Glimpse (4 page)

But this inn was no princess castle. This was a standing stone, a blot of rough-hewn severity. If I was going to restart my life, it could have been somewhere prettier, somewhere more . . . normal.

I sped up as I neared the front door, giving the old tree in the middle of the driveway a wide berth. Huge raindrops fell from the tips of its gnarled branches, hitting my umbrella like bullets.

‘I’m back!’ I yelled in the hallway. My vision swam green and black as I adjusted to the dimness inside. I kicked off my soaked ballet pumps and propped my umbrella in the metal stand by the door, destroying a dozen spider webs as I did so. The slate tiles were cold under my bare feet. It had been chilly enough outside, but entering the inn was like stepping into a dark fridge. Not exactly comforting.

‘Dad, I’m home!’ I paused and listened. ‘Dad?’

He was sleeping, I guessed. He did that a lot, but I couldn’t stop a pang of disappointment. It wasn’t like I’d thought he’d be waiting for me with tea and biscuits, but I had hoped he’d at least be waiting for me.

It was a good thing, I told myself. ‘Stop worrying Dad’ was my number three priority, and if he was asleep, that meant he wasn’t panicking about me.

Inclining my head towards the stairs, I listened for the grunts and gasps of Dad’s snoring that had welcomed me home from school so often in my old house. But the only sounds breaking the vacuum-still silence were the dry tick, tick, tick of a grandfather clock further down the hall and the patter of rain against the windows.

To my right, a door led into parts of the inn I had yet to explore properly: sitting rooms with ancient furniture under dust sheets; a pantry taken over by mice; a drawing room with a piano that looked like it really should be in a museum. All creepy, dusty rooms, perfect for Derek’s version of the Old Liz – not perfect for my hopes for New me.

I padded along the corridor, heading for the one downstairs room Dad and I had so far claimed as our own. I passed a door under the stairs marked ‘Library’, and a dark-wood sideboard with a dead spider plant on it, before swerving into the main kitchen.

The doorway was an obstacle course of packing boxes brimming with familiar objects. Dad wasn’t here, but his faded blue sofa was – it, along with the TV, was one of the few pieces of furniture we’d brought from our old house. Dad had even sold his piano – not that he’d played it much in the last seven years. The rest of the kitchen was unfamiliar, a cold sea of marble and stainless steel, created for serving hotel guests, not heating up microwave meals for Dad and me.

I felt like a trespasser, like at any moment some kitchen maid in period costume would bustle into the room and ask me what the hell I was doing. But I couldn’t deny that another part of me felt strangely right about being here. Maybe it was because I’d spent the summer poring over the photos the lawyers had given me, but I preferred to hope that, being back in the place where I’d apparently spent so much time as a child, I was finally starting to remember.

I wanted to remember.

With a surge of determination, I picked one of the packing boxes off the floor – cleaning stuff and tea towels – and lugged it over to the grey marble work surface. Maybe if I banged around enough while unpacking, Dad would come downstairs and help me.

Next to the kettle was a note. I grabbed it.

GONE TO TOWN. JOB HUNTING AND SUPERMARKET. TEXT IF YOU WANT ANYTHING.

I had to read it twice before I could believe the words. Dad had gone out?

I crunched the note in my fist, telling myself the sudden pounding of my heart was surprise, not panic. Dad lived in pyjamas, he didn’t just go out. And especially not on his daughter’s first day at a new school.

I was totally speechless. Dad had left me alone. Alone in a 500-year-old building. A structure pretty much perfectly designed for catching Glimpses.

I was halfway to the kitchen door before I could stop myself. My mind presented a roll-call of all the places where Glimpses could be hiding. The old hotel dining room, just the other side of that serving hatch, with its red and gold tables under dust sheets. The bar room, with its worm-eaten stools and festering mouse droppings. The safe, a room in itself, big enough to lock a person in. Any one of the six guest bedrooms (or all of them). The outbuildings. The library. The downstairs toilet with the huge spider—

No. No.

No Glimpses, I told myself. I’d left them behind.

I clenched my hands into fists. No more running. I could be home alone now.

Taking a deep breath, I forced my imagination away from the dark corners of the inn. I had to focus on myself now: the new, not frightened Liz, just standing in my new kitchen. With a conscious effort, I dropped Dad’s note in the bin.

