“I just wish I could communicate,” Gabriel sighed, helplessly.
Will turned to look back up the hill beyond the trees to where the castle stood. He stood on a small rock and could make out a window here, the fairytale turret – a full view impossible with the trees. He was still aware however – always aware – of it dominating the landscape.
“Normally this house is teeming with spirits,” continued Gabriel. “I’ve been coming here all of my life and I don’t think I’ve ever seen the same one twice. And none of them are nasty or anything. The odd poltergeist but they’re more likely to rearrange the ornaments and the place is so big no one even bloody notices that. It is the worst house in the world if you’re dead and looking for attention. No one – no one living, that is, has ever been afraid to be here and that’s important. You heard what Gifford said – it never bothered him until the past few months.”
“But this time?” probed Will, glancing at Gabriel who was shaking his head.
“I don’t know for sure but, even without my gift, something about it feels so . . . empty,” he replied. “Like they’ve all gone . . . on holidays or something.”
“Except for Martin Pine,” continued Will. “And Laurence, and the mysterious Uncle Jack.”
Gabriel shrugged an ‘I suppose so’. “I don’t know why – and this sounds totally rubbish, I know, but humour me . . .”
“Don’t I always?”
“It’s as if they’ve all stood back or something. That they’re all watching to see what happens, like waiting for the curtains to draw back on a play.”
“A three-hander,” offered Will. “Starring Martin Pine and his alleged victims?”
Gabriel turned to face the house. “Exactly. I just wish I knew the plot.”
“You and me both,” said Will emphatically. “There is something horrible going on in this old place – and that’s a lot coming from me.” He stepped down from the small rock he had used as a podium to get a better view of the castle, and glanced at his watch. “Had we better think about breakfast?” he suggested. “Things might be better after this full Scottish you’ve promised me.”
“We’d better, I suppose. The old man’ll be back soon enough. Here – we’ll go up this way. There’s an easier path through the kitchen gardens.” Gabriel indicated that they move to their right and the two men began to stride purposefully along the beach. The sounds of the lake carried in through the reeds on the shoreline.
They had turned off the beach and begun to climb a path when they heard a distant shout coming from the direction of the house. They couldn’t see its source but then heard it again.
“Hi! Gabriel!” it came, a man’s voice, clearer as it came closer.
Gabriel’s face softened slightly. “The old man. He’s here.” His pace quickened a little. “Godfather!” he called back.
Will looked at him sidelong. It seemed such an odd, archaic way to refer to him but then again so much about this place fitted in with that description. He was pleased to see the sincere smile that spread across Gabriel’s face as the figure of his godfather became visible from behind some privet hedges ahead. He really was very fond of him, thought Will.
Christopher Calvert looked like a bird – a stork, perhaps, Will thought, as his thin figure darted down through the mist, arms wide. He and Gabriel embraced warmly.
“Christopher, great to see you!” said Gabriel. “You’re looking marvellous as always!”
The older man responded by pulling apart from his godson and patting his stomach. “And you’re enjoying the good life, it seems,” he with a grin. “Pursuing your acting career as well – good man!” Gabriel looked at Will out of the corner of his eye and then back to Calvert.
“Gifford saw you on the telly and pointed you out. Good to see you’re not doing that awful bus-conducting any more. That show you’re in is something terrible though. You should try to get a part in something worthwhile – I like that Desperate Housewives myself. The redhead – woof! This your guest?”
Gabriel stepped aside to allow Will and his godfather to greet each other. “This is William Peterson, my friend and colleague – of sorts.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr Calvert,” Will said as they shook hands. “Your home is . . . eh . . . beautiful.”
Gabriel coughed loudly and the old man indicated that they should walk together back toward the castle.
