As quickly as it had come, the feeling that somebody was hovering over her dissipated. Lucy shuddered as the last remnants drained away, leaving her staring blankly at the old photograph hanging on the wall, mouth hanging open. Suddenly, the door to the bar opened and someone came in. Lucy gasped and whirled round, almost dropping her precious Nikon in the process. She fumbled and caught it just in time. When she saw Dale standing in the doorway, relief washed over her like a cool wave.
“Hey, miss Photographic Director. How about that stroll on the beach?”
Chapter 5:
The Face in the Window
Directly outside Sker House's porch was a meandering, overgrown footpath bordered with little tufts of unkempt foliage. A few metres along it veered off sharply to the left and disappeared into the nearby sand dunes. “Is that the way to the beach?” Lucy asked.
“We live on an island, every way is the way to the beach,” Dale replied sarcastically.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah,” Dale grinned. “Well, the sea is this way, just over those sand dunes. I'm guessing, unless things have changed radically since the last time I saw it, that the beach will be next to the sea.”
“I don't know why you have to be so bloody condescending all the time. You're not funny.”
“I guess I do it because being mean to others makes me feel better about myself. Classic schoolyard bully mentality.”
“Well, I suppose you need something in your life to give you a boost,” Lucy giggled. They tussled playfully on the narrow path. Dale easily won due to his size advantage, but at least he did the gentlemanly thing and caught Lucy before she tumbled head-first into the undergrowth.
A few metres after the abrupt left turn, the path dipped sharply and the vegetation flanking both sides fell away to be replaced by huge mounds of sand caressed into gentle, rounded shapes by the wind and waves. The dunes. Dried seaweed and bits of rubbish, washed white by the elements, blew across their path like mini tumble weeds. Dale did a neat 360-degree turn. “Man, this is more like the Gobi desert than the Welsh coast.”
“No doubt there are similarities.”
“Hey, is that a veiled attack on my heritage?”
“No. It wasn't veiled at all.”
Dale feigned disgust. “Hey, how come in an advanced PC-friendly society, it's still okay to slate the Welsh? I mean, if I was black or Indian you wouldn't dare have a go then. That would be racist. But us Welsh, Irish and Scots just have to take your abuse.”
“It's just banter. We all do it to each other, it's an intrinsic aspect of the complex and unique relationship us Home Nations have. Didn't you ever attend Social Culture class?”
“Well,” Dale shrugged, “You're not in Kansas now, Dorothy.”
“Ooh, what does that mean?”
“It means a bit of respect would be nice.” Dale saw Lucy's eyes flicker the way they did when she thought of some witty, super-funny comeback. But to her credit, she didn't give voice to it.
A few minutes later, they reached the top of a gradual incline and the sand dunes melted away. The path terminated at the edge of the beach, and beyond that lay the vast expanse of the sea. “Wales doesn't seem so bad with areas of natural beauty like this, does it?”
“You know, sometimes you sound like a walking tourism brochure.”
“Oh, do I really?” Dale dug Lucy sharply in the ribs, and she swatted his hand away. “And sometimes, you act like a spoiled child.”
“Yeah, I know,” Lucy admitted. “And I also know you secretly love it. Anyway, this child wants to sit here for a while and watch the sea. You should be grateful she doesn't want an ice cream. I don't see an ice cream van around here so you'd have a bloody long walk.”
“Yeah, right.” Dale said plopping himself down next to Lucy where the foliage met the sand. They sat in silence for a while as dusk settled, watching the white-topped waves crash against the shore. From their viewpoint, the sea seemed to tower above them like a wall of water that could come crashing down at any moment. A solitary ship, lights ablaze, passed silently on the horizon. Set against the vast expanses of the sea and the sky, it could have been a toy. “It's awesome, isn't it? All that water in one place.”
“It's... romantic.” Lucy said, a hint of melancholy creeping into her voice.
Dale frowned. “How the hell can water be romantic? It's cold and wet, but not romantic.”
“It just is, stupid. Everyone knows that. Haven't you seen Titanic?”
