by K. L. Slater
* * *
The night of their family dinner, as Geraldine had insisted on referring to it, Brendan had got up time and time again to refresh their glasses.
Holly’s head had felt woozy, but she knew there was no point in protesting that she’d rather have a coffee. She’d learned a while ago that what she wanted simply didn’t count at Medlock Hall.
Brendan had brought her yet another glass of champagne.
‘Now, this is the Pol Roger 2008 and it’s not cheap, so don’t spill a drop,’ he’d instructed her with mock sternness before breaking into a grin. ‘Go on then, taste it.’
She’d taken a tentative sip while he watched. ‘It’s good,’ she said, feeling a little queasy.
‘It’s good!’ he had mimicked, then turned to Geraldine, laughing loudly. ‘Well, that’s reassuring to know, at nearly seventy quid a bottle.’
His wife had managed a weak smile but didn’t chortle back as she usually might. Holly noticed through bleary eyes that Geraldine’s previously perfectly made-up face had become a little smudged and her earlier soft expression had now turned brittle.
Brendan had sat down with his own glass and quietened down at last. Thank God, she’d thought, the stories had finally stopped.
Geraldine and Brendan had looked at each other and then back at her.
Holly clamped her hand across her mouth… had she actually said that out loud?
As her employers watched her, they seemed to be moving very slowly away from her. Further and further they slid, until Holly had barely been able to distinguish their individual features any more.
Her fingers had still been wrapped around the delicate stem of the crystal champagne flute, but now she seemed completely incapable of lifting it to her mouth. It had felt like she was no longer sitting, but floating in mid-air.
She’d smiled, finding the incapacity quite funny, until a sick dizziness hit and her head lolled back against the soft, buttery leather.
George Michael’s ‘Careless Whisper’ sounded like a distant echo. The whole room softened like melting wax around her, and then the walls began to spin closer and closer, pulling her around with them.
Holly had fought the extreme tiredness but simply could not stop her eyelids from closing.
Looking back, she realised that must have been the moment she finally passed out.
* * *
She’d known something wasn’t right that night, felt it in her bones, but she’d ignored her gut feeling.
Standing here in Cora Barrett’s house ten years on, she still couldn’t trust herself to decide whether or not someone was watching her every move.
All she could do was try and be vigilant without becoming paranoid. Not an easy balance to strike with the growing sense of panic that seemed to be rising from her core.
Maybe it was time to do something about it, to put her plans into action.
Maybe it was time for her to finally take control.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Holly
After her shower, Holly tried to steel herself for the day at work that lay ahead.
But first, she sat at the dressing table, stared into the mirror and waited for the little girl to come.
She could feel her stirring from her place of slumber, restless with her eternal nightmares. It took a while, but then there she was, staring back at Holly.
Holly lifted a hand and gently traced her smooth, creamy skin.
‘You’re beautiful,’ she told her. ‘They told you the opposite, but you are, you know. You are beautiful.’
A warm glow broke through the cold, empty feeling in her chest. Just briefly, but it helped.
‘You made it through. You’re strong, clever and kind.’ Holly caressed the child’s dark wavy hair. The hair she had hated, that they had cut short because it was wild. ‘You’re safe now. They can’t ever hurt you again.’
The warm feeling returned, flooding Holly’s chest and remaining there for a second or two longer. She breathed in and out, long spaces that let the relief expand within her.
The tiny flame within that they had tried to stifle, to snuff out… she felt it flickering, growing in strength, deep in her core. They hadn’t tried to kill her; it was worse than that.
Over the years, they had tried to dim her glow, to silence her, to make her disappear. Nobody had really wanted her.
Yet despite the cruel words, the rejection, the loss, that little flame survived and burned bright still.
From the mirror, the little girl smiled at Holly.
It felt like the noose around her slender neck had finally loosened. The rope was still there; it probably always would be. But at least she controlled it now.
Nobody else could pull it tight again, and because of that, the fear would slowly begin to dissipate.
No more strange men in the house, brought back by her mother. No more waking to a dark shape above her in the middle of the night. No more lying awake until the early hours, listening for a creaking step or a light on the landing.
‘You’re perfect, little girl,’ Holly whispered, cupping her own chin gently and smiling into the glass. ‘You always were. Nothing they said or did can ever change that.’
The little girl cried. Holly allowed her glistening teardrops to fall unhindered onto the pale wood veneer of the dressing table.
Perhaps, she thought, this was what people felt when they cut themselves. A pure relief, a sense of creating space within.
The old ravine had opened again inside, and Holly felt herself slipping down into its comforting grip.
She wouldn’t let Geraldine ruin her life again.
Chapter Sixty
Holly
‘You’ve been quiet this morning,’ Josh remarked when he came over to her desk mid-morning. ‘Is everything OK?’
She couldn’t bring herself to look at him.
‘Everything’s fine,’ she said in a thin voice. ‘I just didn’t sleep very well.’
‘Ah, I see. You’re living in… Wollaton, aren’t you?’
