The Memory of Midnight

by Pamela Hartshorne

Besides, she had adored him. She had wanted to make him happy. He was so attractive, so tender, so loving. He told her she was beautiful. He made her feel beautiful. He made her feel safe. For a while it had been lovely to be cossetted. He said he wanted to look after her and that they would be together forever. Overlooking a few foibles about the arrangement of the fridge hadn’t seemed too much to ask of her in return.

  But the fridge had been just the beginning.

  Defiantly, Tess put the pints of milk on the shelf and turned them to face in different directions. What a rebel, she thought to herself.

  ‘I don’t need a car,’ she told Vanessa.

  ‘What about Oscar?’

  ‘People managed to get around perfectly well before cars were invented, Vanessa,’ she said, trying not to show her annoyance. ‘Oscar is quite capable of walking to school. It’ll be good for him.’

  ‘It’s not just school. It’s after-school clubs and swimming and music lessons and football practice and sleepovers . . . Believe me, I’ve been through all this with Sam. You’ve got no idea!’

  Tess pulled a packet of cereal out of the carrier bag and set it on the counter, only just managing to stop herself straightening it. Vanessa had never liked being argued with, she remembered. Even at school it had been easier just to let her have her own way. Tess had been grateful for her friendship then, scarcely able to believe that the coolest girl in the class would take a shy, gawky girl like Tess under her wing.

  Until Luke. Vanessa hadn’t been pleased when Tess refused to listen to sense and it had taken Tess’s ignominious return to York more than a decade later for all to be forgiven. Proved right about Luke as about so much else, it again seemed that there was nothing Vanessa wouldn’t do for her.

  As long as Tess did it Vanessa’s way.

  Tess had only just escaped from doing it Martin’s way. This time, she wanted to do it her own way.

  Vanessa had been a huge help since her return, Tess couldn’t deny that. She had helped sort out a school, a doctor, all the red tape of moving and claiming child support. She looked after Oscar whenever Tess needed time on her own and he was always happy to play with her two children, Sam and Rosie. She made Tess feel welcome and wanted, and took her away from the disappointment that simmered in the air in Tess’s own mother’s house.

  Tess hated feeling ungrateful, hated the creeping guilt of it and the familiar, awful doubt as to whether she was the one being unreasonable. Martin had been very good at making her feel that until the resentment that built up inside her corroded everything. She didn’t want to feel the same about her old friend.

  Frowning a little, not liking the way her thoughts were going, Tess carried on unpacking. Peanut butter, jam, bread. Eggs and cheese. There would be time enough to try and get some fresh vegetables down Oscar. For now it would be enough for the two of them to be alone, away from her baffled mother’s resentment.

  Away from Martin.

  Doing it her own way.

  ‘Oscar’s only five,’ she pointed out at last. ‘I don’t need to think about any of that just yet.’

  ‘Well, I think you’re mad!’

  A wry smile touched the corner of Tess’s mouth. ‘Funny, that’s exactly what Mum says.’

  Her mother couldn’t understand it. ‘I don’t know how you can leave Martin,’ she complained at least once a day. ‘A charming husband who adores you . . . plenty of money . . . a lovely house in London . . . what more could you possibly want, Theresa?’

  Tess had tried to explain, but Susan Frankland would not be consoled over the humiliating return of the daughter whose wealthy and successful husband she had boasted so much about over the years. She took Tess’s new status as a single mother with a failed marriage as a personal affront. It had been a long two weeks before Richard Landrow went off on research leave and handed over the key to his flat.

  Now Tess looked down at the empty carrier bags that she was automatically folding into neat squares, and deliberately scrumpled them up into a ball so that she could toss them in the bin. Drawing a breath, she turned back to Vanessa.

  ‘This is a fresh start for me, Van,’ she tried to explain. ‘The flat’s perfect as far as I’m concerned. Come on,’ she went on quickly before Vanessa could argue further, ‘I’ll show you round.’

  Vanessa, proud owner of a new four-bedroom executive home, was unimpressed by the front room. ‘It’s going to be noisy,’ she said, wandering over to the bay window that jutted out over the street and craning her head to look down at the tourists thronging Stonegate. ‘It’s bad enough now, but think what it’ll be like when the pubs close!’

