Zach takes a quick glance at me, as he drives. He’s right. Why would they be in a tiny village, if the main aim was to make their journey to London quicker? They’d stay in Bromfield, or Northampton – like Zach said. The car heater is on full blast, but I’m freezing, and my brain has turned to mush. I try to call Tom, but his phone goes straight to voicemail, and the same happens with Simon.
I switch the radio on to calm my nerves, but the first song that blasts out is ‘Firestarter’ by The Prodigy. It’s not relaxing, so I switch it off and stare out of the window. Tiny raindrops run down the glass, and remind me of the day Simon drove me to the clinic. I wanted to save my child then, and I want to save him now, but it seems to be taking hours to get there.
‘How much longer?’
‘According to the satnav, we’ll be in Stoke-Welland in about twenty minutes. We then need to find the actual lake house, but that shouldn’t be a problem. It’s not a huge place.’ He pats my leg. ‘Don’t worry, nothing is going to happen to Tom. He’s just upset about his London trip, that’s all.’
I thread my fingers together, and take a deep breath. I hope he’s right. Yes, of course he’s right. Tom is with his father, not a serial killer. He’s fine. Disappointed, concerned for Simon’s welfare perhaps, pissed off that he has to spend time with Monica no doubt, but not in danger.
Why would he be in danger?
I shake the words from my head and close my eyes. Fifteen minutes later, Zach shakes my arm.
‘We’re heading into Stoke-Welland now,’ he says. ‘Without a direct address, the satnav will take us to the centre of the village, so get up Google Earth on your phone, and follow the road.’
I load the app and find the road we’re on.
‘According to this, the lake house should be straight down here, on the right. It looks like a small entrance, so be careful you don’t miss it.’
Zach slows down and we both stare at the trees and bushes on the other side of the road. Through them I can see lights in the distance, and then seconds later, the driveway appears.
‘Shit, the gate is closed. We can’t drive in.’
Zach pulls the car over onto the side of the road.
‘I’ll park here, while you see if it’s locked.’
‘If it is, shall I ring the bell? There’s bound to be one.’
I open the door, and the cold air and rain pound down onto my coat and legs.
‘I don’t see why not,’ Zach says. ‘We’re visitors, not intruders.’
I slam the door and sprint across the road. The rain splashes beneath my feet, as I make my way over wet, slimy leaves. The locked white gate stands proud at the foot of the driveway, with a postbox on one side, and an intercom on the other. A camera is pointed just above my head, and I wave at it as though my presence will inspire it to open the gate.
It doesn’t.
I press the buzzer. Twice.
Nothing.
My hair sticks to my forehead, and the rain runs down my face as I look for a way into the property. Why aren’t they answering? Why won’t anyone let me in? Zach appears behind me, his clothes sticking to him already.
‘Any luck?’
‘No.’
He strides towards the gate, peers over the top and then hoists himself up onto a tiny ridge, halfway up.
‘Come on, let’s go.’
Normally I am a law-abiding citizen who would never think of jumping over somebody’s gate without being asked, but today is different. Today I need to find my son, and if that means breaking my legs on a two-metre gate, then so be it. My friend gets to the top, and then offers his hand.
‘It’s okay, I’ve got it.’
I heave myself up to the top and together we drop down onto the gravel drive below. I lose my balance and stumble into the stones, ripping my jeans in the process. Zach reaches for my hand and helps me up.
‘You okay?’
‘Yes.’
The driveway is so huge it is almost a road, and we can’t see the house even in the distance. The rain is lighter now, and although we’re already soaked, I still welcome the brighter weather. I wipe my face on the back of my jacket, and continue the trek, until in front of us comes the now famous red-bricked house. We both stop and stare.
‘Bloody hell, it’s massive,’ Zach says. ‘No wonder Tom is homesick. I would be, too, rambling around in there.’
I can do nothing except nod.