‘That’s right,’ she said, wondering how he knew.
‘I overheard you telling the other sales staff when you first started,’ he said, reading her mind. ‘It’s nice and quiet in that neck of the woods. Me and the wife would like to move there ready for us to start a family, hopefully in the next year or so, but we haven’t a hope in hell of paying those prices.’
How refreshing to hear him mention his wife. Holly couldn’t help wondering what sort of a life the poor woman had with him.
‘I’m just lodging… well, visiting there, I suppose.’ She hesitated. ‘Josh, have you seen anything of Emily since she resigned?’
If Josh knew where Holly lived, maybe Emily did too. Worse still, they might be in touch.
He frowned but showed no sign of discomfort. ‘Nope. Don’t really expect to see her again. Why?’
Holly had no intention of explaining to Josh that she thought Emily might have been outside the window watching her; it would make her sound totally paranoid. And now she knew about their affair, she could never trust him again.
‘I… I just wondered if she lived in the city… whether we’d see her around.’
‘She does live in the city, in an apartment near Weekday Cross, if I recall. Don’t think you’ll see her around this end of town again, though. Knowing Emily, she’ll have invented a whole new life for herself already.’
Weekday Cross was central, nowhere near Wollaton. If Emily had been lurking around at the bottom of Cora’s garden, it would be quite a way for her to come at such an unsociable hour.
Josh went on his way and Holly sat staring out of the window, scanning each passer-by. She couldn’t do this all day long or it would draw attention. She’d have to tear herself away from her desk at some point.
It was interesting that Josh had said Emily would invent a new life for herself.
Perhaps she and Holly were more alike than Holly had first thought.
* * *
She had no way of
telling how long she’d been unconscious after the dinner that night.
She remembered resting her head back on soft leather and closing her eyes. The next thing she knew, she’d snapped awake, sat bolt upright, now in her own bed, and promptly vomited all over the quilt.
When she’d stopped being sick, she had a compulsion to shield her eyes from the daylight with a shaking forearm.
‘Let’s get you out of bed,’ a voice had said. It sounded far away at first, and then too close and too loud in her ears. ‘Patricia, could you change the bed, please, while I sponge Holly down?’
Holly had squinted at Geraldine and registered Patricia’s unimpressed scowl as the housekeeper began to unceremoniously pull the soiled sheet from under her.
‘She had far too much to drink last night, I’m afraid, Patricia,’ Geraldine had said in a disapproving tone. ‘Won’t listen to advice, will they, young people? They don’t know when to stop.’
Had she been drinking last night?
Holly sensed powerful negative memories and had a strong sense of foreboding. Yet she couldn’t quite grasp the pictures that floated around inside her head like strings of fog. She couldn’t remember any detail at all.
Foolishly, she’d tried to stand up briefly and immediately swooned, before Geraldine caught her and helped Patricia to lower her onto the dressing table stool.
‘Holly. Tell me, sweetie, how are you feeling?’ Geraldine had gripped her shoulders and spoken very softly and slowly, pressing her face too close for comfort.
Holly had retched again and Geraldine had grabbed some kind of container, held it under her chin.
More yellowish-looking bile had spewed out, burning her mouth and throat.
Geraldine had mopped her mouth with tissues.
‘Better out than in,’ she had said pleasantly.
* * *
The bus journey home from work had quickly become Holly’s thinking time.
Not that thinking was always useful. Particularly the awful memories she’d dredged up lately, reliving the horror that had happened at Medlock Hall.
She supposed it was inevitable that her old life would take the opportunity to creep up when it could and cosh her with the memories she’d tried so hard to bury alive. They were always going to push back until Holly had put things right.
Most days, she looked forward to getting back home. While Cora prepared tea, Holly often took a relaxing bath to help prepare her for the ear-aching hour or so during which the older woman, having been alone for most of the day, would regale her with any gossip she’d overheard at the local shop or, more likely, more endless anecdotes from her past.
Holly had managed to dodge the last few sessions, but she knew that she’d do well to remind herself that she felt safe living with Cora. And that meant doing what was required to cement her place there.
Chapter Sixty-One
Holly
‘Cora has gone to the spring fayre at the village hall and is going to be a little while,’ Holly said when David popped round to finish off a few DIY jobs on Sunday.
She handed him a mug of tea. ‘I’ve been thinking about what I can do to show my appreciation to her for letting me stay here.’
‘That’s nice of you,’ David said blandly. In the time since she’d seen him last, he seemed to have developed a tic in his left eye, and it occurred to her he seemed rather distracted.
‘This house is lovely, but in my opinion, it’s well overdue for a little TLC,’ Holly said, looking around the room.
‘TLC?’
‘Tender loving care?’ She stared at him. How did he get to be so consistently clueless?
‘Oh yes. I see now.’ David sipped his tea and his bony knuckles shone white with the force of his grip. He seemed to be making a great effort to act normally, but it was clearly proving a challenge. Holly wasn’t at all sure David really knew what acting normally actually was.
