The Heights

by Juliet Bell

  ‘I’m coming.’ He climbed the stairs.

  Cathy was lying down, her hair lank and her face pale. Her skin was clammy and the distinctive smell from the bathroom made his stomach heave.

  ‘You’ve been sick again,’ he said in a gentle tone.

  ‘Again! I’m always sick. I hate this stupid pregnancy. And I hate this stupid baby.’

  ‘You don’t mean that.’ The baby was everything now. All the family either of them had was right here in this room. The child in Cathy’s belly was the future for all of them. Edward sat on the side of the bed and passed her the glass of water that was on the nightstand. She drank deeply and then fell back against the pillows.

  ‘Did I hear you talking to someone downstairs?’

  ‘Yes.’ Edward couldn’t put it off. He couldn’t risk her finding out some other way.

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘The police. Cathy, there’s something I have to tell you.’

  ‘The police? Is it Mick?’

  ‘No. It’s Isabelle, and Heathcliff.’

  Cathy raised herself up on one elbow. ‘What about Heathcliff?’

  ‘They’ve run off.’

  ‘What?’ Cathy gave a disgusted half-laugh. ‘He wouldn’t run off with her. He doesn’t want a weak stupid little thing like her.’

  ‘It’s true. She’s gone. She’s taken her clothes and that dog too.’

  ‘And how do you know she’s gone with Heathcliff.’

  ‘Because I saw them. In the garden.’ The moment was etched on his memory. He’d been pinned to the spot. He’d told himself it was horror. It wasn’t. It was relief. Pure relief that the woman with her arms around that man wasn’t Cathy. It wasn’t his wife. Nonetheless, he should have run after them. He should have shouted. He should have done something. ‘I went out to stop her, but she was gone. I don’t know where they are.’

  ‘No.’ Cathy was shaking her head, trying to get out of bed. ‘No. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t leave me again. For her.’

  ‘Cathy, sweetheart, don’t get up. This is a shock. Lie down again. There’s nothing we can do to change what’s happened. Isabelle is going to have to live with it. We can’t help her now.’

  Cathy’s stomach churned. She leaped out of bed and darted for the bathroom. She dropped to her knees by the toilet bowl, heaving and gagging. As the spasms wracked her body, Edward stood fussing by the door.

  ‘How can I help you, Cathy? What do you need?’

  What she needed was for Edward to go away and leave her alone. She vomited again. Edward knelt beside her and held her hair back until she was done. She was too shaky to stand alone, and for once she was grateful that Edward was there to help. She washed her face and rinsed the foul taste out of her mouth, then allowed Edward to help her back to bed.

  ‘Shall I get you some peppermint tea?’ Edward asked solicitously. ‘That always helps settle your stomach.’

  Cathy nodded and he scurried out of the room. Alone at last, Cathy rolled onto her side and let the tears come. The sobs that tore through her body were more painful than what had gone before.

  How could he do this to her? How could he leave now, when she needed him more than ever before? And for what? For Isabelle? She would never believe that. Heathcliff didn’t love Isabelle. She was nothing to him, just as she was nothing to Cathy. He was doing this to get back at her. He was taking his revenge on her for marrying Edward. That’s why he’d come back after all these years. That’s why he had stayed, because he wanted to hurt her as she had hurt him,

  And now, he had succeeded.

  Tossing on her sweat-soaked bed, Cathy wished she could go back in time. She would never have driven Heathcliff away. She would never have married Edward. And she wouldn’t be lying here, fat and sick and pregnant with a baby she didn’t want.

  ‘Oh, Heathcliff,’ she whispered. ‘Why didn’t you come?’

  If only he’d come to see her after that terrible lunch. She would have told him she didn’t love Edward, didn’t want his child. They could have run away together. Her and Heathcliff. They could have got rid of the baby and then it would have been just the two of them, together. That was how it was supposed to be. But now she was stuck here with no way out. And Heathcliff was off somewhere with Isabelle. Maybe it served them all right.

