by Helen Phifer
When she finished in the bathroom, Agnes went into her bedroom and for the first time in for ever she locked her door. Unable to shake the feeling that Lilith wasn’t quite what she seemed, it had made her unsettled and at a loss for what to do. Maybe a trip into the village – if the roads were clear – to speak with Father Patrick or Constable Crosby would help her decide what to do. If not first thing in the morning, she would telephone them both and ask them to pay her a visit.
Chapter Two
Five weeks of non-stop hard work and the house was much cleaner, lighter and smelt better. Oliver and his two labourers had been in every day, working until six or sometimes later. As they opened up each room the house felt a lot better. Kate spent every hour working alongside them. By the time they went home she would make herself something to eat then sometimes carry on until ten or eleven.
When she was on her own she would open a bottle of wine, drinking it as she cleaned, sanded or painted – whatever needed doing first. She hadn’t been drinking as much because she was so tired, but unless she had a drink sleep wouldn’t come until the early hours.
Last night she had managed to not have a drink at all, even though her hands had begun to shake like some old drunk’s and she’d felt like crap. She’d wanted to see how bad it would feel to go without. By nine o’clock she’d had to go to bed because the craving was so bad. Her mouth had been so dry that she kept whispering ‘just one sip’, but she knew if she could make it through until the morning she might just be ready to go to the doctor’s and get some help.
She’d lain there on her bed, waiting for the usual tiredness to kick in. It hadn’t. She’d never been so awake as she listened to the clock on the mantelpiece ticking away. Each tick sounded louder than the last and as she’d lain on her side staring at the wall, she heard a door bang from somewhere up on the second or third floor.
Her heart had been in her mouth and then she realised that Ollie – she’d shortened Oliver to Ollie because it was much easier to yell – had probably left a window open to get rid of some paint or plaster fumes. It was just a draught, nothing else. Looking at her phone because it was too dark to see the clock face, she saw it was three a.m. She turned on her side, closing her eyes when she heard the scratching again.
Her mouth felt even drier as she lay still, trying to figure out where it was coming from. It didn’t sound like the scrabbling sound she imagined a rat would make. Did she know what a rat actually sounded like? No, she couldn’t say that she did. What she did think it reminded her of was sharp fingernails. Scared to move, she waited for it to happen again.
It sounded as if it was coming from inside the wall opposite her bed, which was ridiculous as outside her room was the hallway. She sat up, leaning over to turn her bedside lamp on, and felt better as the warm glow filled the room. She got out of her bed and crossed to the wall by the door. Her heart racing, she pressed her ear against the wall and waited for it to happen again. Five minutes passed. She couldn’t hear anything.
Her imagination was running wild and she imagined someone on the other side of the wall in the same position as she was, ear pressed against it listening for sounds of movement from inside her room. Her neck started to feel stiff and she stood straight, telling herself she would have to get some mouse traps tomorrow. There was no more scratching, so she got back in the bed and knew that first thing tomorrow she would ask Ollie to check for rats or squirrels.
As she lay there thinking about how much she liked having the cowboy around, she felt a warm sensation spread over her, and then she reminded herself he was married and that it was an absolute no to even think about him as anything more than a friend. She knew how much it had hurt her deep inside to see Martin openly flirting with women who were half of her age. Every time he had done it had been like a kick in the stomach – a reminder from him that she was never quite good enough for him.
Her eyes finally getting heavy, she was drifting off when a loud thud on the floor above her made her eyes fly open. It had come from the room that was almost finished. She jumped and sat up, pulling the covers over her. She was probably extra jumpy because of the lack of alcohol flowing through her veins. She waited, holding her breath, but there was nothing more until she finally lay back down. Squeezing her eyes shut she willed her brain to shut down and let her sleep. From the same room came the sound of footsteps on the wooden floorboards – not heavy or loud, but light.
Kate reached out and turned on the small bedside lamp once more, her heart racing. Someone was upstairs. She listened, not daring to breathe out, and they came again. Definite footsteps they were – walking faster this time. Her hands shaking, she didn’t know what to do. She picked up the phone to dial the police, but her finger hovered over the button. This was her house. She should really go and take a look. It didn’t sound as if it was some six-foot rugby player stomping around, more like a ballet dancer moving gracefully.
She threw back her covers and stepped onto the cold, tiled floor. Shit, it’s freezing. She didn’t dare to put her too big slippers on because of the noise they made, so she picked up the torch from under her pillow and then crossed the room and grabbed the small, wooden baseball bat that she’d got on a holiday years ago. She wasn’t a violent person, but if someone had broken into her house they would get a quick whack on the head for their troubles.
Creeping from her room, she left the door ajar because it creaked loudly as it closed. She made her way to the staircase. She stood at the bottom, listening for any sign of where her intruder could be. Her mobile phone felt heavy yet comforting in her pocket. There was no sound from upstairs so she made her way up, taking each stair one at a time then pausing when she reached the top.
