The Guesthouse

by Abbie Frost

  ‘It’s ridiculous,’ the woman interrupted. ‘We’ve had to park miles away on the main road and stumble down a dirt track – in the dark – and with a child too.’

  The teenage girl went red and turned away from them. The poor kid was probably around fourteen.

  Her father gave them a warm smile. ‘Yes, well. I’m Liam and this is my wife, Rosa, and daughter, Chloe.’ His smile got bigger. ‘Excuse Rosa, it’s been a long walk.’

  Rosa’s voice was still sharp. ‘And I don’t like the thought of our car out there in the middle of nowhere.’

  ‘Ours is too,’ Mo said. ‘They should be all right in a place like this. Not much crime around.’ He gestured to the Aga. ‘There’s coffee on the stove.’

  ‘None for us.’ Rosa looked at Chloe and Liam. ‘We should find our room and have a shower. Come on.’

  But Liam stepped towards the Aga. ‘You go on. I could do with a hot drink.’

  Rosa stared at him for a moment, then strode out, Chloe trailing after her. The girl glanced back at Lucy as she reached the door.

  Liam poured himself some coffee and held up the pot. ‘Anyone else?’ Hannah and Mo shook their heads.

  ‘I’ll just have some juice, thanks.’ Lucy went to the fridge.

  Hannah concentrated on her own mug but noticed Liam and Mo sneaking glances at Lucy.

  Liam was tall and strong-looking with sandy hair thinning at the front. He had a warm Scottish lilt to match his warm smile. He sat at the end of the table, leaned back and took a gulp of coffee.

  ‘So, what brings you all here?’ His eyes flicked along Lucy’s legs.

  Lucy raised her glass of orange juice and laughed. ‘You first, Liam.’

  ‘We don’t live far away, actually, but we’re in the middle of a house move and having some problems. Sold our place and bought a new-build. But the work has been delayed – it’s been a complete nightmare to be honest – so we’re marking time here. Rosa found this place and I negotiated us a deal. A pretty good one, too.’ He flashed a white-toothed smile at Lucy. ‘I don’t know how much you lot are paying, but apparently we can stay as long as we like.’

  There was an awkward pause, then Lucy put her glass down on the worktop. ‘Moving house is always a bloody nightmare.’ She looked out the window. ‘I’m dying for a cigarette. Might head out for one in the garden.’

  Hannah had given up a few years ago, but over the past few months the old craving had crept back into her life and now she felt its familiar stirring. ‘Can I steal one? I’ll get some more tomorrow.’

  Lucy nodded, and they walked out the front door.

  The rain had stopped and the dark starless sky stretched away towards the horizon. Still and black, darker than any night Hannah had known in England. Lucy flicked a switch by the front door and a dim lamp buzzed on, illuminating the grey cat as it snaked past them and ran along the patio into the night.

  They sat on a big iron bench, and Lucy lit her cigarette. ‘How long you staying?’

  She raised her lighter to the cigarette in Hannah’s lips and clicked, the flame flickering in Lucy’s eyes as Hannah sucked in a lungful of smoke. She tried not to cough. ‘Just a week. You?’

  ‘Maybe two,’ she laughed. ‘But I’m not so sure now.’

  Hannah took another drag and laughed. ‘I’m sure Liam would like you to stay.’

  Lucy grimaced. ‘Great, he’s just what I need.’

  ‘You did seem kind of surprised to find us all here, though. Were you expecting to be alone?’

  Lucy turned to face her. She really was gorgeous. ‘Was it that obvious? I make music. Just broke up with my band and got an offer for a solo contract. I wanted somewhere quiet, you know, somewhere to write and think. Thought this place would be empty, that no one else would arrive until at least next week.’

  ‘You make music, cool.’ She might have known. ‘What kind of stuff?’

  ‘A mix of things to be honest. Punk, death metal, you know.’ Hannah nodded vaguely as Lucy continued, ‘I need to make my mark before I get past it. Twenty-five isn’t young in the music industry.’

  So they were the same age. Hannah settled into sullen silence and continued smoking. Thought about everything Lucy had already accomplished, about what it must be like to stand on stage as a sea of people cheered your name. Then she pictured her own messy bedroom back in her mum’s house, her own messy life. She took a final drag and stabbed the fag out on the bench.

