by Amy Cross
“So what's the book?” I asked again, as soon as she pulled back.
“Absolutely nothing important,” she replied with a sigh, reaching over to grab the book and then sliding it across the floor until it bumped against the far wall. “Just a little nostalgia kick,” she continued, rolling back to face me with a grin, “but it'd seem silly for you. Don't worry, I'll take a look at it later, while you're recovering.”
“Recovering?” I asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “From what?”
“Oh, you know,” she continued, leaning closer until she was almost kissing me again. “I think I might really tire you out this weekend,” she added, with her lips just millimeters from mine and her hot breath on my face. “Why don't we get started on the first of these fifty-eight rooms?”
Before I could answer, we both heard the sound of a car door slamming shut outside.
***
“I didn't believe it when Dad said a car had headed out this way,” the girl said with a grin, running up the steps and wrapping her arms around Rachel. “I told him he was wrong, but he swore he'd seen someone and he said he thought maybe it was you!”
She pulled back, staring at Rachel with a hint of shocked excitement.
“God, it is you, Rachel! It really is! I never thought I'd see you again!”
Rachel paused, clearly a little nonplussed. For a moment she seemed paused to say something, but she seemed frozen, as if the girl's arrival had thrown her completely.
“Lizzie,” the girl continued. “You do remember me, right? From when we were all kids?”
“Of course,” Rachel replied, swallowing hard. Her usual ebullience had faded away, and I'd never seen her look so tense. “It's been a long time. I didn't recognize you.”
“What is it, twelve years?” the other girl said with a grin. “Jesus, time flies, huh? One minute we're a bunch of kids, the next we're all grown-up and... Wait, what are you doing these days, anyway?” She grabbed Rachel and gave her another hug. “I missed you so much!”
“I'm studying,” Rachel replied coldly, conspicuously not returning the hug and waiting, instead, for it to be over. “I'm on a break before Christmas.”
“That's so awesome,” the girl continued, taking a step back. “As you can see, I'm still stuck in Retchford. Hell, I'm still in the same bedroom I was in when I was a kid, still living above my Dad's pub. Except now I'm working behind the bar, too, so I guess that's a kind of progress. Never went away to study, though. Just...” She paused, seeming a little overwhelmed. “Well, maybe it's kind of sad,” she added, “but life's good round here, you know? The dating scene isn't wonderful, the gene pool's atrocious, but -”
“Maybe we can catch up another time,” Rachel said suddenly, interrupting her.
Lizzie opened her mouth to reply, before hesitating. She glanced at me, as if she expected me to step in and save the situation.
“James,” I said, stepping forward and reaching out to shake her hand. Since Rachel hadn't bothered to introduce me, I figured I'd have to do it myself. “I'm Rachel's...”
“Boyfriend,” Rachel said firmly, with her eyes still fixed on Lizzie. “He's my boyfriend, and we're here for some private time away, just the two of us. To be honest, I really wasn't planning on meeting up with anyone from the old days. We wont have time.”
“Oh...” Lizzie hesitated, as if she'd finally realized that she wasn't about to be invited into the house. “Well, I didn't mean to interrupt or anything, it's just... I guess it's just been a long time and -”
“A very long time,” Rachel replied, interrupting her again. “Almost too long, really. We're barely the same people anymore.”
“Sure,” Lizzie continued, “but -”
“And James and I really are very busy,” Rachel added. “We can't even spare five minutes.”
“We could maybe grab a drink,” I suggested, hoping to ease the frosty atmosphere. “How about -”
“We have to get on with things,” Rachel said, turning and glaring at me. “We're only here until Sunday, remember? There's barely enough time to finish it all. We really don't have time to see anyone.”
“That's fine,” Lizzie said, clearly feeling distinctly uncomfortable. “I'm sorry if I came barging in, Rachel, I guess I was just so shocked to hear that you were back in the area. I really didn't think there was much chance of you ever coming back or -”
“Don't worry about it,” Rachel told her. “But please, if you happen to run into anyone else who thinks it'd be nice to come and say hello, let them know that we're really not here to see anyone. James and I are simply looking forward to spending the weekend alone out here, and we'd appreciate it if we could be left alone.”
Lizzie paused, before nodding slowly. “Sure. Absolutely.”
An awkward silence followed, but it was clear that Rachel was simply waiting for Lizzie to turn around and go back to her car.
“Well, it was good to bump into you again,” Lizzie added finally, taking a step back. “I'm glad to see you're doing okay. I always wondered about how things were going, and I meant to maybe -”
“I'll be in touch if I'm in Retchford again,” Rachel told her, interrupting her yet again. “Until then, though... Bye.”
Lizzie glanced at me, before turning back to Rachel. “Sure. See you some time, maybe.”
With that, she headed back to her car, and it was clear that she felt more than a little confused. She glanced back at us and offered a forced smile, before opening the door to her car and climbing inside.
“Can you believe that?” Rachel asked, stepping back and swinging the front door shut before turning to me. “I swear to God, the locals in Retchford are so nosy, they always want to know everything that's going on, especially with this house! I forgot what it's like round here. If anything so much as twitches within a five-mile radius, the local gossips swing into action and demand information.”
