The Secret of Crickley Hall (8 page)

Loren was aware of the two customers on the other side of the carousel—she'd glimpsed a hefty-looking girl, probably around her own age, but who dressed a lot older, and a taller boy with stick-up hair and a harsh case of acne—and tried to ignore them, even when she felt the magazine rack held firmly from the other side as she tried to turn it. Forced to move round the rack instead of spinning it, she soon came within proper sight of the two and she gave them a hesitant smile of greeting. She had half pulled a
Shout
from its rack between
Cosmogirl
and
Pop Star
when the big-built girl spun the carousel and the bottom corner of the magazine was caught and pulled from Loren's grasp. It fell to the floor, its contents of special offers and other junk literature spilling out.

Loren flushed and immediately went down on her haunches to retrieve the magazine and its colourful detritus, growing even redder when she heard the other girl say, 'Geek.' Sniggers followed.

Feeling embarrassed, humiliated even, such was her sensitivity, Loren gathered up the gaudy adverts for teenage skincare cream, panty liners and hair gel, and stuffed them back inside the magazine.

Just then, Cally came trotting round a floor shelf clutching a tube of Smarties in one hand (she guessed her mother would refuse to let her have them so, even at that tender age aware that daddies were much easier to manipulate, she was bringing them to Gabe). She came to a stop when she saw the big girl and boy glaring at Loren and heard them call her a silly name. Cally poked her tongue out at them.

'Spazzie,' the big girl called her.

'Bite my shorts,' Cally replied.

Loren put a hand to her mouth to suppress a giggle. She took her sister's hand and led her away. 'It's not
bite
my shorts, Cally,' she whispered, leaning close to Cally's ear. 'Bart always says
eat
my shorts.'

Gabe had witnessed the minor encounter from behind the bookrack, reluctant to interfere: Loren had to learn to stand up for herself. Sure, if the situation had got serious, if the girl and boy had tried physically to bully his daughter, then he would have stepped in, but instead Cally's response had made him wince, then grin. They really had to wean their youngest daughter off
The Simpsons
.

'What are you two up to back there?' came a stern voice from the other side of the shop. It was the shopkeeper, whose broad upper body was angled over the counter as she stood on tiptoe to see round the magazine racks. 'Is that you acting the maggot, Seraphina Blaney? Come on out and bring yer daft brother Quentin with yer. Yer've spent too long already moochin' around. Are yer buyin' or not?'

Reluctantly, the girl sidled out from behind the magazines, the boy, who must have been about fourteen, slouching after her, and Loren got a good look at them both as they deliberately brushed by her.

'Saddo,' the girl slyly said to Loren as she passed; the acne-cursed youth sneered a grin.

'Come on now, what yer got there to buy?' It sounded like
to boiy
. The shopkeeper had evidently lost patience with them, for she added: 'It's taken yer half the day to choose.'

The sturdy-looking girl offered up a can of Diet Coke while the spotty boy grasped a Twix in his fist. Seraphina wore her hair scraped back over her scalp in sink-estate style, a rubber band holding it together at the back of her neck so that it hung down in a lank ponytail. There was a hardness to her features despite the pudginess of her flesh: her eyes were mean and narrow anyway, but were made even meaner and narrower by the surrounding plumpness, and even the shortness of her nose failed to soften her looks, for the lips below were thin, almost a gash in her face.

It would have been hard to tell they were brother and sister, for the boy had large doleful eyes and, although stocky, he was tall as well, with slouched shoulders and a concave chest that made him appear slightly paunchy. His tufty hair was slick with gel and his mouth hung gormlessly half open. His face and neck were tortured by angry-looking pimples and pustules, but such was his bearing—he somehow walked with an arrogant but hunched swagger—it was almost impossible to feel any sympathy.

Both had on brightly coloured anoraks—hers blue, his red—and both wore heavy boots. The girl looked back at Loren, spite in those narrow eyes, as she collected her change.

'Found a mag you want, honey?' Gabe said to distract his daughter, who had brought Cally over to him.

'Oh, it doesn't matter, Dad. I was only looking.'

