Sands of Time

  And with that she had to be content.

  Three nights later she was woken up again by the sound of laughter and shouting from downstairs. She stared round in the darkness. There was no moon tonight and she could hear the gentle patter of rain on the roses below her window, filling her room with the sweet scent of wet earth. She lay still for a few seconds, her heart thumping with fear, then slowly and unwillingly she sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

  At the door she paused and frowned. She could smell beer. The sound of talk and laughter grew louder and she could hear the clinking of glasses coming from the dining room.

  Creeping downstairs, she tiptoed across the hall and, taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door.

  The silence was immediate and total. The room was empty.

  She stepped in and looked round. It was as Edwin had left it. The floor was finished and neatly swept, the walls stripped and the window frames repaired. All that remained to be done was to fix the chimney and paper the room before the arrival of the Aga and the sink and the old dresser she had found in the antique shop in the village.

  Reaching for the light switch, she turned it on. The smell of beer had completely gone.

  ‘Do you think Fen Cottage was ever a pub?’ she asked Julie when she met her in the village shop that morning. Edwin had gone to fetch a load of bricks.

  ‘I’ve never heard it was. Why?’ Julie was stacking her purchases into a basket.

  Roz shrugged. ‘Just something I heard.’

  ‘It was an inn, yes,’ Edwin said later. He sat back on his heels for a moment, a wedge of pale lime mortar on his trowel. ‘A couple of hundred years ago. Why?’ He looked at her hard.

  She shrugged. ‘I just wondered.’

  When she heard the sounds again that night she almost didn’t go down. She lay for five minutes, her head under the pillow, then reluctantly she climbed to her feet.

  This time the noise did not stop as she pushed open the door. The room was full of people. She saw the smoke from the fire, and from the men’s clay pipes. She saw the bar and the plump red-faced woman pulling beer from a barrel set up behind it. She saw the pretty fair-haired barmaid sashaying between the drinkers, squealing as they flirted with her, slapping back their impertinent hands. And she saw the man she had seen before.

  He was standing, his back to the wall near the roaring fire, his eyes fixed on the girl. As Roz watched, he slipped his hand into his pocket and brought something out. A small silver charm on a thin, filigree chain. She saw him catch the girl’s hand as she whisked past him and she saw him speak, his longing clear in every movement of his body as he shyly pressed the charm into her hand. As the girl glanced down at it she saw the love and hope in the young man’s eyes.

  Then the girl laughed. She tossed her pretty curls and flounced her hips and tucked the charm back into his pocket.

  He looked stunned. As Roz watched, he stepped away from the wall, his face scarlet with embarrassment as the jeers of the other drinkers told him they had missed nothing of the exchange. With one quick gesture he snatched the charm out of his pocket and threw it into the fire, then he turned and walked out of the door into the lane.

  As the door banged shut, Roz found herself standing in the silent cottage staring into an empty room.

  That evening, Bob dropped by to lend her a catalogue of light fittings and they went out onto the terrace to have a glass of wine. ‘I hear you were asking about the house’s history,’ he said. ‘You were right, it was a pub. And there is a story to go with it. One of the village men went away to London and made his fortune. He came back and fell in love with the barmaid here. She rejected him and the story goes he went out and hanged himself.’ He took a sip of wine and then caught sight of her face. ‘Sorry, Roz. Perhaps you would rather not have known.’

  ‘No.’ She turned away so he couldn’t see the tears in her eyes. ‘No, I’m glad you told me.’

  The next morning she asked Edwin if he had heard the story. As he turned away from repointing the chimney, she watched his face intently. He stood still for a moment staring into the distance, then slowly he shrugged. ‘Yes, I think I might have heard it somewhere.’

  And that was all.

  But that evening he came out to the terrace where she was reading. There was something in his hand.

  ‘I found it under some mortar.’

  The silver charm was tarnished, almost black. For several moments she looked at it, then slowly she held it out to him again. ‘I think it’s yours.’

  Their eyes met.

  ‘That is what you came back for, isn’t it?’ she said.

  He looked down at it and slowly he nodded. ‘You say he looked like me?’

