Haverscroft Read online

  HAVERSCROFT

  by

  S. A. HARRIS

  SYNOPSIS

  Kate Keeling leaves all she knows and moves to Haverscroft House in an attempt to salvage her marriage. Little does she realise, Haverscroft’s dark secrets will drive her to question her sanity, her husband and fatally engulf her family unless she can stop the past repeating itself. Can Kate keep her children safe and escape Haverscroft in time, even if it will end her marriage?

  Haverscroft is a gripping and chilling dark tale, a modern ghost story that will keep you turning its pages late into the night.

  PRAISE FOR THIS BOOK

  ‘An atmospherically creepy ghost story that keeps you guessing till the end! Sally Harris is one to watch.’ —ANGELA CLARKE

  Haverscroft

  S. A. Harris won The Retreat West Crime Writer Competition in 2017, and was shortlisted for The Fresher Prize in 2018. Haverscroft is her debut novel, she is now writing her second, a supernatural tale set on the Suffolk coast. She is a family law solicitor and lives in Norwich with her husband and three children.

  Published by Salt Publishing Ltd

  12 Norwich Road, Cromer, Norfolk NR27 0AX

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © S. A. Harris, 2019

  The right of S. A. Harris to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This book is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Salt Publishing.

  Salt Publishing 2019

  Created by Salt Publishing Ltd

  This book is sold subject to the conditions that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  ISBN 978-1-78463-201-4 electronic

  David,Morgan, Emily and James.Love you all.

  Chapter 1

  Saturday, 2nd October

  Where the hell are they?

  I cross the tiled hall, weaving between packing boxes and several dining chairs and stop at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Sophie?’

  The landing is gloomy to the point of near darkness. High in the ceiling, at the top of the flight, hangs a filthy glass shade, its light feeble and yellow.

  ‘Tom?’

  ‘Lost them already?’ The removal men manoeuvre the sofa up the steep front steps and into the hall.

  ‘You haven’t seen them, have you?’

  ‘Place this size, you’ll have a job on your hands just keeping track of them.’ The older man puffs as he speaks, tries to hoist the sofa higher, spots the two mugs I hold.

  ‘I’ll leave the coffee here for you.’

  I jolt the mugs onto a packing case, liquid slops out. Where the hell are the kids?

  ‘Sofa going in the kitchen, you say?’

  I nod. This man talks for England, I don’t have the time.

  I peer at the landing. ‘Tom?’

  Somewhere a door slams. Mark’s told the twins off already for chasing from one empty room to another, slamming doors, kicking up dust. I head upstairs.

  ‘Tom! Sophie! Where are you? I’ve loads to get sorted today and could really do with a bit of help.’

  I reach the landing. On my right is the room to be our bedroom, and the office at the far end of the corridor. The doors are open, no sign of the children. Left is the room we found the twins the day we first came here, hiding beneath a high metal bed and covered in dust. The door is shut. The light bulb flickers, a useless thing. It’s only half a dozen steps to the door, stupid to be nervous of shadows and dark corners. I suck in a breath and hurry towards the door, grab and turn the tiny brass knob. Locked.

  I rap on the door. ‘Kids, open up! I don’t have time for games right now.’

  No response, not a sound. I try the door again and to my surprise the knob turns easily, the door swinging away from me. Old houses. We’d better get used to this sort of thing in a hurry.

  The enormous bed is gone, but the gruesome pink carpet and lingering rank odour remains. I snatch dust sheets off a dressing table and chaise longue. Nowhere for the twins to hide. I step across to the French windows, which open outwards onto a narrow Juliet balcony. An empty lawn sweeps down to a clutch of willows dripping naked branches into the black water of a pond. A perfect spot, the estate agent claimed, beside the church, fishing in the river just beyond. A shiver runs across my shoulders. Click. I spin around. The door’s shut. No one here. I’m not good on my own, not yet.

  ‘Tom! Sophie!’

