2010
Natalie ran out of the house and locked the door. Within seconds she had started her car and hurtled down the lane. Was she really losing it? She certainly hoped not but…As she passed the entrance to Stuart’s cottage she was struck by a possible explanation. Could Stuart have played a trick on her? He had been downstairs when she went up to change and had the chance to move the photo, for sure. But why? Taking deep, gulping breaths Natalie forced herself to be rational. Stuart had come across as a decent bloke, acting the part of the friendly neighbour. He had nothing to gain from scaring her like that. Quite the opposite. What good would it do him to have a frightened woman next door?
Once Natalie gained the coast road she had to slow her speed to match the traffic going north. It seemed no-one else was in a hurry for their Sunday lunch, driving at the speed limit of 35mph and no more. Sunday drivers! She braked as the car in front made an unannounced right turn. Coming up on the left, Natalie spotted a display of flowers in a parking area and pulled in. She chose a bunch of freesias and dropped the money in the box provided. She was about to get back in the car when she hesitated. Might as well buy some for her own place and bought the last bunch.
Natalie eased the car carefully through the stone arch to her parents’ cottage and switched off the engine. It was only a few days since she had left but it seemed like weeks. Grabbing the flowers she pushed open the front door, calling, ‘Only me!’
She found her mother in the kitchen and gave her a hug and the flowers.
Molly beamed. ‘Thank you, darling. Could you put them in water while I finish off here? Your father’s outside laying the table. There’s a bottle of wine chilling on the worktop if you’d like to pour yourself a glass.’
Natalie took a vase from a cupboard and filled it with water before dropping in the flowers. Her mother would probably arrange them properly later. Helping herself to a glass of wine, she asked if there was anything else Molly needed.
‘No, all under control. You go and talk to your father. I’ll bring the food out in about ten minutes.’
Natalie gave an appreciative sniff. Roast chicken and all the trimmings. Delicious. She went through the back door to find her father sitting at the wooden terrace table, his long legs stretched out in front of him and a glass of wine in his hand. A pile of Sunday papers lay on the floor.
‘Hi, Dad. I see you’re working up an appetite by reading the papers,’ she said, laughing as she kissed his cheek.
He smiled. ‘I’ll have you know your mother had me peeling veg for what seemed like most of the morning. Does she need a hand?’ He went to stand up, but Natalie told him to sit still, she’d help if needed.
‘So, what have you been up to? Enjoying that lovely home of yours?’
She whirled the wine in her glass, avoiding his eyes. ‘Oh, this and that. The gardener, Matt, came round yesterday and…’ she told him what had been discussed and had got to the part about the placement of the pond when her mother came out bearing a laden tray. As Peter relieved her of it, Natalie went inside and filled another tray. Within moments the table was covered in dishes and they began helping themselves.
Natalie was glad of the focus on the food, not yet wanting to say what was uppermost in her mind. That she might be going mad. Not something easy to say when your mother was a psychotherapist. The conversation drifted onto local issues, with the usual grumbling about the latest edicts from the States, the local government. Then Peter once more brought it back to Natalie and her cottage.
‘Natalie was telling me the gardener’s starting work in earnest this week so it won’t be long before everything’s shipshape. And the cottage looks even better since we put the pictures up, right, Natalie?’ Her father smiled at her and she nodded.
‘I think it’s beautiful and you were so lucky to get it, darling. You–’ Molly stopped as Natalie brushed away a tear. ‘Whatever’s the matter? Has something happened?’ She reached over to give her a hug.
Natalie fought to calm herself and blew her nose on a paper napkin.
‘I…I don’t know what’s happening, Mum, but somehow the photo of you and Dad, which was in the sitting room, ended up in the kitchen. And it definitely wasn’t me who moved it.’ She sniffed.
Peter and Molly looked at each other and Natalie saw the faint lift of their eyebrows. So, they thought she was mad too.
‘Are you absolutely sure you didn’t move it, without noticing? When you were thinking of something else, for example?’ Peter said, calmly. ‘I do it all the time.’
She shook her head. ‘I had no need to move it and certainly wouldn’t have left it on the worktop.’ Natalie chewed her lip. ‘It…it’s not the only thing that’s happened. I’ve heard a voice twice, both times in the kitchen, when there’s no-one there.’
This time she saw her mother’s forehead crease and wondered if the men in white coats would soon be on their way.
‘What did the voice say? And was it a man or a woman?’
‘I couldn’t tell whether it was male or female. It was a hiss – “Go away. Go!” A bit threatening.’ She could still hear the voice in her head.
‘Darling, do you think the place might be haunted? I know it sounds a bit far-fetched, but I’ve always had an open mind about these things. Ghosts have been seen on the island. And the farm did have the reputation of being haunted after the fire,’ Molly said, stroking her arm.
Natalie was shocked. Ghosts! She’d never thought of that, but…
‘I don’t know, Mum. I’ve never had any truck with such stuff. To be honest, I was wondering if it was Stuart. He had the chance to move the photo, though God knows why, and he might have been able to stand outside and hiss.’ Natalie looked from one parent to another. Saying it all out loud somehow made her feel stupid. What would be worse – going mad or having an in-house ghost? Tough call.
