The Snow Rose

by Lulu Taylor

  Rachel,

  I’m sorry, I haven’t been entirely clear. The basement is actually a private space and we’d prefer you not to go there. Obviously, you’ll need to get bins, etc. (see my previous attachments for refuse information) and probably use the washing machine. Nothing else is to be touched. Do not attempt to open locked doors. Inform us of any problems with the wi-fi network and we will deal with them.

  I’m looking forward to your report on the current condition of the upstairs.

  Yours,

  Alison

  As I read it, my stomach tightens with an unpleasant feeling. So I’m not supposed to go down there. I shouldn’t have touched that food. There’s a secret behind that door I’m not allowed to know about it.

  Instantly I wonder if my instinct is right. Is there someone in there? Is that why it’s forbidden?

  Then I shake my head. Why on earth would there be someone down there? Why would ARK hire me if there were?

  But then, why do they need me at all, when there’s an internet connection and a freezer that’s been recently stocked? Surely they could have assessed the place then. How much can have changed?

  My rational mind tells me firmly that I’m here to deter squatters and look after the place. It’s ridiculous to imagine someone hiding in the basement. Nevertheless, I can’t help the shiver of fear that ripples over my skin. I look up for Heather. I always need her most when I’m afraid.

  Just as my gaze lands on her makeshift tent, there’s a loud banging at the front door. I gasp and freeze, and it comes again: a heavy thud on the door.

  I jump up and stride out into the hallway, right up to the door. ‘Who’s there?’ I call, hoping I sound braver than I feel.

  ‘It’s Matty!’ comes a loud, cracked-sounding voice.

  ‘Oh . . . right.’ I let out a long breath. I’m relieved, even if a little irritated. Didn’t I tell her to leave us alone? ‘Okay, hold on. I need to find the key.’

  I hurry over to Heather’s little tent and peer inside. ‘Sorry, darling, you have to go to the bedroom, okay? You can watch the tablet there. It won’t be for long, I promise. If you’re good, we’ll have gummy sweets later.’

  Heather looks unnerved by the banging on the door and the strange voice, and she doesn’t question this, but nods and slips out, taking the tablet with her. She trots off across the hall and down the corridor towards the bedroom, and a moment later I hear the door close. She’s safely hidden. I push Heather’s coat, the dolls and soft toys into the snug where they can’t be seen, then go to the door, pull at the big bolts on the back of it, and turn the key. Tugging it open, I see Matty on the doorstep, looking just as she did the other day in her big brown overcoat, except that now she’s wearing a black waterproof hat, like a fisherman’s, and her boots are protected by galoshes. She’s holding a rolled umbrella in her hand and has been using the handle to batter on the door. She’s not alone, though, and my gaze slides to the woman standing just behind her on the step.

  ‘This is my sister, Sissy,’ she says, noticing. Sissy is almost exactly like Matty, but shorter and even rounder. The same grey hair escapes from beneath her hood, and she has the same dark eyes, except that her pupils have almost entirely engulfed the iris, so that they appear completely black.

  ‘Hello, Sissy,’ I say helplessly. I don’t quite see how I can order away these two old ladies, wet and probably cold too. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘You’ve got water climbing up your garden. The lake’s flooded,’ Matty says bluntly.

  ‘The lake?’

  ‘Down the bottom of the garden. But the overflow’s blocked and it’s climbing up. Nowhere else to go.’ Matty stands there, staring at me.

  I stare back, feeling at a loss. Are we going to keep being put in harm’s way? ‘I didn’t know there was a lake in the garden.’

  ‘It’s a big garden,’ Matty replies. ‘You can’t see the water from the house.’

  ‘So do you think it will reach us?’

  ‘It’d have to rain for a good while. I don’t think so. It never has before.’

  ‘Well, that’s good then.’ I’m relieved, although anxious about the idea of Heather playing out near a flooded lake. I’ll have to keep an eye on her if we go out. I smile at them, hoping this will be their cue to go, but neither moves and I’m uncomfortable under the stare of their dark eyes. ‘And what about you? Are you all right?’

  ‘The electricity’s stopped working,’ Matty says laconically. ‘And the wood’s wet. We can’t boil the kettle for a hot drink.’

