‘Of course,’ she replies, folding up the booking form and sliding it into an envelope with a key card. She leans forward on the desk, making a pained face. ‘Actually, I still feel terrible about giving away the secret when I called. And now I’m wondering if you’re here with your daughter because . . . God, I hope I didn’t cause trouble between you and your—’
‘Oh, no,’ I say before she gets the wrong idea. ‘Not at all.’ My eyes grow wide. I feel my cheeks flush with blood.
‘Dad couldn’t make it,’ Hannah chips in, when I haven’t even thought she’s been listening. I want to hug her. ‘He was busy with work stuff, so Mum said I should come along instead.’ She goes back to her phone.
The lie sounds so easy, though I know it won’t have been. Her voice wobbled at the end, and even though I doubt Susan has noticed, I have. I slip my arm around Hannah’s waist, but she pulls away.
‘We’re going to have a lovely time here,’ I say, keen to change the subject. ‘You have a gorgeous hotel. Have you owned it long?’
‘As long as I can remember,’ Susan replies, coming out again from behind the desk and taking the handle of my pull-along case. ‘Damned place has been in the family for generations.’ She rolls her eyes playfully, her broad white smile flashing fondness. ‘Come on, I’ll show you to your room.’
We go upstairs, following Susan as she leads us down a beamy corridor, the floor of which is uneven, making me feel giddy. At the end, she turns left and we have to duck our heads as we go through into what feels like the oldest part of the building. There’s another smaller landing with an ancient-looking fireplace, a round oak table with fresh flowers and fruit on it, and three doors leading off the area. The thick carpet dulls the creaky floorboards beneath.
‘This is your room,’ Susan says, opening the door with the modern card reader. She allows us to enter first, Cooper pressing close to my side. I catch my breath – it’s beautiful and luxurious, but without being ostentatious. Mainly decorated in neutral shades with soft greys here and there, it’s light and airy yet still feels ancient with beams cross-hatching the walls.
Susan takes a moment to show us where things are, but without being intrusive. ‘Please call reception if there’s anything you need,’ she says, about to close the door behind her. But she opens it again briefly. ‘And feel free to join us for drinks at seven in the bar, won’t you? Guests tend to congregate around then. It’s sort of a tradition.’
‘Thanks,’ I say tentatively, even though it’s the last thing I actually feel like doing.
Susan leaves and I can’t help wondering that if Rick were here with me, I’d leap at the chance to be sociable. Now it seems like a chore. As if everything in life will always feel off-kilter. About a hundred miles away from normal.
‘It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?’ I say, but Hannah has gone into the bathroom. Whatever else happens, I don’t want to waste Rick’s good intentions. It must have cost him a fortune. Cooper sniffs around a bit, before instinctively going to the dog bed in the corner. More sniffing, then he lies down on the fresh bedding, groaning, his chin resting on his paws.
Hannah comes out of the bathroom. ‘Yes, it’s great,’ she agrees. ‘But Mum . . . ?’
‘What, love?’ I sit down on a grey-and-white-painted chair, prising off my shoes. I think I’ll have a bath before we do anything else. But then I’m imagining being in the bathroom with Rick, him wrapping me in his arms, pulling me into the tub with him.
‘I don’t get it,’ Hannah continues, a frown on her face. ‘If they thought this booking was for you and Dad, then why have we got twin beds and not a double? And why are there two sets of female robes and pink slippers in the bathroom?’
I frown before going to look. I emerge from the bathroom clutching a soft robe under my chin. ‘Perhaps Susan decided to make a last-minute switch to a twin room when she saw we weren’t a couple.’ I smile weakly.
But I know that’s not true. She has just told us that the hotel is full, and that Rick personally chose this room.
‘Maybe,’ Hannah says, looking as puzzled as I feel.
‘It’s perfect though, isn’t it?’ I add, trying to make light of it. I go to the window, staring out across the beautiful grounds, realising it must be the same window at which I saw the woman’s face when we arrived.
