Sker House (7 page)

“Er... that's right,” said Lucy. “How do you know that?”

“Easy. You two are the only people staying here at the moment, apart from Old Rolly over there, who's a permanent fixture.” The girl nodded in the direction of the old man with the white beard sitting at a table. If he heard his name being mentioned, he didn't acknowledge it.

“You can call me Dale. Mister is just for the tax man.” Dale joked, hoping to get a laugh out of his dig at Machen. However, evidently neither Lucy nor the barmaid thought it was funny and his quip was met with a stony silence from both of them.

“Er, okay.... Dale. I won't call you mister,” said the pale blonde girl. “My name is Isabel, but everyone calls me Izzy.”

“Nice to meet you, Izzy,” said Dale almost sheepishly.

“Nice to meet you, too. Can I get you a drink?”

Yes. That was what he needed. Beer. He ordered a pint for himself and a glass of lemonade for Lucy, who proclaimed that it was too early for her to start drinking. As the barmaid poured his pint, he leaned in closer and said, “Um, Izzy... Can I ask you something?”

“S'pose so. What's up?”

“Don't you think you're playing on this Maid of Sker thing a little too much? I mean, what do you do? Pay someone to stand up there looking out of the window all day? Who is it? Machen himself in a dress and a wig?”

“Machen in a dress and a wig? Whatever are you talking about, sir?” Izzy replied. She was either genuinely taken aback, or she was the most convincing amateur actress on the planet.

In a desperate bid to salvage some dignity, Dale backtracked and tried a different tactic. “Okay Izzy, forget the Machen comment. Just tell me, who's the woman in a white dress with long hair we saw watching us?”

The half-smile on the barmaid's face faltered, allowing something else, something darker, to momentarily creep into her expression, “Oh, it was probably just Old Rolly,” she said with a dismissive flap of the hand.

Lucy bared her teeth in what Dale assumed was an attempted smile and shook her head slowly and deliberately. “No. We've already met Old Rolly. Seen him, anyway. He's sitting right there. This was definitely a woman. We were wondering if you or anyone else had maybe stood in the window overlooking the beach about twenty minutes ago?”

For a few seconds, a few seconds
too long
, Izzy and Lucy locked eyes. Then the barmaid's gaze dropped sharply to the left and she said, “Oh yes, I remember now, I had to change the bedding in that room.”

“Which room?” pressed Lucy. Dale could hear the suspicion in her voice.

“The room where you say you saw somebody.”

“But we didn't tell you which room it was. Plus, you have blonde hair. The lady I saw had dark hair. And a white dress. You're not even wearing a dress.”

The young barmaid pursed her lips as if mentally cursing her own stupidity at being caught in a lie. “Well then, I don't know who you think you saw. Like I said, you're the only guests we have at the moment. I really don't know what else I can say.”

Dale could feel the tension mounting. It was easy to make enemies instead of friends when chasing leads. He decided to step in before the two girls ended up in a cat fight. “Then maybe it was a cleaner?”

“Nope,” Izzy replied. “There's no other cleaner. I'm here almost every day. Mam and me do all the cleaning, but neither of us have been upstairs tonight. We have a schedule. And besides, we only arrived about fifteen minutes ago. Machen didn't want us in until dinner time today, 'cos it's so quiet.” She finished pouring the drinks and set them on the bar. Dale paid for them, thanked her, then picked them up and followed Lucy who was already on her way to a secluded little table at the far window.

By the time he got there she was already perusing the laminated menu. “I forgot how hungry I was,” she said. “There are only three choices of main meal, but they all sound gorgeous.”

Food. The great leveller. It didn't matter what else was going on, or what differences people had, everyone had to eat eventually. Dale snatched the menu out of Lucy's hands, who slumped back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest in a show of petulance. “You know, it's no wonder you're single. You have the manners of a Gorilla.”

“It's better than having the ass of a Gorilla.”

“Are you saying I have a big bum? Or that it's hairy or what? Anyway, how would you know?”

Despite his best efforts, Dale felt his face reddened. Damn it, she always knew exactly what buttons to press. He decided to give up on that particular verbal exchange and change the subject. He would live to fight another day. “So... anyway, I'm thinking steak and ale pie, chips and garden peas. What about you, Madam?”

