Haverscroft

by S. A. Harris

  Why he was set on keeping the children I do not know. If they were not his, as he claimed, why not let them go? There were no witnesses to the events in the loke that sunny afternoon. If I raised a finger of suspicion, who would believe me? No father kills his own children.

  I gaze through the taxi window, headlights pick out a deserted high street, a front doorstep, a shopfront shuttered against the night. My body sways with the motion of the taxi, the air, hot, stuffy and stale. It’s difficult to take in all this woman has endured. Just a few minutes before we reach Haverscroft, I pick up the letter again.

  I was devastated by my sister’s death. I have never truly come to terms with her loss. The horror of her passing, of poor dear Richard finding her beside the pond. We both sensed her in so many ways in the years that followed. A hint of her perfume, a feeling of her near me as I dug the borders or as Richard sat watching the pond. I believe you thought my golly rather a fearful thing. When Helena gave him to me one birthday he came with a short note in his breast pocket. We continued to exchange messages and secrets that way, as sisters do, until her death. I can not tell you of my alarm when that old toy reappeared. And the shock of your drawing too, of your son, the very image of my nephew, Freddie. Helena was riddled with guilt before her death. She was quite certain it was her fault that Edward had taken an interest in me. She swore she would always keep me safe and I believe she keeps that promise, even after all this time.

  Edward suffered a massive heart attack, brought on by sheer terror, so Richard believed. Did Helena haunt him? Of course, we can never know. After he died, a malevolence entered the house I had never detected previously. If Edward’s presence remains at Haverscroft, and I somehow believe it does, your children should not be there. You should not stay. Take them to Shirley’s, anywhere away from Haverscroft.

  My heart is racing, my throat tight. Buildings crowd more thickly now as we head along the narrow street, Haverscroft is only minutes from here. Her letter is almost done.

  There is something more I must explain, but I have been writing to you for more than two hours. Exhaustion addles my brain, but I will not sleep. I never sleep. And now, I have no Richard for solace. I have no choice but to finish here. The rest I must tell you in person if you can bear to hear it. Try as I might, I have found it impossible to write it down.

  So there is something at Haverscroft, something that may threaten the twins. I look back at the letter, it isn’t even signed. She must have been utterly exhausted by this point. What else can she possibly have to say? Isn’t this enough for one family? Shirley suggests it was Edward, not Richard Denning, who attacked Helena. Does Mrs Havers know what happened the night her sister died? Richard said he did.

  I look at the rear-view mirror, the driver watches the road as it curves and bends along the empty street. The moon slides out from behind thin cloud, huge and bright, washing ghostly silver light across the village. The cafe window is full of Christmas, Halloween swept away. Who will the twins spend the festive season with this year? I can’t tolerate Mark’s behaviour any longer, I’ve done all I can to save our marriage, perhaps I have tried longer than I should have. For now though, the most important thing is to make sure the twins are safe.

  My body jerks forward, the seat belt snapping like a steel band across my chest. Tyres scream against wet tarmac, a horn blaring. The taxi lurches left, judders, front wheels smack the kerb. I grab the front headrest and hold tight.

  Nothing. No crash or bang of a collision. Only silence draws out.

  ‘Stupid fucking cow! Are you blind?’

  The driver shouts out of his open window. Damp night air rushes into the car. I sit up and peer out at the street. The cab is on the pavement at an acute angle to the road, the front bumper inches from the black railings outside Lyle’s office. The driver has his head out of his window raising a middle finger. A figure stands stock still in the road, deep in the shadow of the bus stop.

  The driver thuds back into his seat as the window whines closed. He puts the car into gear, glancing at me as he does so.

  ‘You alright? Stupid woman. Came from nowhere. I could’ve killed her.’

  I’m still staring at the figure, dressed in a dark coat, collar pulled up high and muffled deep into a thick scarf. My fingers fumble to find the catch for the seatbelt. I release it and grab the door handle.

  ‘Wait! I’ll get out here,’ I say.

