The Grey Girl (5 page)

I swung around and saw Nate, Nell's nephew, standing behind me and smiling. He was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, just like he'd been the first time I'd seen him. I briefly wondered if he even owned any other clothes. The way you dress and present yourself to the world says a lot about you. Clearly no one had told Nate that. ‘What do you want?' I grunted at him.

‘A pint of milk,' he grinned, turning to a nearby fridge and pulling a pint of milk from it. He looked me up and down with a lazy smile. I'm not sure why Nate or his aunt Nell found me so amusing, but it annoyed the hell out of me and all I wanted to do was walk away. ‘Unless you have something more interesting on offer,' he smirked. ‘I'm all ears.'

I rolled my eyes and went to walk past him. Nate moved in front of me, blocking my exit. I sighed at his persistence and rudely looked him up and down. Despite his lack of creativity in the dress department, Nate was undoubtedly good-looking. His skin was tanned and smooth and the golden flecks in his hazel eyes made him look like some kind of giant cat. I briefly wondered if that was why he chose to dress so boringly, so you were forced to look at his beautiful eyes instead of his clothes.

‘Don't run off just yet,' he said apologetically. ‘I just thought I'd come and say hello.'

‘Great, so you're stalking me now,' I murmured.

He shrugged and moved towards the counter. He pulled out the correct money for the milk, placed it down on the counter with a smile and then turned to leave. For some reason I found myself following him as he walked out of the shop. Nate held open the door for me and turned around to face me once we were both outside. ‘I was going to take my bike for a spin this afternoon – fancy coming along for the ride?'

‘Do I look like a girl with a death wish?' I replied. ‘Actually,' I added, smiling to myself, ‘don't answer that.'

‘Come on.' He nodded at his motorbike, which was parked up on the side of the road. He began to walk towards it and once again I found myself following him. Nate walked towards his bike like he'd walked into Dudley Hall when I'd first met him – as if he was lord of the manor. He held his head high, pulled his square shoulders back and took long, lazy steps, once again reminding me of a huge and dangerous cat. ‘Let's go cause some trouble.' He looked back at me with a dimpled grin.

‘What makes you think I want to cause trouble?' I shouted after him, beginning to enjoy the attention he was giving me.

‘You were expelled from school,' he reminded me.

I rolled my eyes again. ‘It wasn't like that.'

‘So what was it like then?' he asked, turning to face me and walking backwards as he spoke. ‘Tell me all about it.'

I stopped walking and cast my eyes towards his motorbike, propped against the pavement. I'd never been on a motorbike before, and the thought of getting on the back of Nate's bike filled me with a mixture of terror and exhilaration. The idea of riding away from everything, the world falling away behind us as the bike's tyres headed for the horizon, was tempting. But I didn't want to tell Nate anything about myself – about school or why I'd come to live at Dudley Hall. ‘I don't want to talk about myself,' I said before I could stop myself.

‘Neither do I,' he said quickly. I noticed the smile had dropped from his face and his eyes had clouded over. ‘I won't ask you any questions, you won't ask me any in return,' he said. ‘Deal?'

I paused for a moment, suddenly curious as to what Nate could possibly have to hide about himself. But if he was willing to spend time with me and not try to dig beneath the surface, then the least I could do was return the favour. ‘Deal.' I smiled back.

His face lit up, his dimples deep in his cheeks. ‘So, let's go have some fun.' He nodded towards his bike.

I gave Nate my most flirtatious grin. ‘So, what do you do for fun around here?'

Nate laughed deep in his throat and said, ‘Oh, you know, the usual.' I raised my eyebrows playfully. ‘Breaking and entering. Petty theft. A spot of light flirtation with arson. Digging up the dead on a full moon.'

The smile slipped from my face.

‘And there's always this thing.' He pointed to his motorbike. ‘Comes in handy any time you need to make a quick escape,' he said.

‘Escape,' I echoed quietly, suddenly wanting to run away.

Nate noticed my change of attitude and began to shake his head at me and laugh.

‘Why are you laughing at me?'

‘I'm not laughing.' He held out his hands in mock surrender. ‘I just can't work you out, that's all. Cold one minute, hot the next. So, um, why are you staying here at the moment? Where's home normally?'

‘None of your business, that's where,' I said sharply, feeling my heart begin to pound inside my chest. Nate was right, my moods were as changeable as the English weather. One mention of digging up the dead and I was freaking out big-time. I needed to get away. ‘And you promised – no questions.'

‘I know,' he sighed. ‘Sorry for asking. I just wondered about you, that's all.'

