Once they are all safely on board, Christine starts the engine once more. ‘You’ll have to bear with me,’ she says, as they pull out from the jetty. ‘I only started working at the hotel on Thursday – the day before we opened, in fact.’
‘You’ve only just opened?’ Alice looks at Leon, and he shrugs. She hadn’t realised.
‘Yes. You’re Cameron Patterson’s first guests. Though he hasn’t set foot outside of his cottage on the other side of the island since I arrived. I’ve received most of my instructions by email.’ Alice observes once more the woman’s broad accent. ‘It’s all a bit suck-it-and-see, if you get my meaning. Anyway, enough of my moaning – you haven’t come all this way to listen to my problems.’ She lets out a strange little laugh.
There’s something about the fast-talking woman, the twang of anxiety in her voice, that isn’t helping Alice’s own jitters about staying over, but she knows it’s far too late to change her mind. ‘It looks incredible,’ she says, unable to tear her eyes from the splendour of the building. It’s exactly like the photographs online, the picture she received in the post, how she saw the place in her dreams, yet somehow more haunting. ‘Amazing.’
‘Oh yes, you’ll love it.’ Christine nods. ‘It has five guest bedrooms – boutique they call it, don’t they? And I pretty much do everything. There’s Gabriela, of course, who thankfully turned up like some kind of angel on Thursday afternoon asking for work. She tends to the bar, and cleans the rooms. Sweet girl. Though, between you and me, she barely speaks a word of English. Oh dear, I’m not really selling the place, am I? You’ll be diving over the side and swimming for the mainland, if I don’t stop.’
‘It’s fine, I’m sure we’ll have a brilliant time,’ Leon says, gripping Alice’s hand, and they exchange a smile.
‘I do hope so.’ Christine nods several times. ‘Just wait until you see inside. It’s a cracking place. Mr Patterson bought it in 2017, and renovated the building to a very high standard.’
She revs the engine, and as they speed through the darkness towards the imposing building, the wind whips Alice’s hair across her face, and a chill grips her spine.
‘We’re meeting a friend here,’ Alice says. ‘I wondered if—’
‘All expected guests have arrived,’ Christine says, steering the boat towards a similar jetty to the one on the mainland, lined with lit pumpkins, and swinging lanterns. There’s a shed nearby, and a steep hill – lined with more lanterns – leads up to the hotel. An expanse of grass in front of large patio windows takes you to the cliff edge, and a pathway leads towards a wooded area. ‘Right, here we are then.’ Christine helps them onto dry land, surprisingly strong for a small woman, and hands them their holdalls. She moors the boat, then, with quick strides, makes her way up the hill towards the hotel, her head down against the wind. ‘I’ll go on,’ she calls. ‘Get ready for you.’
Alice and Leon stare up at the hotel, their bags at their feet. Surrounding mature trees sway, moaning in the wind. A metal sign halfway up the hill, advertising Flynn Hotel, rattles and squeaks in the wind. A stone dog guards the entrance.
As though a door to the skies opens, rain suddenly hammers down – sharp, heavy drops. ‘And you wanted to come here, why?’ Leon says, with a smile, picking up his holdall.
Alice laughs, but inside she is full of doubt. She looks up, rain stinging her skin. At the top of the building is an arched, barred window in the roof. ‘The attic room,’ she says, her body stiffening.
Leon’s gaze moves to where hers has landed. ‘I guess so,’ he says. ‘Creepy.’
‘Mmm,’ Alice says, head spinning. She knows already that the walls are muddy brown and the carpet is grass green.
Chapter 11
1976
Verity
The bullies circled, faces menacing. Verity had seen them from the cliff edge, as she leant against the wire fence at the foot of the sprawling lawn at Flynn House.
And now, fists clenched, she raced towards them, black plimsolls sinking into the sand with every footstep, chestnut-brown plaits swinging as she dashed to save her younger brother.
She’ll kick the living hell out of each and every one of them. They all deserve to die.
She wasn’t tall, but she was older than the brats who targeted her skinny brother. The weight she carried – not fat, muscle – gave her an advantage over them. Made her look older than her nine years.
‘Hugh,’ she cried, as she got closer, her breath raspy. He was on the ground now, and even from a distance she could see he’d peed his grey shorts. She would wash them out when she got him back to the house. Their father couldn’t know. He would beat Hugh if he found out.
