The Guesthouse

by Abbie Frost

  Right at the bottom of the bag lay three books and something made of wool that had her fingers twitching again. She dropped it on the floor, thinking it was clothing of some kind. But it was a toy, a stuffed woollen elephant, another sad keepsake.

  The largest of the faded books was a children’s picture book she remembered her teacher reading to them in school when she was very young. The next a small English dictionary.

  As she turned away and moved back towards the door, she heard something else.

  She flashed the torch towards the tunnel, but nothing moved. Then to the door at the back that she thought led outside.

  Another sound, this time much closer.

  Suppressed breathing, coming from behind her.

  Someone or something was in the room with her.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Her groping hand touched a wall switch. A bare bulb hanging from the ceiling flickered on, its weak light dazzling her for a second. She shielded her eyes. When she looked again, she saw a sleeping bag propped in the far corner of the room.

  Someone was huddled inside it. They’d pulled it so high that only the fingers of one hand were visible. But Hannah could see a lock of hair.

  A lock of white-blonde hair with a hint of blue at the roots.

  Lucy.

  Strong, bossy Lucy with her stylish clothes and beautiful make-up, cowering under an ancient sleeping bag.

  ‘Lucy?’ she said tentatively, thinking about how sure she had been that Lucy was the killer. But as the silence stretched on, the figure in the corner looked so fragile that Hannah’s fear began to fade. ‘What are you doing? Are you all right?’

  The sleeping bag rustled again, and Hannah took a step closer.

  ‘Go away,’ Lucy muttered.

  ‘It’s all right, it’s me, Hannah.’ She inched nearer. ‘What are you doing in here? We need to look for Chloe.’

  Lucy pulled down the sleeping bag and stared up at her. Her eyes were red and swollen, make-up smudged, streaks of dirt on her cheeks and forehead.

  She clung to the sleeping bag like a child with a security blanket. Her eyes were clouded and she flinched away when Hannah tried to touch her arm.

  ‘I won’t hurt you,’ Hannah said gently.

  Lucy just stared at her, with something like horrified wonder in her voice. ‘Hannah, yes, it’s you. I should have known.’

  Hannah shuddered as she thought about what might have done this to Lucy. Had she found Chloe’s body? Or even seen her murdered?

  She crouched on the filthy floor. ‘That’s right, I’m Hannah and you know me. I’m your friend.’

  But Lucy seemed to look right through her, as if seeing someone else. Her words were muffled, so quiet that Hannah could barely hear her. The only word she caught was ‘sister’.

  ‘What? What about her?’

  A giggle, a tiny broken laugh. ‘He told me about her. How he loved her, but didn’t love me.’

  Hannah swallowed and tried to think of something to say. But Lucy had let the sleeping bag fall, shuffled forward and reached for the rucksack on the floor. She pulled a crumpled piece of card from a small pocket at the front. When she held it out, Hannah realized it was a photo.

  Creased and torn as it was, she could see that it was the picture of a little blonde girl. Three or four years old at most, holding a Barbie doll, smiling into the camera. She could have been a very young Lucy. And anyone else might have assumed it was Lucy.

  But not Hannah, because she recognized that dress and that doll.

  Because the little girl in the photo wasn’t Lucy.

  It was Hannah.

  It took a few minutes to process what she was seeing and to try to make sense of it. When she looked back, Lucy was fiddling with the rucksack, focused on pulling at a loose thread.

  ‘This is me. It’s a picture of me,’ Hannah said. ‘Did you find it in the rucksack?’

  Lucy shook her head, wouldn’t meet her eye. ‘He gave it to me.’

  ‘Who, Lucy?’ Hannah felt sick, her throat numb. ‘Who gave it to you?’

  Another mutter, reaching out for the photo. ‘My father gave it to me.’

  Then those bright eyes met hers and they were clear and sane and almost like the eyes of the Lucy she thought she knew. ‘Your father gave it to me,’ she said.

