‘We know who wears the trousers around here,’ he says.
He pats me on the head like I’m about three and I don’t mind because it’s so good to know that I’m not actually going barking bonkers. ‘We’ll talk again,’ he says. ‘I might be able to explain some stuff about the house if you’re interested.’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Yeah, I am.’
I’m frightened to death as well, but I don’t need to tell him cos I reckon he can see that.
‘Thanks for the tea,’ says Sid. ‘I’d better be off now.’
I don’t know what makes me do it, but I reach up and plant a big kiss on his shiny cheek.
‘Ah, bless you, lass,’ he says. ‘Tell your dad I’m looking for him.’
He disappears off down the corridor, jingling the bunch of keys.
Chapter Eight
The next day Dad bounds into the flat with something clasped behind his back.
‘This should cheer you up, Tabs,’ he says, coming over to where I’m lying on my stomach with my legs up in the air, texting Gemma. ‘Here – give me that.’
He ignores my squawk of protest and whips my mobile phone off me.
‘Dad!’ I say. ‘I need my mobile like ALL the time! What if somebody texts me?’
‘I’m sure you’ll survive five minutes without it,’ says Dad. He slips my mobile phone into the pocket of his jeans and then instructs me to close my eyes.
I’m not too keen on doing that at the moment. Every time I close my eyes at night I see a white moony face and hear the heavy thump of footsteps descending the manor staircase.
‘Go on,’ says Dad. ‘Just for a moment.’
I half-close my eyes so that I can still see a blurry outline of Dad’s face. He puts something cold, small and smooth into my hands and I open my eyes right away and gasp.
‘Dad!’ I say. ‘I’ve always wanted one of these!’
I slide my fingers over the tiny flat screen and it beeps into life.
Dad has bought me an iPhone. It’s black and shiny and new. And perfect.
‘Thanks,’ I say, leaping up to throw my arms round his neck.
‘Hmm,’ mutters Mum who is mixing up a bowl of cereal and prunes behind me. She says it helps her stomach but I can’t see how. It looks disgusting. I’ve got a pile of toast and Marmite next to me. ‘That must have cost a lot of money. I hope you’re going to look after it, Tabitha.’
I pull a face at Dad and he sparkles back at me.
‘Got it off Kevin cheap,’ he says. ‘He’s put some stuff on it for you, Tabs. Not sure what.’
Kevin is Dad’s best friend from college. They’ve always kept in touch. Nobody’s quite sure what Kevin does for a living but he’s always got loads of electrical equipment to sell and half our flat is furnished with it.
Mum sniffs.
‘Knock-off,’ she says. ‘That’s nice. Great example you’re setting our daughter.’
Dad pulls a face behind her back and I smother a grin.
Then Mum slopes back off to her bedroom to eat the muesli, and I spend the rest of the morning fiddling about with my new toy and emailing Gemma.
Dad’s helping Mum paint the bathroom this morning but when he’s done a couple of hours he leaves her to it and prepares to go and carry out some jobs in the manor.
‘There was a reason I bought you the iPhone,’ he says as he passes the sofa. ‘I thought perhaps you could take some photographs for me of each of the rooms? I need a rough picture of all the contents to back up my inventory.’
I freeze.
‘Today?’ I say. ‘Do I have to do it today?’
Dad ruffles my hair.
‘Well as you’re about to go back to school, this is kind of the last chance, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘I’ll be around the house if you need me. It won’t take you all that long.’
I sigh. My appetite has shrivelled away to nothing.
‘Can I ask Gem to come over and help me?’ I say.
Dad’s smile fades a little.
‘Really, Tabs,’ he says. ‘What’s up with you? You used to be such a strong girl. But yes – if you like. Invite Gemma. I’m sure your mum will give her lunch.’
He goes out into the corridor and shuts the flat door behind him.
I sit there for a moment trying not to be upset by what he said.
Thing is – Dad’s right. I did use to be strong. I used to be brave and funny and would do anything that anybody asked me.
