Alice Richardson

Novel Writing

Here are the beginning chapters of my novel, The Guest House.

Chapter One

Saturday the fifteenth of August was hot. The sun blazed in the blue sky and the island buzzed with activity. Barbeques filled small gardens with smoke as dads with ‘kiss the chef’ aprons stood red faced by. Runners in a Race For Life marathon flowed through the streets in a rippling, human stream. Old men dozed with newspapers on their bellies and babies’ eyelids drooped as they were placed in shady cots. Lawyers argued in courtrooms and couples made love in dusky bedrooms with closed curtains. Police cars screamed and flashed down streets, who knows why? Old ladies breathed their last, through papery lips, the rooms around them quiet with swallowed sobs. Seagulls swooped like stealth bombers onto beaches, their sharp beaks aimed at neat picnics. Politicians gathered in the gloom of the house of commons, the hot sweat prickling around their stiff white collars. Protestors with painted faces shouted and waved banners outside a hospital, and on a street in South London a cat played lazily with a scared and struggling mouse. The sun warmed his fur and a petrol breeze through the trees made it glimmer. His green eyes squinted into blinks sleepily as he watched his claws sink into the soft brown skin. His purr, rumbled and rasped and the exhausted mouse stopped wriggling, hot and in pain.
Henry watched with his eyes half closed and blew a cone of smoke into the still air. Somewhere a door slammed and the startled cat let the mouse go, stretched and arched his back before stalking out of the garden. Henry closed his eyes and flicked his cigarette. He was sitting in his back garden which consisted of a small square of scrubby lawn, a pouched and creaky deck chair and a clothes tree that was bent and disfigured in a corner next to a tangle of hose pipe.
The back door opened and Henry’s mother stepped outside. She blinked in the sun and then saw him.
‘Henry? What are you doing here?’
‘I’m relaxing mum.’
‘Relaxing? What do you mean relaxing? It’s Wednesday, shouldn’t you be at work?’
‘I quit.’ Silence.
‘I see. Well I’m making sausages for dinner. I bought one of those disposable barbeques, I thought we could eat out here seeing as it’s such a nice evening.’ She looked around her as she spoke, ‘We should really do something about this garden, it looks like a knackers yard.’ She bent down to pick up a curved piece of yellow plastic and a beer can.
‘It’s ironic really’ Henry said folding his hands, sinking deeper into the chair.
‘What is?’
‘That you’re going out with a landscape gardener and our garden looks like this.’
‘Don’t start that again Henry, your both as bad as each other. He works very hard you know and the last thing he feels like doing is landscaping another garden when he gets home.’
‘I don’t think he even knows what landscaping means mum.’
‘Oh shut up Henry. Where is he anyway?’
‘In bed still.’ She went back into the house, slamming the flimsy door behind her. Henry watched an ant crawl up his arm.
Henry Blinch was a man of few words. He lived with his mother in a terraced street in South London and worked for a telesales company, selling life insurance. Till today that is. He was a thin dark-eyed man with a pinched mouth and pale skin. He liked to smoke Marlboro Reds and read Nabokov. He had slowly become a quiet and reclusive man who enjoyed hating things. He hated his mother’s boyfriend George, with his green fleeces and hairy hands. He hated cashiers in supermarkets who snapped their moths open with gum and jangled with charm bracelets. He hated busy pavements. He hated the scum on the coffee at work and the way everyone looked over his shoulder when they spoke to him. He hated beautiful women that blushed and smiled and covered their mouths in wonder. He hated the ugly ones too. He hated the city. He hated the people spilling out of bars, sparkling in the streetlamps, laughing and kissing and shaking hands. He hated exotic smells from darkly lit restaurants, he hated young actresses, entrepreneurs, designers and chefs; whistling street sweepers, janitors and doormen; taxi drivers and builders that whistle and shout, all of these people living and loving as he watched from the shadows like Caliban. They chimed together in laughs and horns and bleeps and shrieks that made the distant symphony that hummed out on the street. He hated it.