  ‘You mean … Jack Roper gave it to you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Lucy took the photo. ‘Jack Roper, your father.’ Pressing and rubbing the photo between her fingers, as if that might smooth away any imperfections. ‘Your father, my father.’ Lucy was studying the photo as if it held the answer to a complex puzzle. ‘Because he loved you, but he didn’t love me.’

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  The world disappeared. All Hannah could see was Lucy.

  It was as if she was lit by a piercing spotlight, so bright Hannah had to close her eyes. Behind her lids flashes of colours and a whirl of black dots, teeming and twisting, made her reach out to stop herself falling.

  The rough floor under her hand was real and solid. It brought her back to herself and she was able to look again. And see the tiny dark room around her and Lucy, pale and dirty, huddled in the filthy sleeping bag. Everything was the same. And yet totally changed.

  ‘You …’ Hannah’s voice cracked. ‘You’re Jack Roper’s daughter too?’

  Another nod.

  Hannah rubbed her forehead, as if that might clear her thoughts. She went back over what Lucy had told her over the past few days, how she had left home after her mother died because she didn’t get on with her father. She hadn’t said that her father was dead, so Hannah had assumed he was still alive.

  Then she thought about what Sandeep had told her. ‘But Lady Fallon had no children,’ she said.

  Lucy picked at the woollen elephant, removed bits of fluff from its eyes and trunk. When she pulled at a loose strand of wool, some of the stitching started to unravel. She patted it back into place and put the toy carefully in the rucksack.

  She let the sleeping bag fall down to her waist and when she spoke it was more like the adult Lucy. ‘That’s what he told everyone. He didn’t want me, you see, didn’t let Mum register me. Didn’t let anyone see me.’

  Oh dear God. Another question that she knew the answer to already. ‘What’s your real name?’

  ‘Mummy called me Maddie.’

  Hannah pulled the journal from her back pocket. ‘So this … this is yours.’

  Lucy looked at it with something close to hatred. ‘I don’t want that.’

  She must have ripped it up herself and Hannah could understand why.

  ‘But, I don’t get it. Why are you so sure Jack Roper loved me?’

  ‘He told me,’ she smiled. ‘You were the good daughter, I was the bad.’

  ‘How long have you known who I was?’

  It was almost casual. ‘Only since you told me Jack Roper was your father. Before that, when I realized everyone here was linked to the place, I … I wondered. I felt a connection to you, from the start, I guess.’

  Hannah remembered feeling something like that too. ‘But you didn’t guess, even when I said my dad lived near here?’

  ‘I had no way to guess. I never knew your first name, you see.’ Her voice hardened. ‘He – Jack – always called you just his daughter or his princess.’

  Hannah’s mind whirled. So many things still didn’t add up. ‘But … you’re the same age as me, and Jack didn’t leave my mum until I was four. It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘I lied.’ A tiny smile. ‘When I ran away, I told everyone I was five years older. I was only fifteen, but I said I was twenty.’ The smile turned into a headshake as if she’d surprised herself. ‘You’re the only person I’ve told the truth apart from Damian. I was fifteen and that was five years ago, not ten, like you thought.’

  That meant she was just twenty now, hardly more than a teenager, which explained why she looked so young, sometimes not much older than Chloe.

  ‘But why did you come back
here if you were so unhappy? Did you want to claim the house as yours?’

  Lucy leaned against the damp wall, calmer now, almost resigned. She pulled something out of her pocket. ‘Rob. I kept in touch with him. He sent me a note to say I had to come back.’

  Now Hannah saw why Lucy had been so upset when Rob had died, why Chloe had heard her calling his name from the window. Little Maddie called him her friend in the journal, the only person from the outside world that she had ever known.

  Hannah was kneeling and the damp from the floor began to seep through her trousers, but she barely noticed. She was thinking of that scribbled note.

  She’s been fed so DO NOT give her any more. Just some water. J.

  She had assumed the words referred to a pet, but what if they were about the child that nobody even knew existed? The child who was warned never to go outside and never to tell anyone her name.

  She looked around at the horrible cell and saw again the photos taped to the wall. Now she could see that the pale little child, dressed in a simple dress, could be Lucy as a seven year old. The woman looked equally wan and thin, fitting Sandeep’s description of Lady Fallon. It must be Lucy and her mother.

