The House on Everley Street (Death Herself Book 2) (11 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Today

“Christ, it's windy out here,” John said, as a gale blew in across the sea and the beach, “are you sure you don't want to get out of this weather?”

“And miss seeing where you grew up?” Sarah asked, even as her hair was blown across her face. “You've spent the past decade very carefully
not
telling me much about your old life. It's catch-up time.” She looked across the beach and saw Scott and Katie throwing pebbles into the rough sea, trying in vain to make them skim the surface. “Besides, the kids are loving it. When was the last time they got to play on a beach, huh?”

“Sure,” John muttered, clearly feeling uncomfortable as he adjusted his scarf.

“So was that you once?” she asked, spotting a group of teenagers hanging around a derelict bandstand a little further up ahead. “Did you and your mates sit around, talking and wasting the days? Setting fire to bins, that sort of thing?”

“No,” he said with a faint smile, “nothing like that.”

“Somehow I figured. I'm guessing you were a good boy, weren't you? Safe and sound at home?”

“Something like that.”

“But you had friends, right? I know you don't seem to be in contact with anyone from around here anymore, but you had friends back then, didn't you?”

“Of course.”

“Thank God. I was starting to worry you were some kind of loner. So tell me about them.”

“Well... I don't know, there were a few people. Mainly from school.”

“Are you going to look them up while you're in town?”

He smiled at the suggestion. “No, I don't think so.”

“Why not?”

“Because that was all twenty years ago.”

“So maybe it'd be fun to catch up,” she replied, as they stopped to watch the kids still throwing pebbles. “Twenty years is a long time, a lot can happen. Besides, you've become this rich, successful author. Don't you want to show off a little?”

He shook his head.

“What about a girlfriend?”

He turned to her.

“You must have had a girlfriend around here,” she continued with a faint, knowing smile. “Did you come down and snog her on the beach after dark?”

“No snogging.”

“Wasn't there anyone?” she asked, seemingly a little disappointed.

“I...” He paused. “I had a few female friends.”

“Name one.”

“Uh... Well, there was Alison Blackstock.”

“Ooh, Alison Blackstock,” she said with a grin, as a seagull waddled past. “Sounds like a right little tart. Come on, then, spill the beans, how were things between you and this Alison Blackstock hussy?”

“We were just friends.”

“Really? That's kind of disappointing, John. I'd like to think you had at least one bout of teenage kicks while you lived here.” She stared at him for a moment, watching as the wind ruffled his hair. “Don't take this the wrong way, but you were really a bit of a shut-in, weren't you?”

“You make me sound like a hermit.”

They both turned as they heard shouting from the bandstand. They watched for a moment as a minor scuffle broke about among the teenagers, but whatever had caused the argument was quickly diffused and a couple of hoodie-wearing boys sulked off, leaving the others with their energy drinks.

“You'd rather I'd been like that?” John asked, turning to Sarah. “Seriously?”

“I'd like to think you were doing
something
productive with your time,” she continued, still watching the teenagers. “No-one's a saint, John. You need to learn the rules of social interaction from somewhere. I mean, those kids aren't hurting anyone, are they? It's normal for a teenager to want to rebel against. I hate to break this to you, but when our kids become teenagers, we're in for a world of stress.” She turned to him. “Didn't you ever want to rebel when you were younger?”

“I was just trying to find my way.”

She stared at him for a moment, before leaning closer and planting a kiss on his cheek. “I love you,” she told him. “I just wish you'd had a better childhood.”

“I can't blame my childhood for everything.”

“But still -”

“I was fine. I got by.”

She turned and looked at Scott and Katie, who were still throwing pebbles into the sea.

“So are you going to contact her?” she asked finally.

“Who?”

“Alison Blackstock.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but at the last moment he held back. “No.”

“No? Come on, it might be fun.”

“I can't.”

“Doesn't she live around here anymore?”

“She...” He paused, watching as Scott managed to get a pebble to skip a few times. “She disappeared, actually,” he continued finally, turning to her. “She just upped and vanished one day and no-one ever heard from her again. So no, I don't think I can contact her, because as far as I know she's still missing.”

***

“It's just Reginald,” he said a little while later, checking his buzzing phone as the four of them sat in a cafe near the beach. He took a moment to read the text message. “Huh. He's got in touch with the couple who owned the house before I bought it back.”

“Why's he done that?” Sarah asked, glancing up from the menu.

“Oh, I...” He paused. “I asked him to, that's all, but it doesn't matter now. Turns out they only moved across town, but...” His voice trailed off for a moment, before he put his phone away. “Never mind.”

“What did you want to talk to them about?”

“Just their experiences in the house.”

“Such as?”

