Greg and Zena were in the front garden of the house, carrying some refuse to the bin near the gate, when a car went past. They looked at each other in surprise. Apart from the big house at the end of the lane, beyond it was a neglected woodland and Uncle Sam’s farmland. So where would the car be going?
‘That’s the third one I’ve seen this week,’ Zena said. ‘Do you think the new tenants for our haunted house are coming at last?’
‘Builders to knock it down more likely. According to what you saw when you went in with Kevin, it’s in a poor state.’ He grinned, a boyish, mischievous grin. ‘Shall we go down tonight and look around like we did when we were little?’
‘Scare ourselves silly, you mean? Yes, why not.’
Wrapping themselves against the gloomy evening, and armed with two torches, they set off about nine o’clock. It was very cold and a mist had settled close to the ground. When they came to the edge of the woodland they stopped. Moisture dripped from the evergreen leaves of holly and ivy making small rhythmical tapping sounds. Other unidentifiable squeaks and scurrying sounds made them look nervously about them, their eyes trying in vain to pierce the moist darkness.
They were tempted to give up and turn back but continued on, more afraid of the teasing they would face from Lottie and Mabs if they ran home scared, than anything they could imagine confronting in the eerie darkness. In the distance there was the occasional hum of traffic, close by there was silence, broken only by the sound of their footsteps. The quiet made them whisper and tread carefully to avoid unnecessary noise. ‘I feel like an interloper,’ Zena whispered, and Greg whispered back, ‘We are! We passed the sign warning trespassers to go no further, minutes ago.’
The large wooden gates creaked as they pushed them open and they went slowly along the drive, listening for a sound that might represent danger. Although they knew nothing was there to harm them, their childhood memories returned to make their hearts race as though the dangers were real, reliving their childish adventures when every leaf that moved made them start in fright.
Soon they began to laugh as they pictured what they must look like, creeping along towards an empty house like the scared children they had once been. Again the eerie silence around them sobered them, stifled their laughter, as they headed for the steps leading up to the porch and the imposing front door.
Leaves had built up in the porch but there was a pattern shaped like twin fans where the doorway had been carelessly swept, presumably by the broom that stood in a corner. ‘Someone’s been here since I came with Kevin,’ she whispered. ‘Perhaps they’re still inside, watching us.’
‘How can you imagine that!’
‘The porch, it’s been swept, the leaves weren’t neatly piled up like that.’ She flicked the torch on briefly, the darkness greater because of it. They stood for a moment then walked down the steps and along the side of the building.
Peering through a dirt-stained window revealed nothing and they went further, towards the back of the house. No lights showed through the mist and peering through other windows revealed nothing. It was difficult to make out the path amid the overgrown weeds, but with growing confidence they turned another corner towards the back door. They stopped in shock seeing a car parked there revealed by a thin light coming through a window that looked out onto what once had been a lawn. A voice from inside, called, ‘Karen? Are you there? Can you find the Bing Crosby record for me?’
Before they could turn away they heard the sound of footsteps running towards them and Greg pulled Zena against the wall. A man came lumbering past without seeing them, dressed in heavy clothes and carrying a bag over his shoulder. A large, wide-brimmed hat on his head added to the impression of a very large individual. He was enormous and, as he passed very close to them a musty smell invaded heir nose. ‘A tramp by the smell of him,’ Greg whispered. In the faint light from the window they saw that he was bearded. Then, a branch of a holly tree touched his head and his hat came off and revealed a head of thick, white hair. They waited until he passed them, afraid to move, until the sound of his footsteps faded then they ran, uncaring about being seen, for the gate.
They slowed their pace and relaxed as they left the house further and further behind. By the time they were back at Llyn Hir they were laughing breathlessly, as they tried to tell their mother about their adventure between giggles, exaggerating what had happened, adding to the fun.
‘It was fun,’ Zena admitted, ‘but I wouldn’t fancy going there on my own, even in the daytime.’
‘I bet that old man we saw has been sleeping there and was as frightened as we were at finding it occupied.’
From the first moment he had met Susie Crane, Greg had warmed to her. She was small, barely up to his shoulder, rosy-faced, with wildly luxurious hair in a soft shining light brown, and she extended a cheerful smile for everyone she met. Greg had spoken to her on her first shift, welcomed her and promised to help with any problems she might have, although he was certain even at a first meeting that she wasn’t the type to need help with anything she encountered. Behind the smile was a young woman brimming with confidence.
