the patio. “I thought he might be scared.”

  “It’s all the running about. He’s too tired to be scared. He seems better than he has done in months.”

  Ella pulled a Let’s wait and see face. “What if he starts crying? We won’t be able to hear him from down here.”

  “There’s not much we can do about that toni
ght. If necessary, we can buy a baby monitor. Although I’m not sure what Henry would think of that.”

  Twilight was descending over the garden. A quarter-moon smiled through a veil of cloud. “I’ll make a fire,” said Adam, wrapping a blanket around Ella’s shoulders.

  He filled a wicker basket with kindling and logs from the boiler room. He arranged the wood on a bed of screwed up paper in the sitting room fireplace and put a match to it. Ella came through the French doors with the wine glasses. Her eyes gleamed orange-gold in the glow of the flames. The firelight picked out the soft contours of her face, the gentle curves of her breasts and hips. Adam took the glasses off her, set them down on the hearth and ran his hands up her body.

  “Aren’t you tired?” she murmured.

  “Yes, but not too tired.”

  His lips found hers. His tongue parted them. He drew her down onto the bearskin rug. She shifted uneasily away from its curving yellowed teeth.

  “It won’t bite, but I might,” teased Adam.

  They undressed and moved against each other – not fast like the first time they’d made love in the house, but without urgency until they climaxed together. Ella rested her head on Adam’s chest and they lay like sedated animals. He stared into the fire, his mind blissfully empty. He sat up suddenly, glancing around.

  “What is it?” asked Ella.

  “I need a pen.”

  “There’s one in my handbag.”

  Adam found the pen, grabbed a scrap of paper and wrote ‘The blade slid between her ribs. She fell onto the bed with a soft thump, blood blooming like a rose on her chest.’ He read the words aloud. “What do you think?”

  “I like it, but I’ve said that plenty of times before and it hasn’t stopped you from rewriting it.”

  Adam frowned at the words he’d written, then nodded as if he’d made up his mind. “This is the one.”

  Ella smiled cautiously. “Let’s go to bed.”

  They gathered up their clothes and headed upstairs. They paused on the landing, listening for any sounds from Henry’s room. Silence. They glanced at each other, hardly daring to hope.