Heller's Regret (9 page)

“Samuel, this is Miss Chalmers. She’ll be
staying with you while I’m in the hospital. Remember I told you?”
He continued to keep his eyes fixed on me.

“Hello, Samuel,” I said in the gentlest tone
I could manage. “You can call me Tilly, if you like. I hope we’re
going to have a lot of fun together over the next week.”

The barest hint of a smile creased his mouth.
He was too shy to even speak to me.

“Samuel, would you like to take Miss Chalmers
upstairs so she can choose a bedroom? That will give me a chance to
finish my packing and to call a taxi.”

He nodded and came over to me, slipping his
little hand into mine, looking up trustingly at me with those big
eyes. I’ll admit it, he pulled on my heartstrings.

He led me upstairs and meticulously took me
to each of the seven vacant bedrooms, three of which faced the
front, each with a gabled window. They were all nearly identical
with the same heavy, dark furniture, stiff yellowing lace curtains
and musty, unused smell.

I made my choice from the front-facing rooms
based solely on the artwork. The room I chose had a slightly less
ferocious relative glaring down from a portrait on the wall. At
least this one was a woman, although her hard eyes and thin lips
were never going to lull me to sleep. Samuel regarded the painting
with intense dislike. Perhaps he thought I should have chosen the
saggy-jowled, mutton-chopped, scowling bald man in the room next
door instead?

“Where’s your bedroom, Samuel?”

He pointed to another front-facing room at
the end of the hall and led me to it. I expected his room to be
messy and disorganised, like my little nieces’ bedrooms, but it
wasn’t. His room was spotless, the bed made neatly, his clothes
stowed tidily in drawers, his small collection of books
painstakingly aligned on the bookshelf.

“You’re a very tidy boy,” I noted
approvingly. He allowed himself a small smile. “Where are all of
your toys?”

He opened up a chest at the foot of his bed
and showed me the contents, an assortment of antiquated wooden
toys, including some soldiers dressed in a very old-fashioned
uniform, a spinning top and a miniature train set. They’d probably
been in the Grimsley family for generations. Not a piece of Lego to
be seen anywhere. That made me feel sorry for him for some unknown
reason.

“You don’t have any electronic toys? No
computer or PlayStation? No Lego?”

“No,” he said in a soft voice.

“What do you like to do during the day?”

He didn’t answer, instead talking hold of my
hand again and leading me back down the stairs to a grand room
containing an elderly upright piano. He climbed onto the seat and
started playing. I sat down in the nearest armchair, enchanted by
the beautiful music he produced. He was very talented, his little
face earnest and intense as he read the sheet music. When he
finished the piece, I clapped him enthusiastically.

“You’re very good, Samuel. That was lovely.
Thank you so much for your performance,” I gushed.

He smiled broadly at me. I heard Mrs Grimsley
calling my name and searched for a while through the many rooms
before I found her. She had packed a small bag and called a taxi.
She handed me a piece of paper with the details of the hospital
she’d be staying at recorded in her formal, old-fashioned writing.
She hugged and kissed Samuel goodbye with firm advice for him to
behave for me.

Worry puckered her brow as she peered out the
window for the taxi, and I thought that probably at her age, every
time she went to hospital, there was no guarantee she’d come out
again. Samuel’s future was obviously a persistent concern for her.
I wondered briefly, if something did happen to her, whether I could
persuade Heller to take in yet another family-less boy. I gave her
every assurance I could that I would take very good care of Samuel
in her absence and not let anyone take him away.

The tooting of the taxi’s horn brought us to
the door. I helped Mrs Grimsley and her luggage into the car and
waved her goodbye. When the taxi disappeared around the corner, I
returned to the house, firmly shutting the front door. As I did, I
noticed how quiet it was in the house. I’d just seen a huge-bellied
man across the road shifting leaves from his driveway with an
obnoxiously noisy leaf-blower, but I couldn’t hear it at all once I
closed the front door. The house was blissful, like a world
apart.