“I think she just wanted to get in touch again,” I told her, surprised by the change in her demeanor. “Rachel, if you and that Lizzie girl were friends -”
“We weren't.”
“But if -”
“We weren't friends,” she said again, clearly irritated by the suggestion. Stepping over to the window next to the door, she peered out just as Lizzie's car could be heard driving away. “Not really, anyway. Well, not...” She sighed, before turning to me. “Just because our parents forced us to spend time together in the old days, there's no need for us to pretend to like each other now. Some things should just stay in the past.”
“Says the girl who's come to dig through her family's ancestral home,” I replied with a smile.
She glanced at me, and I could immediately see that she wasn't amused.
“I need to go check on something,” she said finally, stepping past me and heading to the stairs. “Will you be okay for a while? I just need to... check.”
“But -”
“Back soon,” she added, hurrying upstairs and leaving me alone in the hallway.
“Rachel!”
“Just find something to do!”
I watched as she disappeared along one of the corridors, and then I listened to the sound of her running deeper into the house. Finally Shapley Hall fell silent again and I wandered over to one of the doors. Looking through into the banquet room, I looked up at the oil painting of Rachel's ancestor and I began to wonder what he'd make of his family home being left to crumble. Stepping forward, I -
Suddenly my right foot crunched through the floorboard and I felt a sharp pain in my ankle. Looking down, I saw that my foot had gone straight through a rotten section of wood. There was no real damage to my ankle, but as I pulled my foot out I spotted something moving in the hole, and when I crouched down I saw a couple of thick, juicy beetles wriggling out of sight, as if I'd suddenly intruded on their dark little world.
“Yeah,” I muttered with a sigh, as I reached down and touched the rotten wood. “Maybe this place isn't so grand after all.”
Chapt
er Six
“It's like nothing's changed,” Rachel called out a little later, as she made her way through from the hallway. “The house is exactly the way I remember it.”
Lighting another candle, I heard her heading through to the kitchen, at which point her footsteps stopped abruptly.
“James? Where are you?”
“In here!” I shouted.
“Where?”
“Follow my voice!”
Smiling, I positioned the candle at the far end of the old wooden table, in the vast, high-ceilinged banquet hall. Glancing at the windows, I saw that the sun had finally set, and I felt a faint shiver at thought of us all alone in the house now, surrounded by the dark English countryside. A moment later I heard Rachel's footsteps coming closer, and I turned just as she stopped in the doorway. From the look in her eyes, I could see she was shocked, which I guess was one of the reactions I'd been hoping for.
“Impressed?” I asked, looking at the romantic, candlelit dinner I'd secretly rustled up while she'd been rooting about upstairs. “It's not exactly fine dining,” I continued, “but then I didn't have an amazing kitchen at my disposal. I didn't even have an oven, so...”
Heading around the table, I lifted the lid of a warming dish, revealing the ready-made stew I'd secretly brought on the trip. I'd been planning the meal for a few days before we left London.
“I had to improvise,” I explained, waiting for her to say something, “but I think I did an okay job. Don't you?”
I waited for her to react in some way, but she simply remained in the doorway for a moment before finally taking a couple of steps closer.
“I thought we were just going to eat beans and sandwiches?” she asked cautiously.
“You've never let me cook a proper meal for you,” I pointed out, “and you always find an excuse to avoid going to one of the restaurants I can actually afford, so I figured this'd be the perfect time to shake things up a little.” I glanced over at the far wall, where the candle-light had just about reached the imposing portrait of another long-gone Shapley ancestor. “When else are we gonna get a chance like this?” I asked, turning back to Rachel. “A semi-decent meal in an English country house? Just you and me? It's almost romantic. What do you say?”
“You really shouldn't have gone to all this trouble,” she replied, seeming far less excited than I'd hoped. If anything, she appeared to be trouble by my efforts.
“I wanted to do it,” I told her, making my way around the table. “What can I say? Maybe I'm a little more soppy than I let on.” With that, I kissed her on the cheek, but I swear she flinched. She seemed dumbstruck by the sight of the food on the table, even though it amounted to little more than a couple of bowls that had been heated using disposable warming pads.
I waited, but by now I was starting to realize that she really, really wasn't comfortable.
“What's wrong?” I asked. “Did I forget something?” I looked down at the table. “We have food, we have wine, we have cutlery... I didn't manage to bring dessert, but I figured that wouldn't matter too much.” I turned back to her. “So how about you tell me why you look so upset?”
She paused, before turning to me with a frown. “What? No, no I'm not upset, I'm just...” She sighed. “I'm surprised. I didn't think we did this sort of thing. I didn't think we were that sort of couple.”
“It's the first time we've ever really tried being romantic,” I pointed out, hoping against hope that I hadn't made too much effort for her liking. Rachel had never been the romantic type, and she'd shied away from all my previous attempts to inject a little something special into our relationship. I'd been convinced that I could finally win her over with this ad-hoc meal, but my confidence was draining fast.
She seemed deeply uncomfortable. Almost embarrassed, even.
