Chapter 38
Jake made his way back across the gardens. He walked up the stone steps and approached the car to find that Marcus was no longer sitting in the passenger seat. The car radio was still on.
The music coming from the car radio stopped and a DJ’s irritatingly manic voice blared out some unintelligible slang. Jake leaned through the open window and pressed the radio knob with his finger; it clicked off. Blessed silence.
Jake extracted himself with some difficulty, lifting his head too soon and knocking the back of his head on the car door. He yelped. He stood beside the car, rubbing the back of his head. His headache got even worse.
‘Where the hell did he go?’ Jake’s eyes settled on the house.
Jake set off in that direction. He was just making his way past the front door when he noticed the small flowerpot to the left of the door had been shifted. A circle of green moss marked the spot where it once stood. Jake tried the front door. It opened. He walked in and turned around to close the door, glancing at the flowerpot; Marcus must have found another spare key.
Jake shut the door and stood for a moment staring at the framed photograph on the wall to the left of the door. It was a school photograph of the three of them. They were sitting sideways on, their faces turned to the camera. Eleanor, the youngest, was in front, leaning into Jake’s chest and smiling sweetly for the camera. Jake was sitting up straight, his expression an almost-smile as though he had been caught unawares by the camera. Marcus was sitting behind him, sporting a wide, toothy grin with two new adult front teeth in otherwise bare gums.
Jake hadn’t seen this picture in a long while. He took a step back for a clearer look and noticed the row of coat hooks on a long wooden rack screwed to the wall directly above the picture. The picture had obviously been hidden for some years beneath a jumble of assorted coats, bags and skiwear. Now void of these things, the picture had reappeared.
Jake plucked the picture off the wall and ran two fingers gently down the portrait over the smiling Eleanor. He sighed and hung it back carefully. ‘Marcus!’ he shouted, staring at Marcus’s toothy grin.
There was no response.
Jake carefully hung the picture back on the wall and walked to the stairs, glancing into the lounge on the left and the den on the right. There was no sign of him. He bounded halfway up the stairs, calling out his name several times.
There was still no answer.
Jake walked slowly up the rest of the stairs and peered around the thick spindle at the top of the stairs. All the bedroom doors were closed, just as he had left them that morning during his search for the non-existent squatters. Jake didn’t bother walking up the next flight of stairs; he saw no reason why Marcus would have gone up to the bedrooms on the second floor.
Jake scratched his head and meandered down the stairs. At the bottom, he turned left and headed to the kitchen. He flung open the door, expecting Marcus to be there. Jake stood in the doorway, perplexed. He had searched everywhere else; if Marcus was in the house, there was nowhere left to …
That was when he noticed that the door to the cellar was slightly ajar. Jake hadn’t bothered to open the fuse box and switch the electricity back on when he had gone down there. He suddenly had a nasty vision of Marcus lying at the bottom of the cellar steps in a crumpled heap.
Jake grabbed for the door and was momentarily blinded by the bright bare bulb dangling a couple of inches from his face. Several rapid blinks later, he was able to see clearly down the cellar steps, all the way to the bottom. Marcus had not taken a tumble.
‘Marcus – you down there?’ Of course he had to be. Who else would have switched the electricity on?
‘Jake, Jake – you’ve got to come down here and take a look at this.’
Jake was relieved to hear his voice. Because of the events back in London – because of Marcus’s unpredictability, his penchant for disappearing at a moment’s notice and turning up in a bad state, in places he really should not be frequenting – Jake was getting used to Marcus scaring the crap out of him.
‘I’ve seen it already.’ Jake knew what Marcus had found down there. ‘I came down here this morning.’ He didn’t feel that inclined to take another look. Jake waited at the top of the stairs.
‘Oh shit!’ Marcus voice again.
‘What is it?’ Jake walked down the stairs and stopped halfway. With one hand resting on Marcus’s metal sign, he leaned down so his head cleared the ceiling. The dust sheet was off the doll’s house again. Marcus stood beside it, concentrating on something in his hand. There was a look of dismay on his face.