I felt a shiver run through me and realised
just how cold it had become. I had to find the thermostat for the
air-conditioner, but before I did, I thought I’d warm myself up
with a pot of tea. Samuel followed me around as I bustled in the
kitchen, his big eyes wide with interest. I hadn’t really enjoyed
the tea Mrs Grimsley made for me, but she didn’t stock any other
variety, so I had no choice but to drink it again. And as I’d
suspected, there was no coffee to be found in any of the many
cupboards.

“Would you like something to eat or drink,
Samuel?” I asked.

“No, thank you,” he replied, his manners
impeccable.

He wandered away when I sat at the kitchen
table to drink my tea and soon I heard a beautiful melody drifting
from the music room. I grimaced at the taste of the tea, but it was
hot and helped warm me up a little. I ended up drinking three cups
of the brew, before deciding to listen to Samuel play for a
while.

The music floating down the hallway was
hauntingly sad, expressing a deep sense of hopeless longing. I sat
in the kitchen listening for a few more minutes. I suddenly thought
of Daniel and Niq, missing them enormously. Tears sprang to my eyes
unbidden. Wow!
Where did they come from?
I thought,
hurriedly wiping them away on the sleeve of my polo shirt. I didn’t
want Samuel to catch me crying.

I pushed open the door to the music room,
praise on my lips, but the tune stopped abruptly. I stood in the
middle of the room, gazing around in bewilderment. It was empty,
the lid of the piano closed. I could have sworn I’d heard Samuel
playing. I touched my still wet cheeks. I’d heard music so sad it
made me cry. I couldn’t have imagined that, could I? Maybe there
was another piano in the house? I thoroughly checked every room
downstairs. No piano and no sign of Samuel. I ran upstairs and
searched every room, finding Samuel in his bedroom, quietly playing
with his little train set.

“Did you hear that music before? It made me
feel really sad,” I asked him.

He shook his head, regarding me with his
enormous eyes.

“Is there another piano in the house, besides
the one in the music room?”

He shook his head again.

“Weird,” I muttered to myself, determined to
force it from my mind.

I watched Samuel playing for a while, his
sweet little face pursed in concentration as he pushed the train
around the figure of eight track. When he’d had enough of playing,
we sat together on his bed, cuddled against each other under his
blankets to keep warm. I began to read
Alice in Wonderland
to him. I kept reading until his little head nodded forward and I
realised he’d fallen asleep sitting up.

I looked at my watch.
Shit!
It was
nearly midnight! What happened to the time? Why hadn’t I noticed it
had turned dark outside? Samuel’s light had been turned on. Had I
done that? I couldn’t remember getting out of bed, or walking to
the light switch.

I tucked Samuel into bed, fully dressed, and
collapsed on my own, still in my uniform, my boots on. I’d almost
fallen asleep before remembering that I hadn’t eaten anything since
I arrived. Neither had Samuel. I berated myself for being, without
doubt, the worst babysitter in the world. But he hadn’t complained,
and I honestly hadn’t felt hungry.
I’ll sort it out in the
morning
, I thought sleepily, pulling the thin blankets up
around me in a desperate attempt to get warm.

Moonlight streaming in through the window
illuminated the portrait of the woman hanging on the bedroom wall.
She was dressed in Edwardian era clothing – a long black skirt
teemed with a white long-sleeved blouse with leg-of-mutton sleeves,
buttoned primly to the neck. Her hair was swept up into a severe
bun. She wore no jewellery or any type of decoration except for a
small cameo brooch on the breast of her blouse. She sat with rigid
posture on one of the winged armchairs I recognised from the
parlour, her hands calmly crossed on her lap.

She stared at me disapprovingly from the
painting. I shut my eyes to block the image, but could still sense
her disfavour through my eyelids. I tossed and turned for a while,
but kept opening my eyes to look at her. She continued staring at
me, her eyes hard, her thin mouth compressed with censure.

Cursing, I rolled out of bed, and after a
brief struggle, as it was heavier than I’d expected, lifted the
painting from its securing hook and placed it on the floor, puffing
slightly afterwards. I leaned it against the wall, facing inwards.
There!
She wouldn’t be staring at me anymore tonight. I
jumped back into bed again, curling into a ball to conserve heat.
Guilt about sleeping on Mrs Grimsley’s sheets wearing my boots
niggled me, but as they were keeping my feet moderately warm, I
didn’t take them off. I didn’t think I’d sleep at all, being so
cold, but I must have drifted off eventually.