They had been out together a few times and, when they met in the canteen and he told her about the previous evening when he and Zena dared to go to the big house, he didn’t exaggerate his nervousness! He implied that he was looking after his sister. Susie crocked an eyebrow and gave a mischievous grin. ‘All right, it was creepy,’ he admitted, ‘but we both knew there wasn’t really any danger.’
‘It sounds like fun,’ she said. ‘Was there really someone talking, or was it a ghost? If you go again, can I come?’ Her blue eyes were shining at the prospect of a ghost hunt. Greg thought that searching for ghosts with Susie would most definitely be fun.
He invited her out for a meal a few days later and he laughed as she told him some of her misconceptions about the job, and about the customers she was getting to know, and a few who thought that, as they were neighbours, they might get off without paying.
‘No chance of that!’ she said firmly. ‘I like this job and I want to keep it.’
Greg asked what she was doing at Christmas. ‘You’re local, so I presume you live at home?’
‘Right, and there are aunties and uncles and cousins by the dozen. Why don’t you join us? Mam loves visitors and likes nothing better than a full house at Christmas.’
They made plans for a visit to Susie’s family on Christmas evening, and Susie was invited to Llyn Hir for afternoon tea on Boxing Day. Greg rode home singing at the top of his voice, peddling in time to the music. He would forget about Rose; they were unlikely to meet again anyway, and enjoy the company of the light-hearted and uncomplicated Susie.
When he reached home a phone call told him that Rose was coming for the few days and he shed his happy mood like an oversized cloak. His feelings were mixed; pleased at a chance for her to explain, and disappointed. He explained to Lottie that he might have to rearrange Susie’s visit to avoid Rose and Susie arriving together. Lottie couldn’t see why but she said nothing. Greg and Zena had to sort out their own problems.
On the phone to Madeleine’s flat, Greg asked Jake when Rose was likely to come to see him and explained about Susie. ‘Just a friendly invitation,’ he assured Jake.
‘Hang on, Rose is here, I’ll ask her.’ Rose shook her head firmly at the question of when she would visit Llyn Hir. ‘I won’t be calling there. Please tell Greg, will you?’ Then Jake mentioned Susie, Greg’s new ‘friend’ and she reacted even more strongly.
‘Why should he change his plans? He’s free to see anyone he pleases, we’re finished and he knows it.’
Still holding the phone, Jake whispered, ‘He’s hoping you’ll have a change of heart, Rose. You know how he feels about you.’
‘I have no desire to marry Greg, not now, not ever. Tell him that, will you, even though he knows it already? I hope he invites this Susie and I wish him nothing but happiness. Greg and I are history! Nothing will change my mind. There, is that clear enough?’
After reporting her response, Jake replaced the phone. ‘Why, Rose? For goodness sake, tell me what happened to make you dislike him so much?’
‘Nothing happened and I don’t dislike him. I just won’t marry him.’
‘Then there’s someone else?’
‘There is no one else, I don’t want to marry him. Why doesn’t he accept that?’
The night café had had extra customers during the weeks leading up to Christmas, including a tall, white-haired man in his sixties, who looked enormous until he shed several layers in the warmth of the café. His name, he told them was Percy and apart from that he told them very little. He chatted in a friendly manner but was adept at avoiding answers to direct questions. Mabs frowned at Sid more than once, who as usual was taking on the responsibility of checking any one who came.
Greg wasn’t certain at first, but, as the man prepared to leave, piling on layer after layer, and found a large hat from his bundle, he recognized him as the man who ran past as he and Zena were hiding at the back of the old house.
It was Mabs’s firm rule that no questions were asked, but Greg walked out with the man called Percy and said, ‘My sister and I were at that old house down towards Edwards’s farm a week ago. D’you know the place? We used to go there as kids and we went back trying to remember how frightening it used to be. Daft, eh?’
‘It’s still frightening. I spend the days there and get out of it at night. I overslept one day and it was dark when I came away, chased by a strange voice when there’s no one there.’
‘But we saw a car, someone must be living there.’
‘That car hasn’t moved in years. I sleep in it sometimes when the rain’s bad. But it smells of mould and mildew and it takes days to get the smell out of my stuff.’
The man was well spoken and Greg dared to ask, ‘Why do you live like this? It’s clearly not the life you’re used to.’
