Читать книгу The Guesthouse - Abbie Frost - Страница 11

The kitchen door burst open and the others piled out into the hallway and peered up at her. She stood and turned to them.

‘What the fuck was that?’ Liam pressed his fingers to his mouth. ‘Sorry, no excuse for bad language. Sorry, Chloe.’

Rosa held her daughter closer, and Mo put a hand on his father’s arm. Only Lucy looked calm.

Mo ran up the stairs to Hannah and put his hand on her back, eyes concerned. ‘Are you all right?’

For a moment she was aware of how good his touch felt. Then she thought of Ben, thought of the random guy from the other night, the random guys on so many recent nights, and stepped away.

‘I’m OK. I think it came from upstairs.’

Mo looked down at the others. ‘I’ll check it out.’

Liam started up the stairs. ‘I’ll come with you. It’s probably a window crashing down. If the cords rot on these old sashes, they break in the wind. I opened a couple of dodgy ones in our room.’ He ran up past them, his eyes lingering on Hannah for a second too long.

Mo followed. ‘We should all be careful.’

Hannah waited on the stairs as her heart rate returned to normal. Liam entered the family room at the top and emerged moments later holding up a piece of white cord.

‘Yes, that’s it. I knew it. The damn thing’s broken: worn out.’ He grinned and headed back down the stairs. ‘I’m surprised they didn’t replace them all when they did the renovations. Maybe just missed that one. Anyway, be careful with them and we’ll let the host know.’

Sandeep’s voice cut through the hall. He had been silent for so long Hannah had almost forgotten he was there. ‘That didn’t sound like a window banging in the wind. It was too loud, and the wind isn’t even that strong. It could have been a problem with the roof. Something could come crashing through on us.’

Rosa looked up at the high ceiling with a frown, but Liam just laughed. He bounded down and put his arm around her. ‘Don’t worry about it. The roof’s completely sound – I had a good look around earlier.’

Hannah couldn’t remember him exploring the house, but she was too tired to care. Let him blow his own trumpet for a bit. She said nothing and carried on upstairs. The vodka was calling her.

When she got to her room she poured herself a large glass, topped it up with Coke, and swallowed it down with a sigh. She’d left her phone charging but the lead had come loose and was lying on the floor. When she plugged it in again she saw a reply from Henry Laughton.

Apologies about the road access. We had hoped to have a metalled approach lane installed before your arrival, but planning permission was delayed. I did message you about this a few weeks ago and a notice was added to the website. I hope it doesn’t interfere with your holiday too much.

I’m sorry I wasn’t there to greet you, but I’m held up at one of our other properties.

Regards Henry.

Hannah knew it was possible she had missed his message. She hadn’t been taking much notice of anything recently, except all the trolls on social media.

But surely one of the other guests would have seen the message. No doubt old Henry, in his fancy Barbour jacket, was chuckling to himself, assuming he’d get away with it. She couldn’t be bothered to reply; Rosa would probably give him an earful anyway.

Sitting on the bed she realized that for a short while today, surrounded by people who knew nothing about her, listening to the chatter over dinner, she hadn’t once thought about Ben. And as she took another sip of vodka, she tried to keep those dark memories at bay, tried to ignore the familiar pain beginning to settle around her heart.

A small chest of drawers with a kettle and an array of white china containers filled with posh teabags, instant coffee and chocolate stood by the corridor wall. She made herself a mug of chocolate, undressed and climbed into bed. Took a soothing sip of the drink, then added a slug of vodka and left the bottle on the bedside table, close to hand.

The bright lamp made her dry eyes throb. But when she switched it off, the images she dreaded began to swirl around her in the blackness.

She tossed and turned in the bed, clutching at her duvet, unable to stop herself from reliving the same dark memories. Thinking back to Ben’s funeral.

She remembered getting out of the cab on the side of the road and walking all alone towards the church through crowds of people. His friends and family turned to face her – whispering – then moved away.

She sat alone at the very back of the church as Ben’s family filed towards the coffin, his younger brother following behind with bloodshot eyes. He had always been friendly to her, and when he came to sit next to her after the service, she thought for one tiny moment that he was going to tell her it would be all right. That everyone knew she wasn’t to blame.

Instead he hissed, his voice low and bitter, ‘Mum and Dad asked me to say: don’t come to the grave or the house afterwards.’ He swallowed. ‘Just stay away from us.’

She sat there, alone in her seat, as the crowds filed out. Her head bowed, staring at the floor.

She must have drifted off to sleep then, because suddenly she knew she was dreaming. Thoughts of Ben and his family gradually vanished, but Hannah felt no relief – just a sense of absolute terror.

She was still in bed, the sound of her breathing low and steady in her ears. A curtain moved softly in the breeze from the window, fluttering gently across the floor. A floorboard creaked somewhere nearby and she knew with terrible certainty that she was no longer alone. There was someone else in here, in the room with her, watching her sleep.

A musky smell that she couldn’t place, a feeling of helplessness when she tried to sit up. She couldn’t move.

There was a rustling sound and a shadow stepped out from the darkness at the corner of the room. Silhouetted in the grey light that fell through the curtains, it shuffled and then stopped. Moved slowly closer to the bed. Hannah’s heart thudded louder, her palms clammy. Her neck throbbed, but still she couldn’t move.

The sickly-sweet smell was overpowering now. Somehow familiar, it crawled its way down her throat, choking her.

Another creak from a floorboard, closer now. The shadow loomed above her, but she couldn’t turn her head to face it, couldn’t even breathe. It was human, it must be, yet it seemed to slide like water over ice as it reached the edge of her bed. A cold chill settled in the room. She was shivering, yet her legs were blocks of stone anchored to the bed. Get up. Get out. She tried to scream, but there was only silence.

And then the dip and creak of the bed. The mattress sinking under a groaning weight as something pressed it down. Huge and dark, so close to her that she could almost feel it through the duvet. Almost imagine it reaching out to touch her.

She was suddenly wide awake, completely alert. Sitting upright in bed, drenched in sweat.

She gasped and threw off the damp duvet. Flicked on the light and scanned the empty room. Her heartbeat gradually slowed as she listened to the quiet house. Her throat was so dry, it ached. In the bathroom she gulped down a glass of water and filled it again. Stared at the pale face in the mirror. Her hand shook as she downed the second glass.

She checked that her door was still locked and the window secure, then poured a shot of vodka and drank it down. Drew the curtains, got back into bed and huddled under the duvet, shivering, just like in her dream. And it was just a dream, some stupid dream.

Nightmares were nothing new. She remembered waking up terrified beside Ben in the middle of the night, so scared she refused to go back to sleep again. Ben would gently hold her and whisper that it was all right and she was safe and everything was going to be OK. He would stroke her hair and kiss her neck and tell her she was safe, until she finally dozed off.

But this had been different: it had felt real.

She couldn’t sleep for hours. Her mind wouldn’t stop raking back over the dream, reliving it in vivid detail. The drip and the creak of the mattress, the feel of that heavy weight pressing down. And just when she had finally exhausted herself, when sleep reached out to claim her, she heard something else. A murmuring noise, somewhere nearby. Low and persistent.

She lay there listening in the pitch-black, until all she could hear were the small creaks of the old house, the gurgling of pipes, the call of an owl outside. She pulled the duvet up over her head. Had she been dreaming again? Tomorrow, she was going to lay off the alcohol; Lori was right, it was starting to mess with her head. How many days since she had last been sober? She rolled over and tried to sleep once more.

It was then that she first heard it. The sound of a child crying.