The Reluctant Celebrity (9 page)

Her
parents, Nora and Bernie Stewart still lived in the same 1950’s semi-detached house
on the outskirts of Bath where she’d grown up. For over thirty years they had
run a tiny museum, bookshop and local tour dedicated to Jane Austin.

It
always surprised Jules how two people who lived with their heads in books could
manage to organise themselves enough to get out of bed, let alone run a
successful tourist spot in the heart of the city.

With
no brothers or sisters the three of them had always been close. When she’d
introduced her parents to Guy on one of their regular visits to see her at Loughborough
University, they had accepted him like a son; showering him with presents and
encouraging him to pursue his music.           

Neither
of her parents had once questioned their love, and at the time Jules had loved
them even more for it.

Things
had changed when Guy had left. Like every other aspect of her life, he’d ruined
her relationship with her parents too. They’d never said anything, but Jules
had seen the sadness and disappointment in their faces when she’d told them
he’d gone. She’d let them down.

Since
then, with the exception of a flying visit at Christmas and sporadic phone
calls, she kept her distance. It just seemed easier that way.

‘Hello?
Juliet are you still there? Bernie I think she’s gone. I told you these
portable phones weren’t as good-’

‘Mum....mum,
I’m here.’

‘Oh
jolly good. Well as I was saying, we weren’t sure if the directions we gave him-’

‘Look
mum, if anyone else asks you for my address, please don’t give it to them, or
tell them anything ok?’ 

‘You’re
not in trouble are you sweetheart. I hope you’re not worrying about that good
for nothing so-called paper.’ Nora paused for a moment, her tone turning
serious. ’We brought you up to laugh at nonsense like that Juliet. Guy was so
worried about you, bless him, but I told him you wouldn’t mind.’

Jules
released a long breath pushing her foot harder against the accelerator and
revving the cold engine.

‘No
mum,’ she sighed, ‘I’m not in trouble. I’d just prefer it if you didn’t give
out any personal details about me, okay?’

 ‘Oh
we wouldn’t speak to anyone who didn’t know you of course. It’s funny actually
because just yesterday we had a nice friend of yours pop into the shop for a
quick chat.’

‘Who?’

‘Oh
I can’t remember her name now, something unusual. The kind you wouldn’t find in
an Austin.’

‘What
did she want?’ Jules racked her brains. She couldn’t remember the last time
she’d mentioned her parents to anyone. 

‘Just
to see how you were getting on’

‘Did
she say where she knew me from?’

‘Reading
I think, but I could be wrong. Or maybe it was school, she was very interested
in the photos, you know the ones we have pinned to the corkboard by the
counter?’

‘I
don’t have any friends in Reading.’

‘Oh
well somewhere else then.’

 She
didn’t have any friends anywhere else either, but she couldn’t admit that to
her mum.

Jules
spun the wheel towards the narrow entrance of her overgrown driveway without
reducing her speed, narrowly missing the skip as she slammed her foot against
the brake pedal, bringing the car to a jolting stop.

‘Mum,
I’ve got to go. The builders are on my doorstep,’ she lied.

‘Righty-ho,
well take care won’t you Juliet. Are you eating enough? You’re not too lonely
up there I hope.’

‘I’m
fine mum. Are you and Dad okay?’ Jules added as an afterthought.

‘Of
course we are. In fact, we are opening a new tour - famous characters of bath.
You must come see the costumes we’ve got and the local drama kids helping us.
It’s all so theatrical.

‘Okay
mum I will. I’ll call you soon. Bye.’ Jules clipped the cover of her mobile
shut without waiting for her mother’s response.

A
magnitude of thoughts battled for attention inside Jules’ head as she made her
way into the house.

Something
her mother had said troubled her, but before she could put her finger on it,
another wave of guilt had started to works its way into her body, curdling the
hot anger marching through her veins.

Why
had she flipped out at Rich? She wondered again.

