The House on Cold Hill Read online

  Tears began trickling down Caro’s cheeks. He stood up and held her tightly in his arms. ‘Look, let’s think about this rationally.’

  ‘That’s what I’m doing, Ollie, I’m thinking about this rationally.’ She was breathing in deep, sobbing gulps. ‘I’m thinking fucking rationally. I’m thinking this whole fucking house is cursed.’

  ‘I don’t believe in curses.’

  ‘No? Well maybe you’d better start.’

  He held her tightly again. ‘Come on, let’s get showered and have breakfast and we’ll try to think this through.’

  ‘It’s that bloody woman!’ she blurted.

  ‘What woman?’

  She calmed down a little, and was silent for some moments. Then she said, ‘I think we have a ghost.’

  ‘A ghost?’

  ‘I didn’t want to say anything, in case you thought I was going nuts. But I’ve seen something.’

  ‘What have you seen?’

  ‘The morning after we moved in, you’d gone downstairs and I was sitting at my dressing table putting on my make-up. I saw a woman – a sort of old woman with a pinched face – standing right behind me. I turned round and there was nothing there. I thought it was my imagination. Then I saw her again a few days later. Then on Sunday I saw her in the atrium, sort of gliding across it.’

  ‘Can you describe her?’

  Caro described the woman. Ollie realized it was exactly the same description her mother had given him.

  ‘I’ve seen her too, darling,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want to say anything to you, because I didn’t want to spook you out.’

  ‘How fucking great is this? We’ve moved into our dream home and it has a sodding ghost.’

  ‘There was an article I read in the paper about ghosts, which said that sometimes, when people move into an old house, it activates something there. Some memory of a past resident. But it all settles down after a while.’

  ‘I don’t call turning our bed round in the middle of the night settling down, do you?’

  ‘There has to be a rational explanation for what happened last night,’ he said. ‘There has to be.’

  ‘Sure, so tell me. I’m all ears.’

  Twenty minutes later, showered and shaved, Ollie went downstairs and collected the papers from the letter box in the front door, then he went into the kitchen. He turned on the radio, out of habit, and began to lay out breakfast on the table, trying to think clearly and rationally. There bloody well had to be an explanation for what had happened last night. Could they have imagined it all? Could the bed always have been that way round?

  But he remembered the conversation they’d had in bed last night, how they were looking forward to waking in the morning and staring out through the window at the lake.

  Was he going insane? Were they both?

  He thought about the strange voices he’d heard in the night. Had he imagined them?

  Bombay walked into the room and meowed at him. Moments later, Sapphire appeared, too.

  ‘Hungry? Want your breakfast?’

  Bombay meowed again.

  He poured dried food out for them, filled their water bowl, then went over to a cupboard, took out Jade’s Cheerios pack and put it on the table, along with a bowl and milk. He was craving a coffee, and as Jade hadn’t yet appeared, he switched on the Nespresso machine, popped a Ristretto capsule in it, placed a cup underneath it, waited for the green lights to stop winking and pressed the one for a long espresso. While it was hissing, he began preparing some fruit for himself and Caro.

  ‘Dad!’

  He turned, hearing Jade’s reproachful voice.

  ‘Morning, lovely!’

  She stood at the entrance to the kitchen in her school uniform, her face looking pale. ‘I wanted to make it, that’s my job – why didn’t you wait?’

  ‘I’m going to need at least two coffees this morning – you can make the second one.’

  ‘Whatever.’ She sat down sulkily at the refectory table and reached for the cereal pack.

  Peeling a tangerine, Ollie asked, ‘How did you sleep?’

  ‘Actually, not very well.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Look, don’t tell Mum, right?’ She raised a finger to her lips. ‘Special secret?’

  Ollie raised his own index finger to his lips. ‘Special secret! OK! Don’t tell your mum what?’

  ‘Well, I think I saw a ghost.’

  29

  Thursday, 17 September

  Jade sat in the Range Rover beside Ollie in silence for much of the way to school. She had been silent at breakfast after dropping her little bombshell, and she seemed determined to remain silent now.