  Don’t get weird. Just be rational, breathe. A draught, most likely. The smell, stale cigarettes and something sour makes the room claustrophobic. It must be the carpet. What are the hideous brown stains beside the hearth? I put my hand across my mouth and nose and head for the door. I try the handle, stuck again. It won’t turn at all.

  ‘Shit!’

  Just keep calm. The mechanism’s so ancient it’s clearly temperamental. Please don’t be broken.

  ‘Mark!’

  I grab the handle with both hands and shake it, try to turn it, but it’s solid. I let go and step backwards, tears sting the back of my eyes. I take a breath and scrunch my eyes tight, count in my head, one, two, three. It’s just a closed door, Kate.

  I open my eyes and reach out, hold the cold brass doorknob.

  Breathe.

  It turns, opens. I dash onto the landing. Thank God no one saw any of that. The bulb flickers spilling grimy shadows across the ceiling and walls, it hisses, glows brighter. Pop. An electrician is the first thing we need. Are the electrics a fire hazard? I guess Mark had them checked out along with all the usual survey stuff.

  The remaining rooms are empty, the twins must be with Mark, wherever he is. More family time, we said, but that depends on us being in the same room at the same time. I take a slow, deep breath and jog downstairs. I’m much better now at keeping the panic at bay.

  The removal men are in the hall, sitting on Mum’s sofa, drinking coffee. They think it’s odd, a sofa in the kitchen, they said so earlier. I’d never thought about it until they mentioned it. In Mum’s small flat it marked the space where the kitchen and lounge met.

  ‘You haven’t seen the children about, have you?’

  Both men smile up at me as I stop at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Boo!’

  My son leaps from behind a packing case, a huge grin on his face, uneven half-grown front teeth already too big for his features.

  ‘For God’s sake, Tom!’

  He sees he’s startled me, his grin widens. ‘This place is so cool for hide and seek.’

  Sophie emerges from behind a neighbouring box. ‘We’ve been waiting ages, but we got you, didn’t we?’

  I take a breath and bite my tongue. It’s not the twins’ fault my stomach’s turning summersaults. Things improved over the summer holidays. Having the twins at home kept me busy and occupied, but total normality is still a little way off. Even the breathing techniques have their limits.

  I muster a smile. ‘You did, but now’s not the time or the place. How do I know you’ve not got lost or fallen in the pond?’

  Tom glances at the removal men as they shuffle the sofa towards the kitchen, both men still smiling. I suspect they knew exactly what the twins had planned.<
br />
  ‘You told us: don’t go near the pond, don’t go out into the back lane,’ says Tom. ‘You’ve told us twice already.’

  ‘And you said we can’t have a dog,’ adds Sophie in a whiney tone.

  ‘Yet,’ Tom says.

  A crash from upstairs, the sound sharp and clear in the empty house. We all look towards the landing. The bedroom door slamming, I should’ve closed it.

  ‘Not you this time, kids,’ says the older removal man with a wink.

  ‘It wasn’t last time. Dad just doesn’t believe us,’ says Sophie. ‘He blames us for everything!’

  ‘That’s a bit of an exaggeration, Sophie. Dad’s worried it’ll damage something. Just be careful, that’s all he’s saying.’

  A bit of cracked paint and plaster are minor concerns with so much to do, but a united front is essential when dealing with the twins.

  ‘Once we get the big stuff in, we’ll close the front door,’ the older removal man says. ‘Causing a bit of a draught, I expect.’

  ‘Where’s Daddy?’ I ask.

  ‘In the garage having a smoke,’ says the younger man. He’s got far more idea of what’s going on around here than I have. ‘Interesting old car you’ve got there. Needs a ton of work.’

  Mark mentioned the Armstrong Siddeley more than once over the summer. He seems to think Mrs Havers’ rusting, immovable wreck, abandoned in the only garage is a positive. I suspect it’s going to be an added expense when it eventually gets hauled off to the scrapyard.

  ‘Let’s take coffee to Dad then, shall we, kids?’