“So sorry you were left all on your ownio last night in this old place,” he said. “The timing was terrible but the board of the old company were having a dinner last night and wanted to make a fuss with a presentation type of thing. Which isn’t my type of thing, as you know . . . you know me, the behind-the-scenes man. Anyway, I went. Thought it was time to do it. Time to start drawing lines under things and all that.” The old man took a breath from his rapid-fire explanation and then continued. “So, that’s the job taken care of. Goodbye, thanks very much, here’s the door and all that. Just this place now.” He looked up at the castle and stopped suddenly, his breathing a little laboured from the walk. He put his hands on his hips, pulling in his green waxed jacket as he did and showing how thin he actually was. He gazed up at the building, drinking it in, completely silent.
“Anyhow,” he said suddenly, clapping his hands together and rubbing them briskly, “best get on. Have you had breakfast yet? There were nice smells coming from the kitchens as I passed.”
“Your housekeeper is making us a cooked breakfast,” said Will. “Will you join us?”
The old man raised his hands in refusal and took off again at his brisk pace, the others following. “No time, I’m afraid,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ve a lot to be getting on with before tonight – the Christmas-tree people aren’t here yet and there’s a lot to be done.” He pointed a bony finger at a back doorway. “Best be off. Like I say, tonight won’t be as big as the other years. Your old ma and pa are on their way, Gabriel, and then your other friends coming from Edinburgh, and a couple of my old staff and the usual contingent from the village. We’ll make it jolly though, eh? Might be the last year I do it so let’s make the most of it. See you both anon.” He sped up, veering to his right and up to a long set of French windows at the rear of the castle, through which Will could make out a function room. He watched him go, darting inside without a second glance, his mind already on to his next task.
“So that’s your famous godfather?”
Gabriel nodded. “Getting a bit doddery by the sounds of things.”
Will snorted. “Just sounded a bit preoccupied to me. And I think someone’s been a bit liberal with the truth about their career path? Acting?”
Gabriel smiled. “Curiouser and curiouser,” he said playfully.
Will looked up at the castle before him. The mist had lifted a little and there was a brighter tinge to the sky. He suddenly caught a whiff of bacon coming from the back door. “Ooh, smell that!” he said enthusiastically as his stomach betrayed him with a growl. “Let’s have some bangers and then decide what’s next, eh?”
Gabriel didn’t respond and Will wasn’t surprised. His own cheeriness was completely forced, of course. He had to acknowledge that he didn’t want for a single second to go back in there. Neither of them did. To face whatever was going on – whatever was yet to happen.
A fresh concern suddenly crossed his mind. Martha. And Ruby. This was no place for them now, now that they knew what presences were already here, not now that there was an expectation of more. A fresh urgency gripped Will. He had to contact Martha somehow. Tell her to abandon the plan to come along. What had he been thinking, arranging for them all to come here? Thinking that they could somehow have a relaxing countryside getaway? He felt foolish suddenly and a wave of regret washed over him as he felt the bulge of the ring box in his pocket but he was quick to banish it. Another time, and certainly another place, he decided.
“Let’s go in, Gabriel,” he said, his tone serious.
Breakfast would have to wait, of course. He had to try
to get hold of Martha.
CHAPTER 31
“What the fuck have you done?” hissed Sue as Martha shuffled into the kitchen at Calderwood. Eight o’clock already, the time read. Martha had intended to be up and out by half past. But her head felt so foggy, her stomach sick. She had been surprised when she had woken up on her own pillow, truth be told. Worryingly, she had no recollection of getting there, of even getting back to the house.
Sue stood, arms folded, the steam from an untouched cup of tea wafting gently upwards on the counter top beside her. Martha could hear the happy sounds of the children’s channel coming from the living room and knew that Ruby, at least, was content.
She sank down on the kitchen chair nearest the door and pointed at the cup of tea. “Can I have one of those?” she asked faintly, resting her aching head in her hands and squeezing her eyes closed. She was exhausted, she knew. And a part of her felt still slightly drunk.
Suddenly, she remembered. She caught her breath and held it as she tested the memory, then allowed it to replay fully in her mind. That conversation with Dan . . . kissing him outside the restaurant.
