by Wells, J
“B-b-b-but you never asked...” Heather stammered sheepishly.
Scowling, he replied, “What will people think?”
An awkward silence fell between them as they sat in the hot tub like strangers.
“Well, I suppose you’ve left me no choice, have you? I’ll wait, I’ll be patient, until you’re eighteen, that is. I’ll wait because you’re special, my girl. Now go home, Heather, and stop wasting my time. I can’t deal with you tonight.”
As she got up to get out of the hot tub, Ruben grabbed her arm, jolting her towards him.
“Don’t ever pull a stunt like this again,” he snarled between gritted teeth.
Shocked, red-eyed and confused, she ran into the house, dripping wet and uncomfortable. She shivered, redressing as quickly as she could before heading for her car. She didn’t stop to look back, she couldn’t, but she knew things would be better in the morning; after a good night’s sleep they always were. Still wet, she dithered as she drove home, trying to retrace their earlier journey. After a few detours, her sense of direction kicked in, proving fairly accurate, and within an hour she passed over the cattle grid leading back to the manor.
She pulled up, breathing a sigh of relief. Was that her phone vibrating? She opened the glove compartment. A message from Ruben. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to read it after the night she’d had, though curiosity prevailed and, taking a deep breath and wiping her tear-stained face, she pressed the keypad. Soz about tonight, girl, but what I want I usually get. Ea’s to ur 18th. P.S. you’re one hot b...
“Typical, missing text,” she cursed, but it didn’t take much for her to fathom what he had meant.
Apart from a florescent security light, which worked on a timer system, Freesdon Manor lay in complete darkness. Heather was still shivering as she locked her car, deciding that due to her lateness she’d take the main entrance on the off chance that either of her parents were still awake and might overhear her. She felt totally at odds with herself and the evening’s events, as contradictory thoughts of Ruben were re-enacted over and over in her mind. The last thing she felt like dealing with at the moment was an inquisition, and she decided she’d spend the remainder of the night in one of the manor’s refurbs. All the rooms to be viewed by the public had undergone extensive historical makeovers to the highest specifications, and almost all now stood in their oldie-worldy attire, like time had thrown them back a couple of centuries.
She hurried up the steps, opened the front door and stepped into the hallway. She felt around for the small mahogany table to her left, where her dad always left a box of Swan Vesta matches for emergencies. The manor was lit only by candlelight, either chandeliers or free-standing candelabras. Heather’s eyes slowly grew accustomed to the darkness and she located one of the lights. She struck a match and carefully lit three of its four candles. With heavy legs and an addled mind, she dragged her tired body up the nearest of the two grand staircases, carrying the candle.
On reaching the top, a shard of light manifested itself, orb-like in appearance and growing ever more intense. She watched in horror, frozen to the spot. A deathly chill hung in the air, and she wrapped her arms around herself, a cold awkward shiver penetrating through to her spine. As the orb grew nearer, it circled her in sweeping motions, as if to intimidate her. Then it paused, before opening like an exotic fan. The orb began its descent, masking the staircase with its iridescent glow, then proceeding to light up the hallway before continuing through an open arched doorway.
Ghostly sounds rose, echoing through the lower floor of Freesdon Manor. Sweet music flowed like fingers running across the ivory keys of a piano. Muffled voices and vague laughter filled the air, and Heather saw darkened silhouettes moving in time to the music, dancing in pairs to a fading melody, their ghostly forms eerily brushing the floor. Then a momentary pause as the light withdrew and began its sinister retreat back up the stairwell, a multitude of apparitions fading away to once again leave the lower floor in complete darkness.
Unable to move and almost too scared to breathe, Heather stood rigid, in a cold sweat, the light holding its own inhabitants, their form taking on the blurred image of two figures hand in hand. She felt an unbearable coldness, like nothing she had ever felt before, almost like an out-of-body experience. The figures didn’t pause, or veer to one side or another, but travelled through her body as if she wasn’t there.
“Mum, help me!” she screamed, reaching for the banister to steady herself, her eyes darting around in disbelief.
What were they? Where have they gone? she thought to herself.
