Blackthorn Winter (27 page)

I said he was still with his grandparents.

Quent shrugged. "We're in the middle of a rousing game of snooker—do you know it? It's a bit like pool, or billiards. You're welcome to join us." He led the way down a hallway, and I could hear Edmund's cackling laughter. "You probably remember this room from the house tour Duncan gave you," Quent said. "It was originally a 'smoking room,' where men would retire to after dinner to smoke and drink while the ladies went to another parlor. After the men had enjoyed their vices for a while, they would join the ladies again."

I did remember seeing the room on my house tour, but we had not gone inside. Now I stepped into the dark-paneled room and looked around. It was furnished with leather armchairs. There was the pool table—well, snooker table, I guess it was, and much bigger than a regular pool table—in the middle of the room. There was a fire roaring in the grate. My mom and Ivy and Edmund were all brandishing pool cues. "Hello, Jule!" cried Mom. "Come here and watch me win this game!"

"Your mum's got a steady arm and an eagle eye," Quent said appreciatively.

"You said I did, too!" Edmund grabbed his arm. Quent laughed down at him.

"You do, lad, but your mum seems to be the champ tonight." He and Mom exchanged a
look.
What did that look mean? I wondered.

"I'm good, too, Quent!" shrieked Ivy. "And so is Polar! Watch this!" My goofy sister had brought her stuffed friend to this gathering, and now held him up, paws attached to the cue. "He's a super shot."

Mom poured me a cup of tea from the pot on the low side table. "You look tired."

"Mom, I'm beyond tired," I said, accepting the cup, although I didn't really want anything. I was still stuffed from the shepherd's pie and sticky toffee pudding. "I'll drink this, but then I've got to go to bed."

I sat deep in the leather chair and watched the game and sipped my tea. My head was aching and I just wanted to clear out and go home and maybe sit in a hot bath for a while or something ... because sooner or later Duncan would be returning, and if I stayed ... then
what?
I didn't want to see him.

But the warmth from the fire and the sweetness of the milky tea lulled me. I had too many thoughts in my head, most of them uncomfortable, and too many images that made me uneasy: the red pot of paint at the Coopers' house, the red painted letters on the signboard at Rodney and Andrew's shop. Veronica Pimms slipping through the shadows on Castle Street. Henry Jukes walking along Water Street in the darkness. Celia Glendenning's eyes watching me. Celia's anger. Rodney's anger, Dudley Cooper's anger, Hazel's anger, Duncan's anger. Duncan's hands gripping my shoulders. My head was whirling. I set the teacup down on the table and closed my eyes for a minute. Then I stood up.

"Thanks for the tea," I said. "But I think I'll go on home now. I'm pretty tired."

"We'll be coming soon, too," Mom said. "Do you have your key?"

"Yes." I reached into my pocket and pulled it out.

"All right, then. Sleep tight!"

Quent walked me to the door. Low lights along the path illuminated the way across the lawn from the Old Mill House to our cottage door. "Good night," he said.

"You, too," I said. And hurried home.

 

I
TURNED THE
key in the lock, heard the
click
—but the door didn't open. Had Mom forgotten again to lock it? Had
I
just locked it? I took the key out of the door and stood looking at it in the palm of my hand. Then I tried again, turning the key hard, heard another
click,
and this time the door opened.

I stepped inside—and froze when I heard a soft shuffling sound. Mom and the Goops were at Quent's. So what was that noise?

The sitting room was lit with soft lamplight and looked inviting. I listened in the doorway and heard nothing. I knew I hadn't imagined the sound, but I also knew that I'd been spooking myself all evening with pots of red paint and whatever. I had alienated the nicest boy I knew. I was acting like a paranoid lunatic. And now—what? I was going to run back across the lawn and cry to my mom and Quent that I was afraid to come into our house alone and they should stop their game and hold my hand?

Shaking my head at my own cowardly lion act, I stepped into the sitting room and closed the cottage door. I looked around but didn't see anything wrong. I listened hard but heard nothing. Probably the noise I'd heard was simply one
of those old house noises. We heard them all the time when we were all together and thought nothing of them. Even new houses like ours in California had noises. Water in the pipes. The humming of the fridge. A rattle in the heater.