24
Simon’s inherited property is a mansion that the Downton Abbey characters would be proud of. Okay, it’s a fraction of the size, but it is imposing enough, there’s no doubt about that. As we walk closer, I can see the building in its full glory. There are three sections – the outer ones are four floors high, and the middle has three floors and imposing pillars on the ground floor. If I saw Miss Haversham standing in the top window, I wouldn’t be at all surprised.
The windows on the outer sections are bowed, and it reminds me of a doll’s house that my friend Sally had when we were little. Her dad built it for her one Christmas, and I was so jealous – especially when she refused to let me play with it. My dad decided to make me my own out of three shoeboxes, but it wasn’t the same, and fell apart when my friend tried to force her Barbie doll in there. Now here I am, standing outside a real-life Victorian mansion, but to be honest, I’d rather be playing with the pretend one.
We arrive at the concrete steps leading up to the front door, which is flanked by the imposing pillars. I falter, as though out of my depth, but then I remember why we are here, and my feet rush up to the top step. The door knocker is in the shape of a lion, and reminds me of the one from A Christmas Carol. I use it and step back, waiting for somebody to walk down the hall, but nobody comes. Zach leans over and bangs it hard, but still nothing. We both stare through the window at the side of the door, but all we can see is a long, imposing hallway, and no sign of life.
‘Monica! Simon! Tom! Where are you?’
I try to keep my voice light and calm, but it’s hard, knowing that my son is somewhere in there, and he wants to come home. I take my phone out of my pocket and dial Tom’s number. It goes straight to voicemail again, and when I try Simon’s, it just rings and rings.
‘There must be a back door, or some kind of tradesman’s entrance,’ Zach says, as he runs down the steps. I follow, and go straight to a ground-floor window and look inside. There is a sofa with gold legs, a glass coffee table and an old television sitting on a wall unit. It’s the kind of ancient telly that has a huge back to it, and weighs a ton. There are also paintings on the walls, of men on horses, chasing foxes. Zach comes up behind me and puts his hands to the glass.
‘This place is straight out of an episode of The Crown. Can you see Tom?’
‘If I could, I wouldn’t be standing here staring, would I?’ Zach raises his eyebrows. ‘Sorry. No, there’s nobody in here that I can see. But then again, it’s just one room in a house of dozens. Come on, we need to get inside.’
We traipse around to the back of the house, staring through each window as we go, and there’s no sign of life anywhere. By the time we get to the plain green door at the back, our shoes are covered in wet leaves and mud. I suspect if Monica answers this time, she’ll have a heart attack when she sees what we’re bringing in with us. Zach knocks on the door with the side of his hand, and then tries it. It swings open, and our mouths fall open.
‘Didn’t expect that,’ Zach says, and we both step into the kitchen, muddy shoes and all.
The kitchen is warm and smells of burnt toast and coffee. There is a half-drunk cup on the table, but it is cold to the touch, and has a skin on top of it. My stomach rumbles. I haven’t had anything to eat for hours. I can’t remember the last time I was hungry. Yesterday? The day before? I don’t know. I cross the room, swing open the door, and we’re into the long hall, covered in a thick, red-and-black runner carpet. There are doors on either side and we push each one open as we go.
‘Tom! Tom!’
&nbs
p; ‘Monica! Simon!’
Nothing.
‘Where are they? Why can’t they hear us shouting?’
‘It’s a big house,’ Zach says. ‘They could be anywhere.’
We reach a huge staircase at the front of the house, which wouldn’t look out of place in an old black-and-white movie. The banister is polished and shiny, but the red carpet looks dull, as though covered with dust. There are black-and-white tiles leading from the staircase to the front door, and my shoes make a squeaking sound as I walk over them.
‘Shall we go up?’
Zach bites his lip and then shouts for Tom once more. When there is no reply, my friend takes the stairs two at a time, and I’m right behind him. We get to the top and the landing extends round from one side to the other.
‘Tom? Are you here?’
When Tom doesn’t answer, Zach rubs his eyes, turns and stares over the top banister.
‘Are you sure this is the house you saw in the picture?’
‘Yes, definitely. Shit, Zach! What the hell is going on? Where’s Tom?’