Peter cleared his throat.
‘I never used to believe in ghosts or spirits either, but since that business with Jeanne’s cottage, I’ve learnt not everything has a rational explanation.’ He gripped Natalie’s hand, adding, ‘As you say, Stuart has no obvious reason to distress you. But if you’re feeling frightened, you can come back any time, you know.’
She smiled half-heartedly.
‘I’m not frightened exactly, just scared I’m losing my mind. At least if the place is haunted, we could have it exorcised or whatever it is they do nowadays. Couldn’t we?’ She looked expectantly at her parents, who nodded in unison.
‘The lovely vicar who helped Jeanne, Reverend Ayres, would, I’m sure, be only too happy to help if it came to it. But it’s only been a couple of days, so perhaps we should see if anything happens again before talking to him. I believe he retires shortly as the vicar of St Saviours, and you’re in St Peters. Not sure if that makes a difference,’ Molly said, frowning.
Natalie played with her cutlery. In a way it was a relief to think she wasn’t mad. But the thought of a restless spirit on the prowl wasn’t exactly comforting. It could still be Stuart playing silly-devils, but that was equally depressing. It could indicate he was a bit unbalanced and he’d seemed so normal. Sighing, she glanced up at her parents, concern etched in their faces.
‘Yes, let’s wait. After all, I’m not in any danger. And I do love the house.’
‘Right, I’ll fetch the pudding, shall I? You need feeding up, sweetheart. Fill out those pretty cheeks of yours,’ Peter said, pushing back his chair. Natalie smiled. Her thinness was a family joke, compared to her more cuddly parents, she looked thinner than she was, a healthy size ten. She helped clear the plates and dishes and within minutes they were tucking into a fresh strawberry pavlova. Molly steered the conversation towards the holiday she and Peter were planning for September and the atmosphere lightened. When Natalie left an hour later, she was feeling much better about what had happened in the cottage. Just a blip.
The next morning Matt and the carpenter arrived bright and early as Natalie was wolfing down her breakfast of coffee and toast. Part of her would have liked to stay at home and watch the men working in the garden but having taken time off last week she knew her in-tray would be full of letters from clients needing her attention. She had time for a quick word with them and admired the weathered oak to be used for the pergola. Next to her car Matt’s pickup truck overflowed with shrubs, plants and more oak. Natalie smiled at the thought of a soon-to-be completed garden. As she jumped in the car Stuart came out of his cottage and waved. She waved back automatically, even though she was not entirely convinced he was innocent of the odd happenings in her cottage. Since the previous morning nothing had happened and Natalie hoped sincerely it would stay that way. The idea of ghosts was too weird. She drove off down the lane as Stuart followed, both heading into St Peter Port. It was only as they reached the grammar school in Footes Lane that Stuart turned left, giving a quick toot on the horn, and Natalie continued towards Les Banques and the swish offices of the investment bank where she had worked since her return. One of the benefits of her senior position was a dedicated parking space in the basement and she drove in to be met by smiles from colleagues heading for the lift. Not a bad start to a Monday morning, she thought, catching up with them.
Natalie arrived home feeling tired. It had been a long, busy day dealing with letters and making phone calls to her most important clients: the ones who expected instant responses as befitted their wealth. All she wanted was to curl up in a chair with a glass of something cold and alcoholic. But first she wanted to see the progress in the garden and walked straight through to the sitting room. Folding back the windows, Natalie smiled at the sight of the new planting. Stepping outside she admired the posts and beams of the pergola overhead, the beautiful oak gleaming in the evening sun. By the following year it would be a mass of vines and honeysuckle, offering dappled shade from the sun. It was part of Matt’s remit to plant around the bases of the posts once the rest of the garden was finished. She stroked the solid wood before crossing to the nearest patch of planting. Evergreen shrubs formed a backdrop to what would be herbaceous borders. Only a few of the flowers she’d chosen were now in place. Natalie continued her inspection, reaching out to touch the oleanders bringing a much-needed splash of colour amongst the green. The piles of earth were no more and the shape of the garden was now visible.
Releasing a contented sigh, Natalie made her way back inside to change. Time for that drink on the terrace.
Much later, after an easy meal of omelette and salad, Natalie settled down in the sitting room for a spot of television. Within an hour she was yawning, and realised she had completely lost the plot of the complex drama advertised as ‘unmissable’. Uncurling herself from the sofa, she picked up her empty wine glass and went to the kitchen. Standing in the doorway she froze. Her state of the art kitchen was no longer there. Instead she saw, as if through a mist, a room that would not have looked out of place in the local folk museum. An old-fashioned kitchen with free standing cupboards and a black iron range by a butler’s sink. A big wooden table. And was that a door? Natalie tried to take it in, shocked to her core. She blinked and the image disappeared, replaced with that of her own kitchen. She walked in, reaching out to touch the nearest cupboard. It was solid. Leaving the glass on the worktop, she fled upstairs, convinced she was, after all, going mad.