Haunted

  I could smell the ocean and almost feel its salty dust on my skin. He sat on a pool lounge, watching as I crouched by the water. Even though the night was balmy, I shivered as I leaned down to trail my fingers through it.

  “It’s so warm.” Zac looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. “Are you up for a midnight swim?”

  Floating on my back in the warm water, I could almost feel the anxiety being leached from my body. I felt weightless for the first time in a long time. I knew my troubles weren’t gone, only abated, and was sure they’d descend again the moment I emerged from the water. But I’d have plenty of time for worrying later. Right now I felt spacey in a good way, like after an amazing massage.

  Even though I hadn’t planned to, I ended up telling Zac everything that had happened at home. Maybe it was because he didn’t push that I felt comfortable opening up to him. He just waited patiently until I was ready to talk. I told him about my dad as well as Alex showing up out of the blue, although naturally I neglected to mention the part about him being dead. I told him Sam and Natalie were driving me crazy, and how scared I was that Rory would flunk out of school and end up flipping burgers for a living. In fact, I told him every minute detail and the load seemed to lessen with every word.

  “So I guess that’s how I ended up here,” I said finally. “I felt bad calling you, but I didn’t know who else to talk to.”

  “I’m glad you called.” He was quiet for a moment as he bobbed in the water. “You’ve got a lot going on right now, Chloe. That boyfriend of yours really shouldn’t be screwing with your head.”

  “He’s not doing it on purpose,” I said. “And for the record, he’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not my place.”

  “No, I want your opinion. It’s just that Alex isn’t exactly …” I trailed off. “He’s just different.”

  “Different how?”

  “He’s got a lot of baggage,” I said carefully. “More than most.”

  “Well, I don’t know his deal so I shouldn’t comment. But can I say one thing?”

  “Sure.”

  “It’s about your dad. Look, I know it must really suck to imagine him with someone else. And I’m not defending him — don’t get me wrong — but I wouldn’t automatically assume it means he’s moved on.”

  “What else could it mean?”

  “Well …” He shrugged. “It could mean he misses your mom so much that he’s willing to do anything he can to fill the void. He did spend twenty-three years of his life with her. I bet everything in your house reminds him of her. Maybe that’s why he’s never home. Not because he doesn’t want to be with you and Rory. You guys probably remind him of her too.”

  “I didn’t think of it that way,” I murmured. “I know this is hard for him too and I wish I didn’t feel so angry with him, but I do. Instead of stepping up, he’s running away. It’s just so selfish.”

  “You’re right, it is, but pain can make people that way. Maybe he’s just not as strong as you.”

  “I thought he was supposed to look after us. Isn’t that what adults do?”

  Zac laughed humourlessly. “First rule of life: there’s no such thing as adults, Chloe. They’re just children who’ve gotten bigger and less cute.”

  I smiled. “You’re a wise one, aren’t you?”

  “Yep. I’m like an owl.” He kicked back in the water. “Look, you’re welcome to hang out here for a couple of days until things settle down.”

  “Oh, no, I appreciate you listening and all, but I couldn’t do that.”

  “Why not? My dad isn’t even in town right now, and Mom’s usually half-drunk by mid-afternoon.” He grinned, making it impossible to tell if he was joking or not. “I’ll drive us to school every day, and then we can chill here. No one has to know if you don’t want them to.”

  “Why would you do that for me? You barely know me.”

  “Because I’d like to get to know you better. After all these years don’t you think it’s about time?”

  He smiled and lifted himself easily out of the pool, his torso rippling from the movement. I noticed the moonlight reflected in the droplets of water that clung to his skin.

  “Come on,” he said, offering me his hand. “It’s past our bedtime.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Back inside, Zac directed me to the bathroom so I could take a shower. “There are fresh towels on the rack.”

  As expected, the bathroom was ultra modern, all chrome and slate. I showered quickly, then changed into the Nike shorts and Pink Floyd T-shirt I always slept in. I was starting to wish I’d packed nicer clothes.

