Bad House (8 page)

Feeling sick and shaky he lurched backwards, the backs of his knees hitting the edge of the bed which he gratefully sat down on.

From this sitting position he was still able to see the window. The
empty
window.

He held his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes with his palms and willing himself to keep it together.

This time when he looked up, the curtains in her window were drawn and light spilled out around the edges.

This can’t be happening
.

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed likely that he was going crazy. A wave of nausea so strong washed over him that he flopped backwards on the bed, clutching his throbbing head.

Maybe I should go round there, see if she’s okay…

Why wouldn’t she be okay, you sick fucking freak? You imagined the whole thing
…

He groaned up at the dark ceiling and closed his eyes. God, he felt so
ill.
And he really needed to go and wash his nose and change his t-shirt.

In a minute
...

It felt so good to just shut his eyes. Despite his every intention to the contrary, Ian gave in to the utter exhaustion that swept over him and immediately fell asleep.

CHAPTER NINE

He opened his eyes from the deepest of sleeps to brightness. Squinting in the glare, he struggled to sit up. His limbs felt heavy and achy, like he was on the last legs of flu. His head throbbed and his nose was bunged up.

Blood,
he remembered. Only then did the memories of last night come flooding back. Holly leaving him and taking Jacob with her. The storm and power-cut.

Marianna
.

No, not Marianna, just some fucked up hallucination. Or perhaps a nightmare.

But I wasn’t asleep.

You sure about that?

Only then did he notice that he was back on the sofa.

How the fuck did I get here?

His mind whirred in confusion. He racked his brains, going over the events of last night. Holly leaving. Going upstairs to see if Marianna’s house was also in darkness. Seeing her in the window…

Pushing away the confused thoughts that went round and round in his throbbing head, he got shakily to his feet. The hangover didn’t help matters – it felt as if his brain was soaking in acid, shrinking the organ and tearing it away from the internal cavity of his skull. As he passed the light-switch, he flicked it on. The overhead light came on, making very little difference in the sun-lit room. It didn’t make any sense.

Yeah well, it can just join the list of things that don’t make any fucking sense.

Unless of course, the power supply
had
been down in the area. He thought of Marianna in the lit-up window in her house that had been lit-up like a Christmas tree. And then he didn’t know what to think anymore.

Upstairs in the en-suite bathroom he shared with his (
ex?)
wife, he stood under the hot spray of the shower until the pink water turned clear around his feet. Standing there with the hard jet of water pounding against his head did little to clarify his thoughts.

As he dressed slowly and methodically in a fresh pair of jeans and a thin-knit, navy pullover, he pondered on what to do today.

Check back on the recording of last night?

Who knew how long the power-cut had lasted, and if the recording had automatically re-started afterwards. Hopefully, there would still be some footage available from last night to look through. At least then he might be able to piece together
some
of what had really
happened.

If it hadn’t restarted of its own accord, he would have to call Bob from the computer shop, which was not something he would relish.

The doorbell chimed out, making him jump.

Maybe it’s Holly and she’s forgotten her keys
…

He clung on to that ray of hope and legged it downstairs. The truth was, he would’ve been grateful to see pretty much anyone right then. Being alone in the house just felt wrong. There was no other word for it. Everything was just
wrong
. Last night. The house.

Me
…

He flung open the front door, fearful that whoever had rung it,

(
please God, let it be Holly
)

would disappear again.

“Marianna.”

“Hello Ian. I hope you don’t mind me popping round.”

Ian’s heart was pumping and he struggled to catch his breath.

“No, I don’t mind.”

Were you masturbating in your bedroom window last night? And did you then tip a bucket of blood over yourself?

“Are you okay? You look a bit strange.”

He figured that was the understatement of the century. His hair dripped in his eyes, the droplets of water mingling with the fresh beads of perspiration that had broken out on his forehead.

“Yeah…I, I guess I was expecting someone else.”

“If this is a bad time…”

“No, no, it isn’t. Come in.”

He stepped to one side to allow her to pass, his gaze drawn to the strong curves of her rump encased in the skin-tight denim. The way that arse swayed was really quite something to behold…

He shook his head and wrenched his gaze away just in time before she turned round to face him.

This isn’t like me. I don’t perve over other women
…

In fact, he was beginning to feel more than a little strange. First hot, then cold, then distinctly shaky around the knees. He reached out for the hallway wall to steady himself.

“Ian? Are you okay?”

Marianna’s voice seemed to drift to him from very far away and he struggled to make sense of what she was saying.

“I’m fine,” he slurred.

“You need to sit down. Come on, let’s get you into the living-room.”

She circled an arm around his waist and he leaned gratefully against her. In that moment he couldn’t care less if it was Marianna the glamour model he was pressed against, or a fat, hairy bricky with a BO problem. He slumped against her as the hallway began to spin, and she supported him with a strength that belied her slight frame.

Even so, by the time they reached the living room and she dropped him on the big leather sofa, she was out of breath. “I’ll just go and get you a glass of water.”

All he could do was groan in response. His head was
killing
.

Don’t go,
he wanted to say, but the words got lost along the way. He flopped backwards on the sofa and pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes.

I’m fading
, was his last coherent thought before the darkness claimed him.

He awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright on the sofa. He was alone in the living room.

How long have I been out?

Where’s Marianna?

He groaned outloud in miserable confusion.

“Marianna?” he called out.

His voice sounded strange to his own ears and seemed to echo in the room, like it was mocking him.

