Chapter 33

Tuesday 2nd November, 5:46am

I stare in astonishment. The very last person I would expect to see here stares back at me. It would be usual to speak, to say something, but words fail me. I’d assumed only Mark would be home.

‘Good gracious! We were just talking about you. Come in, come in before we all freeze to death!’

I step over the threshold and stand on the door mat gaping at three people staring back at me. The surprise on their faces is nothing compared to the astonishment I’m feeling.

She raises her stick and waves it towards the taxi. ‘Wait right there, young man, I won’t keep you a moment.’

I can’t move from the doormat, she’s blocking my way into the house.

‘Are you all right, Kathrine? What a dreadful business this has been. Utterly ridiculous the police keeping you like that. Quite absurd. I told them so myself.’

I stare at her, at my husband standing behind her. Why would he be entertaining any visitors at this time of the morning, let alone Alan Wynn and Mrs Havers?

‘Are the police finished with you?’

I look into her face. ‘I didn’t kill Richard Denning, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘No, no, of course not!’ She glances over her shoulder at the two men behind her and taps her stick on the tiles, her eyes bright beneath the rim of her hat.

On the landing, a soft green light glows faintly from one end. No Sophie spying between the spindles. No Tom shivering at the top of the stairs. But the nightlight is on.

I look beyond her, at Mark. ‘Are the twins okay?’

‘They’re just fine, Kate. Asleep in bed.’

Mark’s voice is flat with exhaustion, his face grey. He looks so much more like his father, a worn version of the man I married. I can’t begin to imagine how I must look.

‘I’m very sorry about Richard Denning, Mrs Havers, but why are you here?’

‘I should have come sooner, spoken more frankly when I was here with you and your mother-in-law. I’m here on Richard’s mission.’

Her voice is higher than usual, she stops speaking abruptly and looks back at Mark and Alan Wynn standing shoulder to shoulder. The kitchen door is open, light spilling through into the hall.

‘There’s rather a lot to explain. It all takes so much longer than one thinks. Have you read my letter?’

‘I read it on my way here.’ My tone is short and snappy. I no longer care if this woman finds me rude.

‘Then you know I must trouble you for a short while longer.’ She turns away from me and walks past Mark and Alan Wynn. ‘The morning-room fire may need a little something, it was getting quite low a few moments ago.’

Mark is looking agitated, clearly expecting me to do something but I have no idea what. ‘Mrs Havers has been waiting in the morning room for you Kate, for some time.’

I hurry across the hall and catch up with Mrs Havers. ‘I’ve had an extremely long and trying day, Mrs Havers. I’m here to collect my children and then head straight to Shirley’s and to bed. Perhaps I can call at Fairfield this afternoon or sometime later this week?’

I lay my hand on her arm, she pauses and looks at me, then moves forwards again.

‘I must speak with you now, Katherine, it’s quite imperative, there must be no further delay.’

Her progress is slow but steady. She grabs the doorjamb as she steps across the threshold into the morning room. Short of manhandling her, how do I make her leave?

‘Well, I must shoot off.’ I glance back towards the front door, Alan Wynn smiles at me and I realise I have no idea why he is here. ‘I have a christening in the middle of the day and must get my head down before then. We’ve agreed I’ll call by late afternoon, Kate, if that’s okay with you?’

Mrs Havers stands on the threshold of the morning room waiting for my reply. Her navy blue coat has shiny gold-coloured buttons down its front, her brooch pinned to its lapel. A silk scarf in cream, red and navy is tied at its neck.

‘We have a plan in place,’ she says. ‘One that will work this time, I think, if you are prepared to try it. Reverend Wynn here,’ she waves her stick towards Alan, ‘has offered, very kindly, to have you all stay while he sorts out . . . what is here. So much more room than at Shirley Cooper’s. I will let the gentlemen explain. Do please excuse me but my knees have been dreadful in this damp weather, I really must sit down.’

She heads into the morning room and I look back helplessly at Mark. He looks furious.

‘Let’s sit in the kitchen for a second,’ he says, heading off without waiting for a reply.

I watch Mrs Havers for a moment. One of the kitchen chairs is in front of the hearth, our low coffee table cluttered with cups, glasses and a teapot. My husband has been quite the host in my absence. I glance at the landing, all is quiet, the glow from the children’s night-lights still there. I look back at Alan. He smiles and extends his hand towards the kitchen door.

 

Mark stands with his back to the stove looking as irritated as hell, Alan sits himself at the table.

‘We thought it better to fill you in sooner rather than later,’ says Alan. ‘You know what gossip is like in the village, and it’s easy to get the wrong end of things.’

‘I’ve certainly got that lately,’ I say, trying to smile and ease the tension. ‘Why is Mrs Havers here?’