She continued onwards. Why had Hugh strayed so far? But she knew why. She could see the small red bucket lying on its side, shells strewn across the smooth sand. He loved collecting shells.
One of the kids – there were three in all – looked up. ‘It’s Verity!’ It was the girl who lived above the shop on the seafront. Within moments the nasty kids scattered – scaredy-cats disappearing in different directions.
Hugh was crying when she reached him. She crouched down beside him, began picking up the shells, plopping them back into the red bucket. ‘What have I told you?’ she said. He was only ten months younger than her, and yet he was so much smaller, a weedy poppet. He was a child and she was the grown-up; she had to be.
‘To stay near Flynn House,’ he whimpered, wiping his grubby tear-stained face with the back of his hand, spreading his cheeks with sand. ‘To never leave.’
‘That’s right, Hugh. To never leave.’ She stood up. Pulled him to his feet. ‘Let’s get you back there shall we? Before the tide comes in.’ And putting her arm around his shoulders, drawing him close to her, she took him home.
Chapter 12
Halloween Weekend 2019
Alice
‘Jeez,’ Leon whispers in Alice’s ear, as they step into the entrance of Flynn Hotel, his eyes widening as he looks about him. ‘You’ve brought me to a Tim Burton film set.’
‘Shh.’ She nudges his waist with her elbow, and he groans, and laughs. Seeming oblivious to the tension rising inside her.
The high-ceilinged reception has a curving staircase leading to a second floor. Low-voltage wall lights and an elaborate hanging pendant give everything an amber glow. Alice’s apprehensive gaze roams the room. Black and white photographs cover one wall, mismatched mirrors another, and through ornate double glass doors there’s a bar, luxurious, black satin curtains framing two bay windows. She breathes in the aroma of incense, as her eyes continue to travel, taking in a mahogany colonial grandfather clock with large gold numbers telling her it’s a quarter to seven, a pink sofa, a table graced with black fake flowers in pink vases, and finally her sculpture of Gothic House in the centre of a black chest in the corner.
‘Miss Hadley?’ Christine stands behind a wooden counter, the laptop in front of her seeming at odds with the bizarre surroundings. She’s ditched her anorak and beanie, to reveal black hair cropped into a pixie cut, a calf-length black dress over her full figure, cloaked by a silver-weave cardigan. She peers at Alice over red-framed glasses.
Behind her is a rack of keys, and three A4-sized photographs are displayed on the wall in a pyramid. At the top, a picture labelled Cameron – Owner. It’s the same photograph Alice saw on the website. Beneath his picture is one of a smiling Christine – Hotel Manager. The third is of a young woman with long, straight black hair, and piercing blue eyes set in a pretty, pale face: Gabriela – General Assistant.
Christine turns from Alice as they approach, and glances through the double doors of the bar towards one of the bay windows. Rain lashes against the glass; lanterns strung along the patio rock and sway in the wind. ‘It looks as if you got here just in time. It’s getting quite blustery out there.’ Her eyes return to the laptop screen. Fingers rest on the keyboard; tap, tap, tap. ‘Room 2,’ she says, stopping to grab a key from a rack. ‘It’s up the stairs and to
your left. A lovely sea-facing room.’ A smile floods her round face, her cheeks flushed as she places the key in Alice’s hand.
‘Could you tell me Faith Evans’ room number, please?’
Christine looks at her screen, and back up at Alice. ‘Room 4.’ She slaps her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh my, I probably shouldn’t have told you another guest’s details.’
‘It’s fine. She’s my friend.’
Christine removes her hand. ‘Well, I suppose that’s OK then.’
Alice looks about her. ‘Is the restaurant open?’
‘I can rustle you up something if you’re hungry.’
‘I’m starving,’ Leon says under his breath, jamming his hands in his jacket pockets.
Alice feels his pain. Apart from a bag of crisps, they haven’t eaten since breakfast.
‘Tonight’s film in the lounge is Halloween, and there are TVs and Blu-ray players in every room, with a selection of films for your convenience. And a bookcase too, with books personally chosen by Mr Patterson.’
‘Thanks. That’s great.’ Leon is clearly itching to get away.
