Haverscroft

by S. A. Harris

  ‘Denies I’m his wife, Freddie a bastard.’

  ‘Kate?’

  I look up. Mark handing me a mug of steaming liquid. I hadn’t heard him come back into the kitchen and pour our coffees.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, taking the mug. My hand shakes, Mark can’t fail to notice.

  ‘You, okay? Something interesting in there?’ He’s looking at the journal open on my knees. ‘You were pretty engrossed.’

  My mouth is dry, my heart is beating too fast. I try to smile and hope I look calmer than I feel.

  ‘It’s just tricky to read. The writing’s faded and old-fashioned.’

  I blow on the coffee, play for time as I gather my thoughts. I can’t explain any of this to Mark just yet. He’ll most likely dismiss it all as ancient old nonsense or worse, think I’m unhinged. I’ll speak to Mrs Havers. Find out the history of the place then see what I’ve got. I must have imagined it, dreamt it, surely? Maybe I should check with the GP, ask if it’s a side effect of coming off the medication? But then I’ll have to explain about dropping the dose, coming off faster than he’d advised.

  ‘Sorry, it’s such a flying visit, Kate.’ Mark still stands watching me. I close the journal.

  ‘Six hours or so is better than nothing. At least you’ve been able to see what’s gone on with the chimney. I wasn’t looking forward to explaining all that over the phone.’

  He heads to the kitchen table. His holdall gapes, clothes piled beside it along with a half-dozen battered LPs, which Mark had given to me as Shirley bustled about making tea and chatter. More charity shop booty, he explained. Late 70s disco and punk. Not Mum’s style, way after her time. By then she hardly went out and I’d no spare cash for extras like records.

  Mark stuffs the clothes into the bag, the holdall straining as he swings it off the kitchen table and onto the floor. More stuff, casual things too. Is he intending to spend longer periods away?

  ‘You spoke to Blackstone yesterday.’

  The statement takes me by surprise. Mark knows I call the clerks when I need to, but not his colleagues. Not Blackstone. Did he get a rollicking when he finally turned up to chambers?

  ‘He spoke to me actually,’ I say, hoping to explain the conversation.

  ‘He didn’t mention Southampton then?’

  ‘Southampton?’

  ‘The Southampton fraud trial. It came into chambers a couple of weeks back. It’s a big case, six defendants, and it’s likely to become a high-profile thing.’

  A sinking feeling rolls over me. I know what’s coming next.

  ‘Blackstone’s asked me to junior for him. A case like this could really help my career and the fee’s obviously good. You know we could do with the money, what with the chimney and everything.’ . Mark strides to the stove and looks back at me across the length of the kitchen. ‘I’ll have to take it, Kate.’

  Weeks in court. Six, eight, ten weeks staying away most nights in Southampton.

  ‘Charles is one of the other juniors, along with Cassandra Lewis-Brown. You remember her? You met at the summer drinks thing.’

  Cassie. Do I remember? I remember far more these days than my husband realises.

  ‘When’s it listed for?’ I ask, my tone flat.

  ‘Pretty much all of March and a few days into April.’

  ‘You’re kidding?’ I stand up, put my mug on the table and brush dust from my jeans. ‘That’s five, six months away.’

  I take a breath, hold it in, bite back the words sticking in my throat. I just don’t get it. If he isn’t planning to work locally, what was the point of moving here? If he’s playing around I’d rather know. Know what I’m dealing with. But now’s not the time, better to wait till the weekend. Mark picks up dirty glasses from the table and brings them across to where I stand.

  ‘Let’s finish tidying here and then we’ll go up and say goodnight to the twins. I’ve ten minutes before I have to leave.’

  I pick up a plate and begin stacking the dishwasher.

  ‘I’m back Friday night. We can talk about Southampton then.’

  ‘Is Friday a definite?’ I say, looking at him.

  ‘Absolutely. I’ve got a guy coming over on Saturday morning to look over the Armstrong Siddeley to see what kind of a state she’s in and what we need to do to get her moving.’

  Has he failed to notice one of the chimneys has taken out half the roof?

  ‘Till then, though, Kate, take your pills. Perhaps speak to the GP, see if you need the dose increased, or maybe your old counsellor, okay?’

  I nod. What else can I do, for now? I wish I could tell him I dropped the meds weeks ago and have been doing just fine but I can’t. No way will he see today as a blip in an otherwise stable period.

