House of Echoes

  If you look you will find the house was nearly always inherited by daughters.

  Gerald Andrews’ words ran suddenly through her head as the baby kicked beneath her ribs. It would be a boy. She knew it with absolute certainty. A brother for Tom and they were both in terrible danger. Closing her eyes she took a deep breath, trying to stifle the cry of anguish which seemed to be rising inside her from the very depths of her soul. No!

  No! Surely to God it was not possible. It could not be possible. Her hands cradled over her stomach, she turned slowly, her whole body clammy with fear, expecting it to be there again – the tall, broad figure between her and the cot. There was nothing.

  For a long time she sat, her arms wrapped around her knees, uncomfortably plumped on Tom’s bean bag, her eyes fixed on the sleeping form, hunched under his quilt. From time to time the little boy snuffled and smacked his lips, but otherwise he slept undisturbed. Slowly her lids dropped.

  As her head fell forward she jerked awake. In the semi-darkness she felt a moment of confusion. She couldn’t see Tom any more. The cot, black with shadow, stood empty. Scrambling desperately to her feet she staggered towards him, realising only after she half fell, that her legs had gone to sleep.

  He was there, almost invisible in the pool of shadow, but still safe, still asleep. With a small sob she turned away. Hesitating in the doorway she glanced back. The room was warm again now. It seemed snug and safe and almost happy; she was overwhelmed suddenly by a longing for Luke.

  Rubbing her eyes she made her way back to her own bed. The wedge of light was still shining through the door from the landing and for several minutes she stood staring down at him. He was curled up in the same position as his son, his face slightly flushed, relaxed and happy in sleep. Instead of a teddy bear he was cuddling a pillow. Smiling, she reached for the knot securing her bathrobe. As she slipped it off and threw it across the foot of the bed she glanced back at the landing. It was empty. Quiet. Nodding to herself, reassured, she pulled back the covers, ready to climb into bed. On her pillow lay another rose.

  Backing away she stared at it in horror. ‘Luke!’ It came out as a strangled whisper. ‘Luke, did you –’ put it there, she was going to ask, but already she knew he had not. None of the roses had come from Luke.

  Staring down at it in horrible fascination, she crossed her arms over her breasts. She felt sick and degraded. It was on her bed, her pillow, where earlier her head had lain, defenceless, asleep. For all she knew, he – it – had been standing there, watching her.

  Shuddering, she backed away from the bed. ‘Luke!’ She reached for the light switch. ‘Luke!’

  ‘What is it?’ With a groan he turned over and peered at her, his eyes gummed with sleep, his hair tousled. Like this he looked more like Tom than ever.

  ‘Look.’ With a shaking hand she pointed at the pillow.

  ‘What?’ Groaning, he sat up. ‘What is the matter with you? Is it a spider?’ He peered round myopically. She had never been afraid of spiders.

  ‘Look at the pillow!’ she whispered.

  Luke stared at the pillow. He shook his head. ‘Can’t see it. It must have gone. For God’s sake, Joss, it’s the middle of the night!’

  ‘There. There!’ She pointed.

  ‘What?’ Wearily he climbed out of bed and pulled the covers right back, exposing the pale green sheets. ‘What is it? What are we looking for?’

  ‘There, on the pillow.’ She couldn’t bring herself to come any closer. From where she stood she couldn’t see it, but it was there.

  Without touching it she knew how it would feel. Ice cold, waxy.

  Dead.

  ‘There is nothing here, Joss. Look.’ His voice had lost its grumpiness as sleep left him and suddenly he was gentle. ‘You must have dreamed it, darling. Look. Nothing. What did you think was here?’

  She took a step closer peering at the pillow. ‘It was there. In the middle. A flower. A white flower.’ Her voice was shaking.

  Luke looked at her hard. ‘A flower? All this panic for a flower?’ Suddenly he was cross again. ‘Flowers don’t just appear in the middle of the night. They don’t drop onto your pillow from nowhere.’

  She flared up defensively, ‘For God’s sake. Do you think I would be afraid of a real flower?’

  ‘What sort of flower was it then?’

  ‘Dead.’