  He was silent too, deep in his own troubled thoughts. But then, finally, he said, ‘OK, enough screen time for one car journey!’

  She looked at him with a miffed expression.

  ‘So come on, darling, tell me more. You said you saw a ghost. What did you see?’

  ‘It was a little girl standing at the end of my bed.’

  ‘OK. Did she frighten you?’

  ‘Well, sort of.’

  ‘What did she look like?’

  ‘The same as last time.’

  Surprised, Ollie said, ‘You’ve seen her before?’

  She nodded.

  ‘How many times?’

  ‘I don’t know. Several times.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me before, or your mum?’

  She shrugged. ‘I thought Mum would be spooked. You know how nervy she is.’

  He smiled. ‘OK, so why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I tried to the other day. You were like – sort of a bit dismissive.’

  ‘OK, I’m not being dismissive now. Tell me more about her.’

  ‘There’s another thing, Dad. Remember I told you, when I FaceTime with Phoebe, she keeps seeing this old woman behind me.’

  He halted the car at traffic lights, frowning. ‘Do you remember on our first Sunday in the house – you asked if Gran had come up to your room?’

  She nodded.

  ‘But your gran had gone home quite a bit earlier. Did Phoebe see something then, in your room?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So how does all this make you feel?’

  ‘I think it’s pretty cool!’

  Ollie smiled. ‘You do?’

  She nodded again, vigorously, her eyes bright with excitement. ‘I think it’s so cool that we’ve got a ghost!’ Then her demeanour darkened. ‘Well, except I’m not sure I like this girl who comes into my room. I don’t think she’s very nice.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Well, she doesn’t say very nice things.’

  ‘What does she say?’ Suddenly the woman in the car in front of him, a small Toyota hatchback, threw a cardboard cup out of the window. He felt a flash of rage. Why? Why did people do shit like that? He looked at his daughter with deep affection. She was a decent human being. She’d never throw litter out of a car window. Or harm an animal. She didn’t have a malicious bone in her body. Although sometimes he worried she was too trusting.

  After some moments, Jade said, ‘Each time I see her she tells me not to worry and that I’ll be joining her soon. That we all will be – you, Mum and I.’

  ‘Joining her where?’

  ‘On the other side.’

  ‘That’s what she says to you?’

  Jade nodded. ‘She says we’re already dead.’

  ‘What do you say to her?’

  ‘I just tell her she’s silly! She is.’

  Her attitude cheered him up a fraction and he smiled. ‘Yes, she’s very silly.’

  ‘Dead people can’t hurt you, can they, Dad? You said that to me, didn’t you?’

  ‘No, darling, they can’t,’ he said, trying to sound convincing.

  A few minutes later he watched her head off towards the school, with her little multi-coloured rucksack on her back, and her guitar in its maroon case in her hand, hurrying to catch up with a group of girls – her new frie
nds, he wondered?

  He sat there for several minutes, long after she had safely disappeared, chatting away happily to a couple of girls in the group. No doubt full of street cred because she had talked to a ghost last night and none of the others had.

  Then he drove off, heading home.

  Hoping some of the workmen would be there today.

  Just what the hell had really happened during the night?

  He was nervous, he realized. Nervous right now about being in the house alone.

  30

  Thursday, 17 September

  The events of the morning made Caro late arriving in the office. One client was already waiting in reception, and a problem had presented itself for another, the Benson family, a couple with two young children, who were meant to be moving house today. The solicitor for the other side – the purchaser of their bungalow in Peacehaven – had just left a message that his client was having issues with his bank and the money wouldn’t come through today. Which meant no completion.

  Shit, she thought. That meant she was going to have to call the Bensons, who were in a property chain, and break the bad news. Mrs Benson was placid but her husband, Ron, was a thoroughly neurotic and bad-tempered man and she was certain to get grief from him.