Although Cally had saved the day and made her giggle, Loren was still skittish, still intimidated, and he wanted to enfold her in his arms. He realized they all—all except Cally, who was a tough little tiger and too young to mourn the loss of her brother after all this time—had the tendency to over-emote given the slightest provocation these days, although they had different ways of expressing it. Loren would verge on the hysterical at times (or was over-reaction the norm for a girl of her age?), whereas Eve gave in to things too easily, almost as if detached from them. And Gabe, himself? Well, he was aware his old aloofness had returned, that he kept his emotions on a tight rein, allowing no one in, afraid of letting go. He was conscious of his own lack of overt emotion, didn't like it in himself, but he was afraid of lowering his defences once more. He tried, oh how he tried, but instead feigned a superficial cheerfulness. Not just for the sake of his family and friends, but for himself also. Inside, he was hurting badly.

'Choose a couple anyway,' he said to Loren, indicating the magazine rack.

'Thanks, Dad.' She picked out the magazine she had dropped only a few moments ago.

The bell over the door tinkled as the hefty girl and her brother left the shop.

'These'll do for tonight and tomorrow's lunch, Gabe.' Eve was holding several packs in her arms: tagliatelles, shepherd's pies, steak and mushroom pies and a vegetable mix.

'They'll do for about a week,' he commented, taking some of the packs from her.

'Hardly. Not with you three gannets. I'll do a proper shop on Monday. There's bound to be a Tesco or, with luck, a Waitrose in one of the local towns.' She had lowered her voice, presumably so as not to offend the shopkeeper who was watching them attentively.

'Bring your magazines, Loren,' Gabe said over his shoulder as he followed Eve over to the cash till. 'Sparky, where you got to?'

Cally's squeaky voice came from behind a display of kitchen utensils. 'Coming, Daddy.' She appeared clutching a jumbo bag of Maltesers in her hands as well as the original Smarties.

Grinning, Gabe shook his head. 'That's too much. Ask your mother.'

'No, Cally, just one thing, just the Smarties, okay?' Eve told her.

'But, Mummy

'No buts,' Gabe said firmly. 'Put the big pack back.'

Having extorted at least one prize, Cally scooted back to the confectionery shelves.

While the shopkeeper was totting up the bill on the cash register, Gabe returned to the rack and picked out the book he had glanced through before. He also took an Ordnance Survey map of the Hollow Bay area.

'Some flood,' he said as he laid the book on the counter and pointed at the black-and-white photograph of the devastated village on the cover.

The shopkeeper's severe expression had considerably softened now that the evidently troublesome brother and sister had departed and her new customers had made a decent purchase. 'It happened in the night,' she responded as she put the packs in plastic bags marked with the store's name. 'Sixty-eight people crushed or drowned. Don't think Hollow Bay's ever got over it even after all these years.'

You got that right
, Gabe thought to himself. There was definitely something brooding about the harbour village, a kind of heaviness in the very air. Then again, maybe it was only due to the constant rain: it'd make anywhere seem miserable. He nodded his head sympathetically at the woman. She took them all in, studying each member of his family individually through horn-rimmed glasses as she continued to pack by instinct alone.

'Yer stayin' local like, are you?' she asked Eve after payment had been made.

'Crickley Hall,' Eve said back and Gabe noticed the shopkeeper's eyes harden for a fraction of a second. 'My husband has business in these parts for a month or two,' Eve continued by way of explanation.

'Yes, I heard it were bein' rented out again. S'been a long time since.' The woman folded her arms and suddenly looked formidable. But once again, she softened when she looked over the counter at Cally and Loren. 'Just you look after the little ones,' she said to Eve and Gabe both.

Eve glanced round at Gabe and he raised and dropped his eyebrows at her.

10: THE GRAVES

The rain had thinned and turned into a steady drizzle as they made their way up the hill towards Crickley Hall. There were only a few houses on either side of the great gorge, and all looked solid, thick-walled, but none as austere, nor as big, as Crickley Hall. Gabe carried two plastic bags of groceries, while Eve and Loren held one bag each.

'I'm beginning to have doubts about this place,' Eve said to Gabe, a little out of breath with the climb.

'You mean the village or the Hall?'

'Both.' She looked at him from beneath her hood. 'Hollow Bay is, I don't know—depressing somehow. And it shouldn't be. It's a picturesque village even if jaded by time and wear, but there's something…' She was lost for the correct word. Then: 'I don't know… mournful about it.'

