2.0 - What Lies Below

by Helen Phifer

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘What about the rolling pin? It’s heavy enough to do some damage and won’t be classed as an offensive weapon.’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t think we’ll need any of those. I’m pretty sure we won’t find anyone. It’s just a precaution.’

  She grabbed the rolling pin from the drawer and stuffed it into the waistband of her trousers. ‘You might think it’s a joke, but I don’t. You can’t be too careful; there are all kinds of crazy people out there. I’d rather have something to protect ourselves with than an empty hand and harsh language.’

  He turned away to hide the smile which had spread across his face. She’d turned into quite the feisty woman, which made him like her even more. He crossed the room, checking the kitchen door was locked, sliding the bolt across for good measure.

  ‘One room down, thirty to go.’ He winked at her and she laughed.

  ‘Only thirty? I hope you didn’t have any plans for today, because I’ve well and truly spoilt them.’

  He shook his head and walked out of the kitchen to what he thought might be the cellar door. ‘Might as well start at the bottom and work our way up. I’d be surprised if anyone is down there, because it’s bolted from this side. But I wouldn’t settle if we didn’t check every single room.’

  He felt responsible for Maddy, although God knows he had enough with his dad to worry about, without adding her onto his list. What was it with his conscience? The voice in his head whispered, It’s because you find her attractive, you fool. He glanced across at her and realised that yes, he found her very attractive. He realised she was staring straight at him and felt his cheeks begin to burn, so he turned away from her and threw open the cellar door.

  As the smell of damp and mould assaulted their nostrils, Maddy lifted her arm, holding it across her nose and mouth. ‘Blimey, that smells like something from your worst nightmare.’

  He couldn’t disagree, although he had smelt worse, but he didn’t want to upset her with tales of decomposing bodies that he’d had to carry down off the fells after days of searching for missing walkers. In fairness, the team had a good track record, and usually found their missing persons while they were still alive.

  ‘I’ll go first then.’ He stood on the top step and stared down into the blackness, wondering if she’d think badly of him if he chickened out.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  G lenys watched Alfie fidgeting on the sofa. He had the television on with some documentary about African wildcats playing, but he wasn’t watching it. Usually he’d lay there enthralled by the scenery and the raw beauty of the animals, but today he wasn’t even looking at the screen. He was staring at something on the wall behind the television, and she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what it was.

  She walked past him, reaching out her fingers to gently brush through his hair. ‘What’s up, Alf?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You sure? You’re not even watching, and it’s your favourite programme.’

  He shrugged. ‘Can people who are alive live under the water?’

  ‘Not really, I don’t think so. I know you can stay in fancy hotels under the water, but I haven’t heard of anyone living underwater. Why?’

  ‘Didn’t think so. Doesn’t matter.’ He turned away from her. This time, he did start watching the television, signalling the end of this particular conversation.

  She walked off into the small kitchen, wondering what that had been about. He’d been a bit quiet all day; she’d ask Seth if he would talk to him. He might open up to him. As much as he was hard work and drove her mad, Alfie was her son and she loved him dearly. She didn’t like to see him unsettled like this. Normally he breezed through life, not caring what was going on or taking much notice of anyone.

  Switching on the kettle, she made herself a mug of tea then sat down at the small table by the window. She loved the sound of the rain, and she watched the droplets of water as they splattered against the glass, running down to land on the windowsill. The sky had turned a chalky, dirty grey and the rain had followed. That was why Alfie had come inside, and why she’d decided to close the shop early; no one came to this village in the rain unless they had to.

  From here she could just see the outline of the lake, and a shudder ran down her spine. Now she was feeling off, and she didn’t like it. Her senses were on high alert and she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. Something was happening in this village; the vibes were all out of sync. She didn’t know exactly what, but she needed to find out why the atmosphere wasn’t right. Tiny strands of invisible string seemed to be tugging her towards the lake.

