The Soul Auction Read online

  At that moment, Alice gurgles in my arms, and when I glance down I see that she's staring up at me. She's smiling, too, which is a huge relief. At least one of my daughters seems pleased to be here with me.

  “I've seen you around before,” the landlady says after a moment. “You used to stay at the B&B down the road, didn't you?”

  “It's closed at the moment.”

  “Aye, I know. You used to come into the pub sometimes for food, though. You were with...”

  Her voice trails off, but I know what she was about to say.

  “My husband died six months ago,” I explain. “It was very quick, he had pancreatic cancer and by the time the symptoms showed...”

  “I'm so sorry,” she replies, “I shouldn't have poked my nose into your business.”

  “No, it's fine,” I tell her. “To be honest, that's why I brought the girls down here to Curridge this week. After everything that's been happening, I wanted to try to establish a little normality. We used to have such fun here, and although I was worried Kate might focus on the fact that her father's gone, eventually I decided that it'd be good to just come somewhere familiar.”

  I glance out toward Kate, who's still standing in the water and still looking out at the horizon.

  “Maybe that wasn't the best idea,” I add.

  “I wouldn't stress about it,” she replies. “There's no way of knowing how a child's mind works. If you ask me, the best thing is just to distract her as much as possible. I mean, standing out there in the water like that, with so much time to think... I don't know that'd be good for anyone, especially not a girl of her age.”

  “Maybe you're right,” I reply, suddenly feeling as if I've made a huge mistake. How could this complete stranger understand my daughter better than I understand her? “I should go and check on her.”

  “If you need me to take care of the baby at any point,” she continues, “you only have to ask. Most of the day, I don't see another soul from opening time 'til about three or four. I'd be happy to watch her while you take the older girl out for a few hours. It might do the pair of you some good.” She holds a hand out toward me. “Kerry.”

  “Lizzie,” I reply, before realizing that I've already told her my name. Shaking her hand, I can't help feeling as if maybe I should take advantage of her offer. “Are you sure you wouldn't mind looking after Alice for a few hours one day?”

  “Any time,” she says with a smile. “And now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to see what's going on in that kitchen.”

  As she walks away, I'm left looking out at Kate, who's still just watching the water. My heart aches to see her like this, and I can't help thinking that over the past six months she's had to get used not only to her father not being around, but also to the idea of having a new sister. It's no wonder she's so conflicted, and I'm starting to feel that maybe it'd be healthy for me to take her out for a while tomorrow. Just the two of us.

  Finally, with Alice still in my arms, I set out across the beach.

  “Hey Kate!” I call out, trying to sound happy.

  She turns and stares at me with that same sad expression she's had for the past six months.

  “I've had a great idea,” I continue. “How about tomorrow, you and I go for a really nice long walk along the coast? Just the two of us!”

  Chapter Seven

  Alice

  Today

  “Sex,” Charles says as he leads me into his office. “Sweaty, sleazy, sensuous sex. That's what sells these days. Have you considered adding a sex scene or two into your next book?”

  “My next book is going to be about a haunted school,” I point out, shutting the door behind us. “I don't really see -”

  “I'm sure you can think of something,” he replies. “Ghosts can be sexy, Alice. You just have to use your imagination.”

  “Is that what it's come to?” I watch as he heads over to his desk. “Charles, you've been my agent for three years now. Tell me honestly. Did my new book do so badly, the only way I can get another published is if I turn it into Fifty Shades of the Gray Woman?”

  “The critical conversation regarding The Haunting of Belvedere Asylum hasn't gone the way we wanted,” he admits, “but the publisher is still very keen to read your next novel. They just think that perhaps you could follow the market a little and sprinkle in a dash of rumpy-pumpy.” He takes off his glasses and starts cleaning them on the bottom of his shirt. “That way, they can put an exposed thigh on the cover and the damn thing'll sell like hot-cakes.”

  “I don't write porn!”

  “It's not porn! It's just...”

  He pauses, clearly searching for the right word.

  “Suggestive enhancement,” he adds with a furrowed brow. “Something to stir the panties of a certain demographic.”

  “Did you read the short story?” I sent you, figuring that we're never going to agree on the subject of smut.

  “It's wonderful,” he replies. “One of the best things you've ever written.”

  “So -”

  “No-one'll buy it.”

  I feel my heart sink. “No-one?”

  “It's the market again, Alice. Short stories are a tricky sell.”

  “Six months ago, you told me to get some short stories lined up because people would be biting my hand off for them.”

  “Yes, but that was before...”

  He pauses, and then he sighs.

  “Before The Haunting of Belvedere Asylum tanked?” I suggest, but I already know I'm right.

  “Just sit on the story for a while,” he continues, finally putting his glasses back on. “This is simply a bump in the road, Alice. Focus on your third book, keep your head down, don't worry about the reviews, and everything will be okay in the long-run.”

  “I wanted everything to be okay in the short-run too,” I point out.