She
seemed incapable of being her usual cool self around him. He had nothing to do
with
The Daily’s
story and could hardly be blamed for Phillip spewing
his pathetic lies to the trashy tabloid. She would have to apologise, Jules
thought with a sigh of resignation. But for now she had her house to herself
for the first time since arriving in Cottinghale and an unending supply of hot
energy to expend.  

Despite
her dark mood, Jules felt her spirits lift as her eyes scanned the progress
they’d made. In the four days since she’d woken up with Max’s tongue slobbering
in her ear, the old living room ceiling had been torn down, and just as Terri
had promised, her brother had plastered the lot, hiding any trace of the hole
that had been there only last week.

Even
the majority of the dust had gone, thanks to Dan and Jason’s endless sweeping.

Tomorrow
she would pack up her belongings from the guesthouse and finally get the peace
she’d longed for since the first time she’d set foot in the house. Even with
the beautiful landscape stretching around it, Cottinghale had taken on a
suffocating feel. She seemed incapable of taking two steps out of Mrs
Beckwith’s front door without someone stopping for a friendly chat.  

With
Terri’s help also coming to an end, she could finally be alone again.

The
feeling of relief did not last long. Jules soon found her mind jumping back to
Philips story about her. She didn’t know why Philip would do it, or how Guy had
arranged it, but she knew Guy was behind it somehow. There was no level that he
wouldn’t stoop to in order to boost his career, she thought as the anger and
frustration wound its way around her body in a tight grip.

It
hardly seemed real. The millions of people that would be reading about her, not
to mention staring at her picture as if she was just as famous as Guy; and yet
every time she allowed herself to relax, to believe the newspaper had moved on,
another story appeared.

For
the first time since it had began, Jules allowed herself to wonder if another
story would follow. A sliver of fear embedded itself under the surface of her
thoughts like a splinter. Jules pushed it away, shifting her focus back to the house.

Scanning
the empty rooms, she searched for something that would release the hot energy
bouncing through her. If only she had a spare wall to knock down, she thought.

Then
her gaze fell onto the dirty grey carpet that covered the hallway and the stairs.
She’d never taken up a carpet before, but how hard could it be? Jules wondered,
eyeing the disgusting threadbare wool, which she suspected was the cause of the
lingering stale smell that flooded her nostrils whenever she entered the house.

Springing
into action, Jules jumped up the creaking stairs and dived into the bathroom.
In less than a minute, she had swapped her jeans for the loose freedom of her
overalls and was back in the living room, a
Stanley
knife in hand.  

Gripping
the knife in her clenched fist, she drove the blade into the carpet, dragging
it the entire length of the room. She wanted to picture Guy’s face, or even
The
Daily’s
bright blue logo underneath the sharp gleam of the blade, but she had
to stay in control or she risked damaging the floor underneath. Although
knowing her luck in the house so far, the floorboards would be rotten.

Suddenly,
as she worked her fingers between the slit she’d made, Jules heard something from
upstairs. She held her breath, listening to the sound of floorboards moving
above her, her anger momentarily forgotten.

 ‘Hello,’
she called out. ‘Terri? Is that you?’

A
slow breath eased out from her lungs as silence filled the house. Old houses
always made strange noises. She berated her foolishness and turned her attention
back to the floor.   

The
carpet seemed unwilling to release its hold on the house. Each tiny piece Jules
managed to pry away felt like the tight fingers of a grip clinging to life.

Rolling
up the sleeves on her overalls, Jules wormed her fingers under centimetre after
centimetre of carpet, ignoring the painful cramps gripping her hands and
thinking of nothing but the slow progress she was making.

By
the time Jules had worked her way to the stairs the light had begun to fade
from the sky. She had moved non-stop, freeing chunk after chunk of carpet and dragging
them outside before heaving them into the skip.

With
the carpet gone, she could just make out thick planks of rich dark wood hiding
underneath another decade’s worth of dust and dirt. With a good scrub and a treatment
of varnish, the swirls of the natural wood would match perfectly with the
skirting boards, picture frames and doors.

At
last something was going right, she thought, allowing herself to smile for the
first time that day.

