Страница 42 из 63
As the room became almost pitch dark he rolled over, slipped an arm under Caro’s pillow, then nestled up to her and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Night, my darling.’
‘Love you,’ she said.
‘Love you so much.’
He lay, holding her, for some minutes, then rolled onto his back. As he did so he heard a faint click, somewhere close by.
Something sent another ripple of shivers through him. He thought back to the message on his screen up in his office, earlier. The feeling that something had been in the room with him.
He had that same feeling now.
Goose pimples spread down his body; hard, icy, sharp as pins.
Right in front of the bed a green light was moving towards them.
Moving closer.
Closer.
Human height. An ethereal human form.
He was gripped with terror.
Closer still.
Closer.
‘GO, GO, GO!’ he yelled.
‘Wasser?’ Caro stirred, then she screamed, too, a deep, almost preternatural terror in her voice.
‘OLLIE! OLLIE!’
Closer still.
‘OLLIE!’
He flung his arm out for the light and sent the lamp, his glass of water and his clock radio crashing to the floor. ‘WHO ARE YOU?’ he yelled. ‘WHAT DO YOU WANT? GO AWAY!’
Then he heard a small voice: ‘Woooooo, wooooo, wooooo! I am the ghost of Cold Hill House!’
Jade’s voice, he realized.
Then she said, ‘Chill, Dad! Mum! GOTYA!’
An instant later the overhead light came on. He saw Jade holding up a torch inside a transparent green outfit of some kind draped over her head, standing by the door.
‘Christ, Jade!’ Ollie said.
Jade pulled the robe up and off, revealing her face, and stood there, gri
Caro lay still, too stu
‘That is really, really, really not fu
Jade jigged up and down. ‘I’m the phantom of Cold Hill!’
Ollie moved to get out of bed, then realized he was stark naked. ‘Joke over, OK!’ he said sternly.
‘You scared me,’ Caro said. ‘You scared the hell out of me, darling.’
‘I thought I’d wear this at my party. What do you think?’
‘I think you should go to bed, NOW!’ Ollie said.
‘But do you like it, though, Dad?’
‘Go to bed. I’ll tell you what I think in the morning.’
‘I did scare you, though, didn’t I? A bit?’
‘Just go to bed, OK?’
‘Wooooo, woooooo wooooo!’ She pulled the robe over her head again. ‘Wooooooo, I am the ghost of Cold Hill House. Wooooooooooo!’
She danced out the room, closing the door behind her.
Ollie turned to look at Caro. She was staring, wide-eyed, up at the ceiling. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Maybe that’s her way of dealing with it. At least she’s cool with all that’s been happening.’
‘Lucky her,’ Caro said.
39
Saturday, 19 September
Ollie barely slept a wink for the rest of the night. Caro tossed and turned beside him, awake much of the time also. He was thinking. Thinking. Churning everything over.
WHO’S NEXT? JADE? CARO? YOU?
Those words on his screen – where had they come from? He toyed with the possibility that it was another prank by Jade, but dismissed it. There had been something in his office, something dark and malevolent. Something watching him with unseen eyes. Some energy force?
He shivered. He was feeling it again now. That there was something here in this room, up on the ceiling looking down at them. Mocking them.
Hating them.
Or was he just losing the plot?
He took several deep breaths to try to calm himself – and to convince himself that this was all in his mind. He wanted to turn the light on, and go to sleep with it on, something he’d not done since he was a small child. But he did not want to disturb Caro any more than she had been already. And at this moment she seemed to be asleep.
He stared constantly at the green digits on his clock radio: 12.20; 12.50; 1.25; 2.12; 2.45; 3.15.
He had a headache that was becoming increasingly insistent.
Bob Manthorpe.
Dead.
The old cleric had seemed so alive, enjoying retirement. Could there possibly be any link between his visit and the man’s death?
Ridiculous. It was just coincidence. Unlucky timing.
He got up, went to the bathroom and swallowed two paracetamol. As he returned to bed, Caro asked him, her voice sharp, clear and wide awake, ‘Are you OK?’
‘Just a bit of a headache.’
‘Me too.’
He felt the bed move as she climbed out, heard her cross the floor, then the bathroom door close. He heard the toilet flush. The sound of ru
Some moments later she asked, her voice quavering, ‘Ollie, what are we going to do? We can’t live like this.’
He reached across, took her hand and held it tight. ‘We’re going to deal with it. We’re going to get it sorted. Trust me. I know what we have to do.’
‘I’m scared. I’m scared for Jade, I’m scared for us.’
He swallowed, not wanting to tell her that he was scared too. He had to be strong for her.
And for himself.
3.38; 3.59; 5.03.
The room was filling with a very faint grey light. From outside Ollie could hear the sporadic birdsong of the dawn chorus. Looking at the clock again, he realized he had actually slept for over an hour. He could just make out the ceiling now; the shape of Caro’s dressing table; the chaise longue beneath the window, strewn with their clothes. Dawn. A new day.
He felt calmer now. Caro was asleep, breathing deeply. Then, suddenly, he was back in his parents’ house in Yorkshire. But on the walls of every small room he entered was written, in thick black letters,
WHO’S NEXT? JADE? CARO? YOU?
Ollie’s mother was admonishing him, saying, ‘You’ve brought this on us all. You and your stupid ambitions.’
‘Told you so,’ his father kept saying, repeating it over and over and over.
In sudden panic Ollie remembered he’d left his laptop, with all the Cholmondley website information to be uploaded, in the garage. He rushed through the door, but the garage was empty. His father followed him and lowered his voice. ‘Cholmondley’s a crook, you know that, son, don’t you? You don’t want to get involved with a man like that. Get yourself a proper job. Do something decent.’
‘Where’s my laptop, Dad, what have you done with it?’ Ollie shouted at him. ‘Where is it?’
‘I’ve sent it away to have some adjustments made. The truth will set you free!’
Ollie woke with a start, drenched in perspiration. Then relief flooded through him as he began realizing it had just been a dream. He rolled over and looked at the clock.
8.11.
But his sense of relief was short-lived, turning rapidly into gloom as everything started to come back to him. He lay still, trying to think clearly. Remembering the conversation he’d had with the retired vicar on Thursday. Remembering his advice.
Slipping out of bed as quietly as he could, he walked across to the window, opened the curtains a chink and peered out, his eyes raw with tiredness. Tendrils of mist were rising from the lake, and several ducks were moving serenely across the surface, looking purposeful but unhurried. The grass had grown since last weekend and he would need to spend some of today on the ride-on mower, and with the strimmer. But before that, he had other tasks.
He went out and along the corridor to the airing cupboard, changed into his jogging kit, then went downstairs. As he entered the kitchen, he smelled curry. The remnants of last night’s meal lay on their unwashed plates, along with the takeaway cartons from the curry house on the draining board. Bombay and Sapphire were standing by their food bowls, meowing. He topped them up, changed their water, cleared away the dishes and cartons, then went through to the scullery, unlocked the back door and stepped out into the cool, fresh morning air. It was a fine, still morning, with an almost cloudless sky, full of the promise of those glorious late summer days that occurred so frequently during September.