By Louise Sapphira.
From a work in progress.
Chapter Three.
Sophia wakes and takes a deep breath. The rising sun is warm through her double-glazed windows, and it dries her eyes. It is a bright, mild Saturday morning – a complete contrast to the weekend before. She wonders if people are still anxious after the storm. She knows they’re still attempting to repair the damage, their homes in disarray. She takes a long stretch, still resting in her cosy, pale-blue cotton sheets.
She’s reluctant to meet with Garry and the others today. She’d spent the last few days either working at the Mexican restaurant or taking walks along the path beside the beach. She’d breathed in the ocean breeze, the salty water sitting on her lips, fresh air on her face. It helped with the constant whispers – all the people spreading rumours on what might or might not be true about the homestead.
Over the past few days, she’d overheard at least one comment from a stranger about the Bayswater’s property. But it hadn’t hit her with the same frustration she’d felt when she met with Garry on Monday. She could stay at home all weekend, but her father had insisted that attending the carnival would be worthwhile.
‘Why don’t you go with some of your friends? If Garry is there, you can tell him what you really think about his childish behaviour. Or you can just have a good time. Be yourself. What do you think?’
She’d eventually given in and agreed. The rides could provide a needed distraction. Plus, the thought of food from the stalls and the opportunity to have a cider or two encouraged her. There would also be others there – people that Garry had befriended at sporting clubs over the last few years – and maybe some friends from high school that Sophia still knew. Though she knows she’s more of an attachment to them now than part of their circle.
She pulls three-quarter-length jeans and a white T-shirt from her wardrobe. She doesn’t make a huge effort with her hair, her jewellery, or her makeup. There is no one to impress. She reaches for her khaki backpack and steps outside. Rather than driving there, she walks. It takes her less than twenty minutes.
‘Where have you been?’ Garry says.
‘What do you mean? I’m here, aren’t I? Sophia lowers her eyelids. She takes a deep breath and thinks being here might be a mistake but knows she has to deal with it now.
‘You keep surprising me, Sophia. I don’t know why you’re so apprehensive.’ He smiles and walks in front of her. ‘It feels like you’re avoiding me. All of us.’
‘Let’s just enjoy the rides,’ Sophia says.
The others join them and they begin with corn chips, salsa, and guacamole. It’s too early for a drink. The texture of sauce against corn chip sits well on Sophia’s tongue. It satisfies her enough that she’s happy she decided not to have breakfast.
She takes a look around the park area but is drawn back to the crowd around her standing beside the Ferris wheel. One girl has her back to the others and stands still, just staring at the carriages hanging from the top. Her boyfriend has his head down in the other direction, inspecting his shoes. Despite this, they all agree to line up and purchase tickets.
Sophia looks around at their group, sighs, then turns to Garry. She hates the idea of being trapped with him. ‘Do you want to sit together?’
‘Sure,’ he says under his breath.
They watch the Ferris wheel spin in silence.
After a minute, Garry takes Sophia’s hand and pulls her to the waiting line. ‘Quickly, it’s our turn. I don’t want to miss out.’
‘Alright, well, we have our tickets, so it shouldn’t be an issue.’
They make themselves comfortable in the carriage. A tinny jingle plays over the speakers. It sits in the silence between them.
Garry and Sophia are high above the crowds below. The ride stops. From the top, she can see the mountains further down the Peninsula. Then, on the other side, the tall high-rise buildings of the city. She looks at Garry.
‘Why did you tell so many people? Couldn’t you have just left it between us? All this time, you said you wanted to know me a bit better. Were you just–’
‘It’s just strange, that’s all. I didn’t mean for it to spread so easily. It’s just a funny story.’
‘Funny? What do you mean?’
‘I thought it was a little weird. You don’t normally tell me these things. We just hang out and have fun. This is just more fun.’ He looks to the bottom of the Ferris wheel.
‘It upset me, Garry.’
He places his left hand on her right shoulder. ‘You’re just being a little sensitive, and–’
‘You had no intention of it remaining just between you and me,’ she says.
‘Don’t I mean more to you than some elderly lady and an old home?’
‘You only want to have fun.’
‘You know what I mean.’ He sighs and takes his hand away from her.
‘No, I don’t Garry, can you clear it up for me?’
‘The ride’s about to end, just leave it alone.’
‘You can shove it, Garry.’
The wheel gains momentum again, and they reach the bottom. They step off the colourful carriage seats. Sophia walks away without turning back.
There’s a tree root sitting above the mowed lawns. She falls hard and fast. Her hands take the impact and save her from landing flat on her face. She stumbles, trying to stand back on her feet. Garry tries to help her up, but she pushes him away.
‘Leave me alone Garry, you’ve done enough.’
‘I’m just trying to help.’
‘I thought you were someone I could trust. Just leave me.’ Sophia wipes the grass stains off her hands.
‘Why are you being so…’ Garry looks at the marks on her knees.
She doesn’t hear the rest of his attempt to turn the night around. She rises to her feet. People around her stare. Some giggle to themselves. The friends they’re with stand there, glaring at her. They don’t know what all the fuss is about.