Jules
felt suddenly exhausted. As the day had worn on, the anger had melted away with
it, leaving behind a tiredness that lay heavy on her mind and body. She should
stop. Go back to one of Mrs Beckwith’s delicious casseroles and crawl into bed.
But as Jules looked towards the final bit of carpet covering the stairs, she
forced her throbbing muscles to continue working. Another few hours and she
would be finished.

Keeping
her head down and her jaw clenched against the exhaustion, Jules plied the
carpet away from each stair as her tired limbs moved up the staircase. She
could think of nothing but finishing the job.

Suddenly,
a noise broke through her concentration. It sounded to Jules like twigs being
snapped beneath her. Before she had time to comprehend the strange noise
growing up around her, she felt the first movement from under her feet.

That
can’t be right, Jules reasoned as she tried to steady herself. It had to be her
own exhaustion which made it seem like she was suddenly on a swaying rope
bridge, instead of a safe and sturdy staircase. But even as the thought raced
through her head, Jules knew it was something more. The entire staircase was moving
around her.

She
flung her arms out on either side, one hand scraping against the bare wall,
searching for anything that would support her, the other reaching instinctively
for the banister which had also started to sway.

For
what felt like an eternity, Jules remained in limbo, unable to move as she
waited desperately for the staircase to steady itself. Something which seemed
to be less and less likely with every passing second.

Then
it happened; a strange sensation of weightlessness overtook her as the stairs
beneath her fell to the floor with a deafening crash. With nothing to support
her, Jules was powerless to stop her body falling with it.  

The
time between the stairs falling away and her body crashing to the floor could
have lasted no more than a second, but it was long enough for Jules to wonder
if the entire day had been a terrible dream.

Another
horrifying story in
The Daily
, her rudeness towards Rich, the beautiful
floors too good to be true, and now the collapse of the stairs from underneath
her.

Just
a dream, Jules repeated to herself, as thick clouds of dust flew up around her
and she hurtled down over the wreckage, a yelp escaping her mouth as much from
landing hard against the floor as from the banister, still in one piece, which crashed
on top of her.

‘Well
if it isn’t Cottinghale’s very own celebrity,’ she heard Stan’s gruff sarcastic
tones call out as she unlatched the heavy pub door.

It
took a moment for her eye’s to adjust to the flickering light of the fire as
she entered.

The
spinning had subsided on the slow walk from the house, but she couldn’t shake
the feeling of detachment pressing down from the back of her head, or the musky
smell of sawdust lingering in her nose.

Jules
had no idea how much time had passed between the fall and the moment she’d
realised it hadn’t been a dream, but it was long enough for an ache to overtake
her entire body, pulsing all the way to her bones.

One
by one, she had wiggled each of her fingers and toes, relieved to find them
still responding to her commands. Somehow she had managed to free fall onto a
pile of rubble, with a banister crashing on top of her, and not broken a single
bone. Although based on the cries of resistance from her body as she’d
clambered to her feet, it had been a close call.

‘Jules.’
Rich strode out from the behind the bar.  ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m
fine. The stairs fell on me,’ she replied, stepping slowly into the cosy warmth
she remembered from her last visit.

Rich’s
forehead creased with concern. ‘What? Are you ok?’

‘I think
so. I can’t get to my car keys, purse... clothes...in bathroom,’ she babbled,
unable to string the thoughts together in her mind, let alone form them into
sentences. ‘I couldn’t think of where else to go.’

‘Crikey,’
an elderly man chirped from a table by the bar.

Jules
turned to the sound of the voice, the movement causing a strange weightlessness
to float over her, as if the room was swaying around her.

Within
a second, Rich had jumped to her side. Catching her arm in his large grip, he
half lifted, half dragged her to the nearest seat beside the man who’d just
spoken.

‘Jules,
can you hear me? Are you okay?’

‘Yes
I’m fine, why?’ she replied. Actually she felt a little sleepy despite the
soreness resonating from her limbs.              

‘Don’t
move. I’ll get you some water.’