  Tess thought about the immaculate house in Chiswick where silence clung to her face and the long days trembled with tension.

  ‘It’s just people. I don’t mind a bit of noise.’

  Vanessa turned to survey the room. ‘Can you get rid of all these books while you’re here? It’s all a bit dreary, isn’t it?’

  It was dreary, but Tess wasn’t going to admit it.

  Vanessa wanted her to move into a house on the same estate as her. ‘It’d be much handier for babysitting if you live nearby,’ she had tried to persuade Tess. ‘Oscar can play with Sam and Rosie and you know Graham and I would always be there for you.’ Richard’s flat wasn’t her idea, so she wasn’t going to like it.

  My decision, my way, Tess reminded herself as she pushed open one of the top windows to let in some air. Some sunshine would have been nice but it had been an unseasonably cold May and outside a fine mizzle was dampening the paving stones. Perhaps it was the grey sky that was making the room feel so oppressive.

  It certainly wasn’t the books. ‘I’m keeping the books,’ she told Vanessa, picking up a Latin dictionary and riffling through it. It had been so long since she had worked on any documents it was going to take some time to get her eye in again. ‘I’ll be needing them anyway.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Your job.’

  Tess set her teeth. She could hear the virtual inverted commas Vanessa put around the last word. The job hadn’t been Vanessa’s idea either, but for Tess, living with her disappointed mother, transcribing and translating the sixteenth-century assize court records that had been recently unearthed in the city’s archives was a dream assignment. The dapper Richard Landrow had supervised her MA dissertation at Warwick. After Tess had graduated he’d taken up a professorship at York and she had kept in contact with him until her marriage. Martin hadn’t liked her talking about her life before she met him, and Tess had lost touch with Richard, like so many other friends. But he had been easy to find again when she moved back to York and she had emailed him for advice about using her old skills. Typically generous, Richard had responded straight away. It had been strange seeing him in York, but when he’d offered her the job, it had been a lifeline.

  Tess had worked it all out. Together with tax credits and child benefit, the hourly rate Richard could pay for research assistance meant that she could survive financially. Nearing retirement now, he had a research grant for a year to work on a new book on Tudor crime and criminality, and was going to base himself in London. Tess, he said, could have his flat for free in return for looking after his beloved cat, Ashrafar.

  ‘She’d hate London,’ he said, ‘and I don’t want strangers in here.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ she had asked, hardly able to believe her luck.

  ‘Of course I’m sure. There’s plenty of room for you and your little boy. It suits me very well – and it’s high time you used that brain of yours again.’

  ‘It’s the perfect job for me,’ she told Vanessa as she had before. ‘I can work from photographs and do it all at home. Reading documents is what I’m trained for, after all. Besides, it’s fascinating stuff.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  More daunted by her friend’s lack of enthusiasm than she wanted to admit, Tess put down the dictionary and brushed her hands on her jeans. ‘Come and see the rest of the flat,’ she said, determinedly cheerful.
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  She was hoping that the other rooms would be as charmingly quirky as she remembered them, but the sense of disquiet that had prickled in the front room only grew stronger as she led Vanessa along the narrow book-lined passage. The flat was on the first floor above a gift shop, and it stretched long and thin back from the street. The other rooms overlooked a dingy yard, and even on the brightest of days would get little light. Tess couldn’t imagine how it had all seemed so cheerful before. Richard had left all his furniture, all his books and pictures. Nothing had changed.

  ‘You should swap these light bulbs,’ Vanessa said, flicking at the overhead shade in what would be Oscar’s room. ‘You can’t see a thing with so few watts.’ She shivered. ‘It’s cold too. It’s like winter in here.’

  Tess was finding it hard to keep sounding positive. She looked around the room dubiously. ‘I suppose I could get him an electric radiator. I can hardly put the heating on in May! The trouble is, these old houses don’t get much light. The gloominess is part of their charm,’ she said, as she closed the door and showed Vanessa the spartan bathroom.