“Maybe this was a mistake,” I said finally. “Listen, I -”
“No,” she stammered, “it's fine, I just...” She paused. “No, let's do it. Why not give, eh?” Making her way around the side of the table, she was exhibiting all the enthusiasm of someone walking up to the gallows. By the time she sat down and looked at the bowls of food, she appeared almost pale and sickly. “You've really made an effort,” she continued, “so we should totally eat all this yummy-looking food. It'd be a shame to let it go to waste, right?”
“Sure,” I muttered, even though I could already tell my attempt at romance had been a disaster. I just wanted to go and crawl under a rock for the rest of the evening.
Sitting on the other side of the table, I forced a smile as I slid a bowl of stew toward her.
“Smells nice,” she said with an unconvincing grin.
“It's nothing, really,” I replied, noticing for the first time that the house was getting cold. “So did you find anything interesting while you were upstairs? You were gone a while.”
“I was just...” She paused, before glancing toward the door, almost as if she expected to see something.
I turned, but all I saw was the dark hallway.
“I was just reminiscing,” she continued, as I turned back to her. “It's been a while since I was last here, so I wanted to get to know the place again.”
“Sure, and -”
“Can we drop it?” she added, letting her irritation show through for a moment. Forcing a smile, she dipped her fork into the stew and took a taste.
“Is it good?” I asked, trying some myself. As soon as I began to chew, however, I realized that the food I'd so carefully prepared was, in fact, inedible. Glancing at Rachel, I saw the disgust in her eyes, although she tried to smile as soon as we made eye-contact.
For the next few minutes, we sat silently eating. The only sound came from the rustle of beetles scurrying through the gaps between the walls, and I found myself looking up at the huge oil paintings in an attempt to appear distracted. The largest painting showed a man with a particularly strong family resemblance to Rachel, although his eyes seemed dark-ringed and angry.
“Edward Shapley,” Rachel said after a moment.
“One of yours?” I asked, turning to her.
She stared at the painting for a moment, before suddenly getting to her feet as if she could no longer bear to be at the table.
“I can't eat this,” she said with a sigh. “I'm sorry, I just...” She paused for a moment. “Here's the thing. I'm just not a romantic dinner kind of person. Sorry, but I'm not. Do you want to just grab something in the kitchen?”
I looked at the candles I'd laid out on the table, and finally I realized that my attempt at a romantic meal had been a disaster.
“Sure,” I replied, feeling a little hollow inside. “Sounds perfect.”
Chapter Seven
“It's like camping!” Rachel said with a grin as she tipped the tin of beans into a plastic pot. “Except instead of sleeping under the stars, we'll be sleeping in a mansion!”
“Just like camping,” I replied, twisting the handle on the faucet and waiting for a moment. The pipe shuddered, and I heard a bumping sound from above, before finally a trickle of dark brown water dribbled down into the sink. I waited for the water to clear, but if anything it became a little more black, and I couldn't help noticing a faint rusty smell.
A moment later, one of the pipes let out a loud clanging sound, and I turned the faucet off before any damage could be caused.
“Good job we brought bottled,” I muttered.
“And wine!”
As the pipes continued to groan in other parts of the house, I heard the tell-tale sound of Rachel uncorking a bottle.
“It's an old house,” she continued. “I'm sure when it gets sold, the new owners'll fix it up.”
As if to underline her point, the faucet belched out one more blob of foul black water, before the pipes finally stopped creaking.
Following our disastrous attempt at a romantic dinner, Rachel and I had lit several candles in the kitchen, where we were now preparing something a little more edible using the supplies we'd brought. The candles broug
ht a flickering light to the scene, while also making the farther parts of the room seem even more dark. As I wandered over to the table, I saw packets of biscuits, motorway service station sandwiches, and bottles of Evian. No swan for us.
“Sorry your romantic meal was a bust,” Rachel muttered.
“It wasn't supposed to be a...” Pausing, I realized she was right. “It was just a dumb idea. Aren't you cold?”
“There's no heating,” she replied.
“We'll have to keep each other warm in bed.”
“I wonder what Mummy and Daddy would say if they could see us now,” she continued, side-stepping my suggestion. “They kept telling me that I should just get a B&B in the area, and not sleep here overnight. They're such a pair of wimps.” She grinned at me. “Don't worry, I told them I was bringing my hunky new boyfriend, and that seemed to calm them down a little, although Daddy still kept going on about...”
Her voice trailed off as she opened another tin of beans.
“Things,” she muttered finally.
As I began to pour us each a glass of wine, I couldn't shake the feeling that Rachel was occasionally dropping little hints, as if there were stories she wanted to tell me about the house. I felt as if I was being primed to ask specific questions, which immediately made me more determined than ever to find other topics. The last thing I wanted was to end up talking about ghosts, even though I knew the supernatural was one of Rachel's favorite topics. That was just one of the areas where we were very different people.
“This wine looks pretty good,” I said after a moment. “My only rule with red wine is to never buy French, and to always -”
“Aren't you curious?” she asked suddenly, interrupting me.
I carried the glasses of wine around the table and set one down next to her. “About what?”
“About this place,” she continued. “This house! Jesus Christ, James, aren't you even slightly curious about the immense, crushing history? Can't you feel it suffocating us?”