‘What's that supposed to mean, “wondered about me”?'

‘I just wondered where you're from, you know. What you like to do? What music you're into. That kind of stuff. No big deal. You don't want to talk, I get it.'

‘No, I don't want to talk. Not to you. Not to anyone. Okay?'

He shook his head and laughed again. ‘You're a right mental-case, aren't you?'

Nate's words stung violently. He might as well have slapped me hard in the face. He must have seen the look in my eyes as regret flashed across his face as soon as he'd spoken. It took all the strength I had not to lunge at him and knock him in the teeth. ‘What did you say?' I whispered. It hurt more than I thought it would, being called ‘mental'. I suddenly felt so stupid. I wanted the ground to swallow me up. I wanted to run back to Dudley Hall, jump into the river and swim away until it reached the ocean.

‘Look, I didn't mean to upset you.' He raised his palms at me in all seriousness this time. ‘I was just joking around.'

‘You don't joke with me. I'm not a joke!' I choked back the tears.

‘I never said you –' I charged past him, knocking into him before he could finish speaking. I plugged my headphones into my ears so I couldn't hear him calling my name as I began to march back towards Dudley Hall.

I stopped suddenly, pulled my headphones out and turned to find Nate still staring at me, mouth agape. ‘Look, Nate, just stay away from me, okay? If you knew what's good for you then you'd just leave me alone.'

He didn't say a word as I turned around and ran away without once looking back.

The rest of that first weekend passed by in a blur. I stayed out of everyone's way as they fussed over the guests and the murderer was finally revealed. Turns out it was Lady Charlotte Cavendish who murdered me – she discovered I'd been having an affair with her husband. But even finding out who dunnit couldn't bring me out of myself. On the Sunday morning I watched from the second-floor landing balcony as the guests wheeled their suitcases down the stairs, hugged each other and said goodbye. I thought I'd be glad that the guests had gone, glad that I could finally explore the library and roam around without having to wear a silly costume. But once the house was empty of guests I just felt numb. I spent the rest of the weekend sleeping and walking around in a daze. Nothing Aunt Meredith could say to me made me feel any less alone.

The days began to slip by and soon a whole week had passed. Frankie called me every day for that first week. Every day I made an excuse not to speak to her. I had no idea how she'd managed to get hold of my phone number. I hadn't given it to her – Mum must have. Traitor. It's not that I didn't love Frankie. She's the best friend I'd ever had. But Frankie reminded me of school and of the ghosts that I so desperately needed to lay to rest. Every morning I pulled the duvet cover over my head, burying myself away, pretending I was asleep so I didn't have to face Frankie when she called. And every day after breakfast I took myself off deep into Dudley Hall's grounds. I either sat beneath the weeping willow by the brook or in the boathouse where I knew Aunt Meredith wouldn't look for me when the phone rang. I didn't check my email or Facebook accounts. I hadn't turned my mobile on in months. Frankie had no way of reaching me. Sooner or later she'd stop trying.

Every morning I woke up in my stark white room to find my bedroom curtains wide open, even though I knew I closed them the night before. I stopped asking the others if they had come into my room and opened the curtains. They always said no. I didn't want to press the matter and give them a reason to think me insane and send me back to Warren House. So day by day I spoke less and less to Aunt Meredith, Toby and Nell. I threw myself into writing my screenplay.

I picked up where I had left off with the characters I'd been trying to create in my mind. Only now those characters had a story, and the story had a title:
The Ghost of Dudley Hall.
The story was set at the time that Dudley Hall was a school, and it followed a group of girls who'd seen a ghost haunt the school corridors at night. Only no one knew who this ghost had once been, and why it refused to leave their boarding school. Each day as my pen hit the paper, I hoped I could escape my own reality and live between the pages of the story I was creating. I hoped that if I created a ghost story on the page then I'd somehow escape a similar story in my real life.

Breakfast time was always the same and I was gradually getting used to the taste of coffee in the morning. I sipped my straight black coffee and listened quietly as Toby told me facts about spies, and Nell would make jokes about my red hair as she cooked up batches of food, freezing it ahead of the weekend guests. Aunt Meredith was the only one who seemed to really notice my quiet mood. I'd often catch her staring at me thoughtfully, and then she'd smile and ask me if I were okay. Every time I answered her I kept my words to a minimum and tried to convince her that I was fine, I didn't need fussing over.

During the day Toby would follow me around and pretend to spy on me. I nearly died of fright when I saw a small brown box peep through the boathouse door one day. I leapt up and swung the door open to find my cousin crouched down and peering into the end of the box. ‘What are you doing?' I asked.