Whatever.

Still, there was a feeling in the air—a sense of something being different. Off-balance. The answering machine light was blinking. A message from Dad? I walked over to the phone with a smile and pushed the Play button. I had been thinking about him and our philosophical questions, and he had called me!

But no. Not Dad after all.

Hullo, Juliana, it's Duncan. I'm sorry about tonight, but—well, anyway, I
am
sorry, and I hope we can still go on our picnic as planned tomorrow. Up Castle Hill? Granny's going to make a cake. I'll ring you in the morning. All right ... well, I'll see you tomorrow, I hope ... Bye!

During the long beep at the end of this message I heard it again, the soft shuffle. I turned my head to the left, looking around. Nothing—only the sitting room. I turned my head to the right. Saw only the kitchen. But wait—what was that?

A creaking.

The closed bathroom door—creaking open.

I held my breath and heard my heart pounding. I watched the bathroom door. It was open just a crack. Had it been that way before?

There came the creaking sound again, and
yes
—the door opened wider. Then I heard the toilet flush.

I screamed.

The bathroom door flew open, and there was Celia Glendenning, holding a towel. "It's all right!" she said. "Really! Juliana, it's just me, dear."

I put the kitchen table between us. "What are you doing here? What the
hell
are you doing here?"

She dried her hands and laid the towel on our kitchen table. She was dressed in her usual artsy flowing clothes. Her purse—the tapestry tote bag—was looped over her shoulder. She didn't look the least bit scary, but I was terrified.

"What are you doing? What do you want? How did you get in here?" I fired off the questions like bullets aimed at her heart.

She laughed gaily, as if it were perfectly ludicrous that I should question her, but two bright spots of color appeared in her cheeks. "What was I doing in the
loo?
Well, the usual, I'm afraid. I just stopped by to bring back the key I've had for ages. No sense my having it anymore, now that
you've moved in, right? But no one was home, so to save myself another trip, I thought I would just open the door and lay the key on the table. And then when I came in, well, I needed to use the toilet."

I looked pointedly at the table, bare except for Ivy's
Colouring Book of National Trust Properties,
her little box of markers, and now the towel. "Where's the key, then?"

Celia reached into her jacket pocket and drew out the key. She held it toward me, but I didn't move to take it. She laid it on the table. "Here you go. I'm sorry I frightened you, dear. But—nothing to worry about! It was only me." She laughed her trilling laugh and headed for the door. "I suppose I should be going now. Cheerio!"

I felt I should run after her and say, "Just a minute now!" and make her stay until ... when? Till I'd called in the cops. Till Mom came home and yelled at her. How
dare
this woman just walk into our house and use the bathroom!

But I let her go without comment. I just stood there by the table and watched her leave. Then I sank into a chair and punched the answering machine button again, just to hear Duncan's friendly voice. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I felt too tired to cry.

Then there was another sound of a key in the door, and Mom and the Goops walked in. "We just bumped into Celia Glendenning on her way out," Mom told me. "She said she came by to return the key—wasn't that nice of her? I hope you offered her a cup of tea, Juliana."

And then I did start to cry, and it took fully five minutes for Mom and Ivy and Edmund to figure out what was wrong.

"She was
already
in here when you came home?" queried Mom.

"She was doing
what?
" demanded Edmund. "What a
weirdo!
" yelled Ivy. And finally I was able to laugh.

"It's okay," I said. "But she totally scared me to death." Mom hugged me. "No more deaths allowed around here."

But something about the whole thing was bothering me still. Celia frightened me. I didn't trust her.

"Mom," I said after the Goops had gone into the bathroom to brush their teeth, "I know what was wrong. Celia wasn't just using the bathroom when I came in, she was
hiding
behind the bathroom door. I saw it opening a crack and then closing, then opening again. And
then
I heard the toilet flush."

"What did you say?" asked Edmund, emerging from the bathroom.

"I think Celia ran into the bathroom when she heard me coming in, and then hid behind the door, watching me. And
then
she reached over and flushed the toilet to give herself an excuse for being in there."

"Let me try it," said Edmund, returning to the bathroom. He closed the door. Then opened it a crack and peeked out. "Like this?"