‘Oh, you can get used to anything in time and I have nothing to go back to.’ He walked away to find somewhere to sleep away the daylight hours before returning to spend the night hours with Sid, Will, Albert and Ted and the others.
The atmosphere at Christmas in Llyn Hir was, according to Greg, like a speckled egg, going from light moments to dark moods, dependent on the ebb and flow of their visitors. The most irritating hours were when Madeleine came with Jake as though she had the right to be there, ensconced in the family, taking the seat closest to the fire that had once been their father’s and expecting to be waited on, treated as a valued friend. There was a tension that was difficult to define; it was as though they were waiting for Madeleine to leave but were too polite to even hint at her departing. They all glanced surreptitiously at the clock, willing the hands to move faster.
When extra food treats or surprises were revealed, like extra crackers to pull, to read out stupid jokes and wear the hats, Madeleine squealed with delight and the artificial laughter was a pain to Greg’s heart. ‘Why doesn’t Jake go and take her with him?’ he muttered as he went to the kitchen to help Lottie bring in yet more food at ten o’clock. Jake stood eventually at 11.30 and it was difficult for the family not to stand as one to hand them their coats.
The happiest moments for them all, were when Susie was there. She fitted in so comfortably and was immediately at home with them all.
Rose stayed away from Llyn Hir; Zena didn’t give Jake any opportunity to explain his actions and both situations created tension. Mabs and Lottie talked of Christmases in the past when, through rose-coloured spectacles, everything had been perfect. Madeleine seemed to be the happiest, self-assured, smiling, and frequently thanking Lottie for her welcome. It was only when Jake and Madeleine were at their lodgings and the family were on their own that they could relax and remark about the peculiar atmosphere, at a time that is usually so happy. They all blamed Jake.
Greg’s visit to Susie’s family were the best of all for him. He was enveloped in a house filled with lively, chattering relatives, whose names he didn’t manage to sort out. He called everyone, darlin’, or Butty and no one objected. The evenings were filled with silly party games, sing-songs around a badly played piano, and moments of calm when he and Susie talked about themselves, strengthening their friendship. The time passed quickly and he stayed late into the night on the two visits.
He walked home smiling happily, occasionally bursting into song, revelling at the sudden change in his life. It was only when he got into bed that thoughts of Rose returned to worry him. Somehow he had to achieve a definite end to the problem of Rose before he could relax and enjoy the delights of Susie Crane and her family.
His final thoughts before being claimed by sleep were of Susie and her light-hearted approach to life, free of the worries that held Rose back from relaxed comfortable, happiness.
Jake asked Rose several times when she planned to revisit her stepmother and stay long enough to offer sympathy on the death of her stepfather. She eventually promised to go that evening, one day before they were leaving to return to London.
‘Shall I come with you?’ Jake asked. ‘Not to go in, just to walk with you?’
Rose shook her head. ‘I’ll be fine, it isn’t as though—’ She stopped and shook her head. ‘I’ll be fine.’
He was curious as she set off to make the call, remembering how she had lied about where she lived when Greg walked her home. She was a strange girl; hemming herself in with secrets, cutting other people out of her personal life. He walked in the same direction as Rose for a while, heading for the lodgings where Madeleine would be waiting to go with him to Llyn Hir for an evening meal, an invitation which, true to form, Rose had refused, and also true to form, Madeleine had persuaded Lottie to make.
He hadn’t intended to follow her, but when they reached the main road and he had to turn left, when Rose turned right he did the same. She didn’t seem in any hurry. She stopped to look in shop windows, still with their slightly battered displays of Christmas cheer, then she sat on a bench just inside the park. He almost ran into her but managed to stop and keep out of sight. She sat there for ten minutes and Jake began to get anxious about the meal Zena’s family would have waiting for them. He didn’t want to give Zena another reason to be disappointed in him.
Then it began to rain and he pulled the back of his raincoat up and over his head, his arms uncomfortably raised. Surely she would move now? She seemed unaware of the rain that was quietly increasing in intensity, softly murmuring against the ground. Footsteps were heard in the distance, and laughter as people ran for shelter. Then it was quiet, just the pattering of raindrops in an empty world.
He had to talk to her and hoped he could explain his presence. She was carrying an umbrella yet she sat there getting soaked, wearing only a short jacket, a skirt and a useless felt hat. As he was about to reveal his presence, she stood and slowly, oblivious of the rain that was coming down in a hissing curtain, strolled on through the park.
