‘Please.’ He comes towards me. His cheeks are still red from our walk. He places a hand on mine. It feels cold. ‘I want you to relax and enjoy this holiday. God knows, we both need it.’
I feel a lurch of guilt. The miscarriage affected him too, yet all the sympathy went to me and Jamie never complained. ‘I’m sorry,’ I mumble. ‘I hate feeling like this.’
‘I can understand exactly why you’re feeling this way. But please let someone help you …’ He means his bloody mother. I bite my lip so hard I can taste the metallic tang of blood. He’s a good man. The best. He truly cares – about me, about his family, even though there are times when I wish he had more backbone when it came to his demanding mother.
‘Maybe it was too soon to come away,’ I say, going over to the hot tap. I retrieve two cups from the overhead cupboard. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’
‘Please.’ He watches me in silence for a few moments as I place teabags in the mugs and turn on the tap. Then he goes to the fridge for the milk. He places it on the counter wordlessly.
‘Thanks.’ I smile up at him. His eyes are still heavy with concern. The silence between us is starting to feel uncomfortable. ‘Maybe it’s too remote here and it’s making me feel jittery. I don’t know …’ I say, handing him the mug. I can’t bear to look him in the eye, to see the disappointment on his face. Jamie’s more relaxed than I’ve seen him in ages and here I am, ruining our holiday. Outside I can hear the crash of the waves, the squawk of seagulls.
I can hear his disappointment when he says, ‘But you can’t let that man make you feel like that, Libs.’
I shake my head. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I’m ruining it for you,’ I say in a small voice.
‘You’ll never ruin anything for me. I love you. And we have Ziggy here with us. He’ll protect us.’ He chuckles. ‘His bark sounds worse than his bite anyway. He’ll scare away any intruder.’
I smile tightly.
‘And haven’t you noticed? This place is like Fort Knox.’ He sounds like I do when I’m trying to reassure one of the children in my class that monsters or vampires don’t really exist. ‘The Heywoods are obviously security savvy. Look, by the door, there’s even a camera. You can see anyone who might be lurking outside. Not –’ he adds hurriedly when he notices the horror that must be evident on my face ‘– that there is anyone lurking outside.’ My eyes dart to the security screen that Jamie’s talking about. It’s divided in half, one camera trained onto the front driveway and the other onto the back garden. But there are areas where it won’t have access; all those hidden crevices and dark corners. I’ve noticed the camera before but if anything it makes me feel more nervous. What would I do if I did notice somebody trying to break in? The phone reception is sketchy here and I’ve not seen any landline phones.
‘Sweetheart,’ says Jamie, ‘if you really can’t relax here – and after all that’s one of the reasons why we came – then we should go home.’
‘But the Heywoods …’
‘Sod the Heywoods. They’ll have to find somewhere else to stay. You’re more important to me, Libs.’
I think of Philip and Tara and their seriously ill daughter. I can’t do it to them. And for what? Because a man was bird-watching on the premises when he shouldn’t have been? It’s very unlikely to be the same man from Lizard Point the day before. They just had a similar style hat on, that’s all. I’m being ridiculous. I can’t ruin this holiday. I love it here, and so does Jamie.
‘It’s fine. Maybe I’ll talk to someone when we get home. Get some counselling or something.’ I smile non-committally, knowing, deep down, that it will never happen. I grew up in a family where nobody aired their dirty linen in public. My mum was of the old-school mentality, her mantra being ‘put up or shut up’. Which she did, never complaining about her lot in life or the throbbing pain in her leg and then her chest as the thrombosis travelled to her lungs and killed her. Jamie’s mother, on the other hand, thinks it’s much healthier to express every feeling she has, which she does, frequently.
‘I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you, I promise,’ Jamie says seriously. I glance at his long, rangy frame, at his skinny but toned arms protruding from his T-shirt. He isn’t exactly tough-looking.
He follows my gaze. ‘All right,’ he laughs, flexing his bicep, ‘I know I’m not exactly Arnie.’
‘ “I like you just the way you are,” ’ I say, quoting his favourite film, Blade Runner. It’s one of our things: our special sayings from the films we both love, that are important to us. He’d taken me to see the director’s cut after I told him I didn’t like science-fiction. He was determined to change my mind. And he did.