"Yes, but open it slowly, so it creaks."

"Let me try!" exclaimed Ivy.

Next Ivy closed the door and opened it very slowly. The same soft creak sounded, and I shivered. "That's it exactly," I told them.

"Now reach over and flush the toilet, Ivy," directed Edmund. "Can you reach?"

The toilet flushed. "Yup," called Ivy. The Goops came out of the bathroom, triumphant.

"Celia Glendenning's an odd duck," stated Mom. "But she probably didn't mean any harm. I might have a word with her, though, next time I see her."

"But why would she come here in the first place?" I asked.

"Probably to return the key, as she said. But maybe she snooped around a bit first. Some people are like that."

"She needs to learn her manners," said Ivy severely.

"Quent has good manners," Edmund announced. "When I fell asleep under the snooker table, he put me into the armchair. He said I could stay overnight if I wanted. Right there in the armchair!"

"I think he would have carried you up to a comfortable bed," Mom said, smiling.

The memory of Quent gently carrying drunken Liza along the upstairs corridor flashed in my mind. "But you decided not to sleep over?" I asked Edmund.

"Mom said not tonight." He yawned. "And I didn't have my toothbrush and stuff."

"I'd need my toothbrush and my pajamas
and
Polar—," Ivy began, then broke off and shouted, "Oh wait, Mom! I've left Polar Bear!"

Mom glanced at her watch. "Run back then," she told Ivy. "But hurry!"

I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face and get ready for bed. It had been the longest day in the world. I said good night to Mom and Edmund and trudged upstairs.

After a while I heard Ivy return. "Polar Bear is spending the night at Quent's," she said forlornly to Mom. "I couldn't find him—but Quent said as soon as Polar turns
up, he'll bring him home. Duncan said he probably wanted to have a sleepover with 'Normous."

"Did you check under the pool table?" I called downstairs.

"
Snooker
table," Ivy yelled back. "Of course we looked there. And in the kitchen, and the hallway, and also in the conservatory because Edmund and I were playing explorers in Africa, and Polar was one of the wild animals and—oh! I didn't look in the bathroom. Mom, maybe I took Polar into the bathroom! Can I go back and look in the little bathroom in Quent's hallway? Maybe Polar is hiding—like Celia did."

"Not tonight, honey," Mom said. "It's very late now and I'm sure Quent and Duncan are heading off to bed, too. Polar will have a fine time with Duncan's old bear, and you can run over first thing after breakfast."

Ivy fussed and fumed for a minute or two, and slammed the bathroom door for emphasis.

I turned over, snuggled under my duvet, and closed my heavy eyes. Sleep came promptly, but so did the dreams.

Disjointed images floated past me. My dad in the ocean, treading water. The Goops on a ship, waving as they sailed to Russia. My mother and Liza Pethering and a red-haired woman I knew must be Nora climbing up a clothesline onto a wrought-iron balcony.

Then the dreams shifted, and a tall, dark woman with an angular jaw, sunken cheeks, and a frizzy afro intoning: "
We'll be fine, just fine, you're perfectly safe with me. She's not coming back, but she said she wanted you to stay with me. We'll be fine, just fine. Now don't you worry about a thing...
"

And the dreams of a child—was it me?—yelling "
No! She wouldn't leave me, she never never would!
"

 

I
N THE MORNING
there was another child yelling—my sister Ivy, this time: "Mom—oh no! Oh no—look at Polar Bear!" I struggled out of sleep. Was I still dreaming? I sat up and grabbed my robe. The murmur of Mom's voice filtered up to me from downstairs, and the rumble of other voices—
visitors? this early?
—and then I heard the awe in Edmund's pronouncement: "Somebody is a real sicko around here." As I headed out of the bedroom, I wanted to grab the bedpost and hang on, and not have to go downstairs to learn what was wrong.

They were all standing by the open cottage door: Mom, Ivy, Edmund, Duncan, and Veronica Pimms in all her purple-headed glory. What was
she
doing here? What was
Duncan
doing here? I grabbed my straggly hair and wound it around my hand, wishing for a brush and hair scrunchie. At the same time I knew that whatever had happened was so serious, nobody would notice or care what I looked like.