Penny came to the door of her mum’s office and could tell immediately, from the way Mum was hunched over the computer clacking away, that the internet must be up at last. That was one good thing, anyway.
“Anything to eat, Mum?” Penny asked.
Her mum didn’t answer, intent on her computer screen.
“Mum! Food?” Penny made an eating gesture, pointing her fingers at her mouth.
Mum finally looked up and took a swig of that weird pink vitamin water she’d taken to. “There’s cold cuts in the fridge,” she said. “And that bread you like. Fix yourselves something, okay?”
Penny looked at her mum hoping for further engagement, but she had already been sucked back into the computer. An all-too-familiar scenario.
Penny sighed. She could do a more-than-passable mimicry of her mother, which was endlessly entertaining to family and friends. Penny did it now, sliding over to the desk. “How was your bike ride, Pen?” she prissed in her mum’s voice.
Now Mum looked up at her and smiled, acknowledging her distractedness. She gestured at the computer screen. “Internet’s working!”
“Ace.” Penny came around the desk and stood behind her mum, looking over her shoulder.
The homepage of the Victorian Museum of Art in Leeds came up. Then some landscape paintings flicked by in rapid succession.
“What’re those?” Penny said, picking up her mum’s bottle of pink water and taking a sip. It was vile, bitterly acidic. “Gross,” said Penny. “How can you drink that stuff?”
“It’s good for you,” Meg said. “Vitamins and such. Your dad packed it with the other water, so why not. Keep my strength up.”
“Dad doesn’t buy that health crap,” Penny said.
“Language. Well I didn’t buy it.” Meg’s voice was distracted. “These are some of Radcliffe’s earlier works. Typical of the era, I’d say.”
The paintings were nothing special, Penny thought. Country roads, hay fields, babbling mill streams, that sort of thing. Old-fashioned, like stuff Granny might have in her house.
“So what’s the big deal?” Penny asked.
“This, I think.” Meg had brought up a portrait. “Supposedly the only portrait he painted.”
Penny gasped, kicked in the gut. Her legs went weak, and she felt the familiar woolly feeling in her chest. “Oh my God,” she wheezed. “Mum …”
On the screen was a portrait of a woman. The same woman who had visited Penny in her room, whose translucent image Penny had seen in the photo of the corridor.
The title of the painting was displayed under the image: “PETAL—Portrait of Isabella.”
The woman was wearing the same white gown. She was lying down on a circular mosaic design, positioned in the exact centre of the circle with her arms out at her sides, crucifixion style. One knee was drawn up beneath her, her cloud of dark hair swarming out around her head much like the hair of the mosaic mermaid beneath it.
“That’s her, Mum.” Penny went Planet Hollywood. She doubled over, unable to breathe. “That’s her! The woman in my room, the ghost!”
Penny crouched on the floor, fear crackling up her spine and across her shoulders, terror tightening her jaw, her windpipe closing. She clutched to the leg of her mum’s chair as if it were a lifeline.
Meg leaned over, put an arm around her.
“Penny, it’s just a stupid picture! Where’s your inhaler? Get your inhaler.”
Mum fumbled in Penny’s hoodie pocket, pulled it out, and held it for her. Penny took repeated huffs. Mum tried to pull Penny closer to her, making comforting sounds, but Penny pulled away, every cell of her being in flight mode.
“Why were you looking at that, Mum? Why? What are you doing?”
“It’s just a random picture that popped up while I was researching.”
“No, Mum. That’s her. That’s definitely her!”
Penny could breathe now, but she was still gasping, her heart rocketing in her chest.
“Listen to me, Pen,” Mum said. “This is a very common thing. Like déjà vu. When we’re stressed and tired, we sometimes think we’ve seen someone before. In a dream or something, when we really haven’t.”
Penny straightened. She’d had enough of her narrow-mindedness. Mum couldn’t see what was right in front of her.
“Bullshit, Mum,” Penny said, angry. “It wasn’t a dream. That’s her. I promise you, that is the woman with the cuts on her arms!”
“Didn’t you say she was looking out of the window?” Mum asked.
“Yes.”
“Then how can you be sure?”
“I’m sure! She turned around and looked right at me! I saw her face, Mum! Clearly.” Penny felt like her head would explode with anger and frustration. “We have to get out of here. We have to leave, Mum. Right now.”
Harper came to the door, eating a Crunchie bar, and said with his mouth full: “What’s going on?”
“Go up to your room, Harper,” said Mum. “It’s nothing. I’ll be up in a minute.”
Harper stopped chewing, mouth smeary with chocolate. “What did I do wrong?”
Mum shouted in her scariest boss-voice. “GO. NOW!”
Harper winced, eyes huge, and ran off.
Meg stood up and took Penny by the shoulders. “Listen to me, Penny. We’ve discussed this to death. The only alternative is for you to stay with Grandad for six months. Is that what you want? If so, I’ll take you there tomorrow.”
A bubble of despair had risen in Penny’s chest. “We all have to leave, Mum. Right now.” Penny started crying. Her words just weren’t getting through. It was as if she and her mum were speaking two different languages.
Her mum put on her trying-my-patience voice. The one where she spaced out each word. “This. Is. My. Job. Penny.” She looked into Penny’s eyes. “It’s our only way of paying off our debts. Please try to understand.”
Penny snuffled. Her only hope now was Nigel. Please, God, let him be what he says he is. Let him get rid of their ghost like he got rid of Emily’s uncle’s.
Her mum put an arm around her again. “Come on. Let’s take a break. I fixed the hot water. You can take a nice shower, snuggle up with me and your brother, and we’ll watch something on the iPad.”
If Nigel didn’t work out, Penny thought, she and Harper would just have to run away.