“Such as...” He paused again, wishing that he'd never mentioned the message at all. “Honey, I'm a writer, I look for stories wherever I think I can find them. I had this vague idea that I wanted to know what life had been like for them in that house, but suddenly it doesn't seem quite so interesting.”

“Huh.” She watched as he studied the menu. “Seems a bit odd, that's all,” she continued finally. “I mean, you obviously cared enough to get Reginald to contact them, and now suddenly you're not interested. Is there something about the house that you're not telling us?”

“Like what?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“It's not...” She paused. “It's not, like, haunted or something, is it?”

He turned to her.

She smiled.

“John, it's not, is it?”

“Of course it's not. No house is haunted.”

“Is the house haunted?” Scott asked. “Really?”

“No!” John said firmly.

“Wow,” Katie said, her eyes wide with shock.

“Nothing's haunted,” John continued, trying not to sound annoyed. “There's no such things as ghosts.”

“Says a man who writes about ghosts.”

“That doesn't mean I believe in them,” he replied, clearly a little irritated as he tried to focus on the menu. “Does everyone know what they want?”

“I want to see a ghost,” Scott told him.

“Well, you can't. You'd have better luck trying to see a unicorn.”

“But unicorns aren't real,” Katie said. “
Are
they?”

“We have to order at the counter,” John said, getting to his feet. “Scott, I take it you want a burger? And Katie, I take it you want whatever Scott's having?” They both nodded, and he turned to his wife. “Honey?”

“Burger too, thanks,” she replied, and then she watched as he headed to the counter.

“Is Dad mad at us?” Scott asked after a moment.

“No, sweetie,” she replied, turning to him with a smile, “your father's just... on edge.”

“Why?”

“I'm not entirely sure.”

“So is the house really haunted?”

“Is it?” Katie asked, leaning past her brother. “Is it really, Mum?”

“Of course not,” Sarah replied, setting the laminated menus back in the holder. “Your father's right, there's no such thing as ghosts.” She watched as John placed their order at the counter, and for a moment she felt a shiver of concern pass through her chest. “There's nothing to worry about,” she added. “After all, it's just a house.”

Chapter Eighteen

Twenty years ago

“I just wasn't expecting you,” John said, feeling a sense of panic in his gut as he watched his father walking across the kitchen. “You didn't call to say you were coming. You usually call.”

After looking out at the street for a moment, Graham turned to his son. “I just thought I'd surprise you,” he said with a smile. “See how you're keeping up without giving you a chance to put on a show.” He paused for a moment. “How
are
you keeping up, anyway? It's been a month since your gran died. Sorry I couldn't fly over sooner.”

“Everything's fine.”

“Fine?”

John nodded.

“Just fine?” Graham asked.

“What else should it be?”

Graham looked around the kitchen for a moment, as if he expected to see something of interest. “And you've just spent the past month pottering about the house?”

“I've been tidying.”

“How was the funeral?”

“Fine.”

“Sorry I didn't get to it. Did many people show up?”

“Loads. Mainly old people, I had to shake a lot of hands.”

“And you had no trouble organizing it?”

“It was pretty easy,” he explained. “I just went down to the funeral parlor near the train crossing and they basically took over from there. I used the money you sent me last year for tuition fees.”

“You did, did you?” Graham paused, staring at him with a hint of suspicion. “Well, I guess I'll have to send you some more to cover
actual
tuition fees, won't I? When you finally get around to deciding which university you want to go to, at least.” He made his way over to the breakfast bar and then looked down at the hatch to the basement for a moment, before heading to the door that led into the hallway and giving the wall a quick knock, as if to check that it was still solid. “Of course, we'll have to sell this place.”

“Why?”

“You're gonna move away to university, aren't you?”

“I... suppose so...”

“Then there's no point hanging onto the house. I was thinking I could sell it and buy somewhere in the town where you decide to move to. Then you can take a room and I can rent out the others to a couple of other lads from your course.” He turned to John and smiled. “You'll have housemates. How does that sound?”

“Um...” John paused, feeling genuinely horrified by the thought living with other people. “Fine.”

“There's that word again,” Graham continued, heading back across the room and putting his hands on his son's shoulders, as if he was getting ready to shake him. “Fine. Is everything merely
fine
, my boy? Don't you ever think life could be
better
than fine?”

“I...” John frowned. “Yeah, I guess.”

Graham stared at him for a moment longer, before starting to laugh. “Oh boy,” he chucked, “you lived such a sheltered life here with your gran, didn't you? When you get out there into the real world, you're really gonna have to adjust so there's -”

Stopping suddenly, he looked up at the ceiling.

“What was that?” he asked after a moment.

John looked up too. “What was what?”

