Love Notes from Vinegar House (19 page)

“Someone … last night?” Grandma pursed her lips and her nostrils flared in anger. “You think it was Mr Chilvers? Did he hurt you? Did he–”

“We hid,” said Rumer. “He just took some stuff. He went into the attic.”

Grandma flinched. “As long as you’re all right–”

“The trunk’s open,” said Rumer. “The one with all my mother’s things. Why were they hidden like that?”

Mrs Skelton rattled into the room with a tray loaded with cups and spoons and a teapot. “I suppose you want me to pour it as well?” she said sourly.

“Thank you, Livinia, I think we are all in need of tea,” said Grandma. “This is most upsetting.”

“Grandma?” said Rumer.

Grandma moved over to the window and looked out. “I didn’t hide things from you, Rumer. I just packed things away. It was a tragic loss–”

“How could you! She was
my
mother!”

“And she was
my
daughter,” said Grandma fiercely. She pulled at the wrap around her shoulders and raised her chin a little. “Rebecca was
my daughter
,” she said in a softer tone. “You were just an infant. Your father was out of his mind with grief when she had the accident. He begged me to clear her things away. He wanted me to burn everything. But I kept them. I thought … in time … I thought he might want to share those things with you. I’ve tried to talk to him …” She shrugged. “He won’t hear of it. He won’t hear of it,” she repeated.

“I suppose you’ll want biscuits,” said Mrs Skelton. Nobody said anything. “Well, I want a biscuit,” she said. “And we should probably call the police. Has anyone checked the phone line this morning?”

I heard her grumbling as she moved out to the telephone.

“I’m making breakfast,” I said, pulling Luke’s arm. “And Luke’s helping me.”

I closed the TV room door behind us and hoped Grandma and Rumer might talk some more. I was scrambling eggs in a pan when Mrs Skelton came into the kitchen and announced the police were on their way.

“What are you doing there?” she asked.

“Making scrambled eggs,” I said.

She shook her head. “I suppose you know what you’re doing.”

Luke was washing the dishes and she told him off for using too much dishwashing liquid.

“Has anyone fed
those
cats?” she asked.

Luke and I shook our heads and Mrs Skelton disappeared into the pantry on the search for cat food.

I stopped stirring the eggs when an idea struck me. “The love notes,” I said aloud.

“What?” said Luke.

“The love notes, under Rumer’s door …”

Mrs Skelton bustled out of the pantry and filled the cat’s dishes with dry food.

“Do you know anything about the love notes left under Rumer’s door?” I asked Mrs Skelton.

“Love notes?” said Mrs Skelton. “What are you talking about?”

“Someone’s been leaving notes under Rumer’s door.”

Mrs Skelton shook her head then said, “Are you burning those eggs, Freya?”

“Did you slip those notes under Rumer’s door, Mrs Skelton?” I asked.

“What nonsense. Love notes?” Mrs Skelton scoffed.

“Are you trying to burn the bottom out of that pan?”

And with that Mrs Skelton pushed me aside and took over the cooking.

“Maybe you could do something useful. Both of you,” she said, glaring at Luke. “There are still some bags on the front doorstep. And don’t go touching anything else. The police will be wanting to look for clues or something. That’s what they do, isn’t it? I never trusted that man,” I heard her say as the kitchen door closed behind me.

Out on the front doorsteps, I looked out to the sea which was more blue than grey this morning.

“Luke, I have to tell you something,” I said.

Luke was holding had a suitcase in each hand as he came up the stairs and stopped a step down from me so that we were eye to eye.

“What?” he said.

“I’m not going out with anyone.”

There was a moment’s silence.

“You’re not with Hamish Thomson?” he said.

“Definitely not,” I said.

“That photo on Facebook?”

“Tell you later.”

Then I reached up and kissed him – my very first kiss with Luke Hart. His lips were softer than I’d imagined. The kiss was better than I’d imagined.

