by Mark Edwards
Suzi was staring into space. ‘Maybe that’s what Karen heard,’ she said. ‘The little girl’s ghost.’
They both looked at Ursula, as if she might know the answer. She was loving it. Before I could interject, she said, ‘It’s possible. Spirits can become trapped in this realm . . . It could be that she is kept here by her mother’s pain, unable to enter Heaven.’
‘Oh my God,’ I said to Max and Suzi. ‘Do you really believe all this?’
‘No, of course not,’ Max said. ‘Sorry, Ursula.’
‘This whole thing is making me sick,’ I said. ‘Can you imagine what Julia’s been through? Watching her husband drown? Not knowing what happened to Lily? That’s why—’ I stopped myself in the nick of time.
‘Why what?’ Max asked.
‘Nothing. But please, can we stop talking about ghosts and spirits?’
‘Want to save it for your books, eh? I understand.’ Max’s smile was condescending.
I stood up and my head span. I must have had more to drink than I realised. ‘I’m going to bed,’ I announced.
‘Watch out for ghosts and ghoulies,’ Max laughed as I exited the room.
I showed him my middle finger.
I went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. When I came out, I could hear Ursula talking, loud and indiscreet.
‘It is possible,’ she said. ‘Perhaps Lily’s spirit is with us. And maybe she doesn’t want us here. She wants to be alone with her mother.’
Chapter 21
I jerked awake. It was pitch-black in the room, the kind of darkness you never get in cities, and my heart was pounding as if I’d awoken from a nightmare I couldn’t remember. I squinted into the blackness, unable to see anything except spots of colour, indeterminate shapes shifting and blurring. But I was convinced someone else was in the room.
‘Hello?’ I said, my voice louder than I’d intended.
Someone was breathing on the far side of the bedroom. I was sure of it. I could smell something too. Dirt, or sweat. Fear.
I groped for my phone, which I was certain I’d left on the bedside table. I couldn’t find it. I tried to locate the lamp, blind in the utter darkness. Finally, my fingers found the plastic switch and I pressed it.
Nothing happened.
For a moment, I was paralysed, willing my useless eyes to adjust. The air around me was dark grey now. And I was certain there was a darker shape across the room.
A person. Watching me.
The bedroom door opened with a click. Oh Jesus, there was someone there. Immediately, it closed again.
I jumped out of bed, found the light switch on the wall. The sudden light dazzled me, burning my retinas. Recovering, I stared at the door. Was the intruder still there, on the other side? I hadn’t heard footsteps moving away. I was dressed in nothing but my underwear. I pulled a T-shirt over my head and opened the door.
The hallway was illuminated by watery moonlight that crept through the window at the far end. There was no one in sight. I hesitated. Which way had they gone? I stood between the two staircases, made a choice and headed down.
A clattering came from the kitchen. I froze for a minute. Did I need a weapon? There was a poker by the fireplace in the Thomas Room. I could go in there, grab that, then . . .
Before I could make my mind up, someone came out of the kitchen.
Suzi. She gasped, slapping a hand against her chest. ‘Lucas. What are you doing? You nearly scared me to death.’
She was fully dressed, holding a mug of tea or coffee in her other hand. Some of it had sloshed over the edge of the mug when she’d seen me. She noticed what had happened and hurried back into the kitchen, returning with a cloth.
‘What are you doing up?’ I asked.
‘I haven’t been to sleep yet,’ she said. ‘And no, before you ask, I wasn’t with Max.’
‘It’s none of my business.’
‘True. Anyway, I was working. What are you doing up?’
I dodged the question. ‘Did you see anyone come down here?’
‘No. Although I might not have heard them because the kettle was boiling right next to me. Why?’
‘Hang on.’ I ran back up the stairs, and continued to the next floor. I checked both ends of the hallway, even poking my head into the broom closet. I glanced up at the attic. There was no way someone could have got up there without making a great commotion getting the ladder down. Whoever it was had vanished. They must have snuck out the front door and would be long gone now.
I went back to the ground floor and joined Suzi in the kitchen.
‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on?’ she asked. ‘Like why you’re walking around in your boxer shorts?’
‘There was someone in my room.’
Her eyes widened. ‘What? Are you sure?’
‘My door opened and closed. I heard them leave the room.’
‘Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?’
‘I’m certain.’
She looked at me sceptically and I caught sight of my reflection in the window. My hair was sticking up in a mad-professor style. I could smell the alcohol on my breath too.
‘You were pretty het up when you went to bed,’ she said. ‘That happens to me sometimes. If I go to bed angry or upset I have bad dreams.’
‘It felt real,’ I insisted.
‘Well . . . is there anything missing from your room?’ she asked.
I went upstairs, Suzi following, and entered my room. Had anything gone? My laptop was still on the desk, my notebook beside it.
‘I had a pen, right here,’ I said.
‘I mislay pens all the time,’ Suzi said.
‘No, you don’t understand. This was a special pen. I always know exactly where it is.’
Priya had given it to me for my birthday, shortly before I started to make notes for Sweetmeat. It was the last thing she ever gave me. It wasn’t hugely expensive, but it was valuable to me, and not just because she had given it to me. I’d used it to rough out the outline of my breakout book. I might pride myself on being a rationalist but I was superstitious about this pen. It was my equivalent of Samson’s hair. The thought of losing it made me go cold.
‘Hang on,’ I said, noticing the absence of something else. ‘Where’s my phone?’
It wasn’t on the bedside table. I checked between the table and the bed. It wasn’t there. I looked in the pocket of my jeans, where I sometimes left it. I pulled the quilt off and lifted the pillows. I was convinced I was going to find it, and that Suzi would think I’d imagined the whole thing. But the phone was nowhere to be seen. I half pulled the room apart, searching for it and the pen.
‘See,’ I said. ‘They’ve gone. Pen and phone. Someone’s taken them. Now do you believe me?’
She scanned the room, very slowly, and wrapped her arms around herself. ‘I believe you,’ she said with the smallest shudder in her voice. ‘But who?’
‘I don’t know.’
Her eyes widened. ‘What if Ursula’s right?’
I scoffed. ‘What? You think a ghost took my stuff?’
She sat on my bed. It was 3 a.m. The world outside was silent. I’d woken up convinced someone was in my room, after spending the evening talking to someone about spirits and ghosts. Over the past couple of weeks I had heard nocturnal singing from the room next door, birthday candles had extinguished themselves, Karen had fled this place after hearing a voice threatening her, and Suzi had experienced someone trying to open her door. It was hard to remain wholly rational.
‘I must admit,’ Suzi said, ‘I’m feeling pretty freaked out right now.’
‘Listen. Ghosts don’t steal people’s phones.’ I sat beside her on the bed. ‘Also, why would a spirit need to open and close the door? They’d just drift right through it, wouldn’t they?’
That elicited a smile. ‘True. It’s just . . . everything Ursula says, about spirit guides and Heaven. Wouldn’t it be amazing if it was true? It’s like . . . if Julia believed in Heaven, maybe she
would be able to accept that Lily isn’t coming back.’
The adrenaline drained from my system and I yawned.
‘I should let you sleep,’ Suzi said.
‘I don’t think I’ll sleep now.’
She looked at me. ‘I can stay if you want.’ Hurriedly, she added, ‘I mean, to keep you company.’
‘It’s okay,’ I said, not sure if I was relieved or disappointed that she wasn’t offering to sleep with me. This was a very confusing night. ‘I might try to get some writing done. I should take advantage of the mood.’
‘Sure.’ She got up. Hesitated. ‘I was thinking. Maybe we should ask Ursula to talk to Julia. It might comfort her.’
‘I really don’t think so. She’s never going to accept that Lily is dead. Not unless she sees proof.’
Suzi said goodnight and left me alone in the silence. I lay down, intending to rest my eyes for a minute before starting work.
Sunlight dragged me from sleep. Groggy and hung over, I got dressed and headed outside, hoping a kick of cold air might make me feel more human.
