by Helen Phifer
Pushing herself up onto her elbows, she stared around the room. Holy cow, she’d slept here! On her own, in this huge, old house, and hadn’t died of heart failure or been murdered in the bed which she’d dragged over to the windows so that she could look out onto the lake. Maddy didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so she jumped out of bed.
Crossing the room, she tried to throw open the balcony doors, but they were stuck with paint and were having none of it. Bollocks! She’d promised herself breakfast on the balcony, even if it had meant dragging the stool from the dresser out there and balancing her plate of toast on her knees. Her shoulders sagged a little. Not one to be defeated, she would search around for something to scrape away the years of paint which had sealed the gap.
Her stomach growled – a mixture of telling her it was starving to death, and excited to explore the rest of the house in the daylight. She didn’t even need to get dressed; it was only her, the house, and her laptop for the foreseeable future. She did, however, brush her teeth, wash her face, and scrape her hair into a loose bun.
Pulling on her knackered Ugg boots, which had seen better days, she grabbed her mobile phone to video and photograph each room, and a notepad. She was going to document everything and anything she found, all ready to turn into blog posts when the storyline wasn’t flowing the way it should. Writing anything was better than nothing, and it would be a welcome distraction.
Already she had some ideas about some plot changes she could make to get the novel off with a bang, and she felt a lot better. This could possibly be the best thing she’d ever done in her entire life, next to writing a book, finding an agent, then a publisher buying her book. That was a pretty tough one to beat. She grinned to herself as she went down to make breakfast. There was no point in working on an empty stomach; her new rule was self-care. It was all over the magazines, and her favourite celebrity Instagram feeds were all about taking care of you before anyone else. After her disastrous relationship with Connor, she was looking after herself.
Her footsteps echoed around the empty halls, but it didn’t matter. She was pretty sure after a couple of hours she wouldn’t even notice the noise. It was a bit like a ticking clock. Once you got used to it, the sound could be pushed to the back of your mind and forgotten about, as if it never existed.
Skirting around the broken glass at the kitchen door, she pushed two thick wedges of fresh bread into the toaster and filled the kettle. She wondered what the original owners would think of this place now. It had been left abandoned for so many years that she imagined they would be glad someone was finally showing the building the love it deserved.
She stared out of the grimy kitchen window which looked onto the overgrown back gardens. The builders would probably replace all the windows, but for now she was going to clean the ones that she was going to be staring out of the most. She wanted uninterrupted views of the mountains, fells, and the lake. The view was too beautiful not to be able to stare wistfully at it whenever she had a moment.
The smell of burning toast filled her nostrils and she screeched at the smoke which was filling the kitchen. Rushing over, she popped up the now burnt toast and grabbed a tea towel to waft away some of the smoke. There was a door which was bolted at the far side of the room. Wrestling with the rusted bolts, she eventually managed to slide them all back and push the door open as far as it would go, which wasn’t much.
Christ, Maddy, you’ve only been here twelve hours and nearly burnt the place down. She couldn’t help but giggle. It was so absurd how her life had changed so drastically in the last couple of weeks. She’d gone from living in a luxury penthouse overlooking the Thames to a Gothic mansion nestled in a Lakeland valley.
Buttering the blackened toast and smothering it in the rich, strawberry jam, she carried the plate and a mug of coffee up to her bedroom. She knew that room was dust-free and liveable; she didn’t want to eat in a room full of cobwebs and spiders.
As she reached the top of the stairs, she thought she heard footsteps behind her. Light, tiptoeing steps. Maddy froze as the hairs on her arms prickled, and she felt the skin turn taut as goosebumps appeared. A faint screech filled the air, and dread filled the pit of her stomach. There wasn’t anyone here except for her. She’d know about it if there was.
Forcing herself to turn around, relief flooded through her. There was no one behind her, coming up, or falling down the stairs, which was what it had sounded like. It’s an old house, you’re going to hear all sorts of noises, so you better get used to it. She carried on walking towards the bedroom a little faster than before.
It was her imagination, that was all. Writers were cursed with overactive imaginations – it was on the list of job specifications; everyone and their dog knew that. Still, when she went into the bedroom, she pushed the door shut with her foot.
She felt safe in here. This was her room now, her space. She’d make it her own, and no spooks or weird noises would be acceptable under any circumstances. It wasn’t until she tried to put her mug of coffee down on the dresser and the hot liquid splashed over the edge all over the wooden floorboards that she realised her hands were trembling.
Chapter Fifteen
C onnor parked in the busy supermarket car park, only a couple of minutes on foot from the book shop. He wanted to pop in and surprise Stella, maybe buy a couple of paperbacks, make her drop her guard even more, hang around for a while and look like a lovesick, heartbroken husk of the man he’d once been.
He rubbed his eyes so they looked red and blotchy and she’d think he’d been crying all night. Women liked a man who was vulnerable, who showed their emotional side. He’d been very good at this kind of thing with Maddy in the beginning, but it had been hard work to keep up the pretence and she’d started to see through him. In fact, she’d seen through him a lot quicker than most other women, and he’d had to keep up the pretence for a lot longer until he’d cracked under the pressure of trying too hard to be someone he wasn’t.
