Deep Water, Thin Ice (11 page)

‘And Erica? Sorry, I’m asking too many questions.’

‘No, it’s OK. You want to know about Erica?’ Alex gave an indulgent smile. ‘Erica’s everything I’m not. She’s a natural born organiser. She saw mum’s example and decided that no way was she going to be left in the lurch by any man. So she refused to get married, lived with a chap for six years, then – just the same - he went off and left her with a son. Hasn’t stopped her having a succession of unsuccessful romances mind you. She’s great but she’s a control freak and hates the fact I’m here. She’d like me back in London where she could keep an eye on me.’

‘So you want to impress her that the house is fine, that you’re fine, that everything is just fine? Hence the decorating.’

‘Exactly. Then, hopefully she’ll stop worrying and leave me to it.’

‘And this is where she’s going to sleep?’ he asked, looking round.

‘Yes.’

‘Nice room. But surely you should have this one; it’s the biggest?’

‘I preferred the room the other side of the bathroom. It’s big enough and there’s a window looking out to the river as well as the sea.’

He nodded.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘You know them well. I keep forgetting.’

‘I did once. So we’ll have to do that one next.’

Alex laughed awkwardly.

‘It’s a kind thought but I can’t keep taking up your precious time. Don’t you have a girlfriend or someone you should be spending your spare time with?’

She’d rehearsed saying it, keen to make it clear she wasn’t looking for that kind of relationship with him. But it came out wrong and she thought she’d given quite the opposite impression, as if she wanted to know if she had any competition. She flushed with embarrassment.

Theo was shaking his head casually.

‘No, I’ve never been good at settling with anyone. Too restless my mother always says. Perhaps I’ve just never met the right person.’

‘Maybe. I used to think I’d never settle with anyone. Then I met Simon.’ She bit her lip and looked away.

‘Alex?’

‘Mm?’

‘I hope you don’t mind me asking but…I’ve been wondering ever since the funeral: did you bury Simon’s ashes or scatter them?’

‘I haven’t done anything with them.’

Theo frowned.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I’ve still got them. They’re in a casket in my bedroom.’

Theo turned his head, as if he’d be able to see them through the intervening bricks and mortar.

‘Here?’

‘Yes.’

‘What…I mean, aren’t you going to bury them? Sorry, forgive me asking but…you know…’

‘You think it’s unhealthy?’ she said, bridling. ‘That it’s not normal? No, you’re right,’ she answered herself in a clipped voice. ‘That’s what everyone says or at least thinks.’

‘I wouldn’t have put it that way.’

‘No? Well my mother did. I
will
do something with them. I just haven’t decided what yet. I’ll maybe scatter them somewhere…or bury them sometime – if I can decide the right place to do it. I don’t know.’ She stood up abruptly. ‘Have you finished your coffee? Shall we get on?’

*

So Erica was coming to stay and Alex was glad. She didn’t regret having come to Devon; she’d needed the space it gave her and she felt better for it. But, argue as they might, she loved her sister and missed her. She also recognised that she’d maybe spent too much time alone of late which sometimes made it difficult not to let things prey on her mind.

After a succession of incidents, she’d become convinced that there was something strange going on in her bedroom. Things would move, icy columns of air would develop erratically and then disappear again, she would find the door open when she was sure it had been closed. The photograph Sarah had given her had been on the bed when she’d come back home the other day and she certainly hadn’t left it there. She’d stood staring at the picture, her skin prickling with fear, sweat forming in a cold band down the middle of her back. She looked round the room, barely breathing and listened to the house for sounds of movement but she heard nothing. There was no-one there.

It had been in the early hours of the following morning, unable to sleep, that the idea had come to her that perhaps it was Simon who was doing these things. His ashes were in the room with her, couldn’t his spirit be there too? In the dark hours of the night it had seemed a completely rational and even comforting thought. She finally drifted off to sleep but when she woke the next morning the idea appeared altogether more far-fetched and not a little disconcerting. She was reluctant to think too much about it. So maybe she needed a dose of Erica’s down-to-earth and pragmatic company after all. Her sister had always, in that dry way of hers, been accustomed to toning down what she described as Alex’s ‘extreme flights of fancy’. ‘Entertaining idea Ali,’ she often used to say when they were younger, ‘but
come on
.’

