The Lake House. Helen Phifer
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today the smell was still there and her cleaner was now on her days off. She had to do something about it. In fact it was even worse than yesterday. The horror she had felt at the realisation of where it was coming from had made her knees go weak and her heart race. It was emanating from…the cellar.
She hated it down in the huge, stark cavern that smelt of damp. It would for ever remind her of her nine-year-old brother, Joseph, who had gone down there during a game of hide-and-seek a long, long time ago and never been seen since. She forced herself to shuffle down to the big, oak door, which had been sealed shut since the day after Joseph’s disappearance. She tried to count back the years; it had been 1930 the last time anyone had any call to go down there – too damn long.
She felt her heart beat faster as she approached it, always with the same feeling of dread in the base of her spine, but she couldn’t live in a house that smelt this bad. The drains must be blocked. She reached the door and sniffed, then gagged. The smell was much stronger here. In fact it was dreadful. She moved away from the door, too afraid to even consider opening it to go down and investigate. No, she would call in a professional plumber and warn him not to go down there on his own. After Joe had gone her father had made it a rule that no one went down there alone. They must always be in a pair or group.
She went back into the kitchen and opened the drawer where kept a tatty copy of the Yellow Pages. It was four years old and she wondered if any of the plumbers were still in business, but she had to try something. She didn’t own a computer or a mobile phone. She hated technology. Her television was ancient and she rarely watched it, instead preferring to spend her time upstairs in her bedroom, which was at the opposite end of the house to the cellar. She would listen to her records and read her books, but most of the time was spent looking out of her window at the lake, watching the boats and wondering if Joseph would ever come home.
She picked the advert with the biggest writing and hoped that they would answer the phone. Carefully pressing the numbers on the keypad, she was delighted to hear a man’s voice answer, ‘Crawford’s Plumbing Services.’
‘Good morning, I wonder if you could help me? My drains are blocked. Well, there is an awful smell so I think they are. I don’t actually know for sure. Would you be able to send someone out to take a look at them as soon as possible?’
‘We could get someone out to you by four o’clock today if that’s any good?’
‘Today, oh yes, please. That would be wonderful, but can you tell me if your men work in teams?’
‘I’m not sure what you mean by a team, love; we have six staff and if there is a job that is big then yes we send in a team, but if it’s just blocked drains then it won’t need more than one.’
‘I’m afraid I can only let them into the cellar if there are at least two of them. It’s a rule of the house that no one can go down there alone.’
‘I’ll try my best to send two of the lads over but I can’t guarantee it. It depends how busy we are.’
‘If you don’t send two then I’m afraid I won’t be able to let anyone down there; I will of course pay for them both.’
‘Look, I’ll send two of them over as soon as I can. We’ll sort something out.’
‘Thank you.’
Martha replaced the receiver and felt her heart slow just a little. She couldn’t be responsible for what would happen if anyone was to go down there alone and didn’t come back up. She didn’t want another missing person on her conscience; it was getting too much to bear.
Henry waited in the small silver van down the tiny side street behind the coffee shop for Megan. It had been her idea to get a job in the busy tourist town of Bowness. She was bored of his home town, Barrow, and said it was too small. She was right. In fact, most of the time she was right, but she never gloated when she was. It was always just a matter of fact.
He still didn’t quite believe that little nurse Megan was on a par with him when it came to their personalities. She was equally as sadistic and had enjoyed the thrill of their first kill together. They had lived in a caravan since she’d so boldly helped him escape from the mental hospital. They had sold their former caravan for a good price. Well, Megan had, using her fake name of Rosie Dance, and then bought a much older one on a site close to Bowness. Henry was able to wander around more freely up here. There were still the odd articles in the newspapers about him but he’d kept a very low profile. There had been no reported sightings of him as far as he knew and he never left the caravan unless he was dressed like a twenty-year-old rapper with his jersey tracksuit, baseball cap and dark sunglasses on.
He’d seen her a few times and felt his heart race so much with excitement. He had wondered if this was how it was going to end for him. Would he drop dead before he had the amazing Annie Graham in his arms? He hoped not because years of pent-up frustration were coming to a head. He smirked. He’d almost forgotten about the head. Watching his dream team of police all working the crime scene yesterday, he knew it had been worth the risk.
The icing on the cake had been watching him turn up. Henry had squirmed when he’d kissed Annie in public like that, as if she was his, but apart from that it had been pretty perfect. It would have been better if Annie had found the head. He would have quite liked to see her face, but that clown she worked with had found it before he’d even had a chance to ring up anonymously and report it. Still, all in all, it had gone well. They had watched from the small boat on the lake, drinking a cheap bottle of wine and sharing the crappy binoculars. Megan had got so excited she’d wanted Henry to video it all, but there was no way they could. It would have been far too risky.
The door opened and Megan threw herself into the passenger seat. ‘I fucking hate that place. I stink of ground coffee.’
‘Hello, Megan, how was your day?’
‘All right, Henry – it was as good as it can be scalding yourself to death over a red-hot coffee machine. How about you? What did you get up to?’
‘Not much. I spent most of the day inside bored out of my head, waiting to come and collect you.’
‘Guess who called in this morning? The boss was all over her – was a bit sickening to watch actually.’
Henry sat up straight and felt his skin prickle. ‘I don’t know, Megan. Why don’t you tell me?’
‘That Annie woman you like so much. Can I just ask you something? You don’t have to answer because it’s none of my business and I understand that, but why do you like her? What is it about her? It might be because I’m a woman but I don’t really get the attraction.’
Henry considered his reply. He didn’t want to upset Megan in any way and he thought he had hidden how much he really liked Annie from her – obviously not enough. Then again Megan knew everything. She was very astute.
‘I can’t really say. She entered my life at a time when it was absolute madness and I guess I felt sorry for her. She was all alone and had a terrible injury to the back of her head; she looked like a victim but didn’t act like one. I suppose I just clicked with her.’
He didn’t say how much he wanted her, how he’d spent hours watching and fantasising about being with her, because he didn’t want to piss Megan off. She was good to him and he owed her big time.
‘Oh okay, I get that. I mean, who would have thought I’d fall for you, Henry? But I did.’
She reached out and ran her hand along his thigh, squeezing it tight.
He smiled at her; she was so much like him it was a little bit scary, and it made him wonder how many other seemingly normal people were killers at heart if they were given the right opportunities. He drove away, careful to stick to the speed limit and not draw attention. He wished that he’d seen Annie close up, heard her talking, but she would have recognised him straight away.
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