Sue proceeded to do as she was bidden – to fetch the longed-for cup of tea but to also make as much noise as possible as she did so. It didn’t matter, regardless. At the memory of what had happened, Martha suddenly tasted the food, the wine, the kisses over again and her stomach lurched. She almost knocked the chair over as she bolted for the downstairs bathroom. She barely managed to pull the door shut behind her so that Ruby wouldn’t come to investigate as she was violently ill.
Strangely, it made her feel better. When she could stand, still trembling from the ferocity of the attack, she didn’t return to the kitchen but instead made her way upstairs and stood under the shower for a good fifteen minutes, washing the night away from her. Letting the hot water cleanse her, giving her time to think. She dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater, and threw the few remaining items that she needed for the weekend into her travel bag, relieved beyond reason that she’d had the foresight to pack cases for herself and Ruby the previous morning. With some make-up applied and her hair dried, she felt well enough to make her way back down the stairs and greet her daughter, who had barely noticed that she hadn’t seen her mum that morning. She had Auntie Sue who gave her jam on toast and the occasional breakfast Hob Nob, and the delights of cartoons.
Quietly, Martha carried her case outside the front door where she saw Sue loading her own travel bag into the boot of her Audi.
“I’ll drive!” Sue barked, slamming the trunk shut. “Give me your keys.”
It was a command, not a request, and Martha was relieved that she wouldn’t have to get behind the wheel. She still felt so woozy, so hung-over. How had she managed to get that way? She was sure she’d only had a few glasses of the Cava – Dan had worked his way through it fairly comprehensively from what she could recall, but she’d done her best to behave once she’d realised that it was going to her head. Yet here she was, unsure she’d get through a breath-check should that arise.
She managed the simple task of fitting her case into the boot, sweating profusely as she did so, and made her way back inside and into the kitchen where Sue was dressing Ruby. Martha took a bottle of water from the fridge and sipped some to cool herself down. Her cheeks burned suddenly as another memory of the previous night, of those embraces on the street outside the restaurant, played back in her mind. She banished the thought. Still, Sue said nothing.
There were no further words between them until they were well on the road.
“I haven’t blown your cover by the way,” said Sue sarcastically, out of the blue. “Will doesn’t know that you didn’t get back till God knows what time last night.”
Will, thought Martha. She’d been blocking the thought of him from her mind. With a trembling hand, she pulled her phone from handbag and checked it, finding it completely dead, the battery empty. She wasn’t sure when that had happened – maybe late the previous night, maybe that’s why he hadn’t been in touch? Maybe he’d been trying all along, and she’d got so cross about it . . .
“Thank you,” said Martha quietly, her lip wobbling.
Sue negotiated a roundabout. “But I can’t guarantee it’s going to stay that way, Martha.” She glanced in the rear-view mirror. Her soother lolling from her mouth and Hugo clutched to her chest as usual, Ruby had nodded off the instant the car had started to move. Sue turned her attention back to the road. “I don’t know what the hell happened last night,” she said bluntly.
Martha squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. This wasn’t one of Sue’s comedy telling-offs. This was the real deal. Her friend was livid with her. And she had a reason to be too.
“The last I knew, you were having some late lunch with Dan after signing those papers. I agreed to mind your daughter for a few hours. I heard you struggling with the front-door key past midnight. What on earth were you doing with Dan all that time?”
“I think I’ve made a terrible mess, Sue,” wailed Martha, finally dissolving in tears.
Sue sighed and drove on in silence while Martha wept it out.
“I suppose we’ve time for a cup of tea – neither of us have eaten,” Sue said after a while, her tone softer, as she indicated a left turn into a service station and pulled up outside.
Martha had never believed in the hot, sweet tea theory for a shock but, as she sipped her way through the cardboard cup while leaning on the bonnet of her car, she had to confess that it seemed to be doing the trick. The terrible headache and nausea seemed to be lifting slightly. It had also helped to finally spill the story to Sue who had listened patiently throughout, quietly drinking her own coffee and picking at the Danish pastry she had selected.
