Martha looked behind her without thinking and yelped as she took the next three steps too quickly, trying to catch up with herself. Her heart pounded and she came down hard on one foot and felt her balance go. She instinctively reached out to the banisters and felt Ruby slide down against her body. As she grabbed her, the pacifier fell from the baby’s mouth. Martha heard it bounce off the banister and hit the floor below. A sharp shot of fear ran through her. She hadn’t thought it possible to feel any more terror but it kept coming in waves. She gasped and steadied herself, her foot smarting from where she had come down hard, her temples pounding, her cheeks wet from tears.
The house was now completely silent, save for Ruby’s whimpers and her own ragged breath. It was pitch black in the hallway below her. She would have sold her soul for even the slightest hint of orange glare from a street lamp but, as it was, the dark almost appeared solid. Above her, she heard a small tap, followed by a scratch, then faster – the scrabbling had started again. Martha moaned, took a breath and focused her concentration on getting herself and Ruby down the stairs. She tried her best to move slowly and carefully, all the time petrified that her attacker would come shooting out of the darkness behind her. Or below her.
Ruby was starting to cry harder now, aware of the loss of her soother. Martha cursed it. She knew by the cries that she needed to find it or Ruby would grow hysterical and it was essential to keep her calm if they were to get out of this. The other four soothers were still in her room – and there was no way Martha was going back up for them. Terrified, she made her way awkwardly down the stairs, her pace frustratingly slow, constantly aware that there must still be someone – or more than one person – in her house. At last she felt the change in texture beneath her feet as she stepped from the bottom stair and felt the parquet tiling of the hallway.
Martha had her eyes open but the dark was such that she wondered were they actually closed and blinked to figure out which. It didn’t help that she had closed all of the doors downstairs leading onto the hallway before she went to bed, and blinds and curtains were firmly closed in each room. There was no chink of light from the front door – the intruder must have entered through a back way.
She was bathed in sweat again, despite the fact that the whole house was permeated with the cold that had woken her up initially. Her hands were getting slippery now and she struggled to hoist Ruby back onto her hip as the baby squirmed and kicked.
“Shush, darling,” whispered Martha, her voice trembling.
She sank to her knees by the bottom step, her hand reaching around in the darkness to try to find the dropped pacifier. Ruby struggled in her arms and cried angrily at the added inconvenience. With each movement of her hand Martha felt sure it would be there, under her fingers, that she would feel the plastic rim and then she could pick it up and run – run where? She decided that the study was the safest place – she could lock the door and decide on their next move. The soother remained out of reach each time and Martha grew angry every time her hand touched bare floor.
She felt blind as she groped around. She knew she was outside the dining-room door – could feel the saddle-board and the bottom of the closed door against her hand. Then she felt the door give way – it hadn’t been fully shut. It swung back gently and, terrified, she peered into the dark room. Nothing. No movement.
There was no light to spill from the room but in a strange way the darkness was brighter. Or perhaps Martha’s eyes were finally accustomed to it. Either way she made out the shape of the soother on the ground just beside her thigh. She gasped with relief and reached toward it, her fingers hovering above it, ready to pick it up.
Then she froze. From above the dining room she heard another noise that she’d heard before. One step, two steps, three steps . . . the heavy creaks that sounded like someone walking to the cot. Her stomach tightened and a cold sensation shot down her back as she grabbed the soother from the floor. She stood up rapidly, staggering a little as her balance went. Regaining it, she scurried as quickly as she could, panting and emitting small cries of panic, down to the study door where she fumbled to open the handle with her elbow and forced her way in, slamming the door behind her and managing to hold Ruby with one hand while she locked it with the other.
She felt no relief in the study, but paused for a moment and took a deep breath. First things first, she had to put Ruby down before she dropped her so she felt her way in the dark toward the small sofa that was set against the wall on her right-hand side. As carefully as she could, she lay Ruby down and sucked the soother herself for a moment to take away the floor germs before giving it, and her blanket, to the little girl. Ruby settled quickly, pulled her blanket to her face and snuggled Hugo beside her.