I looked at all the boxes, still full of our stuff, but didn’t feel like unpacking any more. I needed to be somewhere I felt safe.

I tiptoed back into the corridor, which was still damp with my footprints, and up the steep stairs towards my room. No more Glimpses, I repeated in my head like a mantra, no more worrying Dad. A line of closed doors stretched ahead of me down the dimly lit, mildew-tinged corridor. I pushed back thoughts of the creepy four-poster beds and the inches of dust gathered behind them. I couldn’t imagine how Mum had grown up here and turned out so happy and normal.

In the safety of my white room, with its clear view of the driveway, I did feel safer. I sat on the white bed for long minutes, my arms held out like antennae, waiting to feel the first pins and needles that always heralded my Glimpses, but there was nothing.

I hadn’t seen a Glimpse in over two days, not since leaving my old house. Even Miss Mahoney would have to agree I was right. The Glimpses had gone.

Breathing more freely, I popped open the window – I loved the sound of rain, when I wasn’t standing in it – and riffled through my open suitcase. I pulled out a pair of maroon tights, and my comfiest, if least-flattering, dress – a long-sleeved, brown wool, sixties number. One of the girls at Jameson Secondary had told me it looked like her nan’s curtains, but no one was here to see me now. I felt more like myself with the familiar fabric against my skin. I dropped my too-tight jeans and shirt in a damp pile next to the bed.

From downstairs came a soft click and a bang. Dad. I pulled open my door and ran into the corridor with a welcoming smile on my face. From here, I could see all the way down the stairs to the closed front door. No Dad. Whatever I’d heard, it wasn’t him.

My smile vanished, and the hairs on my arms became alert. Last night’s nightmare lurched from the depths of my mind. I’d been standing right here. Outside my new room.

Hardly breathing, I turned, very slowly, back around. Pins and needles exploded across my body.

Floating level with my head was a face.

Every muscle in my body froze.

Every muscle on the face opposite me sprang to life. The blue eyes narrowed, the small nose wrinkled, the mouth – oh God, the mouth, with tiny teeth like a child’s – opened in a snarl. Around the face was nothing but cold, empty air.

I opened my mouth to shriek. Nothing came out.

Run, run, run, I urged my legs, but then, over the top of my fear, rose a tsunami of wild fury.

The Glimpses were meant to have ended. I was meant to have left them.

Barely knowing what I was doing, I leapt forwards. ‘Go away!’ I screamed, swinging my arm at the face.

The Glimpse zipped sideways with a rush of air, past my shoulder and into the corridor behind me. I span round, but it had disappeared.

I turned frantic circles, panting, whimpering. The tingling on my skin faded, leaving me with chills.

The Glimpses had followed me here.

I turned to run downstairs – I’d wait for Dad in the rain; anything but wait for that Glimpse to come back – when a voice floated through my open window. ‘Are you all right up there?’

A fresh jolt of adrenaline shot around my body, but for a different reason than before. I took a breath, swiped my hands across my face and down the front of my dress – I must look a panicked wreck – and walked on shaky legs to the window.

The caretaker stood near the tree on the gravel below, staring up at me.

‘Are you all right?’ he called again. ‘I heard shouting.’

I cursed inwardly. I had no idea the caretaker would be around. I’d only met him briefly when we first arrived, and I’d half forgotten about him. It was hard to get my head around the idea of living somewhere big enough to need a caretaker.

‘I’m fine, Mr Crowley.’ My voice wobbled. I tried again, but louder, trying to drown out the wobble. ‘Thanks. I saw a spider, that’s all.’

Crowley squinted up at me, his eyes almost disappearing inside his fleshy face. He was a big man, and he was standing right under the edge of the tree’s canopy, so the branches barely sheltered him. Rain dripped down his thick neck and plastered his thin, blond hair to his head.

‘Spider, eh? You’d better get over that one, or you’ll be doing a lot of screaming in this house.’ He cocked his head to the side. ‘Come down, since you’re here. I want to introduce you to someone.’

I dredged my brain for a good excuse not to, but, as usual, it deserted me when I needed it most. ‘Um. Okay.’

I stepped back from the window with a quiet groan. I’d just seen a Glimpse. I was in no state to meet anyone.

Since Crowley was the only member of Granddad’s staff that Dad had kept on, I guessed he just wanted to show me a stable cat or something. There was no one else at the inn left to meet.

I wished Dad would hurry up and get home.