  He sighed. For a moment he seemed at a loss what to say, then slowly, almost resignedly, he started pulling the covers back across the bed. ‘Well, what ever it was, it’s not there now. You dreamed it Joss. You must have done. There is nothing there. Look. Smooth sheet. Smooth duvet. Smooth, clean, fresh pillows. And I for one am getting into them and going to sleep. I am tired.’

  She gave a small humourless smile. ‘I’m not going mad, Luke. It was there. I know it was there.’

  ‘Of course it was there.’ Irritated he thumped the mattress beside him. ‘Are you coming to bed, or do you want to go and sleep in the spare room?’

  ‘No. I’m coming.’ Tears of anger and humiliation and exhaustion welled up in her eyes. Quickly, not giving herself time to think, she made for the bed and climbed in. Luke’s energetic stripping of the linen had left the bed cold and pristine. It no longer felt cosy. Reluctantly she lay back and stared up at the tester as he leaned across and switched off the light. ‘Now, please let us get some sleep.’ He hunched the pillow round his shoulders. As he fell asleep he remembered only briefly the rose he had found on her pillow once before. The rose he had accused David Tregarron of leaving there.

  Miserably she turned away from him.

  Beneath her cheek the hard stem of the flower was cold and very sharp, the petals like soft wax.

  17

  ‘Is there somewhere she could go and stay for a few days – away from here?’

  Simon Fraser’s quiet voice penetrated Joss’s brain at last. It was two weeks later.

  ‘No, I can’t go. I mustn’t. I have to stay here.’

  ‘Why, exactly, Joss?’ The doctor was sitting on her bed holding her hand. The clock on the bedside table said it was ten minutes to four. Outside it was slowly growing light.

  She shook her head. ‘I just want to be here. I have to be here. This is my home.’ Her desperate need to stay in the house was irrational, she knew, but she could not fight it.

  ‘Your home seems to be giving you nightmares at the moment. This is the second time in two weeks, that Luke has called me out. You are tired and over stressed.’ Simon smiled at her patiently. ‘Come on, Joss. Be sensible. Just for a few days so that you can have a good rest, be pampered, stop worrying about Tom and the baby.’

  ‘I’m not worrying –’ she could feel the house listening, pleading with her to stay.

  ‘You are. And it’s understandable. You are perfectly normal, you know. You have probably been sleeping badly and when you do sleep, you dream violently. The weather has suddenly grown hot and the baby is lying heavy on your stomach, as my old grandmother used to say. After all, there’s not long to go now. What are you? Thirty-six weeks? There is nothing wrong with you – or the house – but just at the moment I think it would be a good thing if you were separated. Luke will look after things here, and Lyn will take care of Tom. There is nothing for you to worry about. Lyn has told me it might be nice if you were to go up to London to see your parents. I know things there were not exactly ideal, with your mother ill, but I understand from Lyn that all the tests have been reassuring and she is on the mend and they would be happy to have you, so I think that is a good idea. An ideal solution.’

  ‘Luke?’ Joss stared at him. ‘Tell him I can’t go.’

  ‘You can go, Joss. I think you should. Just to give you a bit of a change.’

  ‘No!’ It came out as an undignified shriek. She struggled to get out of bed, pushing past Simon, who stood up and began to pack his bag. ‘I will not go. I won’t. I’m sorry, but this is my home and I am staying here.’ Barefoot, she rushed past Luke and into the bathroom wh
ere she slammed the door. She was hot and shaking, a pain somewhere up under her ribs. Stooping over the basin she splashed cold water onto her face and then stared up into the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, tears still clinging to the spikes of her eyelashes. ‘They can’t make me leave.’ She spoke out loud to her reflection. ‘They can’t force me to go.’

  She could still hear her own screams ringing in her ears and feel the waxy imprint of the rose against her cheek – the rose which was never there when she awoke.

  ‘Joss?’ There was a soft knock at the door. ‘Come out. Simon is leaving.’

  She took a deep breath. Pushing her hair out of her eyes she turned and unlocked the door. ‘I’m sorry, Simon.’ She gave him a determined smile. ‘I’m a bit tired and overwrought, I admit it. All I need is some more sleep. I am so sorry Luke called you out again.’

