by Helen Phifer
‘You better come in then.’
‘Thank you. I really appreciate you letting me in. I know we didn’t get on too well, but I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m not the ogre she made me out to be.’
Stella pointed to a stool at the breakfast bar. When he sat down, she walked around the other side, keeping her distance from him.
‘Would you like a glass of wine?’
‘Maybe a small one. I’m driving.’
She took another bottle from the rack and opened it, passing him a glass. ‘So, to what do I owe this pleasure?’
He sighed. ‘I miss her so much. I really thought that she was the one, that we had something very special. I don’t know what she’s told you about me, though I can imagine it’s not good. But it was the shock of finding her gone; it totally screwed with my head. I’ve been walking around in a daze. I can’t eat or sleep for worrying about her.’
‘Maddy said you were too controlling, she felt suffocated by you, and that your temper was getting worse by the day. She doesn’t lie; she never has as long as we’ve been friends, and I have no reason not to believe her.’
Stella watched him carefully, wondering if she’d said too much. He stared down at the floor and shrugged, then lifted the glass, taking a large gulp of the red wine.
‘I’m guilty of all those things and I’m not making excuses, apart from the fact that I loved her so much I wanted to keep her to myself. I know now that it’s wrong and I shouldn’t have treated her like that. Only it’s too late now to do anything about it. I don’t know where she is or if she’s okay. I just wanted to tell her how sorry I was for screwing everything up.’
He looked so miserable that Stella found herself wanting to pat his arm and comfort him. Instead, she finished the last of her wine and refilled her glass.
‘I don’t know where she is. Last I heard, she was stopping with her gran. Then she rang me today and told me she’d found a job and was moving away.’
He looked up in surprise. ‘What? Where? What sort of job, and where has she moved to?’
She shook her head. ‘Sorry, I don’t know. She said she’d let me know when she was settled. I can talk to her next time she rings, though, and ask her if you can contact her? I can’t give you any more than that and you shouldn’t expect me to.’
The loud sob which escaped his mouth completely threw her off guard. She’d expected him to fly off the handle and go mental. Instead, there were tears falling from his eyes and he seemed to have shrunk in front of her. This time she did step forward and patted his hand.
He clasped hold of hers, then lifted his sleeve to wipe his eyes. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m a mess. I shouldn’t have come here. You’ve been so kind, thank you. I’ll be so grateful if you could ask her if we can just talk. That’s all I want. To say sorry.’
Stella smiled, tugging her hand away. The tingling sensation of his skin on hers wasn’t supposed to happen; she was supposed to feel revulsion at him even having the audacity to touch her. Yet she didn’t. It was as if there was some kind of static electricity running through them, and it had left her wanting him to do more than hold his hand.
He stood up. ‘Thank you for being so kind and understanding.’
She nodded, unable to find the right words. He crossed the room, and before she could move, he bent down and kissed her cheek, leaving that tingling as well. Then he walked towards the door.
Speechless, Stella lifted a finger to the spot where he’d kissed her cheek. Oh God! In the space of five minutes, she’d gone from hating him to wanting to drag him into her bedroom. Maddy would go mad! She needed to snap out of it, because if this was the other way around, she would feel betrayed, hurt, and so angry with her friend that she’d probably never speak to her again.
‘Bye, Stella. Thank you.’
She shut her front door, locked it, and slid the safety chains across. Not to keep anyone from getting inside; more to keep her from getting out, chasing after Connor, and making another huge mistake in her disastrous love life.
Chapter Nine
T he Beetle was making a funny, grating noise whenever she changed gear, but thankfully –according to the satnav – she was almost there. Please make it to the house before you blow up, she patted the steering wheel.
It had been the most breathtaking, glorious drive of her life. At least, it had when she’d finally got off the motorway and onto the A591. She’d never seen so many green hills, mountains, and amazing houses. She’d stopped for a break in Grasmere, grabbing a coffee and a few pieces of gingerbread from the tiny shop at the entrance to the churchyard. Spying a book shop, her heart had soared, and she’d had wandered inside Sam Read Bookseller and been instantly reminded of Stella’s pride and joy. Picking up a couple of books, she paid for them and told the assistant behind the counter she would definitely be visiting them again once she’d got settled.
When Lake Thirlmere finally came into view, she breathed a sigh of relief. She was hot, sticky, tired, and needed a cool shower. If she was brave enough, and there was no one around, she might strip off and dive into the lake for a swim once she’d found the house. The blue waters in the photograph had looked so inviting.
Maddy had always loved swimming. That and writing stories had been her two favourite pastimes when she’d been in junior school. As she’d got older and started to develop, she’d fallen out of love with the swimming, too self-conscious about her body to be able to just pull on a costume and enjoy herself in the way a carefree nine-year-old can.
She missed the turn-off, which – she only realised as she’d driven past – was overgrown and very ordinary, with two broken gateposts and no gate. Finding a wide enough place on the narrow road to do the most spectacular eight-point turn of her life, Maddy prayed a coach full of tourists wouldn’t come around a bend and plough into her. That was the thing with being a writer, she had an overactive imagination at the best of times.
