The Guesthouse

by Abbie Frost

  Hannah wiped her eyes. Her nose had been running and her hair was probably bent into weird contortions. She was pathetic, confiding in this cool stranger. For a few minutes she’d imagined they had a real connection, thought they could be great friends. She shook her head.

  ‘I’m sorry, forget about it, I’m a mess. We should go back to bed.’

  They walked together to the bottom of the stairs, then Lucy paused and turned, the faint light from above glinting in her eyes. ‘Your father? Did you love him?’

  The question hung in the quiet air and Hannah knew for sure that the sense of connection she’d felt with this stranger had been an illusion. ‘I suppose. In a way, yes, I think I must have done.’

  At the top of the stairs Lucy turned to her, a hand on her arm. ‘Try to sleep for the rest of the night. You need it,’ she whispered. And at the door to her own room, she gave Hannah a smile that wasn’t quite a smile.

  Back in bed Hannah tossed and turned. Lucy thought the crying noise had been a fox and maybe she was right. Physically Hannah felt better than she had in a long time, the low-level headache behind her eyes now just a dull throb, nothing like her usual hangovers. But mentally she was exhausted.

  She gave up trying to sleep and threw off the duvet, then groped in the drawer of her bedside table for some painkillers to help her sleep. Swallowing the pills down with water she made a decision. When she was back home she would go to see Ben’s parents and his brother. They might not forgive her, but it could help with their recovery, could help with her own. And she deserved to feel their anger, to face whatever they wanted to say to her.

  But while she was here, she would try to give herself a break from guilt – if that were possible. Ben had wanted her to go, to help come to terms with her turmoil about her dad. Lucy was right too: it would help to find someone who had known him. And that shouldn’t be too difficult, because only five years had passed since his death.

  All Hannah knew about him was that his name was Jack Roper. He had remarried after her parents’ divorce, when she was four or five, then moved to Fallon in Ireland.

  She also knew that her mother hated him. His death caused the biggest argument she had ever had with her mum, when Ruby delayed telling Hannah about it for nearly three months. Finally admitting that she’d had a letter from the executor of his estate, some friend of his called Declan O’Hare. The letter said that Jack’s second wife was already dead and the couple had racked up a lot of debts, so there would be no property or money left.

  Although her mother was reluctant, Hannah insisted on reading the letter. It mentioned the village of Fallon and said Jack Roper had died from a heart attack.

  But what maddened Hannah was the final sentence.

  I know he loved his daughter very much. Often spoke about his little girl and how he wished he’d been able to see her grow up. So if she would like to come over I’m sure we could let her choose one or two small keepsakes before everything is sold. It will have to be before the end of the month.

  Hannah switched on the light and got out of bed, walked over to the window and back to the door: paced miserably to and fro. Just as she had after the argument with her mum.

  She had written back to the executor, to this Declan O’Hare at his Dublin address, but he hadn’t responded to any of her letters. It was too late now, but there might be people in the village who knew Declan, if not her father. There was always Sandeep, too, with his memories and knowledge of the area. He might recall Jack Roper or his second wife.

  The old diary from next door lay in the open bedside drawer, so she picked it up and flicked through it. The only interesting thing was that date, January 17th, marked every year with the name: MADDIE. She picked up her phone, which now had some charge, and managed to get online using wifi. A quick search revealed that the Fallons were landowners with houses in Hertfordshire and Ireland. The English estates had been lost in the early years of the twentieth century, but they’d held onto the Irish house until the final member of the family died ten years ago.

  The most recent Lady Fallon was called Jane, not Maddie. Hannah remembered the note that had fallen out of the diary about leaving food out for the dog. The initial had been J, so Jane Fallon would fit.

  Another website revealed that Jane’s aunt was called Madeleine. There were no dates for her, so perhaps she was the Maddie in the diary, still alive five or ten years ago when the diaries had been written. She pulled a pen from her rucksack and noted down the names and dates of the last few owners on a picture postcard from the bedside table.

  The darkness outside her windows had turned to grey, the faint light of dawn filtering through the curtains. With no one around, this would be a good time to double-check the rest of those diaries.