Christine flaps her face with her hand, her cheeks pinking further. ‘Sorry hot flush,’ she says. ‘I’m at that age, you see.’ She leans forward and in a hushed whisper adds, ‘I’ve been thrown in the deep end a bit. Mr Patterson has just left me to it.’
Alice glances at Leon, who is picking up his holdall. ‘Well, you seem to be doing just fine,’ she says, slightly irritated by the woman’s repetitive moaning.
‘Well, thank you, I’m doing my best. Ooh, and before I forget,’ she goes on. ‘If you’re interested, Mr Patterson is coming over later to give a tour of the house and a talk about its history. The original owner was a famous magician in the Sixties. In fact, I remember seeing him on television when I was a child. He was an extremely hypnotic character – a bit chilling, in fact. He disappeared mysteriously about forty years ago.’
Leon shifts from foot to foot. Alice knows he’s had enough of this woman, and needs something to eat, or a beer, or both. He seems to have forgotten why they are here, that this is the kind of thing she needs to know. That the tour might help. She picks up her holdall.
‘And the bar is open now,’ Christine continues. ‘It doesn’t close until eleven. And breakfast in the morning is from seven to eleven.’
It’s as though she’s ticking off a ‘tell the guests list’, and sounds hyper and flustered. ‘Enjoy your stay with us at Flynn Hotel,’ she concludes as they turn and head up the stairs.
The landing wallpaper is patterned – a pale pink rose with black thorns. The carpet is a swirl of pink and black. Like the reception area, the narrow corridor is lit by low-voltage wall-lights. There’s another set of stairs leading to a further floor.
‘It will be nice to meet up with Faith later,’ Alice says as they pass room 1. ‘I hope she’s OK.’ Her eyes fall on a framed poster on the wall, advertising a performance at The London Palladium in September 1960. The man in the picture is in his twenties, dressed in a yellow and blue striped jacket. His black hair oiled back from his forehead.
‘Felix Flynn,’ she says.
Leon nods. ‘The original owner Christine mentioned, the one who disappeared. Looks like he was a magician and a puppeteer.’
She peers closer. Felix Flynn is holding a ventriloquist puppet – an exact replica of himself, down to the yellow and blue striped jacket, and the oiled-back hair. She shivers. ‘I wouldn’t want to meet him on a dark night.’
‘Nor me.’
They walk on. Find room 2.
‘Faith’s room must be that one,’ she says, pointing down the corridor towards room 4. She heads towards it. Knocks three times. ‘Faith,’ she calls, but there’s no reply.
‘Shall we freshen up, then grab something to eat?’ she says, making her way back.
‘Sounds good to me.’ Leon takes the key from Alice and unlocks the door.
The room is dimly lit, the furnishings much the same as the rest of the house – pale pink and black seems to be Cameron’s favourite colour combination. There’s a full-length mirror, a mahogany four-poster bed and ornate wardrobe.
Rain hits the stunning arched window, black drapes pulled back like curtains at a macabre theatre. Alice moves closer, curves her hand over her eyes as she nears the glass, but the world outside the window is black. She can only imagine the choppy sea crashing against the cliffs.
‘First or second shower?’ she asks, turning to grab her holdall. She throws it onto the bed, and takes off her coat.
‘We could be eating sooner, if we share one.’ Leon smiles, flops down onto a throne-like chair by the window, and splays his long, jean-clad legs.
She rolls her eyes, her mouth curling into a smile.
‘What? You can’t blame a guy for trying.’
She should have known this wouldn’t be easy. Being close to him is painfully hard. There’s only a double bed and the uncomfortable-looking chair. She didn’t think this through.
She unzips her holdall, avoiding his eyes. ‘Do you think the picture will still be here?’
‘I’m guessing if Faith only took the photo yesterday, it will be.’ A beat. He looks concerned. ‘Are you going to be OK, Alice? We could always get something sent to our room tonight.’
‘I’m fine, honestly. I need to see the portrait.’ She takes out an ankle-length, yellow dress that she rolled up like a beach towel when she packed her bag. As she unrolls it, she sees her anti-creasing technique hasn’t worked.
‘I’m going to look a bloody mess this evening if I wear this,’ she says, grabbing her soap bag.
