By Thursday night, Eleanor had exhausted herself, thinking about the house clearance. She couldn’t let go of the idea, yet it seemed impossible. She would never say it to Richard, but it made her uncomfortable too: the thought of summoning spirits in their home. She had no idea where they would find the money, what they would do with the children, how they would tell Zoe. How she would ever convince Richard. She wasn’t even sure she believed it would work. But now when her head ached and her stomach lurched, it felt different, personal. It doesn’t want you in the house. They had to do something. She went to bed early and dropped into a thick, black sleep.
She was woken by footsteps outside their bedroom. She picked up her phone by the side of the bed; it was two in the morning. ‘Rosie?’ she called out. ‘Is that you?’ There was no answer and panic hit her; she prayed she’d made a mistake or it was part of a dream. She lay there, rigid, alert – and then she heard it again. It was real, distinct: footsteps on the stairs leading up to the top floor. They had been outside Rosie and Isobel’s bedroom. She was out of bed in an instant, opening the door to the children’s room, as quickly and gently as she could, the same way she had every night in the months after they were born. They were both asleep, looking so peaceful. She slumped against the door frame, felled by relief.
But she could still hear footsteps. They were above her now, outside the upstairs room. Something was in the house. The footsteps were light, like a child’s.
She felt dizzy. Perhaps she was going mad. She thought about how it would look if she woke Richard and he couldn’t hear it or if she called the police and there was nothing there. She heard Richard, muffled, in their room: ‘Eleanor, is everything OK?’ She put her head round the door. ‘It’s fine; I just thought I heard Isobel.’ He murmured and rolled over; he had barely woken up.
She shut the door and stood on the landing. Again, a floorboard creaked. She was certain: there was someone in the upstairs room. She began to make her way up the stairs. If there was no one there, that would prove there was something wrong with the house. Maybe no one would believe her but she would know.
She stopped outside the door to the upstairs room. She could hear an almost imperceptible rustling, the sound of someone’s presence. The door put up its usual resistance, before giving way and swinging open. She saw a figure in the half-light, a girl, with long hair over her face. The girl turned towards her and Eleanor wondered if she might pass out with fear. Her breath became shallow and her hands were shaking. She reached for the light switch.
‘Zoe!’ There was nothing reassuring about the scene. Zoe was half naked, wearing a T-shirt and pants, and she was staring at Eleanor blankly.
‘There are things in here,’ she said.
‘What things?’
‘There are . . .’ She tailed off and made a noise, a groan that came from the back of her throat.
‘Zoe . . .’
She said something else, the words indistinct. Then, more clearly:
‘There’s something here.’
‘Zoe, are you awake?’
‘Yes!’ she said, impatiently.
‘I don’t think you are,’ Eleanor said.
‘No!’ Zoe said, getting agitated. ‘There’s something here, I can see her . . .’ She trailed off again, looking blank.
Eleanor moved towards her and Zoe made the same guttural sound. Then she looked around and her expression changed to terror. She spoke rapidly: ‘What? What’s happening?’
‘You’re OK, Zoe, you’re fine – I think you were sleepwalking.’
‘I wasn’t!’
There was a pause.
‘Oh . . . Oh God. Oh, Eleanor, I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s OK, you don’t need to worry—’
‘I’m so sorry, this is so embarrassing . . .’
Eleanor put an arm around her and led her downstairs.
*
Zoe sat at the kitchen table. She was still bare-legged and on the verge of tears. Eleanor wondered if she ought to offer to get her a dressing gown, but she didn’t want to embarrass her and she felt oddly calm about this peculiar scene unfolding, as though Zoe had absorbed her agitation and drained it from her. She put the kettle on.
‘It’s never been this bad, Eleanor, I promise, I would have warned you if I’d ever thought this would happen . . . I can’t believe I woke you up, I’m so ashamed – please, please go back to bed.’
‘It’s fine – there’s no need to worry.’ She took two mugs out of the cupboard and put them on the worktop. ‘Do you remember what you were dreaming about? Upstairs? You said you could see something?’
Zoe shook her head. She still seemed very upset. ‘I can’t. I can’t remember anything. Sometimes I can, but . . . I just have no idea what I was doing up there. I’m so sorry.’
‘Is this something that happens to you a lot?’
Zoe shook her head. ‘Not like this. I’m a bad sleeper, I talk in my sleep, but this is something else. It’s been terrible since I moved in. I don’t know what it is, sometimes I think it’s something to do with this house—’
Eleanor put down the mug she was holding and stared at her.