  ‘Come on, Tom. We’ll ask about getting a dog,’ says Sophie.

  The twins head down the front steps and run off around the side of the house. I feel bad they’ve been shouted at so much today. Four months is a lifetime when you’re only nine, bottled up excitement has to come out some way.

  By the time I get to the garage, Tom is sitting behind the wheel of the old cream and navy car. It makes me think of black and white gangster movies, with its elegant front wheel arches sweeping down to narrow running boards. Sophie’s in the passenger seat beside Tom. No sign of my husband.

  ‘Mark?’

  I squeeze between the car and the junk piled inside the garage. The tailgate is open, Mark peers around it, sees I have a coffee mug in each hand. ‘I’m on my way back to the house,’ he says, crushing a cigarette butt beneath the heel of his deck shoe.

  ‘Looks like it.’ I pass him a mug, raise my eyebrows and smile. ‘A grand car once.’

  ‘It needs quite a lot of work – it’s a long-term project.’

  ‘Once the house is under some sort of control, maybe? We’ve only today and tomorrow to get sorted before you’re back to London for the week.’

  He grins. ‘It might be worth a bit once it’s restored.’

  Sophie slaps the flat of her hand on the inside of the passenger window and yanks the door handle, her lips moving and voice muffled. What she’s yelling about?

  ‘Stop that, Sophie!’ Mark shouts. I jolt coffee over the rim of my mug.

  ‘Mark, let her out! She can’t get out!’

  Panic surges through my voice as my chest tightens. Mark jabs his finger towards the car. ‘Get out Tom’s side. Don’t damage anything, either of you.’

  Tom’s out of the car in an instant. ‘We weren’t doing anything,’ he says, glancing at his sister as she stands beside him.

  ‘It’s disgusting,’ she says, her skinny arms tense and straight. ‘It stinks in there!’

  Mark’s looking at me, the crinkle between his dark eyebrows deepening. I overreacted. The panic comes so fast.

  ‘Have you sorted out who’s having which bedroom?’ I ask before Mark has a chance to say anything. My voice is steady, but my cheeks burn. Mark won’t miss a thing.

  ‘Mine’s next to the bathroom,’ says Tom, looking again at Sophie who nods. At least that potential drama isn’t happening.

  ‘Go and ask the removal men, politely, if they’ve unloaded the vacuum cleaner. I’ll clean the rooms so you can bring your stuff in from the car.’

  The twins head back towards the house. I try to keep my breathing steady.

  ‘Can you check out the landing light bulb? It blew just now. It needs something a lot more powerful. Someone’ll be head-over-heels down the stairs in the dark otherwise.’

  ‘Have we found the essentials box? It’s got a light bulb or two in it.’

  ‘It’s in the boot of the Audi where you put it so we wouldn’t lose it amongst all the other essential stuff,’ I say, smiling. I’ve been so good lately, almost back to normal most days.

  ‘Cut the kids a bit of slack, Kate. They’re so excited to finally move in.’ Mark’s hazel eyes are on my face as he drinks his coffee.

  ‘I just worry about them, you know? If something should happen . . .’ I say.

  Mark steps towards me, he hears the wobble in my voice. ‘Nothing’s going to happen, Kate. No-one said this was going to be easy.’

  ‘And what about you?’ I say, making my tone light, teasing. ‘I thought you’d given up?’

  He knows I hate him smoking, particularly around the kids.

  ‘That young removal guy dobbed you in,’ I say and scrunch my face into a mock frown, but he knows I mean it.

  ‘Last one in the packet. I’m out of gum too, so starting from now.’ He grins, the cheeky one Tom so often pulls on.

  ‘It’s just so bad for you. I worry, you know?’

  ‘Now we’re finally here, life will settle down, so will the stress levels.’

  After the last few months, it’s no wonder Mark returned to the nicotine sticks.

  ‘You’ll fall in love with this place, Kate, just give it a little time.’