  “Well, we can't always get what we want, can we?” He shrugs. “The Haunting of Belvedere Asylum didn't land well, that's all. Shit happens. But I still believe in you, Alice, and I'm certain your next book will be a huge hit. You just need to keep your momentum going. Trust me, the absolute last thing you want to be doing right now is letting yourself get distracted. And whatever you do, stop reading all those reviews online. Nothing good will come of obsessing over the comments of random people. I mean, you don't know where any of them are coming from. How can you even know whether their opinions are valid, when you've never met any of them? There's no context!”

  ***

  “I'm really sorry I have to go and do this job,” Brad says over the phone, as I sit in my car the parking lot near Charles's office. “I can't afford to turn down the work.”

  “No, it's fine,” I reply, watching as a few spots of rain start falling against the windshield. “How long do you think you'll be away?”

  “It might be two weeks.”

  “Two weeks?” I can't hide the disappointment from my voice. “But you'll be back at weekends, right?”

  I wait for a reply.

  “Brad?”

  “I can't really drive down from Edinburgh,” he points out, not unreasonably. “A job's a job, babe, and this one might lead to more in the future. The building industry's rough right now and I haven't been picking up work in the London area.” He pauses for a moment. “I can turn it down if you want. I can stay here and look for something closer to home.”

  “No,” I tell him, “of course you should take the Edinburgh job. Besides, it's only two weeks. I'm sure we can handle two weeks apart.”

  “It'll give you time to work on your next novel.”

  “It sure will.”

  “Peace and quiet,” he continues. “No distractions. Maybe the timing's perfect.”

  “Maybe it is,” I reply, already imagining what it'll be like to potter about the apartment all on my own for an entire fortnight. I guess should be thrilled by the chance to get some writing done. “We should do something fun tonight, though,” I add. “When do you leave?”

  “Actually,
I left ten minutes ago. Sorry, babe, but I had to get on the road as soon as the job was sorted.”

  “That's cool,” I tell him, even though my heart is sinking at the realization that he won't be there when I get home. “We can Skype.”

  “Totally.”

  “And two weeks is nothing, in the long run.”

  “It's the blink of an eye. We've been apart for longer.”

  “I'm not going to crumble just because you're gone for a while,” I tell him, “and I'm pleased for you. I know it's been hard for you, not having work over the past few weeks. Maybe you can make some connections, you might even figure out a way to get the investment you need for your own company.”

  “I don't want to get ahead of myself.”

  “No, I mean it!” I continue. “Brad, you just need to have a little more faith in yourself. You can totally get that company up and running.”

  “Maybe. Listen, I need to get going, but I'll call you tonight from Edinburgh, okay?”

  “Good luck with the job,” I reply. “And don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I'm a writer, remember? Sitting around all by myself, with only a laptop for company, is kinda my thing.”

  Once the call is over, I lean back in the seat and watch as more and more drops of rain fall on the windshield. This is turning out to be a really gray morning, which I guess makes it perfect for getting some writing done. And yet, as the rain continues to fall and as the pitter-patter sound fills the car, I find myself simply staring out at the parking lot. At the far end, there's a gray concrete wall that's almost the exact same color as the gray sky. It's almost as if two different parts of the world are starting to merge together.

  Chapter Eight

  Lizzie

  Thirty years ago

  “We're going to take sandwiches out with us in the morning,” I tell Kate as I tuck her into bed, “and we're going to walk all the way to the cliffs, and maybe even further. Doesn't that sound like fun?”

  I wait for a reply, but she's simply staring up at me.

  “It'll be fun, I promise,” I continue. Reaching down, I tuck a stray curl of hair behind her left ear. “I'm really looking forward to having some time alone with you.”

  “Where's Alice going to be?” she asks.

  “The very nice lady who runs the pub is going to watch her for a few hours.”

  “Is that safe?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You don't know the lady who runs the pub.”

  “I know her enough to know that she'll look after Alice.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “She's a very nice lady.”

  “But how do you know?”

  “I just do,” I reply, and now I can hear a hint of frustration in my voice. “Just trust me, okay? I've got this all under control and there's nothing to worry about.”

  She pauses.

  “Okay,” she says finally.

  “Okay.” I take a deep breath, before getting to my feet. “I'm just going to pop downstairs to get some snacks from the bar, but I'll be back up in no time. Will you be okay for a few minutes?”

  “Are you going to leave Alice with me?”

  “No, I'll take Alice with me. I also need to feed her, so I'll do that before I come back up.”

  “So I'll be all by myself?”

  “You're not scared, are you?”

  She looks around the room for a moment, and I can tell that she's not happy about the idea.

  “Kate, I need you to be brave,” I continue. “Can you do that?”

  “Can I come downstairs with you?”

  “I'd really like you to stay up here. There's nothing for you to do downstairs, and it'd just be easier for me to get things done if I only have Alice to worry about.”

  She stares at me, and for a moment I swear she looks as if she's about to cry. Then again, crying would be a step up from her recent stoicism. Maybe she should cry. After all, she's just a little girl.

  “Okay,” she says finally.

  “Okay?”

  “Okay. I'll be fine by myself.”

  I lean down and kiss her forehead. “I love you, honey.”

  “I love you too, Mummy.”