“Well!” I heard Mrs Skelton behind me gasp.

And then I went back for a second kiss.

The police caught Mr Chilvers sleeping in Grandma’s car outside the Pig and Whistle Hotel in Port Eden later that morning. It seems he’d been at the hotel the day before bragging to anyone who’d listen that he worked at Burnside (Vinegar House’s real name) and was allowed to take the Mercedes out whenever he wanted. The waitress told police that Mr Chilvers had been wearing a set of keys around his neck on a long crocheted chain. And when she asked him about the keys, he’d laughed and said he was playing a joke on someone and how they’d get a surprise when they found the keys missing. But by the next morning he was the one to get a surprise, for the keys were missing from around his neck.

Because there was one person who’d been listening to Mr Chilvers’s stories that night. Someone who was very interested in what he had to say. They probably asked him where this amazing house was. He may have told them the owner was in Port Eden for a night. He obviously hadn’t mentioned us though. It must have shocked the thief to discover someone was in the house. He also must have been annoyed not to find any jewellery. It seems Grandma always carried her jewellery with her in her large tapestry beauty case whenever she left the house.

Mr Chilvers was charged with stealing the Mercedes, but Grandma managed to convince the police that it was all a misunderstanding. I don’t know if she fired him, but he hasn’t returned to Vinegar House, making Mrs Skelton a very happy housekeeper. The police are still looking for the thief, but there haven’t been any breakthroughs yet, and there’s not likely to be, if you ask Mrs Skelton, which I did.

I’d like to tell you that everything returned to normal after that winter at Vinegar House. And in some ways it did. But in other ways my life had changed forever. I understood the world a little better, well my bit of the world at least. After the police came and asked us questions about the robbery, I rang Suzette Crompt and explained to her exactly what had happened on the night of the party between her boyfriend and me. She thanked me for calling and said she figured it was something like that and she wasn’t going out with him any more anyway. I swear that less than a minute later I had ten texts from people who had previously wanted to rip my eyeballs out and who now wanted to be my best friend. There were also texts from the friends who had been on my side all along. I didn’t bother replying to any of them.

By the time I got home I found there was a new rumour doing the rounds at Homsea High. According to Facebook, Luke Hart and I were an item. Rumer had posted it on Facebook, and Isabella had responded by writing on my Facebook wall to ask about it, then everyone knew – or thought they did. Luke and I were officially talking to each other again – that was a fact. And if we’d started meeting up again at the jetty on Saturday mornings, and if he happened to hold my hand while we were sitting there waiting for our squid jigs to bob about in the water, then it was no one else’s business except his and mine.

And that’s all I want to say about that.

The burglary at Vinegar House caused the locals to shake their heads and mutter about the Kramer’s Folly curse but then there was a break-in at Porky Sudholz’s and a whole side of beef was stolen so they soon forgot about Vinegar House and began rumours about who might have taken the beef. I’m still waiting on an answer to that question. I’ll get back to you as soon as I know.

Mum and Dad returned from overseas. Nanna was on the mend and Mum was happy to have had a visit with her. The Colonel seemed less grumpy than he had before, or maybe I just accepted his grumpiness better. Oscar returned from camp without any broken bones and Isabella went straight back to uni from her vacation, so we had to catch up via Skype. I was counting down the days to Holly’s return but most of all I was happy to be home.

Oh, did I mention I got a job at the bakery? My name had finally risen to the top of the list that I’d been on forever (risen, hah, no pun intended) and I work Tuesdays and Thursdays and Saturday afternoons. This means I can still sleep in on Sunday mornings, so I’m happy. Oscar likes to come by and try to get free food from me, but I stopped giving him any after he started bringing around his whole class.

The thing that didn’t change, well the person really, was Rumer. She is never going to be my favourite cousin. She will never be the type of person to just ring me up or text me to see how I am, and I pretty much feel the same way about her.