I shiver and text Gem from my new iPhone and she texts back right away that she’d love to come over and I smile and think, If Gemma is here then nothing will happen. Things will be OK.
Gem comes in all brown and glowing from the sun and wearing a white strappy sun dress and flip-flops.
I see her look for a moment at my faded jeans and unwashed hair but she’s a good mate and says nothing.
I know I look a bit rubbish at the moment. I haven’t slept very well either so I have circles the colour of purple cabbage underneath my eyes and I’ve lost weight, so my jeans are held up by a belt so they don’t end up down by my feet.
‘You OK, Tabs?’ is all she says. I nod. She reaches out and gives me a gentle hug. She’s good like that, Gem. She knows when something is going on but she’s never pushy.
The thing about telling stuff to your best mate is that it kind of makes it REAL. Maybe if I just don’t admit to anything it will kind of go away and leave me alone.
Gemma loves coming into the manor. She twirls down the corridor past the vast dining room, getting looks of disapproval from a group of Japanese visitors who are clustered in front of the Chinese lions and then she does a little tap dance in the entrance hall on the parquet floor.
Dawn laughs when she sees this.
‘I’ll have some of whatever your friend is on, Tabs,’ she says as I run behind to catch up.
Gem has spun off into the large drawing room and is staring up at the crystal chandelier and at the gilt mirrors placed at either end of the room over the ornate fireplaces.
‘They must have had some cool parties in here,’ she says.
I smile.
‘Oh, we still do!’ says Gemma in a posh voice.
Huh?
I turn to Gemma. ‘What do you mean? Why did you say that?’
Gemma frowns. ‘I didn’t say anything, or I don’t think I did, anyway.’
It’s my turn to frown, but Gemma has turned away and is gazing out through the French double doors at the back lawn of the manor. There are groups of kids lounging about all over it, lying in the sun, listening to radios or fiddling with their phones.
‘You’re so lucky living here,’ she says. ‘My mum’s flat is so boring. And we haven’t even got a garden.’
Seeing the kids with their phones reminds me that I’m supposed to be on a mission for Dad, so I get out my new iPhone and let Gem play about with it for a bit and then I find the camera application and take a wonky photograph of the blue and green Wedgwood in its case near the door.
We study the results.
‘Bit blurry,’ says Gem. ‘But not bad for an amateur.’
I roll my eyes at her and then we go into the dining room and I take another photograph, this time of the Chinese lions and the photo’s better, with sunshine glinting off their fierce faces and I feel almost cheerful because at last I’m having fun and being useful and for a change – I’m not feeling scared.
‘Let’s do upstairs,’ Gemma says. ‘I like those grand bedrooms.’
It’s a bit like the sun goes in when she says this but I’ve got a job to do for Dad and I’ve got Gemma right here next to me, so I smile and we head up the brown staircase without me pausing to think about the footsteps I heard. I take a series of shots of Lady Eleanor’s bed with the floral bedspread and her dressing table with the silver-backed brushes and I’m really getting into this now so I carry on, going from room to room and clicking away on my new gadget. When we’ve done all the first-floor rooms we head downstairs and then Gemma st
ops at the bottom of the stairs and says, ‘Take a picture of the staircase, Tabs – your dad will want a record of all these paintings.’ She’s right, so we stand at the bottom of the staircase and I take a couple of quick photographs before Gemma gets really hungry and we head back to the flat to see if Mum has got lunch.
I kind of remember this morning for a long time afterwards.
For three hours, I wasn’t scared.
For three hours, I had fun.
For three hours, I managed to stop being Tabitha Grey the weirdo and just be ‘Tabs’ the teenage girl, on half term and having a good time with her best mate.
Three hours is not very long, really.
Mum cooks us up a pasta thing with bits of bacon in it and Gem devours the whole plateful like it’s the last meal she’s ever going to eat or something, and I pick at mine and try to look like I’m enjoying it.