  ‘Is Mummy ill again, Daddy?’

  The startled surprise and horror I feel is reflected back at me in Mark’s face. I look around his shoulder as he spins to face the hall. Our daughter stands in the doorway, dark hair sleep-ruffled about her shoulders, skinny arms clutching tight the greying blanket she has loved since babyhood. Her eyes, huge in her pale face, glisten brightly.

  ‘Hey,’ says Mark, hurrying towards her, ‘Mummy’s just fine . . .’

  ‘Mummy!’

  The shout, high pitched and scared, is from upstairs.

  Chapter 14

  Our son sits bolt upright in bed, duvet heaped about him, pillow on the floor, Blue Duck gripped in his hand. As soon as he sees me, he bounds from the bed and clamps his arms about my waist.

  ‘Did you have a bad dream?’ I stroke his hair, damp with perspiration and kiss the top of his head, the warm scent of Tom. Mark, with Sophie trailing behind, pads along the landing.

  ‘Did you hear them too, Tom?’ Sophie asks, peeping around Mark.

  ‘Hear what, Sophie?’ Mark’s tone is short, irritation barely concealed. When our daughter doesn’t answer I turn and see she’s standing, gazing at her naked toes.

  ‘Well? Come on, Sophie, what are you talking about? If it’s more of what we were discussing earlier I’ll not be impressed!’ says Mark.

  ‘It’s okay, Sophie. Just say what’s up.’ I only have a view of Mark’s back as he continues to look at Sophie. Tom clings so hard to me it’s difficult to move.

  ‘I told her off, didn’t I, Sophie? Telling ridiculous tales to the builder and her brother. Tom’s as bad for believing such nonsense.’ Mark’s voice is getting louder, building to a shout. ‘Didn’t I say your mother had enough to cope with without you adding to it, Sophie?’

  Our daughter gives a tiny nod, all the while keeping her eyes fixed on her feet.

  ‘You both have school tomorrow, so back to bed,’ I say. Tom clutches me tighter, Sophie glances up at me in alarm.

  ‘I did hear something, honest. I came straight downstairs, just like you said, Daddy. I never said anything to Tom, did I, Tom?’

  Sophie looks at her brother, his face still pushed deep into my waist. He shakes his head.

  ‘So why did you yell for me, Tom?’

  I keep my tone calm and patient. Shouting at the twins isn’t going to get to the bottom of why they’re scared and I need to know what they heard. Was it the same as me?

  ‘Don’t know.’ Hot breath seeps through my sweatshirt as he speaks. ‘I just woke up and was scared.’

  ‘Of nothing?’ Mark sounds exasperated. ‘And your problem was what, young lady?’

  Sophie shrugs, looks at me. She’s on the verge of tears, works the blanket between her fingers, clenching and unclenching it as she grapples with what to say.

  ‘It’s okay, Sophie. Just tell us what’s wrong before you both freeze to death here. Before we all freeze to death here!’ I look at Mark. ‘And before Daddy has to catch his train.’

  Sophie glances back along the corridor, past the stairs and towards the spare room. The door is aja
r, a slice of grey moonlight around its edge. It was shut when I went downstairs earlier, leaving Mark to finish the bedtime stories. Had George Cooper left it open after fitting the bolts? Surely not. He knew how much I wanted it locked.

  ‘I did hear them, honest I did.’

  Mark strides off along the landing. ‘For God’s sake, Sophie. It was Mummy and me talking in the kitchen.’

  Sophie is looking at me, eyes wide, shaking her head. Mark clicks the landing light at the top of the stairs, but there’s nothing, the bulb useless and dead above his head. He snatches up the torch and strides towards the spare room.

  ‘I did hear them, really Mum, I did. I didn’t dare come downstairs until Daddy opened the kitchen door cos of the dark.’

  Sophie’s whispering, but there’s no need as Mark is banging and crashing about, the torch light flicking wildly about the spare room. My heart pounds my chest. Is this what I heard? Voices screaming in my head? If so, what the hell was it? Are we safe?

  ‘Nothing in here at all! Completely empty.’

  Mark’s voice is muffled by his thudding footsteps. Tom presses closer, his hands locked at the small of my back. Dare I mention anything to Mark? He’s minutes from leaving. Nothing he can do.

