Page 19 of The Stranger in Room Six
‘And sometimes I think you’re too hard.’
There was a murmuring followed by silence.
‘Very well,’ she heard her aunt say eventually.
‘Good, I’m glad we’ve got that settled. Time to get on with our work, don’t you think? It won’t be long now.’
Footsteps sounded and Mabel leapt back from the door and ran upstairs to her bedroom, shaking.
As for their work, what had he meant?
Then she realized he must mean war work. After all, everyone was fighting against Hitler, and since he was the lord of the manor, as well as a colonel in the last war, her aunt’s friend would have a leading role. As for the ‘won’t be long now’, he must be referring to the end of the war.
Then they’d all be together again. But what if Mama and Annabelweredead? Supposing Papa was killed too? Then what would happen to her?
13
Now
‘Shhh, shhh. You’ve been having a nightmare.’
Mabel feels a hand taking hers, stroking it. For a minute, she thinks it’s her aunt.
‘It’s all right,’ continues the voice, much warmer and softer than Clarissa’s. ‘You’re safe. There’s nothing to fear. We’re all here to look after you.’
Mabel opens her eyes. The horrid Red Room has gone. In its place is a cream bedroom with a television at the far end. There are two reclining chairs and a table with a fruit bowl on it.
‘Where am I?’ Mabel asks, her voice wobbly.
‘In your room at Sunnyside.’
Sunnyside. Of course. Not the Old Rectory any more.
Mabel tries to focus but sleep blurs her vision. She can just make out a woman beside her, kind-looking, with sympathetic eyes, a touch of dark shadowing underneath.
‘Who are you?’
‘My name’s Belinda. I’m a carer here.’
Mabel doesn’t recognize her. ‘Are you new?’
‘I am indeed.’
‘Do you live nearby?’
‘I was lucky enough to get a room in the staff quarters, actually.’
Mabel snorts with amusement. ‘Lucky? Most people can’t wait to get out of this place when they finish their shifts.’
‘Needs must,’ says Belinda, smiling. ‘Now, would you like a drink of water?’
‘I’d rather have a large Scotch.’
‘A large Scotch?’ The new carer laughs as if she’s said something funny.
‘I mean it,’ says Mabel, waking up properly now. ‘You’ll find the bottle at the bottom of the wardrobe. My brother set up an Amazon account for me, so I can order whatever I want. They don’t let us have proper glasses because they’re “too dangerous”, so you’ll have to use one of those awful beakers made out of plastic, or Bakelite as they called it in my day. Would you like one?’
‘Thank you but I don’t drink any more and even if I did, I’m on duty so I mustn’t. Now, are you sure you’re allowed a whisky?’