Later on that evening, Henry was still sitting in the deck chair watching George from behind his book. He was sitting on a broken bit of wall beside the back door clipping his toenails while Henry’s mother went back and forth from the kitchen to the barbeque.
‘So then Michelle said that all she expected was a bit of respect and was that too much to ask.’ She shouted from the kitchen. George made a listening noise and swallowed in concentration. Henry turned a page of his book. ‘And Brian said that he wished she’d step off her soap box because this is a post office not a women’s rights headquarters and that’s when she stormed out. She came back half an hour later though and acted as though nothing had happened. She’s always going on about how we are a sidelined minority, being a team of working women but there are three young lads working there as well. Admittedly one of them is quite effeminate. Tanya said that Michelle’s showing classic signs of sexual tension. She said that since her husband left her for his internet girlfriend, she feels she has to hate men, when actually all she wants to do is find another one and apparently, her always attacking Brian, is a sign that she’s attracted to him.’
‘Do you have to do that here?’ Henry said lowering his book.
‘What love?’ His mum said turning to him.
‘I’m talking to George. Do you have to cut your toe nails in front of me like that?’
‘In front of you? What do you mean in front of you, you pompous little prick? You’re not the only one here.’
‘You are putting me off my food.’
‘You’re not eating any food.’
‘You are cutting your toe nails right next to the barbeque where my food is in the middle of being cooked and I don’t think its very hygienic.’
‘What is your problem Henry? I’m nowhere near the barbeque and anyway my toe nails aren’t dirty. Why don’t you make yourself useful and give your mother a hand?’
‘What about you? Why don’t you give MY mum a hand? And while you’re at it, why don’t you find somewhere else to live you freeloading soap dodger.’ Henry dug his fists into the sides of the deckchair to try and extracaite himself.
‘Oh please shut up both of you, can’t we just have a nice evening?’ Henry’s mum pleaded.
‘It’s alright love, don’t get yourself worked up, I’ll handle this’ George said standing up.
‘But I don’t want’ she sighed
‘How dare you speak to me like that? It’s about time you thought about what you are doing with your life, look at you, smoking your cigarettes and reading you’re A-level literature. You think you’re some tortured genius Henry but I’ve got news for you’
‘I’ve got news for you’ Henry mimicked, still struggling with the chair.
‘You’re not. You are a self indulgent, averagely bright twat who is still giving his mother a hard time at the age of twenty-five.’
‘George, please’
‘It’s alright, I’m handling this.
‘God your pathetic’ George spat, red with anger and embarrassment. He was quite obviously stuck in the chair now, ‘Why don’t you just fuck off? There are plenty of vulnerable, single women around here, Jean Broom at number ten needs some turf laying, why don’t you just take your knapsack there and leave us all in peace?
‘This is his house too Henry now please can both of you stop arguing and help me get dinner together.’ She turned and went into the house leaving the two men glaring at each other.
‘You should have more respect. You’re poor mother works her fingers to the bone and what do you give her in return? Grief. It’s time you got your act together and thought about moving out, make a life for yourself.’
‘What like you’ve done? Moving into my mum’s house when she was still confused and upset? Now she can’t remember what she did without you, but I can. She was strong and she laughed and then you came with your sympathy and earl grey tea and sat in my dad’s chair, still fucking warm and unpacked as she sobbed on your shoulder. Your taking advantage George and don’t point those nail clippers at me. You haven’t worked in three weeks and where’s the box hedging you promised mum six months ago?
‘I admit work’s been a bit slow but it’s the wrong time of year’
‘Its high Summer George how is that the wrong time of year?’ Just then the deck chair folded and Henry collapsed with it. As Henry struggled to untangle his thin legs and arms from the wooden slats of the deck chair, George laughed.
‘You’re an idiot’ Henry said standing up. His face was dark with rage and his voice was choked. He kicked the remains of the chair and charged past George, still laughing, slamming the rickety door behind him.