Gina
My phone rings while I’m in the bath. Even submerged beneath the bubbles, my revving heart sends ripples through the water in case there’s news. Hannah answers it for me.
‘It was Steph,’ she calls through the door a minute later. ‘Something about work. She wants you to phone her back.’
After that I can’t relax. Not with everything that’s been going on at the office. And besides, Steph knows I’m away so it must be important. After Rick disappeared, work allowed me time off, and I didn’t go back until the new year.
‘Did she say what it was about?’ I sit up and reach over the side of the bath for the towel.
‘Something to do with a rental property,’ Hannah replies.
I can’t help the groan. It’s bound to be that place we took on recently, an empty Victorian terrace in a large village north of the city. It’s been nothing but trouble ever since. The landlord, who’s rarely available, promised he’d get it renovated in order for us to show prospective tenants around. But, predictably, he didn’t, and all we’re left with are the keys and several annoyed neighbours who complain to the police about the build-up of rubbish and people breaking in. I see their point, but it’s the last thing I need to be dealing with right now.
‘Do you fancy a game of giant chess, Mum?’ Hannah says as I emerge into the bedroom feeling warm and sleepy. The bathrobe smells of lavender. ‘Some people are playing on the lawn, look.’ She stares out of the window, her long sleeves pulled down over her hands, nibbling one cuff idly as she looks on wistfully.
‘Isn’t it a bit chilly?’
I draw up beside her. The late-afternoon sun fans across the expanse of green below. A couple of kids lug huge pawns and knights across the grass, while their parents watch on, drinks to hand, grins plastered across their faces. It reminds me of my family, of when things were OK. Of when Rick was still here and Jacob was alive – a real, living little boy with feet that would never keep still, and a grin that stretched his face wide. All I have now are decaying memories. Sometimes I wonder who’ll be next to go: Hannah or me? I pray it’s me.
‘Did you notice if there’s a minibar?’ I say, looking around the room. My eyes scan for a little fridge, but before Hannah answers I’ve found it, tucked behind a lattice door. ‘Want anything?’ I ask, in the hope it will disguise my guilt. I pull out a small bottle of wine. ‘There’s juice, beer, Coke. Or chocolate?’
‘Isn’t it a bit early?’ Hannah asks, ignoring my question.
I shrug. If I’ve ever fancied a drink during the day these last few months, then hiding it hasn’t been a problem with Hannah away at university. I tell myself I shouldn’t feel bad, that I have a bucketload of stress, so an occasional early glass isn’t the end of the world.
‘Half past four’s not so bad. And besides, we’re on holiday.’ I settle down on the bed to phone Steph back. The quilt is soft and thick, and the scent of fresh laundry wafts around me. I sink back into the pillows.
‘I’m going out to explore then,’ she says, giving me a look. She calls Cooper to come with her, clipping on his lead. She swipes one of the key cards from the table before leaving. I wave at her just as Steph answers my call.
‘Hi, Steph,’ I say, downing a large mouthful of wine. ‘What’s the problem?’
I only catch half of her reply.
‘I can’t hear you. Will you say that again?’ I look at my screen. Reception is poor, so I stand at the window. The chess family are still playing, with Mum and Dad taking a turn now. The two of them are leaning against each other, pointing to the pieces.
‘Bishop to C4 . . .’ I say.
‘Bishop what?’ Steph asks as
the line gets better. ‘Gina?’
‘Sorry, nothing. Hannah said you called. Is it Evalina Street?’
‘How did you guess?’
The place gives me the creeps. Last time I went there, I swore I wouldn’t go again, especially alone. Not after what happened.
‘The thing is,’ Steph says, ‘Adrian wants me to get some builders’ quotes to send to the owner in the hope it might spur him into action.’
At the mention of Adrian’s name I feel cold and numb.
‘But the keys aren’t in the office,’ she goes on. ‘I was wondering if—’
‘Oh hell,’ I say, suddenly realising. ‘I’ve got them, haven’t I?’ I drain my glass.
‘I think so,’ she says gently. ‘You were the last one to sign for them, Gina.’
