‘Why he left the place to me,’ Emma finished for him.
‘Well, yes. Not meaning anything by it. But I did see him towards the end and there didn’t seem to be any hard feelings.’ He frowned. ‘He wrote me a letter.’
Emma started. ‘Me too.’
‘I don’t think anyone’s written a proper letter to me in years.’ He smiled. ‘It was a bit of an odd one, actually. He said that sometimes things are for the best, and there were reasons that weren’t for me to know. It was all very strange. But then he said I wasn’t to think badly of him and – I don’t, you know. I really hadn’t expected anything, like I said. I didn’t think he had a lot to do with your side of the family, but it’s okay – it was his place. He did all right, Grandfather Clarence, and it was his choice, after all.’
Emma stared down at her coffee. It was going cold. She glanced at the window and saw the sky was turning a deeper grey. It would be dark soon and Charlie would leave and the house would be silent again. Now that he was here, filling the room with the sound of his voice, she found herself wanting to delay that moment.
‘Do you want something to eat?’ she asked. ‘I brought a few things with me. Nothing spectacular, but—’
He smiled, revealing a dimple in his right cheek. ‘Love to,’ he said. ‘If I’m honest, I’m starving. Actually, since you’re being so hospitable, I can sing for my supper if you like.’ He gestured towards the paint tins in the corner. ‘Make myself useful.’ He snapped out a mock salute. ‘Will work for pizza.’
Emma pushed herself up. ‘You’ve got yourself a deal.’
*
Later, while they ate, Charlie told her about the old man.
‘He wasn’t what you’d call a traditional grandfather,’ he said. ‘There were no trips to the seaside or packets of toffee hidden in his pockets. He didn’t spend his time pottering about the garden. He’d dress in his best suits every day. He walked with a cane with a silver top, and he always looked at me as if he knew every thought going through my scrawny little head. That’s how I think of him anyway, as if I was still ten and he was tall and strange and a little bit frightening.
‘If you’d known him, you’d understand why I didn’t expect anything from him. He was – independent, I suppose that’s the word for it. When my dad was still with us, he always said if the old man set his mind on anything, he’d damned well get it, and watch out if you got in his way. And he had what he called his standards. He was of a different generation, I guess. I don’t think I was ever smart enough or educated enough or distinguished enough for him – especially now, when I’m between jobs. I was something of a disappointment, I suppose.’
She would have liked to say, No, of course you weren’t, but how could she? Judging by the meagre impression she had gained from old man’s letter, the picture Charlie painted was pretty true to life.
You’re a mystery. That was the best he could say about her, and perhaps that was for the best in itself. If he’d known her, she might have been a disappointment too, and he might have decided against leaving her the house. But of course, her gain was Charlie’s loss. She swallowed down her reply as she remembered he’d said, When my dad was still with us.
‘So your dad—’
‘He died five years ago.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’
‘No reason why you should. I only really thought about your branch of the family after Grandfather died, and I suppose I only wanted to look you up because there’s no one left, if I’m honest. I’m kind of it, and – well, family’s family, even if we are only distant relatives.’ He paused. ‘The weird thing was, I didn’t know Clarence had thought about your side of the family either. I think I heard someone mention your dad once – Junior, they called him, and I think it was him they meant—’
‘He was called Arthur, after his father, my granddad, and yes, sometimes people did call him that, even when he was older.’
‘I thought so. Anyway, when the subject came up – Clarence’s face – well, it was like he didn’t think much of him, or didn’t approve or something. Sorry, but it’s true, though I never – shit, hang on—’
He shuffled about and as he reached into his pocket Emma became aware of a low buzzing. It grew louder when he withdrew a mobile phone. ‘Rick, hiya. I’m on my way soon. Just— why, what’s up?’
He went quiet and a different kind of buzzing replaced the first, that of someone speaking. ‘Shit. All right, mate, sit tight. I can come tomorrow. Yeah, don’t worry. Don’t even think about it. Take care, all right?’ And he rang off, staring at the phone as if it might throw light on the brief burst of conversation.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘Yeah, it will be. My mate Rick – the one I came down to see – he had to cancel. Something about his girlfriend being ill. Never mind. I can— I’ll sort it.’