Henry’s young life had meandered into a stagnant puddle and now he couldn’t seem to get out. Every day when he woke up, there would be a split second where he wasn’t himself and then it would descend, thick like tar.

After the deck chair incident, Henry went up to his room and put a jumper on before thudding down the stairs leaving a trail of sweet blue smoke, as he slammed the front door behind him. He walked slowly and aimlessly down the street. It was quiet and empty and the sinking sun left a hazy tea coloured light. Cars roofs glowed and smelt warm and metallic and the houses sat still and dusky with lights starting to flicker on. Children, fresh from soapy baths moaned sleepily as they were put to bed and sounds of clinking glasses and hissing barbeques rose from behind the houses.
A woman wearing a pink housecoat was going through a rubbish bag by her front gate. She shouted over her shoulder at the house.
‘I’m looking Fred. I don’t know why I’m looking, but I am…what? Well why don’t you come and do it then you lazy sod? Oh yeah right, your back. The day a doctor confirms that is the day I’ll eat my…oh, here we go, found it.’ She pulled a remote control out of the black bag and trotted back up the path and into the house.
The Phoenix and the Firkin was empty inside. Outside the tables were heaving. Henry sat at the bar and stared at the riddle on the bar mat: When you say my name I’m gone. John put a pint down by Henry’s elbow and sighed significantly. When Henry didn’t look up he shifted his weight and sighed again. Henry took a sip of his beer.
‘So Imogen’s gone nuts again.’ Henry carefully placed his glass down and stared hard at the beer mat. When you say my name I’m gone.
‘Completely lost it this time. She threw the salad spinner at my head this evening and called me an insensitive wanker. This by the way was after I had presented her with a ticket to a lovely B&B by the sea for the weekend.’ Henry lit a cigarette and blew the smoke at the ceiling. ‘I thought she needed a break and she said I was implying that she’s hysterical. I would never dare call her hysterical because she fucking is. Then when I told her about the weekend I’d booked her she started slamming drawers and arranging mugs because she thinks that means I want to get her out of the way. She accused me of having an affair stamped on my foot, really hard and then left. I managed to calm her down eventually and even got her thinking that a holiday was just what she needed when Duncan came in at his usual six o clock and opened his big mouth about me winning the trip in a raffle. Well you can imagine what happened next,’ Henry rubbed his forehead and massaged his eyeballs. ‘I just don’t understand it, I can’t do anything right. Of course a break from her crossed my mind but who can blame me? The woman sleeps with a bread knife by her bed. I really thought that some sea air and Cornish coast would do her good. She loves all that nature stuff but oh no, wrong again.’ Henry stared at his thumbnail. When you say my name, I’m gone. A young woman in a blue dress came and stood at the bar smelling of sun cream and cigarettes. She ordered gin and tonics and watched John pour the gin, crackling over chunks of ice. Her nose sloped into a freckled point and the wispy hair at her forehead was damp with the heat. She took the tall glasses smiled and walked out. The swinging door let waves of voices into the quiet bar. When You Say My Name I Am Gone- Silence.
‘What do you think I should do? I’ve slept on the sofa by the duke box for the last three nights and the furthest I’ve made it up the garden path is’
‘Have you still got the ticket?’ Henry said looking up.
‘What ticket?’
‘The ticket to the sea side, the holiday you won.’
‘Well yeah, she won’t go will she.’
‘Can I have it?’
‘The ticket?’
‘Yes the ticket.’
‘Well, I don’t know, I suppose so. You’ll have to pay me for it though.’
‘Why, you won it in a raffle? And you’re not going to use it are you. In fact I am doing you a favour, because otherwise it would just go to waste and would serve as a constant reminder of the car crash that your marriage has become.’
‘My marriage is not a car crash. Imogen is just a woman of very particular taste.’
‘Can I have the ticket or not?’
‘I suppose you might as well.’
‘Where am I going by the way?’
‘Cornwall. To a guest house in Cornwall.’

Henry packed a small suitcase with his books cigarettes and a few clothes, said goodbye to his mother, glared at George and left.
The train doors clicked, the whistle blew and the murky roofs of Paddington peeled back to reveal blue sky. Bus depots, factories and farms rolled past. Burnt out cars, sheep, streams, yellow fields and hills that dipped and rose at speed like the lifeline on a monitor. Henry sat back in his warm seat and closed his eyes. He was excited.