  Mo and Liam had managed to make a meal, with Sandeep’s assistance. They’d used a huge frying pan to knock up what Mo called ‘a kind of ratatouille’. Everyone sat together at the kitchen table, but only Rosa was talking.

  ‘I just don’t understand why they didn’t mention the lack of road access.’ A wave of her fork for emphasis. ‘Needless to say, I’ve left a complaint on the website and sent our host several messages.’ She looked down at her dish and gave it a poke, as if noticing it for the first time. ‘This looks lovely, but isn’t there any meat in the fridge?’

  Liam touched her other hand. ‘Mo and Sandeep are vegetarian, love.’

  Rosa went to say something, but Lucy got there first. ‘Me too. There’s a big chorizo sausage in one of the cupboards, though. You could fry that up and add it in.’

  Rosa smiled tightly and took a drink of water. ‘No, it’s fine. I’ll do something with meat tomorrow.’ Hannah had been trying to place her Scottish accent and realized it was just like Maggie Smith’s in that movie her mum was always watching, The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie. Posh Edinburgh.

  Chloe gave Mo a shy smile. ‘I like it, thank you.’

  During the meal Hannah stayed quiet. It seemed that they all, except Lucy, had some kind of connection to the area. Liam obviously loved the sound of his own voice, even more so than his wife. He told them all that he was a very successful GP who’d recently retired from a local practice and was moving back to Scotland with his family as soon as their house was ready.

  Lucy wasn’t Irish, but she’d been living in Dublin. She’d been attracted by Preserve the Past website and its promise of comfortable historic houses in quiet locations.

  ‘But this was the only one I could afford. I also think self-check-in is a cool idea – it just makes sense. I mean, who actually wants to meet the host?’ When nobody responded, Lucy went on. ‘I’ve stayed in B&Bs before where they never leave you alone.’

  Hannah couldn’t sit still. She picked at her food and her eyes kept returning to the drinks cupboard in the corner of the room that by rights should have contained wine, at least a few bottles of Henry Laughton’s expensive vintage stuff. Hannah’s hands felt clammy and her top kept sticking to her back. She wanted to open a window, but it was freezing outside. When Mo stood up and suggested cheese and biscuits or ice cream, Hannah made her excuses and went to leave the room without meeting anyone’s eye.

  ‘Chocolate ice cream for me. What about you, Chloe?’ Mo said.

  ‘She’ll have some fruit or a plain yogurt,’ Rosa replied.

  Hannah slipped out the door. Wouldn’t fancy being Chloe and putting up with Rosa The Dictator for a mother. But by the time Hannah was halfway up the stairs, she was thinking of nothing but the vodka waiting in her room.

  But something made her stop, a prickling along her spine like a feather touching skin. She turned and stared around the hallway, expecting to see someone watching her. But it was empty, just the strange paintings across one wall and the tapestry hanging beside the kitchen door.

  Then a huge bang echoed around the space, and Hannah let out a gasp. She dropped to her knees.

  Another crash, this time even louder, from somewhere in the house above her. Then silence.

  Heart thumping, one hand on the bannister, Hannah stared up the stairs and waited for the ceiling to fall down on top of her.

  Chapter Five

  The kitchen door burst open and the others piled out into the hallway and peered up at her. She stood and turned to them.

  ‘What the fu
ck was that?’ Liam pressed his fingers to his mouth. ‘Sorry, no excuse for bad language. Sorry, Chloe.’

  Rosa held her daughter closer, and Mo put a hand on his father’s arm. Only Lucy looked calm.

  Mo ran up the stairs to Hannah and put his hand on her back, eyes concerned. ‘Are you all right?’

  For a moment she was aware of how good his touch felt. Then she thought of Ben, thought of the random guy from the other night, the random guys on so many recent nights, and stepped away.

  ‘I’m OK. I think it came from upstairs.’

  Mo looked down at the others. ‘I’ll check it out.’

