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Authors: Paul Pilkington

Tags: #Romantic Suspense, #Thriller, #Crime, #Suspense, #Mystery, #Romantic Mystery

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BOOK: Be Careful What You Hear
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Less than a
minute later, the deed was done.

 

 

8

 

 

Just two hours
later, with one more short comfort break, and we were nearly there.
We exited the motorway and travelled cross country on increasingly
narrow roads. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about
approaching the coast that builds up a sense of anticipation like
nothing else. And the first glance of the expanse of water
stretching out as far as the eye can see, flooding the horizon. It
never fails to excite me. It’s probably from childhood, when my
parents would take me on regular holidays down to the south coast
resorts of Brighton and Bournemouth.

But maybe it’s
also that sense of difference. For a girl growing up in the grime,
clutter, and sheer pace of London, the coast offered something of
great contrast. Space for one, bracing sea air, and an element of
the unknown.

‘Almost there…I
think,’ James said, as we came to a stop at a T-junction which had
come minutes down a single track lane, flanked on either side by
tall hedgerows. He squinted at a small, worn signpost that seemed
to sprout from the hedge. ‘I think it’s right,’ he said, none too
convincingly.

‘Fifty-fifty
chance,’ I said, turning the next page of the picture book that I
was showing to Grace. She’d been awake since the services, and I
was glad I’d brought what seemed like a whole library of books with
us. She loved books, even more than her cuddly toys, and would
gladly stare at words and pictures rather than grab at bears and
bunnies that squeaked and rattled.

‘I think it’s
right,’ he said, and we started to pull off.

‘James,
stop!’

He slammed on
the brakes as a tractor rumbled past from around the blind corner,
almost skimming our front bumper as it crossed our path. The force
threw me against the locked seat belt. Immediately I turned to
check on Grace, but she was fine.

‘Bloody hell,’
he muttered, leaning against the steering wheel. He looked back.
‘Are you two okay?’

I nodded. ‘It’s
got my pulse racing a bit. Grace is none the wiser. She just wants
me to turn the page.’

‘I’ll try not
to crash before we get there,’ he said, deadpan.

‘If you can
manage it,’ I joked back in a similar deadpan fashion. James had
returned from the toilets a different man to the one who had walked
off, just five minutes earlier. If anything, for the rest of the
journey he’d appeared overly happy. I hadn’t mentioned any more
about our conversation. He had wanted to leave things, so that’s
what I had decided to do.

The lane headed
down steeply.

‘Aren’t cliffs
usually high up?’ This time I was only half-joking. It did seem
that we may have chosen the wrong way.

James didn’t
avert his eyes from the twisting road, probably still all too aware
of how close we had come to crashing into the tractor. ‘I must
admit, they looked pretty high on the picture.’

But within
seconds, we had begun to climb again. And then the lane opened out
from between the hedgerows and in front of us, a wild expanse of
sea.

‘Wow,’ I said.
‘What a view.’

‘There she is,’
James gestured, off to our right, as he increased the gas slightly
with a clear road in front of us. Now out in the open, the wind
gusted stronger and buffeted the car. But it was bright with the
breeze. At least the storm hadn’t arrived.

Yet.

I had to admit
that the location was stunning. ‘It looks beautiful,’ I said,
looking across at the place that was to be our residence for the
next forty-eight hours. The white cottage was even closer to the
edge of the cliffs than it had looked on the website. It appeared
to be balanced precariously at the point of two cliff faces -
although I presumed that our angle of approach, from behind, made
it seem that way. I peered off down the coast as far as I could
see, and then back along the coast to our left. There were no other
buildings to be seen.

Talk about
secluded.

I couldn’t help
but be reminded of my dream as we neared the cottage. But unlike
then, there was no light on, no smoke from the chimney. And James
was with me, not lying in wait inside, plotting our deaths.

We parked up
next to the cottage, and James made a point of cranking the
handbrake up more than usual. We had stopped just twenty metres or
so from the cliff’s edge. I must admit it made me nervous,
particularly being with Grace. There was no fence, no safety rail,
just a long, lonely drop down to the rocks and waves below.

Certainly if
you were looking for a place to end it all, without witnesses, or
mess, then this was it.

