Mirrorland Carole Johnstone (find a book to read .TXT) 📖

I blink against the too-bright light. ‘Why did you turn the power off?’

‘I didn’t. The power’s out everywhere.’ He holds the lantern higher. ‘Come on, it’s freezing. Let’s—’

‘Did you board up the skylight?’

The kerosene hisses. I can hear the steady drip drip of the washhouse’s guttering.

‘I took it out,’ Ross says. His voice is lower, less bemused. ‘Anyone could have used it to get into the house. You could open it from the outside, remember?’

I swallow. Take a long, deep breath. ‘I know you came back from your conference on the second not the third.’ I know, too, that this is terminally stupid. If Ross is guilty, confronting him down here in this dark and forgotten space is lunacy. Even if it seems like the only place I’d ever have the courage.

A pause. And then low, too steady: ‘You’ve been checking up on me?’

He’s still little more than a silhouette. Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is the imprint of the lamp’s gold flame. But I can smell him. And I can feel him.

‘I left early because El begged me to come home, said she was scared, she needed me. She was so unstable by then, I was worried she’d do something stupid.’ The shadow of his shrug leaps across the wall. ‘There were no flights available, so I drove. But I didn’t go back to the house in the end. I couldn’t face it. I couldn’t face her.’ He makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a snort. ‘I didn’t do anything to El, Cat.’

‘Then why lie to the police?’

‘I panicked. They always go for the husband, and I knew – even then – that she was gone. That my leaving the conference early would look bad. I mean, for fuck’s sake’ – that half-snort, half-laugh again – ‘even you don’t believe me.’

He puts down the lantern. When he moves nearer, I make myself be still. I can see him now: hollowed cheekbones and wild hair. Ross.

‘Why are all the doors locked?’

‘What?’

‘Why did you lock the front and back doors?’

‘Because when I came back from town today, I found two reporters standing in the front garden and peering into the drawing room.’ He throws up his hands. ‘I’ll unlock them again if that’s what you want.’ A long pause. ‘Did you come down here to escape?’ He makes it sound like the craziest thing he’s ever heard. ‘Through the skylight?’ He takes two steps back, runs his fingers through his hair. ‘Jesus, Cat. Are you scared of me?’

‘The fourth of September. You were there. You said you’d help us. You helped us.’ This time it’s not a roar of too-close thunder that makes me jump, it’s a snapped crack of lightning directly over the house. I imagine its icy white fingers chasing through the webs and wires and hidden spaces to the ground under our feet.

Ross sat between us on the deck of the Satisfaction when El first told him all of it. How Mum had said that every bad night from now on would be just like that night Grandpa found us in the Clown Café’s cupboard. And beat us so hard that she’d lost her voice screaming at him to stop. Because hurting Mum was no longer enough for Bluebeard. Because we’d grown up too fast despite Mum’s insistence that we shouldn’t. We couldn’t hide any more. She couldn’t save us any more. And so we had to escape. We had to come up with THE PLAN.

‘Cat!’

I shake my head. Press my palms hard against the cold stone at my back. Remember that tester pot of red paint in the shoebox.

‘You painted “HE KNOWS” on the wall that night. Didn’t you?’

Ross gives an annoyed sigh. ‘Fine, we’re doing this, then. Yes. You know I did. That was part of the plan. I was the fucking lookout. I saw him coming back from the Mission, and the first thing I thought of was all those tins of red paint in the washhouse. I had to warn you, Cat. That was the fucking plan. What—’

‘You could always get into the garden, couldn’t you?’

‘What?’

‘I remember now. I used to think – afterwards – that it was like you were a superhero that night. That your love for us – for me – had somehow flown you over the wall or down from the washhouse roof and into our garden to save us.’ I make an ugly sound in the back of my throat.

He frowns, his jaw working. ‘So I could get down into the garden from the roof. What does it matter?’

‘It matters because it’s another lie. You told us you could only ever reach us through the skylight – because you wanted to be able to drop right into our lives, our world, whenever you wanted.’ I look at the narrow planes of his face, the shadows that smooth flat whenever he smiles. Don’t tell your mum about me. She’ll ruin it. ‘You wanted to be our secret.’

‘Cat.’ He grabs my arms without warning, and when I wrench them backwards, he only holds on tighter. His eyes are furious. ‘Why are you down here in the cold and dark, banging on about a night twenty years ago? I know the last few days have—’

‘He never came back early from the Mission,’ I say. ‘Not ever.’

Ross lets go of my arms. ‘He did that night.’

‘Why? He never ever came back early. How did he know? Did you tell him?’

‘Are you – are you serious? First, you all but accuse me of killing my wife, then of locking you in this fucking house, and now … what? You think I was once in cahoots with your crazy grandpa?’

‘No. No.’ Because, of course, that makes no sense. No sense at all. My head is pounding, my mind is racing as fast as my heart. Faster.

I try to push past him, and my light jumps drunkenly across the boundary wall on the opposite side