‘Sort it?’
‘It’s nothing. I’ll head back home tonight, that’s all. It’s not that late. I was going to sleep on his floor, you see. Bit of a lad’s break while Karen goes off with the girls to Huddersfield, but she’s at home with flu or something, so …’ His voice tailed off and he bit into his pizza, chewing quickly, as if he was suddenly in a hurry to leave.
‘Shame.’ Emma fell quiet. She felt all the weight of the house above her, the long corridors, the silent and dark rooms, waiting for nothing and no one. There were six bedrooms. Six.
She took a deep breath. How did she even know he was for real? Charlie – a potential heir to the property – had showed up on the very day she’d chosen to move in. And now this, a friend who’d let him down on that very same day. Wasn’t that something of a coincidence? She shook the thought away. She had believed him when he’d said he had no thought of inheriting the house. And something else had stayed with her – the thing he’d said about being the only one left. It had made her think of her own parents, a whole line dwindling into nothing but her, her alone, and she found herself saying, ‘You can stay here.’
His head swivelled around. ‘Seriously? But you don’t even know me.’
‘I do now. It’s fine, honestly. There’s plenty of room.’ And then she remembered. ‘Oh, but no spare bed – no bedding, anything like that.’
He straightened. ‘Neither has Rick. I’ve a sleeping bag in the boot and it’s pretty comfy. At least if I’m tired enough.’ He grinned. ‘I could manage with that no problem, if it’s really all right. It’s a long way to get back and it’d be good to get some sleep before I head off. Thanks. I mean, really – thanks.’
‘No problem. Pick a room.’
‘Could be tricky.’
She smiled.
‘One condition though,’ Charlie said. When she looked over she realised how the light was fading; neither of them had switched on the lights and he was becoming an outline, only his eyes still gleaming. ‘If you’re being good enough to help me out, I could do some more on the house. I’d like to. Least I can do.’
Emma nodded, wondering why her heartbeat had quickened. ‘Fine,’ she said, and she smiled, though she could no longer make out the expression on his face.
*
Charlie followed her upstairs, carrying the large rucksack he’d fetched from his car. They paused on the landing, surrounded by doors, and he didn’t wait to be asked – he pushed open the one next to her own, the one that let onto the master bedroom. Then he stopped and backed out again. ‘God no,’ he said, ‘I’d rattle around in that one. And it’s freezing.’
She stared at him in dismay. He was right, it was cold. She was no longer sure how he would fare, sleeping on the floor, but he’d never fit on the sofa either. He gestured towards the smaller bedrooms at the back of the house – the ones furthest from hers. ‘I’ll grab one of those, if that’s all right. I’ll be no bother, I promise.’
‘You’re no bother.’
‘Thanks.’ He smiled. ‘It’s kind of nice being here actually. It’s been good catching up with family.’
She nod
ded. He was right, it was.
But he was looking all around, up at the ceiling. ‘The heating doesn’t seem to work – it’ll be like ice in winter. Still, I’m sure you’ll fix it up.’
She thought of trying to heat the whole place with those little fireplaces and the very idea made her shiver. There was a definite draught here; it must be colder outside than she’d thought.
He turned away, saying, ‘Well, I’ll get myself sorted. Thanks again, Emma. Good night.’
She replied automatically, and walked into her room. It was properly dark now and the tall window was a blackened slab save where the reflection of her own face shone, a pale oval in the bottom pane. She went over and looked out. The moon was bright and she could see further than she’d expected. Their two cars were parked close together in the driveway. The lawn was pocked with ink-dark blots that looked a little like footprints. The road was a strip of brighter grey, just visible over the top of the wall. She could see the shapes of the trees that bounded the house and beyond, the dark spaces of the fields. She turned to peer out to the other side, towards the churchyard, but a sound startled her and she turned. There was only the outline of her bed; then she saw the door of the cupboard where she’d found the old man’s suit. It was open.
