The Haunting of Tabitha Grey Page 5

  I think and think and then at last, just as I’m dropping off, I see it.

  It was the night Ben was born. He came at home because there was no time to get to the hospital and, after the midwife had left, Mum got up, clutching her sides and her back, and went over to the cot next to her bed.

  She leant over the side of the cot and looked down at Ben.

  Her face was all glowing with happiness.

  She squeezed my hand and said, ‘Look, Tabitha. Your new little brother. I hope you’re going to take care of him.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I mutter to myself as I fall asleep. ‘And I’m still taking care of him now.’

  Then my eyelids slam down like steel shutters.

  I dream of croquet all night long.

  Chapter Seven

  The next day Mum agrees that I can leave the flat.

  I’m feeling loads better and I’ve almost managed to convince myself that everything weird I saw or felt in the manor was a dream connected to having the flu.

  Every now and again there’s this little voice in my head that whispers, ‘But you KNOW it felt real,’ and then I try hard to stamp it out again. I figure that if I fill my head with rubbish it will keep everything else at bay, so I watch loads of trashy telly, I sing loudly as I jump in the shower and I play CDs and text my mates and ring them on the phone to talk about nothing in particular – just school gossip and what Jake’s up to now and whether I’ve done any of my half term homework yet (which I haven’t, but I reckon that being ill is a good excuse).

  I try to keep my head filled up with stuff and then I reckon that nothing else will be able to get in there.

  ‘Coming with me around the manor?’ Dad says after we’ve had cereal and coffee for breakfast. ‘I’ve got to finish the upstairs inventory today.’

  ‘I’ve got masses of homework,’ I say. It’s true enough, even though I don’t much want to do it.

  ‘Oh come on, Tabs,’ says Dad. ‘You’ll love it.’

  I freeze with my cup of coffee in my hand but Dad looks so big and reassuring and excited that I nod and try to look calm as I finish my breakfast.

  So I can stick close to Dad, right? I don’t need to go into any rooms on my own and even if I do I’m pretty sure that I was just feverish last time and imagining things.

  The manor does look quite beautiful as we stroll down the long corridor from our flat to the entrance hall. It gleams in the sunlight and all the paintings are lit up, highlighting the beautiful faces of people who used to live here hundreds of years ago.

  ‘Morning,’ says Dad to Dawn as we pass the reception desk.

  She flushes pink and busies herself with arranging a pile of guidebooks on the desk in front of her.

  Visitors are already queuing up for tickets as we walk through the entrance hall.

  I sneak a look at the fireplace but there’s nobody there, just an arrangement of dried orange flowers in the centre and, above it, the portrait of Lady Eleanor Thomas-Fulford in her long dark dress, her serious face in profile and a small black dog nestling at her feet.

  ‘Miserable-looking woman, isn’t she?’ says Dad as he catches me looking. ‘She loved this place, mind you. She refused to die until she’d made sure it would be left as a museum.’

  We go into Lady Eleanor’s morning room just as he’s saying this and I catch my breath.

  Lavender.

  It’s a choking smell.

  I cough and pull my T-shirt up over my nose.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ says Dad, amused. ‘It’s not dusty in here! Everything is cleaned, top to bottom.’

  ‘No,’ I say, struggling for breath. ‘Can’t you smell lavender, Dad?’

  Dad takes a few deep sniffs.

  ‘Nope,’ he says. ‘Faint smell of furniture polish.’

  Maybe that’s it. I’m glad when we’ve passed out of this room and gone up the ornate staircase but I keep a nervous eye on the door to the library.

  Don’t much fancy going in there after what happened last time.

  ‘I need to do Mr Thomas-Fulford’s bedroom today,’ says Dad, and to my relief he takes me into a room I’ve not yet been into.

  There’s another of the ornate four-poster beds in the centre of the room but this one is made of brass and has a cream-coloured embroidered spread over the top.

  There’s a small round mirror with a three-tiered table underneath it by the window.

  ‘Shaving mirror,’ says Dad, ticking it off on his list. ‘Shaving was a big thing for Victorian men. A manservant would have done it and it took ages.’