  ‘That’s OK.’ Simon lifted his bag from the bed. ‘As long as you are all right.’ He gave her one more beetly look from beneath his bushy eyebrows. ‘Keep calm, Joss, please. For the sake of the baby. Stay here, if that is what you want, but don’t let the place get to you, and,’ he gave her a stern look, ‘I think we should consider the idea that you might have the baby in hospital after all. Just a thought!’ He gave a sudden beaming smile. ‘Now, I’m for my own bed, and if you are sensible that’s what you two will do as well. No more alarums and excursions please. No, Luke, don’t show me out. I know my way by now.’ He lifted his hand and disappeared towards the stairs, leaving Luke staring at his wife.

  ‘Joss.’ Suddenly he seemed incapable of saying anything else. He shrugged. ‘Do you want a cold drink or something?’

  She shook her head. She sat down on the edge of the bed, sheepishly. ‘I’m sorry, Luke. I really am. I don’t know what came over me. I suppose I was dreaming. But you shouldn’t have called Simon, you really shouldn’t. The poor man has enough to do with people who are really ill.’ She hauled herself up onto the high mattress and lay back against the pillows. ‘It felt so real, I thought I really did feel something, you know. Another of those dead roses.’ She shuddered.

  He sighed. ‘I know, Joss. I know.’

  She found it impossible to sleep again. The lights out, the sheet, which was all she could bear over her in the hot room rearranged, she tried to get herself comfortable beside Luke. But sleep eluded her. The house was completely silent, the room still shadowy, but outside as the sun rose out of the sea behind the field she could hear the chorus of birds. She stared at the windows, watching the morning star fading between the mullions behind the half drawn curtains. Beside her Luke grunted and sighed and almost at once began to breathe deeply and evenly. His body, heavy and hot, seemed to mould itself into the mattress, secure, safe, reassuring, while she lay, rigid and afraid, every part of her body aching and uncomfortable. She shut her eyes, screwing them up tightly, trying to focus on sleep.

  In the corner of the room the shadow that was never very far away stirred and seemed to shiver, an insubstantial wraith. Near it a spider tensed and fled beneath the coffer which stood in front of the window.

  When Luke awoke, to the not very tuneful singing of his small son from the nursery, Joss was fast asleep. The room was full of bright sunshine, and he could hear a pigeon cooing soothingly in the tree outside the window. The first days of June had brought a heat wave and it was already very hot. He looked down at Joss for a moment. Her face was still flushed, pressed against the pillow. There was a frown between her eyes and she looked as though she had been crying in her sleep. With a sigh he slid out of bed, careful not to wake her and padded across towards the little boy’s bedroom.

  She was still asleep an hour later when he brought her a cup of tea and the post. Putting the cup down gently on the bedside table he went to stand looking down on the garden. Behind him the shadow in the corner stirred. It moved away from the corner and hovered in the centre of the room. There was no question now that it was anything other than a man. A tall man.

  Joss stirred and turned over to face it, but she did not open her eyes. In her sleep her hand went protectively to her stomach and rested there. Luke did not move. With a sigh he rested his forehead against the glass, savouring the coolness of it. His head ached. His eyes were gritty with lack of sleep. When he turned back towards the door he did not see the shadow which had drawn near his wife. Rubbing his face with the palms of his hands he reached for the handle and let himself out onto the landing, closing the door behind him. In the bedroom the shadow bent over the bed. The slight indentation on the sheet was the only sign of where it touched her.

  Joss had tried the number four times that week. Once again this morning it rang with no reply. Putting down the phone she put her head in her hands and stared down at the desk top without seeing it. Her sleep after the doctor had gone had been shallow and troubled; she had woken herself twice with her own whimpering, staring up at the bed hangings above her head. When she got up she felt stiff and uncomfortable, unable to eat any breakfast. All she could think about was the need to speak to Edgar Gower. With a shaking hand she dialled his number and at last there was a reply.

  ‘It’s Joss Grant. You remember? Laura Duncan’s daughter.’

  Was it her imagination or was the pause the other end longer and more uncomfortable than it ought to have been.

  ‘Of course. Jocelyn. How are you?’