‘She didn’t like Lyle representing you.’ Mark at last looks me fully in the face, he crosses the kitchen and closes the kitchen door. ‘I told her I’d been to the station, but you’d already instructed Lyle, so I couldn’t interfere.’

‘He was the duty solicitor tonight, but he’s the last person I wanted. I didn’t know you were at the station, Mark.’

I sink into Mum’s sofa, drop my bag at my feet and realise just how exhausted I am.

‘I went straight there from London, what else would I do? I came back here after I’d spoken to one of the DCIs. They said they were just after a statement from you and that there was nothing to worry about. You’d taken some medication and were doing okay.’ Mark looks at me. ‘I thought you’d be fine so I picked the kids up from Shirley Cooper.’

‘And Riley?’

‘I put him outside when Mrs Havers got here. He barks incessantly at the woman.’

Mark walks to the sink and runs hot water on to a multitude of mugs, plates and pans. I should point out we have a dishwasher.

‘Mrs Havers wasn’t entirely making sense when she descended on me at the Rectory, but the real reason she’s here is something altogether different.’ Alan looks at my angry husband, then back to me. ‘She said you’d be interested to hear about her nephew, Kate.’

Alan smiles again. I’m glad he’s here, it’s difficult to fight with a Reverend in the room. Alan’s looking at Mark piling dirty crockery into the sink.

‘You remember after Dad died, Mother and I did a bit of research into the family tree?’ Mark says.

I recollect Jennifer’s excitement as they pored over websites and old papers together.

‘It was kind of therapeutic when we’d just lost Dad. I knew he’d been adopted and assumed it wouldn’t be easy to find much out. It turns out he’d gone looking for his birth family before. He already had legal papers and letters and knew he was born here as Frederick Havers.

Mark stops speaking and looks up at me from a sink full of soapsuds. Knowing my husband, he’s probably wondering if I’m keeping up with his tale.

‘Mrs Havers is your great aunt?’ The astonishment rings in my voice. The family-tree project had been Mark and Jennifer’s. They had chattered about it, exclaimed over discoveries and emailed details and updates to one another. Little, if anything, was shared with me. I laugh out loud and notice a smile on Alan’s lips too.

‘Now I come to think of it, you are a little alike!’

Mark clatters the mugs in the sink and ignores what I say.

‘Mrs Havers said you threw her that day when you asked about Freddie, not knowing who it was. She guessed something was off between us and didn’t want to put her foot in it.’

‘So Freddie didn’t die of scarlet fever?’ I try to keep the laughter from my voice, knowing it will irritate the hell out of Mark. I daren’t catch Alan’s eye.

‘That was just the first thing she could think of. It turns out Dad met Mrs Havers about fifteen years ago. I don’t think they kept in touch, who can blame him, the woman’s a menace. When I looked up Haverscroft I saw it was for sale. I hadn’t seriously thought to buy it, I was just interested to see where Dad was born and wanted to take a few photos to show to Mother.’

‘So we weren’t just out for a drive that day?’

Mark shakes his head. More lies, more deception. Sure, I was ill, but I could have coped with a bit of family history. It pisses me off that Mark can’t admit he wanted this house and was going to buy it regardless of my opinion. I recall the journey home to London, the twins and Mark making all sorts of wild plans for when we lived at Haverscroft House. All so long ago now.

‘When did Mrs Havers know it was her great nephew’s family who had moved in here?’ I say.

‘Mother told her when she came to stay just after Tom’s accident at the pond. Mother was rather pleased to tell her there was a family connection, but Mrs Havers didn’t take the news at all well. I’d intended to speak to Mrs Havers about it when I met her in the summer, I but never got the chance. She was rude and belligerent, so I was only with her a few minutes.’

I can imagine them both at Fairfield talking, shouting, at each other, but not listening.

‘She must have been horrified,’ I say. ‘You know she’s convinced herself the weird stuff here only threatens her family?’

Mark nods as he washes the last dirty mug. ‘She’s nuts, like I keep saying.’

Alan pushes back his chair and stands. ‘To put it simply, Kate, Mrs Havers insists I come over to Haverscroft and offer some prayers for protection and peace.’ He stops speaking and smiles.

‘That’s the plan?’ I say smiling back.

‘I thought you’d approve of it, Kate. Meanwhile, you’re more than welcome to camp out at the Rectory for as long as you like.’

He stands and fishes in the back pocket of his jeans. ‘I’m off to my bed, let yourselves in as soon you like.’

I take the key from his hand. ‘Thank you. You can’t imagine what a relief this is.’

All of me relaxes a little. I can get the children away from here just as soon as I’ve spoken to Mrs Havers.

Mark wipes his hands on a tea towel. ‘It can’t do any harm, can it? An exorcism, or whatever you want to call it, to humour her?’