‘Oh, I didn’t mean it like that!’ Zoe paused. ‘It’s a really lovely house.’ Eleanor sensed they were both unconvinced.
‘But the sleepwalking is something that started when you came here?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Has it happened anywhere else?’
‘No.’
Eleanor came out from behind the kitchen counter and sat opposite Zoe. Excitement was threatening; she tried to speak calmly. ‘Zoe, have you noticed anything strange about the house? Do you think it’s had an effect on you?’
Zoe looked as though she were about to say something, and then stopped. Eleanor realized that if she wanted honesty, she would have to be honest herself. She looked her in the eye and said, ‘I sometimes think it might be haunted.’
Zoe looked startled. ‘What, really?’
‘Maybe not in the conventional sense – I don’t know if there are ghosts floating round or anything like that. But I think there’s a kind of . . . bad energy.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Zoe said.
The relief was almost painful. Eleanor felt her whole body slacken.
‘I haven’t felt quite right since I moved here,’ Zoe said. ‘I’ve never had a problem with sleepwalking or had dreams like the ones I’ve had here. And sometimes, I do get this sense of a presence. Something else here. Maybe you could call it an energy.’
‘Zoe, it makes me ill. The house makes me ill. I’m OK when I’m not here but when I’m inside it, I get sick and have headaches. I can’t explain it to anyone, but I know it’s something to do with the house. I just know. Maybe it’s the same thing that’s affecting you.’
Zoe was looking at her with real sympathy; Eleanor thought she might collapse. It had been so long. ‘It’s so awful, Zoe. I don’t trust myself with the children any more – Rosie’s obviously stirred up by something, Isobel would never have had her accident if we hadn’t moved. I don’t think we can ever be happy here.’
‘What are you going to do? Are you going to sell it?’
‘We can’t. We can’t afford to. And it would break Richard’s heart. I’ve been – trying to find a way to make the house habitable. I’ve even contacted mediums. There’s one – believe me, I know how this sounds – who wants to try a house clearance to, you know, get rid of the spirits.’
Zoe looked intrigued. ‘Do you think that would work?’
Eleanor laughed. ‘Actually, I have no idea. I just need to do something. We can’t live here otherwise.’ She spoke hesitantly, afraid of breaking this spell of intimacy. ‘One of the things that made me unsure was that she wants everyone who lives in the house to be present. I had no idea how I would ask you.’
‘What, you mean me? She’d want me to come too?’
‘Would you do it?’
Zoe looked alarmed. Eleanor saw that she had gone too far. She had got drunk on compassion, the heady strangeness of the small hours.
‘I’m sorry – you don’t have to answer. You must want to go back to bed.’ Eleanor got up and started to put the cups and the tea tin back in the cupboard. Zoe didn’t move.
‘That thing you said – about the energy in the house. I mean, I haven’t been having that good a time lately.’
Eleanor shut the cupboards and leant forward on the worktop.
‘When I started sleeping strangely, I thought it was something to do with me. I wasn’t depressed – I wouldn’t even call it unhappy really – but it’s been a strange time for me. I broke up with someone, left my job and I just – haven’t been myself, I suppose. I wondered about you and Richard . . . were you happy when you moved in?’
Eleanor didn’t know how to answer.
‘Oh God. I didn’t mean to get personal or anything – I mean, you seem happy. You seem like a lovely family. Maybe I’m being silly.’
Eleanor sat back down at the table. She thought about something Rebecca had said, something she hadn’t particularly wanted to think about – negative energy comes from the living too. Tantrums, sickness, accidents. The closeness she and Richard had lost. Ordinary bad luck. Ordinary sadness.
‘The thing that’s wrong – you think it’s coming from us?’
‘Or me. Or all of us. I don’t know. It was just one of the things I thought about.’
Eleanor paused. Maybe it was just them, after all. She wasn’t sure if she could believe it; she wasn’t sure if she wanted to believe it. It felt like so much more, more than three people could create.
Zoe reached across the table and held her hand towards Eleanor. ‘I do know what you mean,’ she said. ‘About the house. It does feel like there’s something else here too. I’ve always felt that. And if you want to go ahead with the exorcism or whatever it is, I’ll help. Definitely. Maybe it would help me too.’
Eleanor smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she said, taking Zoe’s hand.