Jake took his hand off the sign and walked down the remaining steps, pretty sure what was up. Marcus turned to Jake, holding out a miniature chair upright in the palm of his hand, like the one Jake had picked up earlier. Except that this one had a broken leg. And that, Jake remembered, was exactly the reason as kids Marcus was hardly ever allowed to go near Eleanor’s doll’s house – he was always so clumsy.
Marcus said, ‘I nearly fell down those stairs. I banged my head on the way down and almost lost my balance.’ He carefully placed the chair back in the doll’s house. ‘Why didn’t you turn the damn electricity on while you were down here?’ He tried to stand the chair upright on three legs. ‘Did you want me to break my neck?’
Now that , thought Jake wickedly, might not have been a bad idea . ‘What are you doing down here anyway?’ Jake retorted.
Marcus shrugged and absently reached inside the doll’s house for another piece of furniture.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ warned Jake.
Marcus withdrew his hand, empty.
‘A bull in a china shop,’ Jake commented.
Marcus gave Jake a sideways glance before bending down and resting his forearms on the dusty workbench. He peered into the tiny rooms.
Jake walked around to the other side and crouched down. He peered through the miniature living room at Marcus. ‘We need to talk.’
Marcus looked across the miniature room at Jake. ‘About what?’
Jake hesitated.
Marcus shifted. Now all Jake could see was Marcus’s blue cotton shirt as a backdrop to the living room.
‘It’s pretty impressive, don’t you think?’ said Marcus. ‘My little sister was quite the designer,’ he said with a hint of sadness and regret. ‘I wish I’d appreciated that more when she was—’ he stopped abruptly.
Jake raised himself up and peered at Marcus through a miniature bedroom. ‘What I wanted to tell you …’
Marcus shifted again. ‘Bloody hell! How weird is that?’
Jake darted his head to the next bedroom, taking a cursory glance inside. He looked at Marcus and shrugged. ‘What?’
‘You don’t see it?’ Marcus said incredulously.
Jake continued to look at Marcus, wondering how he was going to take what he was about to say next. ‘Look, about that word, the choice of inscription. I didn’t mean …’
‘Maybe if you come and look at it from this direction.’ In the tiny room, Marcus’s finger was gesturing for Jake to come over. Marcus hadn’t taken his eyes off the room, and Jake hadn’t taken his eyes off Marcus. He obviously hadn’t heard a word he had just said.
Jake rolled his eyes. ‘I told you.’ He stood up, ‘I’ve seen it today already.’ Grudgingly, Jake walked around the workbench and stood beside Marcus. ‘Besides, I thought you were anxious to get to the airport?’ Jake reminded him.
Marcus grabbed Jake’s arm and tugged in an effort to force Jake to bend down.
‘What is it?’ Jake crouched down next to Marcus.
Marcus pointed at the room again. ‘Look.’ Marcus stared at Jake until he gave in and looked into the room, craning his neck in a mock show. ‘There, I’m looking – so what?’ Jake didn’t get it.
‘I mean really look,’ Marcus insisted.
Jake took in the detail of the miniature bedroom. And then he saw it. Without saying a word, Jake slowly stood up, followed by Marcus. He looked at Marcus a long moment, and then crouched down once more to take a second look to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him.
‘You see it, don’t you?’ said Marcus.
Jake stood and faced Marcus. ‘Bloody hell,’ he said, ‘it’s one of the rooms …’
Marcus nodded.
‘… at Lark Lodge.’
Marcus nodded again.
They bent down together, and Jake reached into the room to pick up the sofa that was an exact replica, in all but size, of the one in the sitting room. He held it up. They both peered at it.
‘How do you suppose that happened?’ said Marcus.
Jake looked up from the miniature sofa in his hand. There was only one possible explanation. ‘I guess Gayle’s friend Robyn, the interior designer, has been here in The Lake House and seen this.’ He imagined she’d caught glimpses of the house from upper floors of Lark Lodge, and her curiosity had got the better of her.