‘It's my periscope,' he explained, handing it to me to inspect. ‘I made it myself.'

The boathouse was my favourite place to write. I hadn't left the grounds once since my run-in with Nate. There had been the briefest of moments whilst I was speaking to him where I almost thought that we could be friends. Ask no questions, get no answers – that's what we both seemed to want from each other. But I couldn't help but wonder again what Nate might possibly have to hide; obviously he felt the same way about me as it hadn't stopped him from asking. There was no way we could be friends – I didn't need that kind of complication in my life. I convinced myself I'd be happy to never see him again. He probably thought I was insane and I hated the fact that I cared. It was easier to pretend he didn't exist than entertain the thought of explaining myself and apologising to him.

Friday came around soon enough, and a new batch of murder mystery guests was due to arrive in the afternoon. The sun shone down on Dudley Hall all morning, and I sat outside beneath the old weeping willow tree on the side of the stream as I wrote
The Ghost of Dudley Hall
. I found it hard to concentrate on my story that morning; I was easily distracted by the sunlight bouncing off the water, the smell of the flowing brook and the reflections in the stream. I stared for what felt like hours at the weeping willow's leaves as they swayed in the water, collecting the weeds and rotten petals that carried on the stream. I daydreamed about Ophelia from
Hamlet
, who'd drowned herself in a river, and the Lady of Shalott who had died as she floated downstream. Whether I was staring at the stream and daydreaming, or writing down the words of a ghost story on a page, my mind kept bringing me back to thoughts of death.

The sun began to sink in the sky, it was getting colder and I knew that the guests would soon be arriving. I pressed my palm against the willow's tree trunk to steady myself as I stood up, and felt deep grooves in the wood beneath my fingertips. I moved my hand and looked at the tree bark. There was a scar on the side of the tree; it had been covered by moss but was still partially visible. I picked off the moss to reveal deep etchings into the tree trunk. It was a five-pointed star – a pentagram – with five letters around it, one at each of the points: A, M, S, L and T. I stroked the carving thoughtfully, wondering what it meant and who had put it there.

The wind blew and a shiver gripped hold of me. It was time to go inside, get warm and prepare for the evening ahead. I heard the first of the guests' cars pull up into the gravel driveway as I came in through the kitchen door. I quickly rushed upstairs to my room to shower and change before anyone could catch me in my regular clothes. That weekend's theme was the swinging sixties. Aunt Meredith had let me read through the premise of the party the night before. A sixties rock star, Graham McGroove, had invited a bunch of artists, models and musicians to spend the weekend at his country pad. But an aspiring model – once again to be played by me – is murdered on the first night of their stay. I had a black and white miniskirt and a black polo-neck vest to wear. I smiled as I looked at myself in the mirror – it was certainly an improvement on the scullery-maid costume.

I left my bedroom and made my way to the grand, winding staircase. Something stopped me suddenly, a noise coming from the floor above. It sounded like muffled crying. I was sure Aunt Meredith had told me that the attic floor hadn't yet been renovated, and that guests weren't allowed up there. But I could definitely hear someone – it sounded like a child. ‘Toby?' I called out. There was no answer. I moved to the foot of the attic staircase and looked up towards the gloomy landing above me. My foot hovered over the bottom step. Part of me was desperate to investigate, to see where the crying was coming from. But I was running late for the beginning of the party, and I didn't have time. Turning away from the sound, I ran down the stairs towards the library.

My eyes fell on Toby as soon as I pushed the library door open. Despite the weekend's theme he was wearing his Sherlock Holmes cape and holding his plastic pipe. He smiled broadly at me as I walked into the room, and I smiled back, although feeling uneasy as I realised the crying couldn't have been him. Just as I'd done the Friday before, I lined up with Aunt Meredith, Nell, Toby and Katie – the part-timer who only ever showed up at weekends – in the library as Aunt Meredith welcomed the guests and introduced the staff and characters. Once again there was no one under the ancient age of thirty-five in the party. And once again during dinner I screamed a blood-curdling scream in the hallway and collapsed to my death. The guests came hurrying out and pawed over my ‘dead' body, wondering aloud who could have killed such a pretty and promising young thing.

I made sure to get up as quickly as I could as soon as the guests had left me. I didn't want to be alone playing dead on the cold stone floor. I hurried back to the kitchen and helped Katie clean away the dinner plates and pack away the leftover food. ‘Katie,' I said carefully, as she passed me the last of the plates to be put away. ‘There are no guests staying on the top floor, are there?'

