Laughing, we reached my rooms and I filled the kettle.
‘Guess which room Lara and Hannah have,’ Jayne said after she’d taken a scalding sip.
‘No,’ I said. ‘You’re not in Room Seven?’
‘Yep,’ Lara said, hugging Hannah to her. ‘Aunt Jayne told us all about the stories at breakfast.’ She glared at Jayne. ‘But it’s a lovely room, isn’t it, Hans?’
Hannah nodded but said nothing.
‘Come on, give me that jacket – I’ll rinse it off and get it in the wash,’ I said. ‘You can borrow one of mine if you want to take Grasper out later, okay, Hans?’
Lara handed me the jacket as Hannah nodded and slid to the floor to play with Grasper, looking a bit more cheerful.
‘What the hell is that noise?’ Jayne asked, lifting the sash window and leaning out. ‘Oh, Christ!’
‘What is it?’ I joined her at the window, closed my eyes and sighed.
Antony’s car was blocking the narrow lane, and neither he nor the man trying to drive in the opposite direction were giving way.
‘That’s all I bloody need,’ I muttered.
‘Do you want us to go and give you some privacy?’ Lara asked.
‘No – thanks, Lara, but no. You are invited, he is not; you are the ones I want to spend my Christmas with, not him. He is not chasing you out of my home, no way.’
She nodded, but cast Hannah a worried glance.
I looked out of the window again. The men had sorted out who owned which bit of the road, Antony had parked up, and was hammering at the door.
‘I’d best go and see what he wants,’ I said, ‘before he upsets the rest of the neighbours.’
***
‘Happy Christmas!’ Antony beamed and held out a box.
I looked at him, stared at the box – unwrapped – for a moment, then lifted my eyes back to his. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I just wanted to wish you well,’ he said. ‘It is the season of goodwill after all.’
I arched my eyebrows at that.
‘It’s a Christmas tree.’
‘What?’
He waggled the box. ‘Just a small one. I didn’t think you’d have had time for decorations or anything and thought it might brighten the place up for you. First Christmas ...’ He faltered and reddened.
‘First Christmas alone, you mean?’
He cast his eyes down briefly then gave me a small smile. ‘For both of us. I just hoped, well ...’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, that we could start afresh, you know, put the divorce behind us and move forward.’
I stared at him. ‘You want us to move forward? What – get back together?’
‘No.’ He squeezed his eyes shut a moment then said softly, ‘No, I don’t mean that, I know we’re over. But we shared a lot of years together, a lot of laughs, and yes a lot of tears, but we had some good times. I just don’t want us to be strangers.’
I nodded in understanding, but wasn’t ready to respond to that. ‘You’d better come in.’
He looked around the lobby, horrified at the mess and all the work that still needed to be done.
‘I’ve only been in a couple of weeks,’ I said, angry with myself for feeling defensive. ‘The build team have worked like Trojans to create this chaos.’
He disguised his mocking smile with a sage nod. ‘When do you open?’
‘Easter, all being well. There’ll be a lounge and breakfast room down here, plus a bedroom through there, and a kitchen of course.’ I led the way to the stairs, pointing out the rooms as I went.
‘Will it be ready in time?’
‘Early days yet, but I don’t see why not.’ I tapped the wooden bannister three times for luck, then started to climb, before stooping to pick up an iPad from the next tread. I looked at it in confusion for a moment, I was sure it hadn’t been there on the way down. ‘The electricians are more or less done, and the plumbing and partition walls for the en-suites started. As long as everyone comes back to work after Christmas and don’t let the ghosts scare them off, I’ll be fine.’
‘Ghosts? You’re kidding, aren’t you?’
I shook my head, annoyed at myself for opening up to him, even a little.
He seemed happy to drop the spectral subject though, and opened one of the doors I’d indicated as we passed. ‘Good-sized room this.’ He crossed to the window and peered out. ‘Oh, is that the parsonage?’
‘Yes, great view, isn’t it?’