  Liam started up the stairs. ‘I’ll come with you. It’s probably a window crashing down. If the cords rot on these old sashes, they break in the wind. I opened a couple of dodgy ones in our room.’ He ran up past them, his eyes lingering on Hannah for a second too long.

  Mo followed. ‘We should all be careful.’

  Hannah waited on the stairs as her heart rate returned to normal. Liam entered the family room at the top and emerged moments later holding up a piece of white cord.

  ‘Yes, that’s it. I knew it. The damn thing’s broken: worn out.’ He grinned and headed back down the stairs. ‘I’m surprised they didn’t replace them all when they did the renovations. Maybe just missed that one. Anyway, be careful with them and we’ll let the host know.’

  Sandeep’s voice cut through the hall. He had been silent for so long Hannah had almost forgotten he was there. ‘That didn’t sound like a window banging in the wind. It was too loud, and the wind isn’t even that strong. It could have been a problem with the roof. Something could come crashing through on us.’

  Rosa looked up at the high ceiling with a frown, but Liam just laughed. He bounded down and put his arm around her. ‘Don’t worry about it. The roof’s completely sound – I had a good look around earlier.’

  Hannah couldn’t remember him exploring the house, but she was too tired to care. Let him blow his own trumpet for a bit. She said nothing and carried on upstairs. The vodka was calling her.

  When she got to her room she poured herself a large glass, topped it up with Coke, and swallowed it down with a sigh. She’d left her phone charging but the lead had come loose and was lying on the floor. When she plugged it in again she saw a reply from Henry Laughton.

  Apologies about the road access. We had hoped to have a metalled approach lane installed before your arrival, but planning permission was delayed. I did message you about this a few weeks ago and a notice was added to the website. I hope it doesn’t interfere with your holiday too much.

  I’m sorry I wasn’t there to greet you, but I’m held up at one of our other properties.

  Regards Henry.

  Hannah knew it was possible she had missed his message. She hadn’t been taking much notice of anything recently, except all the trolls on social media.

  But surely one of the other guests would have seen the message. No doubt old Henry, in his fancy Barbour jacket, was chuckling to himself, assuming he’d get away with it. She couldn’t be bothered to reply; Rosa would probably give him an earful anyway.

  Sitting on the bed she realized that for a short while today, surrounded by people who knew nothing about her, listening to the chatter over dinner, she hadn’t once thought about Ben. And as she took another sip of vodka, she tried to keep those dark memories at bay, tried to ignore the familiar pain beginning to settle around her heart.

  A small chest of drawers with a kettle and an array of white china containers filled with posh teabags, instant coffee and chocolate stood by the corridor wall. She made herself a mug of chocolate, undressed and climbed into bed. Took a soothing sip of the drink, then added a slug of vodka and left the bottle on the bedside table, close to hand.

  The bright lamp made her dry eyes throb. But when she switched it off, the images she dreaded began to swirl around her in the blackness.

  She tossed and turned in the bed, clutching at her duvet, unable to stop herself from reliving the same dark memories. Thinking back to Ben’s funeral.

  She remembered getting out of the cab on the side of the road and walking all alone towards the church through crowds of people. His friends and family turned to face her – whispering – then moved away.

  She sat alone at the very back of the church as Ben’s family filed towards the coffin, his younger brother following behind with bloodshot eyes. He had always been friendly to her, and when he came to sit next to her after the service, she thought for one tiny moment that he was going to tell her it would be all right. That everyone knew she wasn’t to blame.

  Instead he hissed, his voice low and bitter, ‘Mum and Dad asked me to say: don’t come to the grave or the house afterwards.’ He swallowed. ‘Just stay away from us.’

  She sat there, alone in her seat, as the crowds filed out. Her head bowed, staring at the floor.

  She must have drifted off to sleep then, because suddenly she knew she was dreaming. Thoughts of Ben and his family gradually vanished, but Hannah felt no relief – just a sense of absolute terror.

  She was still in bed, the sound of her breathing low and steady in her ears. A curtain moved softly in the breeze from the window, fluttering gently across the floor. A floorboard creaked somewhere nearby and she knew with terrible certainty that she was no longer alone. There was someone else in here, in the room with her, watching her sleep.