  ‘Oh.’ My heart sinks. ‘I see. Well . . . you’d better come in.’ I stand back so that they can enter. Matty comes in first, holding her sister’s hand, and Sissy follows just behind. Matty looks about as she enters, but Sissy only stares at her sister’s back. ‘Would you like some tea or coffee then? I’m afraid it’s very rough here. There’s not much in the way of furniture. I was supposed to bring my own but it’s in storage at the moment and I haven’t had the chance to arrange delivery.’ It’s a little lie but it explains my slightly odd circumstances. ‘Here, take your wet things off and let’s go to the kitchen.’

  After divesting overcoats and galoshes, they are ready to follow me. I lead them down the corridor towards the westerly part of the house, where the kitchen is. Once they are in there, I say, ‘Will you just excuse me for a moment? I’ll be right back.’ I dash to the sitting room, quickly gather up Heather’s things, stash them behind the sofa, and return to the kitchen. The women haven’t moved, they’re standing there waiting for me. Now the coats are off I can see that they are dressed in similar rough wool skirts and jumpers.

  ‘That’s bad luck about the electricity,’ I say as I come in. ‘Luckily I’ve still got a supply. Shall I make some tea?’

  ‘That’d be nice,’ Matty says.’

  I fill the kettle at the tap. ‘How about you, Sissy? Tea or coffee?’

  ‘Oh, tea, please,’ says Sissy, not meeting my eye. She’s still holding her sister’s hand, I notice. Sissy’s voice is softer than Matty’s, but with the same odd accent that is not quite one thing or the other. I feel suddenly sorry for them, this pair of elderly sisters living in an isolated cottage with only each other.

  ‘Well, do stay for tea and get warm.’ I hope that they understand the implied and then go home. I’m worried about Heather on her own in the bedroom. I can’t leave her for long.

  ‘How are you settling in?’ Matty asks, looking about with interest. Sissy keeps her gaze downwards as though paralysed with shyness.

  ‘Very well, thank you. I mean . . . it’s a big place to be in on my own but I’m getting used to it. I only use a few of the rooms. I haven’t even been upstairs.’ The kettle, back on the heat, is warming up quickly.

  ‘You’re the caretaker,’ Matty states.

  ‘Well, guardian is what they call it,’ I say lightly. I don’t know why I should mind being called a caretaker but I do a little.

  ‘Same thing.’

  She’s right, of course, so I say, ‘Yes. True,’ and busy myself with putting teabags in mugs, while asking if they take milk and sugar. When there are three mugs of tea, two with sugar, I put them on a tray and lead the old ladies to the sitting room. ‘Please, make yourself at home,’ I say, handing them the mugs.

  I wonder how Heather is. I hate leaving her, but there’s no other option at the moment. Perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d told the women straight off that I’ve got my daughter here. They don’t look the sort to take much interest in the outside world. But I’ve said I’m alone now, and anyway, it would go too much against the grain to let anyone else see Heather. I sit down, feeling shaky and nervous. I can’t help casting quick glances at the door. I want this to be over quickly.

  ‘You’re very distracted,’ observes Matty, her dark bird-like eyes peering at me over the rim of her cup as she lifts it to her lips. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Well . . . I . . .’

  ‘Leave her alone, Matt
y,’ says her sister. ‘None of our business.’

  Grateful to Sissy, I change the subject. ‘How is the tea?’

  ‘Very nice,’ says Sissy quickly, but still not meeting my eyes. She’s looking down into her cup.

  ‘Any word from the owner?’ Matty asks.

  ‘No . . . not so far. I’m here for the time being. I can’t tell you any more than that, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Why go to all the trouble of buying it, and not live in it?’ Matty mutters, as though personally offended by the situation. ‘Most people would give their eye teeth to live in a place like this.’

  ‘It is beautiful,’ I agree, looking around at the sitting room. Every day, I admire the elaborate plasterwork – the cornicing in egg-and-dart patterns and the ceiling rose of white plaster acanthus leaves curling outwards. ‘If it were mine, I’d be here like a shot, restoring every part of this wonderful old place. It has real potential, if someone could spend a bit of money on it. I suppose you knew it when there were people living here – properly, I mean. Not a guardian, like me.’

