by Will Maclean
Graham smiled again. ‘Intriguing thought, isn’t it?’
‘Fascinating.’ And it was, too – the idea that someone might, at the moment of death, through sheer will, continue as something lighter, swifter; perhaps seeing and knowing more than they ever dreamed possible. Inevitably, I thought of Abi.
Graham, teeth clamped around his pipe, clicked a reel of tape onto the tape recorder and forwarded it to a precise location. He had clearly done this many times. ‘You remember the séance, of course. It all got a bit chaotic at the end. The first voice you hear is Seb’s, then our Raudive voice.’
He pressed play.
‘Bloody hell.’ Seb’s voice. A pause, and some woolly scuffling sounds, then Seb again. ‘Bloody hell!’
‘Nuuuhvuuuh,’ slurred a dark, oily voice.
The hairs on my arms stood up.
‘Again.’
Graham rewound the tape.
‘Nuuuhvuuuh.’
Ancient. Like the voice of a riverbed, clogged with decades of mud. Like something without vocal cords, struggling to make sound. Graham had said the voice was male, but that was only because of the depth of it. In truth, it didn’t sound like any human voice, male or female, I had ever heard.
‘Nuuuhvuuuh.’
‘Come on,’ said Graham, chuckling to himself at the look on my face. ‘It’s dinner time.’
27
It was Sally and Neil’s turn to cook. Together, they made an enormous pot of chilli con carne, and an even larger pan of sticky white rice. I had never eaten chilli con carne before, and it seemed wildly exotic. We ate around the dining table in the Great Hall and, although it was only early evening, I appreciated more and more how isolated the place was, how thorough the silence. If a ghost – a disembodied consciousness – did dwell here, I imagined it would be half-insane through sheer loneliness.
Graham was in good spirits. He seemed to find the house’s atmosphere exhilarating, rather than disquieting. He cracked terrible jokes and talked about a wide range of subjects, not letting the conversation flag, and at one point had to be dissuaded by Sally from going to his room and getting his ukulele. It was almost possible to forget why we were here.
I had been added to the household rota already, and discovered it was my turn to wash up – ‘In at the deep end!’ said Graham, mock-sternly, and we all laughed – and so, after dinner, I spent forty-five minutes in the enormous Victorian kitchen, scrubbing plates and gouging away at two huge pans with a dishwashing brush. Through the window at the sink, I could see the woods, weaving the early evening gloom into darkness. A treecreeper scampered down the trunk of a pine, forcing its beak into fissures in the bark with small, precise movements worthy of a watchmaker. I could smell cigarette smoke, hear the distant sound of a radio.
This morning, I had awoken in the house I had grown up in, the house choked with misery, the house where black lightning had struck, torching the lives of everyone who lived there. And now I was here. An enormous sense of relief flooded through me, an almost physical reaction to the sudden release of pressure.
I went upstairs. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with The True History of Tobias Salt, so I folded it up and shoved it into my jacket pocket. Then I lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, inhaling and exhaling, enjoying the feeling of simply existing; freed, temporarily, from the nightmare of grief, of not knowing. Out here, there was perspective. There was that, at least.
I was halfway between sleep and wakefulness when I heard a knock. I leapt up from the bed, suddenly and entirely awake, and opened the door. There was Seb, and behind him, Juliet and Neil.
‘Police!’ said Seb. ‘This is a raid! We heard this place has illegal booze!’
‘Did you fall asleep or something?’ said Juliet. ‘We were waiting for you!’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, rubbing my eyes. ‘What time is it?’
‘Nine,’ said Neil.
‘Party time,’ said Seb, talking over Neil. ‘Where’s the grog?’
‘Just a sec.’ I opened the wardrobe, took out my rucksack and unravelled the towel. A large bottle of Bells whisky rolled out onto the carpet, where Seb snatched it up. He read the label with distaste.
‘Blended? Eeurgh! Is this … supermarket whisky? Still, I suppose beggars can’t be choosers. Down the hatch!’ He cracked the cap, unscrewed it and took a large slug. Juliet wrenched the bottle from him and recapped it.
‘You’ll have to forgive Seb,’ she sighed. ‘He was raised by gorillas.’
‘How dare you. I am the scion of one of the oldest and most noble houses in Great Britain!’ Seb ended this grandiose statement by burping, colossally. Juliet laughed. Neil simply sighed.