The room above hers was seven doorways down the wide corridor. She shone the torch around and every one – except for that one – was shut. She was tempted to run outside and phone the police, but her pride wouldn’t let her. She’d feel like an idiot when the nice young officer they sent did a check of the gardens and stumbled across her recycling bin. They would think she was running some kind of private drinking club with the amount of empties inside it, then they would ask who lived here and she would have to say ‘just me’. She could feel the look of pity they would give her, burning her soul to the core.
No, it was better for her to have a look around. If she still wasn’t happy she could phone Ollie. No doubt he would come and make sure she was okay. Although she had no idea what his wife would think about her disturbing him at such a late hour. She waited, but couldn’t hear anything. Her heart pounding, she began to walk towards the open door.
Had she shut all the other doors today or had he? They had agreed to keep them all shut to cut down on the draught until the entire house had heating in. She would ask him tomorrow when he came. Tomorrow seemed so far away at this moment in time. The torch felt heavy in her hands and the beam was moving everywhere because she was shaking so much.
Before she knew it she was standing right in front of the door she thought the footsteps had come from. The darkness inside was all-consuming. Come on, Kate, you know the score. There could be some mad axe man waiting in there for you. How many times have you watched the film and screamed at the television for the stupid woman to phone the police or to run? But she couldn’t. She had to check inside that room and prove to herself she wasn’t hallucinating. After all she’d been living here for five weeks now and had never heard anything up until tonight, and then the voice inside her head whispered: You’ve never been sober before tonight. You’re normally comatose by now, oblivious to the world in your wine- or vodka-induced sleep.
Lifting the torch, she shone it directly through the door as if to prove herself wrong. She wasn’t imagining this. Her heart was pumping the blood around her body so loud she could hear the fast thump, thump of it in her ears. The beam shone into the darkness. Her mouth was dry as she moved the torch around and couldn’t see anything. A little braver now, she stepped forward and reached her hand aroun
d the door frame, feeling along the wall for the light switch. As her fingers found it she pressed it in and held her breath.
Light flooded the room, the empty room in which a window was still open and the piece of net curtain across it fluttered with the breeze. She smiled to herself, relieved that it was nothing, and then she turned and saw the crosses. Her feet froze to the spot and she let out a shriek. On the wall above the light switch, there were three wooden crosses all hanging in a row. She had been in here earlier and there wasn’t anything on the freshly painted wall then.
How had they got up here? The very first thing she’d done the day she moved her sparse belongings here had been to go around with a cardboard box and take down every single cross and crucifix that had been dotted around the house, because they completely freaked her out. She had then taken the full box outside to the shed around the side of the house, not wanting to throw them away because it didn’t seem the right thing to do. She had quite happily pushed the sellotaped box into the side of the shed and left it there.
So who the fuck had put these up on her freshly painted walls? If they thought it was some kind of a joke they could think again. She crossed the room and slammed the sash window down a little too hard. Minute pieces of wood splintered off and fell to the floor with the impact. Bugger, she needed to be more careful. A whole houseful of new windows wasn’t on her list of priorities. Not until she had to anyway. The plan was to only replace the ones that wouldn’t open or were broken; then the rest would be taken care of when the money started to come in.
She walked over, about to pull the crosses from the wall, when she realised how dark it was outside, how late it was and how no matter how brave she felt she wasn’t walking around to the shed at this time of night. Instead she walked out of the room, turning off the light and shutting the door firmly behind her with her trembling hands.
She needed a drink. Turning on the landing light now, she switched off the torch – not wanting to drain the batteries. The upstairs landing looked so much better bathed in light. She would need to have some wall lights fitted or at least a couple of side tables and lamps that were kept on all night so the guests wouldn’t get freaked out by the darkness.
Kate let out a sigh. She’d never even considered anything like this. It was a much bigger project than she’d realised. It wouldn’t be half as stressful if Amy was still here to help her. Hot, salty tears filled her eyes. She missed her friend so much since she’d died six months ago. She didn’t think she’d ever really laughed since. Well not like the pair of them used to – setting the world to rights over a couple of bottles of wine. Amy would say something funny and they would laugh until the tears rolled from their eyes.
Kate wondered if anyone would ever make her laugh like that again. She certainly hadn’t had anything to laugh about lately. She found herself downstairs in the huge kitchen that was an empty shell apart from the fridge, microwave and a battered old pine table with three chairs. She opened the fridge and pulled out the vodka. She didn’t want to sit around drinking a glass of wine. She needed an extra-large shot of something strong that would knock her out.
Grabbing a wine glass off the end of the table where what little cutlery and kitchen essentials she owned were stacked, she filled it to the top with vodka, emptying the bottle. Leaving the bottle on the table she went back to her room, sipping the vodka as she went – not wanting to spill any and waste a single drop.
She left the lamp on. It was staying on. The thought that she should be checking the house filled her mind. She wasn’t that brave. If someone wanted to break in and put up crosses on the wall, they could get on with it. There wasn’t anything apart from the builder’s tools worth stealing. She knew the scratching was probably mice or worse still rats. Ollie would deal with them for her. She might have even imagined the footsteps, because Ethan or Jack had probably put the crosses on the wall before they left for some kind of joke. They weren’t to know that they’d freak her out; in fact it made perfect sense and she convinced herself that was what had happened.