  ‘Yes.’ She hesitated. ‘She didn’t deserve his love. She wasn’t worth it,’ she insisted, more vehemently than she’d intended.

  ‘I’ve dreamed about this house since I was small.’ Glancing up he gave her a sheepish smile. ‘I don’t believe in reincarnation or anything like that. It’s just that sometimes, if you let yourself listen, you can hear the echoes, feel the ripples of sorrow as they reach you over the years. I thought studying architecture would take away the pain, would make the past rational, cool, sensible. And that building would bring it under control, make it safe.’ He looked down at his hands. ‘When I heard you wanted a builder, it just seemed like fate. Like something I’d been waiting for.’

  ‘And now you’ve found it,’ she said gently, reaching out to touch the fragile silver where it lay on his palm and feeling the warmth of his hand as it slowly curled around hers.

  The Room Upstairs

  ‘Andy, I’ve found somewhere to live!’ The tousled red hair was if anything more vibrant than usual.

  Andy looked up from his books at the whirlwind hovering by his desk in the library, her arms full of files and notes, canvas bag dangling from her shoulder. He shrugged a weary hello. ‘Can we afford it?’

  Getting kicked out of their digs ten days before the end of their first term at university had been the last straw in a pretty foul week.

  Jill nodded vigorously. ‘Big attic room. A bit far out of town, but walking distance. Just.’ She grinned. She held out two large keys. ‘Coming to see it?’

  ‘Now?’ He glanced down at his desk with regret. It was warm and secure in the library. Outside there was a gale blowing, sleet hit the windows like machine-gun fire and the thought of a long hike through the dark filled him with about as much enthusiasm as facing a firing squad. Still, it had to be done. Out at the end of the week their landlord had said and Andy knew why. The bastard had found someone who would pay more, no questions asked about leases and things.

  Jill walked fast, head down, her face screwed up against the cold, her collar high around her ears. He wondered what she would do if he put his arm round her shoulders and pulled her close. Just for warmth of course. They were room mates out of necessity. Or fate. Not lovers. He had met her on the doorstep of the digs back in October, and they had viewed the double room together as rivals. Both were seeking someone to share with. They tossed for the room. He won. He chose her. Simple as that. No sex. No dirty socks on public view. Her rules. Fine by him.

  He glanced around him as they walked. The streets were empty in the rain, viscous puddles reflecting the street lights. From time to time he could see a Christmas tree in a window. Otherwise the houses had withdrawn behind their curtains. He half wished he could reach for Jill’s hand. Just for company. In a lonely world. But that would be against the rules too.

  As though half sensing his thought she grinned at him from the shelter of her collar. ‘I did say it was a long way.’

  ‘How did you hear about it?’

  ‘Chap I met at the Union.’ She was vague about the detail. ‘Said he’d been going to stay there himself but he’d found somewhere better.’

  ‘Sounds as though it’s not much cop.’

  ‘Cheap though.’ She fished a piece of paper out of her pocket and stopp
ed for a minute under one of the street lights. A rain drop hit the paper and smudged the ink. ‘Next left. Then about half a mile.’

  ‘Half a mile!’ He was appalled.

  She caught his eye and shrugged again. ‘Cheap!’ They said it together and laughed.

  It was hard to find. The number had fallen off the gate and the front path was overgrown. They worked it out by the numbers on the other houses on either side. They were small and neat, with well-manicured gardens. Number 40 was overgrown, the paint on the door blistered. And it was huge.

  ‘There’s no one in.’ They stood side by side in the gateway looking at the darkened windows. ‘Shit!’ Andy was shivering with cold. ‘Now what?’

  ‘We’ve got the key. The chap I spoke to said the room was at the top. He said he never saw the people who live here at all.’ Jill looked down uncertainly at the keys in her hand. They were tied together by a piece of stringy red ribbon. ‘Come on, let’s check it out, then we’ll go and get some fish and chips at that place we passed about ten miles back.’ She was trying to jolly him along. And herself. ‘It’s not as though we’ve much choice. This end of term there’s nothing left in town.’

  The gate was stiff. The hinges creaked loudly as she pushed it open and walked quickly up the path. They knocked and rang the bell, reluctant to go in uninvited, but there was no answer.