Keeping his voice low so that the girls, who were several yards ahead, wouldn't hear, Gabe said, 'I felt it too. Nothing you can hit on, but the place is kinda depressing.' He gave a short, forced laugh. 'Maybe it's just the weather getting us down. And well, you know…'

He didn't have to say the words for her to understand. Perhaps it was because they were still grieving that everything seemed so joyless to them. It was a new place, yet it had none of the excitement of a new place, nor of a new beginning. Perhaps if they knew for certain that Cam truly was dead, and not just missing, things would at least have some kind of closure.

Eve pushed the worst of those thoughts away and faced her husband. 'I don't think I can stay here too long, Gabe.' Her voice was cold rather than plaintive.

He came to a halt too and leaned into her, finding her eyes beneath the hood. He spoke softly.

'Hey, it's only for a coupla months, probably a lot less if things run smoothly. It'll pass in no time.'

Even in the shadow of the hood he could see the misery in those deep brown eyes of hers.

'Oh Gabe, why did we have to come here?'

He gently shushed her, his face only inches from hers. The cops know where to find us. DI Michael said if he found anything new he'd contact us immediately. They're not gonna stop looking 'til they get a result.'

Cam… missing… no sign of him for nearly a year. Was that good? Or was it bad? Surely if Cameron were dead they'd have found his body by now.

The detective inspector had let them both know he wasn't hopeful, but Eve clung to the belief that if their son had been murdered then they'd have some evidence of it by now—like his body. She could not let go of that thought. And in a way, neither could he, Gabe. There had to be some hope, otherwise… otherwise there was
nothing
.

They began walking again, the girls well ahead of them by now. On their left, the gorge's swollen river hurtled down to the bay, its level not far below the grassy, shrub-filled bank; the waters were brown and angry with spume. The thick naked limb of a tree swept by. The sky was leaden, dark cloud masses promising more rain to come. The girls had realized they were walking alone, their parents some way behind. They both turned and waited for Eve and Gabe to catch up.

'Come on, slowcoaches,' Loren complained. Cally was studying the wet shine on her colourful rubber boots, her shoulders drooping; she was growing tired of the hike. As they approached she pointed over her shoulder.

Raising her voice over the rushing noise of the river, she called out, 'Look, Mummy, that old church again.'

They had passed the ancient Norman church on their way down to the harbour earlier and Eve had suggested they visit inside for a few minutes, but the girls were hungry and totally uninterested. Gabe had half promised they'd go in on the way back, but he knew his wife would hold him to it. Since the loss of their son, Eve had attended Mass regularly every Sunday (she had mostly been a Christmas and Easter worshipper before) and often during the week when their local church was usually empty. He was aware of what she prayed for; she still believed.

The church was built with grey, probably local, stone, as was the irregular wall around its boundary. It was a small but solid structure, with a square tower surmounted by a short steeple, a weathervane at the steeple's apex. The escarpment, lush with the deep greenery of trees and thick scrub despite the late season, rose up majestically behind the building and Gabe thought, not for the first time, that Devil's Cleave was more like a deep-sided valley than a gorge. A gravel path from the wall's lychgate led to the porch through a grassy graveyard; headstones dark with age leaned as if wearied, an occasional elm tree breaking up the quiet grimness of the landscape.

Close to the gateway was a mounted wooden board with faded gold lettering announcing that this was the church of ST MARK and the vicar was one REVEREND ANDREW TREVELLICK and his curate was ERIC RISSEY, all of this in neat capital letters. Underneath, also in faded gold, were times of services, and below this, in caps again but the largest message of all, it said: 'IN GOD WE TRUST'.

Yeah, right
, Gabe said to himself as he read the comfort legend.

'I want to go inside,' insisted Eve, stepping towards the closed gate, her tone allowing no dissent this time.

Loren pulled a face, while Cally wasn't bothered either way.

'Sure,' agreed Gabe, his spirits sinking.

The gate opened with a squeal and they all passed through. As they trudged along the path, Gabe saw that the gravestones, some larger and more ornate than others, continued round to the side and possibly the back of the church. They crunched their way to the porch, glad of its cover even though the rain was now no more than a light drizzle.