Engulfed by the light, she looked down in panic, only to be met by another shocking unreality. For only a second, in the blink of an eye, her body was clad in an ivory ballgown and her concentration lapsed momentarily, unable to cope with what was happening. Where the light evaporated and took its leave, she really had no idea, but once again she stood alone on the vast landing. Had she been dreaming, or was it just Freesdon Manor’s nightly shadows playing tricks on her mind?
“Ballgown?” She laughed to herself, realising she was still dressed in her damp blue maxi dress. “Get a grip, Heather,” she muttered, though still visibly shaken, trying to convince herself that she had lost her sanity momentarily.
Turning round suddenly, she heard the loud tick coming from the antique grandfather clock, which seemed to intensify with each simultaneous movement of its pendulum. How strange, she thought as she glanced up at its ornate Roman numerals, decoratively etched around its large face. Both hands rested on the number one. Suddenly, the clock hands began to move slowly, in reverse. The nightmare had started again, a retake she wasn’t prepared to play a part in. Heart pounding, she raced to a large oaken door of one of the bedrooms, but due to her haste, the candles lost their light, leaving only the smell of burning and a smoke trail as she fumbled around in the darkness. Once inside, she raced blindly to the middle of the room, located the bed and jumped on top, pulling the covers tightly over her head; a soft candlewick her safe haven.
Voices again, cries and laughter entwining in the air around her, yet she was sure there was no one but her in the room. The movements were subtle but definitely present as the bed rocked one way and then the other. There was an intensity in the air as the groans and cries grew louder, like two invisible souls making love in her presence. The bed became stationary again. Although the voices were muffled, she could clearly hear that one was a man and one a woman, but try as she might, she couldn’t quite make out any words spoken between them. Then a door slammed, and the room fell silent.
The silence only lasted a short while, and soon echoing footsteps could be heard, slowly at first, then quickening, pacing back and forth around the room, getting closer. Heather felt a presence beside her, and her nostrils filled with a fragrance that was neither soft nor pretty, but masculine. She knew then that she wasn’t alone. Going out of her mind, she froze, holding her breath, in fear of her life. Petrified, she lay still for what seemed like hours, but as time passed with no more disturbing phenomena, her curiosity became too much to bear, and building up her courage she peered out from the safety of the covers.
There was a definite warmth in the room, and she realised the sun was rising, greeting her with its light. Relieved, Heather sat up, trying to make sense of everything, and as she did so she could make out the faint outline of a face moulded into the underside of the pillow lying beside her. She reached over in disbelief. Then there was a gunshot, loud and clear, no mistake. She held her hands to her ears and watched as feathers flew and danced in the air before floating down to settle. Once again, her eyes were drawn to the pillow, and she could now see straight through it, through a perfect bullet hole... What was really going on in this house? There must be a logical explanation, but she didn’t wait around long enough to find out.
Chapter Three
The Morning after the Night Before
Heather woke up in her own bed with an immense sigh of relief, still feeling t
ired due to a lack of sleep following the unexplainable happenings of only a few hours ago, and still wearing her damp dress. She lay for a moment, gathering her thoughts. The heady aroma of percolating coffee oozed between the cracks of her bedroom door. A small knock came, and in walked her mum, steaming coffee in one hand, a plate with two slices of toast in the other.
Sitting on the side of her bed and passing her the mug of coffee, her mother asked, “It was sun-up when I heard you crawl in this morning. Been anywhere nice, Heather?”
“Nowhere special,” Heather answered nonchalantly between sips. “Just that small pub in the village, you know, the Sheep Inn. Met up with a work colleague and then went back to his for drinks, got talking and time just ran away with me, ya know how it does.”
Her mum listened in silence.
“Well, I’m nearly eighteen. And I didn’t want to wake you, so I just went straight to bed.”
“Say no more,” her mother interrupted. “I won’t tell ya father...” She winked and placed the plate on the bedside table, before slipping from the room.
Heather was far too tired to even begin to put her mother straight; anyhow, she seemed too wrapped up in her own life at the moment, and Heather began to wonder if she really cared. She never really listened, and just spent her life butting in and talking over everyone she came across. Heather took a bite of toast. Despite her funny ways, there was still no one quite like her mum.