I stare at Mark, I’m aware Alan does too. The silence pulls out for several seconds.

‘Do you believe there’s something here then, at Haverscroft?’ I make no attempt to hide the astonishment in my voice. Mark looks towards where I sit on Mum’s sofa.

‘I’m the only one who doesn’t get it. The kids are petrified of being on the landing, and Mother says I’m insane for wanting to stay here.’ He shrugs his shoulders and turns to Alan. ‘So you can have a go, at sorting it, can’t you?’

I’m irritated Mark wouldn’t have any of this from me. I bite my lip, it won’t help to challenge him right now, what’s the point, we’re leaving anyway.

‘Absolutely. Whether it has any effect, of course, is entirely speculative. Opinions vary enormously on these things.’ Alan looks at me before continuing. ‘Mrs Havers has been on at me about it for weeks, and so had Richard Denning.’ He zips up his black leather jacket. ‘Then you raised it with me too, Kate, that’s when I spoke with the Bishop.’

I push myself from the sofa and stand, my heart racing. The whole thing sounds like a scary nightmare.

‘We don’t carry out exorcisms very often, far from it. The Church doesn’t even call them that these days.’

I’m nodding, my mouth so dry I don’t speak. I can’t imagine any of it making the slightest difference, and even if it does, I don’t want to be here. This house will never be a home.

‘Did you get it?’ Mark says. ‘Permission?’

‘Eventually. Mrs Havers was persuasive, as you might imagine.’

Alan and I exchange a smile as he heads for the door, Mark right behind him. ‘I’ll drop by this afternoon if that’s convenient. There’s no time to waste as far as Mrs Havers is concerned.’

 

Mark and Alan head for the front door.

‘I’ll give the taxi guy some cash, Kate, make sure he’s okay to hang on while you speak to Mrs Havers.’

I nod at Mark and watch the two men head outside. There’s no sound from the morning room. Mrs Havers can wait a few more minutes. I tiptoe across the tiles and head for the stairs.

I stop on the top step, the spare room door is closed and bolted. A small set of stepladders I’ve not seen before leans against the wall, the fluted glass shade and three blackened bulbs on the floor beside it. A plain white shade, a modern cone-shaped thing, hangs from the ceiling on a much shorter cable. I try the old Bakelite switch.

Click, click. Click. Dead.

There’s no odd sensation, no peculiar smell. I hurry away from the spare room along the landing, past my room to Sophie’s, which glimmers in soft light from her lava-lamp, bubbles rise, collide and fall, bouncing deep pink shadows across the ceiling and walls. Her bed is crumpled, the duvet sagging down one side, a pillow thrown to the floor. No Sophie. Bloody hell, where is she?

The office and attic doors are closed, the bathroom in darkness. I run towards the green glow coming from my son’s room. The door is ajar, I push it wider. Trainers tumble amongst discarded jeans and a tee-shirt, Lego and books spread across the floor. The lamp is on the bedside table, silver glitter rises and falls in the current of green liquid spinning sparkles of light around the walls. From here it’s difficult to see my children properly. I pick my way across the cluttered carpet to stand beside the bed. Sophie is here, lying on her back, her mouth open slightly, she looks as if she might say something any second. Her arm is flung out towards the lamp, a tangle of dark hair spread across the pillow. Tom’s face presses into Sophie’s neck, blond hair sticking up at the front Tin-Tin style, Blue Duck clamped into the crook of his arm.

I watch the slow rise and fall of the duvet, listen to the soft whistle of Tom’s breathing. They’re safe. My children are okay. The knot of tension in my chest eases, the relief is so overwhelming my knees feel wobbly, my eyes growing hot. I breathe, let my shoulders relax. I watched the twins sleeping for hours and hours when they were babies, terrified one might stop breathing, turn themselves over and suffocate. I watch them now, not daring to move away from the bedside. My face is wet, salty rivulets dribble off my chin and drip onto my coat. One day I’ll tell you about her, your grandmother, my mum. How she would have made you laugh, and how she would have loved you both so much. My strong and clever, warm and fragile Mum. But right now, we need to leave. I look up, my breath catching in my throat, a still dark figure fills the doorway.

I didn’t hear his footfall, the creek of the landing floorboards. I’ve no idea how long he’s been there, how long I’ve been watching the twins sleeping. I hadn’t noticed earlier how his jeans look looser at the hips, his belt a notch tighter. I wipe the back of my hand across my face.

‘What the hell are you doing, Kate. She’s still fucking well downstairs. Get rid of her, for God’s sake so we can all go to bed!’

Mark’s voice is a low hiss, his head jerking towards the stairs.

I look at the sleeping children. I can’t imagine what she has to say and why only I must hear it. I need to sort things out with her and with Mark. Especially with Mark.