  It was like this sometimes. Having a bit of a sixth sense could be a complete pain in the backside. It was good for reading the customers and telling them what they needed to hear, but it wasn’t so good when it descended upon her like this, out of the blue, hovering over her head like a thundercloud.

  Sipping her tea, she stared out to the lake at the inky, blue water, then picked up her phone and rang the pub, waiting to see who answered.

  ‘Yeah.’

  She knew it wasn’t Seth by the tone of the voice on the other end.

  ‘Sorry to bother you, it’s Glenys. Is Seth around, by any chance?’

  ‘Haven’t seen him for a couple of hours. He went up to the house.’

  Was she supposed to know which house this was, because she didn’t have a clue?

  ‘Which house would that be?’

  ‘Lake House. Been gone awhile. The woman came here looking all flustered and he left with her. Can I give him a message?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t important. I’ll catch him again. Are you managing okay? I can give you a hand if you’re busy.’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you. Just the usual crowd of reprobates in here today. The rain put paid to any tourists, and no unexpected coach trips, thank God.’ He laughed at his own joke and she smiled.

  ‘Bye then.’

  The line went dead, and she stood up. From her bedroom she could just about see the outline of the big, old Victorian house – well, it was more of a mansion. Calling it Lake House must have been the owner’s idea of a joke. It was a place she didn’t like to look at, because it gave her the shivers. She knew for a fact that something bad had gone down in that house, so she kept as far away from it as possible.

  Going into her room, she pressed her face against the cold pane of glass. Staring into the distance at the darkened windows of Lake House, she saw an upstairs light flicker into life, and then watched as the faint beam of a torch began to move around in the room next to it. What woman was Seth’s dad talking about? Surely someone wasn’t living there alone? And how did Seth know her? Not that she was interested in him. She just liked to keep on top of what was going on in the village, and it seemed at the moment that she didn’t know an awful lot. What with Alfie acting all weird and the news about the house, what else was there?

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  C onnor chewed the bland sandwich he’d bought from the motorway services; God knows what it was supposed to be, but it didn’t taste anything like the kind of all-day breakfast he was used to eating, that was for sure. His stomach had started grumbling an hour ago, convincing him to pull over to buy some food.

  He glanced down at the cardboard coffee cup and hoped to God it tasted better than what he was chewing. He’d been driving way too slow for his taste, but he couldn’t afford to get a speeding ticket or, worse, bring himself to the attention of any motorway police. He knew he was probably on a wanted list for hurting Stella, so he didn’t want to give them a reason to pull him over. He needed to sneak into Cumbria and find where that bitch Maddy had gone to hide.

  She was going to get the surprise of her life when he knocked on the front door. Immediately, he grinned. He liked the thought of giving her a shock, sending her into panic mode when she saw him standing there. She would know how angry he was, but would she slam the door in his face or invite him in? It didn�
�t matter. Either way, he would get inside and teach her what happened to people who walked out on him.

  The sign told him Junction 36 was thirty-one miles away, so he turned the radio up to keep his tired mind awake. Maybe he should pull over and have a rest at the next service station. After all, he was in no rush. He doubted Stella had managed to get hold of Maddy to warn her; her phone was smashed, and who remembered phone numbers these days? They were all far too long to memorise by heart.

  There was also the fact that Stella had almost jumped into bed with him as soon as he’d turned up on her doorstep. How would she explain that to her best friend who she was supposed to be supporting? ‘Sorry, Maddy, I wanted to sleep with Connor so badly that I let him take me out and buy me champagne. But instead of sweeping me off my feet like I wanted him to, he beat the crap out of me, and I told him where you’d run away to.’ Somehow, he didn’t imagine that conversation going down too well for either of them. He was relying on Stella’s shame to make her keep quiet and give him the element of surprise.

  He yawned. Picking up the coffee, he took a huge mouthful. It was better than he’d expected, but did they even have decent coffee shops in Cumbria? Wasn’t it all grotty pubs, farmers, and tiny villages? He’d never been there, but it got mentioned on Countryfile a lot – not that he watched it much, but Maddy had, and that was about as much as he knew about the place.