  She stepped out into the corridor and turned back to the little office. The key code worked and this time she pulled the chair over to hold the door ajar. Avoiding the holes in the floorboards, she opened the desk drawer and rummaged inside. Grabbed all the diaries and the notebook.

  She couldn’t bear to stay here long, so headed back to her room, that awful lingering smell seeming to follow her out into the corridor.

  Stuffing the diaries into her suitcase, she felt a wave of tiredness sweep over her, but knew she still wouldn’t be able to sleep. A decent coffee from the kitchen was what she needed. She was about to go downstairs when she noticed the scrap of paper, with the scribbled instructions and the initial J, lying at the bottom of her open bag. Crouching down, she picked up one of the diaries at random and flicked through it, in case there was anything similar. Did the same with a couple more but found nothing. On a page near the back of the last one, however, she came across a short list of email addresses.

  And the final address in the list made her stop, sit back on her heels and drop the book.

  jack.roper@oneworld.com

  Her father’s email address.

  Chapter Fifteen

  On her way downstairs Hannah saw the glow of the kitchen light and hesitated. It would probably be Lucy, unable to sleep again, like her. Hannah couldn’t face seeing her so soon after last night’s embarrassment, but the thought of strong coffee pushed her onwards.

  It was Sandeep, sitting at the table in a heavy tartan dressing gown, sipping what looked like green tea. He gave her a weary smile. ‘Morning.’

  She sat opposite. ‘Morning. How are you feeling?’

  He shook his head and frowned. ‘I’m OK. Don’t know what got into me last night, but I feel fine now. After that so-called doctor made me take a sleeping pill, I missed dinner and woke at the crack of dawn. I’m starving and now I can’t even go back to sleep.’ He rubbed his face. ‘I bloody hate early mornings.’

  Hannah smiled. He could be a moody bastard, but she liked him. Smothering a yawn she started to make coffee, holding up the packet to him. ‘You want some?’

  ‘Not for me. Don’t touch the stuff,’ he said.

  Hannah wasn’t going to miss her chance. ‘I suppose you don’t drink alcohol either?’

  He stirred his mug. ‘When I was a copper, I saw alcohol do some nasty things to people, but in moderation I can’t see the harm.’ A little chuckle. ‘I used to have the odd pint when I was in the force. My excuse was that it helped me bond with my colleagues, but I enjoyed it.’

  So he was hardly likely to have tipped away her vodka.

  Once she had sat down and taken a sip of her coffee, she continued. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you about Fallon village. You must have visited it a lot when you were a policeman.’

  He gave a little grunt and she ploughed on. ‘You know my father lived around here, until five years ago or so, and I just wondered if you ever came across him? Heard about him maybe. His name was Jack Roper.’

  He sipped his tea meditatively for a moment, then shook his head. ‘Unless he was a thieving bastard …’ One of his rare smiles. ‘… I probably wouldn’t have met him. Fallon’s not that small. Where exactly did he live?’

 
She twisted her lips. ‘The truth is, I don’t actually know. We lost touch.’

  He patted her hand and she asked about Declan O’Hare, but he shook his head.

  ‘What you said yesterday about your visits here as a policeman was fascinating. Do you believe the place is haunted?’

  His dark eyes looked quickly into hers. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘But, you know.’ She took a breath. ‘Each night I’ve heard … noises. Weird stuff, what sounds like crying, coming from down in the closed-off section of the house.’

  Sandeep took another sip. ‘I haven’t heard anything, but then I’m pretty deaf and last night I was drugged by that bloody doctor.’

  ‘What about all those years ago? You heard something then.’

  ‘It was just the wind.’ But he wouldn’t meet her eye.

  ‘Are you still planning to leave today?’ she asked, taking another sip.

  He stood up and went to switch on the kettle. Hannah waited while he made himself more tea, certain he was going to open up to her, hoping for some piece of the jigsaw that would prove she wasn’t losing her mind. When he sat down again, he leaned back in his chair.

  ‘Mo wants me to stay for another couple of days. He’s worried that the journey will be too much for me and he may well be right.’