  She closed her eyes and ran her hand over her damp forehead. Now she was getting a headache. She’d had some horrible headaches these past few weeks. It was probably just another side effect of this stupid pregnancy.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  November, 1990

  It was freezing. The clouds hung so low Ellen was hard put to see where the fog ended and the clouds began. Maybe there was no beginning and end. Maybe it was all one huge fog of freezing misery. And she was stuck with it. She turned into Moor Lane, thinking that each time she came here, the Heights estate seemed to have decayed just that bit more. She parked in front of the last house and got out of the car.

  The heater in her little car didn’t work very well, but getting out of the car was like stepping into a blizzard. The strong winds tugged at her clothes. The rain was more like sleet and it stung where it hit the bare skin on her face. She didn’t want to be here. Her office wasn’t much, but at least it was warm and dry. The house she was walking towards might be dry, but she doubted it would be very warm.

  She knocked on the door for a long time before it was opened by the child, Harry. She brushed past him without waiting for an invitation, and he quickly slammed the door shut behind her. The child had obviously learnt about keeping the heat in.

  Ellen looked around. The house was dimly lit, but that didn’t disguise the dirt. The place hadn’t been cleaned in a very long time. She’d spent enough time in houses like this. She wasn’t squeamish, but when she walked through into the kitchen, she winced. It was foul. The sink overflowed with dishes, most of them covered with dried food. There was rancid water in the sink and a pan of something long since consumed by mould on the hob. The rubbish bin didn’t have a lid and was also full to overflowing. The place stank of curry, stale beer and cigarettes.

  Mick Earnshaw was sitting hunched at the table. He looked up with bleary eyes as Ellen walked in.

  ‘Whadda you want?’

  ‘Mr Earnshaw, I’ve come about your son. We’ve had reports about possible neglect. And he’s not been at school since half-term.’

  ‘That’s none of your business,’ Mick said. The words slurring slightly. ‘He’s my son. I’ll bring ‘im up as I want.’

  ‘There are laws, Mr Earnshaw.’ Ellen put on her sternest voice. ‘To protect children. And to ensure education. Now if you continue to refuse help…’

  ‘Don’t need no help. Don’t need no busybody sticking their nose in where it’s not wanted. The boy’s there. Look at him. He’s fine. Now bugger off and leave us alone.’

  Ellen looked at Harry carefully. He was thin and grubby, but didn’t look to be starving. There were no bruises she could see.

  ‘What you looking at?’ Harry demanded, staring back at her.

  So, his manners needed work, but she wasn’t here to check his manners.

  There was a banging at the door.

  ‘Bloody ‘ell,’ Mick muttered. ‘Like bloody central station in ‘ere.’

  Harry darted out of the room and Ellen felt a sudden icy draft as the front door opened, and then slammed shut

  A man walked into the room, Harry trotting behind him.

  Mick looked up. ‘Well, bugger me. You’re back again then?’

  ‘Mick.’ Heathcliff turned to look Ellen up and down. ‘Oh yes. Miss Dean. What are you here for this time?’

  ‘I’m here to check on Harry,’ Ellen replied primly. ‘That’s my job.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Heathcliff replied. ‘But you can leave now and not come back. My wife will take care of the boy.’

  Ellen managed to keep her eyebrows in place as a woman walked into the room behind Heathcliff. She recognised her at once. It wa
s Isabelle Linton from the Grange. Ellen supressed an unprofessional snigger at the idea of the fragrant Miss Linton ending up on the Heights.

  The girl was standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking around her with dull eyes. Ellen had seen enough druggies in her time to wonder what the girl was on.

  ‘That’s not how it works.’

  ‘He’s being cared for by family.’ Heathcliff took her by the arm and dragged her to the door. ‘Thank you and goodbye.’

  Ellen found herself outside the door, standing in the sleet. Her arm hurt from the strength of Heathcliff’s grasp. She shook her head and hurried back to her car. She’d write it up and add Harry Earnshaw to another three lists in the office, for all the good it would do. She shook her head. They could all go to hell as far as she was concerned.

  Isabelle listened to the door slam, wishing she was the one on the other side of it. She looked around the room. It was vile. Her flesh crawled at the idea of living here. The Grange was so close. Edward was there. If she could get away, Edward would protect her. He’d never let Heathcliff hurt her again.