Chapter Two

Five hours later, Henry stepped off of the train. As it pulled out of the station, people gathered, greeted and scattered, leaving Henry alone, smoking with his bag at his feet. He looked around casually at first, for the taxi that was supposed to pick him up but it soon became apparent that it wasn’t coming. He picked up his bag and started walking along the road that led out of the train station and followed the signs for Newquay sticking his thumb out, but passing cars passed. The air smelt clean and sweet and the sinking sun left the sky streaked with purple and the air alive with insects. Henry found himself walking along winding lanes with high hedges. Green and yellow fields rolled and dipped either side and occasionally the sky and the earth split to show a shiny sliver of sea.
It was dark when Henry finally knocked on the door of the Palm Beach Guest House. The town had started to twinkle to life as he walked through, watching red- faced holidaymakers heading from the beach to the bars. With varying and garbled directions from shop owners, he found himself leaving the town behind him, worried as the houses thinned out. He had been told to take the coastal road and then take the first right down a gravel drive towards the sea where the Palm Beach guesthouse perched in the belly button of the cliff. It was a large house at the end of a sloping driveway, lined with leafy trees. The front porch creaked when he stepped up the steps. Waiting for the door to open, Henry tried to arrange his face into an unassuming expression. He could smell the salt from the sea and could just hear the dark waves breathing in the distance. Eventually the door opened and a woman in her sixties stood smiling at him.
‘You must be our new guest’ she said, letting him in.
‘I’ll show you to your room first, and then would you like some dinner? We provide dinner every evening if you choose to have it.’
Henry muttered thanks and followed her up the stairs. His room was at the top of the house and his landlady was out of breath when they reached it. She stood in the doorway catching her breath as Henry walked in and put his bag on the bed. It was a perfect room. The attic ceiling sloped over the bed and he could tell that the window had a spectacular view, even though it was too dark to tell.
‘I hope you will be happy in here’ she said. ‘I’m Maud by the way.’
‘I’m Henry, the room’s great thanks.’
She closed the door softly behind her and he heard her creak down the stairs. He switched on the bedside lamp and turned off the bare overhead bulb. The walls were blue and the ceiling pale green. A rich, red, threadbare rug covered the wooden floorboards. In the corner there was a sink and a chair sat expectantly in front of the window. He went and sat down and looked out but was faced with his own reflection so he stood up and opened it. The sky was dark and close and he could feel the sea, giant and invisible staring back at him. Below him was a garden and a patio lit up by indoor lights. White chipped garden chairs and a table sat empty on the patio.
Henry showered and dressed and went downstairs for food. The house was silent and none of the rooms seemed occupied. At the bottom of the stairs he heard laughter coming from a door on his left. He looked around him uncertainly. He could smell cooking, a meaty, heavy smell. He pushed the door on his right to and looked in. It was dark and silent. He heard laughing again and went to knock on the door.
‘Come in’ a voice called from inside. He pulled away startled. ‘I said come in’ it repeated. Henry turned the brass handle and went inside.
It was like entering another world. Warm wood surfaces were covered with painted boxes, carved candles and bowls of flowers. Silks hung from the walls and lacquered fans spread like many flowers about the room. It was a few moments before he spotted her. She was sitting by the fire, watching him in amusement.
She was beautiful. She had long dark hair that coiled over one shoulder to her waist and her eyes were dark, and flinty with mischief.
‘Come sit down’ she said pointing to a chair opposite hers. He walked over to her, taking in details as he went. Japanese vases, boxes of Cuban cigars and most importantly, an exotically stocked drinks cabinet.
‘Help yourself’ she said, seeing him spot it. ‘I recommend the Armegnac. But maybe not at this time of night. Have a gin and tonic.’
He mixed my drink and went and sat with her by the fire.
‘So you are the new guest?’ she said with a smile. ‘For god’s sake what made you come down here?’
‘I had to get out of London. I was doing nothing with my life and it was starting to depress me.’ She swirled the ice cubes in her glass and looked back at him.
‘In what way were you doing nothing?’
‘I don’t know,’ He said hearing his voice sound loud in the room. He felt stupid and out of his depth. ‘I was working in dead end jobs, with dead end people, for crap money.’
‘How crap’ she rolled her eyes. ‘So what do you want to do?’
He looked into my fizzing, spitting drink for an answer. ‘I want to be a writer. A scriptwriter, for films.’ He said, the words as new to him as to her. She raised her eyebrows.
‘Well well well. Here’s to you and your glittering career’ she said raising her glass, ‘and do remember me if one of your films gets made. I’m an actress you know.’
Before he could reply, the door opened and Maud stood in the doorway.
‘Dinners ready’ she said brusquely. Spotting Henry she said ‘ah, I see you’ve met my sister. I hope you like beef.’
She left the door open and went back to the kitchen. Zara swallowed the rest of her drink and pulled the silk throw from her knees revealing a wheelchair. Henry drained the rest of his drink, his eyes watering with the fizz, as he tried not to look astonished as she wove her way competently through the crowded room.