“I think everyone in the civilised world has seen Titanic. And most agree that the best part is when the ship sinks. Again, not romantic.”
“That's a terrible thing to say. What's wrong with you?”
Dale held up his palms, “I'm just stating a fact. People love movie carnage. It's what passes for entertainment. That's why disaster movies are so popular. The more death and destruction, the better.”
“Well, it depends who you ask, I suppose. But I think anyone with feelings would disagree.”
“So what's so romantic about it? Boy meets girl, boy falls in love with girl, boy dies in a freezing ocean. The end. That's not romantic, that's fucking tragic.”
“But love is tragic, don't you get it? That's the whole concept of Romeo and Juliet.”
Dale stood up. “Who says love should be tragic, Shakespeare? A posh drunken poet who died centuries ago? Why can't love be a wonderful adventure, full of happiness and joy? It doesn't have to be so depressing. Call me old-fashioned, but I want a happy ending. What's so wrong with that?”
Lucy joined him on her feet, dusting stray grains of sand off her behind. “Nothing's wrong with happy endings. That's what everyone wants. But unfortunately, things never turn out like that. I mean, if two people manage to overcome all the odds and actually stay together for any length of time, death will separate them eventually leaving the other one lonely and heartbroken. That's the best any of us can hope for.”
“Jesus, Lucy. You're such a cynic.” Dale said, shaking his head. “Come on, lets build up an appetite.”
They walked for a few minutes, chatting and stopping at regular intervals so Lucy could take some panoramic pictures in the fading light. It was during one of these impromptu sessions that she suddenly said, “Why is that woman watching us like that?”
“What woman?”
“Up at the house. Third... no, fourth floor. The window on the far right.”
Dale looked back at Sker house. From this distance he couldn't make out every detail, but he could plainly see each window facing them. There wasn't see anybody watching. “I don't see a woman,” he said, puzzled. “Is this a wind-up?”
“Are you serious? She's right there. Look.” Lucy pointed a finger.
“Nope. Sorry. Don't see her.”
“Here look through this. I have the zoom on. The window on the far right. Quick.”
Lucy handed Dale her Nikon. He held it to his eye, training the lens on the house. After a few seconds he said, “Lucy. Seriously, there's nobody watching us. From that window, or any other. You were either mistaken, or you've gone completely mad. I sincerely hope its the former. I don't want to spend the night in a haunted house in the middle of nowhere with a crazy person. It would be like the fucking Shining.”
“Give that to me,” Lucy said, snatching back the camera and training it on the house once more.
There were a few moments of silence, until Dale's impatience won out. “Well, do you still see her?”
“No, she's gone.”
“I told you.”
“That doesn't mean she was never there.”
“Okay. So what did she look like?”
Lucy's brow creased and she gazed into middle distance as she struggled to remember the details. “She was wearing a dress, or an old fashioned nightdress. Light coloured. And she had long dark hair hanging down over her shoulders.”
“Anything else? Was she young or old? Fat or thin?”
“Thin,” Lucy replied. “How the
hell should I know how old she is?”
“Well, whoever she is, she's gone now. Come on, let's go and investigate.”
“Wait,” said Lucy. “Didn't Machen say we were the only guests staying at the house tonight?”
“Yeah, but that doesn't prove anything. It could have been a visitor, or a cleaning lady or something. What's up? You think you saw the Maid of Sker?”
Lucy thought for a moment then said, “Nah, I doubt it. Probably more like some nosy old battleaxe hoping we were going to have sex in the sand dunes.”
“Well in that case it would be a shame to disappoint the woman. After you...” said Dale, motioning towards the sand dunes behind them. Lucy tried to force a laugh, but what came out of her mouth was more of an uncertain splutter.
They finished their walk in troubled silence. Dale tried to lift Lucy's spirits by cracking jokes and generally acting the fool, but nothing seemed to work. She didn't even freak out when he picked up half a dead crab chased her with it. When they arrived back at Sker House, they were surprised to find that another car had joined Dale's old Astra in the tiny car park. An even older Nova. “See? Must be more guests after all!”