“I kissed him, Sue. I cannot believe I kissed him. I don’t even think I had that much to drink – he must have kept topping up my glass when I wasn’t looking.”
“I doubt he held your nose and poured it down your throat,” sniffed Sue. “Had you finished taking your antibiotics?”
Martha groaned. That was it. She had mixed her medication with the wine. That explained why she had felt so . . . relaxed . . . so quickly. Why she had let her guard down so easily? With Dan of all people! Her cheeks burned again as some of their conversation came flooding back to her. More than the kiss, that was the biggest betrayal of all. Agreeing to work with him again, talking about having him back in her life, planning his move to Edinburgh to have him nearer . . . for more than a moment wanting that to happen . . . She hadn’t told Sue that part, she couldn’t. Couldn’t bear to verbalise the betrayal. It was bad enough that Sue thought their interaction was purely physical. If she knew that on some level that Martha had contemplated giving herself emotionally too . . . Martha couldn’t bear to think of it any longer.
“Martha, I really don’t know what you were thinking,” Sue said, and fished for her cigarettes in her pocket. She glanced in through the car window as she did and saw that Ruby was still out for the count. She flicked her lighter and inhaled deeply.
The smell of fresh smoke assaulted Martha’s nostrils and her stomach lurched afresh but she thought better about saying anything. Now was not the time.
“Either do I, Sue,” she replied with a sigh.
Sue inhaled sharply again and blew a long plume of smoke out into the crisp air.
“I suppose we have to look at the positives,” she said loudly.
“And what might those be?” replied Martha, the question a statement of desperation.
Sue examined the cigarette in her hand. “You’re not dead,” she offered, managing a slight grin. “You did make it home in the long run.”
Martha smiled weakly and sniffed. “Not dead yet,” she managed.
There was silence for a few moments between them.
“What am I going to do, Sue?” said Martha meekly. “I’ve cocked this up so badly . . . when Will finds out he’s going to hate me . . .”
“You’re going to say nothing!” barked Sue
suddenly, making Martha jump with the intensity of the statement. Sue cast the butt of her cigarette on the tarmac and ground it in with the ball of her foot.
“What do you mean . . . ?” began Martha.
“Nothing,” repeated Sue vehemently, looking Martha straight in the face with a rare intensity. “Did you mean what happened to happen?” she demanded. “Did you go out to eat with the intention of kissing Dan?”
“No.”
“Did you mean it when it did happen?”
“Christ, no, you know that!”
“Do you mean it to happen again? Do you intend having a relationship with him?”
“How can you ask that?”
“Then shut up about it. You get hold of Dan when you get back to Edinburgh and you tell him there’s been a massive mistake and that he’s to get out of Dodge and that you’re happy with Will et cetera. Tell him that you were off your face because of your antibiotics – tell him anything but just face up to what you did and make it right. You can’t undo it.”
“You mean lie to Will?”
“No – just don’t tell him the truth – that’s different,” replied Sue, rummaging in her coat pocket for the car keys. “It’s not going to do him any good to hear about it and as you have no intention of getting your marriage back on track I suggest we all shut up about it and take that wonderful British approach – the ‘never-speak-of-it-again’ one.”
“But this is a massive betrayal,” said Martha, stepping around the car and waiting at the passenger door for Sue to unlock it. She couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. Sue was prickly but honest as the day was long. Martha wouldn’t have dreamed for one second that her friend would have advocated keeping silent about this, deceiving someone like Will.
“Absolutely right,” nodded Sue, casting her coat into the back seat and sliding behind the wheel. “And you’ve got to live with it forever and ever but Will doesn’t. He loves you and he loves Ruby and he doesn’t need to be hurt. The fact that you’re a cheating liar is something you can carry round like a millstone forever and ever and that’ll be a lesson to you to never do it again.”
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