  I nod and look around me. At the top of the bed are two long ropes hanging down, one on either side. There’s a label on one of them which says ‘Upstairs’, and another one which says ‘Servants’ Hall’.

  ‘Wow,’ I say. ‘So he could lie in bed and pull these and the servants would come up?’

  ‘Not only that,’ replies Dad, picking up a silver comb and inspecting it. ‘You see that lever next to the ropes?’

  I hadn’t noticed it but there’s a little handle on the wall and it’s attached to a long gold pipe which runs right along the wall and ends up by the bedroom door on the other side of the room.

  ‘Look,’ says Dad. He pulls the handle and a bolt slams down into the lock on the bedroom door. ‘So he didn’t even have to get out of bed to lock his door. Clever stuff, eh?’

  I nod, grinning. This house is full of surprises. Not all of them good, but this lever and lock thing is really brilliant, so I have a couple of goes of it myself and the rest of the morning passes smoothly. After lunch in the flat, I continue to go round the house with Dad and it’s all light and cheerful in the two bedrooms he’s working in so I feel OK, although I try not to look outside at the croquet lawn too much. When I do, all I can see is a group from the Women’s Institute having a picnic underneath a tree and a coachload of kids about to come into the manor to dress up as Victorian children and do loads of projects around the house.

  It’s kind of comforting seeing all this normal life going on and I feel better by the end of the day.

  Then I get a text from Jake. It buzzes in my pocket while I’m helping Dad inspect and check a soldier’s uniform of a red-buttoned jacket and white trousers hanging in a glass-fronted cabinet in the guest bedroom.

  ‘Hope you’re having a cool half term,’ it says. ‘Worried about you. Haven’t heard from you for ages. Do you want to meet up? J.’

  ‘Ages’ is in fact one day.

  I put the phone back in my pocket without replying.

  It’s good helping Dad. The afternoon sun is streaming into the rooms and there’s a nice feel up here, and Dad’s good humour is infectious.

  I help him polish some fenders and move furniture around, and then Dad and I head back to the flat feeling happy with our work.

  Dawn’s packing up and the last visitors have gone.

  As we walk past her I try and will Dad not to look at her but he’s behind me and I can’t quite see what he’s doing, except he does linger for a moment by the reception desk. When I turn round Dawn pretends not to see me, reaches for her coat and heads off outside to her car.

  Dad clears his throat and then bounds ahead of me to open up the flat.

  ‘It’s good living here, isn’t it?’ he says as we go in.

  I smile but I don’t say anything because it might not be what he wants to hear.

  I mean – I enjoyed today with Dad. And the house is beautiful in the sunlight and it’s kind of interesting looking at all the old things.

  But – I can’t shake the feeling that somebody or something is waiting in store for me and that I’m needed for something.

  ‘Stupid,’ I say to myself as I go into the warm flat.

  Then Ben’s hugging my knees and all my fears get forgotten in the chaos of him, asking what’s for supper and Mum nagging me at least to try and do a bit of homework ready for Monday. I don’t think much more about the manor.

  Until.

 
Dad’s cooking so he gets out one of his famous recipe books and then pats his pockets with a quizzical look on his broad face and he turns to me where I’m painting my fingernails a deep dark black. He says: ‘Tabs, I think I’ve left my specs upstairs in Charles Thomas-Fulford’s bedroom. Be a love and run up and get them. Here.’

  He detaches a single key from the large group that always jangles from his hip and turns back to the fridge.

  ‘Can’t you go?’ I say. My heart feels like it’s going to stop.

  ‘I’m cooking!’ says Dad. ‘Go on – you know where it is. Just make sure you lock up afterwards.’

  I look at Mum. ‘Will you come with me?’ I say. ‘Please?’

  Mum laughs. ‘Don’t be silly. And anyway, I don’t really like the place at night. Too many shadows.’

  Oh great.

  So she’s scared of the manor but it’s OK to send me up there in the dark.

  ‘You won’t be in the dark,’ says Dad, reading my mind. ‘It’s not dark outside yet. If you need to switch on a light, you know where they are. OK?’

