The weekend passed with the two of them tiptoeing politely around one another and staying in separate rooms. James spent most of the time in his bedroom, marking papers and preparing lessons. Meanwhile, Elise pottered around in the gardens, pretending to herself that she didn’t feel watched, all day every day. It was as if Oliver had stuck to her like glue and followed her everywhere around the house. She wanted to talk to him, for she could feel his loneliness battering against her, constantly; however, she feared the consequences of James catching her talking to herself, so she stayed silent.
The bruise on her face had finally faded away, although she knew that every time James looked at her the memory was still as vivid as the day it had happened. James had learned early on - in care - that life was easier if he was even-tempered and accepted the chaos of his existence with good grace. He had strived hard to be an easy-going patient man and it was one of the qualities that Elise loved most about him. But with every moment her husband spent in the house she could see the anger beginning to take hold of him again.
The fury that had boiled inside him since they’d moved to the white house was not in his true nature and she suspected he was being influenced by something, besides Oliver. She couldn’t say anything, though, for she was frightened that the suggestion of it would instantly tap into the dark well of anger that had taken root in him. More than whatever was in the house; she feared seeing his grey eyes turn steely and the acrimonious words they would throw at one another.
******
Elise hadn’t realised how tense the weekend had made her until James left for work on Monday morning and her shoulders sagged with relief. Of course, she was glad he’d come back, but three days of avoiding one another and acting like polite strangers had wearied and saddened her. For a couple of days, the week before, she had felt hopeful and she’d thought that perhaps they could find a way back to what they’d once been. Now she felt like they were further away from it than they’d ever been.
She washed up the breakfast things, aware the whole time that Oliver was lingering somewhere in the kitchen with her. She knew he wanted her to acknowledge him; to smile, say his name and perhaps play ball with him for a little while, but she had been cooped up in the house for over a week and her nerves were as frayed as an old rope. She wanted nothing more than to escape the confines of the white house and find some wide open space where she could breathe freely.
She drove out to the moors, grateful that the weather was so clement for a winter’s day. The clouds hung like big white banks of snow in the blue sky and the sun peeped above them, warming her when she sat on a blanket and began to sketch the scene before her. She lost herself for the day, intent on her task, but eventually the cold air began to bite, the light began to fade and her joints started to ache. She packed up her things, climbed in the car and headed back home.
A gnawing feeling of tension fell upon Elise the closer she got to Porth Kerensa and even the beauty of the sun hanging low over the horizon of the wild ocean didn’t assuage her sense of doom. Her hands were clammy on the steering wheel and her stomach was in knots as she drove through the pretty village to the white house that was now her home. Her anxiety didn’t lessen when she pulled into the empty driveway and she sat, for a few seconds, staring up at the house bathed in beautiful hues of red and orange, trying to remember the hope and anticipation that she’d felt the first time she’d seen it.
Now, she felt only dread.
Shaking her head to clear away the negative thoughts she grabbed her bag and climbed out of the car. As she walked towards the house she was struck with the overwhelming feeling of being watched and her skin erupted into goose bumps. Elise glanced up at the house and caught a glimpse of movement at one of the attic windows…as if someone had jerked quickly back out of sight.
A cold chill shot down her spine and she shivered, violently. She had been able to deal with the idea of a ghostly child haunting the house, but she was certain that whatever she had just seen at the window was not Oliver. Her legs trembled and the idea of going into the white house alone made every hair on the back of her neck stand on end; however, she knew she couldn’t sit outside waiting for James to get home.
She straightened up and strode to the front door, looking braver than she felt inside, but she was tired of feeling frightened and weary of life pushing her in directions she didn’t want to go in. The white house was supposed to be a new start for her and James; it was their home and she wasn’t going to cower outside. There was nothing in there that could hurt her. Traces of the past bleeding into the present couldn’t harm her and neither could hallucinations.
Elise left her bag at the bottom of the stairs and went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. She turned the heating on and put a frozen shepherd’s pie in the oven. On her way through the first floor lounge she switched on the television, breaking apart the deep silence that enveloped the white house. She turned on the lamps as she went, lighting a beacon of welcome for James when he eventually came home.