  ‘If she comes back, don’t let her in the door,’ Heathcliff said to the room in general as he returned. ‘We don’t want her getting involved in our business.’

  ‘Too right,’ Mick slurred. ‘Good to have you back, mate. Let’s go down the pub and celebrate.’

  ‘Not now. This place is a pigsty. Isabelle will get it cleaned up.’ He glanced down at Harry, who was standing to one side of the room, staring at Heathcliff. ‘And get the kid cleaned up too. If he’s out walking the streets looking like that, they’ll never leave us alone.’

  Isabelle hesitated just long enough for Heathcliff to notice. He slowly turned to look at her, his eyes darkening. ‘You hear me?’

  ‘Yes, Heathcliff.’ She let her fear show. He liked that.

  ‘Aren’t you moving back into next door?’ Mick looked confused, but judging from the number of empty beer cans littered around the kitchen he was probably confused most of the time.

  ‘No. You can move next door if you want to. But this is where I’m going to live now.’

  ‘Oh. Yeah. All right. I guess you and the missus will be wanting the big bedroom,’ Mick said. ‘I’ll move my stuff later.’

  ‘No. You stay there,’ Heathcliff ordered. ‘I’ll be sleeping in Cathy’s old room.’

  ‘That’s where Harry sleeps.’

  ‘Then Harry’ll have to move. And she…’ He didn’t even bother looking at Isabelle. ‘…Can have your old room.’

  The words sent a wave of relief through Isabelle. Grabbing the bags she had carried in, she headed for the stairs before Heathcliff could change his mind.

  She left Heathcliff’s bag inside the door to the room he would be using. She knew from experience that he didn’t want her to touch his things. Then she walked through into her room, but she didn’t close the door behind her. It wouldn’t do for her not to hear if Heathcliff called. And just having her own room was respite enough.

  For the past few weeks they’d been staying in hotels and B&Bs. There had been nowhere to escape from Heathcliff and his brutal hands. Her body was covered with bruises. And she hurt inside as well as out.

  Her romantic illusions had been shattered within hours of the wedding at Gretna Green. What Heathcliff had done to her that night had nothing to do with love, and everything to do with anger. Hatred and revenge were the emotions that drove her husband and her body was the tool by which he vented his rage.

  How could she have been so stupid? Heathcliff didn’t love her. He never had. He loved no one but Cathy. And he never would.

  Biting back the tears that would only make him angrier, Isabelle looked around the room that already felt like a refuge. Rubbish was piled on the bed and the floor. The bed was unmade and the mattress was stained and revolting. But it was her room. Instinctively she knew now that Heathcliff was done with her. He had returned home to Cathy. He would sleep in Cathy’s room and dream of her. He wouldn’t touch Isabelle again. At least, she prayed he wouldn’t.

  As she set about making the room liveable, she wondered about the boy, Harry. Where would he sleep now? Probably in the alcove at the top of the stairs, where Heathcliff had once slept. She didn’t have the energy to care.

  All she cared about was that Heathcliff would leave her alone. And if that meant cooking and cleaning, she’d do it. Then, when he wasn’t looking, she’d get away. If she could run to the Grange, her brother would save her.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  December, 1990

  The snowflakes were huge. They fell gently and silently from the dim grey skies. Cathy lay in her bed, watching them through the window. They were beautiful. Moving slowly, she lifted herself off the pillows and swung her legs off the bed. She caught a glimpse of herself on the dressing-table mirror as she did. She looked horrible. She hadn’t shaved her legs in weeks. She didn’t have a cute round bump any more; she was just fat. Her face, her arms… and as for her swollen feet – they looked like an elephant’s feet. She was ugly. No one would ever want her now. And her head was pounding.

  Carefully she got out of bed and walked to the window and opened it. The blast of cold air felt wonderful. She dragged the stool from the dressing table over by the window and pulled the duvet off the bed to wrap around her. She was cold, but she didn’t care. She needed to feel the fresh air on her face. She had been cooped up in this room for far too long, with Edward hovering over her like some vulture. The snow was falling too heavily for her to see the blue hills, but she knew they were out there. Those wonderful hills where she and Heathcliff had played as children, when nothing mattered but being together.