‘Are you still feeling off-colour?’ asks Mum, placing her hand on my forehead. ‘You do look a bit peaky. You’re not hot, though – cold, if anything.’
I sigh.
‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘I’m OK. I’ve probably just got a summer cold or something.’
Mum looks doubtful but pulls a tub of chocolate-chip ice cream out of the freezer, gives me and Gem a spoon each and leaves us to it.
Then I try to link up my new iPhone to my laptop and Gemma helps me. It doesn’t actually take very long at all and there are all my colour photographs downloading on to the screen so that I can look at them blown up in size and decide which ones I’m going to email to Dad for his inventory.
‘They’re good,’ says Gem. She’s curled up in the corner of the sofa next to Ben and he’s got his head on her shoulder. Ben always did like Gem. She’s fun and soft-hearted, just the sort of person he likes. He stares up at her with his thumb stuck in his mouth and she fiddles with her jewellery and her phone and asks me embarrassing questions about Jake, and then her phone rings and it’s her mum asking her to come home and pick up some food shopping on the way. So she goes at three o’clock. Mum has gone for a lie-down so it’s just me and Ben and the photographs.
I page through the photos and admire my handiwork.
‘I could make a career out of this!’ I say to Ben, but he’s not very interested in my mad plans for the future and sits on the floor instead, so I page through on my own.
‘That’s good,’ I say, when the picture of the Chinese lions comes up. ‘Dad could use that.’
I run through all the photographs until I reach the very last one.
‘Oh,’ I say. It’s the one I took on the staircase and there’s a dark smudge right in the middle of the photo which I stupidly rub on the screen.
I hit the zoom button and the photo on the staircase is blown up to about five times the original size.
For a moment I can’t think what I am looking at. And then I look a little closer, and as I stare I feel my skin going clammy and my hands turning ice-cold.
It’s not a smudge.
The more I stare at it, the more I see.
There’s the outline of a black dress. Long, with a nipped-in waist and a corset top.
No head.
There’s an arm, though.
A white arm, reaching out to touch the carved oak banisters of the manor staircase.
And at the very bottom of the black smudge, a smaller shape with fuzzy edges so that I have to stare and stare even though I really don’t want to and my ears are buzzing like a faulty fridge.
I know what it is even before I work out the shape.
It’s tiny, black and with pointy ears.
One of Lady Eleanor’s dogs.
On the floor next to me, Ben starts to cry.
When Dad comes back into our flat I’m huddled in the corner of the sofa with my laptop still on.
I’ve got to show Dad and he’s got to see it. He’s got to start believing me. He’s got to. Otherwise I might go mad soon. Either that or I will just drop dead of being scared.
‘Good day?’ says Dad, filling the kettle behind me and then coming to see what I’m doing.
Honestly. He must be one of the most unobservant people on the planet. I mean – you’d only have to look at my pale face and runny eyeliner to know that I’d been crying. But Dad seems never to see things like that. He doesn’t see it in Mum, either. Sometimes he thinks she’s been having a great time when really she’s been crying herself to sleep and refusing to eat.
Dad flings himself down next to me and loosens his top shirt button.
‘Hey, you’ve done the photos!’ he says. ‘Mind if I have a look?’
He pages through the pictures making the odd comment and then he gets to the last one.
‘Oh, shame about the blurry bit,’ he says. ‘Never mind. You can do it again another time for me.’
I don’t say anything. I lean forwards and click the magnify button so that Dad is looking at exactly the same thing I’ve just had to see.
He peers a bit more closely. Then he gets his glasses out and puts them on the end of his nose and peers again.
I watch his face.
It goes from being puzzled to being something else. Just for a split second. For an instant my dad looks unsettled. Like somebody took the wind out of his sails. Then a great big smile breaks over his face.
‘Nice one, Tabs!’ he says. ‘You nearly had me going there! I didn’t realise that Kevin had put that app on for you. Well, it obviously works!’
I feel my heart sinking towards my feet.
