Ghostwalk by Rebecca Stott Read Free Book Online Page A

the tags—so far at least.” She changed the subject.
             
    That night, as I lay listening to Maria’s breathing and the interminable wheel of Titus’s cage turning and turning in the dark, I thought of Dilys Kite and all the questions I hadn’t asked her and I thought of the blackbird and the edges of circles.
I will seek you out,
the old woman had said.
    I found Kit in the kitchen around midnight, making tea. She was wearing my favourite kimono from her collection of 1920s silk dressing gowns, the one with a blue background and gold water lilies, and her thick black hair was still piled on the top of her head. I’d thrown on a black silk robe from the back of the bathroom door. They were everywhere in Kit’s house. Even her dusters were made of scraps of old velvet—and she doesn’t dust.
    “You not sleeping either?” she said. “Titus needs shooting. I swear he’s got more energetic as he’s got older. But guinea pigs don’t live long. By my calculation he’s only got four months to go. I could put him out in the shed while you’re here—might speed up the process. Chamomile tea?”
    “Maria would have a fit if you turned him out for me. No, it’s not Titus. I’m just overtired, I think. I’ve been writing late for a couple of weeks and now that I’ve stopped I’m dead tired, but I can’t seem to switch off. I’m like Titus on that bloody wheel.”
    We sat in the back sitting room in the dark, where Kit lit some of the candles in the red Chinese lanterns that she’d strung across the fireplace. The two armchairs had lost their springs years ago so you sunk down deep into them, almost to the floor. Kit had slung fleece rugs over them, and in the warmth of wool and the wood fire I suddenly felt I could fall asleep looking at Kit’s feet curled under the blue silk of her kimono. She had silver nail varnish on her toes.
    “Funny seeing you in that robe,” she said. “It’s the one Anthony wears when he’s here.”
    “Yes, I thought I could smell him. Where is he? Christ, I’ve missed you all. Funny how it all seems to stay the same. This house. The smell.”
    “Just looks that way to you. It isn’t the same, though. I’ve fixed all sorts of things since you were here last…the bathroom light switches work, the back door doesn’t stick anymore. I bought a DIY book.”
    “So if this is now Anthony’s robe, it’s not the first time he’s stayed?”
    “God, you’re as bad as Maria. No, it wasn’t the first time, though Maria thinks it was. When Anthony stays I sleep better. He’s been very good to me.”
    “He’s always adored you. He’s never sold that white marble head you sat for, has he?”
    “No, he hasn’t. He’s had some important commissions lately; he’s working on an enormous bronze for a shopping centre in Gateshead. Another menhir. You must see it.”
    “You’re not lovers, then?” I didn’t look at her.
    “No, we’re not lovers—though…it’s complicated. What about you? How’s that dreadful man of yours?”
    “Peter?” I said and she brought her heavy eyebrows together into an exaggerated frown. She never called him by name. “He’s OK,” I said. “I’ve asked him to move back into his flat, though. I need a bit of a break. Living together isn’t working out.”
    “Bet he hasn’t gone yet.”
    “No. He hasn’t.”
    “Surprise, surprise. You shouldn’t have let him move in in the first place.”
    “It was good to start with.”
    “What, for two weeks?”
    “Yes, about that.” I’d brought Peter to one of Kit’s parties once and he’d offered to mend her broken gate—he had a tool kit in the back of his car, he said. I should have warned him. She hates people pointing out the broken things in her house and she won’t be helped, especially by a man with a toolbox, though in those days she’d never got round to mending all those things herself. I felt oddly defensive. “He’s good company. He’s a great cook. It’s