The next day Henry woke up late and heard the rain rattling on the roof. He lay under the eaves and listened with his eyes closed. His mind was blank and still and he had nothing to do. He hadn’t thought this part of the trip through; all he had thought about was getting away. He got up gradually and went to the window. The garden was green and blurred by the rain and the trees dripped heavy and wet. In the daylight, Henry could see that the garden sloped down towards the cliff edge and beyond was the sea.
Downstairs, the front door was open and wet footprints crossed the porch and onto the white tiles of the front hall. With bare feet, Henry tip toed to the door and looked out. Zahra sat in her chair smoking a cigarette, watching the rainfall from the porch roof like a beaded curtain in front of her. Henry saw her smile and followed her gaze to Maud, who was on her knees in the muddy yard, struggling with a chicken under one arm. Henry cleared his throat and Zara’s eyes snapped towards him.
‘Oh hello, sleep well?’
‘Great thanks’ Henry said stepping out onto the porch. ‘Is everything alright, shall I give her a hand?’
‘Oh she’s alright.’ Henry had trouble agreeing with her as he watched the scrabbling claws of the bird scratch Maud’s arm and slip through her grip.
‘Oh blast, the little bugger, oh hello’ she said spotting Henry. She came over and stood panting with her hands on her hips. ‘I’ve been trying to catch him since ten o clock. I think we might have to have fish for supper.’
‘Maud has romantic ideas about rural life you see. Grow and cook your own, but as you can see, it remains a romantic idea.’
‘Oh shut up Zara, at least I’m trying. And besides, the reason that I can’t catch the chicken, is because he is so healthy and strong because of my farming.’ Zara snorted and wheeled into the house leaving her cigarette hissing in the rain on the floor.
‘Did you sleep alright?’
‘Yes, lovely thanks. Do you want me to have a go at catching the chicken?’
‘You can if you like, but don’t worry. He’s a vicious bird. Look what he’s done to my arm’ she said holding out her bleeding scratches.
‘What do you do to it once you’ve got it?’
‘I don’t know, I haven’t got that far yet.’

Henry spent the day reading in his room. The rain fell all day and the land lay like a huge sponge, soaking and saturated. Everything dripped and splashed. The roads had streams running down them and dried caked mud eased and melted into brown puddles. There was no wind and the air was still so the rain fell straight down.
That evening he went downstairs for dinner. The dining room was laid out with six small tables for the guests. Each table had a small, rose coloured lamp on it, giving the room a warm pink glow. Henry sat down and exchanged smiles and nods with the other guests. There were three. Mr O’Reilly was an old man from Ireland who stayed for a week every year. He had explained to Henry the previous evening that he had to get away from his wife for a week once a year, so he told her that he had a cousin in Cornwall, knowing that she wouldn’t come with him. He was a kind looking man with a grizzled face and very blue eyes. Mr Dent was a small, fat travelling salesman. He wore a suit every evening and his neck rippled around his stiff collar. When he smiled his eyes became slits and his ears moved. Miss Swan was an ageless woman with an alarming collection of two-piece cardigan sets. She was fairly beautiful but painfully timid and clumsy and never made eye contact. No one knew what she was doing there.
Henry sat and unfolded his napkin and mulled over the strangeness of the situation. The room was too small to avoid conversation, yet they were all here to eat alone, it resembled a child’s play at restaurants. He wished he had brought his book. They all sat at their tables, close enough to knock elbows and smiled and coughed and stared earnestly at their table- cloths. Eventually Mr. O’Reilly cleared his throat and turned in his chair to speak to Henry,
‘Back to the old dragon tomorrow.’ Henry looked confused for a second, ‘my wife, I’m going home tomorrow.’
‘Oh right’ Henry said laughing but then didn’t know what to say next so refolded his napkin. He had never understood this joke that men seemed to share, that they hated their wives but saw the funny side.
‘How long are you here for?’
‘Two weeks.’
‘I hope the weather gets better for you. Biblical, the rain was today. Biblical.’ Miss Swan smothered a yawn with her thin fingers. The sound of glass breaking came from the kitchen next door and after a few minutes the door swung open and Maud came in carrying two plates. As she bustled past she smelt of musty lavender and sweat.
‘I’m sorry about the wait’ she said clunking the plates heavily in front of Miss Swan and then Mr. Dent, ‘I’ll be right back with yours’ she said swinging out of the door. Mr. O’Reilly turned and raised his eyebrows at Henry.
Dinner was fish in a strange sauce. It was oily and heavy and tasted of garlic. Henry lifted dripping pieces of cod to his mouth and closed his eyes as he chewed. No one spoke during dinner and the self-conscious noise of metal on china was the only sound until they heard Zara calling her sister from her room off the hall.
‘Maud? Maud, can you come here please? Maud?’
‘I’m busy Zara, can’t you see I’m busy?’
‘Well of course I can’t see you’re busy because I’m in the hall aren’t I? Can you just come here for a minute?’
‘For God’s sake’ Maud muttered and left clattering dishes in the kitchen as she went to her sister. The four guests listened, embarrassed but glad of the distraction as the two sisters argued in the hall, which was only separated from them by the door.
‘What?’ Maud said brusquely.
‘I have invited a few people for dinner on Thursday evening. It’s been such a long time I saw my friends and I wandered if you wouldn’t mind very much cooking and then making yourself scarce. I would pay you of course.’