  He began to hum along to the medley of Abba songs that was playing on the radio. He didn’t like them, either, but the whole bloody world could sing a chorus of ‘Mamma Mia’, thanks to those films. A memory of surprising Maddy with front row seats to the West End musical sprang to his mind. She’d loved it, he’d hated it, but it had been one of the things he’d done to try to keep her happy. In the end, it hadn’t mattered, though, had it? He’d subjected himself to a couple of hours of torture just to keep her sweet. He’d remember to add that onto the list of reasons he wanted to kill her so much, when the time came.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  J oe’s flat was much nicer than Stella had expected. After hours of waiting around in the hospital, the doctor had finally agreed she could go home, on the condition she wasn’t on her own. Joe had left to work the dinnertime shift then had come straight back to the hospital.

  When he’d walked into the cubicle where she’d been since being admitted, she’d caught a whiff of his aftershave and realised he’d been home and showered. There was no smell of onion lingering on him whatsoever, and that made her like him even more. The fact that he’d wanted to make an impression wasn’t lost on her, and he’d phoned a friend who had collected them.

  ‘The sofa is yours,’ Joe offered, ‘unless you want the bed and I’ll take the sofa?’

  Stella stared at the mass of squishy cushions, pillows, and the carefully arranged soft woollen throw. ‘Sofa is perfect, thank you. I hope you didn’t go to any trouble.’

  His head shook. ‘None at all, this is a bit soppy, but I love having a tidy, clean, comfy flat. I have a Pinterest board where I get ideas from.’ He paused and she laughed.

  ‘I don’t think you could be any more perfect if you tried.’

  ‘I’m not perfect, believe me I’m not. My mates make fun of me all the time for not having my dirty socks strewn all over the place. There’s one thing I’m not, though, I’m not a violent man. Especially not to women. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been in a fair few fights over the years, and if I ever get sixty seconds alone with the bastard who hurt you, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself. But I’ve never physically hurt a woman, nor ever wanted to.’

  He looked at her, his face red, and she sensed he was telling her more than he really wanted to.

  ‘What I’m trying to say is that you’re safe here, with me.’

  Stella felt her eyes brim with hot tears that threatened to escape at any moment.

  ‘Thank you, Joe. You’re a good man.’ She glanced at his overstuffed bookcase and took a step towards it. ‘Even if you do have a bit of an obsession with serial killers.’

  He looked horrified and she began to laugh. ‘I’m joking. I love this stuff. I think you and I are two peas in a pod. Just how long have you been coming into the shop to buy these books?’

  ‘Two years, give or take.’

  ‘Oh, my God, I’m so sorry. All that time, all those books, and I’ve only just realised how amazing you are.’

  ‘You weren’t always the one to serve me,’ he replied. ‘Aden seemed to be there most of the time.’

  ‘That’s because Aden has nothing better to do. Well, I’m glad you chose my shop to buy your books from. In fact, I’m really glad.’ She turned and crossed the room, kissing his cheek.

  He stared at her, a smile spreading across his lips. ‘So, what do you fancy to eat? You must be starving. Hospital food is terrible.’

  She had to stop herself from saying ‘you’. She had no idea what was wrong with her, but it seemed as if her hormones had gone into overdrive this last week.

  ‘A sandwich would be great. Don’t go to any trouble.’

  He laughed. ‘I’m a chef and I love to cook, but I’m also an excellent sandwich maker. Sit down and I’ll rustle something up.’

  Stella did as she was told. Sinking down into the world’s comfiest sofa, she wondered how her life had gone from disaster to something quite extraordinary in the space of just twenty-four hours. She liked Joe a lot; he was easy to talk to and funny.

  When he came back carrying two plates, she jumped, letting out a small squeal.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.’

  ‘It’s me who should be sorry,’ she told him. ‘I’m a little bit nervy. Thank God you didn’t drop the food. That would have been a complete disaster.’