  ‘Where did you get the idea for Riley’s name, Sophie?’

  My daughter stares at me before she speaks in a whisper so low I hardly hear her. ‘Like the other dog that’s here sometimes. The lady’s dog.’

  My heart thuds so hard I think Tom must hear it.

  ‘Who are they? The people you hear in the spare room, Sophie?’

  She shrugs and looks back at the spare room. Mark still thumps around. ‘I don’t know, but the man’s scary. He locks the door and bangs it with his stick.’

  Tom’s head pops up. ‘You’ll be in so much trouble, Sophie. Dad’ll go nuts when he knows you’ve told Mum.’

  ‘Why will he?’ I say, looking at the twins.

  They exchange a glance. Tom’s eyes are bloodshot, his face tear-stained.

  ‘If we make you more ill you won’t be able to look after us,’ says Sophie.

  ‘I’m not ill! I’m fine,’ I reassure her, looking angrily towards the spare room.

  ‘Nanna Jen will have to come and take care of us again,’ Tom says, as he reburies his face in my side.

  ‘Do you hear these things too, Tom?’

  Tom shakes his head. Just Sophie. Our daughter’s fanciful imagination, Mark will conclude.

  ‘Look, kids, hop into my bed for now while I talk to Daddy.’

  Tom’s head pops up. ‘Can we have Riley with us?’

  I look from his face to Sophie’s. ‘Can we, Mum?’

  ‘I’ll bring him up, just as soon as Dad goes for his train. That’s my best offer. Off to bed – now!’

  Sophie grabs her brother’s arm and pulls him off me. They run, bare feet slapping the floor to our room. The beam of Mark’s torch catches their backs as they vanish through the door. Our bed creaks as he stops at the top of the stairs.

  ‘That room is empty, which is no surprise to me at least. The kids need to sleep in their own rooms, Kate.’

  He switches off the torch, bangs it back down against the bannisters. I hurry towards him. He speaks loudly knowing the twins will hear him.

  ‘Don’t leave the door unlocked, Mark!’ I say as we meet at the top of the stairs. Moonlight floods the spare room, the door wide open. I catch his expression, surprise turning to fury. I won’t sleep unless the door is locked. I run to the end of the landing, grab the brass knob and slam the door. I shoot top and bottom bolts home, turn the key in the lock. I pause, catch my breath, relief floods over me. I retrace my steps and Mark heads off downstairs so fast I can’t close the gap between us.

  ‘Mark! Wait, just a minute!’

  ‘You make the kids nervous with your absurd behaviour, Kate. What the fuck do you think is in there?’

  He snatches up the holdall and grabs his keys, knocking sheets of paper off the table and onto the floor. He scoops one up as I reach him. The sheet is A5 and covered in handwriting, lots of capital letters and figures. I pick up two more pages from the tiles. G.W.Cooper and Sons – Builders. Mark snatches them from my hands, stuffs them in his jacket pocket, but I’ve seen the number at the bottom of the page. I stare in dismay at Mark. He slings the holdall over his shoulder.

  ‘I asked the builder for an estimate.’

  He pushes past me towards the door. All I want is to delay him, not let him leave like this. I’ve no idea what time we have. How long before he would miss his train?

  ‘We’re insured, aren’t we, for the work?’

  He stops dead on the top step, I collide with his back.

  ‘What the hell’s the matter with you, Kate? Of course we’re insured. Do you think I’m utterly incompetent?’

  He clicks the key-fob and lights blip on the Audi, headlights picking out the skip at the edge of the drive piled high with a mess of broken plaster and rubble.

  ‘It’ll be okay then, won’t it?’ My voice sounds small and whiney, more like our daughter’s than my own. I’m better than this. I take a breath. Try again. ‘They’ll send out loss adjusters for something this big. I can deal with all that. It’s what I’ve done for years, Mark.’

  He doesn’t move or say anything. Short dark hair curls at the nape of his neck onto his collar. He’ll have it cut soon, one night after work, on his way back to Charles’ flat. Does he go straight home from chambers like he did when we lived in the city, or is he tempted out, to the wine bars, theatres?

  ‘You’re so busy, Mark. Don’t worry, I can get the quotes sorted out and call the insurers.’ My voice is firm and calm. Not panicky, not angry or needy. I want to say don’t treat me like a child or an invalid. Trust me like you used to. Listen to me. But I don’t.