‘What app?’ I say.
‘The Photoshop app!’ says Dad. ‘You’ve worked out how to use it already. I’m impressed!’
I shake my head so hard that I give myself a headache.
‘No, I don’t know what you mean, Dad,’ I say. ‘I haven’t got a Photoshop app. I don’t even know what it is.’
Dad laughs and goes over to make himself a cup of tea.
‘Kevin must have thought you’d enjoy it,’ he says. ‘Downloaded it on to your phone as a surprise. Probably thought you could have some fun messing about with it. I mean – the manor’s a brilliant place for doing fake photos, isn’t it?
This is some kind of joke. Doesn’t Dad realise that this sort of stuff isn’t exactly my idea of fun?
‘I don’t even know how to find the app,’ I whisper but Dad has already got tired of me and my photos and has gone off to have a shower, so I just put my arm around Ben and we sit there in silence for ages until Mum wakes up and comes out to make dinner.
She’s in a good mood and I so want to tell her everything, but Mum’s funny about hearing anything to do with ghosts and so I can’t.
There’s nobody I can turn to for help and nobody believes me.
Except Ben.
But he’s too little to do anything about it.
I watch television with Mum while we’re eating supper but I can’t remember a thing about what we watched.
We have to carry on living here. And I’m more frightened than I’ve ever been in my life.
Chapter Nine
It’s like this huge relief to get back to school for the rest of the term.
Never thought I’d hear myself think that, but it’s true.
I even want to see Jake now. We never got to meet up in the end what with me being ill or him playing football and now I want to see somebody ordinary and do normal boyfriend/girlfriend stuff like going shopping and seeing films.
After a really bad night’s sleep I can hardly wait to run down the corridor to the front door of Weston Manor and burst out into the fresh air.
Not sure I ever want to come back.
I leave Mum and Dad arguing in the kitchen. I can’t quite make out what it’s about because they’re conducting the entire row in muttered voices under their breath so that I can’t hear, but I catch Ben’s name and my own and Mum is pale with black circles under her eyes, which means that the migraines have come back.
As I leave the flat I swear I hear Mum mention Dawn, but I’m n
ot sure.
She hasn’t arrived yet. It’s too early for her to be setting up her desk. There’s a cleaner polishing windows in the entrance hall and a man up a ladder fixing a light bulb but other than that the manor feels kind of empty and calm.
Not like it did the other day when I heard the steps on the stairs.
‘Weird old house,’ I mutter as I heave open the enormous front door. The cleaner hears me and thinks I’m speaking to her so I have to spend another five minutes making polite conversation with the old lady in an apron holding a plastic bucket.
‘Expect you’ll be looking forward to this evening,’ she says.
I’m halfway out of the door but I turn around, sneaking a quick look at my watch. The bus will be outside the manor in one and a half minutes and I’m going to have to run like stink to make it.
‘This evening?’ I say. ‘Why? What’s happening?’
The woman laughs, snapping off her rubber gloves and rolling them into a ball.
‘Can’t believe that your father hasn’t told you,’ she says. ‘We have a ghost hunt on the second Monday evening of every month. People pay a lot of money to get a look around this house at night-time.’
I fight an urge to burst out in uncontrollable fits of giggles.
There’s not much point me telling her that all the action I’ve witnessed so far has taken place in the DAY.
But then it’s like she reads my mind and she says: ‘Most people don’t see anything. Mind, there’s been one or two who can.’
That’s got my interest. I can hear in the distance the sound of the bus engine whining by but I don’t care.
‘Who?’ I say. ‘Sid?’
The cleaner laughs again.
‘He wouldn’t let on if he had,’ she says. ‘But some of the volunteers and guides who work here have had something happen to them. Doors slamming, voices. That kind of thing.’
I laugh in what’s supposed to be a scornful way.
‘But those things could be caused by real-life people,’ I say. ‘How do you know it’s anything to do with ghosts?’
The Haunting of Tabitha Grey Page 6