“Yeah, maybe,” replied a still preoccupied Lucy.
They went directly to the bar to seek out Machen. Champ the guard dog still lay prone on the floor, but they were surprised to find that the landlord hadn't yet returned to his post. Instead, the bar was staffed by a cute but pale-looking blonde girl of seventeen or eighteen wearing faded, ripped jeans and a black t-shirt. She was sitting on a bar stool furiously thumbing the buttons on her phone. When they walked in, she looked up and smiled weakly. “Hiya! You must be Mr Morgan and Miss Kerr, room twenty-three?”
“Er... that's right,” said Lucy. “How do you know that?”
“Easy. You two are the only people staying here at the moment, apart from Old Rolly over there, who's a permanent fixture.” The girl nodded in the direction of the old man with the white beard sitting at a table. If he heard his name being mentioned, he didn't acknowledge it.
“You can call me Dale. Mister is just for the tax man.” Dale joked, hoping to get a laugh out of his dig at Machen. However, evidently neither Lucy nor the barmaid thought it was funny and his quip was met with a stony silence from both of them.
“Er, okay.... Dale. I won't call you mister,” said the pale blonde girl. “My name is Isabel, but everyone calls me Izzy.”
“Nice to meet you, Izzy,” said Dale almost sheepishly.
“Nice to meet you, too. Can I get you a drink?”
Yes. That was what he needed. Beer. He ordered a pint for himself and a glass of lemonade for Lucy, who proclaimed that it was too early for her to start drinking. As the barmaid poured his pint, he leaned in closer and said, “Um, Izzy... Can I ask you something?”
“S'pose so. What's up?”
“Don't you think you're playing on this Maid of Sker thing a little too much? I mean, what do you do? Pay someone to stand up there looking out of the window all day? Who is it? Machen himself in a dress and a wig?”
“Machen in a dress and a wig? Whatever are you talking about, sir?” Izzy replied. She was either genuinely taken aback, or she was the most convincing amateur actress on the planet.
In a desperate bid to salvage some dignity, Dale backtracked and tried a different tactic. “Okay Izzy, forget the Machen comment. Just tell me, who's the woman in a white dress with long hair we saw watching us?”
The half-smile on the barmaid's face faltered, allowing something else, something darker, to momentarily creep into her expression, “Oh, it was probably just Old Rolly,” she said with a dismissive flap of the hand.
Lucy bared her teeth in what Dale assumed was an attempted smile and shook her head slowly and deliberately. “No. We've already met Old Rolly. Seen him, anyway. He's sitting right there. This was definitely a woman. We were wondering if you or anyone else had maybe stood in the window overlooking the beach about twenty minutes ago?”
For a few seconds, a few seconds too long, Izzy and Lucy locked eyes. Then the barmaid's gaze dropped sharply to the left and she said, “Oh yes, I remember now, I had to change the bedding in that room.”
“Which room?” pressed Lucy. Dale could hear the suspicion in her voice.
“The room where you say you saw somebody.”
“But we didn't tell you which room it was. Plus, you have blonde hair. The lady I saw had dark hair. And a white dress. You're not even wearing a dress.”
The young barmaid pursed her lips as if mentally cursing her own stupidity at being caught in a lie. “Well then, I don't know who you think you saw. Like I said, you're the only guests we have at the moment. I really don't know what else I can say.”
Dale could feel the tension mounting. It was easy to make enemies instead of friends when chasing leads. He decided to step in before the two girls ended up in a cat fight. “Then maybe it was a cleaner?”
“Nope,” Izzy replied. “There's no other cleaner. I'm here almost every day. Mam and me do all the cleaning, but neither of us have been upstairs tonight. We have a schedule. And besides, we only arrived about fifteen minutes ago. Machen didn't want us in until dinner time today, 'cos it's so quiet.” She finished pouring the drinks and set them on the bar. Dale paid for them, thanked her, then picked them up and followed Lucy who was already on her way to a secluded little table at the far window.