  The hall was long and narrow and smelled faintly of cooking. They sniffed. ‘Cabbage.’ Jill was groping for the light switch. ‘Why is it always cabbage?’ The single bulb with its pleated orange shade showed a narrow strip of flowered carpet and an ornate mahogany hall stand with a built-in mirror. On it was a rumpled lace mat the colour of cold tea.

  ‘Hello!’ Jill raised her hand to knock at the only door leading off the hallway, on their left. Its brown paint was badly scuffed and it looked as though it had been forced open at some point in the past. There was no reply and gingerly she turned the knob. It was locked.

  They stood looking up the staircase. ‘The top you said?’ Andy put his hand on the huge wooden swirl at the bottom of the banister rail. It seemed too large and imposing for the narrowness of the hall. ‘Come on then.’

  The landing on the first floor revealed five more doors. One was a bathroom, basic, old-fashioned, without towels or mats or even – Jill noticed at once – lavatory paper. The other four doors were locked.

  On up and they found three more doors. One, a small loo (also without paper) the other two locked, then a small uncarpeted staircase led even higher. They stood looking up into the darkness. ‘Chez nous?’ Andy raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I suppose so.’ Jill grimaced. ‘It’s pretty quiet isn’t it.’

  ‘As the grave!’ He put on a hollow voice, and then rather wished he hadn’t. ‘Here, let me have the key. I’ll go first.’

  She hadn’t said anything but he could sense she was uncomfortable. So to be honest was he. The house was too bloody quiet by half.

  The key slipped into the lock easily and the door swung back. It revealed, once they had found the light switch, in the orange glow of another pleated shade, a long low-ceilinged room with four mansard windows. Two looked one way over the street, the others looked presumably over the garden. When he knelt on a window seat to stare out at the back Andy could see nothing.

  The room was furnished with two beds, two chests-of-drawers, two cupboards and a table. The floor was bare linoleum. In the corner behind a blue flowered curtain they found a small scruffy sink, a gas cooker and another cupboard.

  ‘Paradise!’ Andy sat down experimentally on one of the beds and gave a cautious bounce. He glanced up at her. ‘You OK?’ She was awfully pale.

  ‘Sure.’ She said it too quickly. ‘It’s fine. So, who do we tell?’

  He shrugged. Standing up he went over to the window. ‘I thought I heard a car.’

  They ran downstairs to find an elderly man on the threshold, opening and shutting his umbrella to throw off the rain. He looked up at them, a puzzled frown on his face.

  ‘We came to see the room.’

  ‘Are you the landlord?’

  The simultaneous explanation and question seemed to confuse him. He put his umbrella carefully in the square compartment clearly intended for that very use at the end of the stand, then, slowly he began to unbutton his overcoat.

  ‘Is it all right if we bring our things over later?’ Jill smiled at him, not above wheedling when she had to. He reminded her a little of her grandfather and it had always worked with him.

  He hung his coat on the stand and stood for a moment adjusting his tie, seemingly lost in thought, staring at the speckled mirror.

  ‘Is it your house, mate?’ Andy thought a man to man approach with a touch of familiarity might be appropriate.

  The old man smiled to himself gently. He tweaked his jacket straight and stood back, turning towards the door behind him which Andy had tried earlier. They watched in silence as it opened and he walked into the room. As it closed behind him Andy gave a soft whistle. ‘Did he even see us?’

  Jill shrugged. ‘Not very sociable, was he?’ She tiptoed towards the closed door and put her ear to the panelling.

  ‘Jill!’ Andy was shocked.

  ‘It’s so bloody quiet. Too bloody quiet!’ She turned to face him. ‘I don’t like it here, Andy.’

  Secretly he agreed with her. ‘What choice have we? We’re not going to find anywhere else by tomorrow.’ He shrugged. ‘He looked pretty harmless. Quite nice in fact.’

  She smiled at him in fond exasperation. ‘Optimist. OK. Here goes.’ She raised her fist and rapped on the door. ‘At least he must know who we should contact.’ She knocked again.

  ‘Or, again, he won’t.’ After a pause Andy grimaced. ‘As I said, not the world’s most sociable.’

