She shuddered as a chill tingled along her spine. The idea that dead people watched over her provided no comfort whatsoever and she found it astounding that Juliette had faith in such nonsense and still enjoyed a healthy sex life.
No. Life after death was a ridiculous notion, with no supporting scientific evidence.
‘How many weeks are you planning to stay?’ Her father’s voice jogged Victoria back to the earthly plane.
‘Like I said, I don’t have a plan. Is it a problem?’
‘Of course not,’ said Frank. ‘I said you can stay as long as you like. This is your home.’
And there they were, back at square one; in someone else’s home, spending an indeterminate number of nights sleeping on the living room floor on an old, camp air bed. This is what happens when I don’t make a plan. A holiday cottage was an option; at least she’d have a proper bed.
‘Dad. You’re a genius.’ Victoria leaped off the sofa and planted a noisy kiss on her father’s cheek. ‘Fancy a drive to Chiswell tomorrow?’
Victoria dashed out of her dad’s Ford C-Max, dived into the letting agents and returned five minutes later with a set of house keys in her hand. She waved them at her father, who was occupying the passenger seat of his car. Victoria slipped into the driver’s side, catching sight of Seth in the rear-view mirror. He was browsing through a catalogue. ‘What’s he doing?’
‘Choosing his Christmas present. How did you get on?’ Frank gazed in the direction of the estate agents.
‘It was easier than I expected. They’ve failed to let it for three months. No one knows why. Saturday staff. I’ll speak to the manager on Monday.’ She passed the keys to her dad and rubbed her hands together. ‘It’s a bit nippy out there. I hope the cottage is warm.’ She buckled up. ‘Ready?’
Frank nodded and they continued on their journey. ‘It’ll be freezing,’ he said, reaching into his coat pocket and withdrawing a silver hip flask. ‘Just as well we have central heating.’ He winked, unscrewed the cap and swigged down a mouthful. ‘Victoria?’
She declined the offer. She’d only known him put whisky in his hip flask, and she didn’t much care for that. ‘I’m driving, Dad. Your car. But thanks anyway.’
‘You’ll be glad of it later.’ He waved it under her nose.
‘We’ll see,’ she said. ‘Take it away.’ She gave the flask a gentle push, and heard her dad chuckle, but he did as requested. ‘What do you think it’ll be like inside?’
‘Apart from cold?’ Frank chewed over the question. ‘It will need cleaning.’ He paused. ‘Of course, it will be completely different to what you’ve become accustomed.’
‘That’s not an issue, Dad.’ She’d already been shocked back to life that week; another jolt would settle the rhythm. ‘I just hope Seth likes it.’
Frank nestled the hip flask back in his pocket, and patted Victoria’s knee. ‘As long as the little fellow is with you, he’ll be happy.’
It was a wonderful sentiment, which remained uncontested. There was harmony in the car, which Victoria wished to maintain.
They crossed a small roundabout onto the causeway that linked Weymouth to Portland.
‘Ferrybridge is swish.’ Victoria executed a cursory examination of the area. ‘Is that the sailing academy?’
‘The National Sailing Academy, if you don’t mind. Did you see it on TV during the Olympics? Princess Anne was here.’
Victoria smiled. The pride in her father’s voice was unmistakable. Leaving for the mainland fifteen years ago made no difference; Portland was still his island. ‘I caught glimpses of the Olympics,’ she said. ‘It looked fabulous.’ She negotiated a second roundabout, which marked the entrance to the marina.
‘That’s Portland for you.’
‘Have you considered moving back?’
Frank shuffled in his seat and ran a hand through his thatch of white hair. ‘I’ve thought about it.’ He flipped down the visor and peered into the mirror. ‘Found anything, Seth?’
Victoria noted the brief answer and the immediate change of subject, and it intrigued her. In the back of her mind she had a vague recollection that her dad’s new flame was a Portlander. She pushed him for information. ‘How seriously have you thought about it?’
Frank released a forceful sigh and faced the windscreen. ‘Seriously. But my home is with your mother.’