  She went up to her office and told her secretary to give her five minutes before sending up the client who was downstairs, and to hold all calls. Then she sat at her desk, looked up the phone number of her strange new client, the medium Kingsley Parkin, and dialled it. To her dismay, after six rings it went to voicemail and she heard his precious-sounding voice.

  ‘You’ve reached Kingsley Parkin. I’m sorry I can’t come to the phone at the moment, due to unforeseen circumstances. Ha, just my little joke! Please leave a message, and your number if I don’t know you, and my people will call your people back!’

  Caro looked at her diary and saw that the morning was rammed with clients. There were over a hundred emails in her inbox, and she knew on top of this she had the day’s physical mountain of post yet to arrive. She called through to her secretary and instructed her that if Kingsley Parkin returned her call while she was tied up with a client, to tell him she needed to see him extremely urgently, and to ask him if by any chance he’d have time for a quick bite of lunch, locally, today. Otherwise, was there a time she could call him? She also told her secretary that if Parkin could make lunch, to cancel the one she had booked in with her best friend, Helen Hodge.

  Her luck was in. Shortly after 10.30 a.m., as her third client of the morning – a sweet elderly widow in the process of buying a bungalow–was settling into the chair opposite her, her secretary buzzed her to say that Kingsley Parkin was suggesting meeting in LoveFit cafe, where it was quiet enough to talk.

  Perfect, Caro told her. She knew where LoveFit was, although she’d not been there – it was just a five-minute walk away.

  Caro arrived, full of apologies, at almost a quarter past one.

  Kingsley Parkin, in bright red trousers, a cerise shirt with a collar so high it enveloped his ears, a white jacket and Cuban-heeled Chelsea boots, jumped to his feet from a brown leather sofa, close to the entrance. He was even shorter than she remembered.

  ‘Never worry about punctuality, love. As an Irish mate of mine says, when God made time he made plenty of the stuff.’

  She grinned then rather awkwardly accepted his embrace and his kiss on both cheeks. She tried to keep relations with clients strictly formal, but this was a different circumstance. He reeked, as before, of tobacco.

  ‘Nice place,’ she said approvingly, looking at a wall of surfing pictures and another plain orange wall on which four stripy surfboards hung on display like a piece of modern art, with a palm tree in the middle. ‘Do you surf?’

  ‘Only the internet, love! Not much of a one for all that exercise stuff.’

  ‘I really appreciate you seeing me at such short notice,’ she said.

  ‘I’m glad you called. I’ve been really worried about you.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘I’ve got us that far table,’ he said. And then added, lowering his voice, ‘I’ve asked them to make sure they don’t put no one next to us so we can’t be overheard – as I think I know what this is about!’

  They sat down, tucked away in the far corner, and ordered. While they waited for their food Caro kept to business, updating him on the searches on the property he was considering bidding for. Then they made small talk for a few minutes.

  Her chicken salad and coffee arrived. A protein shake, a glass of iced water and a large plate of pitta bread stuffed with falafel were placed in front of the old rocker.

  When their bearded waiter had retreated, Parkin said, ‘I did try to warn you on Monday, love.’ He picked up the pitta with his hands but chunks of falafel tumbled out. So he put it back on the plate and attacked it instead with his knife and fork.

  Caro stared down at her mountainous salad. She had no appetite. ‘I’ve not – I – I’ve never believed in the occult – paranormal – spirits. My mother always has, but she’s a little bit – sort of – eccentric.’

  ‘And now something’s happened to change your mind, hasn’t it, which is why you wanted to see me so urgently?’ As he chewed, a tiny sprig of salad bobbed between his gleaming teeth. Just like his jet-black hair, the whiteness of his teeth only served to accentuate the tired, aged skin of his face.

  For an instant, Kingsley Parkin reminded her of one of the Mexican Day of the Dead skulls she’d seen on sale at Cancún airport, a few years ago when they’d holidayed there. Some of those skulls wore wigs and had great teeth, too.

  She hesitated, as if still reluctant to open up to this man. Then she said, ‘We’ve only just moved into this house – less than two weeks ago. But there’s a lot of strange things been happening.’