Martha knelt on the floor alongside the sofa and exhaled, realising that her chest hurt from holding her breath. She glanced around her. The room was small and it was easier in here to make out shapes in the dark. She was fearful of opening the blind, however, in case whoever had been in her house was outside. She needed to try as much as possible not to give her location away.
There was no phone in the study. She used her mobile phone always and, ironically, that was upstairs beside her bed in case of emergencies. Beside her torch in case of blackouts. Martha almost sniggered.
Making sure that Ruby was as near the back of the sofa as she could be, Martha tiptoed to the door and pressed her ear against it. It was completely silent in the hallway. Did that mean the intruders had gone? Or were they still lurking somewhere in the house? She reached out her hand and found the golf umbrella that she kept beside her desk. She slid it out and took it in both hands, leaning up against the door.
The house remained silent. Martha felt herself relax a little – it seemed that whoever had been up there was gone. She only had to lie low now and make it to her car at first light which couldn’t be far off. The car keys were in her handbag – finally a stroke of luck – which was slung over the back of her writing chair. This idea gave her hope and she allowed herself a moment to think, sliding down against the door and sitting on the floor.
How had someone got in, she wondered. The front door was definitely closed, and she was sure she had locked it before bedtime – her previous intruder ensured that she was vigilant about that. Was this the same one? She thought of the footsteps upstairs and the number of times she had heard them. Was it just school kids playing pranks or was it something more sinister? They must have got in through the back somewhere, maybe broke a window or forced the conservatory door – but why did they want to get in? If they were burglars, everything of value was downstairs – even her handbag. And why would a burglar go anywhere near the occupants of a house, still less grapple with one by the ankles? Was their intent rape? She shuddered. If so, why didn’t they go ahead? Or did they want to snatch Ruby? Then why hadn’t they just taken her? Why would one of them hold Martha down while the other made Ruby cry?
Blood rushed to Martha’s face. It hadn’t been Ruby crying. It was Martha herself who had made Ruby cry. The crying noise had come from the wall. But that was impossible. Wasn’t it? Martha froze as Lil Flynn’s words echoed in her ears . . . ‘There’s a little boy in the wall at Eyrie Farm . . .’
Chapter 21
July 12th
Martha woke with a jolt, completely unable to figure out where she was for a moment. Her back felt stretched and her neck ached where her head had fallen forward. She saw the golf umbrella in front of her on the ground and realised that it was the sound of it falling that had woken her. She was instantly alert, feeling guilty for having allowed herself to drop off. There had been intruders – what if they were still in the house? They could have forced the door behind her, broken the window, taken Ruby from her.
Sunlight flooded in through the slats of the wooden blinds and Martha realised that she must have been asleep for hours.
She glanced at the sofa where she had laid her daughter the previous night, to see her two little eyes open and
searching the walls inquisitively but without fear. The movement of chubby hands followed as they gently reached to her blanket and pulled it up to her chin. Her soother slipped out and she stuffed the end of the cellular blanket into her mouth in its place. Her legs kicked as she grew more alert, she made a little noise. Martha loved to watch her daughter wake, but not today. It meant that she was going to have to move, to leave the sanctuary of her study. They needed to leave, and Martha was suddenly terrified that whatever had been there the night before was still there, waiting for her.
What on earth had she been thinking, bringing Ruby down the stairs in the dark like that with an intruder in the house? Why hadn’t she just locked them both in safely upstairs? Of course – the noise coming from the wall. In the daylight Martha realised that it could only logically have been whatever was there all the time, whatever animal or bird was nesting in the chimney, perhaps disturbed in some way by the intruder. It couldn’t be anything else.