  As I folded my jeans, the antique brooch slipped out and fell onto the polished concrete floor. I snatched it up quickly, examining it for any damage. It seemed intact. I pinned it to the inside of my T-shirt for safekeeping; something told me I should keep it close.

  I was yawning again by the time I returned to the living room, where Zac had transformed the leather sofa into a pull-out bed.

  “Here you go — all ready,” he said, plumping some pillows.

  “Thank you. Where did you learn to be such a perfect host?”

  “Don’t tell anyone but Martha Stewart is my real mom.” Zac winked at me as he turned out the lights. “Get some rest, Chloe. See you in a few hours.”

  “Night, Zac.”

  I climbed into the bed and immediately fell into a deep but not dreamless sleep.

  Today I have been entrusted with the daunting task of cleaning the library. It is so vast, and I am terribly anxious about damaging Mr Reade’s books, which sit in their glass cases like ancient seers. As I dust, I scan the spines, trying to memorise all the exotic titles. I am humbled by the treasure trove of knowledge contained in this room. There are books on every subject imaginable, so many it is hard to believe anyone could have the time to read them all. Our scant and well-thumbed collection at home cannot compare with these. They look wonderfully mysterious, each one a portal into a different world; so many places waiting to be visited, adventures waiting to be had. For someone like me, who has not a hope of real adventure, they are my only chance.

  To my surprise the bookcases are not locked, I look around to make sure nobody is watching, even though I am the only person here, then I slide open a glass door and carefully remove one of the books. I marvel at how heavy it is as I trace my fingers over the gilt lettering on the cover. It is about bird species in Great Britain and contains beautiful watercolour illustrations. They are so mesmerising that I abandon my chores for a moment to take a closer look. I sink down on the floor, cradling the book and reverently turning its pages.

  I am not sure how much time passes, but whatever spell has come over me is broken when I become aware of someone else in the library. A young gentleman watches me from the doorway. I leap to my feet, clutching the book to my chest, and feel an overwhelming urge to explain myself, to apologise, to ask for another chance. But I know I must not speak unless spoken to. Mortified, I bow my head.

  The young man walks into the room. “Are you interested in ornithology?”

  He speaks softly as if not to alarm me, but I am already alarmed — mostly at my own impertinence. I wonder if he will call Mrs Baxter, or simply send me to pack my bags at once. I hope he doesn’t shout or make an example of me in front of the other staff.

  He is still waiting patiently for an answer. Whatever ornithology is, I am sure it is nothing a housemaid has any business meddling in. So I shake my head vehemently.

  “I beg your pardon, sir, I don’t know what came over me. I forgot my place. But it won’t happen again. I didn’t mean to —”

  He shakes his head. “Please, do not trouble yourself to explain anything to me.” He looks around and shrugs. “As far as I can see, you have done no harm.”

  Surely there must be graver consequences for such unprofessional conduct? I flinch when he comes over to me, but he only kneels to retrieve a book from the bottom shelf. When h
e glances up, I see that despite the sharp angles of his face there is no censure in his expression. His eyes are the palest shade of blue and they seem to be smiling at me.

  “Think no more about it,” he says, and I can see he truly means it.

  I feel the panic subside, replaced first by confusion and then recognition. He is the master’s younger brother! I have only seen him from a distance, but it is unmistakably him. I recognise his hair — long and dark gold in colour, bound loosely at the nape of his neck with a black velvet ribbon.

  “You are new to the household,” he says, straightening up. “What is your name?”

  “Rebecca,” I mumble. “I mean Becky, and yes, sir, I’ve been here a little over a month.”

  “Becky, I am Alexander. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  I decide the world must have gone mad in the time I have spent browsing the library. Since when do gentlemen take the time to make small talk with servants? I curtsey, feeling as clumsy as a donkey.