James cut into
my morbid, treacherous thoughts. ‘I hope this cliff doesn’t suffer
from coastal erosion. You remember a few years ago, that hotel
somewhere up in the North East – Scarborough I think – just fell
into the sea overnight. Metres of cliff side slipped away in a bad
storm. They just had time to evacuate.’

‘Thanks,’ I
replied. ‘That’s made me feel lots better.’

‘Sorry.’

We climbed out
and found the key in the secure safe just beside the front door. I
held Grace close to me as the wind whipped past, while James
fumbled with the lock.

‘Got it,’ he
said, pushing open the door and stooping to pass through. I
followed inside, short enough not to have to duck. The door slammed
shut behind me, caught by the breeze. I half-expected the cottage
to rattle, but it seemed pretty solid. It was also beautifully
furnished. The front door led right off a small but lovely kitchen,
whose window looked right out to sea. The kitchen was modern
rustic, with a variety of appliances including smart cooker,
washing machine and dishwasher. We walked through the low height
doorway and into the living room. It too was beautifully presented,
with a lovely ornate fireplace.

‘The wood
burner,’ I said. I smiled as I imagined snuggling down on the
plush, ruby red sofa with the fire roaring, watching a movie from
the collection of DVDs that I could see by the television.

James rubbed
his hands together. ‘We’ll get that going when we’ve unloaded. It’s
pretty chilly in here.’

I nodded, then
went to check out the remaining rooms. There was the bathroom, and
two bedrooms; a master bedroom, and a smaller room that contained
the cot.

We grabbed the
bags from the car, and within twenty minutes had unpacked and made
ourselves at home, with the kettle on and the fire lit.

‘So, you like
it?’ James asked, cupping his hands around a mug of tea as he
perched on the edge of the sofa next to me, both of us enjoying the
warmth of the fire.

‘It’s lovely.’
I watched the flames flicker. ‘Do you like the colours, Grace?’
Grace was on my lap, and although there was a fireguard – an
ancient, heavy iron affair that looked like it posed a danger of
crushing should it fall - she was going to stay within my grasp for
as long as the fire was burning. She reached out longingly, from a
thankfully very safe distance, and I saw the reds and yellows dance
in her mesmerised eyes.

James glanced
across again. ‘A good decision then? To book the break?’

‘As long as we
don’t slide into the sea overnight.’

‘Of course.
That
would
really
spoil things.’

We both
laughed, holding the gaze between us.

‘I wonder if
the storm is still going to hit,’ I mused. ‘Maybe we’ll be spared.
What does it say on the weather app?’

‘When I last
checked, back at the services, it said definitely overnight. But we
won’t be able to check now.’

‘Why?’

‘No
signal.’

‘No internet on
the phone? What about Wi-Fi? Don’t these places usually have a
Wi-Fi router?’

He looked
apologetic. ‘Not this place. I meant to tell you. It’s out of the
way – there’s no broadband for miles. There’s no mobile reception
either.’

‘What? Not even
for normal calls?’

‘No. It
mentioned something on the website. I thought it might be network
dependent, and ours is usually pretty good. But I checked my phone
when we were unloading, and there’s no reception at all.’

‘Oh.’ I know it
shouldn’t have bothered me that much. Ten years ago the majority of
the population didn’t have mobile phones, and internet on demand.
But that might as well have been a lifetime ago in terms of how we
now feel about being connected. To contact, and be contactable, now
seemed as necessary as air, food and water. It was sad, but true.
‘But there’s a telephone?’

‘Half a mile
down the coast. There’s a small provisions store.’

‘But what if
something happens, and we need to ring for help?’

‘We drive?’

‘What if it’s
the middle of the night?’

‘We still
drive. Look, George, I’m sorry. I should have told you. As I said,
I thought, naively, that our phones would work. If you don’t want
to stay here, I’ll completely understand.’

I put a hand to
my head and thought. ‘Okay, I get it. It’s a retreat away from
civilisation. It’s only two nights. Half a mile you said, to the
nearest phone box?’

‘Yes. I know
exactly where it is, too. Checked on
Google
. You just go
back the way we came, but turn left and it brings you out at the
store.’