  Chapter 30

  Tuesday 2nd November, 4:12am

  I slam the taxi door, frozen air folding around me. A few lights come on behind upper floor windows, the striped curtain fabric of the flat above the cafe drops back into place. The road is empty, the receding taxi taillights bleeding into the darkness. No sign of the woman, but rapid footsteps ring along the cobbled side street.

  I shove the letter into my pocket and hurry after her, pulling my coat tight about me, frost biting at my cheeks. Dawn is several hours away and with no streetlights I’m glad of the moonlight. The clear sky is perfectly black, stars as bright as I’ve ever seen them. I turn into the narrow alley, shadows from the crowded cottages cut across the cobbles. I slow down, less sure of my footing.

  ‘Shirley! Wait, it’s me, Kate.’

  The slope towards the river is steep in daylight, but now it’s as if the road falls from under my feet. Slippery, wet cobblestones, I have to slow down. I can’t hear anything. No hurrying footsteps. I pick my way further from the high street, my confidence ebbing away with each step. Maybe I should go straight to Haverscroft? If the children are there, I shouldn’t delay. The prospect of the lane, the dark and silent churchyard, the empty house, does not appeal. Shirley will know where my children are, no need to go to Haverscroft if she has them.

  There’s no sign of the woman. Maybe I was mistaken, not Shirley, someone else. She’s not likely to be running around at this time of the morning nearly getting herself run over.

  I stop and stare along the narrow street. The cottage I think is Shirley’s is about twenty metres further on from here. It’s in total darkness. No lights show in any of the cottages. I only caught a glimpse of the figure under her layers of coat and scarf, it could have been anyone.

  A shadow stirs in the doorway to my left. I step backwards, breath catching in my throat. It grows deeper, more solid. My feet slither on the cobbles, the shadow moving closer. No one will hear me if I scream. Can I make it if I run back to the high street?

  ‘Kate! Goodness me. I’m so glad to see you!’

  Shirley clamps her arms around me and hugs me so fiercely for a moment I can’t move.

  ‘We’ve been terribly worried. I can’t tell you what I’ve been imagining. Are you alright? Fancy the police keeping you all that time.’ She laughs, a small nervous sound in the darkness. ‘I wondered who was running after me. Scared me half to death you did!’

  I can’t make out her face, but her voice is incredibly good to hear. She’s so solid, safe and normal. I hug her back, hold her tight. I’m shivering badly, she must notice it.

  ‘Quickly, now, let’s get inside.’ She grabs my wrist and tugs me behind her.

  ‘Hang on, Shirley, I’ll skid over at this rate!’

  My feet slither and slip, Shirley drops my wrist and dashes ahead. She stops on her doorstep and gropes in her bag. She’s breathing heavily, ramming her key into the lock as I reach her.

  ‘Come in, Kate. Quickly, love.’

  She presses her hand into the small of my back, ushering me inside. She puts on the hall light and slams the door, locks it and draws the security chain into place. She stands still staring at the closed door with her back to me.

  ‘Is everything alright, Shirley?’

  She glances over her shoulder, smiles and heads past me to the kitchen. I follow.

  ‘Of course. I just gave myself the jitters. Silly at my age, really it is!’

  She snatches a tea towel off a
kitchen chair.

  ‘Take a seat, love, you must be exhausted.’

  I sit and watch her pull clothes off the backs of chairs, off the oven rail and throw everything into a laundry basket. She fills the kettle, puts it on and starts unwinding her scarf.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay, Shirley?’

  The kitchen is a mess, the table full of dirty mugs and plates, a casserole, saucepan and bowls scatter the tiny workspace. There’s a slew of papers on the table at my elbow, crayons and a half-eaten bag of Sherbet Dip-Dab. The twins have been here. Shirley’s stopped dashing about, no stream of warm chatter. She’s probably tired.

  ‘I can’t believe what happened, really I can’t. Shocking, it is. Shocking. Poor man. Mrs Havers is beside herself, so she is.’ Her voice is a touch hoarse, has Shirley been crying?

  She looks at me properly for the first time, her eyes are bright.

  ‘She was so worried for you, she was. She said she was going to the station to give the police a piece of her mind.’