  I’m running out of excuses now so I get up, put my phone in my pocket and slide my feet back into my flip-flops.

  ‘If I’m not back in five minutes will you come and get me?’ I whine as I leave.

  Dad gives me an exasperated look from where he’s chopping onions so I head into the corridor outside our flat.

  The door clangs shut behind me and for a moment I consider letting myself back in and pleading cowardice.

  But Dad will go mad. He hates me acting up and stressing out Mum.

  I take a deep breath.

  ‘It’s all fine,’ I say to myself as I walk along the corridor past the dining room and drawing room. The doors are shut and locked so at least I won’t be able to look inside.

  I reach the entrance hall. The desk looks bare without all the postcards and books laid out and there’s a smell of polish and beeswax because the cleaners have been in today.

  ‘Just go straight upstairs,’ I say to myself, gripping the large key Dad’s given me. ‘Upstairs and across the landing and into that room, grab the glasses and get back to the flat. OK?’

  I wonder why I appear to be having a conversation with myself, but it kind of works because I find myself at the foot of the stairs about to go up.

  I stand by the arched cabinet that used to be a doorway and part of me registers that it’s really quite cold where I’m standing.

  And then I freeze for real.

  The staircase is twisted so that I can only see the bit that goes up straight ahead of me and then there’s a small landing in the middle and a further few stairs which are over my head but which I can’t see from where I’m standing.

  Except that I can hear them.

  Somebody’s footsteps.

  Coming downstairs.

  Heavy, slow, like an old person or an overweight person or somebody who needs to take their time coming down.

  I stand rooted to the spot with my eyes growing wider and my heart pounding and my hand closing over the mobile to call Dad except I’m too scared to make a sound so I just carry on standing there.

  The steps continue to come down, one at a time and then when they reach the landing and I’m feeling like my heart’s going to burst . . . they stop.

  A dark shadow passes over the oak-panelled wall and fades away.

  Then nothing.

  I can’t move. It’s like somebody has got a giant glue gun and glued my feet to the tiled floor.

  Around me the house seems to take a deep sigh. I swear I feel the walls around me shudder.

  It’s dead quiet.

  I listen for the sound of the grandfather clock on the staircase but I can’t hear it. I strain for the clank of the central heating pipes or the quiet beep of the movement sensors on the ceiling.

  Nothing.

  I look up at one of the security cameras above my head. It’s pointing straight at me and I get the weirdest feeling. It’s like Sid is on the desk and watching me on his computer screen. Except there’s nobody on reception at this time of night.

  So who’s watching me?

  The camera gives a little jerk and starts to move back and forth like it’s shaking its head at me.

  The spell of silence is broken.

  I realise that where I’m standing is so cold that my bones are aching and I find my legs again and run back towards the flat at top speed with my flip-flops slapping on the parquet entrance hall floor.

  I don’t stop to look at anything and I avoid looking at the dining-room door by turning my head the other way. I just run and focus on the brown door of our flat until I’m right beside it.

  My hands are shaking so hard that I can’t put my key in the lock so I just bang and bang on the door until Mum opens it with a scared look on her face and I rush into her arms.

  And that’s where I stay.

  Dad doesn’t believe a word of it.

  He’s annoyed because he has to go upstairs in the manor and get his glasses back, leaving onions simmering and Mum under strict instructions not to burn them.

  ‘You are silly, Tabs,’ he says when he gets back. ‘Honestly! There’s nobody there on the stairs and it’s not even all that cold. I don’t know where you get your sensitive nature from.’

  He glances at Mum when he says this and she glares back.

  ‘I don’t care what you think,’ I murmur from inside Mum’s fleece where I’m hiding my head. Mum strokes my hair like when I was little, and Ben sits on my lap and plays with my earrings. ‘I heard footsteps and that’s that.’

  Dad serves up his dinner masterpiece and it tastes good but my appetite has totally vanished and I feel sick and shaky.