‘One of the best.’ He walked towards me and I backed out of the doorway and continued up the next flight of stairs to my private quarters, Antony following close behind, still carrying the box.
‘And these are my rooms,’ I said, stopping in and turning just in time to catch his look of dismay as he spotted Lara and Jayne.
27.
‘Oh, hello,’ he said to the cold glares he was greeted with, then glanced at me. ‘Not a Christmas alone after all then.’
‘No, I’m not alone,’ I replied. ‘You can put the tree down over there.’
‘Tree? Is it a Christmas tree, Uncle Tony?’ Hannah asked, and I winced at the ‘uncle’.
‘It is, do you want to help me put it up?’
‘We can do that later,’ Lara said.
‘Of course. I can’t stay long anyway, I’m on a split shift, and the restaurant’s full tonight.’
‘Would you like a coffee?’ I asked, depositing the iPad on the table.
He glanced at Lara and Jayne, then shrugged. ‘Sure, why not?’
I glared at Jayne to warn her not to answer that question, and went to fill the kettle.
‘You could have told me they were here,’ Antony hissed in my ear and I jumped. I hadn’t heard him follow me.
‘Why? Our lives are separate now, Antony. I don’t need to run things past you or check with you before I make a decision or plan, or invite my friends to stay.’
‘I know, but you could have warned me downstairs, I wouldn’t have come up.’
‘Why, too ashamed to face us?’ Jayne approached us.
Antony said nothing.
‘Hannah and I are going to take Grasper for his walk,’ Lara said, and I smiled at her in apology, recognising her desire to get Hannah away from the souring atmosphere and threatening argument.
‘Check in my wardrobe for a jacket for her,’ I said. ‘My fleece should be in there.’
‘Thanks, Auntie Verity. Bye, Uncle Tony.’
‘Bye Hannah, happy Christmas.’
She ran over and gave Antony a quick hug before Lara could stop her, then turned her attention to the increasingly agitated Irish terrier. Come on, Grasper, walkies!’
Hannah and the dog pounded down the stairs as Lara collected my fleece, looked at Antony but said nothing, then followed her daughter.
Silence filled The Rookery, and we sipped coffee.
‘You’re right, Jayne,’ Antony said at last. ‘I am ashamed, I deeply regret the way I hurt Verity.’
Jayne snorted. ‘Only because you were caught. How could you do it? Lie and cheat all that time?’
A red flush of anger crept up Antony’s neck and jaw. ‘I don’t have to justify myself to you. I’ve already been through this with Verity. We’re divorced, I’ve paid for my mistakes, just leave it.’
‘Just leave it? Are you kidding? Lara and I were the ones who picked up the pieces while you indulged in your fantasy life.’
‘I’m not doing this with you, Jayne. It’s between me and Verity.’
‘No, it isn’t. You mess with her, you mess with me.’
‘Jayne, please, it’s all over and done with. Leave it,’ I said.
‘No, I will not leave it!’ She slammed her mug down and looked at me, ‘Don’t you remember what it was like, Verity? You were a wreck.’
‘Jayne, please,’ I said, glancing at Antony in embarrassment. I did not want him to hear this.
The twitch of his mouth sent a chill down my back. Was he amused? Pleased? Proud? My e
yes narrowed and I clenched my jaw in an effort to refuse my emotions.
‘And what the hell were you thinking, turning up here, at Verity’s new home, new life, and on Christmas Eve? Haven’t you done enough? Can’t you just stick to your cheap tarts and leave Verity alone to get on with her life?’
‘We broke up.’
‘I bloody know you broke up! She found you out and kicked you out for God’s sake, that’s hardly news.’
‘You broke up? With her?’ I interrupted Jayne. If anyone was going to argue with my ex-husband, it should be me, not her, however passionately, and I was letting the side down.
Antony nodded and a feeling of vindictive smug satisfaction spread through me – echoed on Jayne’s face with the ugliest smile I had ever seen her pull.
‘So did she check your phone too?’
Antony paled but said nothing.