I’d chuck it, if I were you.
Now it sounded as if there were mice in there, a soft shuffling against the walls. She could suddenly feel her heart beating, some fluttering, trapped thing. She took a deep breath. She was being silly. She wasn’t scared, not really; only startled. All the same, what rose to her mind was the image of an old man, his figure bent, creeping about, patting at the shelves in turn, thinking, Where is it?
Grow up, she thought, and strode across the room and looked inside. The cupboard was empty; the suit was gone and so were the memories it carried. The noise was probably just the building settling, one of those sounds that meant nothing at all. She closed her eyes. She had a sudden vivid memory of her mother’s face, smiling at her. Emma had been crying over a fairy tale, the fate of some princess who didn’t win the handsome prince, didn’t live happily ever after. What was it she had said? It’s all right, Emma. You’re just being fanciful.
She found herself smiling. Yes, she was being fanciful. She closed the cupboard door and went to find some pyjamas. At least she was being rational now. A good thing too: tomorrow Charlie would be gone and she would be here alone. It was best that she should get used to it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Emma didn’t know when the house had changed. She had been sleeping, but when she awoke she had a sense that she had been listening to it all along, or if not listening, sensing it with her body, finding its rhythm, attuning herself to its ways.
She pushed the covers away, feeling too hot under them, but outside, the air was bitter. There was a sharp barrier between the two and once she’d crossed it, it was too late; the chill delved inside, embracing her skin, furrowing along her body, finding her spine, her legs, her feet. The room was dark, everything grainy and silver. The ceiling looked a long way off and the corners were dark, as if a child had sketched the room in stark black lines. She sat up and realised that the cupboard door was hanging open once more. How ridiculous, she thought. Monsters in the cupboard, like in a story. And then she saw the man standing quietly next to it.
He was half-dressed. He had hunched shoulders and a stocky body and slightly bowed legs, and she opened her mouth but the only sound she could make was a dry gasp. He didn’t move but she knew that he was watching her. She couldn’t see his eyes but she could just make out his rumpled vest and then she knew: the suit was his – he had come looking for it but he wouldn’t find it because she had thrown it away. Now he’d come to see where it was and instead, he had found her.
Her hands flexed. She could feel the tainted material on her skin, that shiny-musty fabric. She could see again the way she’d thrown it down in disgust, just as if it wasn’t wanted, wasn’t needed any longer.
You’re being fanciful, Emma.
She took a deep breath. She was in a strange house and there was nothing there, only an unfamiliar room full of shadows. But he was there. He didn’t move but continued to stand there, and she could feel his gaze on her, though she still couldn’t see his eyes. She could sense the hostility in his look. She became conscious of the cold on her own face, a bone-deep cold. She was alone, and for a moment that was the worst thing of all. She didn’t know why she had come here, but then she remembered Charlie, sleeping at the other end of the house. He would banish this thing. He’d grin at her and laugh, his very presence denying the possibility of its existence.
Panic took her and she pushed herself to her feet and ran, hoping – hoping – that the man wouldn’t stretch out his arm and grasp her shoulder as she passed. Then she was in the corridor and heading for Charlie’s room. The worn carpet was no protection from the hard boards beneath and her steps rang out loudly. She banged on the door, and the moment she did, she felt ridiculous. If she was so scared, why didn’t she just go in? There were no locks on the doors, nothing to stop her. And if she wasn’t, why was she at his door?
He opened it, his face full of concern. She reached for his arm and started to cry. She wanted to be held and yet a part of her didn’t want to touch him, this stranger in a strange house – in her house. Then he opened the door wider and put a hand on her arm and brought her out of the corridor, drawing her inside.
Charlie didn’t switch on the light but a slanting glow lit the room anyway and she realised his room didn’t have any curtains. There was nothing to shut out the moon which shone down, silvering the ancient carpet and the mound of his makeshift bed. She hugged herself. What must he think of her?
