She used to have a sly humour, a sharp wit, but now Eve was subdued, her thoughts—and her feelings—distracted by the loss. To see her this way added to Gabe's own grief, but there was nothing he could do that he hadn't already tried to ease her despair. Even harsh, desperate words, tough love they called it, had failed to draw any positive response because she fully accepted her own condition and refused to be stung by his criticism. Ultimately, he could only love her, not in an indulgent way, but in a way that let her know that he cast no blame on her.
Gabe drew in a deep breath of fresh moist air. A little sunshine made a difference, he thought. It helped cheer the soul. If only the rain—
His legs almost buckled as Chester brushed by him. The dog scooted across the lawn, past the swing that stirred lazily in the breeze.
Goddamnit! He'd forgotten about the mutt, hadn't closed the kitchen door behind him. Chester had seen his chance for freedom and had taken it. Like a bat out of hell, he streaked towards the bridge.
'Chester! Get back here!'
The dog hesitated at the bridge, turned briefly to look back at his master, then scooted across it without stopping on the other side. Gabe stepped out of the doorway, coffee in hand, and stared open-mouthed.
'Chester!' he tried again. Exasperated, he put the coffee mug on the doorstep, then took off after the runaway. Gabe ran across the bridge, continuing to call the dog's name, but knowing that by the determined way Chester had bolted up the hill he would stop for no one. Gabe stood in the middle of the lane, hoping to see some sign of the dog, but Chester was nowhere in sight.
Gabe called out once more, this time through cupped hands, but it was futile: Chester had vanished.
A shout from behind had Gabe swinging round.
'Daddy!'
Eve and the girls were walking up the hill towards him from the direction of the church.
'What is it, Gabe?' Eve asked as they drew nearer.
'It's that goddamn mongrel' Gabe shook his head in frustration. 'He's hit the road.'
'Daddy.' It was a moan from both girls.
'It's okay. We'll find him. He can't have gone far.'
Cally's face was already screwed up, ready for tears.
'How did he get out?' Eve was a little breathless from the steady climb up the hill.
'Aah, I had the front door open and he hightailed it.' Gabe shook his head once again, angry at himself. 'Goddamnit.'
Loren's face was full of concern. 'We haven't lost him, have we, Dad?'
'No, honey. We'll find him.' To Eve he said: 'I'll take a walk along the road. If I keep calling him, he might just be obedient for once and come back.'
'I'll go with you, Dad,' Loren said immediately.
'Me too, me too.' Cally raced to him and pulled at his arm.
Gabe leaned down to her. 'You go with your ma, Sparky. We'll find him quicker if it's just me and Loren.' He had chosen his words carefully, leaving no doubt that they would find the wayward pet. He kissed her plump cheek, tasting her tear trail that already stained it.
Eve wasn't convinced. 'Oh Gabe, we haven't lost him, have we? You will get him back…?'
'We'll find him, he can't have gone far.' Gabe hoped she would believe him.
15: THE DREAM
In Crickley Hall's high-ceilinged sitting room off the great hall, there was a lumpy but comfortable couch and it was on this that Eve relaxed. She was tired. Last night had left her both weary and tense. The lights going out when Cally had started screaming had almost freaked her out. Thank God her daughter was only having a nightmare. But the knocking from the closed cupboard had been no dream and Gabe's explanation that it was an airlock in the waterpipes inside the cupboard wasn't convincing. But what else could the noise have been? Lying sleepless for much of the night with her imagination running wild had left her edgy and skittish this morning, only the service at St Mark's calming her.
In the church, and in the cold light of day, most of the night fears had been vanquished, common sense prevailing. That it had stopped raining and the sun could find periods of cloud breakthrough had helped accommodate logic—it really had been the waterpipes causing the disturbance and it really was a draught beneath the floorboards that had caused the rattling of the cupboard door—but doubt lingered. There was something strange about Crickley Hall, something dark, Eve could sense it. She could easily believe there were ghosts here.
She leaned sideways and pressed her head into the embroidered cushion that rested against the couch's arm. She closed her eyes.
Gabe and Loren were still out looking for Chester, having come back for the car—oh God, Eve hoped they hadn't lost him—and Cally was upstairs playing in her bedroom. Lunch wasn't a problem: microwaving a couple of the freezer-packs they'd bought in Hollow Bay yesterday wouldn't take long. Sunday lunch was usually a roast, but Gabe and the girls wouldn't mind missing it for one week.
Her eyelids flickered, opened once more. The sitting room, with its high windows and long beige drapes, was one of the nicer rooms in the house, although there was still an air of austerity about it. The windows were almost filled with the trees and greenery of the gorge slope and riverbank so that they were like natural murals. The wallpaper was old, traditional, but its flowery pattern at least cheered the room a little. The couch itself faced an oakwood and brick fireplace where Gabe had laid and lit a fire that morning to chase away the room's chill. The heat from it did not stretch far, but nevertheless it was making Eve drowsy. She blinked, forced her eyes open.
On a round occasional table opposite the couch were framed family photographs that they had brought with them to Crickley Hall and were among the first things Eve had displayed after the main items had been unpacked. They represented happier times. A wedding shot of Gabe and three-months-pregnant Eve, a large colour group shot of them all taken almost two years ago so it included Cam. To the fore was a small silver-framed picture of a brightly smiling Cam. She pushed away the thoughts, afraid of their conclusion. No body had been found, death could not be assumed. In the photograph, his hair, sweeping down almost to touch his eyebrows, was a striking yellow; when he grew it would probably darken, become shades closer to his father's. But the vivacity of those cornflower-blue eyes—so like Gabe's—would remain until old age paled them.
Her eyes moistened.
But her eyelids were heavy and a gentle warmth came from the coal and log fire.
Eve drifted, consciousness waned. She slept. She dreamed.
At the beginning it was bad, for although she slept she was still aware of the brooding house around her. She felt its chill, its shadows. She felt the misery that was in this place, in its memory, in its soul. Eve shivered in her sleep.
There was something wrong inside this house—perhaps it was her subconscious that told her this—some grim secret kept within it. She heard distant whimpers, then quiet sobs. The sounds of misery. Of being lost.
A tear squeezed through the corner of her eye, a silver droplet made red by the fire.