Unable to leave her, afraid for her, wondering what to say, how to help, he gave up on keeping dry, let his coat slide back down to his shoulders and followed. At the other side of the park she jumped on a bus and he stood watching it making its sibilant way through the flooded gutters, out into the road and disappear in the gloom of the miserable evening.
He ran then, back to the lodgings where Madeleine was curious for an explanation when she saw that he was drenched. He told her about Rose and they discussed her as they walked, this time under the shelter of an umbrella, to where another evening with the Martins awaited them.
They left early, anxious about their friend and, when she was not back at the lodgings, they hoped that she had eventually visited her stepmother. Jake couldn’t settle. He kept visualizing her sitting on that lonely park bench oblivious of the rain, and at eleven o’clock he went to try and find her. Unbelievably, she was again sitting on the park bench.
He ran to her, put his arms around her and held her while she clung to him and cried. When she had calmed down, he dared to ask, ‘Did you see your stepmother?’ This made the tears flow again. He put his arms around her ‘Sorry, Rose, I shouldn’t have asked, it isn’t my business.’
‘They aren’t my stepparents! The Conellys never adopted me. They repeatedly reminded me that I was there on sufferance and was an ungrateful child. That I’d have been left in a home with no one to care about me if it hadn’t been for their generosity. Generosity! Then, on my sixteenth birthday they told me to go. Just like that. So suddenly I thought for a moment they were joking, although they never made jokes.’
‘Didn’t they want to help you? See you settled? Make sure you were able to look after yourself?’
‘They found me a room. A lovely room. An expensive room. But with a rent I couldn’t afford, but which would have impressed their friends with the “good start” they had given me. I had to leave after a week as I couldn’t pay it.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Luckily it was summer and I spent the night wandering and sleeping spasmodically on a bench like the one where you found me. A girl at the shop let me share with her for a week, then I found a room. A shabby room.’
‘A room you couldn’t bear Greg to see?’ He felt her nod against his shoulder.
‘Was your step— foster mother pleased that you called tonight?’
‘I didn’t call. I’ve been walking around all evening, sitting on benches, just like that first night on my own.’
Jake kissed her lightly on the cheek then coaxed her to walk on. She was shivering and they were both soaked through to the skin. They went into the lodgings where Madeleine was dozing in front of the grey melancholy remains of the fire. With minimal explanations, and revealing little of what Rose had told him, he helped Madeleine to take Rose to her room and went into his own.
When he went up to see if Rose needed a hot drink, he asked, gently, ‘Is this why you won’t marry Greg? Because you can’t tell him? Surely there’s no shame or embarrassment in your story? The way the Conellys treated you was evil. There’s no shame on your side. Greg would help you to forget your unhappy childhood and you’d build a good life together. The Martins are good people and they’d welcome you, make you understand that you’re wanted and loved.’
‘You think the Martins would understand? The Martins? That’s a sick joke!’ She refused to discuss it again.
At Llyn Hir, the days had passed following the usual traditions of parcel opening, meals and snacks and, as it was the first Christmas without rationing, the fare was unusually generous, but for Lottie there was something lacking. It was two days after Boxing Day and in a couple more most shops would opening, but Lottie and Zena had decided to give themselves an extra few days. ‘No one will want writing-paper and envelopes for a while, we might as well enjoy more time to ourselves.’
‘It has been a strange Christmas,’ Zena mused, as she read through some of the cards on display. ‘You’re right, Mam, there has been something lacking. It was more than Dad not being here. Something of the spirit of Christmas wasn’t here. With the recovery from the awful war years, marked at last with the end of food rationing, it should have been extra special, yet something was missing.’
‘Not so much lacking, as something added,’ Lottie said. ‘We have always had a houseful at Christmas. With Mabs here for the week, people calling, staying for drinks or a meal and your father and I loved it. But I don’t like having people we don’t know thrust upon us. Jake had no right to invite Madeleine then expect us to entertain her. Sorry, dear,’ she added, as she glanced at her daughter. ‘If it were only Jake, well, that would have been fine, wouldn’t it?’
‘I don’t know.’ Zena gave a sigh. ‘When he’s away I relax and I’m happy, my life is full without him, I plan without wondering whether he’ll be included and sometimes I hope he will forget us and stay in London. But when I see him, I realize how much I miss him. Not so much this time,’ she added harshly. ‘I’m well aware that Madeleine is more important to him than me; inviting her to share our Christmas makes that clear, and it changes things. And I don’t think her ankle is as painful as she pretends!’ she added petulantly.
