by Lulu Taylor
I set about looking for the router in the main rooms, but there’s nothing obvious. I put on my raincoat in the hall. Heather watches me with solemn, questioning eyes and says nervously, ‘Where are you going, Mummy?’
‘Just out to see if I can spot the phone lines. Do you want to come?’
She nods, scrambles up and slips on her boots and coat, leaving her dolls on the floor.
‘Come on then.’ I take her hand and we go out of the huge front door together, leaving it open behind us. I pull her hood over her fair hair as we step out into the pouring rain. She doesn’t seem to mind it at all, turning her little face up to let the drops fall on it, sticking out her tongue to catch them. I smile, thinking that, really, I ought to keep her inside with that batty old lady wandering around, but we can’t stay in the house forever. We have to be able to breathe.
We stamp about through the puddles, down the driveway to the old telegraph pole by the wall, where the phone lines swoop out over the shrubbery and encircle the house, coming in at the top left-hand side. We play about in the rain for a while, and then go back inside to dry out. When Heather is turbaned up with a towel to dry off her soaking hair, I leave her playing and start looking for the ingress of the wires in the west side of the house. I soon see it: an unobtrusive thin casing painted the same colour as the plaster, descending down through the ceiling and following the curve of cornices or creeping down the sides of doors and along the rim of skirting boards, sometimes ending in a telephone point, sometimes flowing on, out of a room and along the hallway. I follow the trail back into the hall where the wires are pinned back under the plaster cornice, almost invisible. Near the kitchen, there’s a small plastic junction box and a new wire splits off from the main thread. I follow this and it leads to the back stairs that descend to the basement. I go down the steps, my eyes fixed on the new wire. It runs along the ceiling, straight over to the steel door, and the wire disappears above the frame that surrounds it.
That’s where the router has to be. Behind the door.
I go and stand outside it, staring at its dully reflective surface, listening hard. Then I think I hear a click and a whirr. A muffled chirrup. I’m sure I see the rapid flash of white light under the door.
My heart starts to thump hard. ‘Is anyone in there?’ I call loudly. ‘Come out!’
There’s no reply. Just a quietness that I’m sure contains small noises – tiny clicks and shifts. What if there is someone in there, behind the door, sitting still and waiting for me to leave?
‘I know you’re in there! Come out, show yourself!’ My voice is breathless, a touch shaky.
Oh God, you’re being stupid. There’s no one here.
But there’s all this food . . . I hurry to the freezer and open it. Is there stuff missing? I can’t be sure. It certainly seems emptier but I’ve taken food out. Has anyone else?
Is someone here, using the wireless router? What the hell is this door?
In a rush of panic, I run back to the door and hammer on it. ‘I know you’re in there! Come the hell out right now, you’re frightening me!’
I’m panting. There’s absolute silence behind the door. Whoever is in there, I’ve made them shut up. But there’s no one there. I have to believe it.
I turn on my heel and run back up the stairs as fast as I can.
Upstairs, the daylight and familiar surroundings are instantly reassuring. Heather is singing to herself on the hall floor, still playing although the game looks like a different one now. My phone has latched on to a signal and is busy downloading. I open my inbox to see what’s arrived. There are two emails from Alison at ARK, and one from Caz that only arrived this morning. I open Alison’s first one, sent the day after my arrival.
Hello Rachel,
I hope you had no problems moving in and are feeling settled in Paradise House. Please get in touch any time to let me know how you’re getting on or if you’ve got any queries at all. I’d be grateful if you can let me know that you’re there and all is well.
Kind regards,
Alison
It’s much what I expected, so I open her second which arrived yesterday.
Hi Rachel,
I haven’t heard from you, and it’s just occurred to me that you haven’t been given the information about the wireless network we had installed. You may be waiting until you go into town before you access email. If so, this is just to let you know that the information, including the password, is attached. I assume you won’t get my messages until you’ve had a chance to access the internet, so do let me know as soon as you’re connected.
