‘Is it true, Cara?’ Amir asked breathlessly. ‘Do you really have a ghost in your house?’
‘Where did you hear that?’ Lisa asked.
‘At school. Is it true, Cara? Is his name really Limey Stan?’
Lisa felt a stab of alarm. Her cousin’s tall tales were getting seriously out of hand if they were starting to spread across town – the faith school that Amir and Raman attended was a good three miles from Cara’s.
‘Yes, it is, and tonight I’m going to catch him,’ said Cara, her chin jutting purposefully.
Amir stared at her in wonderment. ‘How?’
‘I’m going to hide behind the curtains in the front room. They go right down to the floor, so I won’t be seen. Then, when I hear him, I’ll jump out.’
‘But if he’s a ghost, you won’t be able to catch him,’ Amir pointed out, and he mimed the action of trying to catch something in thin air and missing. ‘Same if you tried to take his picture. The photo’ll just be blank.’
Cara huffed grumpily. ‘Matty can hide with me so he sees him too.’
‘You need a proper ghost catcher,’ said Amir.
Lisa had heard enough and hopped off her swing.
‘I’ll tell you what, how about I sneak round to your house tonight and hide with you? Then, if I see him too, that’s three of us who can say it.’
Her intention was really to put a stop to the silly story about Limey Stan spreading further and making her family the laughing stock of the entire town. Imagine the grief she’d get if anyone found out at her school. It was bad enough that Tishk probably knew by now. What if Jake Thompson in the year above her, who she also had a crush on, found out too? She would die. No, if it meant putting an end to this ghost nonsense, Lisa was willing to sit up all night to prove to Cara she was imagining it.
‘What, you’ll walk round to Cara’s house in the middle of the night in the dark?’ breathed Amir, his eyes like saucers.
Lisa wasn’t easily scared, but the thought of venturing out in the middle of the night when everyone else was asleep did make her stomach churn. She could suggest a sleepover with her cousins, but Gary would most likely say no because he was being weird about her being around Cara after the gravy boat incident. He’d go mad if he caught her sneaking out, though. Was it worth the risk? She pictured Jake Thompson’s face for a moment and decided it most definitely was.
‘Tishk goes out in the dark,’ Amir said. ‘He never gets scared.’
‘Where does he go?’ Lisa asked.
‘He won’t tell me, but I think he’s got a girlfriend because he’s got a bottle of aftershave hidden under his bed and he uses it before he goes out. It stinks,’ said Amir impishly.
Aftershave? Lisa was floored to hear Tishk was sneaking out to see someone and all thoughts of Limey Stan evaporated as she swung morosely on the swing and tried to work out who the girlfriend might be.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Anita
Anita’s insides fluttered in expectation as she sat at her dressing table and applied the crimson-red lipstick she reserved for special occasions. Then she doused herself liberally with perfume, readjusted the straps of her cream satin slip to lower its neckline and smiled at herself in the mirror.
She was ready for him.
Tiptoeing along the landing so as not to disturb the children sleeping in their rooms, she flinched as she passed the enormous rubber plant that took up the corner at the top of the stairs. Cara had been terrified to find it looming outside her bedroom door when they accidentally roused her from her sleep the other night, but instead of rushing to her, Anita had laughed as she watched him manhandle it back into position. It was wrong, she knew, but her happiness at seeing her lover again made it easier to ignore her misgivings about feeding into Cara’s fears about the house being haunted. It had taken a week after the resumption of his visits – always after midnight, under the cloak of darkness, and never for the whole night – for Anita to realise her initial suspicions were correct and what Cara thought was Limey Stan was the sounds of him sneaking in and out of the house. Those previous nights when he’d tapped on the front-room window or back door as her cue to let him in; the footsteps on the stairs and in the hall after he’d crept up to use the toilet; whispers into the telephone receiver when he called a taxi one night, misheard by a sleepy child’s ears; fleeting glimpses of him in the shadows of the hallway as he prepared to creep out. Limey Stan’s provenance was obvious when Anita strung those moments together – she just hadn’t wanted to face up to the fact she’d caused the problem all along, by inviting him into the house.
Of course, he thought it was hilarious and was now playing up to his spectral alter ego, hence the increase in tapping and footsteps and the moving of the plant. Anita had implored him to scale it back a bit, conscious of how tired Cara was becoming through being constantly woken, but he’d persuasively argued that if spooking the children into staying in their bedrooms meant they weren’t disturbed downstairs, where was the harm? It wasn’t like it was every night, just the occasional one when Paul was away. He’d also pointed out that catching them having sex would cause her daughter far more psychological damage than thinking there was a ghost in the house, and she had to accept he had a point. Not to mention that Cara would tell Paul and Anita didn’t want that, because she didn’t plan to leave him over this affair. There was an expiry date in place, an autumn deadline when she and her lover would part company again, and she was happy with that. He wasn’t someone she could feasibly consider a future with.
As she stepped into the kitchen, she heard the fierce patter of rain hitting the window and wondered if the downpour might delay his arrival, because he usually walked to hers. However, only fifteen minutes later, she heard tapping on the front door. She said nothing as she opened it to him, words redundant as she took his hand and pulled him towards her. They began to kiss, deeply and urgently, but when she tried to manoeuvre him down the hallway as she always did, he resisted.