  He said this when we first looked around, then both times we visited over the summer, his heart set on the old house. Maybe he thinks, if he says it enough, it will become true? But I’d no option but to agree to move here, to this creepy old place that makes my skin crawl.

  The lie rolls off my tongue, silky smooth, I hope it’s convincing: ‘I already am.’

  Chapter 2

  ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t go out too often.’ Mark straightens up, regards the kitchen stove. ‘You’ll need to be able to light it in case it happens again while I’m away.’

  ‘Show me tomorrow. Come and relax while we can. I bet we haven’t heard the last from the twins tonight.’

  I tuck my feet beneath me on Mum’s sofa, my sketch pad on my knees. It seems more like a week than a few hours since we left London. Everyone’s tired, tempers frayed.

  ‘Bring the bottle of wine with you. I’ve sketched out a few ideas for a kitchen refurb.’

  The shriek is sharp and primeval, we both start and turn to the black window, nothing but darkness. I need to fix up blinds as soon as possible.

  ‘What the hell was that? A fox?’ Mark asks as he crosses the kitchen and slumps onto the sofa beside me. ‘They’re a hell of a lot louder out here than in the city. It’s why people in the sticks have dogs.’ Mark’s smile is flat as he tops up our wine glasses.

  ‘We’ve enough on our plates right now without adding a dog into the mix,’ I say.

  Again, I wonder why he was so determined to come here. Every other place we’d looked at was in London. Urban and familiar. Why the complete change of plan? I’d wickedly wondered if he wanted a bit of space between him and his mother. Jennifer’s been about a lot since his father died.

  ‘Any luck?’ Mark asks, peering into the battered old shoebox on the floor. I’d discovered it under the kitchen sink, full of odds and sods of old coins, washers and keys.

  ‘I’ll try these ones when we go up to bed,’ I reply, nodding to a couple of keys I’d put to one side on the arm of the sofa. ‘See if they fit.’

  I want the bedroom with the smelly pink ca
rpet locked. The catch is so worn the slightest draught cutting along the landing reopens it. Quite what happened earlier, when I’d got stuck in there, I don’t know. Stupid it alarmed me. In the long term, I’ll redecorate it for Mark and me, fix the catch. It’s by far the largest, brightest bedroom. Until then, I’ll feel more comfortable if we lock it.

  Mark looks at the keys and pulls a face. ‘They don’t look too promising, but worth a try. You’re picking up the attic keys from Lovett and Lyle’s on Monday, aren’t you?’

  Mark was furious when we arrived to find a note from Mr Whittle, the estate agent, on the stove top saying the attic key was at the solicitor’s office for collection. Closed at weekends, it was either wait until Monday or break the attic door down.

  ‘Mrs Havers has a bloody nerve keeping the key after completion, as if it wasn’t bad enough with the attic off limits when we were buying the place. The surveyor reckons there’s nothing but junk up there anyway.’

  ‘It’ll be an icebreaker at my interview, if nothing else,’ I say, trying to steer Mark away from the topic that’s irritated him all summer.

  ‘Lovett and Lyle’s might be just what you need, Kate.’

  I resigned my London post months ago, shortly after I was ill. I’ve not regretted the decision for a second. When Mr Lovett said his firm needed a part-time solicitor working from the Weldon office, it seemed too good to pass up.

  ‘I’ll take a look and see what I think.’

  I miss my financial independence, it sticks in my throat each time I’ve asked for money, although Mark’s never once questioned or refused. A job would give me a routine, show I really am on the mend.

  ‘I’ll get on with other things to keep busy: find an electrician, order a skip, contact local builders to sort out quotes for the essential work.’

  ‘Leave it for now. I’ll sort it out next weekend with you,’ Mark says.

  I can’t help but feel irritated. When we renovated our London home we’d worked on it jointly every free moment we had, but I’d been the one to book tradesmen, source and order materials, project-manage. Haverscroft is on a different scale, but I’m not an invalid. Something Mark keeps forgetting.