I woke suddenly only a few hours later to
find Samuel standing beside my bed, looking down at me gravely, his
large eyes glinting in the moonlight.

“
Shit!
” I screeched, sitting up in
fright. I clapped my hand over my mouth, regretting my foul mouth.
“Sorry honey, but you really scared me. What’s the matter? Are you
okay? Did you have a bad dream? Are you hungry?”

He shook his head sadly and held out his hand
for me to take. I climbed out of bed, taking his hand. Our breath
misted in the air as he led me in the dark down the stairs to the
ground floor, through the kitchen to stop before a door. I opened
it to find a staircase descending into inky darkness.

“Why did you bring me here, Samuel? Is there
something in the basement you want to show me?”

He shook his head.

“Is there something down there you want me to
find for you?”

He nodded.

“I’ll have a look in the morning. I don’t
want to go down there at night. Okay?”

He nodded, seemingly satisfied with that
response. I took him upstairs and tucked him back in, bestowing a
small kiss on his forehead. He closed his eyes and rolled over and
it wasn’t long before his even breathing assured me he was asleep
again.

I was so cold that I decided to make some tea
to warm myself up before attempting to go back to sleep, so I
returned to the kitchen. As I waited for the tea to brew, I noticed
a very old thermostat on the back wall of the kitchen, near the
basement door. I twisted it upwards to increase the heat in the
house, hoping it would take effect quickly because I was freezing.
I sat at the kitchen table in the dim light produced by the
solitary weak bulb hanging from the ceiling. I huddled myself
smaller, sipping the tea and enjoying the warmth of the mug in my
hand. I yawned, but stopped with my mouth still wide open when I
heard the faint notes of that infinitely sad song drifting through
the open door. My heart thumped wildly.

I turned off the kitchen light and cautiously
approached the music room, the music becoming louder as I went
closer. The tune was so wrenchingly poignant that again my thoughts
turned instantly to Daniel and Niq. But for some strange reason, I
struggled to form a clear picture of them in my mind. I couldn’t
understand why I had such trouble remembering what they looked
like.
Niq has the eyeliner, Daniel has the scars
, I reminded
myself, reciting it quietly a few times as I hesitantly opened the
door.

Again, the music stopped as soon as I
entered, and again the room was vacant, the piano closed.
Frantically, I turned the light on and searched every nook of the
room. Nothing. Nobody.

Maybe it was noise from a neighbour and it
only sounded as though it was coming from this room? I liked that
explanation. It was far preferable to the alternative, which I
didn’t want to consider. Not in the early hours of the night in a
gigantic strange house. I decided to investigate the neighbours in
the morning.

By now unable to control my yawning, I
dragged myself upstairs and settled back into bed when I stiffened
with confused disbelief. The painting was hanging on the wall
again, the woman’s bitter eyes boring down on me even more
intensely.
What the hell was going on here?
I thought
nervously. Did I take the painting down or did I only dream that I
did? I wasn’t sure – I really couldn’t recall.

I climbed out of bed and removed the
painting, leaning it against the wall, facing inwards. Just as I
did (or thought I’d done) earlier.
There!
Now I knew I’d
actually done it and wasn’t dreaming this time. I crawled back into
bed and fell asleep.

I battled my way to consciousness the next
morning, opening bleary eyes to find Samuel beside my bed looking
down at me once more. My eyes flicked to the wall, and my breath
caught in my throat when I saw the portrait hanging up. Did I take
it down or didn’t I? I was positive that I had, remembering telling
myself I would know that I
had
this time. But maybe I’d only
dreamed doing that too? I just couldn’t be sure.

I stared at the woman. I thought her face
appeared altered, her cruel thin lips lifting in a slight snarl,
her eyebrows lower in anger. I couldn’t recollect noticing that
yesterday. She seemed to be focussing her hatred directly at me,
but I had no idea why.

I turned troubled eyes to Samuel, who still
regarded me steadily with his enormous eyes.

“Are you hungry, Samuel? Will I make you some
breakfast?” I asked, attempting to cover my perplexity over the
painting.