And there was the problem. Iris Paveley. The woman who, even in death, got her own way.
As much as she’d loved her mother, Victoria and Iris’s relationship was strained. With God constantly held up as the example for Victoria to follow, living up to Iris’s standards proved difficult, especially since Victoria’s scientific, logical and practical brain insisted no such deity existed. But she’d wanted her mother to love her, so she’d submitted to her wishes. Sadly, saying grace before every meal, reading the Bible each night before bed, and reciting the Lord’s Prayer at lights out, made Victoria resent religion with a passion.
Worse than that, she resented her mother for not encouraging independent thought.
And for not allowing her the space to grow.
Victoria reined in her anger before speaking. ‘Dad, if you want to move, then move. You don’t have to answer to anyone.’
‘You’d be surprised.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ Victoria said, under her breath. There was no doubt in her mind that her mother and father’s marriage was intense – they’d loved and fought in equal measure – but Iris never compromised. It was always her way. She had personally adopted the old saying ‘It’s my way or the highway’, and the highway was never offered as an alternative. To think she still exerted that control over her father upset Victoria.
‘It’s time you lived life your way, Dad.’ She tried to gauge his response, but he’d adopted Seth’s poker face. ‘It’s been eight years.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘That’s what scares me. Your mother will have mastered omnipotence by now.’
It was typical of her father to provide light in a dark situation, and his comment extracted a laugh from Victoria. ‘I think she managed that long before she died. That’s how she knew every painful detail of my life.’
Frank coughed. ‘That wasn’t omnipotence. That was nosiness. She read your diary.’
‘So that’s how she knew all my secrets.’ Victoria shook her head in mock disbelief, then checked her rear-view mirror. Seth, leaning against his window, gawked back. There was an unnerving depth to his eyes.
A boy his age should be carefree and unburdened, she thought.
‘Pull in.’ Frank’s gentle instruction drew Victoria back to the road.
She tapped the indicator stalk, crossed to the opposite side of the road, and parked outside a blue fronted building. Once she’d switched off the engine, she looked out of her window. ‘Chiswell Crafts? When did the fish restaurant become an art shop?’
‘About six months ago. And it’s not an art shop. It’s a craft centre.’
There was an edge to her father’s voice that piqued Victoria’s interest. ‘Have you been in?’ She watched him making a hash of undoing his seat belt.
‘Once or twice,’ he muttered, becoming flustered with the buckle.
Victoria reached across, and with a swift press of her thumb, set him free.
‘Thank you.’ His words were directed at his breast pocket. ‘Did I tell you Juliette phoned?’ He raised his voice. ‘Last night. You’d already gone to bed.’
Well, that came out of nowhere. Either her father was attempting another change of subject, or he had a bone to pick with her. Regardless of which it was, the topic of Chiswell Crafts was closed.
‘She’s worried about you.’ Frank checked on Seth. ‘Said you had a run-in with the little feller.’
‘Something like that.’ Victoria lowered her voice. ‘C
an we talk about it later, Dad? Not here.’
‘Can we get out please, Pops?’ Seth’s voice floated to the front of the car, so light and sweet. He was different with Frank. Gentle and compliant, responding well to his grandfather’s natural manner.
Victoria didn’t possess a natural manner. Her touch wasn’t gentle and her love was not an object of beauty; it was a weapon of mass destruction, and she’d wielded it without care. No wonder Seth rejected it. No wonder he wished her dead.
She glanced out at the blue façade of the rustic craft shop, pushed open the car door, and breathed in the salty air. ‘I’d forgotten this smell.’ Closing her eyes, she lost herself to the moment, and the memories of her youth came skipping forward. Within one breath she was crunching along the pebbled beach, happy and carefree, hand in hand with her young lover, with the crush of the stones beneath her feet, and the sensation of prickled soles lingering once she’d returned to softer ground. By the second breath she was in his arms, strong and protective, his gentle kisses enticing her, inviting her to places she was desperate to explore.
‘Are we getting out, then?’