  She didn’t want to look at the other photo, the one of the man in dark clothes, but she couldn’t stop herself. His face blurred in a sunbeam that slanted across the room, as he stood in what could have been the hall of this house. Behind him a tiny figure – Maddie – the pale little girl people talked about. Huge eyes, a white face, she looked like something from another world.

  Lucy was the shell Maddie must have built around herself to protect the neglected child inside. Saving herself when even her mother couldn’t help her. Hannah remembered Ruby screaming at Jack after Hannah told her what he’d done, and she offered a silent thanks. But no one had been able to protect Maddie.

  ‘Did you have to sleep down here?’ she asked gently.

  Lucy nodded. ‘When I did something wrong, or when people came to the house. He always said they were bad people.’ The hint of a smile. ‘But I liked it better down here, away from him. Mum would come down when he went out and we’d go swimming.’ She gestured towards the pool. ‘Then I was happy. He didn’t like the water. And sometimes when he was out, I’d sneak into the garden and see Rob.’

  Rob had given no hint of knowing Maddie, when Hannah had first spoken to him, instead muttering about the pale little girl as if she were a ghost. He must have been trying to protect Lucy, trying to scare the guests away so they didn’t find out about her.

  Lucy said, ‘Sometimes when he … when he was out, Mum let me go into the garden. Never when Rob was there, though. But if she wasn’t watching me or when she was ill – my mum was always ill – I used to try and sneak outside to talk to him.’

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Thirteen years ago

  Maddie

  In here there are no windows, but Maddie knows it’s Tuesday because Mummy brought her baked beans on toast. That’s what she always has on Tuesdays. Mummy whispered that it’s OK to take her time: Daddy won’t be home for a while. When he is home, Maddie must eat her dinner in half an hour. Then he looks at the plate, to make sure she hasn’t wasted any food.

  She always eats everything anyway, but it’s nice to make it last today. Mummy sits on the sleeping bag with her while she eats and talks to her about the sea, about how big it is and how you can swim for miles and miles without ever reaching land. Maddie has seen the sea and beaches, but only in books. Mummy has brought a book from the library upstairs for her to look at today. Maddie used to go upstairs for lessons, but she was bad: she went to the window and saw the gardener.

  Another day she sneaked out and talked to him. She did it a few more times after that too. But she’s not allowed up there any more: she has to stay down here. It makes Mummy cry sometimes, but she says that one day they’ll run away and go to the sea.

  It’s so nice cuddling up to Mummy, but suddenly the upstairs phone rings. It’s probably him. And Maddie’s plate is empty, so Mummy grabs it and leaves her alone. She hates it when Mummy goes, but at least she left the book.

  When she gets into her sleeping bag to read it, she realizes that the door is open – Mummy has forgotten to bolt it.

  Out of her room, hardly breathing, she creeps through the cellar and upstairs. The big door into the hall doesn’t have a lock, so she comes out and without stopping she opens the front door and runs into the garden.

  The sun is shining and it feels so warm on her skin. She looks down at her legs, all dirty from the floor in her room, and wishes she had a clean place to sleep.

  But Rob is always dirty too, so it doesn’t matter.

  And she sees him and runs over. He smiles down at her. ‘Hello, little un. Where’d you spring from?’ They laugh because he always says that. It’s a joke. Then he looks sad. He pulls at his beard and shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry, darlin’, I ate me lunch already.’

  She’s still hungry. She’s always hungry. ‘It’s all right,’ she says. ‘I’ve had my dinner.’

  He pokes around in his pocket and brings out something wrapped in silver foil. ‘Don’t suppose you want this then?’

  As she stuffs the chocolate in her mouth, it starts to melt and she wants to cry. She loves it so much. Standing on tiptoe she looks into Rob’s kind eyes. And, instead of crying, she jumps up and down forgetting herself and shouting, ‘Thank you, Rob. Thank you!’

  She isn’t allowed to shout, but she feels so warm and fuzzy and Rob is laughing too as she runs around the garden.