‘You’ll look lovely whatever you wear,’ Leon says. She turns to look at him, and for the first time notices his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s as unsettled here as she is.
It’s as she heads towards the bathroom, she notices a small bookshelf by the window. She crouches down, eyes flickering over the array of novels. In amongst a whole range of thrillers and ghost stories, are copies of her father’s books. ‘That’s weird,’ she says, pulling one out and showing it to Leon.
He shrugs, shakes his head. ‘Not really, your dad wrote bestselling Gothic thrillers. This is a Gothic hotel.’
‘I guess so.’ She shoves the book back on the shelf between copies of Stephen King’s The Shining and Robert Bloch’s Psycho, trying to shake the feeling that something isn’t quite right here.
*
The tick tick tick of the grandfather clock echoes into the silent reception area.
‘Where is everybody?’ Alice whispers, clinging to Leon’s arm as they make their way towards the dining room. She’s abandoned her yellow dress, and is wearing a purple tunic over leggings. Feels better after a shower. She suits purple, and has plaited her blonde hair – twisted it around her head like a traditional Dutch doll – though a few tendrils have already worked their way loose, spirals of wispy hair floating down her cheeks.
‘It’s like we’re here all alone,’ Leon says.
‘Mmm, it’s a bit creepy, don’t you think?’
They’re about to enter the restaurant, when a shriek of laughter echoes from the bar, making Alice jump.
‘Faith!’ She releases Leon’s arm and turns. ‘I’d know that laugh anywhere.’
Leon grabs her hand before she can head across the chessboard quarry tiles. ‘Can we eat first, Alice? Please. I may have to bite my arm off if we don’t, and possibly yours too.’
‘Go get a table,’ she says, pulling her hand free. ‘I’ll be two minutes. Promise.’
She feels the weight of his hungry eyes on her, as she heads towards the bar.
From the doorway, she struggles to make out the shadowy figures sitting in a booth, but can see a sprinkling of low tables and chairs. The room is dimly lit, with pockets of lighting from wall-mounted lamps and a roaring fire. A young woman with long black hair stands behind a bar at the far end, bright pink lighting around the bar revealing she looks vacant – sad somehow. It�
��s Gabriela, the woman in the photo behind reception.
‘Alice!’ Faith is dashing towards her, almost toppling over on her three-inch heels. She’s wearing a tight-fitting, short black dress, her dark hair loose and curled. She looks stunning, but equally wrong. Faith always wears dungarees and check shirts, trainers, her hair in a high ponytail. ‘You came. Yay, it’s so good to see you,’ Faith goes on, grabbing Alice, and giving her a hug. ‘What changed your mind?’
‘What can I say? Curiosity got the better of me,’ Alice says, as Faith releases her.
‘It killed the cat too.’ It’s Mitch, appearing with a glass of brandy in his large hand. He presses his free hand against Faith’s back. ‘So be careful.’
‘Mitch,’ Alice says, and adds, out of politeness, ‘nice to see you again.’
He smiles, but there’s darkness in his eyes. ‘Good to see you again too, Alice.’
‘You look lovely,’ Alice says, eyes back on her friend.
Faith looks up at Mitch, and tugs at the hem of her dress.
‘I picked it out,’ Mitch says. ‘A woman should look like a woman, don’t you think?’
Alice looks from Faith to Mitch, and bites her tongue. ‘Listen, I’m about to have something to eat. Are you around after?’
‘We’ll probably be here until they throw us out,’ Faith says with a laugh.
‘Great, I’ll see you in a bit then.’ She turns to go, then spins back. ‘I tried to call you a few times to let you know I was coming, but your phone went to voicemail every time.’
‘God. I know. I’ve lost the bloody thing.’
‘You’ve lost your phone?’
‘Yep, although …’ Faith glances about her, and reducing her voice to a whisper, says, ‘I’m not the only one who has had their phone go missing.’ She points to a woman in her fifties sitting by an open fire, wearing a satin dress, and strappy shoes. An elaborate standard lamp beams light on the wing-backed chair, as she reads. She’s attractive; her thick, chestnut-brown hair swept over one shoulder, silky and straight. As though sensing Alice’s stare, she turns quite suddenly, her gaze intelligent, her features sharp. A small smile crosses her lips, as though she realises Alice has seen what she’s reading: Where Doves Fly.
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