Graham paused, before turning back to him. “Nothing. Probably just old Lizzie's ghost, pissed off that I've set foot in the place.” He put an arm around John's shoulder and began to lead him to the hallway. “Now let's take a look around the place. You and me, son, we've got some catching-up to do. In fact, why don't we start by getting out of here for the evening? When was the last time you had a proper night on the town?”

“Um...”

***

“What about
her
?” Graham asked, leaning past John for a moment to get a better view of the girl at the corner table. “She looks like she's about your age. A little slutty maybe, but that's alright, you're not looking for someone to marry.”

Smiling awkwardly, John looked down at the beer his father had placed in front of him, and which he knew he'd have to drink at some point. Between that and the foul cigarette smoke filling the pub, he felt genuinely nauseous.

“Or her,” Graham continued. “Jesus, look at the legs on that one. You wanna go and get her phone number soon, or I might just beat you to it. All's fair in love and war.”

“I'm fine,” John replied, before realizing that he'd used that word again.

“You're not fine,” Graham told him. “You've spent far too long knocking about that house with your grandmother. Lizzie might not have been a bad woman in some respects, but she had a very funny way of looking at the world and some of it has definitely rubbed off on you. I'm worried she made you too insular, too prone to sitting alone and just thinking about things. The world's for living, John, not for watching on TV. I mean, look at some of the women on display in this place, don't you want to take one of them home some time and have a good time?”

“I write,” John muttered.

“Yeah, well...” Rolling his eyes, Graham took a sip of beer. “No offense, but I think you're gonna need a bit more on your side than a few short stories. What kind of stuff do you write, anyway?”

“This and that. Science-fiction, horror...”

“Well that's not gonna get you anywhere,” Graham continued. “Again, no offense, but I'm worried your grandmother has made you turn a little weird.”

“Weird?”

“You're folding in on yourself, boy. I could see it as soon as I arrived this morning, you're disappearing. I know it's not going to be an easy job, getting you out of your shell, it takes time to undo the kind of damage Liz did to you.” He paused for a moment, watching John with a hint of caution. “I probably shouldn't say this,” he continued finally, “and I know it's gonna sound a little mean, but in some ways I'm actually relieved that she's gone. Not that I wish death on anyone, but you have to understand that your grandmother was a very bad influence on you.”

John lifted the beer to his lips and took a sip. It tasted like bread.

“Liz was a complicated woman,” Graham muttered, taking another glug of beer. “She never liked me, for a start. Thought I was too rough for her daughter, although she came round a little when she realized I had money. But she always looked down on me, especially after your mother died. She blamed me, which was rubbish. If you ask me, your grandmother did a number on your mother long before I ever arrived on the scene. She got into her head and never really let go, she twisted her thoughts and I'm worried she did the same thing to you.” He waited for a reply. “One thing that is not going to happen, my boy, is that you are not going to sit around in that house.”

“I was thinking -”

“I'm selling it,” Graham added. “Definitely. I'll go down the estate agent's office tomorrow.”

“But -”

“No buts, it's decided.” He clinked his glass against John's. “Don't worry, I'll still support you. I believe in you, I know you can turn out alright once you're free from your grandmother's shadow.” He paused for a moment. “She never hit you, did she? Or... touched you?”

“What do you mean?” John asked.

“Your mother used to say things,” he continued. “I never really knew if they were true, but she said your grandmother had a bit of a temper, and that she used to fly into these rages. Your mother had a few scars that she said were from your grandmother. I kind of dismissed it all at the time, but... That never happened with you, did it?”

John paused, before shaking his head.

“That time I came to visit,” Graham added, “and you had a big bruise on the side of your face... You really
did
fall down the stairs, didn't you?”

John nodded.

“Huh.” Pausing, Graham stared at him for a moment longer. “Well, whatever, the past is in the past and today is a new day. Or night, whatever.” He looked over at a girl sitting alone at the next table. “So are you gonna ask for her number, or do I have to do it for you?”

“Dad, please...”

“Oi!” Graham called out, leaning toward the girl. “You alright on your own there? You wanna come and sit with us for a bit?”

Looking faintly disgusted by the offer, the girl turned away from them.

“Suit yourself,” Graham muttered, turning to John with a smile. “You never know until you try, do you? Don't worry, they won't all be as stuck-up as her, some of 'em like the direct approach. Believe it or not, John, one day you'll meet a nice girl. And when that happens, you'll barely even remember this crumby little town.” He raised his half-empty glass for a toast. “To leaving this place and never looking back.”

John raised his glass, even though he felt distinctly uncomfortable.

“And to a new life far from here,” Graham continued. “I promise, when you finally leave, you'll never want to even think about this town or your old life again, and that's exactly how it should be. Take my advice, son. Once you leave a place, never go back.”