Jake thought of the used mug in the kitchen. Marty must have taken her to see the house. They clearly knew each other because Marty was Gayle’s gardener too. But there was just one small snag; the dust sheet was filthy, and it hadn’t looked like it had been removed in years. Perhaps she’d lifted a corner and taken a peek?
‘But she’s got no right to … to … use, to copy,’ Marcus’s voice was growing louder, ‘to plagiarise Eleanor’s work!’ Marcus was furious.
Jake slowly shook his head. ‘Will you listen to yourself?’ He bent down and carefully placed the sofa back in the room. ‘It’s only a child’s doll’s house.’ Jake touched the wallpaper, which he was sure exactly matched the pattern in Gayle’s house. ‘And besides, I think Eleanor would have been quite chuffed that an interior designer had seen fit to use her designs as a template for her own work – don’t you?’
‘Yes, ok. Maybe you’re right,’ Marcus conceded. ‘But what the hell was some complete stranger,’ his voice was rising again, ‘doing nosing around your house and prying into Eleanor’s things for anyway?’ Marcus was shouting now. ‘And more to the point, how did she get in here in the first place?’
Jake stood up and shifted his gaze from the doll’s house to Marcus. He wasn’t about to tell Marcus that the gardener had been stopping in the house for a drink, and at some point had probably given Robyn a guided tour. The last thing Jake wanted was for Marcus to fly off the handle and let rip at the one person who was keeping the gardens pristine. The grounds were immaculate, and thanks to Marty, did not send out a signal for unwanted guests – squatters. Jake wanted it to stay that way. Which reminded him that he’d gone there again to see Marty, not to revisit the past.
Jake knelt and picked up the dust sheet from the floor. When he got up, Marcus was still standing there, staring at him intently. ‘What?’ Jake eyed Marcus. ‘What would you have me do, Marcus? Get her arrested?’
‘Now we’re getting somewhere,’ said Marcus cheerfully.
Jake looked at him a long moment and shook his head. He threw the dust sheet in the air and watched it gently glide down to cover the house. He caught one last glimpse of the inside, the kitchen this time, and it too looked distinctly familiar. It made Jake wonder how many other rooms in Gayle’s house had been lifted from Eleanor’s design. He looked over at Marcus and was relieved to see he hadn’t noticed. He was too wrapped up in the unfairness of life – that Eleanor was not there to use her talents and somebody else had.
‘For trespassing, then.’ Marcus said sulkily.
Jake shook his head again. Marcus was talking nonsense. Of course she couldn’t be arrested for trespassing. That wasn’t a police matter – and he knew it. Jake ignored him as he tucked the sheet under the base of the doll’s house, having some difficulty lifting the base with his sore hands.
‘She runs her interior design business from Gillespie’s General Store. We could go into Aviemore and make a citizen’s arrest.’ Marcus followed Jake around the doll’s house, not offering to help tuck in the sheet.
‘Look, she probably knows Marty.’ Jake hadn’t intended to bring the gardener into it, but Marcus’s constant badgering was getting on his nerves. He wanted him to shut up or go away – preferably both.
‘Marty?’
‘The gardener. He looks after Gayle’s garden too, so my guess is that it’s how he knows Robyn and how she came to be here in this house.’
‘Are you saying the gardener wanders around the house too?’
Jake pursed his lips. Marcus was not calming down.
‘Next you’ll be telling me pretty much the whole damn town has occasion to come to this house.’
Jake sighed. ‘Look, all I’m saying is that the gardener probably comes in here from time to time for a drink. So he goes down in the cellar to switch the electricity on and takes a peek under the dustsheet. He happens to mention it to Robyn, and one thing leads to another … Wouldn’t you be just a little bit intrigued about what sat under that dust sheet? Wouldn’t you take a look?’
‘Yeah,’ Marcus said sourly, knowing Jake was right. He changed tack. ‘So why doesn’t the gardener bring his own coffee – hasn’t he heard of a thermos flask?’
‘Oh, boy.’ Jake sighed heavily. After all that hard graft in the garden, he should not begrudge him the use of the electric, a kettle or a coffee mug.