This time, she slowed down and turned onto the bumpy, gravel drive; it didn’t look as if anyone had been down here in years. The car wasn’t doing too well, judging by the sound the engine was making, but at least she was here. If the Beetle broke down, she could leave it and walk the rest of the way, dragging her stuff behind her. But as she drove along the endless, winding track, she was glad the car was still crawling along. It was so much further than she could ever have imagined.
Rounding a sharp bend, the lake and house came into view and she felt her heart race at the sight. It was beautiful and desolate at the same time. For a fleeting moment, fear filled her heart: what had she done? She was a city girl, used to the noise, the smells, and the life that went on around her twenty-four hours a day.
Pausing, she took out her phone and snapped a photograph to send to Stella later. On the way here, she’d decided to photograph every opportunity to write a blog about the place and her life while living here.
The drive skirted past the lake which now looked an inky shade of blue due to the looming clouds. It was almost eight, so she needed to get inside and as settled as she could before it got dark. She didn’t know if she was brave enough to go inside when the sun began to set; the Gothic mansion looked like somewhere Count Dracula could have made his home, instead of Whitby Abbey.
Parking as close to the imposing building as possible, she got out of the car and groaned, stretching her legs and arms. The email from the owners said the key would be under the terracotta plant pot nearest to the door. There were at least twelve plant pots. All of them had dead, withered plants inside, and were no doubt full of woodlice. That was something else she hadn’t thought about. Insects were not her thing. What if the house was full of them and rats?
She shuddered, walked towards the plant pot, which was nearest the stone steps, and lifted it. A couple of woodlice scurried away from the plastic bag underneath it. Bingo! She grabbed the bag, shaking it just to be safe, and opened it to pull out a large, iron key.
Approaching the front door which wouldn�
�t have looked out of place on St Paul’s Cathedral, she put the key in the lock and turned. The door opened without so much as a creak or groan, much to Maddy’s relief. Her imagination was already in overdrive. She stepped inside the vast entrance and heard her own voice whisper, Wow.
The entrance hall was empty apart from a long sideboard which was covered with a dustsheet, on top of it was a wicker picnic hamper with an envelope tucked into the corner, along with three huge torches. Maddy picked up the envelope and lifted the hamper lid. Inside, it was filled with a selection of tea, coffee, biscuits, bread, jam, and a slab of what looked like home-made fruit cake. All it needed was a couple of bottles of ginger beer and she’d be inside a Famous Five adventure and living out one of her childhood fantasies.
She laughed to herself, then stopped as her voice echoed around the empty walls, sounding too high-pitched. Sliding her finger along the envelope she opened the letter.
Dear Madeleine,
Welcome to Lake House. In the kitchen is a fridge/freezer which has been stocked with an assortment of food to keep you going until you can get into the village. I trust it is acceptable, and hope you like at least some of it. The builders aren’t due for another three weeks, as the plans are still being finalised. There has been a bit of a hiccup with the planning department who are being very strict about the renovations, so you will have the house all to yourself for some time. It will give you the chance to settle down and make the place your own.
If you need anything at all, you can email the owners direct or you can email or telephone myself at Corkill & Sons Solicitors. The numbers and email addresses are all on the noticeboard in the kitchen. The electricity is a little erratic; this is one of the first jobs the builders will be working on. The sockets seem to work fine, but the lights are temperamental. There are candles, matches, and more torches in the pantry.
Yours sincerely,
Gordon Corkill
‘Well, thank you, Gordon, I’m sure everything is perfectly acceptable. Except for maybe the lighting situation.’ She found a light switch and pressed it down. Nothing happened. The hall was beginning to get gloomy, and Maddy didn’t know how she felt about being on her own in a house this size with only candles and a bloody torch to see with. She made up her mind: if it was too scary, she would sleep in the car tonight and then move her stuff in at daylight.
Picking up one of the torches, she pressed the button and the powerful beam flooded the hallway with bright light. She shone it around; there were so many doors to choose from. She decided to open each one, take a cursory look around, then move on to the next. All she needed to know tonight was where the kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom were. The rest could wait until tomorrow.
Trying to imagine where the kitchen would be in a house this size, she realised that it could well be downstairs in the cellar. The thought of having to go downstairs where it might be pitch-black made her stomach flip over, so instead she walked to the door furthest away, held her breath, and pushed it open. Relief flooded her entire body to see a kitchen straight out of a sixties’ bad dream.
Stepping inside the room, she walked over to the old fridge/freezer, which was the size of a small mountain, and opened the door. The interior light came on and she was pleasantly surprised to see a bottle of champagne, two bottles of white wine, milk, eggs, cheese, and various cold cuts of meat. Her stomach groaned, and she decided to find the bathroom and a suitable bedroom, then come down and grab herself a selection of food and a glass of wine before retiring to her bedroom for the night.
It was too late to be exploring on her own, and for a fleeting moment she wished she had someone here to share this adventure with. Stella would be so freaked out; Connor would have loved it. Such a shame that he’d turned into a complete psycho without a good reason.
A loud sigh escaped her lips. If she didn’t finish this sequel, she could write a book about a crazy writer who decided to live on her own in the middle of nowhere inside a haunted house.