‘Right!’ He leaps up from the sofa, his mood brighter, more hopeful after our little talk. ‘I’m going to get my laptop and do a bit of work. It looks like it’s going to rain so shall we stay in tonight?’
I glance out of the doors; the sky’s grey, the clouds bunched together in mutiny. We’ve stayed in all three nights we’ve been here. Usually I love it, relaxing in the luxurious surroundings, eating off the pristine dining table that can easily seat ten, sipping wine from the chiller cabinet while darkness falls outside, turning the windows opaque and making me feel as though there is nobody else in the world but us. But for once I fancy going out somewhere. ‘We could drive to Portscatho? We’ve not explored the area yet and it’s the nearest town.’
He pulls a face. ‘To be honest, I’m knackered. And I do need to catch up on a bit of work while I’m here. Why don’t we just eat the food from the fridge? It’s free.’ He grins. ‘I can cook up those gourmet sausages if you want? The sell-by dates are still good on them.’
‘If you’re tired, I’ll cook …’
He shakes his head. ‘You never let me do it. I did use to be quite good … once …’ He takes his coat off and gathers mine from where I’d left it, strewn over the back of the chair, throwing me a look. ‘I thought we were going to try and be tidy? I’ll hang these up.’ He wanders out of the room.
I’m frying up the chunky sausages on the fancy hob which pops up from the island when Jamie returns, carrying his laptop. He looks distracted as he balances on a bar stool opposite.
‘What is it?’ I ask over the spit and hiss of the sausages.
‘Nothing.’ His finger stabs at one of the keys, his plain gold wedding band glinting as it catches the overhead light. It still thrills me to see it, that symbol of our marriage. His brows are knotted together.
‘It doesn’t look like nothing …’ I try to keep my voice even.
‘My laptop was turned off. I was sure I’d left it on earlier. Maybe it ran out of charge …’ His voice trails away as the computer screen lights up at the press of the ‘on’ key.
My stomach tightens. I prod the sausages. Some of the oil flies out and hits me in the face. ‘Ow!’ I rub at it, already feeling a small pin-prick of sore flesh on my cheek.
His head shoots up. ‘Are you OK?’
I nod. I don’t want to say it. I don’t want to think it. But I do anyway. ‘Do … do you think the laptop has been tampered with?’
I can see I’ve pissed him off. His whole face darkens. ‘For fuck’s sake, Libby. We talked about this earlier. You’re joking, right?’
I want to laugh and say, ‘Of course, just a joke.’ But I don’t. I can’t.
I must look sheepish because he sounds exasperated as he adds, ‘Please don’t tell me you think that man has broken into the house?’
‘But shouldn’t we check?’ I can hear my hysteria rising like the tide in a storm, threatening to flood its barriers. I swallow to collect myself. I add, more calmly, ‘You said yourself, he simply disappeared. Maybe he disappeared in here?’
He closes his laptop. ‘How? There are no windows broken. No doors kicked in.’
‘You don’t have to sound so irritated. I can’t help the way I feel, Jay.’
He takes a deep breath. ‘Fine. Come on, let’s have a look around, put your mind at r
est,’ he says. I can see he’s trying really hard to be patient, to humour me. I take the frying pan off the hob and put it to one side and then let Jamie lead me upstairs, Ziggy at our heels. I follow him around the house, feeling a little foolish as he makes a great show of checking that all the windows and doors are secure.
‘See, everything is locked,’ he says when we are back downstairs, standing in the hallway. ‘Can we eat those sausages now?’
My eyes flicker to the door next to the kitchen. ‘Does that lead to the basement?’
‘I think so …’
I raise an eyebrow.
‘You want me to look in the basement?’ he asks in disbelief.
‘We might as well.’
He laughs. ‘Are you just being nosy, now, Libs? You don’t really think there’s an intruder in the basement, do you?’
I shrug, non-committally. I suddenly have this overwhelming need to look in Tara and Philip’s basement. It’s the only part of the house we haven’t seen.
With a theatrical sigh Jamie turns away from me and tries the door handle. He rattles it unnecessarily. ‘It’s locked.’
‘Now I’m even more intrigued. Why would they lock the basement?’ I tease. I march into the kitchen, remembering the row of keys that hang from a metal holder attached to the wall by the fridge. ‘I think this is it,’ I say, returning with a small single key. Jamie takes it from me and tries the lock; the door swings open.