  In her anxiety she ignored his question. ‘I need to see you. Can I come up to Aldeburgh today?’

  Again the pause. Then a sigh. ‘May I ask what you want to see me about?’

  ‘Belheddon.’

  ‘I see. So. It has started again.’ He sounded resigned and a little cross.

  ‘You have to help me.’ She was pleading.

  ‘Of course. I’ll do everything I can. Come now.’ He paused. ‘Are you ringing from Belheddon, my dear?’

  ‘Yes.’

  There was a moment’s silence. ‘Then be very careful. I will see you as soon as you can get here.’

  The coach house was empty and locked. Luke was nowhere to be seen and there was no sign of Jimbo. The Citroën had gone. Joss stared at the place it was usually parked in dismay. There had been a heavy thundery shower an hour before and she could see the dry patch on the gravel where it had stood. Going back into the kitchen she shouted for Lyn. There was no reply. There was no sign of her or of Tom. Running to the back door she looked at the hooks where the coats usually hung. Lyn’s mac had gone. So had Tom’s and so had his little red gumboots. They had gone out with Luke without telling her; without saying good-bye or coming upstairs to see if she were all right.

  For a moment she was panic stricken.

  She had to go now. She needed to see Edgar Gower without delay. Lyn’s car. Puffing she ran out to the coach house. Lyn’s car stood in one of the open coach bays. It was locked. ‘Oh, please. Let the keys be here.’ Turning she sped back into the house. The keys were not on the shelf by the back door where Lyn sometimes threw them. They were not on the dresser or the kitchen table. Setting her teeth grimly Joss walked through the house to the stairs. Her hand on the rail she looked up towards the landing, suddenly reluctant to go up there. There was no one there. Nothing could hurt her. Her mouth dry she put her foot on the bottom step and began slowly and quietly to climb.

  In her bedroom the shadow stirred. It drifted slowly towards the door.

  Katherine, I love you!

  Half way up the stairs Joss stopped, dizzy. Gritting her teeth, hanging on to the banister, she pulled herself up step by step, increasingly weary and turned towards Lyn’s door. Pulling it open she stepped into the room.

  Lyn’s room was as always spotlessly tidy. The bed was made, the cupboard closed. No clothes lay strewn about, no books or papers. Her belongings, on the dressing table and the high Victorian chest of drawers were meticulously arranged in small piles. The car keys were there, next to the hairbrush and comb.

  Grabbing them Joss turned to the door. It was closed. She stared at it, her stomac
h churning suddenly. She had not closed it and there had been no draught. Although Lyn’s window was open the curtains were not moving at all. Taking a step towards it she was conscious suddenly of how quiet the house was. There were no sounds anywhere.

  The door was not locked. Pulling it open she stared across the landing towards her own bedroom. The skin on the back of her neck was prickling. There was someone there, she could sense it; someone watching; someone pleading with her to stay. Closing her eyes for a moment she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

  ‘Who is it?’ Her voice sounded very odd in the silence. Defiant and frightened. ‘Luke? Lyn, are you home?’ There was no sound.

  She had to look. Slowly, plucking up her courage she forced herself to move towards the doorway. She was torn. She needed to escape; she wanted to stay; she wanted to surrender to that languid ecstasy which had overwhelmed her disguised as dreams as she lay on her bed. She could feel it pulling her, soothing, gentle. Hesitantly she took two more steps towards the room and looked in. There was no one there. It was completely empty.

  18

  Her hand shook so much she could not get the key into the lock of the Mini. Desperately she tried again, glancing over her shoulder across the courtyard towards the house. The back door was closed. She had slammed it behind her but not paused to double lock it. Too bad. She was not going back now. Closing her eyes she took a deep breath and tried to steady herself before bringing the key towards the lock again. It clicked against the car’s paint work, slid towards the slot and at last engaged. She turned it and wrenched the door open. Diving head first into the seat she wedged herself behind the wheel, pulled the door closed behind her and pushed down the locks, then she sat for a moment, her head resting against the steering wheel. When she looked up the courtyard was still empty; the back door still shut. Huge swathes of blue sky were spreading now between the thundery clouds.