But he didn’t touch her. He took a step back and waited. She no longer knew what she was going to say. She was no longer sure she’d seen anything at all.
‘What is it?’ he asked at last. ‘A bad dream?’
‘No. I woke up. I thought – I thought I saw someone in my room.’
He turned towards the door. ‘There’s someone in the house? Now? All right, I’ll go and check. Have you heard him moving about – do you think he’s still in your room? Should we call someone?’
Instinctively she grabbed his arm. She felt cool skin, the roughness of his hair, and she realised he was wearing only T-shirt and shorts. He must be freezing. ‘No, don’t – I don’t think— that wasn’t it, Charlie. No one’s broken in. At least, I don’t think they have. I— it’s hard to explain, but it didn’t feel like that.’
He frowned. ‘What do you mean? Did you dream it, Emma, or should I go looking?’
She paused. ‘No, I didn’t dream it.’ Her voice faltered. ‘He was real. I saw someone. I felt him looking back at me. I had to go straight past him to get out of the room. I was scared he’d touch me when I went past.’
‘And did he? Did he try to grab you?’
She shook her head. It hadn’t been like that, not someone who could grab and hold on. But someone trying to touch her would have been bad enough. She just wasn’t sure if she’d have felt it as a physical thing, a real thing. Now she didn’t know which would be worse, her feeling it or not feeling it. She reached out for him again. This time it felt more intimate, chosen rather than a reflex. She closed her fingers over his arm. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t a dream – or I don’t think it was – but it wasn’t real either. I knew he wasn’t real even while he was looking straight at me. Don’t ask me how I knew that. I just knew. He wasn’t there, not like we are, but he was still real.’
He looked at her and she replayed her words in her head, realising how stupid it sounded.
But Charlie didn’t tell her she was being fanciful. He didn’t tell her there was nothing there and he didn’t try to reason with her or name her fear. He simply twisted around so that he was standing at her side and he put his arm around her. After a while he squeezed her shoulders and he said, ‘I’ll go and take a look.’
She couldn�
��t see his expression as he walked out of the room. His footsteps receded, steady and sure, and there came the faint creak of a door opening and then silence. Emma listened to the sound of her own breathing. She tried to remember if she’d heard him breathing, the man in her room; she didn’t think so. She wasn’t sure what it would mean if she had. She still didn’t think he had been a real person.
After a time she heard footsteps again but they didn’t come back to this room. Instead they faded into another, and then came louder on the landing and then rhythmic on the stairs. After a time the same rhythm sounded, getting louder this time, and before the thought had fully formed in her mind that it might not be Charlie, it might be him, the door swung wide and she saw the outline of Charlie’s hair. He walked in and smiled reassuringly. ‘There’s no one there,’ he said. ‘I had a good look around – I even looked under the bed and in the cupboard, and in the other rooms and downstairs. Unless someone kept slipping into a different room while my back was turned, we’re on our own.’
She took a deep breath. ‘No, I— I didn’t think there would be. Sorry, Charlie.’
He frowned as the words sank in, and he tensed. Now he would say it: There’s nothing there, Emma. You’re just being fanciful. She could already hear the note of contempt that would be in his voice when he said it.
But he didn’t say that. Instead, she heard a low chuckle. ‘Well, you know what this means.’
I’m crazy, she thought. That’s what it means.
‘This house is even more interesting than you thought. It looks as if you’ve got a real live ghost.’
She turned the word over in her mind. Ghost. Had she really thought of it that way? She had only known that the person in her room had come from somewhere else, that it belonged somewhere else. She hadn’t thought of it as a ghost – she hadn’t thought to name it – but now she couldn’t get the word out of her mind. It didn’t fit with the way she thought of herself. She wasn’t the sort of person who saw ghosts, or even believed in them. She pushed the idea away, something to think about later, and she forced herself to nod at Charlie. She really didn’t want to go back to her room, not now, but she couldn’t stay here.
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