Martha blocked from her mind the thought that the intruder had seemingly disturbed something inside the blocked-up fireplace, while not disturbing her daughter outside it in her room. She didn’t want to think about that.
She stood slowly, sliding back up the door the way she had slid down. Her back throbbed as she stood and she gave a little cry as her knees clicked loudly. Ruby turned at the noise and beamed immediately at her mother, as though on a great adventure. Martha smiled back weakly – her heart filled with love for her daughter and also terror at how close she had come to not being able to protect her. That was her worst nightmare come true.
“Hello, petal,” she whispered gently and dared to step away from the door. She paused. Nothing burst through or rattled the handle. Martha walked slowly and stiffly across the room and knelt to give her daughter a kiss. She stroked her face, held the chubby fingers that stretched out to grab her hair and kissed the little open mouth over and over. How on earth could she keep her safe?
A familiar smell made Martha wrinkle her nose and she leaned in to check more closely. Sure enough, it seemed that Ruby had made the decision for them to leave the room. “Pooh!” whispered Martha and Ruby giggled. Martha lifted her gently into her arms and pushed herself upwards, the weight of the baby causing a drag on her back and making her wince.
Martha held her breath as she turned the key of the study. She gingerly pulled the door toward her and peered out into the hallway. It was completely empty, the pushchair left by the front door, folded and propped against the wall. The dining-room door was open, as she had left it, and all the other doors were still firmly closed.
She hesitated, then took the key from the lock and slid it into the pocket of her pyjama bottoms for safe keeping. Squatting down, she picked up the golf umbrella. She knew it would be useless as a means of defence, particularly with a seven-month-old baby in her other arm but it gave her some comfort.
The hallway seemed so much smaller and straightforward in the light of day – last night it had felt cavernous, full of hidden nooks and crannies where anyone might hide. She assumed it must be about seven o’clock, judging by the strength of the sunlight coming in through closed blinds. She felt much braver being able to see at least and she cautiously crept upwards, her bare feet padding silently, while Ruby played with a strand of her hair. She stopped and peered upwards. The landing appeared to be empty. She made her way slowly up the rest of the stairs – her own room was also empty but she shivered as she saw in daylight the evidence of the night’s events. Her duvet was flung aside and the undersheet was pulled halfway down the bed where she had pulled it with her as she was dragged. She stepped into the room and lay Ruby down on the bed and then tugged the sheet back upward and smoothed it down before replacing her pillow at the top of the bed. She didn’t want to have to be reminded of the night before any more than she had to.
Ruby, safe in the middle of the bed, was starting to grizzle with both hunger and the sensation of the soiled nappy. Martha did a quick sweep of the room – under the bed, in the wardrobe, behind the curtains and door – to make sure it was empty –and then decided it was safe to leave Ruby to go across the landing.
Emboldened by the daylight, she padded across the room and tried to think logically. The chances of someone still being in the house were slim. Why would they stay silently lurking all those hours?
Armed with the golf umbrella she did a quick check of the bathroom, the boxroom, the linen cupboard – nothing. There was only Ruby’s room remaining. Her heart began to pound again. She was afraid also of disturbing again whatever had made that terrible noise last night – that was the last thing she wanted to hear.
Martha raised the golf umbrella and gently pushed the door open as wide as she could. She knew that she had left it wide open last night when she had fled but there were those footsteps – undeniably footsteps this time.
The room was as dark as it had been in the middle of the night, the moons and stars still circling. Martha crossed quickly to the window and pulled up the blackout blind, allowing sunlight to flood in. Still she felt no relief. She could see no one in the room but still felt uneasy. She whipped her head around, sure that there was someone at the door, watching her. Nothing.