Thanks so much.
Kind regards,
Alison
I read it over twice. It sounds normal enough, but I can’t help feeling she’s hiding something. I open the attachment, which takes ages with the weak signal my phone is working on, and find the password. As soon as I’ve tapped it into my network settings, the signal pops into full life, so I send Alison a quick reply.
I’m fine, thanks, Alison, and everything is okay here. But can you explain why there’s a locked door in the basement? I found it when looking for the router, and can’t open it. The router is obviously in there so it would help to be able to go in. Otherwise all is well.
Thanks so much.
Rachel
I feel better when I’ve sent it. She’ll put my mind at rest, I’m sure. Then I open Caz’s email, which is titled ‘Are you there???’
Kate, I’ve been trying to reach you! I’ve been sending the texts to let you know I need to call you but you’ve not replied. Are you getting them? I tried to phone in the end, but I can’t reach you that way either. Have you turned your phone off? I need to talk to you about Rory. He’s definitely realised that something’s wrong. Call me if you can. Hope you’re okay. I’m so worried. I just don’t know what to do if you don’t reply. Caz x
A flicker of panic goes through me. Caz is the loose cannon in this whole thing. She used to be so reliable, so on my side – or at least, that’s what I thought. But ever since I made her into my accomplice, she seems to be crumbling under the strain. The last thing I want her to do is crack and tell Rory everything she knows.
I take a deep breath. So. It’s about to begin. Well, I always knew it would. We would only get so far, and then the craziness would start. I text Caz:
Phone signal here very patchy. I’m calling you in five minutes. Go somewhere quiet.
I look over at Heather. ‘Are you all right, sweetie? Would you like a biscuit?’
She stops playing and looks over her shoulder at me, her towelling turban falling a little loosely now. ‘No, thank you, Mummy.’
‘Really?’ I smile at her. ‘I’ve got your favourite. Chocolate creams.’
She blinks back at me and says, ‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Okay,’ I say jokily. ‘I guess I’ll have to eat them all myself!’
She laughs and says, ‘Don’t be greedy, Mummy!’
‘All right, as long as you share them with me. Listen, I have to make a call. I’ll be right back when I’m done, and we’ll have some biscuits together, okay?’
‘Okay,’ she says with a tiny shrug before turning back to her game.
I head off outside where the phone signal is better, well out of her earshot.
‘Kate?’
Caz’s voice comes breathless down the line.
‘Yes. I’m up and running. I’ve got a wireless connection and I think it’s safe.’
‘Oh, that’s good.’
‘Did you email me from your home computer?’
‘No. I did what you said. I waited until I was at work.’
‘I said only do that if you had to. The library or an internet cafe is best.’
‘I didn’t have time, Kate,’ she says sorrowfully.
‘All right,’ I say briskly. I don’t want to hear more. Somewhere out there, life is going on as normal. Caz is doing the modern woman’s shuttle between her workplace and home, racing about keeping
everyone in clean socks and hot meals at the same time as managing a department. She doesn’t even have Phil to help anymore. It used to be my shuttle too, springing from bed in the morning to make breakfasts, pack bags, empty and repack the dishwasher, then get myself ready while reminding everyone what their day held. Off I went, from home to school to railway station and the thirty-minute journey into the city. The end of the day took me in the opposite direction, this time to the minder’s house to collect the children and then home, sometimes via the supermarket, to get dinner and chivvy the children through the bath and into bed. Then Rory and I would collapse in front of whatever was on at nine o’clock, watch the news at ten, and turn in.
God, it was exhausting. Mundane. I thought my life was slipping away from me in an endless round of domestic labour and work stress.
And yet . . . if I could have it all back tomorrow, I would. In a heartbeat.
‘Kate? Are you there?’
‘Yes . . . yes, I’m here. Did you want to talk to me about Rory?’
‘Yes. He rang me last night. He’s suspicious, Kate. He says he booked you a counselling session but you didn’t turn up. So he went round to the house last night and there was no one in. He rang me right afterwards. He thinks you might have done a runner.’
