Page 44 of Crazy Spooky Love
“There’s swimming,” Artie says, flicking through to the sport channels. “Or snooker.”
“Swimming.” Douglas gazes at the screen with wistful eyes. “God, I always loved to swim. Remember, Isaac, when we used togo and swim in the lake? Take a picnic?” A playful smile crosses his lips as he rests his head back against the chair. “The girls in swimsuits were quite one of the best things about summer.”
“I recall you were always very popular with the ladies.” Isaac nods briefly toward the TV. “Not in suits like those though.”
Douglas stares at the modern pool and the no doubt comparatively tiny bathing suits of today in fascination, whilst Marina, who hasn’t been privy to their trip down memory lane, grabs the remote and flips channels.
“I was rather enjoying that,” Douglas says mildly. “Do you like to swim, Melody?”
I shrug, very aware that right now he’s probably imagining me in a swimsuit. “Not often these days.”
Marina has settled on her choice of channel, and Artie looks sideways at her, surprised.
“You like snooker?”
“So what if I do?”
Even though it’s only Artie, she’s still straight on the defensive; snooker isn’t something many twentysomething women like to watch.
“Nothing,” he shrugs. “What do you think of O’Sullivan’s chances this year?”
A tiny smile brushes Marina’s mouth, and her shoulders relax from around her ears. “Fair to medium; he’s having a decent season. You?”
“Is this billiards?” Douglas says, sitting forward on the edge of his chair to studyit.
“Similar,” I say. “Marina, Artie? Could you please explain the basics of snooker for Douglas? He’s just here.” I indicate the seat and try to imagine how it is for them not to be able to see him. It must be like green-screen acting to an empty room, but to give them their due they take my request at face value and start going over the rules, correcting each other every now and then.
Leaving them settled, I turn to Isaac. “Can we sit down for a few minutes and run through your list?”
He leads me away from the TV to the sofas grouped around the fireplace at the other end of the room. I dig out his list as I sit down and smooth it on my knee.
“So, this is quite long,” I say, turning it over. As I suspected, his cobweb writing continues on the flipside of the paper.
I run my finger down the list, checking that I understand each one before moving on to the next. Some of them are quite self-explanatory; “under the cold slab in the pantry, behind the water boiler in the upstairs landing cupboard.”
Then there’s things like “Make a thorough search of the bedroom Lloyd hangs out in, the room he shared with his wife, Maud, when he was alive.” I agree, but it’s going to be tricky to get in there with Lloyd breathing down my neck. Or not breathing down my neck, but you know what I mean.
“Your parents’ bedroom?” I say, moving down the list. “Show me which one it is?” I glance toward the others grouped around the TV and call “Just going upstairs for five. Hang out here and keep Douglas company.”
Artie lifts his hand and waves in acknowledgment whilst Marina points out something on the screen, clearly enjoying explaining the finer points to Douglas regardless of the fact that she can’t see him and he can’t answer her back. Thinking about it, that’s probably a good thing for both of them.
I follow Isaac as he heads into the hallway, up the stairs, and along the shady first-floor corridor to a closed door at the end.
“I’ll wait for you to open it rather than just walk through it,” he says, stepping aside.
“Cheap tricksarebest avoided unless you’re dealing with a rookie,” I agree, hiding my smile as I turn the brass doorknob and push the heavy door open.
“It’s changed quite a bit since my parents’ day,” he says, even though to my eyes the bedroom seems like a time warp. It looks as if it was last decorated in the 1970s, retro blond wood wardrobes and furniture with sexy curves and simple lines. I like it, actually—it has cool, stylish appeal that wouldn’t look out of place in ahome-interiors magazine on sale today. The orange-and-lime wallpaper would make Orla Kiely fans swoon, and I’d like to roll the puffy, satin eiderdown up and take it home for my own bed. It’s deliciously kitsch, and quite different to the rest of the house. “Lloyd’s son let his wife, Barbara, redecorate it.” The distaste in Isaac’s tone is clear.
“Lloyd’s son…so that would be Donovan Scarborough’s father? The guy who recently passed away?”
Isaac nods. “He allowed his wife free rein in here, and this was the result. I’m sure you can appreciate why she was never allowed to decorate the rest of the house.”
Privately, I’m imagining that Barbara might have made a rather fabulous makeover job of it and feel quite sorry for her that she wasn’t given a freer hand. I bet she spent a fair amount of her time up here in this room.
“Okay, so I should ignore all of the recent additions, the wardrobes, the dressing table, etcetera,” I muse. “What’s here that would have been here back in 1910?”
“Nothing.”