Lottie laughed. ‘That sounds childish, but I admit I think the same.’
‘Mam, let’s go out. We can go and see Nelda; you like spending time with her and the two little girls, don’t you?’
‘But Jake and the girls might come. They aren’t going back until tomorrow. And surely Rose won’t go back to London without at least coming to say hello.’
‘What better reason for going out? She has really hurt Greg and made it worse by refusing to explain why she behaved as she did.’
‘It was very odd. She was never relaxed with us, but that day was different. She was reluctant to go and see your father in hospital that day. Perhaps Greg pushed her into going and, I don’t know, she took offence, maybe? Something changed and she walked away from us all.’
Uninvited but certain of a welcome they went into Nelda’s chaotic house where toys and cards and decorations were spread, higgledy piggledy all around the living rooms and the kitchen. Bobbie and Georgie began to show their presents to them but very soon the six-year-old Georgie brought her favourite books to Lottie, seeing in her the grandmother she sadly lacked. Nelda’s ex-mother-in-law lived too far away for visits, and Nelda’s parents lived in France.
Over cups of tea and cake, Nelda told them that Roy Roberts was ill and instead of going back home, after the couple of hours spent enjoying the lively company, they went from Nelda’s to see him, loaded with cakes and biscuits and even a couple of Christmas crackers Nelda had packed, to cheer him up. His face was still bearing scars from the attack two weeks before, bruises yellow and fading, the scar of a graze across his cheek still visible.
‘I hope you haven’t been fighting again,’ Zena admonished at once. ‘Some of those bruises look new.’
‘They are,’ a voice called from the kitchen, and Kevin appeared waving a teapot. ‘Hello, Zena. Anyone for tea? Or something more interesting? What about you, Popeye, a glass of cider?’ he asked. Zena went into the kitchen to help, although she doubted whether she could drink any more tea that day.
‘He’s been fighting, but he won’t tell me what happened,’ Kevin whispered. ‘I think it was his son, Dick. Tricky Dicky. He rarely comes but when he does there’s a argument or worse.’
‘Attacking his father? An old man?’
Kevin smiled at her, ‘No, not really. Popeye provokes him, trying to make him listen to his side of the story.’
Remembering the letter she had guiltily read, Zena asked, ‘Is it anything to do with someone called Donna?’
‘How did you know about her?’
‘I heard the name somewhere,’ she lied.
‘Donna was the cause of his wife leaving him and the sons have never forgiven him. Dicky has frequently demanded his father helps their mother financially but Popeye refuses, insisting that she left him, so he owes her nothing. Fond of him I am, but he didn’t play fair with his family and I can sympathize with his sons.’
‘But fighting with his father, that’s terrible.’
‘Protecting himself was all the old man was doing. Old Popeye was a boxer in his youth and can still pack a punch. He’d never hit anyone. Not Popeye; he’s too afraid of hitting too hard.’
‘But his face? That must have been some retaliation!’
‘No, that happened when I came in to separate them. He ran into the door in a rage. He didn’t raise a hand except to protect himself from his son’s abuse.’
‘What are you two nattering about out there?’ Roy demanded. ‘Where are the drinks?’
Zena felt disappointed. She thought she knew Roy Roberts, believed he was a gentle, kindly old man who was lonely for a family who neglected him. What Kevin had told her was such a shock, that she made excuses and hurried away in case her change of attitude showed on her face. What a poor judge of character she must be.
There was a note beside the door when they got back to Llyn Hir. It was from Jake and Madeleine, telling them they had called but missed them and would call tomorrow before setting off for London.
It was tempting to be out when they came but with no time given that wasn’t possible. It was ten o’clock when Jake arrived and he was alone.
‘Hello, my lovely girl.’ He leaned towards her expecting a kiss, but she moved away to close the door. ‘I want to go to the farm to ask Sam if he’ll sell me a few eggs for the girls to take back to London, see. Will you come with me? He doesn’t like me very much and he’s more likely to say yes if you’re there.’
She reached for her coat and called to her mother, ‘We’re going to see Sam and Neville, will you come with us? The fresh air is what we all need,’
Sam greeted them with delight but the smile faded when he saw Jake. ‘Go and see Dad, he’ll let you have a dozen. Mixed sizes, mind, none of your London nonsense here!’ and, as Jake went off to see Neville, Sam turned and hugged Lottie and Zena.