I glanced in the age-spotted mirror over the white dresser. I looked as pale as I felt. My curls were even more of a frizzy mess than they’d been this morning, thanks to the rain.

I stepped into the corridor. When I was sure the Glimpse hadn’t hung around, I hurtled down the stairs, slipped my wet ballet pumps back on and grabbed my dripping umbrella.

Crowley watched me crunch across the gravel towards him. The shoulders of his grey T-shirt were black with rain. There was another dark patch on his stomach, which protruded from his body as if he had a cushion shoved up his shirt.

I stopped a couple of metres from him, and shivered. I hoped he didn’t expect to share my umbrella.

‘What hours do you work here? I thought you’d have left by now.’ I knew it was a rude question – at least, my reason for asking it was – but Crowley didn’t strike me as the sort of man to get nuances.

‘Oh, no. I’m here pretty much all the time. I stay overnight too.’ He smiled, like he’d said something I should be happy about. ‘Your granddad liked to have me around. I have my own place in the village, but—’ he shrugged, and looked back at the outbuildings, which he used as his offices ‘—I like it here.’

I gave him my best, polite smile. I definitely needed to talk to Dad about that. The last thing I wanted was a stranger hanging around my house when I was home, especially if the Glimpses were back.

‘I’m glad I caught you, anyway,’ he said. ‘Here’s who I wanted you to meet.’ Crowley gestured over his shoulder as one of the outbuilding’s doors opened. ‘My son. He helps me out here after school. Maybe you met each other already?’

My smile had vanished even before the boy came into view, but by the time he’d emerged from the gloom of the doorway and raced through the rain towards us, my jaw was practically hanging down to my chest.

No. No, no, no.

‘Hey, new girl.’ Scott smiled, coming to a halt under the canopy of the tree. He wiped the rain from his forehead with his shirtsleeve.

I snapped my mouth shut. My eyes flicked back and forth between Crowley and Scott. This had to be some awful joke. ‘Scott’s your son? And he works here?’

Crowley slapped a beefy hand onto Scott’s shoulder. ‘Keeps me out of mischief.’ He grinned.

Scott grinned too, the mirror image of his father’s.

I blinked at them, too stunned to say anything back. My whole Normality List depended on my new schoolmates knowing nothing about the real me. Scott being here at my house was not part of the deal.

Oh, God. What if he’d heard me screaming?

As if he could read my mind, Scott blurted, ‘Watch out!’ and pointed at me. ‘Spider on your dress!’

I gasped, and swiped my hand along the fabric. Immediately, Crowley and Scott started laughing.

‘He’s such a joker,’ Crowley said, ruffling Scott’s hair. ‘Gotta watch out for my Scott.’

I tilted my umbrella over my face so Scott wouldn’t see my cheeks burn.

‘Nice dress though,’ Scott said, his tone more serious. ‘Unique.’

I stiffened. ‘Thank you.’ I allowed a long, silent pause. ‘I’m going inside now. Scott, I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.’ From the other side of the classroom, I hope.

Before I could make a show of stomping away, Dad appeared at the entrance of the driveway. His arms were weighed down with shopping and his raincoat was dripping wet, but right then he was as good as a knight in shining armour. A knight that turns up an hour after the maiden’s been given the fright of her life that is.

‘Hey, Liz,’ he called. ‘Mr Crowley, Scott, hello again.’

‘Hey, Dad,’ I said.

‘Want some help carrying your bags, Mr Rathamore?’ Scott asked.

I rolled my eyes, and hurried inside and up the stairs to my room before Scott could follow me. I headed to the open window and peeked down at the driveway from behind the shutters. Crowley stayed alone under the tree, mopping at his streaming wet face with a hanky.

After a moment, Scott’s white-blond head emerged from the inn. I stepped closer to the window. He ran through the rain to Crowley, rolling his shoulders back and flexing his biceps like he’d just finished weight training, rather than carrying Dad’s shopping.

Crowley’s low voice drifted up to me. ‘So what do you think?’

A pause. Then: ‘I think it’s going to be easy.’

A smile appeared on the caretaker’s face like a gash in a lump of dough. He and Scott disappeared into the outbuildings.

Crowley and Scott must have thought they’d won the lottery, swapping their boss from a grumpy old man to a seventeen-year-old girl and her soft-touch dad. They must think we were going to be pushovers.