‘Whiskey,
give her some whiskey boy,’ the same elderly man called out from next to her.

 ‘I’m
really sorry Rich,’ Jules called out to the room.

‘What
are you sorry for Lovey? It weren’t your fault,’ the elderly man interjected.

‘Sorry,’
she repeated again as Rich placed a pint of water in her hands.

At
that particular moment she couldn’t quite put her finger on what she needed to
apologise for but she said it again anyway.

‘Don’t
worry about it Jules. Drink the water and then I think you need to lay down for
a while.’

‘All
my stuff is upstairs. It fell right from underneath me. Bloody house.’

The
elderly man cleared his throat. ‘It’s Mrs Mayor.’

‘Don’t
start on that now Ben,’ Rich cut in, dropping his knees to the patterned red
carpet so his head was level with hers. 

‘It’s
true; she doesn’t like people meddling with her house.’

‘What?
Who’s Mrs Mayor? It’s my house anyway.’ Jules looked between the faces that
seemed to float around her.

She
shut her eyes and waited for the spinning to subside again.

‘She
used to live there,’ Ben continued, his voice rising to include the spattering
of people sitting at the bar. ‘Still does if you believe that sort of thing.
Died about fifteen years ago now, but Jimmy, her husband swore blind she was
still there nagging him day and night. He even left money in his will to send a
newspaper up there for her every day. That’s right, isn’t it Stan?’ he called
out to the corner.  

An
indistinguishable grunt resonated from the lone figure on the other side of the
room. 

‘If
she’s dead, how can she mind what happens to the house? Oh I get it, you’re
suggesting my house is haunted,’ Jules exclaimed, suddenly making sense of the
rather strange conversations she’d had with both Rich and Stan the previous
week.

‘It’s
true. Mum swears she hears her, it, talking,’ a voice Jules recognised joined
in the conversation.

She
narrowed her eyes towards the young couple perched on the barstools

 ‘Jason?’

‘Dan,’
he corrected. ‘And this is my girlfriend Molly,’ he added, wrapping his arm
around the stick thin teenager next to him.

‘Oh
sorry. But,’ Jules’ mind struggled to make sense of the situation. ‘This is
ridiculous, why did no one tell me?’

‘We
did. The other night, you were the one who agreed to the exorcism,’ Dan
replied, spinning on his stool to join in the conversation.

‘What?
No I didn’t?’ she looked towards Rich, still propped on his knees beside her.

To
Jules’ surprise he nodded in response.

‘Where
is Terri?’ Jules asked. She would be able to make sense of this.

‘At
the footie. Should be back any minute.’

‘She
likes football?’

‘Yeah
ever since dad left us she’s not missed a Cheltenham home game.’

‘Oh.
Where did he go?’

‘Last
we heard he is in Spain. Not that we care. I deferred my place at Uni for a
year to help mum with the business. Jason’s doing the same once his A levels
are finished.’

Jules
felt the room closing in. She’d never stopped to consider the reasons behind
her rather odd building team. There seemed to be more to gangly teenagers and
their mother than she’d first thought.

‘So
about this exorcism,’ Ben began again. ‘We were thinking we could combine it
with a little gathering. Like our very own bonfire night.’

‘You’ve
got to be joking.’  

She
could have fallen from the roof straight onto her head and she still wouldn’t
be dazed enough to agree to having a party.

‘Look
the stairs fell down because…well because they are old stairs,’ she stammered,
pushing away the memory of the unexplained creaking floorboards and strange
chill which had tickled her skin just before the fall.

 Jules
ignored the pain that shot from her feet all the way to her head as she stood
up, only remembering afterwards that she had nowhere to go.

‘My
keys,’ she exclaimed, patting the pockets of her dusty overalls, as if they
might magically appear. 

‘Jules
you really shouldn’t be…’ Rich called out.

The
rest of his words disappeared under the sound of a loud phone ringing from
somewhere in the pub. Coloured spots filled Jules eyes and she felt her body
tumble to the floor for the second time that day.