“Oh, so I'm Madam now am I? In that case, Madam will have the vegetarian option. Home-made cheese and potato pie with baked beans. And bread and butter.”

Dale was certain there was a joke there somewhere involving the vegetarian option, Lucy, and a lack of meat, but he didn't try too hard to think of it. He couldn't handle another put-down. Maybe later. Rather than potentially evoking Izzy's wrath by asking her to come over, Dale went back to the bar to place their order. When he got there, the barmaid seemed to have had a personality check and was the picture of pleasantness. She took Dale's credit card with a polite smile, then as they waited for the transaction to go through the system said, “On which floor did you see someone at the window?”

The question took Dale by surprise. He thought that matter had been settled, or at least swept under a metaphorical carpet. He shot a glance back at Lucy, but she was too far away to hear. “Er... I'd have to check with my friend but it was the fourth floor, I think.”

“The fourth floor you say?”

“Yep. Think so,” repeated Dale with as much conviction as he could muster.

“Well, that's impossible. The fourth floor is closed for refurbishments, and not open to staff or the public.”

“You mean the renovation work isn't finished yet? I thought it was.”

“Well, it would've been finished by now except there were issues with the builders.”

Once again, Dale's journalistic instinct kicked into high gear. Machen hadn't mentioned anything about that. “What kind of issues?”

Izzy turned away and began cleaning a glass that was already clean with a length of blue kitchen roll. “Oh, you know. Boring legal stuff mostly, I think. Better ask Mach about it.” She looked almost relieved when the hand-held credit card machine gave a little electronic burp to denote that it had finished devouring Dale's card. “Sign here, please.... thank you... I'll bring your meals over when they're ready. Was there anything else, sir?”

“Er, no, nothing else. Thanks, Izzy.” Dale made his way back to their table wondering why Machen hadn't mentioned the fact that the building work wasn't finished. But then again, why would he?

“Befriending the locals, I see? How did it go?” Lucy asked.

“Ooh, catty. Are you getting jealous?”

“Yeah, yeah. As we speak I'm consumed with burning envy. I'm just hiding it really well,” Lucy replied with a poker face. And then, “You know she's lying, right? The girl couldn't even get her story straight.”

“Don't worry,” Dale grinned. “I think I've solved the mystery.”

“Okay then, let's hear it. And before you start rubbishing my story, I know what I saw, okay?”

“I believe you really did see someone up there. Probably a woman, and probably watching us, just like you said.”

“You do? Oh, that's a relief. I feel vilified.”

Ignoring the remark, Dale continued. “Don't you see? They're just perpetuating the myth.”

“They're doing what to the what?”

“Perpetuating. It means to continue something.”

“I know what perpetuating means, thanks.”

“They're obviously just trying to capitalize on the whole Maid of Sker thing.”

“How?”

“It wouldn't surprise me if they send someone up there a couple of times a day to stand in the window freaking people out. Like the Maid of Sker in the old legend. If people think they've seen a ghost, then they'll go back and tell all their friends about it. Word-of-mouth is the best kind of advertising there is. And its free. Well, apart from the ghost. And how much does a pretend ghost cost? They'd probably be available on minimum wage. Not much skill involved in just standing about looking scary.”

Lucy sipped her lemonade and nodded, “Ah, I get it.”

“And us being journalists... well, student journalists... If we go off and write in Solent News that we saw an actual ghost in this place, ghost hunters would flock here hoping for a glimpse, while sceptics would flock here hoping to prove us wrong. Quite a savvy move.”

“That's such an underhanded thing to do.”

“Underhanded? The hotel industry is very competitive. They're just playing to their strengths, that's all. Nothing wrong with that. They have a bit of history, a selling point, so they're trying to capitalize.”

“But deceiving people into believing they were seeing ghosts?” Lucy looked disgusted, as if she had just found out that the landlord was harvesting human body parts.

“Try not to take it personally. Maybe it's just a mannequin or a cardboard cut-out. Or maybe it really is Machen standing up there in a wig and a dress, who knows? The point is, that's all they're doing. Standing in the window. How you choose to interpret seeing someone standing in a window is entirely up to you. Some will just say 'Who's that woman?' while others, who may be more familiar with the history of this place, especially after hearing it from the staff, might think they are seeing the Maid of Sker. It's the power of suggestion.”