  A musky smell that she couldn’t place, a feeling of helplessness when she tried to sit up. She couldn’t move.

  There was a rustling sound and a shadow stepped out from the darkness at the corner of the room. Silhouetted in the grey light that fell through the curtains, it shuffled and then stopped. Moved slowly closer to the bed. Hannah’s heart thudded louder, her palms clammy. Her neck throbbed, but still she couldn’t move.

  The sickly-sweet smell was overpowering now. Somehow familiar, it crawled its way down her throat, choking her.

  Another creak from a floorboard, closer now. The shadow loomed above her, but she couldn’t turn her head to face it, couldn’t even breathe. It was human, it must be, yet it seemed to slide like water over ice as it reached the edge of her bed. A cold chill settled in the room. She was shivering, yet her legs were blocks of stone anchored to the bed. Get up. Get out. She tried to scream, but there was only silence.

  And then the dip and creak of the bed. The mattress sinking under a groaning weight as something pressed it down. Huge and dark, so close to her that she could almost feel it through the duvet. Almost imagine it reaching out to touch her.

  She was suddenly wide awake, completely alert. Sitting upright in bed, drenched in sweat.

  She gasped and threw off the damp duvet. Flicked on the light and scanned the empty room. Her heartbeat gradually slowed as she listened to the quiet house. Her throat was so dry, it ached. In the bathroom she gulped down a glass of water and filled it again. Stared at the pale face in the mirror. Her hand shook as she downed the second glass.

  She checked that her door was still locked and the window secure, then poured a shot of vodka and drank it down. Drew the curtains, got back into bed and huddled under the duvet, shivering, just like in her dream. And it was just a dream, some stupid dream.

  Nightmares were nothing new. She remembered waking up terrified beside Ben in the middle of the night, so scared she refused to go back to sleep again. Ben would gently hold her and whisper that it was all right and she was safe and everything was going to be OK. He would stroke her hair and kiss her neck and tell her she was safe, until she finally dozed off.

  But this had been different: it had felt real.

  She couldn’t sleep for hours. Her mind wouldn’t stop raking back over the dream, reliving it in vivid detail. The drip and the creak of the mattress, the feel of that heavy weight pressing down. And just when she had finally exhausted herself, when sleep reached out to claim her, she heard something else. A murmuring noise, somewhere nearby. Low and persistent.

  She lay th
ere listening in the pitch-black, until all she could hear were the small creaks of the old house, the gurgling of pipes, the call of an owl outside. She pulled the duvet up over her head. Had she been dreaming again? Tomorrow, she was going to lay off the alcohol; Lori was right, it was starting to mess with her head. How many days since she had last been sober? She rolled over and tried to sleep once more.

  It was then that she first heard it. The sound of a child crying.

  Chapter Six

  A sobbing child somewhere inside the house.

  Chloe must have had a fight with her mum. Hannah rolled over in her warm and comfortable bed and closed her eyes. Tried to shut out the sound, but it went on and on, quiet but insistent, until she could think of nothing else. Chloe was in a family room with her parents, so wouldn’t they have woken up to look after her?

  There was something so disturbing about the sound – so desperate and sad – that Hannah eventually threw off the covers and went to the door. A very low light was coming from the other end of the corridor, oozing out a pale glow. The family room was right at the top of the stairs. Pulling a sweater over her pyjamas, she put her head outside. The sound – a gentle heart-rending sobbing – seemed to be louder out here. Hannah told herself to calm down.

  Afraid she wouldn’t remember her door code, she wedged it open with one of her shoes and headed along the corridor to the top of the staircase. The weak light of a lamp filtered down into the dark hall below. She paused outside each of the guest rooms in case the noise was actually coming from one of them, maybe a radio or TV. But they were silent. As she came close to the family room, the noise suddenly stopped. She paused, listening hard, expecting to hear hushed voices inside.

  Silence. If they had heard her footsteps perhaps they were keeping quiet. Embarrassed, maybe. Hannah stood for a moment wondering what to do. She didn’t want to disturb them, reminded herself not to get involved. The light at the end of the corridor flickered and buzzed, then went out, enveloping her in darkness. The only sound was her heart thudding loudly in her chest.