The Haunting of Harriet (7 page)

“What are you rabbiting on about? You weren’t even born when the bloody war was on. And who on earth is Tom when he’s at home?” Edward looked at his young wife and waited for an explanation but she ignored him. She appeared detached, as if in a dream, and she spoke slowly, her voice deeper and softer than usual. It was as though she was speaking to herself.

“Do children still make a guy and collect pennies for him? ‘A penny for the guy, Gov?’ We always wanted to but Mummy would never let us. She didn’t approve of that either. She said it was common, like begging. We’d put great big unpeeled potatoes in the fire… we thought they tasted wonderful but they were always quite raw in the middle, though charcoal-black on the outside. Of course we didn’t care. Life was much simpler then. We were so happy. Ashes and charcoal… and wet wool from our gloves… such memories! I can taste those potatoes now.” She licked her lips as she listened to the explosions around her. An extra-loud crack brought her crashing back to the twenty-first century.

“Are you all right, Liz? You’re spouting a load of rubbish.” Edward was gripping her arms, almost shaking her.

“Sorry, darling. Sorry. Gosh. I was thinking… I don’t really know what I was thinking of…. Mummy, I think. She used to tell me about bonfire night when she was a little girl. I must have had too much champagne. Sorry. I’m fine.” She gave a little giggle. It probably was the champagne, Edward thought, although usually Liz could drink most people under the table. “Thank you for buying this house. I love it so much.” Liz tucked her arm through his.

Edward laughed. “Do you remember what a mess it was? God, it was a total tip! Only you could have seen through all that crap.”

Liz could only remember falling in love. The first time she walked through the house she could feel the very soul of the place. It was organic, alive, created by the laying down of centuries of time. The rambling lay-out; the quirky adjoining rooms; the two staircases and many different floor levels held no mystery for Liz. She had found her way around with faultless confidence, guided by a familiarity that neither startled nor surprised her. She already knew this house and she knew she would live in it. She knew how to decorate it and what furniture it needed. This house was meant for her. It wanted her to nurture it. How lucky that they had spotted it in the paper. She smiled as she remembered telling the agent they would buy it. It was only the second time she had seen it. But she just knew it was meant. She remembered how she shook the agent’s hand and watched as he left. She felt her legs buckling beneath her as she punched the air with excitement. Never before had she spent so much money in such a short time. The thought of it still made her weak at the knees. Then she had had to tell Edward. How do you tell your husband you have been so recklessly extravagant? It had actually been quite easy as she recalled.

“Hello, darling, I’m at the house. It’s perfect. I’ve made them an offer. You’ll love it, Ed. It has such a friendly feel about it; just the place to raise a family.” Liz’s enthusiasm had gushed forth, leaving Edward little choice but to comply. His business self was less compliant.

“OK, I hear you. You like it, love it even. But, and this is a big but, if it’s so perfect how come it’s been left empty, sitting on the market all these years? How many is it, thirty, forty, maybe more? It could be riddled with dry rot, wet rot, all sorts of rot we’ve never heard of. There has to be a good reason why it hasn’t sold.” He felt Liz’s hackles rising with each word he spoke. “I don’t want to squash your dreams, Liz, but what reason did the agents give? They must have offered some explanation when you asked? You did ask, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did. I’m not completely stupid. Apparently there was some complication with a will, a mix-up that took years to sort. Then the developers who bought it in the sixties had some wrangles with the listed buildings people. Anyway, it sort of got put on the shelf and forgotten. The rest of the estate was developed but Beckmans, the house, was forgotten. Don’t you see? It was meant for us. It was waiting, as if it knew I would find it. Mel thinks it’s fate.”

“Well, she would, wouldn’t she? Mel’s a lovely girl, and all that, but she’s barking. How can a house ‘know’ anything? And, what’s more, you don’t believe in fate, any more than I do. Come off it, Liz. Be honest. You want the house and that’s that!”

“Yes, I do. So please just come and see it – feel it – you have to feel it for yourself. I don’t know, maybe Mel is talking rubbish, but you have to agree, it is odd – all those years just waiting….” Her voice was pleading with him. How could he refuse to go and see the place, even if every financial bone in his body told him it was a foolhardy deal?

“OK. I’ll come to see it tomorrow. Happy now?”

“Just wait, you’ll love it. Bye.”

She remembered her shock when, on viewing the house the next day, Edward announced that he did not like it. In fact he hated it. Liz had stuck out her chin and said, simply and finally: “Tough, because I’ve already bought it.”

