I got up as quietly as I could so as not to disturb Miles. Creeping to the door, I opened it and padded out and down the corridor to grab some water from the kitchen. Before I turned the corner, a light moved at the end, and I could hear whispering voices.
Silently, I tiptoed to the end of the corridor, heart beginning a steady canter in my ears. Faint music wafted down the darkened hallway. I dared to peek round.
In the gallery, Beebee and Ceecee were whispering together. Ceecee grappled the phone away from Beebee and held it at arm’s reach as Beebee tried to grab it, the faint beat of music still going.
They fought, but then Ceecee overpowered her sister, setting the phone down against the wall, pointing straight at them. She pushed Beebee, and hissed, ‘Do itagain, likethis…’ she showed her an arm movement. Beebee sniffled and copied her.
‘Okay, ready?’ Ceecee whispered, bending down and pressing something on the screen.
They stood side by side at the top of the gallery, perfectly still as a countdown beeped. The music started and they began their dance.
‘No, no,no!’ Ceecee grabbed Beebee. ‘People already hate us as it is! Do you want them to see that inane fucking smile on your face? Our father has just died, you need to look sad, you moron!’
Beebee turned and grabbed her sister, bunching her hoody up in her fists and shaking her. ‘Talk to me like that again and I’ll throw you over the banister.’ She was pushing Ceecee until her back was against the wood. She loomed over her, snarling in her face. ‘It’syourfault we’re getting hate, everyone has seen what a malicious, spoiled brat you really are.’ Beebee let her hoody drop and turned her back to her.
Whatever Callum had done, it was working.
Silently, I crept back to the room, wishing those airheads would sod off back to bed so I could get a glass of water. I was almost back at the bedroom door, when something jogged my memory. The first Christmas I came to the Weisses, Miles had shown me the panel in the wall that had once been used as the servants’ staircase. He had explained how, as a boy, he had always used it to hide things from his parents.
Quietly heading down the warren of hallways, I took a corridor to the left. I remembered the panel was near the glass case, which housed a stuffed fox. Absolutely disgusting and just plain weird. I hoped the fox was an heirloom from a hundred years ago that Jeannie couldn’t bear to get rid of, and not some poor thing Tristan and his psycho mates had hunted down on horseback.
I felt along the walls, not quite remembering which panel it had been. There was no way it would still be open; as far as I knew no one in the house ever used it or even mentioned it. Itiptoed along, sweeping my hand across the smooth, worn wood. Nothing. The moonlight streamed in, amplified by the sheer whiteness of the snow blanketing everything outside. I headed back the way I’d come, thirsty as hell. I’d just have to risk waking Miles up by drinking from the tap in the en suite.
11
YULE BE SORRY
Day three of being snowed in and I was feeling distinctly like Jack Torrance inThe Shining. We had just finished lunch and had retired for coffee to the sitting room. Miles and Callum had snuck off, and Martha and I gave each other a look that said, ‘Why the hell didn’t we think of that.’ I looked around the room, absentmindedly daydreaming about what I’d do if I had an axe at my disposal.
‘Look! Traditional plum pottage, Mummy-kins!’ slurred Uncle Fergus, presenting a bowl of slop to Toots. ‘Clementine made it for you, didn’t you, ol’ girl?’
‘I did,’ Clem agreed, cheeks blazing– either from the heat of the fire, or from sheer embarrassment at how badly Fergus was swaying on his feet after his seventh brandy. ‘I know you had it as a girl,’ she said eagerly.
‘That I did,’ said Toots, peering into the bowl. ‘And you made this for me? Why?’
Clem looked around, unsure of what to say. ‘Well… um, because you had it as a child, and I thought it might be a nice memory for you. Would anyone else like to try some?’ Clem plunged a ladle into the pot of gruel she balanced on her hip.
We murmured our polite refusals.
‘Are you after something?’ Toots said, eyeing her suspiciously. ‘When have you ever done anything nice for me?’
‘Whaddya mean?’ Fergus hiccoughed. ‘We do plenty of nice things for you, Mummy!’
Toots ignored them, turning away from the bowl. ‘I’ll just let my lunch go down first. So’—she fixed her beady eyes on Martha—‘Jeannie… have you heard about Martha’s sexual proclivities?’
Fergus made a little burping sound and Martha coolly returned Toots’s gaze.
Jeannie stepped towards her, her mouth contorting, and giving Fergus and Clem a dirty look for stirring the pot about Martha. ‘I’m aware. But don’t worry, Toots. It’s all the rage these days. I’m sure she’ll grow out of it,’ she said flatly.
‘Well… you want to do something about it now!’ Toots demanded. ‘You want to nip that bloody nonsense in the bud. Next thing you know she’ll have a nose piercing and be wearing bovver boots. We need to continue the prestigious line of the Weiss clan– not start adopting children from Ethiopia or whatever the next fad with young people is nowadays. Honestly, Jeannie, you’re losing your grip on them and it’s sad to see. It’s not what Eugene would have expected at all.’
‘She’s sixteen, Toots.’ Jeannie waved her hand. ‘It’s not something we need to worry about yet.’
‘It’s not something you need to worry aboutever,’ Igrowled. I leaned forward to begin my admonishments, but Martha gave me a cutting look that said, ‘I can fight my own battles.’
‘What is plum pottage, then?’ Martha asked, completely unfazed. ‘Why don’t you try some, Great-Grandma?’
Toots looked her up and down, assessing her attire with a sneer. Finally, she said, ‘It’s figgy pudding,’ She turned back towards it and took a sniff at what was inside.