‘What did you tell him?’
‘Nothing! I said I hadn’t heard from you.’ Caz sounds indignant, more like her old self. Then her voice drops. ‘But I don’t know how I’ll be able to lie to him if he gets upset. He deserves to know you’re all right. It’s wrong to let him worry.’
‘You can’t tell him, Caz,’ I say, my voice full of authority. ‘I mean it. I don’t want him to find me. I just need some time. Just let me have that.’
‘But he could know you’re okay. He doesn’t have to know where you are. Then you’ll still get the time you need.’
‘Caz,’ I say, my voice rising, ‘it’s important you do what I want. Do you understand? I don’t want him to know anything at all!’ I can’t explain why this matters so much to me, but it does. I try to sound calmer. ‘I promise I’ll come home when the time is right.’
‘Okay,’ she replies weakly. I know she’s going to be torn. Perhaps I should have got someone else to help me. I relied on her loyalty to me, but I didn’t factor in that Rory would be able to tug at her heart strings and perhaps turn her to his side. If there’s the faintest suggestion that she’s going to give me away, I’ll have to be on the move.
But then again, what can she tell him? She doesn’t know where I am.
Nor does she know my alias, but she has an email and a phone number for me. Would that be enough to lead them to me?
‘Swear you won’t ever tell my email or number, Caz,’ I say urgently. ‘Swear it.’
‘I . . . I swear. I won’t tell.’ She sounds shaky, though.
‘Listen, I’m going to be fine. It’s going to be all right. It’ll be rough for Rory but only for a little while. Then we can all begin again. When I’ve got my head together. I promise, Caz. I won’t make you keep this secret forever.’
‘All right, I said I swear, didn’t I?’ But she sounds happier. I’ve reassured her.
‘Just keep me informed of what he’s going to do.’
‘I think he’s going to start looking for you. And I think he’ll report you missing.’
‘Did he say that?’
‘He said he was afraid you’d done something stupid. I’m sure he’ll report it if you don’t get in touch.’
‘Okay,’ I say briefly. ‘I thought he probably would.’
‘You can’t let them start looking for you, Kate, not when you’re safe. Can’t you at least tell him that? So he doesn’t worry too much?’
‘No, I’ve already told you!’ I say fiercely, then add in a gentler tone, ‘Not yet, at least. Maybe. Let me think about it. All right?’
‘All right.’
‘Thanks, Caz. I owe you. Really. And you’re saving my life. Don’t forget that.’
That evening, the storm steps up a level. The wind roars around the house, whipping it hard and smacking it with rain. I have to empty the bucket in the front room and worry about leaving it all night, but there’s not much else I can do. The light in our sitting room feels paltry against the great fierce darkness outside, and there are no curtains, so we can’t shut out the howling blackness. We cuddle up together on the sofa, and I put some cheerful programme on the tablet to take our minds off the storm battering at the windows. Heather is transfixed, laughing at the jokes and watching the japes of the characters open-mouthed. When it’s over, I say, ‘Right, miss. It’s time for bed. I think we’ll both turn in.’
Mostly I stay up after Heather’s asleep. I let myself have a glass of wine, maybe two, and then I take my pills. After that I’m too woozy to do anything but stumble along the corridor and find my way to bed. Tonight, though, I think Heather needs the reassurance of my presence. There’s no denying that this old place is spookier when there’s a raging tempest outside.
I take her by the hand and we go down the corridor to our sleeping quarters. Together we brush our teeth and I remind her to use the lavatory, and then we have a race to get into our pyjamas. I pretend not to be able to get my socks off, and Heather wins, giggling. After that, we snuggle down under the duvet and listen to the storm outside.