His name catches in the back of my throat, and tears spring to my eyes. What has happened to my son? I can’t cope with the possible answers to that. Although I’ve got my phone on full volume, I still check to see if I’ve missed any calls, and then I try to call Simon again. There is no answer, but just as I’m about to hang up, Zach grabs my arm.
‘What?’
‘Can you hear that?’
We both hold our breath and sure enough, somewhere in the far reaches of the house, a phone is ringing.
‘Where is that coming from? Simon? Simon?’
I rush down the hallway, opening one door after another, and the phone continues to call out, getting louder and louder with each step. I stop outside a white, wood-panelled door, and it is clear that the ringing is coming from inside the room. I hesitate – a moment of lucidity, wondering what Simon will think if he sees me waltzing around his house like I own the place. Zach has no such qualms, and springs the door open.
A horrendous stench hits us, and we both gag and put our hands up to our noses. I try to hold my breath, but it’s no good, and as I inhale, I can feel the dank air invade my nose, my throat and my lungs.
‘What is that?’
I stare at Zach, but he doesn’t reply. Instead, he takes a tentative step inside the room, while I hover at the door, my shaking legs unable or unwilling to move.
‘Oh my God!’
‘What?’
Zach is motionless and mute, which prompts me to gather enough energy to follow him in.
Though I soon wish I hadn’t.
Simon lies on the bed; his head pointed towards the door, eyes open, with a trail of vomit dried to his cheek, and gathered on the pillow beneath him. His face is grey, his hair stuck to his head, and his arms are ramrod straight on top of the covers.
Even from ten feet away, I can see that my ex-lover is dead, but that doesn’t stop me from shouting his name at the top of my voice. I don’t know why, but I half expect him to blink, rub his eyes and ask me what on earth’s going on. Except he doesn’t, and the realisation that he has gone makes everything worse. I run to his body and go to touch him, but Zach grabs me and pulls me away before I have the chance.
‘Don’t touch him,’ he says. ‘Don’t go anywhere near him.’
The next few minutes is intense, and even though Zach and I share many words, everything is muted, surrounded in a cloud of sorrow and confusion. How am I supposed to react to this? Ten years ago, this man was my lover, but he was never really mine. He never really belonged to me. Since he’s been back in my life, he’s done his best to be good to Tom, but in spite of that, my biggest memory of him will always be that he didn’t want his son in the first place. I have no right to mourn him, but his death gives me no joy. It just leaves me feeling numb.
‘Shall I phone an ambulance?’
I stare at Zach, as though he has all the answers, but he doesn’t reply. Instead, he flings the window open, gagging as he does so.
‘No,’ he gulps. ‘Phone the police.’
I try to unlock my phone, but my shaking hands make it impossible. Three times I enter the passcode, and three times it says it’s incorrect.
‘Shit! I can’t do this. My hands won’t work.’
‘Give it to me.’
Zach takes the phone from me, I tell him the code, and he unlocks the handset. As he does so, I hear the roar of an engine, and I rush to the window.
‘It’s Margaret!’
Zach drops the phone onto the bottom of the bed, and stares down at the drive.
‘Your principal? Monica’s sister?’
‘Yes. She must have known that they were here when I saw her last night. Lying bitch!’
I race out of the bedroom, and take the stairs two at a time, until I’m faced with the heavy front door. I can hear Margaret trudge up the stairs outside, and as she presses the bell, I look around for the key.
There isn’t one.
Zach reaches me in the hallway; his own phone pressed to his ear. Just as he does so, Margaret stares in at us through the window at the side of the door. Her mouth falls open, and she throws her arms up in the air.
‘Charlotte!’
The word rings in my ears, as I bound down the hallway, and into the kitchen. The door is still open from when we entered earlier, and I throw myself out into the cold, morning air, and sprint round the corner to face the principal. No matter what has gone on between us during the last few weeks, I still need her help. This is not the time to hold grudges.