  Blowing on his mug, he looked around the kitchen. ‘You know, this place has haunted me for years – wherever I’ve been living – and now that I’m back, it might finally be time to put an end to it.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Thirteen years ago

  The Policeman

  Here again, standing in the lonely road at the end of the track, staring up into the hills. There had been another garbled anonymous call mentioning Fallon House. The crackle of static, sobbing down the line.

  Sergeant Murdoch had roared with laughter. ‘Sandeep! Where is he? Sandeep’s your man for that. He’s the feckin ghostbuster.’ And when Sandeep walked up to his desk, Murdoch had clapped him on the back with a grin. ‘Off you go, old fella. It’ll be good craic.’ As Sandeep left the station, laughter rang out behind him.

  Once again the walk had been long. A bitter wind howling across the bog, stinging his face. Bent double, he had trudged up the slope along the muddy track. Trying not to think of Murdoch’s smirking face, of his leering colleagues laughing as he left the station. Of the real reason he’d been sent here.

  Now he’s standing at the edge of the garden, staring at the bare magnolia shrubs that litter the flower beds like forgotten corpses. The house is in shadow, all the curtains drawn. It’s probably locked up for the winter and he’s come all this way for nothing. Maybe one of the other officers made the prank call, just for the craic. He shrugs and moves closer to the house. Might as well check it out, wouldn’t want to ruin their joke. The wind picks up and he has to bend even further forward, as he moves through the garden’s twisted bushes and shrubs. He rings the bell and bangs on the front door, but the sound echoes into silence and nobody answers.

  The sun creeps lower over the hill and, by the time he’s knocked on all the doors and peered through the windows, it’s nearly dark.

  He stands at the back of the house and looks up at one of the tiny windows on the third floor, thinking he spots a movement, a flash of white against glass. But he blinks and looks again, struggling to see properly in the gloom. No, there’s nobody here, the place is deserted. He turns to leave and begins to walk back through the garden.

  That’s when he sees something else, a shape in the corner of his eye. Something huddled near the back door: a dark lump, slumped and totally still.

  His heart thumps in his ears and time seems to slow down. He sees a magpie flying slowly away over the trees, hears it screech, feels the wind against his face. A trickle of sweat crawling down his neck.

  It’s a body.

  He runs over and crouches down beside the figure.

  A man, curled up on the ground. One gloved hand stretched out as if reaching for something.

  And the glove and the sleeve are soaked through with blood.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sandeep sipped his tea and gave her a weak smile. ‘It was Robert, the gardener, still alive but badly hurt. It was pretty nasty – I’ve never seen so much blood. When I tried to remove the glove, he came round and started screaming.’

  ‘What had he done?’

  ‘As far as I could see it was just his hand, but it was a real mess. I made a tourniquet and called an ambulance. It had started to rain by the time they arrived and they had to stretcher him along that muddy path, slipping and sliding down the slope. And his hand was so badly smashed up they needed to remove two fingers.’

  She remembered the glove Rob never took off and the way he held his twisted hand. Sandeep coughed for a moment and then continued. ‘He told them he’d dropped a pile of logs on it.’ A small laugh.

  ‘You didn’t believe him?’

  ‘The doctors didn’t either, but there seemed to be no other explanation. He was alone, miles from anywhere with no witnesses, but a few logs couldn’t have done that much damage. The surgeon reckoned his hand had been struck multiple times by something metal and they found traces of blood on a shovel nearby. Trouble was – as my sergeant was only too happy to remind me – I was the only person anywhere near him that day.’

  The door opened and Mo came in and frowned, then went to his dad. ‘There you are. I’ve been knocking on your door – I thought something bad had happened. Lucky I know your key code.’

  Sandeep coughed and waved him away. ‘Stop fussing. I just couldn’t sleep.’

  Mo looked at Hannah. ‘He can never remember to take his pills.’ Then back to Sandeep. ‘They’re still beside your bed. I thought we agreed you’d take them when you woke up.’

  Sandeep stood suddenly and held his chair for balance. ‘For God’s sake, I’m not a child.’ Then he swayed slightly and his voice quietened. ‘I’ll take them now.’

