The Hike(43)

The room leading off was the kitchen, with a wooden table and chairs that looked like they would collapse if touched. There was an old cooker, coated in a mix of old soot and grease. And a huge sink with a pool of stinking brown water and various things partially submerged. Tristan had no urge to uncover what might be in there. He shone the torch over the filthy draining board and a family of small beetles skittered away into the cracked woodwork behind.

‘Can I come in yet?’ Cat’s voice cut through the darkness, making him jump.

‘Just one more minute. I was going to check upstairs.’ He took in the narrow wooden staircase at the far end of the room. There was a faint dripping sound coming from somewhere up above. He shone the torch up to the ceiling. The beams were dark, and bowing, as if water had been dripping on them for a very long time. A leak in the roof. Probably one of many. But it made him nervous about the safety of the floors upstairs.

He walked to the bottom of the stairs, shone the torch up and into the corners. Then back down to the stairs in front. They looked mostly intact, but that didn’t mean they were safe. He took a tentative step on to the first one, testing his weight. Seemed OK. He took another step, and this time the stair creaked under his weight. Maybe it would be OK, but thinking about it – did they really need to go up there?

He abandoned the stairway and went back through to the first of the rooms. There was the faintest of breezes from the open door. The torch’s beam caught Cat’s face. She put her hand to her brow, shielding her eyes.

‘Well? Is it safe?’

‘I think so. But I think it might be best if we stick to this room.’ He directed the torch into the corners, then up the walls, across the ceiling. No dripping in here. It seemed more robust. It would do.

‘There’s a funny smell . . .’ Cat said. He shone the torch back on to her and took in her unimpressed face. Christ. What was she expecting? Who knows what had crawled into this place and died, but at least if they hunkered down with the door shut, it would keep them away from anything else that might be lurking in the woods. He had no idea what time it was now, but it must be well into the night. They only had a few hours to go.

‘Just come in and get the door shut. I’ll light some candles.’ He held the torch between his knees as he slipped off the straps of his rucksack and dropped it on the floor.

Cat came inside, pushing the door carefully shut behind her. She took her own rucksack off and laid it down beside his. ‘What’s through there?’ She gestured towards the open doorway, the movement of her arm causing shadows to jump up the wall.

‘Kitchen. It’s horrible though. I wouldn’t bother.’ He walked over to the wall by the front door. There was a window. He hadn’t noticed it before, as it was boarded up. ‘Here, can you hold this?’ He handed Cat the torch, then slid his fingertips under one edge of the wood. It was soft from years of damp, and it crumbled away in his hands. He slid a fist into the gap he’d made, then pulled away the rest of the boards. The window was filthy, but intact.

He turned to Cat. ‘Better to have the boards off. As soon as there’s a hint of light, we can make a move.’ He ripped one of the dirty ragged curtains off the rail and used it to wipe a patch of grime off the glass, then he threw the filthy fabric in the corner, on top of the leaves and god knows what lurked beneath, then wiped his hands on his shorts.

Cat was shining the torch in his face, and he raised a hand, squinting at her. ‘I don’t think blinding me is going to be very useful, under the circumstances.’

She lowered the torch towards the bags. ‘Let’s get out our secret supplies, then.’

He unclipped the top flap of his bag. ‘Are you OK? You sound a bit tense.’

She sat down on the floor, crossing her legs. ‘I think “exhausted” is the word you’re looking for.’

He laid a hand on one of her knees. Squeezed. ‘It’ll be over soon. Then you can sleep for a week in the most comfortable bed in the world.’

‘Oh yeah? Are you taking us to the Premier Inn?’

‘Funny. You know where we’re going. We need to hole up for a bit. Wait things out.’

‘Separately,’ she said.

‘Yes. Separately. But away from home. Just in case the press hounds get wind of the accident and come sniffing.’

She started fumbling with the clips on her bag. Wouldn’t look at him. ‘I really hope they don’t.’

He pulled out a candle. One of those travel ones in a tin. She’d insisted on buying these in that outdoors shop in Reading they’d gone to, while they were planning everything. He’d wanted to go back to the hotel, but she’d insisted they get all this overpriced hiking kit that they would never actually need. He took out another candle. This one was citronella – to ward off mosquitoes and other flying pests. The smell of it even unlit was giving him a headache. He laid the candles on the floor, then took out the big box of extra-long matches and lit the wicks. The cloying smell of the citronella hit the back of his throat, and he slid the candle away.

‘Can you put that one as far away from me as possible, please? It reeks.’ He took out the other two candles, and lit those too. ‘And we talked about the press. It’s going to be a story of interest. Just don’t talk to them, and we’ll be fine. Even if they stand outside your house and shout through the letterbox asking if you killed your sister and her lover—’