  ‘She left a letter with them to give to me. I’m sorry about Richard, really I am, but are the twins, okay? Did you collect them from school? The police had my mobile.’

  Her silence, her expression . . . My stomach drops, my mouth suddenly dry. Where are they, where are my children? The kettle starts to rumble.

  ‘I hope they haven’t been naughty,’ I say, trying to force a lightness into my voice.

  Shirley shakes her head, her hand at her throat, pulling at her scarf.

  ‘They’re with your husband, love. He picked them up, just after eleven this evening it was. Bless them, they wanted to sleep over here, they didn’t want to go back to that house.’ She pauses and stares into my face, her cheeks, scarlet. ‘I tried explaining why they should stay but, well, it all sounded . . .’ she shrugs. ‘You know what I mean, and he was in no mood to listen. He just got angry and said something about his mother being as bad; she won’t come back to the house . . . He wasn’t pleased about that, I can tell you.’

  ‘The twins are at Haverscroft?’

  ‘As far as I understand there’s no plan to go to his mother’s. He wanted to know if I’d be free to have the children over the next day or two. They’ve got school, haven’t they?’

  I stand, grab my bag from the table, panic washing over me in waves.

  ‘You can’t go out there, love, not right now.’ I stare at her, she’s deadly serious. ‘Wait, till it’s light, at least. The children will be alright, won’t they, once they’re asleep in their beds? There’s no point disturbing them at this time.’

  ‘I don’t want them at that house, Shirley. Mark doesn’t get it, you know he doesn’t!’

  My voice sounds angry, sharp. None of this is Shirley’s fault, but there’s no way I can have my children in that house. I put my bag on my shoulder and reach for the door. I must get to the twins as fast as possible.

  ‘No, love!’Her abrupt tone stops me in my tracks. ‘There’s so much gone on. It’s not safe to be out in the village at this time of night.’

  ‘What do you mean? For goodness sakes, it’s Weldon!’

  ‘Let me make some tea and I’ll explain what’s been happening over a cuppa.’

  She’s beside me, has hold of my arm before I can move.

  ‘You can’t go walking about out there, love, really you can’t. I think you should stay here, but if you really want to go, I’ll call you a taxi, one won’t be long coming at this time. I’ll tell you what’s been going on while we wait.’

  I push the chair back and try to find the space to pass her. I don’t want to manhandle her out of my way, but I will if I have to. I don’t need a taxi.

  ‘I have to get the children, Shirley!’

  Sharp hammering on the front door makes us both jump. Shirley looks terrified.

  ‘Who in the Lord’s name would that be at this time?’

  Her grip on my arm is fierce, I feel each of her fingers pressing into my flash through the fabric of my coat. The hammering again, heavy, slower this time.

  ‘Wait here, Kate. I’ll see who it is.’

  ‘Shall I come with you?’

  Shirley stares into my face, shakes her head.

  ‘Wait here, love.’

  Chapter 31

  Tuesday 2nd November, 4:25am

  The door is pulled to, I can’t see into the hall, just hear the chain rattle. The village is one of those places where doors are left unlocked, the chain redundant until tonight, as far as I was aware. A rush of cold air floods under the door into the kitchen. A hurried, whispered conversation. A man, judging by the tone, words too low to make out. The front door closes with a rattle of keys and chain. The visitor stays in the hall with Shirley, conversation continues. I can’t resist tipping back my chair, pulling the door open a crack.

  A slice of the hall is visible, part of Shirley’s back and a portion of Mr Whittle in a jacket, slippers and what look like pyjama bottoms. Old fashioned brushed cotton, paisley print. The estate agent is hugely agitated, flapping his arms about in an attempt to explain some issue to Shirley as quietly as possible. They stand very close to one another, noses almost touching. Whittle glances towards the kitchen and catches me watching. I rock forward, my cheeks hot. Their voices get louder, footsteps coming closer.

  ‘It’s only Jerry Whittle.’

  Shirley looks flustered. Mr Whittle tries to put his hands in his pockets, finds his pyjamas have none. We look at his feet. Wet, rather muddy slippers.