She must have gone home when he passed out.

Nice of her to stay with me. I could’ve been fucking dying for all she knew
…

He got shakily to his feet, casting around for a note she might have left.

Nope, nothing.

Bitch
.

The landline rung shrilly in the silent room, making him jump.

“Yes?” he said, picking it up on the second ring.

Oh God, please let it be Holly
…

“Ian Webster?”

He didn’t recognise the brisk, female voice. “Who is this?”

“It’s Louise Brown. The estate-agent from Smooth Move said you’d been round asking questions about twenty-nine Aberdeen Road.”

This stranger speaking to him was making very little sense in his throbbing head. Then the penny dropped, and he spoke in a gush, the receiver almost dropping out of his slippery grip.

“Louise Brown, yes, God, thank-you for calling me. I was going to call today.”

He neglected to tell her that he was going to come round and bang on her door if she hadn’t of picked up the phone…

“Well, I beat you to it, then.”

“Yeah, I guess you did. Can we meet?”

There was a long, maddening silence the other end where he thought he’d scared her off before he’d even got the chance to ask her a single question. He breathed a sigh of relief when she spoke at last:

“Okay. But somewhere public. And today, before I change my mind.”

He mentioned the first place that came to mind – a pub that was one of a chain that had a big car-park and was on the outskirts of the city of Manchester.

“Yeah, I should be able to find that with the satnav. So I’ll meet you there in an hour?”

He hadn’t expected her to want to meet so soon. “That would be….great.”

Yes, of course it was great.

If you don’t black out on the drive there
.

Fleetingly, he thought that perhaps that he should be driving to A and E rather than a boozer given his new propensity to blacking out, but there were more important things at stake.

Like what the fuck is going on with this house
.

“Then I’ll meet you there at half-one. Goodbye, Ian.”

“Wait.” There was such a long pause he thought she’d gone.

“Yes? What?”

“How will we know what each other looks like?”

“I know who you are, Ian. I’m a fan of your work. I suppose it’s lucky for you I have a soft-spot for art. Goodbye.”

Before he even had a chance to return the goodbye, the line went dead.

He had completely lost track of time. A quick glance at the digital clock on the DVD player told him it was gone twelve. Had he really been unconscious that long? He shuddered. It was downright disturbing that he no longer seemed to have control over his own body.

Pushing aside the fresh flurry of bad thoughts, he went back upstairs to tidy himself up for his lunch-date.

On his way out the room, he failed to notice the smashed pint glass and puddle of water by the door.

Ten minutes later, he stood before the slowly rising, double garage doors. The interior of the garage came into view and he staggered backwards like he had been punched.

No. It couldn’t be
…

How was that even possible?

A wave of nausea rose up from his clenching stomach and he doubled over, gasping for air. When he was sure he had the urge to vomit under control, he righted himself and stared in disbelief at his wife’s light blue Citroen parked next to his Volvo Estate.

But she left in it last night.

Did she? Are you sure about that? Did you see her drive away?

The more he thought about it, the more confused it got in his mind. The thunderstorm had been so loud last night that it would have drowned out the noise of an engine. It hadn’t even occurred to him to think that she might not have got into the car.

Perhaps she caught a taxi to the train station.

But why?

Maybe she’d had a drink and couldn’t drive.

That had to be the explanation, because the alternative was too terrifying to contemplate.

That would mean his wife and son were still in the house…

Fuck this shit.

Without so much as a backwards glance, he got into his car and pulled away. As he drove down to the electronic gate at the end of the driveway, he had the strongest feeling he was being watched. His spine tingled and the hairs on the back of his neck tickled.

Not once did he glance in the rear-view mirror.

Inside the low-ceilinged pub, it was busy. A mix of locals from the Greater Manchester area and car-loads of folks after the cheap cavalry and supposed family-atmosphere filled the vast room. The constant hum of chatter was comforting in its normalcy.

Once at the fake, oak-bar with a pint of Guinness in hand, he cast around for Louise Brown. Which was pretty difficult, seeing as he had no idea what she looked like, or even how old she was. As far as he could see, the only people here alone were the obligatory, male barflies propping up the bar. Single females appeared to be non-existent.

An overweight, loud couple approached the bar and blocked his view of the pub and he gave up looking, concentrating on his pint instead. Glumly, he noted that it was already half-gone.

A tap on his shoulder made him spin round and a tall, striking redhead who was around his age stood before him.

“Hello Ian. I’ll have a large glass of Pinot.”

He easily recognised the voice. Although it was a lot posher in reality, one of those cut-glass accents that screamed of a private-school education school somewhere in Kent.

Her big, green eyes locked with his and he felt his heart kick in. This was
the second
woman to turn his head in as many days and he felt his face heating up. Luckily, it was dark in the pub so hopefully she hadn’t noticed.

He cleared his throat to speak: “Thanks for coming, Louise, I really appreciate it.”

“Yes, well, that estate agent warned me you might be in touch. He gave me your landline and mobile number and suggested that I screen them. He also said that if you should turn up on my doorstep I should lock the doors and call the police.”

Ian’s eyebrows shot up in his head. “Did he now?”

“He did. But I get why you might have come on strong with him. That’s why I decided to make contact. I have to know, too.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

Although he thought that perhaps he did.

“I have to know if it’s happening to you, too.”

He held her searching gaze, unsure how best to reply. In the end, he decided to go for honesty.