As for her strange experiences during the night, Heather thought it best to keep those to herself, at least for the time being. Her parents would probably only put it down to nightmares anyway. One thing was for sure; she wouldn’t be sleeping in the main house again, not if she had anything to do with it.
Locating her mobile phone wrapped up in the quilt, she checked the time. Twelve o’clock? It never is! Normally up with the lark, she was disappointed she’d lost the whole morning. She noticed she had five missed calls and three text messages. Strange, she thought; usually she’d be lucky to get that many in a week. She opened her inbox and looked at the senders: Ruben, Ruben, Ruben again...
The first had been sent at 9.04 a.m. and read: Good morning, princess, lying in bed thinking about you. How’s my girl? X. The second message, sent at 9.37 a.m., read: Lying in the hot tub thinking of you, counting down the days till your 18th. I want you here ... any chance? Luv you already. Text me xxx
Short, but sweet. Heather smiled, butterflies convulsing in her stomach. She could feel herself falling for Ruben big time. She’d spent so much of her young life on her own, wandering the grounds, with only herself for company, but for the first time in a long while she felt wanted. Part of her wished she had stayed the night after all, and could be there with him now. Excitedly she opened the final message sent at 11.33 a.m.: Thanx for text! Phone’s off now! Catch ya later.
Heather frowned, taken aback by his abruptness, the switch of character. She didn’t think unpredictability was a nice trait, yet she was intrigued. Panicking, she began texting back, a mishmash of spelling mistakes as she wrote a long line of apologies followed by: I can’t wait to see you xxxx. She sat up in bed and stared at the screen for a good ten minutes, but the reply she longed for never came.
Despondent, she got out of bed, dropped her dress in the washing basket, before showering in her compact en suite, re-emerging fifteen minutes later and putting on a pair of black three-quarters and a strappy peach-coloured top. She quickly towel-dried her hair and ran a comb through it.
As she entered the kitchen, she saw her mum with her back to her, busy making lunch, and her dad sitting by the fireplace in the dining room, lost in the sports pages of the Gazette, his favourite paper.
“Afternoon!” he shouted, looking up as she hurried past. “What about this boyfriend I’ve been hearing about, then? Your mum tells me you spent the night with him.”
Her mother turned, catching Heather’s glare. Not one for confrontation, she looked down, fidgeting uncomfortably, and then left the sandwiches she was preparing and started to load the dishwasher.
“We do like to know who you’re keeping company with, and that you’re home safely, you know. After all, we are only your parents,” her father said in a sarcastic tone. “The business isn’t even up and running yet,” he continued, “and we want to give the right impression to folk round here, don’t we?”
“Is that all you care about, how you look and what people think?” Heather had just about taken all she could, and was fuming. “To start with, I slept with no one! I stayed in the main house last night so as not to disturb you and mum; you can check the room for yourself if you don’t believe me. And for your information, I was out with Ruben, my boyfriend! It wasn’t late either, I was back before twelve thirty.” That was a little white lie, but a few minutes were neither here nor there in her opinion.
Her father’s expression softened a little. “Wine shop Ruben? My manager?” he questioned further.
“Well, I don’t know another one!” she snapped.
“In that case, why didn’t you tell your mother? He’s a good lad that one, I give you top marks for your choice. Invite him round for dinner, tonight if you like. His dad has many connections, and not just in these parts; it could be a great help, if you get my drift.”
He didn’t elaborate, and seconds later was once again engrossed in his paper.
After Ruben’s mixed messages, her mum’s lack of tact and her dad’s selfish reaction, Heather needed space, and time on her own to think. Voices were crying out inside her head. Why weren’t her parents angry? Why didn’t they seem to care? And the events of last night were still playing on her mind.
She wandered into the gardens and passed the conservatory extension, now a beautiful tearoom, decorated in the same old-fashioned style as the house, with pull-down blinds at each of the windows to dull the heat of the day. The vegetable gardens were thriving, and the borders lay in full bloom. She admired the bouquet of colours as she walked by, and as she passed the strawberry patch, she picked a couple of the ripest and popped them into her mouth. They were the sweetest, juiciest strawberries she’d ever tasted, but then home-grown produce always had one up on the supermarkets.
