by Abbie Frost
The second key code would get her into her room. And she was tempted to head straight there, but she should first meet the host, the caretaker, or whoever it was she’d seen waiting for her at the window.
‘Hello?’ Her voice sounded hollow in the cavernous hallway. She walked to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Hello, anybody there?’
The sound echoed. Silence seemed to settle into every dark corner of the house, and a cold bead of sweat trickled down her spine. The building was empty. That shape at the window must have been a curtain or just a shadow.
With another quick glance around she kicked off her white New Balance trainers. At least they had been white. Now they were covered in slimy mud, bits of grass, and soaked through with water. Ben would probably have suggested she buy hiking boots, but Ben wasn’t here any more.
She hurried upstairs, her trainers in one hand, not wanting to ruin the soft new carpet. Here were the bedroom doors, each with a brass number plate and a neat keypad, all freshly painted in gleaming white. The two rooms at the top of the stairs were numbers five and six. The website had only offered five rooms to rent, but it looked as if there were at least ten.
Her room was number one, right at the far end of what should probably be called the west wing. There was another door next to it, but it was narrow and unnumbered. A storeroom or something similar perhaps. And right at the end of the corridor a tall window. She peered out of it and saw that it faced the gates. This could be the window she imagined she’d seen the figure standing at, but there was no one here now.
Looking through the glass she could see that muddy track snaking away through the rough green grass, a pale sun low in the sky, peeking through the clouds. She had got here just in time. Wouldn’t like to navigate that in the dark.
Outside her own room she tapped in the second code, the floorboards creaking under her feet. With a final glance back along the corridor, she told herself to ignore the feeling that she was being watched. Even if there were no other guests, a week alone would do her good. Make her less jumpy. She could exercise, stay off the booze. She’d soon get used to the isolation, to the high ceilings and the long, silent corridors.
But as soon as she was inside, she locked the door behind her, trying to calm the heavy beat of her heart.
The room was spacious and light. A bed stood against one wall with the bathroom next to it. Opposite, a wardrobe and an enlarged photograph of a bay with a stormy sea. Close to the door stood a chest of drawers with a kettle and drinks on top.
Through the huge window she could look down on what once must have been a pretty rose garden at the side of the house. Now it was just a mass of bare stems and tangled undergrowth. The ground rose then dipped away into the distance towards grey-blue hills on the horizon and, beyond them, a strip of the Atlantic Ocean.
It would all have been so different if Ben was with her. She swallowed and dumped her case by the window. Threw her rucksack onto the floor, then remembered the vodka and pulled out the bottle, staring at the label. She deserved all of this: the mud, the loneliness, the miserable walk through the fog and rain. The shittier the better. Keep it coming. The thing to remember was: stop thinking about Ben. He was gone and she had to carry on with her life.
The en-suite bathroom was spacious with a row of expensive-looking toiletries and a pile of soft white towels on a shelf behind the door. She took a glass from beside the sink and poured in a slug of vodka. Topped it up with Coke, swallowed a long gulp and sighed.
Once she had changed out of her muddy clothes and spread out on the comfortable double bed, she began to relax. This wasn’t too bad. A few more gulps. She checked her phone, watched the buffering circle slowly rotate on her screen. Still no signal. Then she spotted a white card on the bedside table with the wifi code.
When WhatsApp loaded up, she sent a message to her mum and Lori.
I made it! The place is perfect. No phone reception, but that suits me. Looking forward to lots of long walks and feeling better already.
Obviously neither of them wanted to speak to her anyway, but at least they couldn’t complain that she’d left them worrying.
Her phone dinged with a message. Henry Laughton.
I hope you have arrived safely at The Guesthouse and had a good journey. A hearty welcome from all of us at Preserve the Past.
Do contact me with any problems or queries and I’ll arrange for someone to deal with them.
You should find toiletries and tea/coffee etc in your room, but there are further supplies in the kitchen. Take whatever you need.
Enjoy your stay.
