Belle was upstairs in her bedroom, wet-haired, having just done a few lengths up at the big house pool. Now she was stepping out of the shower, drying, slipping on a pale yellow cotton summer dress, scuffling into her sandals. Then she went to the dressing table and grabbed a comb and started pulling it through her hair. As she snatched up the dryer, something caught her eye through the window: Harlan’s Porsche was parked up outside on the gravel drive. Behind it was Nipper’s Mercedes.
Frowning, she switched on the dryer and swiped it back and forth across her hair. Then Mum nearly fell into her open doorway and stood there, her eyes meeting Belle’s in the mirror. Belle felt a hot spasm of fear bolt right through her as she saw her mum’s expression. She switched off the dryer.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘I was shouting for you,’ said Jill, sounding breathless.
‘Sorry. Hairdryer.’ Belle put it down on the dressing table. ‘What is it? You’re white as a sheet.’
‘Your father . . .’ Jill gulped, her words failing. Then she took a quick breath and managed: ‘He’s just been on the phone. He’s told me . . . Belle, we’ve got to hide.’
Someone was ringing the doorbell.
Belle was looking bewildered. ‘Hide? Hide from what?’
‘There’s no time to explain! We mustn’t answer it,’ said Jill. ‘It’s Harlan.’
That thin spasm of alarm deepened and gripped at Belle’s guts. She felt her heart thudding sickly in her chest, felt moisture start on her palms and under her arms. ‘What’s he going to do?’ she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Jill’s eyes were suddenly full of tears. ‘It’s OK, it’s OK,’ she said quickly, and it was like when Belle was a little girl and her mother would try to reassure her, even though Belle always knew when there was something wrong. ‘Don’t worry honey. Your father . . .’ Her voice died.
‘Where is he? Where’s Dad?’
The doorbell was ringing, again and again and again.
‘He’s in town. Somewhere on the manor. He phoned. He sounded . . . something was wrong.’
They stood staring at each other. Now someone was hammering on the door with their fist.
Jill’s face was literally bleached with terror. ‘We haven’t got much time,’ she said. ‘Come on.’
Belle followed Jill out onto the landing and into the master suite, which was built into the eaves of the house so that at each side of the room there was a triangular crawl space hidden away behind the walls. There was a cupboard door set into the lowest wall, intended but never used for storage. The bats had spread out from the loft long ago, and there was all this bollocks about them being a protected species now – and anyway Terry kind of liked the bats, he always said good luck to the little bastards who shot out from under a gap in the tiles at night and whizzed around the garden. Sometimes, Terry liked to stand out there and watch them. Not Jill – the bats gave her the willies and she always thought they were going to get caught in her hair.
‘They got sonar,’ Terry would tell her. ‘They ain’t going anywhere near you, babes.’
‘Go on, get in,’ said Jill, nudging Belle toward the cupboard.
‘But they’ll know we’re home – won’t they?’ asked Belle, hesitating. She didn’t like the thought of going in with the bats, not this close. Not at all.
Downstairs, someone was kicking the door. They could hear male voices.
‘Our cars are locked up in the garage. They’ll think we’ve walked down to the village.’
‘Mum, I don’t . . .’
‘Get in!’ Jill’s eyes were frantic as she hissed the command. She was pushing Belle inside, hurrying her. ‘Hurry the fuck up, Belle.’
Belle did as she was told and moved further along the crawl space so Jill could follow too. She pulled the door closed. Inside, the space was boarded so you weren’t balancing on the beams. Feeling claustrophobic, Belle took a breath and tried to stay calm. Her breath was whistling in and out of her mouth and she could feel cobwebs brushing against her face as she went to the far end, tucked herself away in the corner under the roof beams, behind the chimney. Oh Jesus. Spiders. The big black ones that came out in October and scuttled across the floor, terrifying the bejesus out of you. She hated the bloody things.
Close by her head she heard the rustling of papery wings.
The bats.
There was a crack of daylight coming in under the tiles – the bats’ exit hole. Dimly Belle could see them, moving restlessly, disturbed by her being in here, near to them. Their bright beady eyes and folded wings made her think of every vampire movie she had ever sat through, laughing her head off at the daftness of the idea. The undead! What a bloody joke. The smell in here was burning the end of her nose. Guano, didn’t they call bat shit that? Or was that birds?
She turned her head a little and she could see her mother about six feet away, shooting the large bolt at the top of the door to secure it. Confined now with the bats and the spiders and whatever the hell else might be crawling around in here, Belle felt sweat break out. Oh Christ, she wanted, needed, to get out. But she had to stay quiet, stay still. Trembling, she pressed her hands to her mouth to stifle any small shriek that might escape if anything touched her. She tried to stay calm.
They were hidden. They would be safe. She told herself that, over and over.
But she didn’t feel safe, not at all. Harlan and his cronies were at the door and that was reason enough to panic.
Then she heard it: Whack! Whack! Whack!
Down in the hall, someone was hitting the door with something heavy.
Dimly, she could see her mother’s face, frozen in fear.
Then the front door caved in.