‘You first,’ I say as he takes a step over the threshold.
A smell wafts up to greet us, mildew and damp, making me realise that even though the house has been modernised to within an inch of its life, it’s probably very old. There’s something else too, pungent, like the slightly metallic smell of blood. I can taste it in the back of my throat. I cover my nose with my sleeve. Stone steps lead down to the cellar and to Jamie’s left there is a light switch. He flicks it on and we both watch as the room is illuminated by a bright ceiling light, like the sort you get in hospital theatres. Ziggy butts against my legs but I pull on his collar to keep him from going into the cellar.
I gasp, my eyes blinking in the sudden brightness, dots forming in front of my vision. The cellar looks like a crime scene.
The room is square with a low ceiling and no windows. Set up in the middle of the stone floor is what looks like a mini operating table. Latex gloves, a scalpel, a large serrated knife and some kind of animal hide are strewn haphazardly across it. Hanging up next to it is a rubber apron.
Jamie screws up his nose while I try not to gag. ‘It stinks in here,’ he says, his eyes going to a bucket in the corner. My stomach heaves at its contents. ‘Is that the –’ he gulps ‘– the innards?’
I breathe into my sleeve, trying to inhale the scent of cherry-blossom fabric conditioner instead of blood and guts. I recall the stuffed animals upstairs. I’d assumed Philip had bought those hideous creatures.
‘Urgh. He’s a bloody taxidermist. You’d have thought he’d tidy it away, knowing we were staying. It’s pretty gross.’ But he descends the remaining steps anyway, his fascination with anything macabre winning out. He creeps over to the animal skin on the table, as though he’s worried he’ll spook it.
‘It’s dead, Jay, it’s not going to bite.’
He swivels his body towards me and pokes out his tongue. Ziggy pushes past me and trots over to the bucket in the corner. Jamie grabs his collar. ‘Oh no you don’t,’ he says firmly. Then he turns back, peering down at the carcass on the operating table. ‘I can’t make it out. Is it a cat? God, Libs, I hope the animals didn’t suffer.’
I tremble, still hovering on the steps. ‘They would already have been dead. Unless Philip Heywood is some sort of animal serial killer …’
‘Don’t even joke about it,’ says Jamie.
‘Let’s go, it’s freaking me out.’
He indicates a large freezer in the corner. ‘Do you think the animals are in there? Ready to be worked on?’ He pulls the door open and something large in a plastic bag falls out and onto the hard floor with a thud. Ziggy pulls away from Jamie to push at it with his nose. It’s a badger, the plastic bag tied at its neck, as though it’s been suffocated. I scream, making Ziggy’s ears flatten against his head.
‘Jay, put it back, please.’ I start to feel panicky and claustrophobic, even though I’m only halfway down the stairs. I have visions of more animal corpses tumbling out of the freezer. Jamie picks up the bag and shoves it back, shuddering with the effort. Then he hurries over to me, Ziggy at his heels. ‘Sorry, sweetheart, but it’s strangely fascinating, don’t you think?’
‘Not really, no.’
Before Jamie can get to the stairs he stumbles and his leg kicks against something, sending it scudding into the middle of the room. It looks like a large metal suitcase. He stops to rub his leg, his eyes going to the case. My heart falls when I see it has piqued his interest.
‘Jay, come on,’ I call.
‘Hold on.’ He’s unclasping the catches on the suitcase.
‘Now you’re the one being nosy,’ I say, trying to keep my voice light. But my body feels heavy with dread. What is he going to find now?
The suitcase opens and I can hear Jamie’s sharp intake of breath. ‘Oh my God, Libs. You’ll never guess what they’ve got here. Surveillance equipment. Cameras and shit. Looks like bloody expensive kit. Wow. Why have they got all this? Who are they?’
8
‘Do you think they’re spies or something?’ says Jamie as he locks the basement door. I’m feeling unsteady on my feet.