‘Margaret! You’ve got to help us. Simon is upstairs. He’s gone… He’s…’
My boss rushes down the steps towards me, her flared jeans wafting as she does so.
‘What do you mean he’s gone? Where has he gone?’
‘He’s dead! I mean that he’s dead!’
My entire body shakes, and Margaret grabs my arms.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m positive. My friend is calling the police.’
Margaret wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, and exhales, just before Zach appears behind me. His breath is short and fast from the sprint around the building.
‘The operator says they will send someone as soon as possible. There’s been a pile-up on the dual carriageway, and they’re down to limited resources.’
‘Did you tell them it’s an emergency?’
Zach nods his head.
‘Yes, but there’s nothing they can do for him, so…’ He pushes his phone into his back pocket. ‘They’ll be here soon, I’m sure.’
‘We need to find Tom. I can’t have him seeing Simon like that.’
Margaret looks over my shoulder, and points towards a row of bushes that runs along the drive.
‘Here he is now.’
We turn and sure enough, there is Tom with Monica. Both of them hold fishing rods, and I can hear Monica’s voice, jabbering away like a demented seal. What is she doing? Doesn’t she know that her husband is dead upstairs? It appears not.
‘Tom!’
My son drops his fishing rod on the ground, and bounds towards me.
‘Mum!!’
‘Hello, baby,’ I say, as he lunges into my arms. Zach ruffles his hair, and Tom smiles up at him.
‘Good to see you, Champ,’ he says. ‘I told you we’d find you.’
My son stares at Margaret. He doesn’t know why she’s here, but he’s so used to seeing her every day, that it doesn’t occur to him to ask. Monica arrives beside us; a frown tattooed across her forehead.
‘What are you doing here? We’re supposed to have Tom for the entire weekend.’ If she knows anything about Simon, Monica doesn’t show it. Instead, she scowls at Margaret. ‘Did you tell her we were here?’
Margaret ignores the question, and I can’t help but notice that Monica doesn’t seem to be in any shock that her sister is on the property. These two are total opposites – Monica is obviously the power-dresser of the
family, with her sleek bob and silky suits, while Margaret must surely be the family reject, with her flower-power style that’s better suited to someone half her age. Still, they have a sisterly connection that goes beyond anything I’ve known. For Margaret to take revenge on me for something I did to her sister ten years ago, shows just how strong their bond is. Even if it makes no sense to me at all.
My eyes flit from one to the other, and water floods into my mouth as if I’m going to be sick. What is Monica going to say when she finds out Simon is dead? Or… Or does she know already? Oh God, did she do something to the father of my child? My stomach can take no more pain, and I run to the bushes, and throw up the few scraps of food I’ve managed to eat during the past twenty-four hours.
‘Mum!! Are you okay?’
Tom and Zach appear behind me, as I wipe my mouth on an old tissue I find in the depths of my pocket.
‘I’m okay,’ I say. ‘I’ll be okay.’
‘Did you eat some fish, too?’ Tom asks, and I shake my head and try to get myself back together.
‘No, I didn’t have any fish. I’ve just got a bit of tummy trouble, that’s all.’
Zach makes sure I’ve recovered, before heading back to Monica and Margaret. Monica’s face is screwed up, as she stares over at the bushes. The idea of somebody being sick anywhere near her property must be frightful for her.
‘I’ll ask again,’ she snaps. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘The question shouldn’t be why we’re here,’ Zach says. ‘The question should be why did you tell Charlotte that you were going to London, when all the time you were coming to this house in the middle of nowhere? What’s the deal with that?’
Monica glowers at him. The last time she saw Zach was the day we visited her house – Margaret’s house – looking for Simon. There’s no way she’s going to answer any of his questions, but he keeps going.
‘Did you have any intention of taking Tom to London? Or is this some kind of incident that we need to report to the police?’
‘Zach!’ I motion towards Tom, but he’s too busy playing with a snail to notice our conversation.
‘Mum, I’m going to put this snail on a bush, so that he doesn’t get stood on.’
Hell Hath No Fury Page 22