‘It’s no good, I can’t stand the man,’ he admitted. ‘It’s twelve years now since he left my son to drown but it’s still just like yesterday when I see that man.’
‘Jake didn’t leave Peter to drown, Sam, you know that. He ran to get help as he couldn’t swim and there was no way to save him himself.’ This had all been said many times before but Sam just shook his head. The loss of a son was a lifetime of painful memories. How could he ever forget blaming Jake?
Lottie held his arm. ‘They’d spent hours on the lake with the boat and the raft as safe as anyone could be, but the sea was different. They had no idea how strong the waves were, used to the calm water of the lake. They learned how different on that day but dear Peter paid for the lesson with his life.’
Through the window they saw Jake coming back carrying a box from which straw stuck out, obviously holding the eggs. ‘Look,’ Sam said apologetically, ‘can you come this afternoon and have tea with us? Mabs sent us some pasties and a fruitcake, Dad cooked some sausages. and we’d love to share them with you.’
As Jake knocked on the door, they opened it and, calling goodbye to Sam and waving to his father down in the yard they set off back to Llyn Hir. Jake made no comment about the lack of welcome, just chatted about the chickens and the donkey that was in the field as company for the retired horse. It was only what he’d expected.
When she knew the three friends had set off back to London. Zena gave a sigh of relief. She had avoided a heart to heart with Jake. The days had passed and left her unscathed.
Susie met Greg before starting a shift and they sat in a café and dissected Christmas. Susie didn’t mention Rose, whom she hadn’t met but about whom she was achingly curious. She was also curious about Jake and Madeleine. Greg explained a little about the long standing friendship and engagement of his sister and Jake, and her recent change of heart about marrying him.
‘It was a very strange Christmas, so many cross currents and uneasy moments. Without Dad being there it was bound to be different from the usual but apart from that, the mix was wrong. We were all glad that you were there, Susie. You made it bearable with your bright, happy personality.’
‘Nonsense, I was an intruder and you were all being very kind to me. I was made to feel welcome mind, and I love your Aunty Mabs.’
They kissed briefly as they parted and went to begin their shifts, stopping at the doorway for a final wave.
It was a week later, having belatedly celebrated the New Year with friends, that Susie passed the night café and saw Greg going in. She began to follow him, puzzled by finding a café open at such a late hour, but at the door she stopped. Looking through a gap in the blind, she saw Aunty Mabs greeting him affectionately then handing him a pack of sliced bread and a wedge of cheese. She watched, curious about his presence there as he disappeared into what was obviously a kitchen, coming back wiping his hands on a clean white towel. He opened the bread and began making sandwiches. She was afraid of being seen and hurried towards the taxi rank on the corner, but as she did so, a small, bright-eyed man approached and said, ‘It’s all right to go in, miss, anyone who’s lonely or can’t sleep is welcome at Frankie’s café.’ Then he recognized the uniform only half hidden by an overcoat. ‘Oh, sorry, miss. Excuse me,’ he added as he pushed past and slid his small frame around the door, ‘my mate is waiting for a game of draughts. Trying to teach me chess, he is. Fat chance of me learning that!’ He smiled and closed the door.
Later as the place was closing, Sid told Greg and Mabs about the curious young woman. ‘I thought she was looking for a bit of warmth and company like the rest of us, see, and then I saw that she was a bus conductress.’
Greg asked for a description, and Sid’s response was vague but it convinced him it had been Susie when Sid said she had long hair tied back in a bundle and she smiled ‘like an angel’.
‘I might have to tell her about the café to stop her telling others,’ Greg explained to Mabs. ‘Also, I don’t want there to be secrets between Susie and me.’
‘It’s hardly a secret any more,’ Mabs said. ‘Just as well too, or lonely people wouldn’t get to know about it either. I didn’t want it talked about too soon or it might have attracted the wrong people. Or too many for the idea to work.’
In London, the atmosphere in the office and at Madeleine’s flat was subdued. Rose was depressed by Madeleine’s half-joking, half-unkind description of what she called, ‘The horrors of Christmas en famille.’ She was convinced that the occasion had been ruined by her being there. She thought of the happy moments with Greg and the many, many more unhappy times throughout her life and wondered if she would ever go again to Cold Brook Vale.
Madeleine guessed that something had happened between Jake and Rose but neither could be persuaded to talk. She planned theatre visits and meals at the flat and in restaurants but the heart had gone from their friendship. It was time for things to change.