  Matty nods slowly and says, ‘That’s true. We knew it in the old days.’

  ‘Have you lived in the cottage long?’

  Matty hesitates. ‘Well now. In the cottage . . . Let me see. It’s been two years we’ve been there now.’

  ‘Oh.’ I’m surprised. I thought they would say they’d been there longer. They look as though life hasn’t changed for them in decades. ‘Where did you move from?’

  Sissy shifts a little on the sofa, and takes another quick sip of her tea.

  Matty darts a glance towards her sister. ‘We didn’t exactly move . . . That’s to say that we moved . . . from here.’

  ‘Here?’ I blink at her, surprised. ‘This house?’

  Matty nods. ‘Yes. This house. We were both born here, weren’t we, Sissy?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Sissy agrees in her gentle voice. ‘Born here. Lived here all our lives.’

  ‘Oh.’ I take this in, aware of the dynamic changing. A moment ago, they were interlopers. Now I feel as though I am. ‘So, this was your house?’

  ‘Yes,’ Matty says slowly. ‘You might say that. As good as.’

  I’m embarrassed suddenly, remembering how I’ve just talked about the house’s potential, and how I practically ordered them off what was their own property. ‘So you sold it?’

  ‘It was too big. Once the last of the old ones went. We had to keep it on until then, even though every year we wondered how we’d manage . . . didn’t we, Sissy?’

  Sissy nods.

  ‘But we were under all sorts of obligations. Things held in trusts. Stipulations and covenants. It was no easy matter to sell. It took a long time to unravel it all.’

  ‘So you sold it to the company? To ARK?’ I suggest.

  ‘That was the name, I think. We don’t know much about them. They came to us as a matter of fact. Most particular that they wanted this place, even though they’ve got other properties – or that’s what they said.’ Matty takes a long drink from her mug. When she’s finished, she says, ‘Anyway, it’s not ours anymore, is it, Sissy?’

  ‘Not ours anymore,’ echoes Sissy. She sits hunched, tucked in beside her sister as if keeping out of sight. I like her soft gentleness, or perhaps she just seems like that in comparison with Matty’s spikiness.

  I wonder how much they got for the house. They could have afforded something more than an old cottage, surely . . . ‘It must be strange coming back here then,’ I say politely. ‘You must remember how it was before.’

  ‘It’s different now,’ Matty agrees. ‘We took what we wanted and they told us to leave the rest. Some men came one day and stripped out the carpets and so on, took away some things and brought in others. They made a racket while they were at it. It looked like they were going to start doing it up and making it fancy. But we’ve hardly seen anyone since then. We wondered if it was all a ruse, a tax dodge or whatever they call it, and the place would be left to rot. Then you came.’ She slides a glance across at me. ‘It’s a mystery, isn’t it?’

  I wonder if the men are the ones who put in the internet connection and stuffed the freezer. Perhaps one of them is downstairs right now, under my feet as we speak . . .

  Matty looks around at the sitting room, with its delicate chinoiserie wallpaper. ‘I’m glad they left the paper in here. This was a sewing room once. So pretty. On a sunny day, we often had the doors to the garden open, do you remember, Sissy?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sissy says happily. ‘And there was the gold chandelier with the crystal drops. I thought it was so lovely. It was my favourite room.’

  It’s hard to imagine Matty and Sissy sitting in here, young women sewing, the room full of fine antique furniture, pictures on the walls. But the house is so far from what they remember that they can hardly resent me for being here. Their vision of it disappeared long ago.

  ‘It must be strange being here when it was your home for so long,’ I say.

  ‘It’s different from how it was,’ says Sissy, turning her face towards the garden. ‘It was so full of sound, you see. There were so many of us! But as we grew up, the older ones died off. Others left. Eventually, it was only us.’

  ‘You must have had a very large family.’

  ‘We did – one big, happy family in the faith.’ Sissy sighs.

  ‘In the faith?’ I’m puzzled.

  Sissy smiles and closes her eyes.

  Matty puts her mug down abruptly. ‘That’s enough gossip. We’ve had our tea. We’ll be on our way.’