  ‘I’ll try and get away a bit early on Friday, even if I bring prep back here.’ His voice is without any emotion, his anger spent. He stares down the front steps. ‘I’m going to take the Southampton brief, Kate. I thought you and the twins could stay by the coast over the Easter holidays as it will be difficult for me to get back here so often. The brief fee is more than I’ll get doing anything else.’

  ‘Are we that hard up? Don’t feel you have to take it, Mark. We’ll manage . . .’

  He turns around and faces me. ‘I wanted to speak to you about it first. Whether it would bother you, possibly bumping into Blackstone again. If you and the twins stay around the Southhampton area?’ He shrugs. We both know how closely they’ll work together. I would almost certainly ‘bump’ into him at some point and would hear about the case constantly from Mark for months as they prepared it. I’m sure it wouldn’t bother me to see Stephen around. Not like it would have done a few weeks ago. No time to explain this to Mark right now.

  ‘Take the medication, Kate. I need you well, not spooking the hell out of everyone with insane tales about kids dying here, okay?’

  It’s like I’ve been frozen, I just stare silently at my husband, at the angry frowning face. He turns away, walks down the steps and I don’t know if I should follow. He opens the boot and throws the holdall in beside bundles of briefs, thick law books and journals. He slams it shut, heads for the driver’s door and looks up, his face in shadow, I can’t make out his expression.

  ‘Mum, how long will you be?’

  I fold my arms across my chest against the damp chill, glance over my shoulder. Sophie, with Tom at her side, peer over the landing bannister.

  ‘Get back into bed. I’ll only be a minute.’

  The engine starts as I look back to the driveway, lights blaring into the darkness as the car scatters gravel and heads towards the road, brake lights flare at the top of the drive, the car barely slowing before turning into the lane. I stand on the step staring into the darkness until the engine fades to nothing.

&nbs
p; Chapter 15

  Wednesday, 20th October

  ‘Just thinking about it gives me a headache, George.’

  We stand in the doorway of the morning room admiring the first three drops of pale cream and green striped wallpaper.

  ‘I can’t fathom how to keep the pattern straight on the corners.’

  ‘That’ll be a challenge for sure, Kate. Symmetry and old houses don’t mix.’ George grins and fusses an ecstatic Riley. ‘You should’ve gone for the floral print like the room upstairs.’ He raises his eyebrows to the ceiling.

  ‘I’m okay, thanks,’ I say with a grimace.

  ‘It’s coming on well though, Kate. You’re nearly done in here. Amazing the difference a week makes.’

  ‘A walk to the church and back will clear my head, I’ll get on again then this afternoon. The paint fumes aren’t helping.’

  I tug Riley’s lead and head into the hall. ‘Slam the front door when you’re done, George. I have a backdoor key with me.’

  I drop my mobile into my pocket and grab the keys from the glass bowl on the hall table. The corner of Mark’s work laptop pokes out from beneath the stack of Sunday papers waiting to be recycled. He must have forgotten it last night in his rush to leave for London. I’ll call him when my phone picks up a signal.

  I follow Riley through the kitchen and lock the back door behind us. The front door sticks so badly it’s almost impossible to use. I cross the lawn and head down to the pond. Beneath the willows, overlooking the still black water, is a rusting metal seat, just wide enough for two people. I’m never tempted to linger here let alone sit a while. Mr Whittle saw me shiver that first day we looked around. Something about the water, the deep shade and isolation beneath the draping willows jangled my nerves then and still does now. If I’d found the place sinister then, when the sun burned in a clear blue sky, the lane frothing with cow parsley, a dank day like today isn’t going to alter my opinion. I hurry towards the back gate and out into the lane.

  Riley already has a scent and I follow the bustling little dog to the fingerpost where the loke splits left to the village and right to the church and river. I stop and call Mark’s mobile, leave a voicemail about his laptop, say the morning room’s coming on well. Over the last week, since the argument on the landing, things have settled down. Mark’s managed to be here an extra night or two. It helps that George is about the house. Even so, the spare room remains locked and the twins, Riley and I share my bed when Mark is away. Mark will be home tomorrow night. Until then I’ll continue decorating and do a bit of sleuthing into Haverscroft’s history.