She swallowed the rest of her vodka and tapped out a reply. Aimed for the right passive-aggressive tone. She had been very surprised about the lack of road access to the property and felt this should have been made clearer on the website. Her clothes and shoes were ruined. There was nothing to be done about it, of course, but she thought it might help to have some feedback for future guests. She hit send.
For the first time in ages she was hungry, so she pulled on thick socks and looked out into the corridor. Hesitated for a minute or two, listening. Not a sound, except her own breathing and the gentle ticking of a clock somewhere. Then she forced herself along to the top of the stairs and leaned over the balustrade to peer into the hall below. Next to the main door someone had left some wellies and a pair of walking boots. Other guests must have arrived, because she could hear the comforting hum of voices downstairs.
She padded down. Put a smile on her face, pulled out a stick of gum from her pocket to mask the smell of booze. She had chewed a lot of the stuff recently, whenever she was at home. The voices were coming from a big door at the back and to the right of the stairs. A dark tapestry, showing some kind of hunting scene, hung on the wall beside it. Pushing it open she found herself in a huge country kitchen.
Seated at the massive oak table, fiddling with a phone, was a guy who looked about her own age. Behind his black-rimmed glasses, his eyes gleamed as he flashed a white smile.
‘Hello. Good to see you. Come in, come in.’ He stood and held out his hand. ‘I’m Mohammad – Mo – and that’s my dad, Sandeep.’
He nodded to an elderly man standing in the corner. Hannah took Mo’s hand and tried not to think about the awkward handshake at the end of her most recent disaster of an interview.
When Sandeep also stretched out his hand she could see the likeness. But while Mo was smiling, his father looked unhappy, angry even. He was holding a cloth and seemed to be cleaning the warm Aga.
‘So, you’re not the hosts?’ Hannah asked.
Mo laughed. ‘I wish. No, my dad’s just a cleaning fanatic.’ He turned to Sandeep. ‘Come on, Dad, give it a rest. This is meant to be a holiday.’ But his father ignored him.
‘How long have you been here?’ Hannah thought of the shadow at the window when she first arrived.
‘About half an hour. And you?’
‘An hour or so I think.’ So it couldn’t have been them. ‘Had a proper nightmare walking all the way from the road.’
Hannah went to the fridge. Milk, cheese, butter. Some cold meats, lots of vegetables, orange and apple juice. But no wine. She sighed. ‘I’m surprised the host didn’t warn us about the trek across that bog. My new trainers are ruined.’
Mo looked down at her socks. ‘Me and Dad like to walk, but yeah, it was a long way.’
An old-fashioned coffee maker started to steam on the Aga. Sandeep filled two mugs with coffee and pushed them towards her without a word. His eyes were clouded. With annoyance, anger, or something else, she couldn’t guess. She sat beside Mo and passed him a coffee, all the time aware of Sandeep stooped in the corner, wiping the worktops, fussing with the Aga again.
Mo blew on the mug and took a sip. ‘For a while we thought we might be the only guests, stuck out here on our own. It’s nice to have company.’
He smiled at her across the table. It was a shy smile, but very warm. ‘So what brings you all the way out here?’
It was too direct, although he couldn’t possibly know that. She paused, not wanting to mention Ben, but struggling to think of a plausible lie. In the end the truth just seemed to come out.
‘My father …’ She swallowed. ‘He used to live in this part of Ireland. He died five years ago.’ Hannah could feel her jaw tightening. She never talked about him. What was she doing telling a complete stranger?
‘So you’ve been here before?’ Sandeep had turned to face her, his voice loud in the silence.
‘Dad?’ Mo glanced at Sandeep then leaned across the table. ‘Don’t mind him, he doesn’t want to be here.’ Mo had a strange accent that Hannah couldn’t place. London certainly, but something else too.
She glanced at Sandeep and sipped her coffee. ‘No, my parents separated when I was young and then my dad died. I never had a chance to get to know him properly.’ She turned the mug around in her hands. ‘When I saw this place on Cloud BNB, I thought it would be nice to see where he lived. I guess I wanted to find out a bit more about him.’ It was the truth as far as it went.