Chapter Ten
S eth walked Glenys, who was a little worse for wear, down to the shop at the bottom of the main street. Upstairs was a deceivingly large flat, where she and Alfie lived.
‘You’re all right, you know, for a local,’ she told him. ‘I always liked you. Some of them are stuck-up arseholes who look down their noses at anyone who isn’t from around here.’
Seth grimaced. ‘Thanks, that’s good to know.’
‘Where’s Alf? The little shit. I suppose he’ll want feeding.’
‘He’s already gone on ahead to open the front door and get the kettle on for you, and he’s been fed. I gave him his tea. You need a strong coffee and something to eat as well.’
‘I could eat you.’
Seth couldn’t imagine anything worse than being eaten by Glenys, but he laughed. ‘Whoa. Not tonight, you’re not. Enough of that kind of talk. You’ll have everyone gossiping.’
They reached the side door to the flat and he let go of her arm. ‘Get yourself inside and lock the door. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
She blew him a kiss, tried to step across the threshold and fell forwards, letting out a screech. Seth grabbed the front door and quickly shut it behind her then turned to walk away.
He needed some fresh air and began to walk towards the path which led down to the lake, his favourite place. The sound of the water lapping at the edge soothed him more than a double whisky ever could. As he reached the lakeside, he looked along to where the old Lake House was; he could make out its huge outline even in the dark. It looked so desolate, he felt sorry for it. No one in the village acknowledged its existence. Partly because they were a superstitious lot who thought it was a house of death, and second because they loved to tell tales of how it was haunted.
Seth didn’t believe in that rubbish; he did, though, believe that old buildings could somehow store memories of significant events which had occurred in them. The limestone and slate which had been used to build a lot of the houses around this part of the Lake District, was said to be like a conduit for that kind of thing. If he had the money, he’d love to buy it and turn it into his home, and imagined being able to sit at one of the large windows and stare at the lake all day long.
As he turned away, out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of light moving along the first floor. Whipping his head back around, he stared intently. There it was again; it was a torch. Someone was inside the house snooping around, and at this time of night it had to be a burglar; no one in their right mind would be in there this late.
He watched the beam as it moved from room to room, briefly shining in one before moving onto the next. It stopped in the room with the two huge full-length French windows that opened out onto a balcony overlooking the gardens and lake.
Seth was unsure what to do. He didn’t know if he should ring the police who would probably take hours to turn up – that was if they could find the place to begin with. Or he could go there himself and see what was going on and if the house was being burgled. He didn’t think there was much in there of any value to take, to be honest, but the thought of someone trespassing and maybe damaging the already sad, old house, filled him with horror.
He couldn’t exactly sneak up on whoever it was in his noisy heap of a car. Pulling out his phone, he dialled the police on 101, to hear an automated voice tell him he was ninth in the queue.
Seth looked again; the light seemed to have stopped. What should he do? He could get a few of the blokes from the pub to go with him to check it out, but they’d probably all be a bit worse for wear by now. And if there was still someone inside when they got there, it could all get a bit out of hand.
He cursed Glenys. If she hadn’t drunk half the barrel of Strongbow and needed walking home, this wouldn’t have been his decision to make. It wasn’t that he was afraid of coming face-to-face with whoever was in the house, he just didn’t want to. He didn’t need any more hassle than he already had going on in his life. Ending the call, he pressed 999, and this time a
voice answered immediately.
‘Oh, hello. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’d like to report a break-in at the old Lake House near Armboth Village.’
He gave his details and began to explain the best way to reach the house. The operator wanted to know if he was nearby.
‘Sort of. I’m a couple of miles away, further down the lake. I can just and so see the light from a torch moving around in the house.’
‘Can you wait and direct officers if they need it?’ the operator asked.
‘Well yes, but then they’d have to come and find me first, and I’m in the village. Wouldn’t it alert the burglar that the police were on their way if they fly through the village to find me?’
‘God knows. Okay. Thanks, I’ll recontact you if we need further directions.’
Seth, who wasn’t a betting man, didn’t know if he would be brave enough to place a wager on the police getting to the house and catching whoever it was red-handed.
He walked along to the wooden memorial bench which the regulars had bought in honour of his mum when she’d died ten years ago and sat down. He might as well wait and see if he could see the blue lights when they reached the long drive up to the house.
At least it would be more entertaining than cleaning tables back at the pub.
Chapter Eleven
M addy had opened four of the doors on the second floor and found that the rooms had been emptied of everything except for dust and cobwebs. When she’d started to wonder where she was supposed to sleep, she’d opened the door to this room and her question had been answered.
This was a huge room, situated in the centre of the house with two glorious full-length doors that looked onto a small balcony overlooking the lake. There was a brand-new bed, still covered in plastic, and next to it was an assortment of pillows, duvets, blankets, and sheets. Thankfully, everywhere had been dusted and swept, and no cobwebs came into view as she shone the torch around. Honey, you’ve hit the jackpot! she whispered to herself. It was like something out of Beauty and the Beast; she kept waiting for the torch or the candlestick to burst into song.