‘No, upstairs,’ he whispered.
‘We can’t,’ she murmured, as he began nuzzling her neck. She would not desecrate her and Paul’s bed like that.
‘Come on, it’s boring always doing it on the sofa or the floor.’
That stung, because the last thing she wanted was for him to think sex with her was uninspired. She already felt under pressure to perform, because he was naturally in better physical shape than her. Thoughts of how Paul would feel about them doing it in the marital bed quickly vanished.
‘Okay, but be quiet,’ she hissed.
They soundlessly made their way upstairs and once inside the bedroom, she jammed a chair up against the door in case either child woke and tried to get in. By the time she turned round, he was already stripped off and under the covers.
On the chest of drawers at the end of the bed was a photograph of her and Paul on their wedding day. Anita turned it face down, then climbed in beside him.
It had not been her intention to fall asleep, so when Anita awoke with a jolt to discover it was gone two in the morning, she grabbed his arm in a panic and shook him awake as well.
‘You need to go,’ she whispered. ‘Get dressed.’
His eyes remained closed. ‘Why can’t I stay a bit longer? I’m tired.’
‘That’s not the deal and you know it. You can’t stay the night.’
‘For fuck’s sake,’ he grumbled, opening his eyes and pulling back the covers.
She forced herself to look away from his nakedness and the temptation it offered. It was late and he really did have to go.
‘Can I at least go to the loo first?’ he asked, to which she nodded.
Still naked, he crossed the room and unhooked Paul’s robe from behind the door and slipped it on, an action that made her stomach constrict with unease. She wanted to tell him to take it off but knew it would most likely cause a scene if she did, so she watched him leave the room without comment. While he was in the bathroom, she sat up on the bed with her legs p
ulled up and her chin resting on her knees. Was it really worth it, this sneaking around, putting her home life in jeopardy for the sake of a few stolen moments with someone who will have forgotten her in a few months?
He was grinning when he returned to the bedroom.
‘Your kids are both awake.’
Anita was horrified. ‘Did they see you?’
‘No, I can hear them downstairs. They’re trying to be quiet, but they’re giggling and making a racket.’ The grin stretched wider. ‘I think they’re waiting for Limey Stan to show himself.’
Anita groaned despairingly. ‘That bloody ghost is the bane of our lives. Where are they downstairs?’
‘Lounge. Don’t worry, I can sneak out the back, they won’t see me.’
‘No, it’s too risky. I need to get them into bed first.’
‘You better be tough on them, otherwise they’ll be getting up every night now.’
She bristled at the unsolicited parental advice. ‘I know how to handle my children, thank you very much.’
‘Is that why they’re both out of bed at two in the morning and hiding downstairs?’ he baited her.
‘I’ll tell them off,’ she said. She left the satin slip in a puddle on the carpet where he’d tossed it and fetched her own robe from behind the door.
‘Or I could go down and give them a little scare so they’ll think twice about getting up again,’ he said laughingly.
She stopped, frowning. ‘You mean go into the front room pretending to be Limey Stan? No, that would frighten them too much.’
‘Isn’t that the point?’ He reached for her waist and pulled her towards him so their groins pressed. ‘If the kids don’t stay in their beds, I won’t be able to get into yours.’ He slowly ground his hips into hers. ‘Is that what you want?’
Anita’s face flushed. ‘Of course not.’
He took a decisive step back. ‘Good. Now wait here, I won’t be long.’
She stood with her ear pressed against the bedroom door, the creak of the stairs signalling his descent. After that, a heavy silence fell, as though the house was holding its breath with her––
A child’s scream rent the silence, then another. Gasping with shock, Anita yanked open her bedroom door as frantic footsteps pummelled the stairs and she burst onto the landing just in time to see Cara disappearing into the bathroom and slamming the door behind her. Seconds later, there was a click as the door was locked from the inside.
Anita slapped her palm against it. ‘Cara, what’s the matter?’
There was no reply, only the sound of her daughter sobbing uncontrollably. Beside herself with terror, Anita charged downstairs, bare feet slapping against the floorboards and then the kitchen tiles as she ran towards the front room. It was still in darkness and when she flicked on the light, the scene that greeted her there brought her to a shuddering halt.
The curved curtain rail above the bay window had been ripped from its fixings and the burgundy velvet drape it previously held up was spooled in a heap on the carpet – and lying unconscious next to it was Matty.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Anita
She cried out in anguish as she stumbled across the room and fell to her knees next to her son. She shook his shoulders to rouse him, then let out another sob as his head lolled to the side. She could see his lips were starting to turn blue and when she placed her palm on his chest, she couldn’t feel any movement.
‘He’s not breathing,’ she cried. ‘Why aren’t you helping him?’
He was standing next to them but didn’t react, his unbroken gaze trained on Matty as he clutched Paul’s robe around him.
Anita walloped him hard across his bare calf, the closest part of him she could reach. ‘Don’t just stand there, call an ambulance!’
The slap jolted him from his trance. ‘It’s too late,’ he said, his voice low and mechanical. ‘He’s dead.’
