by Emma Snow
Underwear that he told her to wear for the next game. Perfume she had no interest in. Books on subjects that repulsed her.
She switched off the screen on her phone. It was no good. She wasn’t going to be able to distract herself. There was only one other option.
She got most of the way through the vodka bottle before she fell asleep. She had challenged herself to finish the whole thing and she came pretty close. She slept in the armchair in the living room, unaware of the gap in the curtain, oblivious to the pair of dark eyes peering in at her from the courtyard.
SIXTEEN
When Ben woke up the next morning, it took a few seconds for him to work out where he was. The surroundings were familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. He sat up and noticed the portrait on the far wall. At once, it came back to him. He wasn’t in Scotland, he was in Helmsley.
The portrait was of his grandfather, painted in oils, surrounded by the kind of ostentatious wooden frame that would have been better suited to the Victorian era. He had never liked the portrait, the eyes following him around the room on top of an unsmiling face, as if whatever he did was very much not approved of.
Jeremy Robertson, his father’s father. He wondered if Peter had a poor relationship with Jeremy. Were all fathers and sons doomed to fall out?
He could hear Peter in the next bedroom, the bed creaking as he sat up with a groan.
Should he have gone home? Avoided the awkward conversation he was about to have? It was a difficult question to answer but it was a moot point anyway. He had stayed the night, sleeping in his childhood bedroom, bereft of any of the things he remembered from his time there. Had they hidden them away somewhere? Boxed them up? Or perhaps got rid of them when he left.
Somehow he didn’t think so. If Peter had been so furious with him as to dispose of his things, the picture of him as a child wouldn’t still hang in the office.
Climbing out of bed, he opened his bag and dug out a fresh shirt. It was creased from its confinement, not that he minded but no doubt his father would comment on it.
Peter didn’t say a thing about his shirt. When he saw Ben walking into his bedroom, he instead said, “You’re still here then.”
“Apparently so,” Ben replied.
“Going to stand there all morning or going to make me a tea?”
“I’ll put the kettle on if you take your pills.”
“You’re my nurse now, are you?”
“Just do it. I’ll fetch you some water.”
Ben headed downstairs, filling the kettle in the sink, looking out of the window whilst waiting for it to boil.
The sun was up. It was a little after eight, later than he would usually rise. But then it had been a long day. He’d spent some time in bed the previous evening thinking about Martha, wondering what had caused her to scream like that. She had acted as if the trespasser had been about to murder her. Was Helmsley so dangerous a place as to warrant a reaction like that? He had looked about fifty to Ben, and in no fit state to attack anyone, his gut filling out his robe far more than was healthy.
The kettle flicked off and he made two mugs of tea, leaving his on the table and taking his father’s upstairs with a glass of water.
“About time,” Peter grumbled. “And what are you doing with yourself today?”
“I thought I might have a look around the castle.”
“Did you now?”
A silence descended between them. Peter looked as if he was about to say something but instead he pushed two tablets out of the foil blisterpack, swallowing them with a slug of water, grimacing as he did so.
“I’ll see you in a bit,” Ben said, turning and heading downstairs. Whatever his father had been thinking about saying, it had gone.
He sat alone in the kitchen and drank his tea, remembering the family meals he’d had at that table. It was strange to think his father lived there alone in what had once been a house for four. The perfect nuclear family. Boy, girl, mother, father. What would become of the place if his father did agree to sell to Alex? Would it be turned into another holiday rental cottage? The idea made the tea taste bitter and he drained the last of it down the sink before slipping on his shoes and heading outside.
The sun was fighting its way through a bank of clouds, flashes of light between grey gloom. The wind had died down since last night but was still lingering, as if it was waiting for a chance to come back.
He walked around Helmsley for a while, passing through the empty marketplace, down to the river and then back up again, each location linked to a memory in his past. The tunnel where the stream fed under the road and then out to the river, forced into that tunnel by Alex and told not to come out ever again.
There was a little lip of stone about ten feet into the tunnel. He wondered if it was still there. He’d sat at that makeshift seat and waited for an hour before tentatively emerging, ready to dive back in should Alex still be there. He wasn’t of course.
The tree that he used to climb, the wide branch that was his base for watching the birds had snapped off, leaving a jagged stump. The bookshop he so enjoyed browsing through was now a cafe. The Helmsley of his past was gone, the only part of it that remained was the castle, unchanged, still watching over the rest of the town.
He walked back past the visitor centre, noticing it was open. Pushing the door open, he stepped inside. The place looked different in daylight, the large glass windows letting in plenty of light where the night before they’d been black as if they were painted that way.
Martha was behind the counter talking to a man and a little girl.
He stood watching the man talk to the girl, unable to stop himself from comparing their interactions to that of him and his father. Were they father and daughter? No, he just heard her call him Granddad.
Martha gave him a smile before continuing to talk to the pair in front of her. He smiled back, waiting for them to finish. As he stood there, the phone in the office began to ring.