  Then they hear it, the sound of an engine. And Rob’s face looks suddenly very old. It’s the Land Rover, the only vehicle that ever comes here. It’s him.

  She knows she should run back inside, but she can’t move. She feels all strange and tingly, like she hasn’t stood up for a whole day. And Rob puts his hand on her shoulder. The Land Rover comes fast now, kicking up a shower of stones, and pulls to a stop at the front door. He gets out.

  ‘What the fuck?’ He points his finger at them. ‘Is going on here?’ His face is bright red, like it always is when he’s angry. Only even redder today, as if it might split open and let his anger pour out and burn them all. ‘Did you hear what I said?’

  She moves closer to Rob. Big and strong Rob might just be able to help her, even when Mummy can’t.

  But everything explodes in pain and darkness and the ground comes up to hit her face. All she can see is the dirt and his boots. Her face hurts and she knows she has to get up, has to run away. Then a boot moves and she curls up, knowing what’s going to happen next. But at the last second the boot stops.

  ‘No!’ Rob shouts. ‘Don’t touch her. That’s enough. Let her be.’

  Blinking through tears and the grit in her eyes, she sees Rob holding Daddy’s arm, saving her. And she gets up and runs to the outhouse. If she can hide right at the back, he might never find her. Then Rob will chase him away and she and Mummy will live happily ever after.

  Heavy footsteps as she gets inside and shuts the door. Please let it be Rob.

  ‘Get out of here now you little bitch.’

  She knew it would be him, because no one can beat him. The door rattles and then flies open. His big fingers grab her arm so tight it feels as if they might break her in two.

  He opens the back door and throws her into the kitchen, leaving her bleeding there on the hard tiles. ‘I’ll deal with you later.’

  She’s so scared, but she needs to save Rob. She pulls a chair up to the window. Rob’s out there, saying something, coming towards the back door. But then a flash of metal hits him and he flies back, landing on the floor by the log store. Her father stands over him, a spade in his hand. Rob tries to pull himself up, holding onto the shed. And then the sun glints off the spade again as it comes down fast. It hits his hand over and over until Rob’s screaming is all Hannah can hear and Rob’s lying on the floor.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Hannah swallowed and wiped a tear from t
he corner of her eye. ‘And Sandeep found him like that. But who called the police?’

  ‘My mum. She phoned them, then ran out and told Jack what she’d done. He hit her and said he was going to kill her. Then he leaned down and said something to Rob. My mum came in and wrapped me in a blanket and we all got in the Land Rover. I had to lie down in the back under the blanket as we drove away. And after what seemed like hours, we stopped and I looked outside. It was getting dark, but I could hear the sound of waves and seagulls nearby. We were in this deserted car park near the sea.

  ‘That was the first time I saw the sea.’ She smiled. ‘I wanted so much to go closer, to walk on the beach, to swim.’ A bitter laugh. ‘But I couldn’t even get out of the fucking Land Rover.

  ‘We slept there all night. I cuddled up with Mum under the blanket and in the morning we went home. I thought he’d beat the shit out of me, but it didn’t happen.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I think he was actually scared, for the first time in his life. But when Rob’s hand was fixed, he just came back to his cottage as if nothing had happened. He had nowhere else to go and Jack let him stay as gardener. As a reward, I suppose, for keeping quiet. What happened to his hand was my fault, but he never blamed me. He always helped me, and now he’s dead and that’s my fault too.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Hannah reached for her again, but Lucy shuffled away. A shadow seemed to fall over her face and she looked at Hannah with a flash of something like hatred.

  ‘Our father loved you,’ she said, her voice harsh. ‘Said you were like him, his perfect girl, but I wasn’t. I was nothing.’ She touched the photograph. ‘He made me put this picture of you up on the wall. Do you know how many years of my life I’ve spent fucking staring at it? Trying to figure out why you were better than me?’ Her chest heaved. ‘But I kept taking it down, when he wasn’t here, couldn’t bear it. You were just so fucking perfect. You still are. And you told me you loved him.’