Jake increased his journeys and was making a success of his new career. He phoned to talk to Zena several times, to share his news, but she refused to come to the phone. He wrote to her but the letters were thrown away by Madeleine.
Rose was tearful at times, refusing to repeat the things she had told Jake. On other occasions she was angry and then too she offered no explanation. Madeleine was becoming bored and tried to think of a way to liven things up. They were all looking for something but unable to find it.
Although Zena didn’t want extra clients for her cleaning list, there were a few who approached her with a request for a weekly visit. She regretfully turned them down. The shop and the typing services kept her busy and she still called on Roy Roberts and Nelda. Then a most surprising request came from someone who introduced herself as Karen Rogers, housekeeper to the tenant of the place locally known as the haunted house.
Memories of her and Greg’s late night visit made her want to refuse, embarrassed by her nosiness. She remembered the voice calling for someone to find a Bing Crosby record and the man running as though in fear of his life as she and Greg had hidden in the darkness.
They had played in its grounds as children and dared each other to approach the grimy windows and look inside, before running away screaming, insisting they had seen ghosts. Zena smiled at the memories. Those memories were still strong: even the recent visit hadn’t changed them.
She was tempted to make an appointment, just to go inside and see what the place was actually like, although, she told her brother, it might be a disappointment to find ordinary rooms, filled with ordinary things. It would be a pity to lose the magical memories of their childhood fears and imaginings. She thanked Mrs Rogers but declined.
A few weeks later, when the weather was bleak and snow was threatening, Karen Rogers called at the shop and asked again. ‘I do what I can, but there is too much for me to manage,’ she explained, ‘with shopping and cooking and the laundry as well.’
Zena still looked doubtful and she added quickly, ‘Don’t worry about the size of the house, we only use a part of it. Most is closed off, furniture covered and all I have to do is open the windows occasionally. But if you could come to help me for as many hours as you can spare, I would be so grateful.’
‘How many people live there?’ Zena asked, the expression on the woman’s face melting her resolve to refuse. ‘Will there be cooking involved? Or shopping? If I agree to help I won’t have time for more than a couple of brief weekly visits.’ Aware of the size of the place, she knew that wouldn’t be enough to make it liveable.
‘None of those things. I want help to keep the parts in use clean and all the rest, that has dropped to the bottom of my list,’ Mrs Rogers admitted.
Zena agreed to think about it. A week later the request was repeated and finally, accepting that there was time between her shifts at the shop and the irregular typing she was given, she agreed.
On her fist visit, she arranged to go very early and spend a few hours deciding what was most needed. Her journey there was very entertaining. She was cycling just a short distance from home along the narrow road which led only the house that was her destination, when she saw a small boy, dressed warmly in a heavy overcoat, that almost hid him completely, a too large, knitted hat and scarf and carrying a paperboy’s delivery bag. He was standing pulling withered leaves from the hedge and didn’t seem to be going anywhere. Zena stopped and asked him if he was all right.
‘Yes, miss. I’ll go home in a while.’ She noticed he was shivering with the cold despite his layers of clothing. ‘I just have to stand here for a while, just a little while, miss, then I can go home.’
Something about the way he was glancing along the lane made her suspect the reason for his hesitation. ‘Do you have to deliver a newspaper to the big house?’
‘Yes, miss, and I’m not going!’
She smiled. ‘We used to pretend the place was haunted when I was about your age. It isn’t, of course. That was just a silly game that we invented to frighten ourselves. It’s just an ordinary house. Bigger than most, that’s all.’
‘I’m not going.’
‘Then I’ll take it for you, shall I?’ She offered her hand for the paper but then changed her mind. ‘Better than that. I’ll walk with you and we’ll see that there’s nothing to be frightened of.’
‘I’m not frightened, miss.’
‘I am! So, shall we walk together?’ She reached for his canvas bag and put it across the handlebars.
They talked as they walked and the boy told her his name was Geraint and he lived with his mam and had no dad. ‘He was a soldier and he died,’ he explained in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘I’m delivering papers to earn money to buy Mam a birthday present, see.’
As they turned the curve in the road that would give them the first sight of the house, he went quiet and held the handlebar of the bike for reassurance. She talked to him about the trees, giving their names and describing the beauty to come when the leaves and spring blossoms appeared. His feet were dragging but he walked on until they faced the wide and impressive front door. She waited until he had pushed the papers through the letter box then knocked loudly. She held his hand tightly as he began to leave. ‘Stay and meet Mrs Rogers,’ she said. ‘You’ll like her.’