  When he had shuffled out, Mo poured himself some orange juice and took a carton of eggs from the fridge. ‘Much as I love him, he can be a nightmare.’

  Hannah was still thinking about what Sandeep had said. She needed to ask him a few more questions, knew there was more to his story, but didn’t want to annoy Mo by pestering his dad. She took a sip of her cold coffee and grimaced. ‘How did you sleep?’

  ‘Not that well to be honest. Worrying about Dad.’ He gave a weak smile.

  At that moment, Lucy appeared. She somehow managed to look stylish even this early in the morning in her black puffa jacket and blue bobble hat. Her face was flushed from being outside in the wind, but she looked as if she’d had eight good hours of sleep.

  ‘Morning.’ She went to the Aga to warm her hands, and there was an awkward silence. ‘So, what’s the plan for today, Mo? Are you still going to take your dad home?’

  ‘I don’t think he’s well enough to do the walk yet, so he’s going to rest for another day. Actually, in some ways I think being here is helping him. Getting rid of all those bad memories.’ He took off his glasses, rubbed them on his sweatshirt and put them carefully back on again. ‘Having friendly company is good too.’

  They were finishing breakfast when Liam, Rosa, and Chloe arrived and Rosa set about making a fry-up. Liam rubbed his hands together. ‘The weather looks better today.’

  Rosa stabbed at a rasher of bacon in the pan. ‘It’s not raining, if that’s what you mean.’

  There was silence for a moment and Chloe looked at the ground.

  ‘Liam?’ Hannah forced herself to smile. ‘I was thinking of heading to the village later. Any chance of a lift?’

  ‘Sure, no bother,’ Liam said. ‘We’re going for a walk first, but afterwards, I can take you.’ He pulled out a map. ‘I checked out some good trails around here. Always loved map reading, you know. Did a couple of orienteering courses last year and got pretty good at it. We’re off for a stroll after breakfast, if anyone fancies it?’

  ‘I’m up fo
r a walk.’ Lucy rose from the table. ‘I need a smoke, but after that I’m game.’

  ‘Yeah, me too,’ Mo said, with a side-on glance at her.

  She waved a cigarette packet at Hannah. ‘Managed to find another packet in my bag. Want one?’

  As they went to leave the room, Lucy rubbed Mo’s shoulder. ‘Don’t wash up. We’ll do it later.’

  Outside they sat on the bench by the front door and silently lit their cigarettes. Hannah couldn’t think what to say, couldn’t make up her mind about Lucy. At times she felt really close to her, was in awe of her, but then those odd surges of envy and resentment would return. She reminded herself what happened to her last relationship. If Mo and Lucy hit it off, she should be happy for them.

  ‘Did you get to sleep in the end?’ Lucy blew out a cloud of smoke.

  ‘Not really.’ Hannah drew on her own cigarette. ‘I’m sorry if I freaked you out.’

  Lucy smiled. ‘I wasn’t scared, just concerned.’

  Another stab of dislike. Hannah was tempted to tell Lucy that she was a condescending bitch, but instead she finished her cigarette and stubbed it out in a flower pot. ‘I owe you for these.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I’m trying to quit.’

  ‘Nice. I can never give anything up when I’ve got loads of work to do.’

  Lucy flicked her butt into the wind. ‘I’ve done it before. My boyfriend, Damian, always says I’ve got the strongest will of anyone he’s ever met.’ She laughed.

  An hour later, everyone except Sandeep set out through the wide gates. Hannah couldn’t help feeling sorry for him; she wouldn’t want to stay in that house on her own. Liam marched off at the front with his map, Chloe beside him. From time to time he touched her back to help her along, as if she were a small child who could barely walk. Rosa kept her distance from them, hands stuffed into her pockets.

  Then came Lucy and Mo, chatting and laughing together. Get a room. And finally Hannah, bringing up the rear, billy no mates. Trying to avoid getting even more mud on her new trainers. She didn’t blame Lucy and Mo; nobody wants to walk with the loser at the back.