  “Is it true you have come from Paris?” I hear myself ask. What am I doing? I know full well it is impudent to question him.

  He smiles. “It is. I enjoyed it very much.”

  I do not know what to say next so I drop my gaze to the floor.

  “Please do not let me interrupt you any further,” he says. As if what I am doing here is of the highest importance.

  “Yes, sir,” I say. “Thank you, sir.”

  I allow our eyes to meet briefly and find myself startled. Not by the beauty of his eyes, although they are startling to be sure, but by the sadness in them, as if Mr Alexander (as I now refer to him) carries the woes of the world on his back. His eyes drift past me to the window and the storm clouds gathering in the sky. He looks wistful, nostalgic even. Does he miss Paris perhaps? I imagine returning to the English countryside would be a rude shock after living in such a cultured city. He looks the way I imagine a Parisian artist might look: tortured and ever so slightly dishevelled.

  He tears his gaze away from the darkening sky and looks back at me. I scurry out of his way and begin dusting the gleaming desk in the corner. Writing implements are laid out neatly on it, and the paper looks so buttery I feel it might melt in my hands.

  A moment later I hear Mr Alexander’s footsteps receding. Instead of breathing a sigh of relief, I find myself turning to face him. To my surprise, I say, “Excuse me, sir.”

  I must feel emboldened by his kindness; there can be no other explanation for detaining him further.

  He stops and tilts his head. “Yes, Becky?”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, sir,” I say meekly, feeling my neck burn with embarrassment, “what is ornithology?”

  Mr Alexander’s mouth curls into a smile, but when he answers me he could not sound more earnest. “Ornithology is a branch of science that relates to the study of birds.”

  “Thank you, sir, and I’m sorry to trouble you.”

  I nod gratefully and return to my work, but he is not quite finished.

  “Do not be sorry. Asking questions is the best way to learn. When all else fails, knowledge is the only thing we can rely on, Becky. Seek it out at all costs and never be ashamed to do so. You have my permission to avail yourself of the knowledge contained in these books whenever an opportunity presents itself.”

  Then he disappears out the door while I stand speechless. I cannot imagine why a gentleman would bother showing kindness to someone like me. But I know that whatever happens during my time at Grange Hall, Mr Alexander shall have my undying loyalty.

  I was woken by the sun peeking over the palm trees and streaming through the glass walls of Zac’s pool house. I was disoriented for a second before my mind cleared and the events of last night came rushing back to me. I rolled over and felt something sharp dig into my chest. It was Grandma Fee’s brooch.

  Even though I’d slept, I didn’t feel rested at all. Poor Becky. I felt for her, all alone in her new world with few opportunities for social interaction. Alex had possibly spoken the only kind words she was likely to hear there. Would he play a role in shaping her life, I wondered. It was unlikely; the gaping difference in their social standing would limit his influence.

  The dream had left me exhausted, confused and caught between different worlds. Alex’s face was still fresh in my memory after seeing him through Becky’s eyes. I half-expected to find him here, but it was Zac I saw when I finally sat up. To my surprise, he was already dressed and in the kitchen fixing us a cooked breakfast.

  “Morning,” he said. “This will be ready in exactly seven minutes. Feel free to take a dip in the pool while you’re waiting. It always wakes me up.”

  Jumping into an outdoor pool before 7 am wasn’t an invitation I would normally take up, but in this new place I was a new Chloe. So I grabbed a towel and took his advice. Outside, the morning air gently caressed my cheeks. It felt so peaceful and private at this hour that I stripped to my underwear without even thinking about it and dove into the water. It was cooler now, but it only took a moment for my body to adjust and then I felt wonderfully refreshed. The water felt like a safe haven and I wished I could stay there all day. But I didn’t want to keep Zac waiting after all the trouble he’d gone to.

  Back inside and wrapped in a towel, I saw he’d gone all out with breakfast. He’d made an asparagus, goat cheese and egg-white omelette, which sat on the granite countertop along with breakfast sausages, bacon, coffee and orange juice.