  With that, I head over to the crib and gently lift Alice out, before carrying her to the door.

  “What was the scratching sound earlier?” Kate asks suddenly.

  I turn to her. “What scratching sound?”

  “Downstairs in the pub, when we were eating dinner. Didn't you hear it?”

  “I'm sure it was nothing important.”

  She pauses. “Okay.”

  “Sleep tight, angel,” I continue, as I open the door and step out onto the brightly-lit landing. “Sweet dreams. Don't worry, Mummy will be back up real soon.”

  I pull the door shut, and then I hesitate for a moment. I can hear a few voices drifting up the stairs from the pub's bar area, but so far the place seems very calm and peaceful. I guess people are probably wondering why a single mother decided to bring her two young children to stay in a pub, and in some ways I can totally understand why they might be judging me. I wish I could have afforded to take them somewhere else and stay in a real hotel, but money's been tight since Rob died and this little trip seemed like a good idea at the time.

  Alice gurgles in my arms.

  “Okay, little one,” I say, as I carry her to the stairs. “Let's get you fed.”

  Chapter Nine

  Alice

  Today

  Ten minutes.

  That's how long I've spent staring at the blinking cursor on the screen. With the sound of rain drumming down against the kitchen skylight, I've just been sitting here in a world of my own, trying to figure out what to write next. It's not that I'm blocked, or that I don't know where the story is supposed to go. It's just that I don't see the point in writing, not if my third book just ends up getting trashed by reviewers.

  Finally I bring up a browser window and check the page for The Haunting of Belvedere Asylum.

  There are now thirty reviews. Fifteen are one-star, fourteen are two-star, and then there's Dora Ohme's five-star review standing out like a sore thumb.

  Without even thinking about what I'm doing, I click through to check Dora's profile again, and I see that she's reviewed some more books since last night. Apparently she's been going through some old Stephen King and James Herbert titles, along with a bunch of books I've never even heard of. I scroll through, reading each review, but for the most part she mainly talks about whether the authors have written 'accurate' representations of the after-life. She certainly seems to think that she knows more than most people, as if she's some kind of authority, and so far it's my books that she says are the most realistic. I guess that's a miracle.

  It's a good job she doesn't have an e-mail address listed, because if she did -

  Suddenly my phone starts ringing, causing me to almost jump out of my skin. I'm immediately brought crashing back to reality, and the rainstorm sounds louder somehow as I grab the phone and see that my sister is trying to get through.

  “Hey Kate,” I say as I answer, “I can't really talk right now, I'm writing and -”

  “Did you really not remember?” she asks, and I can instantly tell that she's had a few drinks.

  Glancing at the clock on my laptop's screen, I see that it's barely 2pm.

  “Busy lunch?” I ask cautiously.

  “When we talked last night,” she continues, slurring her words slightly, “did you really not remember what it meant?”

  “I'm not sure I understand.”

  At that moment, I hear the sound of a glass clinking on the other end of the line, followed by wine being poured from a bottle.

  “You remember Curridge, right?” Kate asks after a few seconds.

  “I remember you said we -”

  “That was the place, Alice!” She sighs theatrically. “I know you were just a baby, so I don't expect you to actually remember being there, but I've told you the story enough times.
Haven't I?”

  “What story?”

  I wait for a reply, but all I hear is a series of sighs, accompanied by some bumping sounds.

  “Kate?”

  Again I wait, and now I think I can hear her sobbing.

  “Kate, what's wrong?” I ask. “Do you want me to come over?”

  “No, I'm fine,” she replies, but I can tell that she's sniffing back tears. “It's just that I haven't heard the name of that place in a while, Alice. Do you really not understand why mentioning Curridge might make me a little emotional? Remember, I'm five years older than you. I remember things that you don't.”

  “I don't know what's wrong,” I tell her. “Can you just explain why you're so upset?”

  I wait, but for a few seconds all I hear is silence.

  “Curridge is where it happened,” she says finally. “It's where Mum had her aneurysm.”

  Those last six words send a shiver through my body. Just as I'm about to tell her she must be wrong, I realize that actually she's right.

  How did I forget?

  I've been told the story about the day Mum died. I've been told over and over. So how did I not put two and two together when I saw the name Curridge on the laptop screen? Is my stupid brain trying to hide things from me?

  “Kate,” I stammer after a moment, “I'm sorry, I -”

  “We'd gone down for another weekend stay,” she continues, as rain batters the skylight above me, “because Mum wanted to get us out of London. I just about remember a few flashes from those days. I remember us all on the pebble beach, and sitting outside that pub that's right near the shore. I drew a lot. I remember you were just a baby, crawling about.” She sniffs back more tears. “When you started talking about some woman from Curridge last night, Alice, did you seriously not remember that you were talking about the place where Mum died?”

  “I honestly didn't realize,” I whisper, scarcely able to believe that I missed the connection.

  What's wrong with me?

  “I'm getting emotional,” Kate continues. “God, I've put all this stuff out of my mind for so long, it feels weird to be talking about it now. I guess it's my fault. After all, I'm the one who said we shouldn't talk about it too much.”