  ‘I came out in a bit of a rush,’ he says, turning to Shirley. I can’t make out his expression.

  ‘Sit down, Jerry. I’m brewing some tea. You tell her as it’s your doing. It’ll be all around the village before lunchtime anyway.’

  ‘I really want to be off, Shirley.’ I push back my chair and start to stand.

  ‘You sit down and hear what he has to say. I’ll call that taxi company for you. I’ll not have you wandering around on your own out there tonight.’

  I look at Whittle who shrugs. Shirley’s never spoken to me in such a way before. I don’t feel I can argue. I can’t imagine what’s made her speak so angrily and so sharply. Has he got news about the twins? How can he have?

  The estate agent is too big for the cramped space, heaving his stomach in as he sits down, pulling his chair towards the table. He gives me a sideways glance and begins patting the pockets of his jacket. Shirley’s busy at the sink with mugs, teapot, and milk, her back to us.

  ‘Get on with it, Jerry, the girl’s in a hurry. Don’t leave anything out.’

  Mr Whittle takes his glasses from the top pocket, then replaces them. He stares at the table top, clears his throat, his ears a deep crimson.

  ‘You two . . . ?’ I ask.

  Whittle beams and nods at Shirley. ‘Lovely woman.’

  ‘That’s not what I was meaning at all!’ Shirley chides him, looking more flustered than ever.

  She places a mug of tea in front of the estate agent with such force a little slops onto the table. Whittle looks up at her.

  ‘Really! The less said about that the better. Just get on with it, Jerry. Kate can’t wait around all night for you.’ Shirley storms into the hall, the quaver in her voice unmistakable. ‘I’ll call the taxi for you, Kate.’

  I look at Mr Whittle. Beads of perspiration glisten across his bald head, his Adam’s apple popping up and down.

  ‘Lyle phoned me earlier, just after Shirley had left to come back here. A nasty call, it was. He said he wanted a word and was coming straight over. He quite upset me. He said the police had spoken to him about his buying up Mrs Havers’ land. I didn’t fancy speaking to him, not with the mood he was in, so I came straight over here.’

  ‘In your pyjamas?’

  He nods and shrugs, an apologetic smile.

  ‘The police were speaking to him about Richard
Denning when I left.’

  ‘Shirley says I’ve to let the police know what sort of man Lyle is. Mrs Havers was worried with him representing you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Anxiety makes me shiver. Lyle hung around like glue this evening, waited while I gave my statement. Why didn’t he just go home?

  ‘Lyle wants me to keep quiet, but I already told the police the gist of it last night. I’m going into the station later this morning to make a formal statement. Shirley’s arranged it all.’

  Shirley comes back into the kitchen.

  ‘The taxi’s on its way. I feel so bad, Kate, about you being dragged off to the station like that. I told Jerry you were meeting Richard on Monday afternoon. I should keep my mouth shut, so I should.’ She glares at Whittle. ‘Jerry went running off to Lyle and told him you were meeting Richard Denning.’

  ‘The police can’t have told Lyle I’ve spoken to them already. He says we’ll both go inside if I let the cat out of the bag.’

  ‘Let the cat out of the bag about what?’ I try not to snap, just wish Whittle would get to the point.

  ‘My firm dealt with the valuations of Mrs Havers’ land. I undervalued the plots. Lyle paid me a backhander the first time. Back then, Shirley and me were getting married and were short of money. I shouldn’t have done it, and I tried to give it back, but he wouldn’t take it. I never took any more money, I refused to, but I should’ve spoken up.’

  Mr Whittle pulls out his glasses again and turns them over and over in his hands as if he’s never seen them before. I look at Shirley and shake my head in disbelief.

  ‘When Shirley found out what had gone on, she dumped me and ended up married to Nick Cooper instead.’

  He half-smiles at Shirley.

  ‘Go on Jerry, out with it all now.’

  He continues speaking, looking at me. ‘Once you moved in, I thought it was all over with. I breathed a huge sigh of relief, I can tell you, the end of the whole nasty mess.’