  “You really shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble,” I said.

  It always made me uncomfortable when people did nice things for me. I felt like I needed to repay them somehow.

  “No big deal,” Zac said. “I do this every morning.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep, healthy body, healthy mind.”

  “So you’re like a fully functioning adult,” I said playfully. “Like the ones you see in the movies?”

  He laughed. “Well, if you act like a child, you get treated like a child. And there’s nothing I hate more than that.”

  Zac did seem to have his life together, which was more than I could say for myself. He appeared in control of everything, from his emotions to the decisions he made. He didn’t react to things, he simply responded to them. Maybe I should try taking a leaf out of his book. I wanted to become a one-woman island, completely self-sufficient and not dependent on anyone. I didn’t want to be the girl who was constantly in need of rescuing. Even though my troubles seemed to be piling up like an avalanche, I wanted to be strong enough to carry the load.

  I only wished I could turn to my mother for advice. She was the person I always used to confide in. I’d go to her knowing that soon everything would be okay because she could always fix things. Even in the rare instance where the problem wasn’t fixable she could always make me feel better.

  Who could I confide in now? My friends wouldn’t believe me if I told them about Alexander, my father was otherwise occupied, and Rory was too young to be of any help. Mom had been my lifeline. Now I had to make life-changing decisions alone, and no matter how many pep talks I gave myself, I was terrified of screwing up.

  “Are you alright?” Zac asked on the drive to school. “You seem distracted.”

  “I’m just thinking about everything … I wish I could switch off my thoughts.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s try something for a moment. Picture your problem, and I mean really focus on it …”

  “Don’t you mean problems?” I replied light-heartedly and Zac smiled.

  “Let’s aim for one at a time.”

  “Okay …” I closed my eyes and thought about Alex and how he was grieving alone right now. He may show up again tomorrow or he may not return at all. Neither of us knew what was going to happen from one day to the next. “Got one.”

  “Think carefully,” Zac said. “Is there anything that you could do right now to fix this problem?”

  I was quiet for a moment. “No.”

  “Then let it go.”


  “That’s a very Zen outlook.”

  He shrugged. “You’re just torturing yourself otherwise.”

  We didn’t speak for the rest of the trip, but I knew Zac was right. I was torturing myself and for what? It didn’t actually change anything. But there was no off-switch in my brain. Or if there was, I didn’t know where to find it.

  We pulled into the parking lot and I looked out the window at the school, seeing it in a whole new light. Alex’s arrival had changed everything. The familiar routines and predictability were gone, replaced by tension and anticipation. It was even reflected in the weather, which had turned suddenly overcast, the sun struggling to break through the dense cloud cover.

  I steeled myself for the trouble I knew was coming, even though I had no idea what shape it would take.

  Zac and I had lockers in the same block so we walked into school together. I noticed a few raised eyebrows and searching glances, but I was past caring. In fact, I was ready to snap at anyone who dared ask any questions.

  It was nice having Zac by my side. He felt like a buffer; a wall between me and the world I didn’t want to deal with. Today, I decided, would be a turning point. I would keep my head down, work hard and not be consumed by problems I had no answers to.

  But that plan went out the window the moment I reached my locker.

  I opened the door and immediately reeled back. The rancid smell emanating from inside was so foul it almost bowled me over. Zac was at my shoulder, but I couldn’t tell whether he could smell it or not because his eyes were glued to the inside of my locker door. Scrawled on the metal was a message in bold red ink: I AM NOT GONE.

  My first thought was of Alex. Perhaps he was letting me know that he’d soon be back. But seconds later, I knew the message wasn’t from him. The lettering was manic and shaky, as if the person who wrote it had trouble containing their emotions. Just looking at it gave me an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to scrub the words off with my hands, but at the same time I didn’t want to touch them.

  “This isn’t funny,” Zac said. “Your friends have a sick sense of humour.”