But we shared a moment – just before Uncle Lawrence drove her away from Vinegar House those holidays – that I will never forget.

“I need to ask you something,” she said.

“Yeah?”

She leaned close to me, like she was going to give me one of her fake hugs, and said, “I’ve been thinking about those notes. The love notes from Dad to Mum. The ones slipped under my door.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You didn’t put them there–”

“I already said, didn’t I?” I pulled back a little from her.

She nodded, as if she was satisfied. “I know who did.”

I smiled. “You do?”

“I think they were a sign. From my mother. I think she wanted to reach me somehow. You know. From beyond–” She waved her hand. “Well?” she said. “What do you think?”

I wasn’t sure what to think. I looked into Rumer’s blue eyes – the ones that had looked at me scornfully all my life – and I nodded slowly.

“I think you’re right,” I said.

“She’s been here all along,” she said, smugly. “Looking out for me.”

“Rumer!” Uncle Lawrence called out as he started the car.

“Catch ya later, cuz,” she said. “It’s been real.”

That night I asked Grandma about Rumer’s mother. We were sitting in the TV room watching another old movie. Luke had already left for home before dinner – luckily it was Mr Hart who picked Luke up because it would have taken hours to get rid of Mrs Hart – and Mrs Skelton had gone to bed early with a headache. I asked Grandma Vinegar about Rebecca straight out, though I wasn’t sure if she’d tell me.

Grandma stood up and moved over to the fireplace, warming her hands.

“My daughter was suffering from postnatal depression,” she said finally. “It went undiagnosed, but I believe that’s what it was. She left her family for several months when Rumer was very young. But she did return home.”

The fire settled in the grate.

“Rebecca came home the day before Rumer’s third birthday. It was to be a surprise. She looked so … well. So rested. She was so eager to see everyone, but especially Lawrence and Rumer. We were going to have a party here – the whole family was invited.”

The fire crackled and a spark flew out onto the rug. Grandma stood on it to damp it out.

“We don’t know for sure what happened, but I think she went for a swim at Bluff Beach. It had been incredibly hot for several days. The clothes she’d been wearing that day were laid out on her bed. There was nothing missing – her bag, everything, was in her room. I don’t know if she had a swimming costume with her, but there was no costume in her luggage, so maybe … They found her sandals down on the rocks. We tried to keep everything … discreet. They searched for her along the coast, but … nothing. There was a rumour in Homsea that Rebecca had died in a car accident. I don’t know where they got that idea. I didn’t set them right. It really was no one’s business.”

I thought about the vision of Rumer I had seen in the bathtub on the night of the robbery that could just as easily have been Rebecca lying there under the water. I thought about the taps in the bathtub that would mysteriously run in the middle of the night, and the bathplug that would sometimes fall into place and allow the bath to fill. I wondered what time Rebecca went down to Bluff Beach that day before Rumer’s third birthday. The time 2.47 am, bright on my mobile screen, was clear in my mind.

Grandma and I watched the end of the movie and I tried to pretend that I didn’t notice her tears, which had nothing to do with what was happening on the screen.

And I tried to pretend that Grandma’s story hadn’t sent a shiver up my spine.

Later that night the grandfather clock from the entry hall woke me with its chiming. By the time it had finished I was totally awake, so I slipped out of bed and went into the hallway, where I noticed a faint light spilling down the attic stairs, just as I had expected. In the attic I stood for a while at the octagonal window, looking out past the bluff to the choppy waves that gleamed silver in the pale moonlight. After a while I turned to the floor-length mirror.

The mirror from the Blue Room.

Rebecca’s old bedroom.

I didn’t have an answer to the mystery of the shining light, the light that had led Rumer and I to safety the night before, except that it came from that mirror. I had seen the light several times over the years at Vinegar House and I wasn’t sure what, or who, was responsible for it. But that night I looked deep and long into its depths and for a moment I thought I caught a flash of blond hair in the cracked corner.