‘I’d feel
better if we checked it out before it gets dark,’ I said. ‘And we
could do with picking up a few extra supplies. We’d been warned to
bring food with us, and the owners had left some fresh items in the
fridge, but there was only a pint of milk. I’d also forgotten to
bring any tea bags. I could have lived without both until morning,
but I really wanted to know where this place was.

‘We’d better
get going now then, it will be getting dark in an hour or so.’

 

The store was
easy to find. Although I did wonder just how easy it would be in
the dead of night, with no lights except the headlamps. The store
stood on the corner of two intersecting lanes, all on its own. I
noted the phone box outside, and actually checked that it was
working by lifting the receiver and listening for the dialling
tone. I wasn’t so paranoid that I actually tried to call somebody
on it, but I thought about it.

Inside the
store was on the small side, but packed with all manner of
products. A bespectacled woman behind the counter said hello as we
entered, smiling as she spotted Grace wrapped up on my front in the
fabric baby carrier. We returned the greeting and perused the
stock. I found the milk and added two pints to my basket, and I got
the tea bags, deciding to splash out on a local Devon brand. James
was obviously feeling hungry, dropping a large bag of sea salt and
malt vinegar crisps into the basket.

‘Just arrived?’
the woman smiled. On first glance, I’d placed her older, but now
she looked to be in her fifties. From her accent, she was obviously
a local.

‘Yes, this
afternoon,’ I said, standing by the till. James had said he was
going to get some fresh air while I paid. ‘We thought we’d get in
some supplies before the bad weather hits.’

The woman
nodded. ‘Supposed to be a nasty one. You know, those weather
people, only the other day they said it wouldn’t hit us at all. And
then they change their minds.’ She shook her head as she punched in
the prices of the items into an ancient looking till. There was no
use of barcodes here. ‘I’d recommend battening down the hatches,
and hopefully by morning it will have come and gone,’ she
added.

‘That’s what we
thought.’

‘So who’s the
lovely lady?’

‘Grace. She’s
six months old.’

‘Beautiful,’
she cooed. She looked across at the till. ‘That’ll be ten pounds
and thirty pence, please.’ She took my fifteen pounds worth of
notes and scooped out the correct change.

‘So,’ she said,
handing me back my change, ‘whereabouts are you staying?’

‘The little
white cottage, right on the coast.’

‘Ah, Cartwright
Cottage.’

‘Cartwright
Cottage? I didn’t know it was called that.’

‘It isn’t. Not
officially. It used to belong to Elsa Cartwright. My family have
lived in this area forever, and if you know this area, you know the
story.’

‘Story?’ I
spotted James peek inside at me through the glass door, presumably
wondering where I was.

‘Back in the
late nineteenth century. Her husband, Richard, was a fisherman.
They’d only been married a year when he was lost at sea. She bought
the cottage, and spent all her time looking out for him, hoping
that he’d reappear out from the waves. For years she could be seen
sitting in front of the cottage, until the day she died. He never
did come back. And they never found a body.’

‘That’s a
really sad story.’

‘It gets
sadder.’

I wished really
that she hadn’t told me it. I’d never been one for such tales. I
was easily spooked. So I was half-expecting her now to add in an
epilogue, featuring the ghost of Elsa Cartwright, who visitors to
the cottage would sometimes sense, and maybe even see…

‘There were
rumours that Richard never went to sea at all that day. Some people
claimed that he’d set the whole thing up, so that he could run away
with a mystery women whom he’d met.’

‘No way?’

The bell rang
as James re-entered the shop. He’d obviously ran out of patience,
and had got enough fresh air. ‘You okay?’ he said.

But I didn’t
want to be left hanging. ‘Do people really think he did that to
her?’

‘Some do.’

I shook my
head. ‘I know it sounds strange to say this, but I really hope that
he did die.’

‘Me too,’ she
replied.

 

***

 

Later that
night, with Grace asleep next door, James and I snuggled down on
the sofa, with the fire blazing, watching
Sleepless in
Seattle
. The collection of DVDs wasn’t the most up to date, but
this was one of my favourite films, and I hadn’t seen it for ages.
I was a
massive
Tom Hanks fan.

BOOK: Be Careful What You Hear
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