It struck Martha as strange that there was no disruption in the room – the little pile of soothers was still on the changing unit, the cot untouched other than the creases where Ruby had lain the night before. It disturbed her to see that the room appeared completely as though no one had been in there, but there had been – had to have been. She felt her panic return – she didn’t know why, there was clearly no one there but all the same she moved as quickly as she could to gather clothes, nappies, talc and cream as well as the soothers and a couple of toys. She balanced the lot on the changing mat and gathered it up in her arms to run across the corridor. Once back in her own room she dumped it all on her bed and ran back a second time, this time giving the baby’s room a final appraisal and then pulling the door tight behind her.
Martha changed and dressed Ruby quickly, then herself in jeans, trainers, a T-shirt and a hoodie top. Then she sat down beside an increasingly cranky Ruby for a moment. She needed a plan. Her primary urge was to get out of the house. She knew it was daylight and that she was probably safe but she still felt a desperate urge to get out of there and speak to another human being face to face. She’d have to go to the police, of course. She could ring them, but then they’d tell her to wait for them there which she didn’t want to do. Best to drive to the police station at Bickford and talk to someone there.
Ruby grew increasingly agitated beside her. Martha picked her up. “Right then, Ruby-Doo, come on with Mum – we’re going to have an adventure in the car!” Her gentle tone did nothing to soothe the baby – in fact it had the complete opposite effect and Ruby suddenly opened her mouth wide and bawled. It dawned on Martha that she was going to have to feed her. She’d been so intent on getting them prepared to leave that it hadn’t occurred to her to do it. She felt uneasy, but she knew she’d have to stay in the house long enough to get her child fed.
Martha picked the screaming Ruby up, took her phone from her bedside table and hurried downstairs. She walked along the hallway and reached the door to the kitchen, stopping as she did. Surely if the intruder were in there she’d know about it by now? Her blood ran cold for a moment but she pushed the kitchen door open and hurried in, closing it behind her.
The kitchen was bright and glowing warm in the sunshine as she walked in and Martha was comforted by the bright surroundings but still aware that she had to hurry to get out of there. She slid Ruby into her high chair and placed a plastic toy in her hand which alleviated the screeching for a moment, but it was clear that there would be no let up until she was fed. Martha hurriedly busied herself preparing porridge and fruit and preparing a bag with further food for later in the day. She had thought no further than going to the police in Bickford but she didn’t know how long that would take and better to be safe than sorry with a hungry bab
y. Besides which, completing the normal, everyday chore would calm her.
A thought struck her. The conservatory door. Had that been the means of entry for the intruders the previous night? It must have been. She hurried across the kitchen and down the step into the sunroom, expecting to feel a cool morning breeze greet her from the open door. But it was closed. She went to it and checked. It was locked.
Ruby’s wails redoubled and Martha rushed back to the kitchen, checking that the conservatory key was in its usual place on the hook inside the kitchen door as she went.
Tears were streaming down her daughter’s face. “I’m so sorry, Ruby,” she said and made shushing noises as she slid the high chair over to the kitchen table, making a space for it between the two chairs already there, shunting one out of the way. She fetched the bottle and food, set it up on the table to keep it clear of little hands and sat down herself in the chair beside Ruby as she took the lid off the bottle and slid it into her mouth. Ruby began to suck hungrily, her eyes closed.
After a few moments Martha took the bottle from her mouth, hoping that the edge was off her hunger, and held out a spoonful of porridge and fruit. Ruby usually responded like a little bird, her mouth wide open, but this morning her face wrinkled in disgust and she turned her head away as far as she could from the proffered spoon and once again burst into tears. “Okay, okay,” said Martha and returned the bottle to her mouth.
Martha looked at the clock – almost eight in the morning. They’d slept longer than she’d thought. She turned back to Ruby and tried again with the spoon, with the same reaction. “Oh, Ruby,” said Martha, exasperated and panicky. “Ruby Doo, you have to eat your porridge if you want to grow up to be big and strong!” She was almost reluctant to speak just in case her voice alerted someone to their presence. She offered Ruby the bottle again and she drank eagerly, ignoring her mother and focusing entirely on the formula.
The Dead Summer Page 13