Victoria was brought back to reality by her father’s voice and a nudge to her arm. She looked over to the cottage that was once her nan’s. One more area of her life she’d abandoned.
‘Take the keys then.’ Frank jangled them under Victoria’s nose. ‘You have first look and I’ll get Seth.’
Victoria hid her reluctance with a forced smile, took the keys and climbed out of the car. She scanned her surroundings. She’d been away long enough for Chiswell to change. It was still a small village, but houses had been updated, a few new ones built with Portland stone had been squeezed in, and shops had changed hands. She noted the ‘open’ sign on the craft centre door.
Frank and Seth appeared next to her on the pavement. ‘After you,’ her father said.
Victoria took two steps, turned and evaluated the terraced cottage before her. Nailed to its wall was a piece of driftwood, and painted on it were the words, ‘Crab Cottage’. She frowned. ‘I don’t remember a name plaque. In fact, I don’t remember giving it a name.’
She walked up the three steps to the front door and picked at the flaking woodwork. ‘Dad, it’s awful. The frame’s rotting away. The agents are meant to be keeping an eye on this place. That’s what I’m paying them for.’ Hit by the sudden fear the cottage was wrecked and stripped bare, she invited her father to take over. ‘I don’t want to go in first. You open it.’ She handed Frank the key, stepped back and stood with Seth. Her father fiddled with the lock, pushed open the door and disappeared inside. After a few minutes, he resurfaced.
‘Well?’ Victoria said.
He motioned a so-so action with his hands and pulled the door wide open. ‘Come and see for yourself.’
Seth marched in and vanished into the black.
Keeping her mouth shut, for fear of ingesting insects, Victoria squeezed past her father and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark hallway. She sniffed the air. ‘It smells a bit odd.’
Frank laughed. ‘There are no dead bodies.’
‘I meant it smells damp.’ She hadn’t considered the possibility someone or something had died in there. She cast a look of suspicion. ‘You have checked everywhere?’
Frank nodded. ‘Everywhere. Apart from a bag of rubbish in the small bedroom, the rotting wood, and the fact there’s no central heating, I’d say you could move in tonight.’ He pulled his hip flask from his pocket and presented it to Victoria. ‘Would you like some now?’
She didn’t respond; she was gaping at the brown stain on the ceiling above. ‘Oh, Dad, I’m so sorry.’
‘What for?’
‘This.’ She waved her hands wildly over her head. ‘I’ve let you and Nan down. You should never have agreed to sell this place to me. I can’t take care of anything.’
‘Now then, madam, your nan left this cottage to me to do with as I wished, and I wished for you to have it. Your need was great as I recall.’ Frank unscrewed the metal cap of the silver flask. ‘As was mine. You and your mum needed to live apart.’ He sipped down the contents, shuddered and replaced the lid. ‘You two got on much better from that point.’
‘Maybe, but it caused arguments between you and Mum.’ Victoria recalled the day the property changed hands. Her mum went ballistic. ‘She thought I was too young to rent, and definitely too young to live alone.’
Frank smiled. ‘We only argued once. When I reminded her what she got up to at nineteen, she quickly backed down.’
The comment surprised Victoria, but she chose not to dwell on her parents’ youth. She had enough difficulty coming to terms with her own.
‘Anyway,’ Frank continued, ‘you’ve bought and paid for it since then. I’ve had nothing to do with it for years.’
Victoria’s gaze returned to the stained patch above, and she fired up with rage. ‘My poor house!’
Now frantic to examine the rest of the cottage, she shoved open the door to the front room and instantly noticed a collection of small black holes in the carpet in front of the fireplace. There were too many to count. ‘The rug’s gone,’ she said, dropping to her knees and fingering the damage. ‘And they’ve had a coal fire without a guard. Look at these burns.’
‘I know, but it’s just a carpet and you can afford to replace it.’
Frank paused, which drew Victoria’s attention to him. She saw his brow ruck.
‘In fact, you can afford to buy a new home.’ He put the flask in his pocket and stepped further into the room. ‘Why do you want to live here when you can have any home you want?’