The door opened and the smiling face of Mrs Rogers appeared. She spoke firstly to the boy. ‘You must be Geraint. Thank you for coming all this way with our papers. Would you like a drink of milk before going back?’
‘Thanks, but I’ll be late for school.’ He turned and ran and was quickly out of sight.
‘Knock on my door tomorrow and we’ll walk together,’ Zena shouted.
Mrs Rogers took Zena into the kitchen which was huge. Windows were large and should have let in plenty of light, but the glass was covered in grime and in places it was impossible to see anything beyond them. A light burned from the ceiling and from sconces on the wall near what must have once been the preparation table but which was now completely covered with pots and pans of indeterminate age.
‘These should have gone for scrap ages ago,’ Mrs Rogers apologized. ‘I just can’t find time to attend to these things.’
After discussion, Zena agreed to come each morning for a week, then settle to regular visits. It would take a week to dispose of the rubbish, and scrubbing would be her main occupation. She smiled when she thought that for a week, Geraint would have company on his uneasy walk. Between them by telephone, she and Mrs Rogers arranged for a scrap merchant to dispose of the unwanted and ancient pans and for a gardener to start tidying the entrance. A laundry service was contacted and weekly collections organized.
‘I haven’t coped very well, have I? I’ve done nothing like this before and so much of my time is taken just looking after my employer,’ Karen explained.
‘When will I meet him?’ Zena asked, but Karen shook her head. ‘No hurry,’ Zena said quickly, waving hands to dismiss the idea. ‘Whenever it’s convenient, but if I could look at the house, at least the parts of it for which I will be responsible?’
She was shown up a wide, intricately carved staircase and doors were opened on three of the bedrooms. All were furnished with items hidden by dust sheets. There was one door she wasn’t shown. ‘Sorry to sound mysterious, but that room is out of bounds,’ Karen told her. ‘Nothing to worry about, it’s just there are things that are important and not for public display.’
‘Valuable?’
‘Yes, sort of valuable.’ A cough was heard coming from the out-of-bounds room. Zena looked at her companion but no explanation was forthcoming and they moved on, back down the stairs to the living room that was beautifully but sparsely furnished and to a small library lined with books and where a cheerful fire blazed. ‘This is my sitting room,’ Karen explained. She gestured with a thumb towards a partially opened door disguised as part of the shelves. ‘My bedroom is in there.’
Before she left, Zena had a few more suggestions to make the house more pleasant. They arranged for a window cleaning firm to come and deal with the grime built up over years of neglect. Rubbish removal, professional cleaners followed by decorators, were needed in the kitchen, obviously the priority. The rest, Zena decided, she would gradually deal with herself.
The next morning she was pleased to see Geraint waiting for her and they walked down the lane, Zena pushing her bike loaded with his bag, and the boy showing more confidence. This time he accepted the glass of milk and ran off with slightly less haste.
By the end of that first week, the house had changed a great deal. The walls of the kitchen had been thoroughly cleaned and would soon be a cheerful buttercup yellow, the windows shone like jewels bringing more light into every room and Karen was delighted with the changes.
Geraint had changed too, his forays into the dangerous ‘haunted’ house had given him almost hero status at school and he even hurried ahead of Zena on Saturday. When Zena asked if he would like her to walk with him on Sunday, he said there was no need. Rather self-consciously he thanked her and added that he had some tips to add to his wages and would be able to buy his Mam something ‘Real good’.
Working at the house, she was amused to learn it was called SunnyBank, which seemed more relevant now compared to a week ago. It was very tiring work and she went home after several hours of heavy cleaning, content with the way her days were filled. Greg came with her one morning to look at the trees that had been allowed to become too large for the garden and he went with Karen Rogers to talk to some professional tree surgeons about their disposal. Trees came down and the wood put in a store to dry and be used on the fire. The unwanted small branches were built into a bonfire and Geraint and two friends came with Greg and Susie to watch the fun as it burned.
‘It’s like seeing the house coming to life,’ Zena said, and Greg agreed glumly. ‘But it’s lost the magic of creepy nights frightening ourselves silly.’
The third bedroom was never opened and although Zena occasionally heard movements inside, she didn’t ask; Mrs Rogers didn’t explain and clearly preferred she didn’t admit her curiosity.