‘And so you’ve come crawling back to Verity,’ Jayne sneered. ‘I wouldn’t expect anything better from you. Did you think she’d warm your bed for you while you trawled the Net for your next bint?’
‘I thought nothing of the sort,’ Antony retorted. ‘I just came to wish her a happy Christmas.’
‘I am here you know,’ I said, my emotions finally under control.
‘Well, you’re too late,’ Jayne said in triumph as if neither of us had spoken. ‘She’s already moved on.’
‘What?’ Antony and I said together.
‘Am I interrupting?’
I whirled round to see Vikram standing in the doorway.
‘I – er – I’ve misplaced my tablet,’ he said into the sudden silence. ‘I need it to work out the wages. I must have left it here somewhere.’
‘Hi, Vikram, sorry,’ I managed to say, quite calmly. ‘This is Antony, my ex-husband. Um, yes, I found it on the stairs, I meant to ring you.’ I crossed over to the table to pass it to him.
‘On the stairs? What was it doing there?’
I shrugged.
‘Anyway, thanks. I’ll leave you to it.’ He glanced at Jayne and Antony, recoiled from the animosity of Antony’s stare, then glared back until Antony dropped his eyes. ‘Well, thanks again.’ He waved the iPad at me. ‘Have a good Christmas, and I’ll see you next week.’ He rushed out, his footsteps beating a rapid tattoo on the stairs.
Antony rounded on me. ‘Is that him? Are you seeing him?’
I shook my head.
‘It’s only a matter of time,’ Jayne crowed. ‘She’s a catch is our Verity, and now with her own business too, she’s causing quite a stir in the village.’
I shot her a warning glance, but she was far too interested in winding Antony up and doing her best to hurt him.
‘She’s not the meek little wifey you thought she was, not any more, not now she’s free of you. She can do anything she wants, with whomever she wants – she doesn’t need you!’
‘Jayne, please, enough.’
She ignored me, her full attention on Antony. She’d been waiting a long time for a chance to tell him what she thought of him.
A slow grin spread across his face and my heart sank. I knew that look.
‘Antony, I think you should go.’
He ignored me too.
‘Meek little wifey, is that what you think? Maybe you don’t know our Verity as well as you think you do, there’s nothing meek and mild about her, not when she gets going – a right little hellcat she is.’
Jayne sneered.
‘You haven’t told her, have you?’ He turned to me. ‘And I thought you told your girls everything. Not so honest when it comes to your own shortcomings, are you, Verity?’
‘Antony, please don’t.’
He turned back to Jayne. ‘What has she told you about the day we broke up?’
I jumped as my coffee cup fell off the table, but Antony and Jayne didn’t notice.
‘I know she found your catfishing harem on your phone,’ Jayne shouted. ‘I know the messages went back months – years – with different women. How many were there? You’re a fantasist, you’ve got a serious problem!’
‘Just words,’ Antony said. ‘A bit of fun online, none of it meant anything.’
‘It did to Verity! How do you think that felt, her reading your declarations of undying love, never mind the webcam footage and phone sex?’
‘I’ve got a fair idea,’ Antony said. ‘She made it pretty clear at the time.’
I jumped at another crash, this time from the kitchen area, but was more fearful of what Antony was about to say. I grabbed his arm, but he shook me off. There was no stopping this.
‘I should bloody well hope she did,’ Jayne shouted. ‘I’d have killed you if it had been me!’
‘She tried to!’
‘Antony!’ I shouted.
Antony opened his mouth to say more, but was startled by a loud bang from the kitchen.
‘What the hell was that?’ Jayne said.
This time I ignored her. I glared at Antony in silence.
‘Verity?’ Jayne said. ‘What’s going on? What did you do?’
I sighed. ‘Nothing. I was just so angry and hurt and humiliated. He wouldn’t get away from me; he kept trying to hug me, talk to me, lie to me. And I wanted, wanted to—’
Tears were running down my face now and I was dimly aware of noise but I was lost in the memory of that moment.