  ‘Oh, come on!’ Jill took a deep breath and smacked the door with the flat of her hand.

  ‘Steady.’ Andy put his hand on her arm. ‘Perhaps he just doesn’t want to talk to us.’

  ‘Well I want to talk to him!’ She shook him off and to Andy’s surprise he saw that she was close to tears. ‘I only want a word. I want to get it sorted, Andy. I want to move in and have somewhere to stay! Come on, you silly old fool. Answer.’ She grabbed the door handle and shook it hard.

  ‘Jill, don’t – ’

  ‘Wait! Listen! I can hear him.’ Jill held up her hand. ‘He’s coming.’ Her relief was palpable.

  Andy had heard it too now. Footsteps were approaching them on the far side of the door. He glanced at Jill, then he stepped forward and knocked again, politely this time. It opened almost at once.

  ‘Yes?’ The old man stared at them from mild, pale blue eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you –’ Andy found himself staring past the man’s shoulder into the room. It was softly lit and from where he was standing he could see the fire crackling brightly in the grate, the corner of a blue sofa, a table with on it a vase of red anemones. He took a deep breath. ‘We were wondering if we could rent the top room –’ For some reason he was finding it hard to collect his wits.

  The old man smiled. ‘Of course.’

  ‘You are the landlord?’ Andy’s glance shot back into the room as he heard a woman’s cough.

  ‘I am.’ The old man inclined his head. ‘You are very welcome to rent the room, young man.’

  ‘What about references and things?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’ With another bow he stepped back from the door and pushed it gently shut in Andy ’s face.

  For a moment he stood staring at the brown wood then he turned to Jill. ‘Well. What do you think?’ He was speaking in a whisper.

  ‘I suppose it will do. Temporarily. We could always look for somewhere closer in, next term –’ She broke off as behind them suddenly they heard the sound of raised voices from behind the closed door.

  ‘Andy – ’

  ‘Wait.’ He was listening again. ‘They are having an awful row. I can hear someone crying – ’

  Suddenly the sound
was reverberating around the hall. They could hear a woman shouting, then there was a scream. There was a loud crash from behind the door and then silence.

  Andy and Jill stared at each other. ‘Should I see if they’re all right?’ Andy was frowning.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Jill was backing away towards the front door. ‘Andy, I really think we should go.’

  He glanced at her. Her face was white. He bit his lip. ‘Look we’ve got to check. It’s gone awfully quiet in there.’ He raised his hand and knocked softly. There was no reply. He looked over his shoulder at Jill and knocked again. ‘Hello. Is everything OK? Can we help?’

  With a slight click the door swung slowly inwards under his hand. Andy took a step back, surprised. He took a deep breath. ‘Hello? Excuse me, are you all right in there?’

  With a quick glance at her Andy moved forward and pushed the door open. ‘Hello –’ he called again. He stopped abruptly.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s empty!’ He stepped into the room and stood staring round. It was large and high-ceilinged with an ornate fireplace. There was nothing but cold ashes in the grate. The room was empty and dark, the windows shuttered, the floor uncarpeted.

  ‘It can’t be! We both saw him.’ Jill was hovering in the doorway. ‘There must be another door. He must have come through here and gone somewhere else.’

  He swallowed. ‘I saw him. You saw him. The fire was lit. The room was warm. There were lights – ’

  ‘I want to go.’ Jill’s voice was suddenly very urgent. ‘I don’t like this. Come on.’ She was pulling at his sleeve.

  ‘But it doesn’t make sense – ’

  ‘I don’t care!’ Jill’s voice rose an octave. ‘I’m going.’ She turned and ran out into the hall again and reached for the front door latch. Fumbling she pulled at the handle and dragged it open. ‘Andy, come on!’

  ‘Wait, Jill. Wait for me –’ Andy was still standing in the middle of the room, staring round.

  Jill didn’t hear him. She had run out onto the path. Two cars had drawn up at the kerb and there were a group of men standing on the pavement. She couldn’t see them properly in the darkness and she paused. ‘Run, love. Get away from the house!’ A voice came at her out of the dark. ‘Quickly. You’re safe now – ’