Ursula was in the front garden, by the fence that Rhodri had fixed, wearing an expensive-looking red coat. She saw me and waved me over, smiling broadly. It was a bright, mild morning. Low clouds hung over the distant mountains, and the trees in Julia’s garden were alive with blossom. Birds passed overhead, returning from hotter climes. Apart from their calls, a hush hung over the land.
‘Such a wonderful place, isn’t it?’ Ursula said. She was, I noticed, almost shaking, giving off the air of someone who’d just won the lottery. ‘I knew it . . . I knew if I came somewhere quiet, away from the city . . .’
‘Sorry, you’ve lost me,’ I said.
Her eyes shone. ‘Last night. Phoebe spoke to me. Oh, it was so wonderful to hear her again! I thought I’d lost my gift, that I was being punished for sharing the secret with the world and benefitting materially from it.’ She grabbed my wrist. ‘But she’s back. She’s back!’
For a moment I thought she was about to fall to her knees and raise her face to the sky, to give thanks. Despite my cynicism about such things, her excitement was contagious.
But then she said, ‘Phoebe told me about you, Lucas. About your loss.’
I stared at her.
‘You deserve to be happy, and maybe you could make Julia happy too.’
‘How do you know about . . . ?’ I stopped myself. Perhaps she didn’t really know anything, but was fishing, making guesses like those self-proclaimed clairvoyants who make broad statements and convince their victims they have real insight.
Then again, she might have found a story about Priya online. I had forbidden my publicist from telling anyone about my girlfriend’s death because I didn’t want it to look like I was capitalising on tragedy. I’d worried it might leak, that a journalist would find out and write a story: TRAGIC PAST OF BESTSELLING AUTHOR. But, fortunately, the press weren’t interested in authors and books, not unless your name was J. K. Rowling. The only explanation, if she wasn’t guessing, was that she’d called her agent or publisher and asked about me.
It made me feel violated.
‘I don’t have time for this,’ I said.
I half-jogged back to the house, Ursula’s words ringing in my ears. Suddenly, I had a bad feeling about her coming here. I muttered a curse to myself as I entered the kitchen.
‘Are you all right?’
It was Julia. She was seated at the breakfast bar, writing in a black ledger. I couldn’t think of a suitable response. I didn’t want to worry her by telling her about my nocturnal intruder. And I definitely didn’t want to recount my conversation with Ursula.
She filled the silence. ‘You seem a bit out of it.’
‘Do I? I didn’t sleep well, and I can’t find my phone. I feel lost without it.’
‘I’m sure it will turn up.’ She carried on making notes for a minute, then said, ‘I saw you in the garden, talking to Ursula. I told you she was a character.’
‘That’s one way of putting it.’
‘You don’t like her?’
I hesitated before saying, ‘I felt sorry for her at first. But now I think . . . well, I think she’s dangerous.’
Julia put down her pen, which I squinted at to check it wasn’t mine. ‘That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?’
‘No. She—’
‘Hang on, she’s coming.’
Ursula entered the kitchen. ‘Has the kettle just boiled? I could murder a chamomile.’
Julia smiled at my grimace. ‘Coming right up.’ She reached for a box of herbal teabags. ‘I’ve got some biscuits here somewhere. Shortbread.’ She opened a cupboard and frowned. ‘That’s weird.’
‘Can’t you find them?’
‘No. They were definitely here yesterday. Maybe one of the guests took them.’ She tutted. ‘Someone’s been helping themselves to my tampons out of the bathroom too.’ She picked the teabags up again.
I was about to tell Julia about Karen’s missing sandwich when Ursula said, ‘I just saw a little girl outside.’
Julia dropped the box of teabags. They scattered over the counter. ‘What did you say?’ All the colour had drained from her face.
Ursula gestured towards the window. ‘There was a little girl, just beyond that field beside the house, on the edge of the woods.’
‘How old was she?’ Julia said. ‘What did she look like?’
‘Well, my eyesight isn’t what it used to be . . .’
‘Tell me!’
‘About ten, I think. Brown hair. Skinny as a pole.’