Sandeep turned towards her. ‘You came on your own?’ Once more that disapproving tone. And Hannah saw a flash of Ben laughing, shaking back his fair hair and leaning in to kiss her. Come on, you know you want to go. Can’t keep putting it off. We’ll have a great time.
She heard Mo mutter something under his breath. It could have been, ‘Sorry,’ but she was damned if she was going to let a moody old man get to her.
She looked at Sandeep. ‘I’m interested in the house. I studied architecture and used to work at an architectural practice.’ That was all he was going to get. ‘What about you guys? Why did you decide to come here?’
‘I didn’t. It was his idea.’ Sandeep turned away and continued to scrub the kitchen surfaces. ‘This place is filthy. It’s going to take me all evening to get it clean. And my clothes are still soaking wet from the walk.’
Hannah looked away and wondered why someone would be so unhappy about their holiday. Mo moved around the table to sit beside her and put his phone between them, pushing his glasses further up his nose with one finger. ‘I’m interested in the house too, but the history. I’ve just finished my master’s in history. Have you read about this place? There’s some cool stuff on Preserve the Past website.’
Without waiting for an answer, he tapped his phone and held it up for her to read.
This property was originally called Fallon House after the local village of Fallon. Built in 1763 for the Anglo-Irish Lord Fallon, it remained in the family until the death of the most recent Lady Fallon. Preserve the Past then acquired it and changed the name from Fallon House to The Guesthouse. Preserve the Past is a registered charity and all the proceeds from guest rentals go towards continued renovations.
Mo frowned. He flicked back and forth between pages. ‘Weird. I swear there was more here when I looked before, some fascinating background about the area.’ After a few seconds, he gave up and put down his phone. ‘Apparently some bits of the house are closed off to visitors, because they’re still being renovated. When there’s enough money, I guess. These things cost a fortune.’
Sandeep scrubbed harder at the Aga.
‘Well the outside’s a bit rundown, but it looks pretty good in here. The entrance hall is beautiful.’ Hannah smiled at Mo.
‘It’s incredible. Have you seen—’
One of the cupboard doors slammed shut with a bang. They both jumped and turned to look at Sandeep.
He flung down his cloth and stared at them, his eyes bright. ‘Stop it. Stop it.’ He coughed and put a hand to his mouth. ‘This place … it’s not right. There’s something about it … It isn’t safe.’ There was a stunned silence. ‘I know you think I’m an idiot, Mo, but you need to listen to me.’ He stabbed a finger at his son. ‘I’m leaving tomorrow, and you should too.’
Hannah blinked. She tried to think of something to say, as Sandeep paced back and forth across the kitchen. After a moment he pulled up a chair and sat down heavily. There was a pause before he began to speak, softly but with an intensity that kept Hannah rooted to her seat.
‘I’m not joking.’ He glanced between them. ‘There’s just … It’s a horrible building. It just feels all wrong somehow, dark and cold … I don’t know, like something bad happened here.’ His knuckles were white on the edge of the table.
‘Come on, Dad,’ Mo tried to smile. ‘It’s fine. No one has lived here for years. It’s been completely done up and—’
‘I don’t care! I don’t care what renovations have been done. I don’t care about its architecture. We should never have come.’
Chapter Four
Hannah stared at Mo as Sandeep stormed from the room and the door slammed behind him. Mo looked down at his phone, unable to meet her eye.
After a pause, she said, ‘Is he all right?’
Mo didn’t answer, and Hannah found herself glancing out of the kitchen window towards a small brick-built outhouse that crouched in the darkness under the trees. She swallowed.
When Mo finally spoke, his voice was croaky. ‘I’m sorry about him.’ He took off his glasses and rubbed them on his shirt. ‘He’s just tired after that long walk, and he hasn’t been sleeping. He’s got this cough and his doctor said he needs a rest, so I booked the holiday. Thought he’d love it.’ A little laugh. ‘He used to live in the area, you know. Came here from Pakistan, married Mum and they stayed for years. I was born near here too, lived in Ireland until I was fifteen.’
Hannah tried to smile. ‘That explains the accent.’