  She would give anything, everything, for her life to be like that again.

  She took a deep breath of the air. Where was Heathcliff? Was he breathing the same freezing air she was? In her imagination she could see him, up there on the moors, his face glowing as he faced the wind, his eyes glowing as he looked at her. No one had ever loved her the way Heathcliff loved her. And she had never loved anyone the way she loved him.

  But she hated him too. He’d left her. He’d run off with Isabelle. Were they married? She hoped they were, as much as she longed to tear them apart. They’d bring each other nothing but misery. They deserved nothing better.

  ‘Cathy, what are you doing? Get back to bed.’ Edward appeared at the door, fussing as usual.

  ‘I don’t want to be in bed. It’s boring. I want to go outside.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ Edward reached past her and closed the window. ‘Look at the snow. The weather forecast says there’s worse to come.’ He stared at the floor. ‘And you can’t be too careful in the snow.’

  ‘I don’t care. If I stay here, I’ll go crazy.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ Edward said in his annoyingly reasonable voice. ‘You’re shivering and this room is really cold now. Why don’t you wait there, and I’ll go downstairs and light a fire in the living room? Then you can come and sit down there and watch some television with me. There’s an Inspector Morse on. You’ll like that.’

  Cathy wouldn’t like it. But at least she would be warm in front of the fire. She was starting to think opening the window had been a bad idea.

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Good!’

  How she hated Edward’s forced enthusiasm. He was always going on that everything would be fine as soon as the baby was born. That she’d be a wonderful mother. Cathy doubted that. She didn’t want to be a mother, so why on earth would she be good at it? She just wanted this pregnancy over and done with, and then…

  The idea seemed to come from nowhere… then she’d go and find Heathcliff. She sat there rock-still for a few long seconds and let the thought sink in.

  Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? She had her own car, even if she hadn’t driven it in the last couple of months. And she had money. Edward saw to that. There was some jewellery she could pawn if she had to. She’d find Heathclif
f. She’d tell him she was sorry and that she forgave him for running off with Isabelle. Then they could be together, the way they were always supposed to be. Just the two of them. They could go somewhere no one knew them, where no one thought they were brother and sister.

  Cathy smiled, feeling better than she had in weeks. Even her headache seemed to have eased a little. Edward was right. Once the baby was born, everything really would be all right.

  The fire was starting to take hold when Edward heard a banging on the front door. Who would be out and about in this weather? He opened the door and his sister stumbled across the threshold.

  ‘Isabelle?’

  ‘Oh, Edward.’ Isabelle threw herself into his arms, snow-covered coat and all. Edward instinctively hugged her.

  ‘Isabelle, where have you been? When did you get back? Are you alone?’

  Her answers were muffled against his chest, but he could see no one else through the open doorway, just the swirling snow.

  He gently pushed Isabelle aside and shut the door. ‘You’re freezing. How did you get here? You didn’t walk, did you? From where? Come inside. I’ve just lit the fire.’

  He took Isabelle’s coat, wincing as the snow fell onto the carpet where it would soon melt. He hung up the coat and followed her through to the front room. She was already crouched by the fire, holding her hands out to its warmth.

  ‘For God’s sake, Isabelle. Tell me what the hell is going on. Where have you been all these weeks?’

  ‘With my husband. Heathcliff.’ She spat the words out.

  ‘Husband?’ Edgar stumbled back and sat down, unable to take in what his sister was telling him.

  ‘We drove to Gretna Green to be married. I thought it was so romantic.’

  ‘And where’s Heathcliff now?’ Edward demanded.

  ‘He’s moved back into the old house on the Heights,’ Isabelle said. ‘We’ve been living there with Mick and his son for about three weeks now.’

  ‘Why didn’t you let me know?’

  ‘He wouldn’t let me. He’s horrid, Edward.’ Isabelle burst into tears, stumbling over the rush of words. ‘He hits me. And he won’t let me go out. I have to stay there and cook and clean for all of them. I only got away tonight because of the snow. He’s gone wandering up on the hills. Mick passed out drunk, and who knows where the kid is? He follows Heathcliff around like a puppy, so he’s probably up on the hills too.’