The first thing she noticed when she got to the second floor was the open door at the top of the attic stairs. Elise stopped, abruptly, and stood staring up at the entrance to the loft. Her palms had become clammy and the sound of the telly suddenly seemed muffled by her booming racing heartbeat. She thought of the dark figure she’d glimpsed at the attic window and anger surged through her.
She walked slowly up the dark stairwell to the attic. Her hand was shaking when she fumbled for the switch next to the doorway, but the light flooded the big room and when she saw that no one was in there she exhaled, loudly, and sagged against the doorjamb.
Elise walked in, turning to look around the empty room. Slowly, squeaking and groaning with the weight of the years, the wooden horse started to rock back and forth and Elise froze in place. The horse began to pick up speed with every movement. Quicker and quicker, louder and louder, it rocked; ridden wildly by someone she couldn’t see. The noisy creak of its wooden joints shrieked through her head and she put her hands over her ears, unable to tear her gaze from its frantic rocking dance.
It stopped dead and the sudden lack of movement unsettled Elise far more than its urgent fruitless flight for freedom. Her heart was racing like a greyhound on steroids and she stood, poised, waiting for the horse to begin rocking again for she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was in the room with her, silent and unmoving…as if he was waiting for her to do something.
She hoped it was the child and not the dark figure she’d seen at the window.
When she’d been pregnant with Noah she had read in one of her many childcare books that children liked boundaries; they liked routine and they liked to know that someone else was in control. Why should Oliver be any different?
Elise put her hands on her hips and frowned, “It’s not good to try and scare me. I know you’re a good boy, Oliver. Play nicely, please.”
The temperature around her dropped again and footsteps echoed behind her. Elise smiled and said, “Why don’t you talk to me?” She strained to hear anything in the attic, even the merest whisper, but there was nothing.
The slam of the front door echoed downstairs and James called her name, distantly. Heat rushed back into the attic as the temperature instantly returned to normal and she knew that the child was gone for now.
James was in the kitchen, pouring a large whisky, when she got downstairs. He grunted a hello at her and walked out to the decking for a cigarette. She made them both a cup of tea and was dishing up dinner when he came back into the kitchen. He frowned and refilled his glass.
His tone was brusque when he said, “Is the cup of tea a hint that you think I should stop drinking my whisky?”
“Not at all,” she replied, carefully. “It’s cold out and I thought it might warm you up.”
“You never worried about me being cold all those months you were giving me the Ice Queen treatment,” he said, sneeringly.
Wearily, she put the spoon she was clutching down and turned to look at him. “Would you prefer it if I went back to behaving like that? Would that make you more comfortable?”
He moved away from her, as if remembering the last time they had fought. “At least I knew where I stood.”
Her voice was sad when she said, “I’m trying to make a go of the new start you wanted for us, James. I don’t know what else you want me to do. Tell me, what do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know,” he answered, angrily. “I don’t trust you, Elise.”
Her temper ignited and she slammed her hand on the counter, furiously. “I’ve never cheated on you, James, and I don’t know what I can do to convince you that I’m not about to start now.”
“I don’t trust you not to hurt me again,” he said, quietly; his anger abruptly dampened by hers and the memory of when he’d hit her. “I don’t trust myself not to hurt you. I don’t trust that I won’t come home and find you, dying again or worse still dead. I don’t trust that you stayed with me out of need rather than love. I don’t fucking trust you, Elise, and I don’t know how we move past that.”
Elise felt all the responsibility of the last few years weigh down on her shoulders and she sagged, exhausted by the memory of all they had been through. There were so many losses and too much grief to carry between them. She thought of how she’d never told him how much she had needed him to help her and how much she had resented him for not knowing. They had punished each other over and over again; with words wielded like weapons and cold rebuffs when they should have been supporting each other.
“Whatever you might think and I don’t blame you for not believing me, I do love you, James; more than you’ll ever know.”
Quickly, she ran up to her bedroom; before he could reply for she was too afraid he would say he no longer loved her.