  ‘Charm?’ said Vanessa, missing Tess’s lame attempt at humour. She cast a disparaging glance at the clawfoot tub with its rusty stains under the taps. ‘Right.’ She withdrew her head. ‘How old is this place anyway?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Tess reached out to run her fingers down an exposed beam but the touch of the old wood sent a tiny shock darting through her and she jerked her hand back.

  Puzzled, she shook her wrist to relieve the sensation. Since when did wood give you an electric shock? ‘I’m not an architectural historian, but I’d say that most of this is sixteenth-century,’ she said, eyeing the lumpy walls but not touching them. Her whole arm was still tingling. ‘The facade is probably later. Seventeenth or eighteenth century, maybe. Of course, Stonegate’s been one of the most important streets in York since Roman times, so it’s more than likely there’s been a house here since then.’

  ‘You’re kidding!’

  ‘Not like this – there’s always been renovation and rebuilding – but on this site; yes, I’d say so.’

  Vanessa gave an exaggerated shiver. ‘It would give me the creeps to live somewhere this old.’

  ‘I like it,’ said Tess, forcing a smile to her voice. Trying to make herself sound as if she did. And she had liked it before. ‘History’s my thing, remember, and it’s not as if I believe in ghosts.’

  She broke off at the involuntary twitch between her shoulder blades. ‘This is Richard’s study,’ she said quickly, opening the next door to distract Vanessa from the silly little shudder that had wriggled down her spine.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Vanessa stared, aghast, at the piles of books covering the floor. ‘What happened?’

  Tess couldn’t help smiling at her expression. ‘The floor’s so uneven that Richard had to wedge all his bookshelves against the wall with paper, but he’s finally given in and arranged for a joiner to come in and build him some proper shelves while he’s away. The walls are so wonky that it’s going to be quite a job.’ She tapped her forehead. ‘I mustn’t forget that he’s coming in. Richard’s given him a key so he can let himself in and out.’

  ‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’ said Vanessa. ‘He could be anybody!’

  ‘Richard wouldn’t have given his keys to a serial killer, Vanessa!’

  ‘You don’t always know,’ Vanessa said darkly. ‘You can’t tell what people are really like when you first meet them.’

  Tess’s smile faded. She thought about Martin as he had seemed at first. Golden, glowing, dazzling her with his good looks and his charm and his romantic gestures. A fairy-tale hero to sweep her off her feet and adore her forever.

  Should she have suspected that there was a dark side behind all that light and lustre?

  ‘I know,’ she said.

  Abruptly she turned and led the way down to the very end of the passage. ‘This is my room.’

  She pushed open the door and a black cat that had been curled up on the bed lifted its head as if affronted by the interruption, only to flatten its ears and shoot off the bed and out past their ankles. At the same moment, a cold, clammy wall of despair seemed to heave away from the walls and roll over Tess, making her gag with the horror of it.

  ‘God, that gave me a fright!’ Vanessa patted her chest. ‘Where on earth did that cat come fr –’ She broke off as she caught sight of Tess’s white face. ‘Are you okay? Tess?’ she added after a moment when Tess didn’t reply.

  The ghastly feeling receded, sucked away like a tide, leaving Tess trembling. Drawing a shaky breath, she licked her lips. ‘I’m . . . fine,’ she managed, but she kept a hand to her throat, where her heart was still pounding.

  ‘I nearly had a fit when that cat bolted too,’ said Vanessa. ‘I just wasn’t expecting it.’

  It hadn’t been the cat. Tess forced herself to look around the room, moving her head very cautiously in case that horrible sensation rolled over her again, but there was nothing there. It was just a room. Everything was as it should be. A double bed, covered in a colourful counterpane. A chest of drawers set into what had once been a deep fireplace. More shelves crammed with tatty paperbacks. A wardrobe with a wad of newspaper stuck under the legs on one side to counteract the uneven floor. All exactly as Richard had shown her the other day.

  She even looked up, half-expecting to see something slimy and unpleasant looming, but there were only the exposed beams and plaster and an old-fashioned lampshade hanging precariously low and badly in need of a dust.

  You’re highly strung, Theresa. Wasn’t that what Martin was always telling her? You imagine things. I sometimes think you live in a fantasy world.

  Carefully, Tess cleared her throat. Let Vanessa think she had been spooked by the cat.