‘Well, I, I am speechless. You really are something else Zara.’
‘Well? Is that a yes or a no?’
‘It is most definitely a No.’
‘What? Why not?’
‘Because I have my book club on Thursday night and I am not your maid.’
‘Oh for god’s sake don’t be so sensitive Maud, I was just asking a favour. I haven’t been out or anything like that in such a long time.’
‘What are you talking about? You went and played bridge at Flir’s on Friday night.’
‘You really enjoy this don’t you Maud, making me beg you.’
‘As it happens I don’t, but the answer is still no. I am having my book club. It has been planned for months, now if you don’t mind I have a cheese cake to serve.’
Henry groaned inwardly at the mention of cheesecake and wiped his mouth.
After dinner, Miss Swan and Mr.Dent nodded politely and went upstairs to bed. Henry was about to do the same when Mr. O’Reilly stood up and said, ‘join me for a nightcap?’ pulling a flask out of his inside pocket. The two men went and sat outside on the patio. It had stopped raining and the night was balmy and still and the moon was almost full. Henry stared at the clear sky, full of stars, a sky he had never seen before, having lived his life under the burnt, orange glow of London nights. O’Reilly poured whisky into two glasses and lit a cigarette, gesturing to Henry to be quiet as he did so.
‘That’s the old bats room’ he whispered, pointing to a window above them.
‘Which one?’ Henry whispered back. O’Reilly snorted, breathing smoke and replied hoarsely,
‘The one that can walk, stupid.’
They drank in silence for a few minutes, listening to the crickets and the faint sound of the sea. The whiskey burnt Henry’s throat and lit up his stomach, unlacing his frown.
‘So how long’
‘Sssh’
‘Sorry’ Henry whispered, ‘so how long have you been coming here?’ O’Reilly concentrated for a minute then replied,
‘About nine years, I like continuity you see, never did like change. I stick to what I know.’
‘Have the sister’s always run it together?’
‘They don’t exactly run it together, Zara never lifts a finger, but yes, it’s always been the two of them. I think their mother ran it when she was alive and left it to Zara and Maud when she died. Actually I beg your pardon, Zara wasn’t here from the start, the first year I came it was just Maud on her own and then the next year, Zara was here, yes that’s right, she’d just had her accident.’
‘What happened to her?’ Henry asked blinking back another sip of whiskey.
‘Apparently’ their voices had risen again, ‘apparently’ O’reilly whispered, ‘she was in a horrific car accident in Italy. She used to travel a lot you see, very exotic lady if you know what I mean’ he said winking. She was lucky to live, but she was told she’d never walk again. I don’t think she had anywhere else to go, so she had to come home and live here with her sister. They’ve always squabbled like children, but I suppose that’s only natural when you live in each other’s pockets. I find it quite amusing.’
‘What about Maud?’
‘What about her?’
‘Well, did she every get married or work or have children?’ O’ Reilly paused and thought,
‘I can’t be sure, but I think there was someone once. I don’t like to ask, because I think it ended badly, I heard her crying on the phone once, late at night. She’s a very smart lady though, despite appearances. I think she was the good daughter, you know? She studied hard, got a degree and a masters and never caused anyone any bother. I know very little else about her, or either of them. I just come and stay here for one week a year, and leave it at that. I don’t need to know all of their dark secrets now do I?’

Henry lay in his moonlit attic room, his hot, whiskey breath against the pillow. He rolled onto his back and stared at the rippling shadows on the arched ceiling. He felt restless and hot and his mind turned like hamster wheel. He felt agitated and excited, as though there was a storm brewing and the electricity in the air was needling him and he wasn’t sure why but he couldn’t wait for Thursday night, book club night. He had felt a tension in the sisters’ words like black tar with bottomless depths, thick and oozing and trapping their meanings like flies legs. He got up and went to open the window a bit more and he stood there a minute, watching the moon-path ripple on the black sea. It was as still as millpond.