I get up off the bed and rummage in my handbag – the same one I was using last week at work. I check the side pocket where I always put client keys.
‘Oh God, Steph, I’m so sorry. I have them here. What an idiot I am.’ I cover my eyes. I can’t face the thought of driving all the way back to Oxford on a Friday night. ‘When do you need them?’
‘The builder’s coming to quote on Monday morning.’
I don’t say anything in the hope she’ll offer to drive out here and pick them up, or at least volunteer the services of a junior agent. She doesn’t.
‘I’m not in the office until next Thursday,’ I reply.
Steph is silent.
‘I suppose I’ll have to drop them at your house over the weekend then. It’s just that Rick booked some spa treatments for me and . . . and I don’t want to miss them. I want to do the weekend the way he’d planned. Does that sound silly?’ I take another mini bottle of wine from the fridge, trying to open it with one hand.
‘That’s not silly at all. Look, why don’t I meet you at the property itself on Monday morning about nine? That would cut some time off the journey for you.’
‘Thanks, Steph,’ I say, finally getting the cap off the bottle. ‘Nine o’clock at the house then.’ After a quick chat, we say goodbye.
I can’t help the feeling of dread at the thought of going there again. Various alternatives race through my mind – could I arrange for a courier to pick up the keys and deliver them? Or perhaps put them in a taxi instead? But I can’t really justify the fare and Adrian would never condone the expense. He makes everything as difficult as he can for me.
I never told anyone what happened the last time I went to the property. I simply couldn’t face any more pitying looks, or comforting words. Everyone in the office knew I wasn’t sleeping, that I’d been taking tablets, that I was getting help from a counsellor. They understood that my mind played tricks from time to time; twisted my grim reality into something more palatable. Mick, my boss, had been really good, allowing me time off for appointments, but the atmosphere had changed. I felt like the odd one out.
So I decided to keep quiet about what happened that day.
That I saw him.
I was so sure Rick was alive and inside 23 Evalina Street, his face peering out of the upstairs window at me – an unshaven, grey-looking version of the vibrant man he once was – but I didn’t tell anyone, worried they’d have me locked up, sent away to a psychiatric hospital.
But he was there.
When I glimpsed him from the street, I rushed inside, fumbling to get the key into the lock that always stuck, cursing the landlord for not spending money on the place. Once inside, I screamed out his name, convinced he’d been holed up here, hiding . . . but from what?
The only thing I could think of was from me.
I tripped on the bottom stair, saving myself with my hands, hurting my wrist. I didn’t care about the pain. I charged upstairs to the top-floor window where I’d seen Rick, screaming out to him as I went.
I didn’t mind what he’d done, or why he’d done it . . . I’d found him! He would come home, and I’d forgive him, and everything would be fine again. I knew no miracle would bring Jacob back – I’d had to identify his body, after all – but if we could just get back to three out of four, I’d settle for that. With half of us gone, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could carry on.
I knock back the remaining wine. It’s only a small bottle, but being the second one, I’m already starting to feel numb.
The thing is, when I got upstairs and burst into that front bedroom, Rick wasn’t there. Not a trace of him, though I swore I caught a whiff of his aftershave in the still, dusty air of the derelict place.
But they say that’s what happens when you go mad, when you’re so convinced you’ve seen something that doesn’t exist, when you believe it with all your heart and soul. It’s an easy slippage into an alternate reality. And once there, it’s almost impossible to get back.
As I turned to leave, hating myself for being so stupid, I suddenly screamed.
The face was looming above me – a pale face in a ghastly old oil painting hanging on the wall opposite. My nerves were in tatters. It must have been what I’d seen from outside – a badly painted 1970s portrait of a man much older than Rick.
I swiped it off the wall in anger, knowing no one would notice or even care. The place was derelict anyway. Then I kicked a hole in it.
There was no Rick. And there was no happy ending. Just me descending into madness.
‘Mum,’ Hannah says, coming back into our room, making me jump. Cooper trots in beside her. ‘This place is really nice. You should see the pool and spa area.’