  He watched her face and nodded. ‘I know.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Like I said – your aunt Marjie told me. You’ve smelled her perfume in your bedroom, haven’t you?’

  Caro felt her face redden. ‘Yes – how . . . ?’ Her voice tailed away.

  ‘And you found a silk scarf she’d given you, years ago, on your bed, didn’t you?’

  She stared at him, wide-eyed.

  ‘She’s trying to let you know that she’s around and wants to help you.’ He closed his eyes. ‘She says you, your husband and your daughter are in terrible danger. Your aunt is really very agitated. She wants you to leave. All of you. She’s telling me you must leave the house. You must. Just as soon as you can.’

  He closed his eyes and balled his knuckles against his forehead in concentration. After some moments he murmured, ‘What is it, dear? What is it? I can’t hear you very clearly, there’s a lot of interference, what is it, what is it?’

  Caro stared at him. He nodded several times, then opened his eyes, looked warily at her and placed his bony hands on the table. ‘She says that if you don’t want to stay there for ever, now is your only chance to leave.’

  ‘We can’t just leave,’ Caro said, then shrugged. ‘We’ve sunk everything we have into that house. It’s – it’s our future.’

  Closing his eyes again, he began to pound his ears with his knuckles. ‘There’s something in the house, someone, something, it’s very indistinct, there’s someone, she’s saying, someone who doesn’t like to let people leave.’

  There was a sharp crack that made them both jump. Caro froze for an instant, in shock and confusion. Then she heard gurgling water.

  Parkin leaped to his feet, yelping, looking highly agitated and flapping his napkin. Other diners were looking at them. The bearded waiter was hurrying over with a cloth in his hand.

  The medium’s glass had shattered. Water, ice cubes and jagged shards of glass poured over the edge of the shiny wooden tabletop.

  A couple of minutes later, with order restored, and a fresh glass of water placed in front of Parkin, which Caro eyed nervously, the medium continued.

  ‘See?’ he said, staring
at her knowingly with gleaming eyes.

  ‘See what?’

  ‘Come on, Mrs Harcourt – Caro – may I call you Caro?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said flatly.

  ‘That was a sign from your aunt. She’s not happy with your attitude.’

  ‘Oh, come on, it was just a faulty glass. Probably got cracked in the dishwasher and the ice caused it to contract.’ She said it without conviction.

  ‘Is that how you want to explain away everything else that’s happened in the house? Do you want to be in denial?’

  ‘What else has happened that you know?’

  He stared at her again, hard. ‘You’ve seen her, haven’t you?’

  ‘I’ve seen a woman standing behind me in my mirror, yes. Ollie – my husband – has seen her too.’

  ‘Can you describe her?’

  ‘She’s not that distinct – an old woman – in her seventies or eighties. Sort of like a translucent shadow.’

  He shook his head. ‘That’s got to be the woman your aunt is telling me about. If you’ve seen her then you really do have to leave.’

  Caro shivered. The events of the night, the presence of this woman in her mirror, and now this medium all went against the grain of what she believed – and what she wanted to believe. And yet he was right, she couldn’t be in denial. ‘I told you – on Monday – I just don’t believe in – I’ve never believed in, you know – inspirits. Not in the past. I always thought it was rubbish.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Now I’m not so sure. Something’s happening, isn’t it?’

  ‘There’s a really bad energy in your house.’

  ‘There must be ways of dealing with bad energy. Shit, you are really spooking me!’

  He closed his eyes, and again pressed his knuckles to his forehead. ‘She’s showing me a bed. She’s showing me something very wrong with a bed. Does that mean anything to you?’

  Caro stared back at him. ‘Yes, yes it does. Can you help us?’

  ‘I am trying to help you. I’m telling you that you have to leave this house.’

  ‘And I’m telling you that we’ve sunk every penny we have into it. Surely there has to be a way of making it OK? Aren’t there people who can deal with – whatever you want to call it – hauntings – ghosts – poltergeists? Aren’t there specialists who know how to clear a house of these things?’