“Excuse me a second,” Martha said to the man in front of her, leaning round him to look at Ben. “Would you mind getting that? If it’s Chloe, tell her I’ll ring her back in a minute.”
Ben nodded, heading into the office and picking up the phone. “Hello?”
“Ben?” His father’s voice. “What are you doing answering the phone? Where’s Martha?”
“She’s busy with some visitors.”
“Right. Well is Joanne there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well find out.” Peter coughed loudly.
Ben left the phone on the desk, sticking his head back out of the office.
“Is Joanne here?” he shouted across to Martha.
“She’s in the stockroom. Who is it?”
“It’s my Dad.” He turned back to the phone, picking it up. “She’s in the stockroom apparently.”
“Right, when she comes out, get her to take over. I want to speak to Martha. You as well.”
Ben went to reply but Peter had already hung up.
SEVENTEEN
Martha was just finishing talking her first visitors of the day through the map of the site when Ben came back out of the office. She glanced up at him before continuing with her talk. “And that will take you round to the gatehouse, worth looking for the remains of the portcullis while you’re there.”
“That’s great,” the man said, still looking at her rather than the map.
He’d already made her feel uncomfortable when he first came in, not taking his eyes off her as he crossed the floor towards the till. Even when his granddaughter spoke to him, she had to tug his arm to get his attention.
Chloe had texted first thing to says she was still ill and wouldn’t be coming in. Martha gave Joanne a ring in the hope she’d be able to fill in. Luckily, she could.
Martha had set her to work in the stockroom when she arrived, pricing up the delivery from two days earlier that should have been out on the shelves already.
Once that was organised, Martha was r
eady to open, leaving the doors unlocked whilst she did her best to do the paperwork behind the till. She was glad when the man and his granddaughter walked in, an excuse to stop totting up how much people had spent the previous day, how much they hadn’t and every permutation demanded by Peter’s esoteric accounting system.
“Good morning,” the man said, smiling expectantly at her, not blinking.
“Good morning,” she replied, piling the paperwork together as she spoke. “Coming for a look round?”
“Yes, please,” he replied, still not blinking. Although he was smiling, the look in his eyes was disquieting.
“Well it’s six pounds for adults but luckily for you,” she nodded down at the girl who was glancing behind her at the princess costume in the window, “children are free.”
The man handed her a ten pound note and she opened the till to retrieve his change. “Been here before?” she asked.
“No, never.”
“On holiday are you?”
“That’s right, just up for a few days.”
“Well, here’s the map. You’re here.”
She was explaining the site to him when she noticed someone in the doorway. It was Ben. He looked tired, as if he hadn’t slept. She wondered if she should introduce him to the vodka based sleeping system she’d developed.
Her hangover suggested it might not be the best solution but at least it had meant she slept.
When he came out of the office after answering the phone, he walked over in time for her to finish up with the man and his granddaughter. “Have a good time,” she said as they walked over to the door that led into the site.
“We will,” the girl said back over her shoulder before vanishing outside.
“Peter wants to see you,” Ben said when they’d gone. “In fact he said he wants to see both of us.”
“Really, what about?”
“He didn’t say. He just said to leave Joanne in charge and come over to the house.”
“Intriguing.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“Hold on a second.” Martha left him by the till, crossing to the stockroom and pushing the door open. Joanne, can you cover the tills for a bit. The master calls.”
“Ooh, what have you done?” Joanne asked, getting up from the floor, pricing gun still in her hand.
“We’ll soon find out. See you in a bit.”
Joanne walked out of the stockroom, positioning herself behind the till, nodding at Ben who smiled back before following Martha out of the door and around to the courtyard, passing several people heading into the visitor centre from the car park.
Peter was in the living room when they walked in, a pile of papers on his lap.
Martha frowned at him. “I hope you’re not going to tell me you’re coming back to work yet,” she said. “You’ve still got a bandage on your head.”
“The nurse has already been to change it,” he replied, motioning for them both to sit on the sofa opposite. “I’ll be right as rain before you know it.”
“That’s good to hear. What about the car?”
“That’s going to take a little longer. I’ve just spoken to the insurers. But that’s not to talk about now. I’ve got something important to say and I wanted you both here to hear it.”
“If it’s an itch on your leg, I can’t help you,” Martha said, nodding at the plaster cast.
“I thought I might die,” Peter said bluntly. The smile fell from Martha’s face at those words and she sat perfectly still while he continued. Next to her, Ben remained silent.
“I need someone to look after this place once I’m gone. I’ve been going through all this and if I go without getting this-” he held up a piece of paper, “-signed, then Erin gets it and I know exactly what she has planned. Advertising slogans draped from the walls, the back field replaced with tarmac and fairground rides. I’m not having it.”
He leaned across to the small table next to him, picking up a pen and signing the bottom of the paper in his hand, leaning on the other documents, wincing as the action put pressure on his leg. “Martha, I want you to promise to look after the place when I’m gone.”