‘Isn’t that weather making a silly fuss?’ I whisper, holding her close. The honey scent of her hair is like a tranquilliser for me, filling me with calm and serenity. I can feel the gentle rise and fall of her breathing as she twists one fair lock around her fingers. I’m acutely aware of her presence; I can feel it healing me. It’s the only thing that can. ‘Lucky that we’re safe and warm in here.’
‘It can’t get us,’ she whispers back. She’s clutching Sparkle-knee under one arm. The black button eyes stare at me, the woollen smile curving upwards.
‘Yes. We’re okay here. We’re fine. Just us. You and me.’
Now is the time. She’s going to ask about Rory. My stomach turns over in nervous anticipation. This is surely the moment.
There’s a pause filled with the crack and thwack of rain against the window and the long whistle of wind in the chimney. Then she says, ‘We’re not here alone. There’s Madam too.’
My stomach twists again, this time with something unpleasant. ‘Madam?’
Heather had an imaginary friend in our old house. But Madam hasn’t been heard of since we left and I just assumed that the disappearance was part of the trauma of the move.
Heather nods. ‘Yes. Madam’s here.’
‘In this house? Now?’ I don’t know why this should fill me with such dread, but it does. I don’t want Madam here. It has to be just us two.
Heather nods again and smiles a smile so sweet it makes me collapse inside at her beauty and innocence. ‘Oh yes. I thought Madam was gone, but it’s all right.’ Then she snuggles into me and says contentedly, ‘Madam’s alive.’
Chapter Seven
The next day, the storm hasn’t blown itself out as I expected. I look on weather sites and see that we’re due more ceaseless rain.
‘Another day inside, I’m afraid, sweetie,’ I say to Heather as I pour cereal into a bowl for her. She eyes it suspiciously. She’s getting to be pickier than ever. I add some milk, recently defrosted from the store in the basement freezer. ‘Come on, we’ll make it as fun as we can. Maybe we’ll go upstairs and take a look around.’
She looks bored and sighs. ‘Can I watch the tablet?’
‘Not all day! You’ll get square eyes.’
‘Just for a while?’
I gaze at her as she looks up at me with a winsome expression. She would watch that thing all day long if I let her. ‘How about an hour this morning and an hour this afternoon . . . You can choose when.’
‘Yay. Now!’
I laugh. ‘Haven’t you ever heard of delayed gratification? Eat your cereal all up and you can watch it right away.’
She picks up her spoon eagerl
y as I put the cereal in front of her. A lash of rain against the windows makes me turn suddenly and look out towards the garden. It’s properly wet out there, the water lying on the surface of the ground in big puddles, unable to soak away into already sodden earth. The trees and bushes look drenched, wet to the core. I wonder how the birds and animals are coping in the deluge. Then I blink and look again. I can’t be sure but from what I can make out through the foliage, it looks as though water is actually rising up in the distance, grey and murky but still somehow shimmering as if reflecting what little light is able to penetrate the clouds. I go to the French doors and stare harder.
‘I think there’s water in the garden,’ I say, my tone surprised.
Heather doesn’t reply. She turns over a spoonful of cereal, watching it fall gently back into the milk.
‘Yes. I’m sure of it.’ A knob of worry tightens in my stomach and unspools out into my limbs so that my palms and fingers prickle. ‘We must be near a lake or something.’
I hope that my anxiety doesn’t sound in my voice but it suddenly occurs to me that the house might flood. But how could it? We’re on highish ground, aren’t we? There’s still a distance for the water to cover before it’s anywhere near us. It might be an isolated patch, a temporary pond caused by a soaked-out dip in the ground. No need to panic. But I’ll keep my eye on it.
When I turn back, Heather has left the table, her cereal abandoned. She’s out in the hall with the tablet. She’s made herself a cosy snug out of coats she’s hung off my umbrella and a broom I took out of the understairs cupboard, and I can hear the cartoons blaring out from inside it. I can’t be angry. It’s dull enough for her here at the moment with the weather like this. Let her watch the tablet. What harm can it really do?
I tidy up our breakfast things, then check my email. There’s a reply from Alison and I click on it.