‘Just leave her if that’s what she wants. It’s her problem,’ a male friend of Garry’s says, looking over at the beer stall instead of the scene in front of him.
‘Maybe a ghost pushed her over,’ says one of the girls, looking down at her nails.
‘That would be funny,’ the male says.
‘It’s her problem for making up stories anyway.’
Sophia walks away from them to the quiet area where the playground is. Her hands burn. She brushes the dust off, not knowing which way to turn. Not knowing if she needs to just walk home alone, yet again.
It’s time to leave and to leave Garry behind her. What point is there to it anyway? She makes the trek along the main road beside the beach. There’s a slight breeze. She can’t decide what hurts more – her hands or the betrayal.
She’ll visit the homestead again tomorrow morning. It’ll be Sunday, and even though she’s not sure what she wants, a weekend might be a good opportunity to bump into Darren. She’s only met him once and wishes to speak with him more – about how long he’s known Mrs Bayswater and cared for the homestead. There’s something about him.
Sunlight streams through Sophia’s pale curtains, and she’s almost blinded by the rays. She wakes with enthusiasm, eager to walk to the homestead. Yesterday, she was full of apprehension about the carnival; today, she feels motivated. She can hear crockery being moved in the kitchen. She gets up quickly and dresses.
‘Good morning, bright eyes. How did you sleep?’ her father says. ‘You’ve been baking?’
‘Honestly, I slept too well. I want to see Mrs Bayswater again. That’s why I baked the cookies. I’ll head down soon.’
‘Wait – you haven’t told me how the carnival went yesterday. Did you and Garry have a fun time?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ She pours herself a cup of coffee. She likes the way the beans smell, awakening her senses for the day.
‘Is that a bruise on your knee?’ he points to her leg.
‘I just fell. It’s nothing. Anyway, I don’t think I want to see Garry anymore.’
‘Why? What’s up?’ He sits at the kitchen table on one of the four brown, rattan dining chairs.
‘I can’t tell you. You’ll laugh.’ Sophia takes a sip of coffee from her purple, polka-dot mug and feels the warmth trickle through her body.
‘Try me.’
‘I saw something at Mrs Bayswater’s.’ She stands by the breakfast bar and looks at her father. ‘A person. Standing in a doorway and then again in the bedrooms. I didn’t know what it was. Maybe I didn’t see anything at all. Maybe it is all my imagination. But it seemed like a ghost, or a spirit, or something like that. Please don’t laugh, Dad.’
‘I’m not laughing. There have been rumours before, and I understand why you are so interested. I understand it is about being there for Mrs Bayswater but also finding your own truth. And there is truth to her story, Sophia. This is nothing new.’
‘You mean all this time, people – well, some people – have had their suspicions? Or have seen things? But just kept it to themselves?’ She takes another sip of her coffee. ‘Anyways, Garry thinks it’s a bit of a joke.’
‘Maybe next time be a little more aware of who you trust.’
‘Maybe,’ she says, finishing her drink. She leaves him, walking to the bathroom to have a shower before she heads to the homestead.
The walk there is peaceful. She’s comfortable in her white walking trainers, jeans, and a light blue T-shirt. There are cyclists, joggers, and other walkers, but they seem too focused on their own agendas and Sunday-morning missions to be anything more than just background noise. She is conscious of not holding the chocolate-chip cookies she made last night too tightly. She can already feel the buttons melting, the heat from her hands making its way through the cellophane wrapping. She takes a deep breath to calm herself.
The iron-barred gates are closed this morning, and there is no sign of Darren in the front gardens. She hits the electric doorbell this time. There is no response. She tries again. Mrs Bayswater’s voice is clear over the speakers.
‘Hello, Sophia, is that you?’ Sophia assumes she can see her on the indoor security screen.
‘Yes, Mrs Bayswater. I hope you don’t mind the unexpected visit.’
‘Not at all, I will open the gates, just give me a moment.’
They open quietly and slowly. She enters the grounds and can hear the rainbow lorikeets chirping. The grass is sprinkled with dew from last night’s mist. Water trickles from the bird bath.
Sophia is nervous, thinking about her answer to why she’s here again. Surely in this still weather, nothing will surprise her. It must’ve just been the storm.
Mrs Bayswater opens the front door.
‘What brings you here today?’
‘I wanted to bring you some chocolate cookies. I hope you like them. They’re to thank you for last weekend. I left so quickly that I didn’t have the chance to say anything last time – to you or Darren.’ Sophia hands over the gift, the wrapping finished neatly with a gold ribbon.
‘Oh, how kind of you, do come in. But Darren is not here today.’ Mrs Bayswater opens the front door further.
‘No problem. I’m lucky to find you at home.’ Sophia takes two steps inside.
‘Oh, sometimes I head to church on a Sunday morning, but today I wanted to enjoy the grounds. Shall we sit outside and have tea?’
