A J Wills - The Warning

The Warning

Copyright A J Wills 2023

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any other means, without the prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the purchaser.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Contents

FREE STORY: The last thing Victor remembers is dancing through the streets of Rome with his new wife, Ruby. But now hes mysteriously back at the airport and Ruby is missing.

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I'm trying to stay positive, but the house is nothing like I imagined. It's grey and gloomy, grovelling under a shadowy canopy of trees like something out of a Victorian Gothic novel. Its thick stone walls are mottled with centuries-old grime, the paint around the windows faded and flaking and what passes for a garden is under siege from a legion of thistles and nettles.

'So?' Justin asks, bubbling with excitement. 'What do you think?'

He cranks on the handbrake and releases his seatbelt, swivelling around so his knees angle towards me.

'It's the old gatehouse lodge.' His eyes are black and unblinking. 'Isn't it amazing?'

I bite my bottom lip as I stare out of the passenger window, trying to summon up some enthusiasm and imagine a life here. It's supposed to be a new beginning. A fresh start for us, but my gaze is drawn to the missing roof tiles, a section of guttering that needs replacing and the dirt on the windows. It's not the vision of Cornish country living I'd pictured for us when he first announced he wanted us to move here.

But I don't want to burst my husband's bubble. The last time I saw him this excited I was in labour with Sebastian.

'It's incredible,' I say, forcing a smile. 'It has so much character.'

I'd imagined some quaint stone cottage on the coast, in a chocolate-box village with fishing boats bobbing in the harbour and wide, sandy, vanilla-coloured beaches and views over big skies and dark seas. Not this, a haunting and foreboding relic surrounded by nothing more than woodland and open countryside. It's in the back end of nowhere, down a network of narrow lanes at least half an hour's drive from Falmouth and more than two miles away from the nearest village. But I daren't tell him I think it's too remote.

Justin snatches my hand out of my lap and squeezes it tightly. 'I knew you'd love it,' he says. 'Isn't it funny how your memory plays tricks on you, though? I could have sworn there were at least two chimney stacks. And I'm sure there used to be a big oak tree over there that we used to climb.' He points through the windscreen. 'The house looks smaller, too. It seemed enormous when I was a kid.'

'Maybe you're just bigger,' I suggest.

'I loved the summers here.' A wistful mist glazes his eyes. 'They seemed to last forever.'

I glance up at leaden skies and the thick black clouds chasing over the tops of the trees. The only family holiday we ever had in Cornwall had been marred by lashing rain which left us shivering in thick jumpers on the beach.

Justin used to come here every year with his family and couldn't believe his luck when he found the house was no longer a holiday home, but was being advertised for rent on a long-term tenancy. He thought it was fate drawing him back.

He'd called the agents without even talking to me, worried that any delay might mean we would lose out. He told them we'd take it without a viewing, and this is the first time I've seen it in person, and the first time Justin's been back since he was a teenager.

He's not told me much about Treloar, other than that the lodge forms part of a large country estate that's been owned for years by the Carlyon family, who still live in the big manor house further along the sweeping drive. I guess I'll have plenty of time to find out more about them now we're here.

'How old were you when you last came?' I ask.

He shrugs and pushes out his bottom lip. 'Sixteen? Seventeen? I can't remember exactly. A long time ago, but the memories are as clear as if they happened yesterday.'

'We'll build new memories,' I tell him. It's what he wants to hear.

'We will.' He squeezes my hand tighter. 'Come on, let's take a look around.' He dangles the keys we picked up earlier in front of my face. 'I can't wait to see what it's like inside. Leave the stuff in the boot,' he says, hauling himself out of the car. 'I'll bring it in later.'

We don't have much. Only a couple of cases of clothing. Pitiful for twelve years of marriage. But the fire robbed us of everything.

I follow Justin through a picket gate and along an overgrown path to a heavy wooden front door, trotting to keep up with him and his long, enthusiastic strides.

'Welcome to your new home,' he beams, slotting the key into the lock. It's one of those big cast iron keys with an ornate shamrock bow. He struggles to turn it, shifting it back and forth in its housing until it eventually catches and the door falls open.

I resist the urge to wrinkle my nose as we're assaulted by a waft of musty, damp air. The house has clearly been left shut up and empty for a long time. The first thing I'm going to do is throw open all the windows and give it a good airing.

An old coir mat lies askew in the gloomy hallway, disintegrating with age and shedding brown, wiry fibres across a cracked, terracotta tiled floor patterned with a floral mosaic. The tiles need a good sweep, but they're a beautiful original feature.

I'm about to step inside when Justin bends down and scoops me up like I'm a virginal bride. I squeal and giggle nervously as his arms shake with the effort of holding me up. It's been a long time since I've laughed at anything.

'What are you doing?' I scream.

'Carrying you over the threshold.'

He staggers through the door, my head narrowly missing the frame. He dumps me unceremoniously back on my feet, huffing and puffing.

'Silly bugger.' I punch him playfully on the arm.

He grabs his lower back and winces. 'I thought you were lighter than that.'

I cast my eyes at the floor, stung by what I'm sure he thinks is a harmless joke. I'm painfully aware that I've put on a few extra pounds in the last year. But who could blame me? For a while I had no appetite at all, but then food became a comfort. And I've not exercised for almost a year. There has seemed little point. Maybe he's right. This move can be the beginning of something new. For both of us.

'Oh, Megan, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean '

'It's okay,' I mumble. 'It's fine.'

'I know it all feels weird at the moment, but this house is going to help us heal and find ourselves again. It's going to take time, I know that, but just look outside. There's nothing and no one for miles around, apart from trees and fields. I can't think of anywhere better we could be.'

I reach up on the tips of my toes and plant a kiss on his lips. 'I know,' I say, raking my fingers down his chest.

I hadn't quite appreciated how much this house means to Justin. The memories it holds and the place it occupies in his heart. But I can see it written across his face. I was worried when he first proposed coming here, especially as it meant moving away from the city to somewhere so quiet, but he's done it with the best intentions. For me. And for the sake of our marriage, which has been creaking under such intolerable strain. If that means embracing a new life here in Cornwall, in a strange house, removed from the familiarity of our old lives, then that's what I'm going to do. I owe Justin that.