‘Come on,’ said Juliet. ‘Let’s go to our room.’
‘Agreed,’ said Seb. ‘This room is bloody awful. No offence, Timbo.’
‘It can’t be that different to yours,’ I said. ‘Can it?’
Seb and Juliet’s room had undoubtedly been the master bedroom. The wallpaper was a rich, warm red, and the ceiling was painted cream. The skirting boards and cornice-work were also painted cream, and a grandiose fireplace of white marble yawned against one wall. The bay window gave a spectacular view of the front lawn, bordered by the woods, falling away gently into the fields beyond. The darkening clouds above were seamed with gold as they caught the last light of the day, and a flock of screaming swifts rolled and collected in the airy freedom of the endless sky. It was a view you could wake up to every day of your life, and never tire of.
‘Nice, isn’t it?’ said Neil. ‘This is how the country must have looked to the Romans. Woods and heathland and meadow, as far as you could see. It must have been very beautiful.’
‘Dangerous, too,’ I said. ‘Have you read Red Shift, by Alan Garner?’
Neil sniffed, clearly annoyed at the existence of a book he hadn’t read. ‘No.’
‘Oh, you should. There’s a whole chunk set in Roman Britain, only the language they use is—’
‘Come on, ladies!’ shouted Seb. ‘School’s out. Drink up!’ Juliet had managed to mix four whisky sodas, in mugs, using a heavy linen chest as a makeshift bar. True to her word, she had even managed to find some ice.
‘Cheers,’ I said, and we all clinked mugs. I sipped, too deeply. It was hard and sharp and delicious. You could barely taste the alcohol, but you could feel it almost immediately. I sank down into a large bean bag whilst Juliet and Seb stretched out on the bed. Neil sat stiffly in a high-backed chair he brought over from a writing bureau. Look at me, I thought. Drinking whisky with three kids from Alderston, in a stately home. I tried to look relaxed, as if the situation were not in any way unusual to me.
‘This is surprisingly good,’ said Seb, matter-of-factly. I had no doubt he’d drunk whisky sodas before.
‘Thank you,’ said Juliet. ‘Bordering on insulting, but thank you.’
‘You know what I mean,’ said Seb. He drained his mug and mixed himself another, with a generous shot of Dad’s whisky. He was about to say something else, when there was a knock at the door.
Everyone froze. After a couple of seconds, Juliet got up, motioning for us to shush. She opened the door, and Polly burst in.
‘Here you all are!’ she laughed. ‘With booze! I knew it! Why didn’t you let me in on this?’ She sounded bemused rather than hurt.
‘Oh, lots of reasons,’ Seb smiled. ‘But fundamentally, we don’t have much booze, and Juliet doesn’t trust you.’
‘Seb!’ gasped Juliet. Polly, however, laughed.
‘Well, to address your concerns in order. One, my tolerance for alcohol is embarrassingly low, and two, why ever not, Juliet?’
Juliet blushed. ‘I just took you for a bit of a swot, that’s all. I thought if we had any kind of fun you’d tell teacher.’
Polly wrinkled her nose. ‘Graham and Sally? No. Cooped up in here, it’s only right we should have a bit of fun. So, please, anything else like this … count me in.’
Juliet looked sheepish. ‘Sorry.’
‘No problem. Can I share yours, Tim?’
‘Sure,’ I said. I handed Polly my mug, and she sat down on the floor next to the bean bag.
‘I propose a toast,’ said Seb. ‘To Tim.’
‘To Tim!’ said Juliet. Everyone clinked mugs again.
‘Yes,’ said Seb. ‘Despite obviously hailing from a deprived background, he was the only one among us who had the presence of mind to bring alcohol.’
‘Please ignore Seb,’ said Juliet. ‘He was dropped on his head in infancy.’
‘What? Were you not listening, woman? I was praising him.’
‘In a backhanded way. And don’t call me woman. I’m not your property.’
‘Oh, here we go with the bloody women’s lib!’ Seb made a Women, eh? face at me, as if I would automatically back him up. Polly passed back the mug.
I turned to where Neil was peering into his mug, suspiciously. ‘And Neil, you go to the same school?’
‘I do.’
‘Hurrah,’ said Seb. ‘We get to spend time with Neil. Hurrah.’