Erica was the sort of person who buzzed with restless energy. In an effort to better her life she constantly read magazines looking for ideas for the house, for her hair or clothes; fleeting enthusiasms had her doing classes in upholstery or keep fit or hat-making, each hobby abandoned before much had been achieved; and she fretted over Ben too, looking for ways to enhance his education and skills, desperate to ensure his future success. She was naturally suspicious, often jealous, and yet never let a week go by without checking on her elderly neighbours in case they were ill or needed anything.

She and Erica were an odd pair, Alex thought. Like those married couples who marry and divorce and remarry because they can’t live together and yet can’t live apart: devoted to each other and yet completely at odds. But despite their differences, they’d always looked out for each other. When Victoria had tried, with considerable vehemence, to stamp on Alex’s singing ambitions, it was always Erica who’d stood up for her, Erica who made sure she was at all those early performances when Alex was wracked with nerves; when Erica’s latest romance failed it was always Alex who’d agreed what a bastard he was, who’d hugged her sister while she cried and told her there’d be a better man for her one day. A shared history created quite a bond.

But Erica hadn’t been at Hillen Hall above half an hour when Alex began to wonder if she’d done the right thing. Her sister had come to stay for three nights and, with all her bags shifted inside, Alex gave her a tour of the house. They’d seen all the downstairs rooms and were now in the guest bedroom where Erica stood at the window looking out at the sweeping views across and down to the sea.

‘So, what do you think?’ asked Alex.

‘What do I think?’

‘Of Hillen Hall?’

‘It’s a surprising place,’ Erica hedged. ‘Certainly an amazing view. Nice garden too.’

‘Thank you. I’ve done quite a bit but, you know me, I know nothing about plants. Anyway I’ve managed to find a gardener called Tim Prentice to come twice a week. He cut the grass down for me and keeps it all under control.’

Erica turned round to look at Alex and smiled. ‘And the room looks lovely. I detect the slight smell of paint. You’ve been busy.’

‘You like it?’

‘Of course. But you didn’t need to go decorating for me.’

‘You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen it before. Anyway, I quite enjoyed it.’

‘Really? So where do you sleep?’

‘Next door.’ Alex led the way onto the landing, past the bathroom and on to her bedroom. ‘I haven’t got round to doing this yet so don’t be too critical.’

‘Would I?’

‘Ha! Yes.’

Erica followed Alex in and stopped at the sight of the oak casket on the chest of drawers and Simon’s cello propped up in the corner beyond it. Alex turned to speak to her just as Erica’s eyes moved to the framed photograph of Simon, meticulously positioned just behind. A look of discomfort crossed her face and she looked away.

‘So you’ve got the view too,’ she said, walking rather self-consciously to the front window.

‘And a view of the river out of the other one,’ said Alex. ‘You can only see bits of it now with the trees in leaf.’

‘So there is,’ said Erica, moving across to look out of the side window. She turned and her eye fell on Simon’s photograph again. She reached out to pick up the loose photo propped up against it.

‘What’s this?’

Alex came to stand by her and looked over her shoulder. She was a good couple of inches taller than her younger sister, partly because she stood well. Years of voice training and having her back ruthlessly tapped by her singing tutor - ‘stand
tall
girl; give your lungs room to expand’ - had made her stand ramrod straight. Like a shop window mannequin, she had sometimes thought, and with a similar lack of grace.

‘That’s Simon at fifteen,’ she said, pointing. ‘And that’s his cousin, Julian – he sadly died not long after apparently. And that’s Theo, Julian’s younger brother.’

Erica frowned.

‘I didn’t know he had a cousin.’

‘Neither did I till I came here.’

‘So where did you get this?’