Life could be so difficult. Why couldn’t he just be himself and find a woman who’d accept him for who he was? Maybe there was an Internet dating site for control freaks; in fact, there probably were a few. Who knows, he could meet the perfect woman on there? Some women liked to be controlled. Not all of them were feisty, go-fuck-yourself feminists.
He walked past the florists and picked up a small bouquet of hand-tied flowers. Lifting them to his nose, he inhaled and was pleasantly surprised at how fragrant they smelt.
‘It’s the roses. They’re called David Austen and they smell divine. Buy her a bunch every couple of weeks or for special occasions and she’ll love you forever.’
He turned to the older woman who was smiling at him from the shop doorway.
‘You think so?’
‘I know so. My husband brought me fresh flowers every pay day for thirty-five years. Such a small gesture, but it meant a lot. Even the months when we had little spare money, he’d still bring some.’
‘I wish I’d known that before the love of my life left me.’
She shrugged. ‘If she left you, then she wasn’t the love of your life.’
He laughed. ‘Maybe you have a point. It still hurts, though.’
‘Of course it does, pride is painful. Now, do you want those, or am I giving away my top tips for free?’
Following her inside the shop, he pulled out a twenty-pound note and passed it to her. She took it from him, offering him five pounds back in return.
He shook his head. ‘You keep that, for the top tips.’
She winked at him, and for the first time in a long time he felt better, as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders. Maybe it was time to move on, to forget about Maddy. Have a bit of fun, don’t even think about a serious relationship, and see what happens. Stella was fun, even with her loud laugh. He could take her out, screw her with no strings attached.
Connor left the florists and rounded the corner to the narrow street where the bookshop was. He was surprised to see people mi
lling around inside and out. Yesterday it hadn’t looked busy at all and he’d thought bookshops were a dying trade. It looked like he was learning lots of new things today.
When he went inside, there was an entire family who he recognised from the deli he’d been in yesterday. The noise was deafening; everyone was chattering loudly, drinking coffee, and eating cake. He felt a bit stupid standing there with his bunch of flowers. Stella was nowhere to be seen.
The tall, thin guy with bleached blond hair from the other day approached him holding a tray.
‘Brownie? Are you here for the poetry reading?’
Connor felt his mouth drop open. He honestly couldn’t think of anything worse than having to listen to poetry.
‘Erm, not really my thing, to be honest. Is Stella around by any chance?’
‘Stella.’ The thin guy bellowed her name; he had a voice that was louder than a foghorn.
Stella came rushing from the back of the shop, her cheeks flushed, her hair tied in a high ponytail. She took one look at Connor and stopped dead.
‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I had no idea you were busy. I’ll pop back later. I just wanted to give you these.’
He handed her the flowers, which she took, her cheeks turning redder.
‘Thank you, but what are these for?’
He wasn’t sure he wanted to have a conversation like this in front of a shop full of strangers, who had all stopped talking to listen to their exchange. Connor tried to keep calm and not get angry.
‘Just a thank you for last night.’
She smiled. ‘I didn’t do anything, but thank you, they’re gorgeous. Are you busy? We have a poetry reading about to start in five minutes as soon as the burger guys arrive.’
There was more shuffling as a group of men came through the shop doorway. Connor shook his head.
‘I can’t, sorry. I have to get back to work. Maybe we could go for a drink later if you’re not doing anything?’
‘That would be nice. Thanks.’
He turned to walk out and had to squeeze past a tall man who was standing with his arms crossed glaring at him. Connor glared back; he had no idea what the guy’s problem was. Any other time or place he’d have shoved him and told him to back off, but today he couldn’t. He was trying to make a good impression and show Stella that he wasn’t the loser Maddy had no doubt made him out to be.
Chapter Sixteen
S eth turned his car onto the gravel drive, trying to manoeuvre his beast of a car around the many potholes. He was aware that technically he was trespassing, but he wouldn’t settle if he didn’t find out who this caretaker was and why they were there. He needed to know what was happening to his ramshackle, dream house. Not that he could afford to do anything about it; he didn’t have the money to buy it, nor for the major renovations it so badly needed.
When the drive finally opened out and the house was standing in front of him, he stopped the car and inhaled. He’d forgotten how captivating it was, standing tall and proud despite the boarded-up windows and shabby exterior drenched in ivy. There was a blue VW Beetle parked out the front.
He parked behind it and got out. Peering through the windows of the car, he could see an explosion of pink bags and cases, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was a woman who was the caretaker. There were plenty of guys who liked pink; it was a lot more fashionable now. He couldn’t imagine this would be the kind of place a woman would choose to stay, unless she was with someone else.
He walked up to the front door and knocked, the sound echoing around the hallway. He waited and waited, knocking again, but there was still no reply. He wondered if they were at the back of the house. Technically, he had no right to be there, he was just being nosy. Neighbourly, Seth, not nosy.
He walked around the perimeter of the house until he reached the back of the house. It was so overgrown around here it was a mess, and so dark. He had to stay close to the wall of the house to avoid being swallowed up by the brambles. It seemed unlikely whoever it was could be out here. Then he saw a door which was open wide enough to squeeze through.
