The Mercer's House (Northern Gothic Book 1) (29 page)

‘Well, I guess you’ve got things to do,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to come and apologize in person. I was going to call, but I kept chickening out, and it seemed a bit impersonal to send an email.’

She looked up. So that was it, then. He’d forgiven her and made his own apology, and now he was going, with no acknowledgment that there had ever been anything between them. Suddenly she couldn’t bear it.

‘Don’t go,’ she said, before she could stop herself. It sounded pathetic to her own ears.

‘I didn’t think you’d want me around,’ he said after a moment. ‘I’ve made such a mess of things. I’m sorry. I just wish there was something I could do to make it up to you.’

‘There is,’ she whispered. ‘Hold me. Please.’

He hesitated, then moved forward, and then his arms were around her and he was burying his face in her hair, as she pressed her head against his chest and wept freely for the first time—wept for Garrett, and for herself, and for the Devereuxes, and for all the terrible things that had happened since she’d made that fateful decision to go to Elsbury in search of Helen. Nobody had held her since that night, and she had wanted so much for Will to come and comfort her, and now he was here at last, and she was in his arms, and the relief was immense.

‘I’m sorry, I’ve got mascara all over you,’ she said at last.

‘Don’t worry about it. I wore black specially,’ he said, and she gave a hiccup of laughter.

Then they walked hand in hand into the living-room, and he sat on the sofa and she sat on his knee and clung to him, wanting to be as close to him as possible. And there they stayed for most of the afternoon, and he told her the secret he’d kept since he was seven.

He’d been fascinated by Helen, and also a little scared of her, but he never knew quite why, could never put his finger on it. For the first couple of years after she came they got on well enough, but then, whenever they were alone together, she started accusing him of things—strange things—that he didn’t understand. She said he was possessed, and that she knew what he really wanted, but she’d be keeping a close eye on him and would never let him hurt Rowan. Will didn’t like Rowan very much, as he was the golden-haired child who seemed to get all the attention, so he thought Helen must be talking about that, and he felt guilty about it. Alexander was away a lot in those days, and nobody else seemed to have noticed anything strange, so Will said nothing, but withdrew further into himself.

Then there came a day in the summer holidays when Alexander was in New York and Corbin had gone out, and Helen began to frighten him. She seemed to be talking wildly about something, saying that she wouldn’t let him take Rowan away from her. Will had no idea what she was talking about, but every time she saw him she shrank from him and clutched Rowan to her. Then she and Rowan went upstairs and shut themselves in her bedroom, and he didn’t see them for the rest of the day, so he went and played by himself, and got himself something to eat at lunchtime. Then in the early evening Corbin arrived home and came rushing up the stairs and went into Helen’s room. Will was playing upstairs in the turret room with a pair of binoculars and knew that something was wrong. He crept down the stairs and peered through the banisters until he could see into Helen’s room, and what he saw scared him. Rowan was lying there on the bed, motionless, and Helen was there too, although she seemed to have fallen onto the floor. Corbin was bending over her, trying to wake her up, but she wouldn’t, and at that moment Will knew they were both dead. Then Corbin sat back and sobbed, and Will had no idea what to do, as he’d never seen a man cry before, so he crept back up the stairs and hid in the turret room. After a while, Corbin came to find him, and his manner was almost normal, and he told Will that Helen and Rowan had gone away for a little while, and that it was time to come downstairs and have tea. He said nothing of what had happened, and so Will said nothing either. That night, when he went up to bed, he saw that the door to Helen’s bedroom was closed, and he hurried past it and barricaded himself in his room, because he didn’t want them to come out in the night and get him. The next morning, when he got up, the door was open again, just as normal, and the bed was made, and there was no sign of Helen or Rowan. And he never said a word to anybody, because he didn’t want Corbin to find out that he knew what had happened.