  ‘That was Richard’s cat. Ashrafar.’

  ‘Ashrafar?’ Vanessa echoed disapprovingly. ‘What kind of name is that?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. When I asked Richard why he’d called her that, he just smirked.’ She was beginning to feel a bit steadier. Of course there was nothing there.

  Now that the sensation of dread had gone, Tess could hear a faint sound, somewhere between a scrape and a thud, reverberating around the room. Something about it made her nerves twitch and tense. ‘What’s that noise?’ she asked Vanessa, who was fussily brushing cat hairs from the bedcover and tutting at the mess.

  ‘What noise?’

  Tess opened her mouth to describe it but was interrupted by the unmistakable whine of a drill starting up on the other side of the wall and her shoulders slumped with a disproportionate sense of relief.

  What did you think it was, Tess?

  ‘Oh, yes. Richard said they were doing up the house next door.’ She had to raise her voice over the sound of the drilling until they could close the door behind them.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Tess,’ said Vanessa, heading back to the front door. ‘This place is dingy and dirty and a dump! You’ve got to share it with an unknown joiner and a filthy cat, and to top it off, you’ve got builders next door so you won’t be able to hear yourself think! Why don’t you get somewhere decent?’

  Because that’s what you want me to do. This time I’m doing what I want to do.

  Tess bit down on the words. ‘Because I can’t afford it,’ she said evenly instead.

  The door of the flat opened straight onto a steep flight of stairs that led down to the nondescript street door. Vanessa was right: it was dingy. Richard was interested in his records. He didn’t care about his surroundings. He’d bought the flat when he moved to York and Tess suspected he hadn’t done anything to improve it.

  But she had made the decision and she was going to stick by it.

  ‘Besides,’ she said as Vanessa gathered up her bag and hunted for her car keys, ‘I promised Richard I would stay and look after Ashrafar. If it hadn’t been for Richard, I’d still be looking for a job and living with Mum. As it is, I’ve got a free flat in a great location and I
can work at home so I can fit in with picking Oscar up from school. He’s thrilled at the idea of having a cat.’

  Which was true, Tess reminded herself, wishing that she didn’t sound as if she was talking herself into it. Oscar loved animals but Martin wouldn’t have them in the house. Once, Tess had steeled herself to suggest that a cat wouldn’t be too much trouble.

  A cat? Martin’s lip had curled in disgust. Revolting creatures, covered in spit and hair. It’s out of the question, Theresa.

  ‘I feel really lucky,’ she told Vanessa. And she was lucky. Tess forced herself to shake off the uneasiness she had felt ever since she let herself in. It was nothing a bright day wouldn’t cure. ‘It’s going to be great.’

  ‘Sam and Rosie got a trampoline.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Tess wiggled the key into the lock and opened the door so that Oscar could slip under her arm. Since Oscar had met Vanessa’s children she had heard a lot about what Sam and Rosie had. ‘Sam and Rosie also have a garden. But you know what they don’t have?’ she added quickly, before he could object to the limitations of his new home.

  ‘What?’

  ‘A cat.’ It didn’t sound much compared to a trampoline, but Tess infused her voice with as much enthusiasm as she could. ‘Remember I told you about how we’re going to look after Ashrafar?’

  Oscar’s face lit up. ‘Will she sleep on my bed?’

  ‘That’s up to her.’ There was no point in making promises on behalf of a cat, after all.

  Tess was feeling better about the flat. After Vanessa had left, she had finished putting away the shopping. She had opened all the windows in spite of the drizzle, and cleaned the kitchen and the bathroom. She had unpacked the suitcase which held all that she had brought from London. She had made up Oscar’s bed, and set Bink, his stuffed monkey, against his pillow so he would see him as soon as he came in. She had set up the two computers she needed to work on the records, and she hadn’t let herself think about the way terror and despair had boiled out of nowhere in the back bedroom.

  All day she had heard the builders next door: drilling, banging, shouting to each other over the sound of the radio. The ordinariness of the noise was comforting. Tess told herself that she had imagined the atmosphere earlier. It was just part of the strangeness of moving into a new place. The air was not condensed. It was not gathering itself together, bunching as if ready to pounce. There was nothing wrong.