Still, she pretended not to notice and carried on chatting, thereby avoiding any difficult silences.
‘Cora’s bedroom is a little tired now, and I thought it would be nice to pep it up a bit without changing anything major. I think she’d like that.’
David nodded.
‘I wondered if you’d just help me measure a couple of things while she’s out?’
‘Of course,’ David said, putting down his mug. ‘I’d be happy to help.’
Holly grabbed the tape measure from the kitchen drawer and David followed her upstairs. He lingered awkwardly at the door of Cora’s bedroom.
‘I do hope Mrs Barrett won’t mind us coming in here without her permission,’ he said doubtfully. ‘It feels a bit… underhanded.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Holly rolled her eyes, pulling the curtains back as far as they’d go. ‘It’s for her benefit, and I know you think a lot of her.’ She pressed her index finger to her chin and looked around. ‘I’m thinking some new bedding and soft furnishings and… a new headboard.’ She tossed him the tape measure. ‘Can you do the honours and measure that, please, David? I’ll record the figures.’
They worked amicably together. David read out the measurements in a very precise manner and Holly duly wrote them down.
‘Some pretty new curtains and perhaps a velvet padded headboard instead of that hard old thing,’ Holly murmured, looking around again. ‘Then I’ll get some sparkly cushions and things to pretty the rest of the room up.’
‘I think you’ll find that hard old thing is a solid walnut headboard,’ David said doubtfully. ‘I’d imagine it would cost a fortune these days to get one of comparable quality.’
‘But it’s so ugly.’ Holly pulled a face. ‘And old-fashioned. I’m afraid it’ll have to go.’
‘Well I’m sure she’ll appreciate your efforts,’ David said uncertainly. Holly suspected he wondered why she was making changes to a perfectly functional room.
She’d like to explain, but David would never understand.
* * *
In the afternoon, they went to the cinema as planned.
David seemed to fancy himself rather an authority on the Hitchcockian style. He chirped constantly about how the famed director had used the camera to mimic a person’s gaze, so you watched the film like a voyeur. He went on and on about Hitchcock’s use of metaphors and his ability to foster anxiety and fear in the viewer.
He also complained tirelessly that the wheelchair-bound photographer in the movie simply wouldn’t be able to see as much as he did of his neighbours from his spying vantage point. How he knew that sort of thing, Holly couldn’t imagine.
She had to stop herself yawning several times. She felt glad she’d already seen the film, as she’d missed a good third of it listening to David’s ramblings in her ear.
David’s anxiety levels had seemed to peak once they got inside the cinema. Holly couldn’t help noticing how he scratched constantly at the inside of his wrist, leaving great red welts that stood proud from his pale skin.
He had approached the ticket clerk first and asked for one seat for himself, which he’d paid for in cash. Holly had been slightly taken aback but had said nothing. She’d bought her own ticket after his transaction was completed, and that was when he’d seemed to realise his error.
‘I’m so sorry… I should have got yours too. I’m an idiot. I wasn’t thinking, I—’
‘David,’ she’d said. ‘It really doesn’t matter. Please, forget about it.’
They hadn’t bothered with snacks or drinks. The option didn’t really come up, for as soon as he had his ticket, David rushed towards Screen 5, where the film was to be shown.
It was clear to Holly that he found even the most cursory decisions difficult, and his social skills were bordering on non-existent.
Holly had chosen their seats and had made a bit of harmless conversation while the lights were still on, asking David about his job. As usual, he seemed more than happy to speak at length about Kellington’s.
‘You seem to be getting on very well too,’ he’d sai
d finally, as though belatedly realising that she might have something to say herself.
‘I think I am,’ she’d said, pleased. ‘Everything is going nicely, considering.’
‘I’m glad Emily Beech has gone,’ he’d said suddenly. ‘She deserved to be thrown out. I couldn’t stand her.’
His outburst had surprised Holly enough that she stayed silent.
Throughout the film, she managed to cast a few glances his way. He barely moved, she noted with some amusement, sitting for the full one hundred and eighty-six minutes bolt upright with a hand on each knee.
Periodically he’d lean sideways and enlighten her with some learned observation about Hitchcock’s directing methods.
He wouldn’t take off his anorak, and frankly, Holly wondered how on earth he could feel comfortable so togged up and rigid.
Nick Brown had been right. David was an odd one.
But Holly didn’t mind that. In fact, now that she was clear in her mind about her plans, it suited her just fine.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Cora
Cora had been to the bank, her third visit this week. And she had sorted everything out to her satisfaction upstairs. Everything was in order.
Still, she couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that had been gnawing at her insides for the best part of a week.
Something wasn’t quite right, but infuriatingly, she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was. She just knew these things.
As a little girl, her mother used to say she had a sixth sense. Young Cora had liked that; it had always made her feel special. She’d nearly always know someone was coming before a visitor knocked. And she could sense, on waking, whether it was going to rain.
Not the most useful sixth sense to have, she supposed, but still, even now she’d get a feeling about something and be proved correct more often than not.