By the time he got there she was already perusing the laminated menu. “I forgot how hungry I was,” she said. “There are only three choices of main meal, but they all sound gorgeous.”
Food. The great leveller. It didn't matter what else was going on, or what differences people had, everyone had to eat eventually. Dale snatched the menu out of Lucy's hands, who slumped back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest in a show of petulance. “You know, it's no wonder you're single. You have the manners of a Gorilla.”
“It's better than having the ass of a Gorilla.”
“Are you saying I have a big bum? Or that it's hairy or what? Anyway, how would you know?”
Despite his best efforts, Dale felt his face reddened. Damn it, she always knew exactly what buttons to press. He decided to give up on that particular verbal exchange and change the subject. He would live to fight another day. “So... anyway, I'm thinking steak and ale pie, chips and garden peas. What about you, Madam?”
“Oh, so I'm Madam now am I? In that case, Madam will have the vegetarian option. Home-made cheese and potato pie with baked beans. And bread and butter.”
Dale was certain there was a joke there somewhere involving the vegetarian option, Lucy, and a lack of meat, but he didn't try too hard to think of it. He couldn't handle another put-down. Maybe later. Rather than potentially evoking Izzy's wrath by asking her to come over, Dale went back to the bar to place their order. When he got there, the barmaid seemed to have had a personality check and was the picture of pleasantness. She took Dale's credit card with a polite smile, then as they waited for the transaction to go through the system said, “On which floor did you see someone at the window?”
The question took Dale by surprise. He thought that matter had been settled, or at least swept under a metaphorical carpet. He shot a glance back at Lucy, but she was too far away to hear. “Er... I'd have to check with my friend but it was the fourth floor, I think.”
“The fourth floor you say?”
“Yep. Think so,” repeated Dale with as much conviction as he could muster.
“Well, that's impossible. The fourth floor is closed for refurbishments, and not open to staff or the public.”
“You mean the renovation work isn't finished yet? I thought it was.”
“Well, it would've been finished by now except there were issues with the builders.”
Once again, Dale's journalistic instinct kicked into high gear. Machen hadn't mentioned anything about that. “What kind of issues?”
Izzy turned away and began cleaning a glass that was already clean
with a length of blue kitchen roll. “Oh, you know. Boring legal stuff mostly, I think. Better ask Mach about it.” She looked almost relieved when the hand-held credit card machine gave a little electronic burp to denote that it had finished devouring Dale's card. “Sign here, please.... thank you... I'll bring your meals over when they're ready. Was there anything else, sir?”
“Er, no, nothing else. Thanks, Izzy.” Dale made his way back to their table wondering why Machen hadn't mentioned the fact that the building work wasn't finished. But then again, why would he?
“Befriending the locals, I see? How did it go?” Lucy asked.
“Ooh, catty. Are you getting jealous?”
“Yeah, yeah. As we speak I'm consumed with burning envy. I'm just hiding it really well,” Lucy replied with a poker face. And then, “You know she's lying, right? The girl couldn't even get her story straight.”
“Don't worry,” Dale grinned. “I think I've solved the mystery.”
“Okay then, let's hear it. And before you start rubbishing my story, I know what I saw, okay?”
“I believe you really did see someone up there. Probably a woman, and probably watching us, just like you said.”
“You do? Oh, that's a relief. I feel vilified.”
Ignoring the remark, Dale continued. “Don't you see? They're just perpetuating the myth.”
“They're doing what to the what?”
“Perpetuating. It means to continue something.”
“I know what perpetuating means, thanks.”
“They're obviously just trying to capitalize on the whole Maid of Sker thing.”
“How?”
“It wouldn't surprise me if they send someone up there a couple of times a day to stand in the window freaking people out. Like the Maid of Sker in the old legend. If people think they've seen a ghost, then they'll go back and tell all their friends about it. Word-of-mouth is the best kind of advertising there is. And its free. Well, apart from the ghost. And how much does a pretend ghost cost? They'd probably be available on minimum wage. Not much skill involved in just standing about looking scary.”
Sker House Page 5