Neil bridled. I scanned the room for something else to comment on, and blurted out a thought that had occurred to me earlier, but I hadn’t felt it was my place to mention.
‘There’s only one bed in here. Is Graham OK with you two …’
‘Sharing a bed?’ said Juliet.
‘Sleeping together?’ said Seb. ‘Well, to begin with, he allocated us separate rooms, but it seemed stupid for us to sleep apart. I mean, we don’t at home, so why here?’
‘Wait, your parents are fine with you – with … that?’ I was aware that I had begun to blush. Seb roared.
‘Of course not! My mum hates it, and Juliet’s parents aren’t exactly over the moon. But they can’t very well stop us, can they? They tolerate it. Besides, we’re both adults, almost. Completely old enough to make our own decisions on that score. Not that the old perverts who teach us would see it that way, so we do keep it a secret at school.’ Seb tapped a cigarette out of his soft pack and placed it in his mouth. ‘So that’s us two. Fornicating.’ Juliet slapped him on the shoulder again but I saw that, despite herself, she was smiling at his audacity. Seb ignored her. ‘And although we’re papists born and raised, I’m sure the man upstairs has got bigger things to worry about than what we get up to, frankly. Wars. Kids dying. That sort of thing.’
‘What about you, Tim?’ said Polly, playing with the sleeve of her cardigan. ‘You got a girlfriend?’
‘Me?’ I almost laughed. ‘No. What about you, Neil?’
Neil reddened. ‘No.’ Out of the tail of my eye I saw Seb smirking. Again, I decided to change the subject.
‘Have any of you ever done anything like this before?’
‘What, ghost-hunting? Pffff.’ Seb took another enormous swig, during which a thought occurred to him. ‘Actually, Jules and I stayed with my aunt near Highgate Cemetery last autumn, so we had a dekko to see if we could spot the famous resident vampire.’
Polly smiled. ‘And did you?’
‘Of course not. Nothing there but smashed-up graves and the odd druggy lurking among the tombstones. I’ll be amazed if they don’t concrete over the whole bloody place soon.’
Jules smiled. ‘The only spooky thing we saw was a giant ghostly head among the trees, but that turned out to be the grave of Karl Marx.’
‘What do you make of what’s happening here?’ I said. The words came too quickly. I was aware that I was drinking too fast, and resolved to slow down.
‘No idea, old man,’ said Seb. ‘The first séance was fun, but all that knocking could just have been a trick.’
‘You’re the expert, aren’t you, Tim?’ said Neil, in a sly voice. ‘What do you make of it?’
‘Well,’ I said, taking a deep breath. ‘Table-rapping is easy to produce if you know how. And on its own, I’d be inclined to think it was suspicious. But there’s also that voice on the tape. That was recorded when we were all there, and we heard nothing.’
‘Eurgh!’ Juliet shuddered. ‘That voice. It’s horrible.’
‘It’s fantastic!’ laughed Polly. ‘Our first actual result!’
‘I don’t know,’ said Neil. ‘I still think there’s something we’re not being told. Have you seen the way Graham keeps that office of his closed? I would surmise—’
Seb rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, you’d surmise, would you? Not for Audle the run-of-the-mill supposing that the rest of us have to make do with.’
‘Oh dear, Sebastian. Did I lose you? Did I use a big word?’
‘Now then, boys—’ said Juliet. Seb ignored her.
‘We get it, Audle. You’re cleverer than us. You don’t have to keep hammering it home.’
‘I’m merely …’
‘Oh, here we go.’
‘It’s funny,’ said Neil. ‘You don’t object to my intellect so much when I help you with all that schoolwork you can’t be bothered with.’
I thought Seb might be embarrassed by this, but he simply grinned broadly, showing off his excellent teeth. ‘Very true. Audle has twice helped me out when academic work proved so boring it threatened my continued presence at school. And for that, Audle, I am grateful.’
‘Thank you,’ said Neil, tipping his mug and drinking.
‘As I’m sure you’re grateful for the magazines I was able to procure for you.’ Neil spluttered and coughed, and Seb’s grin broadened as he drank in Neil’s discomfort. ‘I can’t remember what it was now. Fiesta, I think. Or Playboy. Anyway. Plenty there for you to think about, Audle.’