  ‘Can I sleep in your room tonight?’ I say to Mum and she sighs, but nods her head, so I put my blue sleeping bag on the floor and listen to Dad snoring and Mum breathing all night. At one point I wake up and swear that she’s crying, and another time I wake up and she doesn’t even seem to be there and I almost think that I hear her talking in Ben’s room which is a bit weird at that time of night but I’m so tired that I go right back to sleep again and when I wake up in the morning it’s Friday and she’s already gone down to the basement to practise.

  Dad’s gone into town to do a food shop and Ben’s curled up watching children’s television. There’s no way on this earth that I’m going to leave the flat and enter the manor, even though it’s filled with visitors, so I sit up in my bedroom and try to read a book but my heart’s not really in it.

  Then there’s a pounding on the door and I freeze yet again and sit cross-legged on my bed wondering what to do. There’s another loud knock and I figure that it could be an emergency and that Dad would want me to answer it so I creep downstairs to the door and say in a shaky voice, ‘Yes. Hello. Who is it?’ The booming voice of Sid answers so I undo the lock and let him in, my face flooded red with relief and embarrassment.

  ‘Your dad in?’ says Sid. He’s so big that he fills the entire door frame in his white security-guard shirt and dark trousers with the mobile walkie-talkie attached next to a bunch of keys.

  ‘Sorry,’ I reply. ‘He’s gone into town to buy food. Do you want to wait? He won’t be long.’

  Sid glances back to the entrance hall and then gives me his broad grin. ‘If you throw a cup of tea into the bargain, I reckon I will,’ he says.

  He sits down next to Ben on the sofa and Ben, after giving him a scared look, decides that Sid isn’t a threat and so sticks his thumb in his mouth and continues to watch Shaun the Sheep without further communication.

  ‘Ah,’ says Sid, downing tea like he’s the thirstiest man in Britain. ‘That’s nice, pet. Thanks.’

  I smile. Sid’s got this broad Geordie accent. It kind of goes with his big body and shiny bald head.

  ‘You settling in, lass?’ he enquires, leaning back on the sofa and giving me a long stare. ‘Bit of an acquired taste here, isn’t it?’

  I’m not quite sure what he mean
s by this so I offer him another Rich Tea biscuit. He takes three and dunks them into his teacup in the way that Mum always tells me not to.

  ‘Why do the security cameras move about at night?’ I say. I’ve never managed to quite work out what was going on with the cameras.

  Sid pauses a moment to scoop some Rich Tea out of his mug with a teaspoon.

  ‘They’re not supposed to,’ he says. ‘All the outside doors are alarmed at night and that’s how we stop intruders getting in. I probably left the computer on by mistake.’

  I hate it when grown-ups don’t tell you the truth. I know full well that the computer wasn’t even on at the reception desk when I passed by last night. But Sid’s nice and I don’t want to make him feel awkward so I leave the subject and we talk about Mum’s dancing and Sid tells me he’s been working at the manor for nearly fifteen years now, and then, as Dad still isn’t back, he decides he’d better get back to work.

  There’s a crackle on his radio so he responds and is about to leave the flat when I find this voice I didn’t know I had and I say: ‘Wait. Have you ever heard anything weird here? Like – footsteps. Or have you ever seen any ladies?’

  I go bright red after saying this but Sid doesn’t laugh, like Dad, or shudder, like Mum, or tell me to stop being daft.

  He just gives me this matter-of-fact look and speaks into his radio, telling Dawn he’ll be back in a moment to take a crowd of visitors down to the basement kitchens and might they do the upstairs attics while they’re waiting.

  Then he comes back in and sits down on the sofa again.

  ‘Aye,’ he says. ‘Happen I have. Seen something, I mean. It was a while ago now.’

  Although I’ve gone all shivery and I don’t really want to hear what he’s about to say, another smaller part of me is really desperate to hear more so I nod but don’t say anything.

  ‘It was when I came in early one morning to unlock,’ he says. ‘Quite unexpected, it was. One minute nobody there. The next she was there in front of me.’

  The radio crackles into life again. Dawn sounds like she’s going to blow a fuse. Sid gets up, wipes his brow with a big white handkerchief and gives me a wink.