When Alexander got back from New York, he and Corbin shut themselves away to talk about something, and Will knew they were talking about Helen. Perhaps Corbin had told Alexander what he’d found. But then a few days later Alexander came to Will and said that Helen and Rowan had gone away for a little holiday, and that they’d be back soon. But the weeks and the months went by, and they didn’t return, and eventually Alexander started to say that he didn’t know when Helen would be coming back. Will knew she wouldn’t ever be coming back, but still he didn’t say anything, as he trusted the grown-ups to know what they were doing, and nobody seemed to think there was anything wrong. Then the bad dreams started, and he began to hear the voices on the beach, and his parents wrung their hands over him ineffectually and sent him to therapists. But eventually he’d grown out of it and had stopped thinking about Helen and Rowan, along with everyone else in the house, it seemed—until Zanna had turned up, looking for her aunt, and it had finally emerged, the secret he’d kept so long, and he’d taken his shock and distress out on Zanna, and it had nearly killed her.

As it all came out, hesitantly, reluctantly, Zanna forgot her own troubles, and could think only of the little boy who had been burdened with a terrible secret, and with the nightmares, for all those years, and she pulled him to her and held him close, because he needed comfort too. They sat in silence for a while, then he said:

‘I thought you were Helen the first time I saw you.’

‘Did you?’

‘Just for a minute. You were standing there in the sea, staring at our house, and I thought I was hallucinating. And then I met you properly, and I didn’t know how to take you. It’s a bit weird, having a thing for someone who looks like your stepmother. It felt kind of wrong.’

‘That explains a lot,’ said Zanna. She had often wondered why he had seemed so irresolute when in her company. It couldn’t have been comfortable for him, knowing what he knew, having her hanging around. ‘I guess the case is closed, then, now that Corbin’s not here any more?’

‘I guess so,’ he said. ‘I don’t know. The police asked a lot of questions and took away the diary, but one of them told us the most they’d be likely to charge him with was disposing of a body with the intention of preventing a coroner’s inquest.’

‘He did keep the diary, then?’

‘Yes. He had it hidden for years. It’s a good thing he did, really, otherwise they might have arrested him for murder.’

‘Have you read it? What did it say?’

‘Yes, I’ve read it. I read it that night you left, and now I kind of wish I hadn’t. It had some pretty awful stuff in it.’

He wouldn’t say any more, but Zanna could see the pain in his eyes, so didn’t press the question.

‘So they definitely think Helen killed herself and Rowan?’ she said.

‘It looks like it,’ said Will. ‘They’ve only got the diary to go on after all this time, since the bodies were too decomposed to find out anything useful, but they seem to have found it convincing.’

‘Poor Rowan,’ said Zanna. ‘And poor Helen.’

She wanted to say more—express sympathy for Alexander, at least, who must be suffering dreadfully following the loss of his brother, and at the discovery that his wife and stepson were dead and Corbin had been lying to him all these years. But it seemed kinder not to talk about the little fair-haired boy who had never grown up, or his mother, whose demons had prompted her to end his life and her own. It was too soon to ask for all the details of what had really happened, such a short time after Corbin’s death, but she sensed Will would tell her everything once a little time had passed and the pain was less raw and immediate.

The afternoon was drawing on and it was getting dark. Zanna was starting to worry she was squashing Will, so she made to get up, but he pulled her back down and wouldn’t let her go.

‘You should have called first. I’d have worn something nicer,’ she said.

‘You look perfect,’ he said. ‘I especially like the streaky makeup. I’ve always had a thing for the clown look.’

She aimed a slap at him and he dodged.

‘My mum and Lou sent me, if you must know,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I’d have had the courage on my own—I was too scared you’d slam the door in my face—but they said they were sick of me moping around being grouchy, and forced me to come.’

‘They said you were being grouchy? More than usual, you mean?’

‘What do you mean? I’m not grouchy.’

‘Yes, you are,’ she said. ‘You should smile more. It makes me go weak at the knees.’

She stroked his hair and kissed his forehead.

‘Why do I have the feeling I’m getting off lightly?’ he said.

‘Because you are. I’m too soft-hearted for my own good.’