‘We’re not in some espionage TV drama,’ I say as I reheat the sausages, my stomach turning at the thought of eating anything after seeing those animal carcasses. My mind is working overtime. Why would the Heywoods have all that equipment? And why would they keep it here? It must be worth thousands. As I turn the sausages over in the pan I look about me, wildly. Are there cameras hidden around this room? Around this house? Are we being watched? You hear about things like this: nanny-cams so that parents can spy on the women they’ve hired to care for their babies, and I once read in one of those true-life magazines about a woman whose landlord had deliberately hidden a camera in her bedroom and filmed her and her boyfriend having sex.
No, Tara wouldn’t do that sort of thing. She’s classy. Beautiful. She’s not sordid and cheap. But Philip? Maybe he has some kind of fetish that she doesn’t know about? Maybe he gets off on filming unsuspecting people in the showers and the loos.
Later that night when we’re getting ready for bed, I spend ages in the bedroom, examining their ornaments, the stuffed owl, the photograph on the wall, for hidden cameras.
‘Do you think they could be in the lights?’ I say, looking up at the spotlights in the ceiling.
Jamie sighs. ‘I’m sure they’re not secret pervs.’
‘It’s a bit weird though, isn’t it? Having all that stuff in the basement?’
Jamie steps out of his jeans and tosses them on the chair by the window. ‘At least it’s in the basement. Proof it’s not being used.’
‘Why have they got that kind of stuff anyway?’ I wander into the en-suite to use the loo. As I sit there and look up at the shelves with the row of expensive candles I notice something else. Something long and thin with a hole at the end. I’d mistaken it earlier for an ornament. But what if it’s something else? What if it’s a camera and Philip is filming me on the loo?
‘Jamie!’ I cry and he comes rushing into the bathroom.
‘What! What is it?’
I point to the object. ‘That. Up there on the shelf by the candles. What is it?’
‘Why can’t you get up and have a look yourself?’ he says grumpily. ‘I thought something had happened, the way you cried out.’
‘I’m worried it’s a camera. I can’t get off the loo.’ I pull my fleecy pyjama bottoms higher to try and cover myself from the camera’s prying eye.
‘Oh for crying out loud …’ But he reaches up anyway and grabs it. ‘Do you mean thi
s?’
I nod. ‘Oh God, it’s a camera, isn’t it? He’s probably been filming us having sex and in the showers and everything. It’s disgusting …’ My face is burning.
‘It’s an air freshener,’ says Jamie.
‘What?’ What?
‘An air freshener. Here.’ He thrusts it under my nose. It smells of lavender. Jamie rolls his eyes but a smile tugs at his lips.
‘I’ve never seen such a fancy air freshener,’ I laugh as Jamie reaches up and puts it back. He leaves the room, his shoulders shaking with mirth. He won’t let me forget about it as I get into bed and cuddle up next to him.
‘You wally,’ he sniggers. ‘Honestly. Philip Heywood isn’t some secret perv. Will you stop it now?’
‘Yes,’ I say, nuzzling against his chest.
‘Good.’ Jamie claps twice and the room descends into total darkness.
The next morning, I leave Jamie and Ziggy sleeping peacefully and pad into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. I stand at the doors in my pyjamas, sipping my tea and feeling uplifted. There is nothing to worry about. Jamie’s right. I can relax.
In the distance the sea glistens and I watch as a flock of birds fly in a graceful formation towards the sun. It’s worlds away from where I come from. We might never get the chance to stay in such a stunning house ever again. Oh Tara, you’re so lucky to have all this.
I move away from the doors and busy myself making toast, enjoying a little fantasy in my head that this house is mine, that this is our way of life. How am I ever going to return to my two-bedroom flat in Bath after experiencing this? It’s already Wednesday. We only have three more full days here. I glance around at the white walls, at the glass shelves, the bespoke cabinets. Nothing is out of place. It really could be a photograph from a glossy magazine. When Jamie gets up I’ll persuade him to go into town and buy some flowers to sit on the island; I imagine something white and pure like lilies or roses. The house deserves some frivolity. There must be a glass vase here somewhere. I think about lighting one of Tara’s expensive candles. Would she mind? Maybe she’d expect us to? She left them out after all. I go to the living room and pick one from the mantelpiece. Then I return to the kitchen and rummage around in the drawers for a light. A small box of matches is tucked down by the side of the knives and forks. I can tell the candle hasn’t been used yet but I light it anyway and immediately the room fills with expensive scent.
Last Seen Alive Page 6