“But that's exactly what I
did
say! I
did
think it was a woman! You were the one who started talking about fucking ghosts!”

“So what do you think now?”

Lucy lowered her voice, “Call it women's intuition if you want, but I think the staff here aren't being entirely truthful.”

It was too early for Dale to make any judgements, but he trusted Lucy. If she thought something was amiss, it probably was. Suddenly, he remembered something. “While you were looking at the ghost... the woman, whatever, you took pictures, right?”

“That's what I do, Einstein.”

“Yeah, well, do you think maybe you caught something in one of the frames?”

“I'm not sure. I'd have to upload them to your computer, maybe run them through some enhancing software. If there's anything there, I'll find it.”

“Good,” said Dale. “We'll do it later. At least then we'll know, one way or the other.”

*

A short time later, Izzy brought two steaming plates of food over to the table. “Steak and ale pie and chips?” Dale raised his arm high in the air like an over-excited schoolboy. “Then you must be cheese and potato...” Izzy said, addressing Lucy. Lucy wanted to point out that her name was, in fact, Lucy Kerr, not Cheese And Potato, but she supposed the poor girl heard lame jokes like that all the time and didn't want to burden her with another one. Instead, she smiled politely and thanked the young barmaid who left with a cheery, “Enjoy your meal!”

The cheese and potato pie, one of Lucy's favourite dishes of all time, was absolutely delicious. With huge globs of browned cheddar seasoned with onion and a smattering of herbs, it seemed to melt in her mouth. As she ate she looked around the room. The atmosphere in the bar was different now, not at all like it had been earlier when she'd been alone. The soft yellow glow of the ambient lighting made the place feel warm and homely, especially with the deepening darkness outside pressing against the window. However, again and again she found her gaze pulled back to the framed photograph hanging on the wall. The dead men and the good ship
Edward, Prince of Wales
.

Dale must have caught her attention wavering, and managed to mumble, “Food good,” in between giant mouthfuls of steak and ale pie.

Not knowing if it was a statement or a question, Lucy replied, “Mmmm... fantastic,” as she piled some baked beans onto her fork.

“You know...” Dale said as they he neared the end of his meal, “... I really hope they get more guests soon. This place won't see the year out otherwise, and that would be a shame. They could make a lot of money here if they play it right.”

“Here? But it's in the middle of nowhere.”

Dale cocked his head slightly the way he did when he was about to impart some wisdom. “Because it's a captive market. You just said so yourself. When people come here they pay for the room to start with, but there's nowhere else they can eat so then they end up buying two or three meals per person per day on top. Plus drinks and entertainment. The pool table and all that other stuff wouldn't be free.”

“Well, maybe the article really will help get the word out,” Lucy wasn't comfortable with Dale's use of the word 'captive.' It inferred many things, none of them good.

“I don't think it'll help that much, to be honest. Not unless Sker House is suddenly inundated with students from Solent University who, in case you hadn't noticed, are the only people who read our rag.”

“Yeah, and even then it's debatable how much of it they actually read. If we dumbed-down any more we'd be writing pop-up books.”

“We got into journalism at the wrong time,” Dale grumbled. “Nobody's interested in reading anything unless it's on a computer screen. The media is more popular and accessible than it has ever been before. But traditional print is dying a slow, painful death. Circulation figures are down right across the board.” As if to mourn the current plight of news stand publications, he drained his glass and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“I think rumours of the industry's demise are greatly exaggerated,” Lucy said. “The big media companies still make shit loads of money and most magazines and newspapers are still profitable, they just make two million a year instead of ten million.”

“Yeah, but what about the future? If the decline continues how many of them will still be profitable in ten years? Or even five?”

“Who's to say any of us will still be here in five years? The way the world is going we'll all be dust sooner rather than later.”

Dale tutted. “We've been on the brink of another world war since the fifties. And they said the world was going to end in 1999, when the Millennium Bug was supposed to make all the planes drop out of the sky. And what about 2012 when the Mayan calendar ended? Nothing happened then, either.”