‘I’ve missed you,’ he said.

‘I bet I missed you more.’

‘Oh, I forgot,’ he said. ‘Lou says I have to tell you to get to work. She wants to know when you’re going to give her some paintings.’

‘What? You mean you still want to represent me?’

‘Well, only if you’re interested.’

‘Of course I’m interested. When do we start? Give me a few weeks and I’ll have something really good for you, I promise. I still don’t have a studio, but the weather hasn’t been too bad lately, so I’ve been doing some outdoor stuff on Hampstead Heath at weekends.’

‘Why don’t you come up to Edinburgh?’ he said tentatively, after a moment. ‘You could do some local scenes, to appeal to the tourists.’

‘I could, I suppose. Is that what Lou said? Does she want me to come?’

‘No, I want you to come,’ he said, and she looked up. ‘I mean, I’m not going to drag you away from your life here if you don’t want to leave, but four hundred miles is a long way—’ He stopped. ‘I don’t want to lose you again,’ he said all at once. ‘I don’t want to be without you. Come and stay with me. You can find a job in Edinburgh. Lou and I know people in the art colleges. I bet we can find you something.’

‘All right,’ she said slowly. ‘When?’

‘Whenever you can. I don’t know. Next month? Next week?’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow, if you like,’ he said. They were smiling now.

‘Well, maybe tomorrow’s a bit short notice. I don’t think Megan would be too happy if I just disappeared and left her with the rent bill.’

‘I’ll wait,’ he said. ‘Don’t make it too long, though.’

She sat back and looked at him earnestly.

‘What are we getting into?’ she said.

‘I have no idea,’ he said. ‘Does that bother you?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Except I think I might be in love with you. I just thought I’d better mention it.’

‘I can live with that,’ he said. ‘I fell in love with you the night of the karaoke. I’ll never be able to listen to
Dancing Queen
in the same way again.’

He dodged her hand again and caught hold of her wrists, and they gazed at each other laughingly.

‘You’re not going back tonight, are you?’ she said.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t really thinking ahead so I didn’t book anything. Are there any hotels near here?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said. ‘I’m not letting you go to a hotel. You can stay here with me. My bed’s far too big for one person, and this flat’s freezing at night. I need you to keep me warm.’

‘I think I can manage that,’ he said, and pulled her back towards him.

His kiss felt as good as she remembered, and she sank against him and abandoned any lingering doubts about whether this was all a good idea. Their fledgling relationship was the one good thing to have come out of the whole story, and even though it had almost been strangled at birth, it had been just strong enough to survive and allow them to try again. They were both fighting to escape the past, but there was no sense in letting it overwhelm them, or of letting the guilt prevent them from looking to a happier future. There was still a long way to go yet, but she’d been wrong in thinking that the burden would be too heavy for them to bear. With two of them to face down their demons together the weight would be lighter, and they’d come out all the stronger for it.

28th August, 1985

I
SAW
the man on the beach again today. He was walking with his dog and came over to see what I was painting. Then he saw Rowan sitting on his rug and seemed very taken with him. Most men aren’t interested in babies, and he agreed with me when I mentioned it, but said that Rowan was particularly cherubic and it would be difficult for anybody to resist him. His name is Alex, he said, and he lives in that tall house over there on the headland, the Mercer’s House. He’s recently divorced and has a little boy too. We laughed about the difficulties of having small children, and I told him I’m here painting most days, and he said he’d come back tomorrow. I rather liked him. I hope I see him again.

I like this whole place, in fact. It’s so restful, and it gives me a feeling of peace to come here to the beach and sketch or paint. I really think I’m cured now. I knew I was right: what I really needed was to get away from everything—all the old memories and associations—and start again. It’s been years now since I heard the voices, and it’s been like a breath of fresh air not to have to hide from the taunts and the threats, and the shouting, which all clamoured in my head until I couldn’t bear it any more and I had to run away and hide under the bedclothes before I hurt myself or someone else.