  He passed her a plate loaded with soft wholemeal triangles with an assortment of fillings, a leafy green salad with home-made coleslaw, and some hand-cooked crisps on the side. Stella looked up at him.

  ‘Will you marry me?’

  He laughed. ‘It’s only a sandwich.’

  ‘Only? It’s my idea of love on a plate.’

  ‘I’d marry you any day.’

  It was Stella’s turn to blush; her stomach was doing tiny somersaults. Had he really just said that? And had she finally met the man she’d dreamt about spending the rest of her life with?

  She looked at him to see if he was being sarcastic, but he was smiling at her. And she knew in her heart that he meant it.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  M addy wiped her sleeve across her forehead. She was perspiring in the most unladylike manner – a thought which made her smile.

  ‘All clear.’

  Seth’s voice echoing down from the attic had made it sound as if he was far away, not directly above her head. Plucking up courage, she ran up the narrow staircase and stepped inside; unlike the cellar, which had reeked of damp and mould, this smelt different. There was a sweeter scent which lingered in the air, faint traces of lavender and dust. She’d take this aroma over the dark, scary cellar any day. In fact, it was comforting because it reminded her of the huge, oak wardrobe in her gran’s bedroom. The one filled with beautiful dresses and suits from years ago when women wore tea dresses and cocktail dresses most of the time.

  Seth smiled at her. ‘At least we know the only people in this house are you and me now that we’ve checked every inch of it.’

  She nodded. What about the ghosts? Or maybe there are secret passages where a person could quite happily live and hide? She never said her thoughts out loud, though. She was grateful to him, and she’d already taken up his entire afternoon on what felt like a pointless game of hide and seek.

  ‘Thank you, I’m sorry to have wasted your time.’

  ‘You’re welcome, and how have you wasted my time? I’ve had a grand time exploring the house, and with such a beautiful companion.’

  Maddy laughed. ‘The dust has gone to your head.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m knackered now. I had no idea exactly h
ow many rooms there were, but it’s been lovely spending time with you.’

  He crossed the huge space towards her, and for a split second she wondered if he was going to kiss her. Not sure whether she wanted him to or not, she turned away before he could. Beside her was a huge leather chest and a couple of much smaller ones. Bending down, she tried to open the large one, but the lock was rusted shut with years of not being opened.

  ‘I wonder what’s inside these. Can you imagine if they were stuffed full of furs, jewels, and beautiful dresses?’

  ‘You have an excellent imagination, no wonder you’re a writer. I hate to break it to you, but they’re probably empty. This whole house was emptied of most of the personal possessions years ago. Some of it was auctioned off at the sale room in Keswick. It was quite sad, really. A whole lifetime of photographs, letters, and clothes were all sold off to the highest bidder. Rumour has it someone from the BBC bought a lot of it for the props department.’

  ‘Really, wow. That’s fascinating and sad. Fancy having no family to leave this beautiful house and all your belongings to. Do you think the wedding dress came from the house?’

  He shook his head. ‘I doubt it. As far as I know, there’s nothing like that left.’

  Maddy made up her mind to come back up and open the trunks when Seth had gone; she wanted to check. It would be amazing if there was something interesting inside them, and she could feel the ideas beginning to spin around in her head for a story. In fact, she wanted to pour herself a huge glass of wine and sit in front of the laptop and write. It had been so long since she’d wanted to do it because it was what she loved, that she immediately turned and went back down the steps.

  Scared to lose the momentum while her muse was striking, she led Seth down to the entrance hall.

  ‘Thank you, I really appreciate it.’

  A puzzled expression spread across his face and she knew he was thinking she was bat-shit crazy, but she had no choice. He wouldn’t understand that she needed to write, that she’d be terrible company if she tried to ignore the nagging feeling which spread from her brain into her fingertips. If someone asked her to explain it, she couldn’t, because she didn’t know how to. All Maddy knew was she couldn’t afford to ignore this feeling. She’d almost given up the hope of experiencing the itching to create something because she wanted to, and not because her publisher demanded it.