‘Yeah, I had a full-on Irish brogue when I arrived in London. Got bullied at school and managed to get rid of most of it. But I’ve never been as happy as I was when we lived here. Still feel Irish, I guess.’
He glanced at the closed door. ‘Since Mum’s death my dad has been really low. Hasn’t bothered about anything. I’ve been popping in to check his post and emails and I spotted this offer from Cloud BNB. Guessed he must have been thinking about visiting. So I decided to book it as a surprise.’
Then his smile faded. ‘It was a mistake to come. At first he refused, didn’t want to go to Ireland at all, but I kept on until he finally agreed. It was all going fine until we arrived and started walking down that bloody track. He was confused, kept saying we were going the wrong way. We carried on, him silent the whole time, and when he saw the house, he just lost it. Flipped out. Said this wasn’t The Guesthouse; it was all some kind of joke. They’d changed the name just to fool people.’
‘Does he know this place then?’
‘Apparently, but he wouldn’t talk about it. Wouldn’t say why he hates it so much. Just kept going on and on about its bad reputation, how it feels all wrong.’ Mo tried to smile.
Hannah thought about the figure at the window when she first arrived. They lapsed into silence and listened to the wind tapping against the kitchen window.
Something tickled at her ankle and she jerked away, her leg hitting the table with a bang. The grey cat stepped out from underneath and Hannah laughed nervously. ‘Stupid thing.’ But when she picked it up and tried to put it on her lap, the cat leapt down and went to lie by the Aga.
‘Knows its own mind,’ Mo said. ‘It was crying at the window when we came in here. I tried to open the back door.’ He gestured behind them. ‘But it’s locked and I couldn’t find a key. Had to let it in through the front.’
They lapsed into silence and watched the cat lick each of its back legs in turn.
Then there was a loud buzz and a click from the hall, and the front door swung open letting in a gust of wind.
‘I hope this is our host.’ Hannah pulled back her chair and they both stood. ‘He’s got some explaining to do.’
They walked into the hall and stood awkwardly by the stairs. But the figure who stepped through the door was nothing like the burly man from the website.
A stunning young woman walked in – tall, dressed all in black, her short hair almost white. A long strand hanging
over one eye. Like Hannah, this girl had dark roots and streaks, but they were blue and purple: a fashion statement rather than laziness.
The new guest stood at the door looking at them. For a brief moment an expression of something like distress passed over her face, before it was replaced by an irritated frown.
She slung a rucksack onto the floor by the door and pulled off her black Doc Martens. Left them by the walking boots and wiped a muddy hand on her trousers.
‘Hi, I’m Lucy.’
Her fingers were covered in rings, her ears crowded with studs. A sapphire-coloured stone glittered on the side of her nose, highlighting her high cheekbones and huge blue eyes.
Mo seemed to recover himself and stepped forward. ‘I’m Mo and this is Hannah.’ His Irish twang came on stronger. ‘I’m here with my dad and Hannah’s on her own like you.’ Making sure Lucy knew they weren’t a couple, Hannah guessed. ‘We were having some coffee in the kitchen.’ They all headed through, sitting at the table again.
Lucy stretched out her long legs. ‘Bit of a walk, eh. I thought it was supposed to be near the village.’ She stood up and went to the fridge. Then looked in the freezer and opened a couple of cupboards. ‘No booze either. That’s a bummer.’
Hannah felt her spirits rise: someone she could get along with. She considered mentioning her vodka upstairs but thought better of it. ‘I’m going to walk to the village in the morning and find a shop.’
‘Good idea, I’ll come with you.’ Lucy smiled, but when the buzzer sounded again, she flashed an anxious glance at the door.
Raised voices drifted out from the hallway and, after a moment, three people entered the kitchen. A little family, bringing with them gusts of ice-cold air. The woman, arms crossed over her fancy white top, gave them a stony look. ‘I hope one of you is the host.’
Hannah sighed. ‘’Fraid not. There’s no sign of him. Looks like he’s avoiding us. The website did say it was self-check-in, though, so the host doesn’t have to be here. That’s why we have the electronic keypad—’