Neil reddened again, and said nothing. He looked furious. A tense silence settled over the room.
‘You really are an idiot sometimes,’ said Juliet.
Neil stood up. ‘Goodnight, Juliet, Polly. Goodnight, Tim.’
‘Oh Awful, don’t be like that! I was only joking.’
Neil glared at him with hatred. Seb just smiled.
‘It’s not my fault you’re a weird, creepy frog person, Audle. Everyone knows it. It’s not like people can think any less of you.’
‘Shut up, Stourton,’ said Neil.
‘Seb,’ said Juliet quietly. ‘Apologise to Neil.’
‘What? For what, exactly?’
‘You know very well. Now apologise.’
‘Don’t worry about it, Juliet,’ said Neil.
Seb shook his head at the injustice of it all, then looked up at Neil. ‘Hey, I’m sorry, Audle. I was just joking, that was all.’ I suddenly understood that Seb was drunk.
Neil stared at Seb with a molten, impotent fury. Then he turned and left.
‘Well done,’ said Juliet coldly, glaring at Seb. ‘Well done.’
‘I should be going too,’ said Polly into the cold silence. ‘Tim?’
‘Yep,’ I said, lurching to my feet. ‘Goodnight, you two. See you tomorrow.’
‘Oh, come on!’ said Seb. ‘Stay! Or at least leave the whisky!’
‘It’s a long day tomorrow,’ said Polly. ‘Lots more séancing. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight,’ I echoed.
Out in the corridor, Polly and I exchanged worried glances before going off to our separate rooms. As I turned to leave, I heard Juliet’s voice. Although distorted by the door between us, I could tell she was almost hoarse with anger.
‘You only know how to ruin things, don’t you?’
My room was cold.
I undressed self-consciously, as if I were being watched, then climbed into the hard bed and waited for the heat of my body to warm the chilly bedclothes. I reached up to the bedside lamp and snapped it off, and there was darkness, and the total silence of the surrounding countryside.
Which part of the house was this room in? I tried to recall which way Graham and I had come earlier. And yes, I was indeed in the south wing. The seventeenth-century part. It stood to reason that Tobias Salt, or Anne, or their daughters, had been in this room at some point. Were their lives pressed into the stone here? Did they walk this place at night? I closed my eyes, but no qualit
y of the darkness changed.
Around me, the house ticked and creaked as it lost the heat of the day from its bones, and I lay, alert to every sound, half-terrified of what I might hear. At some point very near slumber I remembered the oily, slurring voice captured on the tape, and, before I was aware of what I had done, I pulled the bedclothes over my head, like I used to do when I was a child.
28
The next day, Graham called a house meeting. The morning was stunning; the sun shone brightly, and the dew rose from the grass in soft waves of steamy vapour, so, after breakfast, we assembled on garden chairs on the front lawn, the house squatting behind us. I felt hot and my head ached a little; Tony Finch had introduced me to alcohol a long while ago, so I knew what this was. Of last night’s argument, nothing was said; Seb and Neil simply ignored each other.
Graham arrived last of all. Even though the morning was hot, he wore his usual university lecturer outfit: a bottle-green corduroy jacket, a mustard-coloured jumper, and flared jeans with desert boots. I noted also that Polly wore her ubiquitous cardigan; I wondered how either of them could stand it.
Graham made a short speech, re-introducing me to the rest of the group, then talked us through the scientific equipment, a talk superfluous to all of us, as he made it clear that only he was qualified to operate any of it. Perhaps aware he was losing his audience, he fell silent for a few seconds until he had regained our full attention.
‘One more thing,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to say that as of today, with the arrival of Tim, our approach to what we’re doing here will be changing somewhat. We’re going to intensify our search for Tobias Salt, with a slightly different method.
‘As such, we might expect a more emotionally exhausting session. Some of you may feel unaccountably drained, others might be overcome with sadness, or anger. These are perfectly normal reactions to what we’re doing here. Plus, I know that some of you are – how can I put this? – already a little troubled at the moment, whether with issues of depression, or frustration, or the problems of being a young person in today’s world.
‘In fact, without getting too personal, I know that at least one of you has already endured an enormous amount of psychic stress. And I know that one of you is recovering from the recent loss of a close family member, so that might well make you vulnerable, emotionally speaking, in this setting.’
