Silent, The Old Flat

Two Years Earlier, Lucy

The House was silent now, her duties over for the evening. The people had gone.  On the first floor, she peered down the narrow corridors, listening out for sounds just in case -  although it didn't really matter, as everyone would find out who she was at the final concert three weeks from now.  She would have Ash and Maxine with her then. Which reminded her. She ought to text Maxine and tell her about the Ogre's return.  She hadn't done that yet. Something was stopping her from revealing this latest information to Maxine.  It was too raw. Agnes represented a lot more than a stern unfriendly teacher from the past.  The Ogre represented all the other stuff.  Mum and Dad. Some things were off limits - even to Maxine.

Lyme House. A museum, dead.  The smell of varnish. The empty rooms looked identical. Once, the House had teemed with music but rarely laughter as the Ogre had insisted on discipline all the time, not fun. The paintwork had changed since then, creating a darker, more claustrophobic, atmosphere.

Ten years ago, she'd stayed in the flat directly under the corridor, just before the fire that killed Mum and Dad.  The flat had faced both sides, back and front. The lonely evenings.  Some men have drinking buddies.  Dad had his String Quartet. It was the same thing, really. They used to rehearse in the main music studio at the front of the flat most evenings while Mum grew increasingly preoccupied with Distant Learning, perched at the old computer in the front of the flat night after night. The Quartet members had all been heavy smokers, like Dad, and the cigarette smoke had seeped into the living area of the flat, clinging to the furniture and ceiling.  A silent corridor had stood between the recording area and the living quarters, a symbol of the growing silence between Mum and Dad.  Usually, Dad had returned late from rehearsals, even though the rehearsals had often taken place in the flat.

She came to the plaque on the wall, placed there by Arthur Harlesden in memory of Mum and Dad. According to the police and the locals, Arthur's son Terence had saved her life and tried to save the lives of her parents.  At least, that's what people said, but she had no memory of her rescuers. It didn't trouble her exactly. More, the figure she'd seen that night, watching in a balaclava.  

She spent a few moments by the plaque before continuing along the corridor.  She reached a fire exit put in since the fire. The new fire door threw her, bringing it back to her after all this time. Bannisters, old-fashioned ones that had smelt of varnish, matching the smell in the corridors shed just walked along.  The bannisters, brown like cough syrup, had led from here to Dad's recording studio in the downstairs flat. Tiles, no carpet. Mum and Dad had disliked carpets. A large rectangular room with a grand piano and recording equipment and chairs arranged in a semi-circle, along with music racks and metronomes. Overflowing ashtrays, a half bottle of brandy.

The memory came from nowhere...first, she notices the giggling, a sound like tinkling china. She enters Dad's music room and sees Dad and a woman with long dark hair playing a game…touching, laughing.  Teasing.  When Dad sees her, he tenses and frowns. Very, very angry.  She's disobeyed him again by coming in when he's asked her not to.  The woman looks at her briefly and then at Dad, who's still frowning.  She runs back to her bedroom, through the silent corridor that separates the back from the front, and creeps into bed, lying on her side, breathing slowly, pushing her thoughts away.  

The memory vanished. And then, the next one started...Mum and Dad at the dinner table in the old flat...Mum silent, hands trembling, the woman sitting opposite Mum.  Dinner a night or two before the fire.  Mum must have suspected that Dad was having an affair. Better get out of here.

She turned to go and left the House, setting off for the pier on foot.  She intended to speak to Arthur Harlesden after the concert at the Grand Theatre, to take him by surprise.