Ollie could deal with those two as well as her vermin problem, and sanity would be restored to her life once more. She looked at her lonely bed. God what she’d give to have someone lying in there waiting to wrap their arms around her. She was so bloody sick of being on her own. As she sat down on the bed, she lifted the glass to her lips, closed her eyes and then drank it down. She began to cough and splutter as the neat vodka burnt its way down her throat, filling her with warmth. Her head began to feel muzzy.
Putting the glass on the bedside table she climbed back in, feeling sick as the room began to spin. She muttered to herself: Too much, Kate. One of these days you’re going to kill yourself – and a part of her wondered if that would be such a bad thing. The last few days she’d get fleeting moments of despair at how much work needed to be done before they could open the house for business, followed by mild anxiety attacks. She’d never been one to suffer with her nerves, but she’d go into certain rooms or parts of the house and her stomach would start to fill with butterflies for no particular reason, which was unsettling her. She’d think about the huge project that she’d taken on and brush the feelings away as anxiety.
She had no one who wanted her. Maybe dying would be the best thing for her – even though the thought of leaving her girls terrified her – and then her eyes closed as she finally fell asleep.
Upstairs the footsteps that had paused continued from room to room, looking for something that had been lost a very long time ago, but Kate was oblivious to it all.
***
Ollie let himself in with the spare key that Kate had given to him. He was much earlier than usual, but he wanted to get the next room finished. He had told himself that if he managed to get two bedrooms up and running, with the bathrooms plumbed in, then maybe Kate could have her daughters over to stay with her.
Martin couldn’t really say no to her now she wasn’t living in those grotty council flats and it might cheer her up, because although she’d never said as much he could tell she was feeling down. If she had her kids to stop it also might mean she would drink a little less. He felt bad for checking up on her, but he counted the empty bottles every morning in the recycling.
It was none of his business what she did and he knew this, but he liked her. If he was honest with himself, there was something about her that he found very attractive and he didn’t want to see her throwing her life away. She had so much to live for – plus he kind of felt responsible for her now he was seeing her every day. The poor woman was even lonelier than him and he’d thought he had it bad.
He’d been surprised to see the same number of bottles as yesterday and was secretly pleased, until he got to the kitchen and saw the empty vodka bottle on the table. Bollocks. He walked down to her room. It wasn’t like her not to already be up and pottering around. Then again he was early and it looked like she’d hit the hard stuff last night.
Lifting his hand to knock on her door, he stopped mid-air. What, are you her father? This is none of your business, Ollie, so keep out of it. Instead he listened at the door for any sign of life. He heard a gentle snore and the bed creak as she moved. He couldn’t help but wonder what she was sleeping in and then he stepped back and walked away.
This was well and truly overstepping the mark. It was beyond their working relationship and he felt like a dirty old man for even thinking about her like that. Instead he went back to the kitchen where he began to make some toast and a pot of tea, banging around loudly and hoping she’d wake up.
As he finished setting the teapot on the table, he turned and jumped to see her standing there yawning. She was wearing a pair of mismatched pyjamas. Her hair was tousled and sticking up and she didn’t have a scrap of make-up on. She looked so sexy. Mortified, he had to turn away before she noticed what a funny shade of red his face had turned.
‘What time is it?’
‘I’m early. It’s only eight o’clock. I thought I’d get started on that
second bedroom. I wanted to make a big difference today.’
‘Thanks, Ollie, that’s really kind of you.’ Kate sat down, putting her head in her hands.
Ollie poured her a mug of tea out and passed her some toast. As he reached over he caught a whiff of her perfume. It was the same one his wife had worn. Funny how he’d never noticed that before. Then again he’d never been in such close proximity to Kate in her pyjamas either. Normally they were both covered in plaster dust and muck. She sipped the tea and picked up a slice of toast, nibbling on the corner. She held her head up with one hand. He kept telling himself not to say it, but it came out before he could help himself.
‘Heavy night?’
She looked at him and he saw the faint redness beginning to creep up her neck. He could have kicked himself. It was none of his bloody business what she did so why was he so bothered?
‘Not really, I couldn’t sleep. I tried my best to drift off but then I heard scratching on the wall and I thought I heard noises coming from the bedroom above mine. I had to go and investigate, but there was nothing there.’
‘It’s an old house, Kate. It would make lots of noises anyway as the floorboards settled once the air cooled. With the amount of work we’re doing it’s bound to increase – especially at night when there’s no one banging around up there and you’re here on your own. I never thought to mention it to you.’
She nodded her head. ‘Oh that reminds me: did you leave that bedroom window and door open?’
‘No, I was the last one in. I’m sure of it and I could swear that I shut them both. Why?’
‘They were both wide open when I went up there and it was freezing cold. Oh and I didn’t think the crosses were very funny either.’
He didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. His first instinct was that she’d been drunk and didn’t know either, but then it bothered him that the window was open. He distinctly remembered closing it because he’d wondered whether or not he should leave it open an inch to air the room out.