Hannah is breathless and beautiful, and glowing with something I envy so badly I can’t even give it a name. Probably once I’d have called it love.
‘But what I don’t understand,’ she continues, a frown forming, ‘is how Susan knew my name just now when I saw her on the stairs.’ She takes my hand and tries to pull me off the bed. ‘I swear we didn’t tell her.’
Hannah
At least Mum has stopped going on about Dad turning up at the hotel. Frankly, it’s a bit sick of her to think like that, as though he’d actually want to torture us. But I know she has to chew through this in her own way.
I had this crazy idea that being away from all the stuff at university would somehow help me get through it, but now I’m not so sure. Stuck-on shit follows you wherever you go, I’ve come to realise, while the nasty, angry, bitter voice in my head says: Good, you deserve it.
But when I look at Mum, I know that she doesn’t deserve it. I so badly want to help her, but the thing is, I so badly can’t.
She looks at me from the bed, a sweep of fear touching her face for a second. Then I reach out and take her hand, pulling her up. Lying there like that, it looks as though she’s almost given up.
‘We must have told her your name,’ Mum says. ‘I probably mentioned it when we checked in. How would she know it otherwise?’
We definitely didn’t tell her, I think, but I don’t want to make Mum worry. I didn’t fill out any forms, and Mum didn’t write down my name on the one Susan gave her. In fact, I felt a bit awkward, wondering if I should introduce myself, but I decided against it. I was more preoccupied with the text I’d just had, not knowing whether to reply or not.
‘Yeah, you’re right,’ I say, smiling.
‘So,’ she says, looking all sleepy after her bath. ‘How about that game of chess?’
I smile again. ‘Sure.’ Right now it’s the last thing I feel like doing.
‘Life’s a bit like chess, isn’t it?’ I say as we lug the big pieces to their start positions.
They’re much lighter than they look, being made of hollow plastic. For some reason, I want to hurl and kick them across the lawn. The other family who were playing earlier are sitting on the terrace now, while Mum and I try to remember if it’s the king or the queen who go on their own colour square.
‘All wrong moves and regrets,’ I add, thinking I sound about a hundred years old. The hotel looms behind us, watching on.
‘I guess it is,’ Mum says thoughtfully. She switches the knig
hts and bishops around for the third time, then goes to the wrought-iron table nearby and takes a sip of her wine. We got some drinks on the way through the bar. Mine’s just a juice.
‘You go first,’ I say, and so Mum grabs a pawn’s head, shoving him forwards a couple of spaces. ‘Finely calculated opening move,’ I add.
She gives a little shiver in the late-afternoon spring sunshine, the setting light glimmering through the trees making a halo around her head. She looks beautiful, but her eyes are sad.
‘Took me ages to figure it out,’ she says, winking.
A few moves later, with me thinking I’ve backed myself into a corner, I spot the young boy from the previous family standing a few feet away, watching us play.
‘Hi,’ I say to him.
Mum turns, smiling at him, but then her smile falls away as she sees him properly. Unruly dark hair drooping sideways over his forehead, full lips the colour of blood, jeans with ripped knees, and his hands shoved accusingly on his hips as he watches our game. We’re both thinking the same thing. I just want to hug her, wishing the kid would bugger off.
Mum sees Jacob still stuck at age eleven. But for me, he’s followed me through my childhood and beyond, standing beside me as a young adult in my dreams – his voice low, his chin covered with fine hair.
The boy says nothing. He just stares idly at us, almost with a mocking expression. Behind him, on the terrace, his parents and sister are chatting, laughing, rubbing salt into our wounds. Why don’t they all just bugger off? I think, wondering what to say to the kid to make him leave us alone. It’s the last thing Mum needs.
‘Who won your game?’ I ask, hoping he’ll be shy and scuttle off.
‘Me, of course,’ he says confidently. ‘You shouldn’t do that,’ he adds, pointing at where I’ve just put my knight.
‘Why?’ Engaging him was not what I had in mind. Thankfully Mum has retreated to the table again, her back towards us as she drinks her wine.
In Too Deep Page 5