‘No,' she replied, pushing her fair hair away from her face. ‘It hasn't been renovated yet. It's not safe up there so I wouldn't go exploring if I were you.'

‘I thought I heard –'

‘It was the wind,' she said quickly, before I could finish. Her face had paled and her eyes darted away from me, as if she was hiding something. ‘The wind will play tricks on you up there in the attic. Don't go up there.'

‘I won't,' I replied, although I didn't believe what I was saying.

I spent the next day avoiding the guests and keeping as far away from the house as I could. I sat in the boathouse writing for hours. The afternoon was muggy, the air desperate for a thunder storm. I wrote scene after scene, tearing each page that I'd completed from my notepad and setting it aside into its own little pile. Needing a break, I took myself back to the house and into the kitchen, my completed pages in one hand and the notepad in the other. Nell was sitting at the table; Toby was sat next to her reading his 007 book. I put my notepad on a shelf by the sink so I could use my free hand to run the tap. I gulped down a glass of cold water greedily.

‘I don't suppose you want to help me?' Nell said, chopping a lettuce into shreds. That annoyed me. She'd already made up her mind that I'd say no before she asked, so why bother asking at all?

‘I don't suppose I do,' I muttered back.

‘You know, Suzy,' Nell said thoughtfully. ‘Sometimes you can sound very rude. You really should think before you speak.'

I nearly exploded all over the kitchen. I could have lashed out at her and torn her throat out at that moment. How dare she say such a thing to me? ‘Just because you can hear what comes out of my mouth doesn't mean you know me,' I said sharply. Toby looked up from his book, his little body rigid at the sound of my outburst. ‘You don't know the thoughts in my head. You don't know what I think and feel,' I accused Nell.

‘All the world has to go on is what you give them, Suzy,' Nell replied so calmly it only made me angrier. ‘You're a girl with shocking red hair and an arsenal of Shakespeare quotes at the ready and a whole lot of attitude. It doesn't take a genius to know that something is troubling you. I'd much rather you spoke to me about it than snap.'

‘What makes you think I'd speak to you about anything? You're not my friend. You're not my mother,' I shouted. ‘You have no idea who I am or what I've been through in my life. I don't care what you think of me. You or your stupid, stalker nephew. Don't speak to me ever again!'

I stormed out of the kitchen, trying desperately not to cry. Why couldn't Nell just keep her big mouth shut? Was I that transparent? Was it that obvious that I was walking around with a grey storm cloud over my head? I raced up the staircase to my bedroom on the second floor and slammed the door behind me. I collapsed onto the bed and sobbed into my pillow. I didn't want to feel like this. And I didn't want other people to notice how I was feeling. For the first time in my life I wished I was invisible, I wished I could just disappear and no one would care where I was or what had happened.

I cried and rocked myself to sleep, falling asleep on my bed without changing or showering.

When I woke it was pitch dark outside and the air was crackling with thunder. It must have been the middle of the night. No one had come in to wake me for dinner, no one had come to check that I was okay. Suddenly I regretted my wish to feel invisible; all I wanted was for someone to care.

My bedroom window swung on its hinges and specks of rain spattered through the open window. I pulled myself up and walked over, reached out for the window latch and before I knew it I was looking down towards the river. I felt my heart thud as the memory of the girl running to the river bank surged up within me. But this time there was nothing to see. No boat, no girl. Just the sloshing rain hitting the swollen river. I closed the window and drew the curtains. I pulled the hair band from my red hair, scrunched the edges of the curtains together and tied them into a knot with the hair band so they couldn't be pulled open easily.

The travel clock on my bedside table said one a.m. The rest of the house would be sleeping, but I felt horribly awake. I'd heard a lot about writers who do their best work in the middle of the night, and I wondered if it would be the same for me. I walked over to the small desk in my room and sat down. I began to look about for my notepad when I realised I must have left it on the shelf by the kitchen sink when I was last downstairs. After arguing with Nell, picking up my notepad had slipped my mind.

Still in my clothes from the day before, I left my bedroom and went out onto the dark landing. The only light came from the waning moon glittering through the central skylight above. Rain pattered down on the glass, the droplets looking like diamonds in the moonlight. As I slowly descended the grand staircase lightning flashed through the skylight overhead, illuminating the suit of armour standing guard at the foot of the stairs. As I reached the great hall I saw that there was a light on in the library, and I could hear the drunken and muted chatter of a few of the party guests – who'd obviously stayed up drinking into the night – coming from behind the closed library door. The dim glow escaping the library was enough to light the way for me as I went through the grand entrance hall and towards the kitchen at the back of the house.