He desperately wanted to go inside, but was this taking being a good neighbour a little too far and turning into trespassing? He reached the door.
‘Hello, is anyone home?’ His voice echoed around whatever room he’d just hollered into, but there was still no response.
Turning to go back to his car, he decided to come back another time. But for some reason, he couldn’t. He needed to know what was going to happen to this place. Despite his best intentions, he went against his own rules and pushed through the narrow opening and found himself inside the kitchen. It was massive and old-fashioned, and the aroma of burnt toast lingering in the air made him smile. Whoever was living here was as good a cook as him.
Seth walked towards the door and found himself in a huge corridor. He could hear bangs and a scraping noise coming from the floor above. It seemed pointless to shout, as whoever it was wouldn’t hear him when they were busy doing something. Taking his time, he strolled along the corridor towards the intricate, oak-carved staircase which filled the entrance hall. It was a stunning piece of work, and he hoped that whatever plans the owners had for the building included keeping as many of the original features as possible.
Feeling like an intruder, he paused on the bottom step. Should he go up? The person might be crazy and have a gun. They could shoot him, thinking he was a burglar. Pushing that thought out of his head, he slowly climbed the stairs towards the sound.
Suddenly he heard a woman’s voice shout, ‘Argh!’ And as he reached the top of the stairs, someone came rushing out of one of the rooms, holding her hand up in the air. She took one look at him and screamed so loud he felt he jumped several feet in the air, his heart racing.
‘I’m sorry,’ he started, ‘I’m Seth. Hello. I live in the pub, and I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ve been knocking.’ He cringed at his stilted explanation.
She stared back at him, and he realised she was terrified. He also noticed for the first time that there was a stream of bright red blood running down her arm.
‘You’re bleeding, quite a lot. Here, let me help you. I’m a first aider; I used to be a volunteer with the local Mountain Rescue.’
She looked at the blood and her face paled. ‘Oh, shit. I hate blood. You scared me to death.’
‘I’m sorry about that. I did knock a lot, and I shouted.’
She looked as if she was about to pass out, and he rushed up the remaining stairs to grab hold of her arm. ‘Look, I won’t hurt you, I promise, but you need to let me sort that cut out. You’re bleeding a lot, and the nearest hospital is thirty minutes away. I can help you. I’ve done it plenty of times out on the mountains.’
Nodding, she let him lead her to the stairs and down to the kitchen. He sat her on a stool with her arm raised above her head, then grabbed the only cloth he could find, folded it into a pad, and pressed it against the open cut.
‘Are you here on your own?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Oh God, has it stopped bleeding? I’m no good with blood, especially my own.’
‘Don’t look at it, and not yet. If you can hold it up, I can go out to my car and get my first aid kit. We can patch it up and see if you need to go to the hospital.’
‘Thank you. What’s your name again?’
‘Seth.’
‘Thanks, Seth. I can’t afford to bleed to death on my first day or get gangrene and lose my hand. It’s my most valuable asset.’
He arched an eyebrow at her, wondering if she’d lost so much blood, she was going a little crazy. What on earth did she mean?
He ran towards the front door where he let himself out, retrieved the green bag with the first aid kit in it, and ran back.
‘Wow, that was fast.’
‘It’s easy when you’re on the flat.’ He grinned, pulling pads and bandages out of the bag. ‘You should try doing that halfway up Helvellyn. It’s a lot harder then.’
He busied himself cleaning the
wound which had slowed down to a trickle, then patted it dry and put a pressure pad and wound bandage around it.
‘You’re good at this,’ she commented. ‘Are you a doctor?’
He smiled. ‘I almost was. I did three years then changed my mind. It wasn’t for me.’
‘Well, thank you. I could have died out here on my own. You saved my life.’
‘You’re welcome. I think you’d have survived if you’d driven into the village. There’s always someone around to help.’ He looked at her curiously. ‘Are you really staying here on your own?’
She nodded. ‘Crazy, eh?’
‘Brave, more like. Where are you from?’
‘London.’
‘You’re a city girl and you’ve upped and come here to one of the most secluded places in the Lake District? There must be a pretty good reason for that.’
Maddy laughed. ‘Believe me, there is. But it’s a long story and I won’t bore you with it. So, why did you turn up here when you did?’
Seth shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking a little sheepish. ‘I’m being nosy. I tried to tell myself I was being a good neighbour, and I am – sort of. I have good intentions, I really do. It’s just that I saw the torchlight moving around in here last night and thought it was being burgled.’
‘Ah, so you’re the mystery grass who phoned the police.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not a grass. I was worried vandals or thieves had broken in. I love this old house.’
She began to laugh. ‘I’m joking. You were doing exactly what I’d have done in the same situation.’ She held out her good hand. ‘I’m Maddy Hart, caretaker and writer. Although, if I carry on with this level of DIY, I won’t have any limbs left to write with.’
He took her hand and shook it. ‘Maybe you should leave the home improvements to the professionals then. It’s just a thought.’