  ‘Oh.’ I’m vaguely startled that the visit is over already. ‘Won’t you be cold in the cottage?’

  ‘We’d be just as cold here. Come on, Sissy.’

  I put my mug on the table, relieved that I’ll be able to let Heather out of the bedroom. It’s occurred to me that if Matty and Sissy suspect there’s a child here, they might feel they should inform the owners. All the more reason to make sure she isn’t spotted. I stand up. ‘As long as you’re sure . . .’

  ‘Yes, I said, didn’t I?’ Matty looks tetchy.

  ‘Okay.’

  In a moment we’re out in the hall where the raincoats and galoshes are still shiny with rain. Matty puts on her own and then helps her sister.

  ‘I hope you weren’t too upset by the way the house has changed,’ I say to Sissy. ‘It must be disturbing when you remember the place in its heyday.’

  ‘Doesn’t make a difference to Sissy what it looks like,’ Matty says, a little breathless as she pulls the overcoat on over Sissy’s thick jumper. ‘She’s blind.’

  At the same moment, Sissy turns her gaze towards me and I’m struck by the intensity of her dark, almost entirely black eyes.

  ‘Oh,’ I say awkwardly. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’ve not always been blind,’ Sissy says in her gentle voice.

  ‘Only since last year,’ Matty puts in. ‘Not too long after we left the house.’

  ‘That must be very hard to come to terms with,’ I say, at a loss. I can’t think why I haven’t realised that the old woman is blind when it seems obvious now.

  ‘No. I don’t seem to mind it as much as you’d think,’ Sissy says with a little smile.

  ‘Come on, old girl,’ Matty says. ‘We’ve got to get going. It’s going to be dark before we know it, with all these rain clouds. And while you won’t notice it, I will if I’m to get us both through the wet.’

  ‘Will you be all right?’ I ask. I want them to leave but now I’m anxious about them. ‘Do you need some fuel? You said your wood is wet.’

  ‘Have you got some?’ Matty asks, shepherding Sissy towards the door.

  ‘I . . . don’t think so . . .’ I wonder if there’s any wood in the basement.

  ‘Then why’d you offer?’ But she doesn’t say it nastily. ‘We’ll be all right. I’m sure we’ll find something to get the range going with.’ Matty is opening the front door. The rain has stopped but the lowering clouds don’t look as if they are finished y
et. ‘Thank you for the tea.’

  ‘Thank you,’ echoes Sissy. Then she looks straight at me and smiles. ‘You’ve been very kind. You should come and see us. If you ever feel you need to.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I can’t help thinking that Sissy knows more about me than I realise. But how could she?

  I watch them go, the older sister leading the younger by the hand into the murky afternoon.

  I can’t understand why I didn’t know she was blind.

  Heather seems perfectly happy in the bedroom, still glued to the tablet. I hug her guiltily, climbing onto the bed beside her. She hasn’t done anything today but watch that thing. But outside, the rain is still tumbling down. The water in the garden doesn’t look any closer, though.

  ‘Come on,’ I say. ‘Turn the cartoons off now.’

  ‘Five more minutes?’ she wheedles.

  I relent just a little. ‘Only while I make some sandwiches for lunch. Then off for the rest of the day.’

  Heather doesn’t complain, which makes me think she has secretly had enough. I leave her to it and go to the kitchen to make our lunch. I’m thinking about Alison’s email and the way it forbids me to investigate the basement as I switch on the radio to catch the lunchtime news, half listening to the headlines. It’s the very last item that makes me freeze, the buttery knife held in mid-air.

  ‘. . . are seeking Kate Overman, thirty-eight, who was last seen almost a week ago at her home in . . .’

  I reach out and switch it off as fast as I can. Oh my God! What if Heather hears it? What if Matty and Sissy are listening to it as well, and begin to wonder if there is some connection between the missing woman and my arrival?

  I’m panting, my fingers shaking. It’s all out there.

  I go back over everything I’ve done to keep myself hidden and I can’t see any way that I can be found. I’m certain no one else has seen Heather. The only chink in my armour is Caz. I have to trust that she’ll stay strong.

  I lean against the worktop, trembling. So it’s happened. I knew it would, but the fact is terrifying. They’re looking for me. They’re on my trail.