‘I still think it’s not on,’ Marcus said sulkily. He caught the change in Jake’s expression. ‘What are you grinning at?’
Jake stood across from Marcus, smiling at the dirty dustsheet. A thought had just occurred to him. ‘I think it’s kind of fitting.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘That we stayed in Eleanor’s room.’
Marcus looked down at the dustsheet. ‘I guess so,’ he murmured. He looked up at Jake. ‘I wonder if she used any of the other rooms’ designs.’ He reached for the dust sheet and started to lift one of the corners.
Jake darted around the doll’s house and came up beside Marcus, putting a hand over his to prevent him from taking another look. ‘Let it go,’ Jake whispered.
Marcus’s eyes narrowed. ‘Will you ?’
They stood facing each other and Jake realised they were talking about something far more significant than the doll’s house. Jake sighed wearily. ‘Look, whatever happened after the avalanche, when Eleanor and I were buried in the snow up there, you need to just let it go.’ Jake tried to make his voice sound as reasonable as possible for both their sakes because this was liable to turn into a shouting match – or worse.
‘What do you think happened?’ Marcus spat. ‘No wait. How stupid of me,’ Marcus tapped his temple, ‘I don’t need to ask you that question because you’ve already written it down for posterity, haven’t you Jake?’
The word on that memorial stone was coming back to haunt Jake. ‘Look, about that, I …’
‘Yeah, what about that? According to you I made a choice up there and now I can’t live with it. Is that it, Jake?’
Yes, that is it , thought Jake. They had been buried in the snow, and Marcus had chosen to leave his sister to dig Jake out first, with catastrophic results. To cope with what he’d done, making that choice, Marcus had built a fence, a wall, a subconscious lie to screen himself from the awful truth – the awful realisation in those vital seconds after the accident that he could not save them both. He had been forced to choose between them – a choice which would condemn the other. Marcus had needed to believe, for his own sanity, that someone else was there, someone else had made that choice, not him. That was the lie.
A miniscule part of Jake felt that perhaps if it had been the other way round, if he had been in Marcus’s shoes on that fateful day, he would have wanted to do the same.
‘And now you’re telling me to let it go,’ Marcus said in an accusing tone. ‘Well, I’m not the one having nightmares – am I?’
Jake stared at the doll’s house. He wanted to tell Marcus that he finally understood. For the first time since the accident, Jake felt that he might just be able to forgive Marcus. He looked up, but Marcus was already heading back up the stairs.
The moment was lost.
Jake tucked in the corner of the dustsheet and followed Marcus back up the steps. At the top, he switched off the cellar light and stood for a moment in the gloomy darkness. He’d never known this house to be so still, so silent. It almost felt that with Eleanor gone, the house, like Jake, was still mourning her loss.
Jake swung the cellar door open, expecting to find Marcus waiting for him in the hall. He wasn’t. Jake shut the door, glanced in the kitchen and then strode up the hallway towards the front door, guessing Marcus had gone back to the car.
He guessed wrong.
Jake walked down the grassy bank and entered the gap between the hedges. He stopped at the entrance and looked in; Marcus wasn’t standing there as he had expected. Jake walked in, his attention focused on the memorial stone. He kept being drawn back to this place – he was making up for lost time, for all those visits he knew he should have made over the past few months but had not. Jake stood in front of the flowers, staring at the memorial stone, relieved that Marcus hadn’t come. He didn’t want to talk to Marcus there, in front of this.
‘The flowers are nice.’
Startled, Jake whirled around to see Marcus sitting on the bench set into the hedge.
‘Didn’t expect to see me here, did you?’ Marcus gestured with his hand for Jake to step aside. ‘You’re blocking my view.’
‘I’m what?’
‘You heard.’ Marcus waved his hand again. ‘Step aside.’
Jake stepped aside and stared at Marcus, unsure whether to leave so he could have some time alone. He decided that it was a good idea, so he turned to go. Outside in the main gardens, just beyond the hedge, Jake stopped abruptly. ‘You’re a bloody fool,’ he admonished himself. He took a deep breath and retraced his steps.