…

Twenty minutes later, Henry opened the door into the kitchen. It was a brightly lit room with a long wooden table in the middle, which was laid for three. A large window over the enamel sink was lashed by the rain outside and steamed up by the warmth inside and a delicious smell filled the room. Maud stood at the Aga with her back to him and didn’t hear him come in over the sizzling sound of cooking, so he coughed and she turned around startled.
‘Oh I didn’t hear you come in, come in and have a seat. It’s almost ready, I hope you like tuna.’
‘Lovely’ he said sitting down. She went back to the stove and carefully slid the third tuna steak into the hot pan. It spat and crackled as she poked it and moved it with a spatula.
‘So are you enjoying your stay?’ she said over her shoulder.
‘Yes thanks, it’s beautiful around here. Your house is lovely, have you lived here long?’
‘All my life.’
‘Really?’
‘It must seem a bit pathetic to you, but I never saw any reason to move. I took over the guest house business when my mother was tired of it and when I married, my husband came and lived here and farmed the land around us.’
‘I don’t think it’s pathetic at all. Why would anyone want to leave such a beautiful place?’ he felt his sycophantic words dribble down his chin, ‘so your husband was a farmer?’
‘Yes. We had a dairy herd and some crops.’
‘Do you still own the land?’
‘Some of it; When my husband died, I couldn’t manage the farming as well, but I couldn’t bear get rid of it all entirely, so we have kept a few acres which are watched over by Sam, our handy man.’
‘I met him today when I was walking.’
‘Did you? He’s a funny old thing. How rude of me, I haven’t offered you a drink. What can I get you? Glass of wine?’
‘That would be lovely, thanks. Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘No, no, you just stay there.’ She went over to a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of red wine. He watched her pale blue eyes concentrate on extracting the cork. Her face was soft and powdery and sadness was drawn in lines around her eyes. Her hair was short and collected in pale, colourless curls around her face. She was pleasant looking, almost beautiful, but her beauty was soft and unimposing.
The door to the kitchen swung open and banged against the wall.
‘Good evening’ Zara said as she wheeled into the room. She had dressed for dinner, even more elaborately than she dressed for every day. She had a burgundy coloured, floor length dress that made her skin look pale and her eyes burning and dark. If her sister was a watercolour, she was charcoal, with confident and dramatic lines and cheekbones, rich colours and black hair.
‘What’s for dinner then sis?’
‘Don’t call me sis. Tuna with spicy lentils and salad.’
‘Interesting.’ Zara said, smiling at Henry. Henry smiled back awkwardly and took a sip of his wine. Maud served up and sat down next to Henry. Zara coughed.
‘What?’ Maud asked, her eyes twinkling mock innocence. ‘Oh, your chair. I’m so sorry Zara, I always forget.’ She got up and helped Zara to make space for the wheelchair at the table, cooing apologetically. Zara’s faced flashed with black and red and anger. She slapped Maud’s helpful hands away and jerked herself into the space made, her eyes narrowed in embarrassment and hatred.
‘Well, isn’t this nice’ Maud said sitting down and placing her napkin in her lap. Her voice light and airy, buoyant on her latest victory. They ate in silence and Zara pushed food around on her plate like a disgruntled teenager.
‘This is delicious, thank-you Mrs. Keverne’ Henry said with his mouth half full.
‘You’re welcome Henry. It’s so nice to have my cooking appreciated once in a while’ Maud replied shooting a stare at Zara, but Zara just sighed deeply and looked straight ahead at the wall. Henry twisted uncomfortably in his seat and thought about escaping to the local pub, as soon as the meal was over.
‘So what are you planning to do for the two weeks you are here?’ Maud asked brightly, placing her glass carefully down by her plate. Henry swallowed an uncomfortably large mouth full,
‘Not much really, I mean I hadn’t really thought. Coming here was quite a last minute decision, so I haven’t really made any plans.’
‘Well don’t worry Henry you have come to the right place. Maud here, will have a full itinerary of activities and projects to fill the full fourteen days, printed up and pinned to your door by the morning. God forbid you should just relax and let time pass, do you enjoy patchwork?’ Zara turned to him, an arched eyebrow raised in question. Henry laughed nervously and kept his eyes on his plate.
‘Don’t worry Henry; Zara’s sarcasm is one of her things. What she is trying to say, is that I keep myself busy and enjoy many hobbies and have many friends’
‘You don’t have friends, you have members’ Zara cut in.
‘Which keeps me very occupied and stimulated, which for some reason, Zara resents.’ Zara gave a low laugh and lit a cigarette.
‘Would you mind not smoking at the table? I’m sure our guest minds.’ Henry looked up, panic tingling his spine.
‘Don’t be silly, I bet he could do with one’ Zara said offering him the packet. He glanced from one sister to the other. Maud’s talcum powder face and forget-me-not-eyes looked surprised and expectant and Zara’s dark, glowering stare and lips curled in amusement made him feel like a picture of Faust, riding the horns of a moral dilemma, with a good and bad angel on each shoulder; which sister to please?
‘I didn’t know you smoked Henry’ Maud said quickly as she stood up to clear the plates. He made an apologetic noise as Zara held a match to his cigarette. Maud scraped the scraps into the bin, leaving Zara’s untouched plate of food on the table. Henry quickly stood up to help clear it but Zara pulled him back down,
‘Don’t worry Henry, I’ll clear my plate in a minute.’ Maud stood at the sink, in a cloud of steam and splashing water, stacking the dripping plates and spoons and knives neatly in the drying rack. Then she turned the water off, brusquely flicked her hands and then dried them properly on her apron. When she turned around, her eyes were slightly misty and the edges blurred with tears.
‘It’s been a long day, so I’m going to turn in now.’
‘Thank you so much for a delicious meal’ Henry said half standing up, feeling guilty, as though they were ganging up.
‘Yes thank you Maud, it really was delightful’ Zara said and in one movement, she exhaled a plume of smoke and elegantly stubbed the cigarette into her untouched tuna steak.’ A shadow flickered across Maud’s face, but her smile remained as she picked up the plate.
‘You are very welcome Zara.’ She carried the plate over to the bin and held it for a beat before throwing it in, the fine china smashing and splintering loudly in the silence. Zara looked calmly and levelly at her sister and Henry held his breath.
‘I thought I would save you the bother of washing up Zara, seeing as you can’t reach the sink anyway.’ She untied her apron, hung it on the back of the door and walked out.