‘Simon’s aunt still lives in the village. She asked me round for coffee and showed me some old photos of the house. It seems Simon came on holiday here a lot when he was a child and the cousins were all quite close. Anyway when she saw how much I liked the photograph, she gave it to me.’

‘You didn’t tell me,’ said Erica accusingly.

‘On the phone? No.’ Alex turned away and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. ‘I saved some things to tell you when you came to stay,’ she said easily.

Erica grunted and stared at the picture again.

‘They’re remarkably similar aren’t they?’ she said suddenly. ‘Simon and his younger cousin. I was going to ask if you were sure that he
was
Simon’s cousin but the resemblance speaks for itself doesn’t it? I suppose that often happens with children and then they grow out of it.’

‘Yes, but they still are…were.’

‘Oh? You’ve met the cousin too?’ Erica slowly lifted her grey-green eyes to Alex’s with a challenging look.

‘Yes.’ Alex was determined to keep her tone casual, well aware that Erica’s mind was working overtime. ‘He’s living in Kellaford Bridge at the moment.’

‘At the moment? Doesn’t he normally?’

‘Well it didn’t take long for the inquisition to start,’ said Alex lightly. ‘His work has him moving about quite a bit.’

‘Oh?’ Erica replaced the photograph against the other one. ‘You must tell me all about this cousin then. What’s his name?’

‘Theo Hellyon.’

Erica frowned. ‘Never heard of him.’

‘Neither had I. But don’t go getting all suspicious. You look for problems everywhere.’

‘And you, my dear sister,’ said Erica, grinning and tapping Alex lightly on the shoulder, ‘are too trusting. You’d probably have been the only adult to follow the Pied Piper.’

Alex laughed. ‘Maybe.’

Suddenly Erica shivered. ‘Gosh it’s cold in this room isn’t it? Considering it’s supposed to be summer.’ She looked round at the windows but there was just one small casement open at the front. ‘It must be because you’re so exposed up here.’

‘Actually…’ began Alex, and stopped.

‘Actually what?’

‘Actually I’m going to open some wine. You sort yourself out up here and come down when you’re ready. I’ve done some serious cooking in honour of your visit.’

‘Ooh. I can’t wait.’

As Alex went downstairs to the kitchen it occurred to her that trying to talk through her daft ideas about Simon’s restless spirit with Erica was going to be impossible. She should have known better.

*

In fact, the visit proved to be a struggle with an unaccountably taut atmosphere between them. What’s the matter with us? thought Alex. Is it me? Have I really become that difficult? Or was it Erica, whose protectiveness seemed to have cranked up a level from just irritating to interfering and oppressive? The inevitable result was that Alex became increasingly defensive. By the time they went to bed the first night their speech had become unusually stilted, the atmosphere between them heavy. Their arguments over the years had been fiery at times but always brief; most of the time they harmlessly bickered but were easy together. Now they seemed to be unable to relax with each other, behaving like two animals of the same species put in the pen of a zoo together, expected to get on but circling warily. Maybe I’ve just forgotten how it always was, thought Alex. Perhaps I’ve been alone so much I’ve lost the knack of coping with her. I’m taking it all too seriously.

Over dinner and wine that first night she’d tried too hard, giving Erica a glowing description of Kellaford Bridge, its rocky cliffs and long sandy beach, its little ferry up river to ‘the serious shops in Southwell – imagine getting a boat to go shopping’, and joking about her foolishness at getting trapped by the tide and having to clamber up the cliff. She’d asked about Erica’s work, asked if she’d seen any more of the IT service engineer who’d been chatting her up at the office, and wanted to know all about Ben - ‘You must bring him here, he’d love it.’ But the conversation had been strained and it had only been a matter of time before Erica brought up the subject of Theo again. When Alex was vague about him – she didn’t know him that well anyway and found she didn’t want to talk about him – Erica had immediately launched into a lecture on being careful – ‘You’re very vulnerable right now. And being here all alone like this. It’s not wise is it?’ Alex lost her temper, Erica sighed and drank too much and by the time they went to bed they were barely talking at all.