Continuing

Continuing "The Lost Schoolgirl". The first chapter appeared here on Monday of this week.

During the night, the wind picked up. Liam woke in the early hours as his wife's rhythmical deep breathing assured him that she was still soundly asleep. Those sycamores along the lane shook and a loose slate rattled as gusts from the west wind whined through the fan in their en suite bathroom.

In the morning, he woke to the aroma of grilled bacon. Annalise was busy in the kitchen and there was a pot of fresh coffee on the hob. Liam hugged her.

"Where does that go?" she asked pointing to the green door  beside the stairs.

"The cellar I think. Don't you remember, the estate agent bloke couldn't find a key for it?"

"Oh yeah".

After breakfast, they unpacked several boxes. Clothes. Kitchen items, Bric-a-brac. Books. There were empty boxes everywhere and Annalise wanted rid of them. She had found an old key on a hook in the pantry and wondered if it might be for the green door. She tried it and wonder of wonders, the lock turned.

It was pitch dark down the cellar stairs but the light switch did not work so Liam ambled out to the car and returned with the torch he always carried in the Porsche's boot. He hadn't used it in ages. As Annalise clattered around with her saucepans, Liam cautiously descended into the inky blackness. He heard a scuttling sound below - rodents he suspected but there was no sign of  anything when he reached the bottom. 

There were old paint cans, tea chests, an ancient tailor's dummy that gave him a start and under hessian potato sacks, he was amazed to discover a Victorian mirror in a wooden frame. His torch began to flicker as the batteries were clearly weak.

"Annie! Come and look at this!", he yelled and soon she was beside him.

"A perfect replacement!" she said, grinning about the fortuitous discovery.

"I'll put it up later," smiled Liam as the flickering ltorchight threatened to peter out entirely.

"I don't like it down here," she said, spotting the tailor's dummy and headed back up to the kitchen.

As Annalise requested, after cursory  cleaning, the old mirror was put up at the top of the stairs.  There was an electric socket below it. It would be a good place to dry or style her hair. Several ivy leaves were carved into the frame. At first, Liam had not noticed this decorative touch. He thought the style was "arts and crafts".

That night they went to "The Bull's Head" in the village for a meat pie dinner and a couple of drinks. An old man who had been sitting on a high stool near the bar came over to them before going home. His eyes were bloodshot and his attire was rustic.

"Are you t'couple who bought t'old school?"

"Yes. Yes we are!" said Annalise with a friendly smile.

But the old man didn't smile back. He put his brown tweed jacket on and turned round to look at them before he left.

"That was a bit weird," said Liam and they laughed a little nervously before heading home.

Liam slept better the second night but dreams succeeded each other upon his mind's cinema screen. They were vivid and all-consuming. He woke up sweating but as with most dreams, the tide of morning seemed to rapidly wash away most of the details. All that he was left with was the pale face of an unsmiling girl staring at him through a small, square window.

Annalise was already in the shower. Liam donned his dressing gown and headed downstairs to prepare breakfast, pausing briefly at the mirror from the cellar. He checked out his ruffled hair and felt a draught of cold air from below. The weather was worsening outside. Rain lashed the front windows and the sky was heavy with steely grey clouds floundering east towards the North Sea coast.

At the foot of the stairs, he noticed the green cellar door was ajar. Perhaps it was  where that draught had come from. He slammed it then found a bag of almond croissants in the pantry. The coffee pot was already bubbling when Annalise came down. Affectionately, she pecked his forehead and ruffled his hair. 

Soon, sipping hot Colombian coffee, Annalise tried to recall the dream she had had. She was not somebody who normally remembered dreams. They slipped away whenever she was stirring from sleep but this morning  she said, "There was this old  country house, covered with ivy and high up a  small window, behind which a girl was standing. She was as white as snow and she stared at me, expressionless. She had something to say but I can't remember what."

To be continued...