Martha could hardly believe what he’d said. She was so sure she’d misheard, she just smiled. “Sorry, what?”
“If you sign this, the place will be yours after I’m dead.”
Ben sat bolt upright. “Are you serious?”
“What? Thought you were getting it? You’ve shown your true mettle, disappearing at the first sign of trouble. You can’t be trusted, Ben. Martha on the other hand, she’s never once let me down.”
“So you’re giving her a castle worth millions to teach me a lesson about trust?”
“What would you have me do? Sell it to Alex?”
“No but-”
“It’s a done deal.”
Martha coughed, drawing their attention towards her. “I don’t want it,” she said quietly.
“Excuse me?” Peter replied, looking astonished.
“I can’t take it from Ben. It’s not right.”
“Has he told you to say that?”
Ben jabbed his finger at his father. “You think I’d do that? How could I? I didn’t even know what you had planned until just now did I?”
Peter turned away from him to look at Martha, pleading with her. “Please, take it,” he said. “I need to know the place will be safe, not some bloody theme park.”
“I don’t know,” Martha said. “It’s a lot to take in.”
“Of course. Take your time. I know it might be a bit of a shock. Why not think it over?” The pleading tone was still evident in his voice.
Martha stood up and crossed to the door, looking back at them both. She thought about saying something but then didn’t, heading outside and around to the castle. Luckily, Joanne was busy talking to a family which meant Martha could bypass her and get onto the site. She slowed down her walk when she had crossed the drawbridge.
She looked up at the East Tower. She couldn’t take it. Peter wasn’t thinking straight. That was the only reasonable explanation. He couldn’t really want her to look after the entire place. What did she know about owning a castle? It was one thing to welcome people in and sell them postcards, it was something else to protect part of the heritage of the nation. It was too much responsibility.
But was it? There was a part of her that had been excited by the very idea. She’d stamped on that part but it bubbled back up as she walked into the chapel.
She was about to head out of the other side when she noticed something in the corner by the remains of the altar. Thinking it was a piece of litter, she headed towards it, stopping dead at the last second as she realised what it was.
Sitting poking up out of the grass was something that could not possibly have come to be there accidentally. Martha blinked as fear rose up inside her, unable to breathe, unable to think, she could only stare at the sight of a one inch high gaming figure. She realised at once what it was, it was a black knight.
EIGHTEEN
“I thought you’d fight more,” Peter said.
Ben looked across at his father. He felt sorry for him more than anything. Not because of the bandages and the broken leg but because of the way he was speaking, deliberately antagonising. Was he just trying to call his bluff?
“If you want to give the place to Martha, that’s entirely up to you.”
“You’re trying to trick me, I know you are.”
“I’m really not. I came down to see you, that’s all.”
“So why are you still here?”
Ben thought for a second before answering. Why hadn’t he gone back to Scotland yet? He could tell himself it was because Martha had suggested he stay, try to work things out with his father. Or he could admit the truth. He didn’t want to leave yet because he didn’t want to say goodbye to Martha yet. Was that a good enough reason? When had he realised that? Was it when he’d first met her in the doorway of the house?
No, not then. It wa
s later. When she’d screamed and he’d run to her. The look on her face had troubled him and he wanted to know what had caused it, what had made her so afraid, her eyes glazed over as if she wasn’t even there anymore, as if she was somewhere far away in either distance or time.
“I’m thinking of staying for a little while,” he said out loud, noticing his father was waiting for an answer. “That’s all.”
Peter nodded slowly. “I see.” A wry smile appeared on his lips.
“What? What are you smiling at?”
“Nothing. Well, seeing as you’re here, would you mind fetching the green file out of the shed?”
Ben stood up. “Happy to.”
He walked out of the house feeling as if he’d been winded. That was the calmest conversation he’d had with his father for as long as he could remember. He’d even elicited a smile from him, though he had no idea why.
He headed out of the courtyard, through the path along the edge of the car park and then into the visitor centre. Joanne was behind the counter. “Can I help you?” she asked as he walked in.
“I don’t think we’ve met, I’m Ben, Peter’s son.”
“Oh, of course. I thought I recognised you.” She saw his confused look. “From the photo in the office. You’ve hardly changed a bit. If you’re looking for Martha, I saw her heading through a couple of minutes ago.”
“Thanks. Have you got the key to the shed by any chance?”
“Martha’s got it on her, I think. Do you want me to go find her?”
“No, it’s all right. She can’t have gone far. Well, nice to have met you Joanne.”
“And you.” She smiled in the same way his father had done as he turned and headed outside.
The sun was just breaking through the clouds as he walked along the gravel path, pausing for a moment by the model of the castle. It stood on a base of reused stone. He remembered when that base was built. He’d sat on the grass bank of the earthwork and watched his father mixing the cement together on a flat wooden board.
