And I revelled in it for now. For now, I would let myself revel in this unusual, addictive and exotic feeling. Because I knew, for all my high hopes, I knew it probably couldn’t be sustained. But I wouldn’t think of that now…
When Frankie slouched back into the room and swallowed a croissant practically whole, Matthew released me and suggested a tour of the house. ‘We ought to show Frank his new home, eh, Jeanie?’
‘Cool.’ Frankie eyed another croissant, and I propelled him gently towards his rucksack.
‘Do you want to see your room?’ I asked.
‘I’ve given you the end bedroom on the first floor, looks out onto this—’ Matthew gestured at the great sweep of lawn that led down to woodland on the other side of the high wall. There was no way over that wall.
I was surprised by a sharp feeling, like a weight on my chest. Come on, Jeanie! I couldn’t crave the openness and enormity of the sea already, less than two hours in. Could I?
Don’t fuck this one up, for Christ’s sake! Marlena’s voice was in my ear. This is your big chance.
‘Sounds good to me.’ Frank hitched up his jeans as we watched Matthew open the ‘secret’ kitchen door with a flourish, showing off the twisty hidden stairwell.
‘The Cavaliers hid their allies in this stairwell during the Civil War.’ Matthew was ahead of us. ‘I saved it from Kaye’s terrible architect when we did the extension. There’s a priest hole behind it from Elizabeth I’s reign – when the Catholics were persecuted. They’d have torn it all out if Kaye had had her way.’ I couldn’t see his face, but I sensed the roll of his eyes. ‘It’s listed now, so it’s safe.’
‘Awesome, man.’ Frankie loped behind his stepfather-to-be. ‘Can you get in the priest hole?’
‘No, it’s bricked up now – but it’s there behind the wall.’
And they were up and out of the stairwell.
Alone, I paused in the dimness. I ran my hand across the cold, bumpy wall, salvaged from the demanding ex-wife who was so rarely mentioned. I wondered whom exactly it was who hid behind the bricks. Did they listen in terror to Elizabeth’s soldiers or Cromwell’s Roundheads tramping through the house, ready to pull them apart? They must have feared for their lives.
The wall was very cold beneath my fingers, and I realised I was holding my breath, my ears straining for sound.
* * *
It sounds silly, but once or twice, I’m sure I’ve heard voices, late at night, whispering in the hallways and on the landings, when there’s been no one here but Matthew and I.
And it’s strange, because I don’t feel like the house is hostile – but it has unnerved me.
Matthew always assures me the odd noise is quite normal; just the creaks and groans of old timber – but I’m not so sure. It makes me horribly uneasy.
It makes me feel someone else is here. And it’s too soon for that.
Isn’t it?
* * *
About six weeks ago I was woken from a deep sleep in the early hours by a noise I couldn’t distinguish. The twins weren’t staying that night. They’d been here earlier in the day, and we’d gone to the cinema to see The Maze Runner before taking them back to their mother’s after tea.
Lying awake in the dark, my heart pattering, something moved near me. The swish of material against wood – a skirt, a petticoat, a curtain, I wasn’t sure – but it was enough to force me bolt upright in bed.
‘Listen!’ I clutched Matthew’s arm. ‘I can hear someone…’
‘It’s just the wind,’ he muttered, without opening his eyes. ‘Lie down, hon.’ He threw a protective arm over me and fell straight back to sleep.
I lay awake for at least an hour that night.
And are there voices here too, I wondered now, in the stairwell? Today? Behind these cold walls…
‘Jeanie? Are you coming?’
I jumped slightly, despite myself. Then I went on up to marvel along with Frank at his new bedroom, which was complete with a sound system beyond his wildest dreams, speakers attached to the walls.
‘Is this a Sonos?’ he was crowing. ‘Linked to the whole house? God, that’s amazing!’
* * *
There was only one tiny blip during the ‘tour’ – and probably it was only my imagination again anyway; what Marlena would call my ‘over-thinking’ – and what I might just term slight anxiety. Frankie had put his hand in mine as we climbed the turret stairs, and as Matthew turned at the top, a slight frown crossed his face, his eyes flicking towards my son’s hold on me. I felt it like a dart.
My eighteen-year-old son, it has to be said. The thing was we were used to having to hold onto one another, Frankie and I, but maybe now, maybe it had to change a bit – and that wasn’t a bad thing, given what we’d been through in the past few years. Frankie was growing up and away from me, and it was time for a new time.