That night, Henry couldn’t sleep. He lay on his back and twisted and turned, lay on his stomach and sighed deeply. His pillow felt lumpy and his duvet clumpy and the air was still and shallow. He got up and went to the window and sat in the chair, resting his heels on the windowsill. Reaching into his jacket pocket he brought out a cigarette. And carried on digging, searching for a lighter but his pockets were empty. He looked in his bag, under the table, in his sock drawer, by his bed. He ran his hands through his hair, frustrated now, the taste of a cigarette too firmly in his mind to forget about now. He opened his door quietly and crept down the stairs but when he reached the second landing he stopped. He heard it again, a creak on the landing below. The darkness was thick and the black outlines of furniture moved and glowed on his eyelids as he squinted to adjust his sight. There it was again, someone’s footsteps, very carefully on the staircase below him. He held his breath hot and scared in his mouth, unsure whether they were coming up or going down. The house was completely silent and still and Henry stood paralysed, holding his breath, afraid of making the slightest noise, but his heart sounded like a drum in his chest. He started to tip toe backwards, towards the stairs up to his room and reaching the bottom step, he stopped and listened. The footsteps were growing fainter as they made their way down and Henry let out a breath. He was sweating heavily and his mouth was dry and it suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea why? He was going downstairs for a lighter, what was the big deal? There was only one person those footsteps could belong to and that was Maud, getting water or some such thing. He inched his way to the banister and looked down at the hallway The glass in the front door cast a square of moonlight over the white tiles and the hall table stood dark and silent in the shadows. The footsteps reached the bottom and out of the shadows and into the light, stepped Maud her fair hair glowing and her white robe touching the floor. She paused and looked around but she didn’t turn to go to the kitchen. What was she doing? Henry frowned and licked his lips in the dark as she took small, noiseless steps towards Zara’s door. Slowly, she lifted her hand to the doorknob, her fingers pale and thin in the shadows and turned very slowly. But nothing happened, the door was locked. She stood for a minute and then turned and started back up the stairs. Henry heard music in his head as panic struck and he turned and crept as fast as he could in the comically sloping walk that people do in the dark. He reached his room and shut the door and dove skittishly towards his bed. He lay there panting and confused at his own reaction, like a small child with an irrational fear of the dark and a wild imagination. He had been in the country too long he thought; he had begun to imagine things now that he had time and space on his hands. He felt the fear and disorientation that comes with the dark, when the clear rules of day are gone and the terrible becomes possible for the unfortunate few, who are awake and thinking, their brains drinking the shadows and making monsters. But as he calmed his breathing and closed his eyes, smoothing away the excitement, he couldn’t get rid of one question in his head: What would she have done if the door had opened?