Julia dashed out of the kitchen and through the front door. Ursula stared after her, then turned to me.
‘What the hell are you up to?’ I demanded.
‘I’m not up to anything, dear. Simply reporting what I saw.’
I shook my head, then followed Julia out the door. I found her standing by the fence at the far end of the garden, gazing across the field of overgrown grass.
‘Lily was always searching for Chesney in this field,’ she said. ‘Michael told her something about there being rabbits here – not that I’ve ever seen one – and Lily became convinced it was Chesney’s hunting ground.’
‘This is what I mean about Ursula being dangerous,’ I said. ‘She’s trying to fill your head with nonsense about spirits and apparitions.’
Julia hoisted herself onto the fence, swinging a leg over.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m going to look in the woods.’
‘Julia . . .’
She turned to me, and her expression told me there was no point arguing. ‘What if she saw Lily? What if she’s out there . . . too scared, for whatever reason, to come to the house? Or maybe she was about to come back and Ursula frightened her off?’
She was over the fence now, making her way through the grass towards the line of trees. I sighed and climbed after her. The grass clutched at my ankles and the ground squelched, still wet from all the rain that had fallen the previous week.
I caught up with Julia, who stood on a little path just inside the wood. ‘Lily!’ she called. ‘Lily? Are you there? Sweetheart, it’s me, it’s Mummy.’
‘Julia, there’s no one here,’ I said. ‘It’s Ursula. She’s trying to mess with your head. You should tell her to leave right now.’
She wasn’t listening. She stared into the trees, fresh tears on her cheeks. I was furious with Ursula. What was she playing at?
‘She was here,’ Julia said, her voice thick with distress. ‘I can feel it. I can feel her.’ And then she smiled. The hope in her eyes broke my heart. ‘She’s alive, Lucas. She’s really alive.’
She embraced me, her face against my chest, hot tears soaking through my shirt. I held her and let her cry for a minute until she pulled away, wiping her cheeks with her sleeves.
‘Oh God, I’m such a state, I’m so embarrassing,’ she said.
What was I supposed to do? Insist that Ursula had been lying? Tell her Lily had to be dea
d, that there was no way she could be standing here watching the house? I couldn’t do it.
‘She must be hungry,’ Julia said. ‘I should bring some food, leave it here. Some warm clothes too. And a note, telling her not to be afraid. Yes. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.’
She ran out of the woods, back into the field and towards the house.
Looking at the trees all around me I made a silent vow. If I couldn’t persuade Julia to kick Ursula out, I had to do what I could to limit the damage.
‘Ursula,’ I said to myself, ‘I’m watching you.’
Chapter 22
Ursula was nowhere to be seen when I got back to the house. I figured she’d gone back to her room.
Julia was in the kitchen, filling a basket with snacks and fruit. She made a cheese sandwich and wrapped it in cling film. It was all very Little Red Riding Hood.
‘Won’t it get eaten by animals?’ I said.
She stared at the basket. ‘You’re right. I need something more secure. Like a metal box, with a key. I don’t have anything like that.’
‘Julia, do you really . . . Do you really think Lily could be living wild in the woods?’
She lay her hands flat on the counter, as if stopping herself from falling.
‘If there’s a chance . . . even the remotest chance . . .’
‘Ursula was lying. I don’t know why, but—’
‘I was not lying.’
I whirled around. Ursula stood in the kitchen doorway. She still wore her red coat even though it was warm in the house. Maybe she was one of those people who is always cold. Thin skin, weak blood. Anger bubbled up in me and I was about to give her a piece of my mind when she produced a mobile phone – one of those large iPhones – and said, ‘Look. I took a picture. You didn’t give me a chance to show it to you.’
Julia began trembling as Ursula unlocked the phone and located the photos app.
‘There. See.’
I couldn’t believe it, but there it was. A picture of the edge of the woods where Julia and I had just stood. And in front of the trees, facing the camera, was a child.
‘I’m afraid it’s not very clear,’ Ursula said, as Julia took the phone from her and zoomed in on the figure. It was a girl with long brown hair. She was wearing a blue coat and jeans.