It was another warm, sunny afternoon, and Heather was desperate for some peace and quiet. Without a breath of air, the lake held no ripples, and as she stared into its clear waters, her perfect reflection stared back.
“Is all this really worth it?” she questioned.
The family life that Freesdon Manor was supposed to offer them had just turned into a money-making obsession, and the funny thing was, she was the only one who could see it. Her parents just carried on, totally oblivious, sometimes even to her existence, and she’d never felt so alone.
Walking to the middle of the bridge, she stood for a while, breathing deeply and taking in the warm fragrant air. She looked out across the lake, emptying her mind, and an inner peace descended upon her. She finally felt at one with herself.
“Good day, Miss Richardson.”
Heather jolted from her thoughts as a dark-haired man approached her. His voice, his face sparked some kind of recognition, but it was just a hazy memory. As she looked at him more closely, she suddenly saw herself as a thirteen-year-old girl, the day they arrived at the manor. He was the odd-looking boy she had met only once, and had never seen or thought about since.
“Hello, Frankie,” she said, her mind wandering back to the day she first met him...
~•••~
The metallic grey four-by-four turned off the A-road that Heather felt had gone on forever. The scenery changed in an instant upon entering a country lane, and all she could hear was the excitement in her mother and father’s voices. A new life in the Devonshire countryside was a far cry from London, the city she had grown up in and loved, having become accustomed to the way of life there. She was missing her friends already, and the thought of home tutoring didn’t excite her in the slightest. She would even miss the wrath of the teachers when she wasn’t behaving in
class. All she could see was green hedgerow after hedgerow, tree after tree, with the odd cow and sheep dotted around, breaking the monotony.
“You might be excited, but I’m not!”
The car fell silent. Heather’s mum turned slightly, loosening her seatbelt.
“It’ll be a much better life for all of us, just you wait and see.”
“Well, I’m going to hate it, and it’s all your fault, both of you. This isn’t what I want, it’ll never be what I want!”
“Heather, pack it in! How could you possibly know what you want at thirteen? Quiet now, you’re upsetting your mother,” her father scolded, his eyes holding hers in the rear-view mirror.
“That’s it, my life’s over! All I’ve got is God knows how many years of boredom ahead of me.”
She didn’t give her dad a chance to chastise her further, and tore open the zip of her royal-blue duffel bag that contained her most precious possessions. Pulling out her iPod, she pushed the earphones into her ears angrily. The mood in the car had taken a sudden nosedive, and they travelled for the rest of the journey in complete silence.
Heather was a typical teenager, with her tantrums and mood swings. Her beauty was already blossoming beyond her years, with a pretty elfin-like face framed by a shock of autumn-brown hair, thick in texture and falling a few inches past her shoulders. Her eyes were the lightest of blues, and her looks almost picture perfect, but the petulant frown she wore overshadowed the artistry of her features. She’d loved nice clothes and dressing up for as long as she could remember, and had enjoyed parading round in her mum’s high heels from an early age, but on this occasion comfort was more important. So, just for the journey, she’d chosen a pair of navy-blue tracksuit bottoms, a white vest top and a pair of her oldest trainers that she’d never got round to throwing out.
Time passed quickly, and soon she felt the car begin to slow down as they passed over a cattle grid and through an open iron gate. She sat up in the back seat, trying not to make it too obvious that she was interested. The hedgerow and fields that had bored her previously had transformed into lush landscaped gardens, tended by men in scruffy jeans or old khaki dungarees. The flowered borders were alive with every colour imaginable, crying out for admiration. Architectural statues of horses rearing on their hind legs, and gargoyles like watchtowers, their faces uninviting, surveyed their surroundings. Grand patio areas ran between perfectly shaped hedges, some donning rectangular bases, finished off perfectly with a round pom-pom effect, positioned in perfect lines like soldiers on parade. Heather had never seen a garden quite like this. A small lawn with a path down the middle was as good as it got in London, and that was if you were lucky.