Edward returned her unflinching stare. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it. Anyway, nothing is signed yet. Look at it, Liz. It’s falling down. It’s dilapidated as hell. It smells to high heaven and… how shall I put it? It’s a wreck! It’s the pits!” He paused, then added: “What the hell. I’ve always wanted to live in a pit. Well, what are you waiting for? You’d better get another key cut before I change my mind. There’s nothing here throwing money at won’t solve.”

Now here they were living the dream. Liz gave her husband’s arm a squeeze and pinched herself to make sure she was not dreaming. No, it was all real. He had told her later that he had agreed to buy the place because he could not bring himself to disappoint her since she obviously loved it so much. But he had been convinced they were being extremely foolish. Edward gave Liz’s arm a squeeze back. “Love you. And I love this place too, even though it eats money.” Liz let her head rest on Edward’s shoulder and thought about those first busy months at Beckmans.

Everyone had been amazed at Liz’s apparent ability to see through walls, her uncanny knack of knowing exactly where windows had previously been sited or where stairs had originally begun and finished. It came as no surprise to psychic Mel, of course, and Liz was too busy to question it. She was inspired, a woman with a mission; and as soon as was possible, before even the sale was complete, work was in progress.

Edward’s prediction also came true. Money was indeed thrown in all directions but the aim proved true and Beckmans became a fitting reflection of its latest custodians. From the first day, Liz had known that a house with such a legacy could never be owned. One merely, and humbly, became a trustee whose task was to ensure survival and continuity. Liz took her commitment seriously and proudly joined the long ranks of former custodians. She swore that under her care Beckmans would prosper and thrive. The house reciprocated by surrendering itself to the changes heaped on it by hands it both recognized and trusted. Liz and the house had found the perfect balance; a partnership of minds. Except for the Fourth Room, it no longer frightened her but it stood apart, as if waiting to give its permission to be used. She agreed to accept this rule but said nothing to anyone. The following December Edward carried his wife over the threshold, saying: “Welcome to our new house.”

To which she had replied: “Home, darling. This is our home.”

Liz shook herself back to reality. This was her home but tonight it was full of guests who deserved her total attention. Fortunately no one other than Edward had been aware of Liz’s funny five minutes. The rest of the group were too intent on talking about the fireworks. Liz held her husband’s arm and kissed his cheek.

Harriet felt a pang of jealousy. This was the first time in her long existence that she had been able to share her thoughts, feelings and needs with anyone and now she was being ignored. But she realized it would not do to overwhelm her new friend with too much gushing attention. It was a new beginning and she too tingled with a renewed sense of purpose. All she needed to concentrate on was the wonderful fact that she had a family again. This time it would work out. It had to.

Meanwhile the neighbours were making their various ways home. The Circus was retreating to the house, where the warm glow of a log fire and candlelight beckoned through the French windows and out across the lawn. Liz had lingered behind, savouring the last of the night air. She pushed at the stray blonde lock with her fingers, willing it to stay in place. On letting go, the hair slid back; she secured it firmly with her ivory comb. She began to run, overcome by a desperate need to see her children. A sense of dread swept over her. An unaccountable ache lay in her belly. The twins were so vulnerable, so dependent on her; what if she failed in her duty to protect them? Then she stopped. She stood very still. The ache and the cold were replaced by the warmth of a hug and a kiss on her cheek. She turned to say thank you but she was alone. The others were already at the house.

Edward and David were the first to enter the lounge. The two had been friends since school but were as different as chalk and cheese. Being a lecturer in English at a modest college David seldom had occasion to wear a dinner suit and took little interest in fashion. So, pleasantly surprised on catching his reflection in the large mirror above the fireplace, he was glad he had gone to the bother of dressing up. Edward was just thinking his mate’s suit had seen better days when David spoke. “That was something else, like setting fire to a wad of fivers!”

David had often wondered at Edward’s profligate attitude to money. He found the money market boring and, to be frank, downright immoral. Obviously it paid better than academia but did it merit the sort of rewards Edward was currently reaping? No doubt Edward was good at his job, whatever that was. The commodity market had proved a real money-spinner in his hands. Was that because they were a safe pair of hands or dextrous to the point of sleight? David did not possess a jealous bone in his body so was merely stating fact when he said: “I could no more afford this lot than fly out the window… unless, of course, I chuck it all in and write a bestseller.” He chuckled at the thought but inside there was a desperate itch to scratch.