I screamed as Antony launched himself at me and we crashed to the floor. Winded, I struggled feebly, then with more strength.
‘Stay down!’ He rolled on top of me, his weight pinning me, and I screamed and struggled harder.
Jayne’s screams matched mine and I grew aware of the other noises: the banging of cupboard doors; smashes and crashes as plates, glasses and mugs hit the walls above our heads, showering us with shards as sharp as knives; the whistle of the kettle, suddenly come to the boil; the gush of water as the taps spouted torrents of water.
I squirmed my head free just in time to see a bottle of wine on the worktop explode, coating the walls behind with streaks of red. Hysterically, I thought of the TV show, Dexter, and wondered how he would analyse the splatter. Then it stopped.
The door opened.
‘What have you done to them?’ Lara launched herself at Antony, kicking him off me. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Nothing, I didn’t bloody do anything!’ Antony pushed himself off me, clambered to his feet, and backed towards the door, his face white with shock. ‘What the hell is going on here?’
He turned and ran.
Lara offered me a hand up off the floor and all three of us looked around the mess of the room.
‘I guess your ghosts like Antony even less than they like me,’ Jayne said.
‘At least they have good taste,’ Lara said, breaking the tension. All three of us gave a high-pitched giggle, then sobered at the desperate sound of it.
‘Well,’ Jayne said. ‘I think it’s time for a drink.’
‘White Lion,’ Lara said, and hustled Hannah down the stairs, Grasper leading the way.
Jayne and I hastily gathered up our coats and handbags, then I dashed downstairs to collect a change of clothes and my toiletries bag. Nothing would induce me to sleep in The Rookery tonight.
Part Two
28th December 2016 – January 2017
“Be with me always – take any form – drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! It is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!”
Wuthering Heights
Emily Brontë, 1847
Haworth, West Yorkshire
1.
The twelve-year-old girl trudged towards the parsonage, exhausted and chilled after a day in the fresh winter air, yet reluctant to descend from the moors.
‘Emily!’
She stopped at the shout and turned towards the stonemason’s workshop.
‘Thee just walked past without passing the time of day,’ Harry complained.
‘Good afternoon, Harry.’
<
br /> ‘That’s better, see, no harm in passing a friendly greeting is there?’
Emily smiled at him and Harry beamed in response to the rare show of affection. Emily didn’t make friends easily – not of the two-legged variety anyway. He glanced at the strange collection of animals that seemed to be forever in attendance on Emily Brontë, and smiled when he noticed the new additions of a goose and a pheasant amongst the usual cats and dogs.
He was proud of the fact he was likely Emily’s only friend outside her family. He knew no other who was as self-sufficient and happy in her own company as Emily – even her siblings were social extroverts in comparison – and he was honoured that she viewed him as friend – even if the other lads in the village teased him over her, calling her savage. And when her temper was roused, she certainly could be; but they had never seen her charm a hurt lapwing on to her hand to be carried home and nursed back to health. They had never seen her free a coney from a snare and care for it until it could return to its warren.
Although it never had gone back to its own kind, he mused, as he watched it awkwardly hop up to join the rest of Emily’s coterie. The fur never had grown back on that hind leg and, although slower than the rest of its kind, the little bobtail was never too far away from its saviour.
‘Thee’d live up there if thee could, wouldn’t thee, lass?’ Harry said, nodding at Haworth Moor rising behind Emily.
She turned and looked at the landscape. Most would consider it grim and barren at this time of year. Not Emily; she saw naught but life up there and loved it all, even the wind, no matter how hard it bit.
‘I’d love to,’ she replied, her voice childlike in the simplicity of her answer. ‘Away from the cesspit of human habitation.’ She wrinkled her nose at the stench of the privies and midden heaps of Haworth – a smell diluted by the position of the parsonage and mason’s workshop beyond the church and away from Main Street, but still powerful enough.
‘It would be much better to live with the coneys and the foxes, the buzzards and the owls. They drink the purest water and eat the freshest meat.’
Ghosts of Yorkshire Page 53