‘I don’t mind.’ Sophia looks at the entrance to the hallway. ‘Perhaps we could sit in the dining room again?’ Part of her wants to see whatever it was she saw last time. Perhaps some of the questions about why it – she – appears might be answered
‘First, I will put the kettle on,’ Mrs Bayswater says, walking towards the kitchen and waving her hand to encourage Sophia to follow her. ‘You know what? Why don’t we take a tour? It’s something I didn’t do last time you were here,’ Mrs Bayswater says, clapping her hands together.
‘That’s great.’ Sophia’s eyes light up.
She follows Mrs Bayswater from the kitchen to the hallway. She does not see anyone else. No shadow figure, no spirit, no ghostly appearance.
‘Sophia, while the kettle is boiling, I can show you the old maids’ headquarters and how you can access the backyard from here. It also gives you a chance to see the newly renovated sections and compare them to the existing building. Oh – I forgot. You stopped your studies in architecture to follow your passion for writing. Is that right?’
‘Ah, yes…but…’ Sophia says, trying to change the topic as they walk. They stop at the third bedroom on the left – the one she peeked into last time. The room is dark – the brown, embroidered curtains drawn. There’s a small single bed in the corner, a grey cover sheet hiding puffed-up pillows, and a thick doona.
And in the centre, just standing there, is a shadowed figure. It’s an older man – older than the lady Sophia saw the other day – dressed in blue overalls and tough black boots. She takes a step into the room. It smells like lavender. He stares straight at her, his drained eyes at odds with his tall stature.
Perhaps the room is kept dark for a reason, she thinks. Perhaps that’s why the lavender is there – to bring a certain kind of softness. A slight shiver runs up her back. She hears the windows in the bedroom rattle, but there is no wind outside. She blinks before she takes another look. Is this all in her mind?
‘I am the caretaker,’ he says, his voice dark with pain. ‘I fell in love with her. I never meant for it to happen.’ He looks at Sophia, the early stages of tears in his glistening eyes.
Can anyone else hear this? She looks at Mrs Bayswater. It must not be real.
‘Mrs Bayswater, can we go to another room?’
‘Why of course,’ she says, waving her hand for Sophia to follow her further down the hallway. ‘Is something bothering you, Sophia?’
‘No,’ she says, ‘but has anyone else lived here while you have been on the property?’
‘No – only me and my late husband. You do know we never had children.’
‘I just feel like the people who lived here before have something to share. It feels restless. Almost.’
Mrs Bayswater turns to her. ‘Yes, I’ve felt the same. I do understand that people talk in this community, and that people talk about their presence. Why? Have you seen something?’ She raises her eyebrows.
‘No, not at all.’ She pauses and looks at her feet, tiny in comparison to the boots the caretaker was wearing. ‘I think I’m just excited about how open you have been, sharing your home with me.’
‘No problem at all. I enjoy the company.’ Mrs Bayswater changes direction. ‘Anyway, the tea must be ready now. Let’s head back to the kitchen. I think that’s enough excitement for the morning.’
Sophia’s right eye twitches as she slowly walks away from the room, following Mrs Bayswater into the hallway. She only takes a couple of steps before she has to look behind her. There’s nothing. The empty hallway in front of her is lined with photographs of Mrs Bayswater and her beloved husband. They used to go horse-riding together. A shudder scrapes under her shoulder blades. She turns back towards the bedroom. He’s there, the caretaker, standing in the doorway.
‘Don’t leave me,’ he says just before he screams, a howl that comes deep from his stomach. For Sophia, it echoes through the hallway, but Mrs Bayswater is nowhere to be seen. Is she in the dining room? Without her, it’s not real. Nothing is.
This time, rather than being intrigued by what she hears – the scream, his voice – she just wishes for it to go away. It’s time to put this nonsense behind her. She must be seeing things. It must be her imagination. Where is Mrs Bayswater? She turns away from the bedroom. The man persists. She peeks behind again and glares at him. He reaches out to Sophia, but she does not reciprocate.
Something shatters in the kitchen. It sounds like crockery, each piece rocking against the floorboards. She takes fast steps along the hallway, passing through the dining room to get there. Mrs Bayswater only starts picking up the broken ceramic pieces when she sees Sophia, almost like she was waiting for her.
‘Oh well, let me use another pot,’ Mrs Bayswater says, relief bright in her voice at the sight of her. She starts the boiling as Sophia clears up the broken teapot from the floor, her hands trembling. After a few minutes, Mrs Bayswater pours them both a cup. They sit on the kitchen-counter stools, sipping French Earl Grey. An eerie silence hangs between them.
It is unfamiliar territory for Sophia; she does not feel that clarity she’s used to – a clarity she often felt before she walked into the homestead. Instead, she is shaken. His boots, the howl, the breaking porcelain.
She looks over at Mrs Bayswater, at her hands steady around the steaming cup. Does she know? Sophia takes a sip of tea, looks up towards her face, now much older than the photographs. Mrs Bayswater raises the cup to her mouth and glances at her. It’s only brief – so brief she thinks it might be her imagination. But no, it was there, her smile, the crease of her eye. The quickest of winks.