‘Don’t you dare say that,’ she cried, trembling with panic. She put both hands on Matty’s chest and began to pump, not knowing if she was doing it right and praying she was. She did five pumps, then pinched the little boy’s nose and breathed deeply into his mouth. ‘Come on, honey, breathe for Mummy,’ she begged. ‘Breathe.’
‘Anita, stop it. It’s too late. He’s dead.’
‘It’s not fucking too late,’ she howled at him. ‘We just need to get help. Call an ambulance,’ she ordered.
She continued pumping air into her son’s chest, then blowing into his mouth. His Spiderman pyjama top and his face were soon soaked with her tears, but still he didn’t move.
‘Matty, it’s time to wake up for Mummy,’ she sobbed. ‘I need you to wake up now.’ She could barely see what she was doing, her tears were coming so thick and fast. Then she felt her lover’s hand cover hers.
‘Anita, stop. He’s gone.’
She shrugged his hand off. ‘No he hasn’t.’
But after a few more minutes of trying, she knew he was right. Matty remained lifeless and his lips were even bluer. Letting out a plaintive wail, Anita removed her hands from his chest and gathered him in her arms. As his body flopped against hers, she could feel his skin was still warm.
‘What happened?’ she cried, looking up at him as she rocked Matty on her lap, as though that alone would will him back to life.
‘He was tangled up in the curtain when I came in and was in distress and I was helping him get free, but he started yelling and Cara screamed and then he saw my face and I panicked.’
‘What did you do?’ asked Anita in a horrified whisper.
‘He saw my face, Anita! He would’ve told everyone about us.’
‘What did you do?’ she repeated slowly.
‘I wrapped the curtain around him again so he’d stop making such a racket and then he went quiet.’ He pointed a finger at her accusingly. ‘You said you wanted me to scare them.’
‘I didn’t tell you to suffocate him!’ she screamed.
His face was drained of colour. ‘I didn’t mean to, I swear. I only wanted to make him be quiet.’
She stared down at her son. He looked peaceful, like he was sleeping. She leaned down and pressed her lips against his forehead, breathing in the sweet scent of his skin that had been freshly bathed only a few hours previously, and as she did so, she became aware of Cara’s cries echoing down the stairs. Her daughter sounded hysterical now and Anita sat up, torn, knowing she should go to her but not able to let go of Matty.
He heard her too.
‘You need to get her to shut up,’ he said, fresh panic creeping into his voice. ‘She’s going to wake the whole bloody street.’
Anita gulped down a huge, shuddering breath. ‘I’ll go up to her in a minute, once I’ve called the police.’
He shook his head, horrified. ‘You can’t bring the police here.’
‘But Matty is dead,’ she said, incredulous. ‘We have to report it.’
His expression suddenly shifted and it was like looking into a stranger’s face. Anita recoiled in fear and she hugged Matty’s body even tighter as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.
‘I am not having this pinned on me,’ he said, his voice manic. ‘This is on both of us. You were the one sneaking me into the house, telling lies to your family and scaring your kids shitless because you didn’t want them to interrupt us on the sofa downstairs. I shut him up to protect us – it’s as much your fault he’s dead as it’s mine.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ asked Anita, sickened by his stance. ‘I can’t cover up the fact he’s dead.’
He paced for a moment, Paul’s robe flapping against his bare legs. ‘Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to go upstairs, get dressed and leave. When I’ve gone, you can call the police.’
‘And say what?’
‘Tell them it was an accident. Matty got caught up in the curtain and couldn’t breathe. It’s not even a lie – that’s how I found him when I came down. Him and Cara had wound the curtain too tightly around themselves
and he couldn’t escape.’
Anita was numb with shock. She couldn’t believe what he was asking of her. But there was no way she was letting him get away with this. A plan forming in her mind, she gently lifted Matty off her lap and laid him on the floor. ‘Go and get dressed,’ she told him. It was a struggle to keep her voice steady, but she knew she had to play along.
‘So you won’t call the police until after I’ve gone?’
‘You leave and then I’ll call them,’ she lied.
Relief lifted his features. As Anita slowly got to her feet, she fought hard to stay calm, even though every fibre of her being wanted to scream for her dead child. But she had to stay in control for just a little bit longer.
She waited until he’d gone back through the kitchen and upstairs to change into his clothes. Then she crept along the hallway and, as quietly as she could manage, lifted the receiver to dial the emergency number.
He came at her out of nowhere, punching her in the side of her head and sending her flying across the hall. As she dropped the handset, he yanked the phone lead out of the socket.
‘Which bit of keeping your mouth shut don’t you understand?’
His voice was fraught and his expression wild and when she saw something glinting by his side, she looked down and gasped. Gripped in his right hand was the carving knife from the kitchen. He must have taken it from the drawer on his way upstairs to change.
‘Put the knife down,’ she pleaded.
He advanced on her, blade aloft. ‘Not until you give me your word you won’t tell the police about me.’
‘I can’t do that,’ she said. ‘You killed my son!’
She watched as he gathered himself to his full height. Suddenly his presence seemed overpowering to her, the hallway tiny compared to him.
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