That was a good question. An excellent question. Victoria rolled off her knees and onto her bottom, and leaned against the grubby fabric sofa. ‘I don’t know.’ Was this what it was like to be Juliette? Surviving by instinct. Winging it. It wasn’t an entirely pleasant feeling. She looked up and saw her father smiling. ‘What?’
‘You really don’t have a plan, do you?’ He eased himself onto the floor next to Victoria and put his arm around her. ‘You’re EweSpeak’s very own little lost lamb.’
‘Something like that.’
‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on?’
Victoria propped her head on her father’s shoulder and brooded over the question. With Seth in the house, she couldn’t say much.
At that moment, as if summoned by the power of thought, her son appeared in the doorway.
‘Can I go upstairs, please, Pops?’
‘Is it safe, Dad?’ Panic flitted through Victoria’s stomach. Her instinct was to keep Seth within grabbing distance.
‘It’s a bit dirty, but sound enough.’ Frank smiled at the boy. ‘Go on. But don’t touch anything.’
With a turn of heel, Seth was gone.
Victoria hauled herself up and walked to the window. There was very little to see outside. ‘I’d forgotten how quiet it is here.’
‘You’re used to city life. I bet you can’t sleep without the constant hum of traffic.’
‘Maybe.’ The truth was she was ready to enter the realms of unconsciousness for a hundred years. Perhaps that would solve her problems. Do the Sleeping Beauty thing – well, the Sleeping Geek thing – and wait to be rescued by a handsome prince.
‘What are you thinking?’ Frank asked.
‘I’ve got my back to you, Dad. How do you know I’m thinking?’ She wheeled round to face him.
He smiled. ‘You’re the cerebral one of the family. Your brain’s permanently on the go.’ He rose from the floor and joined her at the window, where they perched against the sill. ‘My question stands. What are you thinking?’
The sound of footsteps crashing down the stairs alerted Victoria to her son’s arrival, and once again, the chance for an open discussion was thwarted. ‘All right?’ she said. �
��Anything up there I should know about?’
Her question was greeted with a shrug. Such a simple action that conveyed so much. Her genuine attempt to share the moment with Seth had been cast off like an old, unwanted coat. Since it was the fashion, Victoria shrugged too. She didn’t do it for effect, but it won an inquisitive glance from Seth. His hazelnut eyes softened.
He’d discarded the outer shell.
The amazing lightness in Victoria’s chest and her rapid pulse of excitement were making her high. Had she not anchored herself to the ledge, she would have floated away.
‘Do you need to know about the spider?’
The gravity of Seth’s tone grounded Victoria.
‘What spider?’
A worried expression embedded itself behind Seth’s eyes, and he looked at Frank. ‘Should I talk about the spider, Pops?’
‘To tell you the truth, lad, I’m not sure. Your mum’s not keen on our eight-legged friends.’
It was obvious to Victoria her father was struggling to maintain a straight face. His cheeks were twitching, and his eyebrows had a Mexican wave all of their own. ‘What’s so funny?’ she said, a swell of giggles building in her stomach. Whatever it was, it was contagious.
Frank cleared his throat. ‘You asked Seth if there’s anything upstairs you should know about. He doesn’t know what things you should know about. Until you tell him, he can’t answer. See? Easy.’ His smile broke free. ‘Let me soothe those wrinkles of confusion.’ He brushed a finger across Victoria’s forehead.
She gave his hand a gentle swipe. ‘It’s easy if you’re under six and over sixty. You’re clearly going through your second childhood.’
‘And loving it,’ Frank said, laughing. ‘Now, remember, Seth’s only four. Keep your question literal and ask him to show you the upstairs rooms.’
‘Be exact. Got it.’ It hadn’t occurred to Victoria to apply the same logic to a child as she did with computers. Feed in the correct information. She was good at that. ‘Will you show me the rooms upstairs, Seth?’ Nervous of his reply, she checked his eyes. To her absolute joy, the worry had vanished, and they’d remained unguarded.
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