Whisper Read online

  “She seems… colourful…” Steve said around a small smile.

  “Aye, colourful is one word for it. In fairness to them, I’d probably be long out of business if not for those three.”

  “They loaned you money?” Steve said, glancing again to the coven in the corner. Melody elbowed him in the ribs playfully.

  “He means because they are always in here drinking.”

  Steve looked at her in confusion, then to Will and the three of them shared a laugh. Despite feeling a little sheepish at missing the joke, Steve was a good enough sport not to take it to heart.

  “Of course he did. I’m not stupid Mel,” he said, sticking out his bottom lip and giving the puppy-dog eyes.

  “Like hell you did,” Melody shot back, glancing over to Will, who was smiling at the pair of them.

  “Come on now, let’s not have a lover’s tiff in front of the locals,” Steve said, winking knowingly at Will.

  “No offence taken, we locals have thick skin you know.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Steve said, fumbling for his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. “How much do we owe you for the drinks?”

  Will shook his head. “No, please, put that away, these are on the house. Think of it as a welcome to Oakwell.”

  “Thank you, that’s really kind,” Melody said.

  Steve could see that she was soaking up the atmosphere of the place, and loving every minute of it. He had to admit that he was kind of enjoying it too, and for the first time since they had made the move he felt truly relaxed.

  “We’ll come here again,” said Steve grinning and knowing that it was the only pub for miles in any direction. Will flashed a slab of white teeth through his jet-black beard and folded his arms.

  “Glad to hear it, although next time I won’t stop you from getting the wallet out.”

  “Moths and all!” Melody said, not quite under her breath causing another round of laughter. Will looked at the pair, and leaned closer.

  “Seriously though, all joking aside, Mrs. Briggs may like a drink, and she may seem a bit out there and smell like those damn cats that she keeps, but if you really want to know about the history of that house of yours, she’s the one to ask.”

  “Thanks. We appreciate the advice,” Melody said, hopping off her bar stool. “Shall we go and sit down?” she said, looking at Steve.

  “Yeah, let’s go grab a table.”

  Melody walked on ahead, and Steve picked up his drink and was about to follow when Will spoke again, his tone hushed.

  “About Hope House…”

  Steve paused and watched the huge barman struggle to find words. His humorous demeanour was now gone, and his features were taut and serious. Steve was intrigued.

  “What about it?” he asked, wondering why part of him was already dreading the answer.

  “Has everything been… okay since you moved in?”

  We see you.

  “Yeah, fine, why do you ask?” Steve said quietly, in spite the light tingle of fear starting to build in his gut.

  Will’s eyes flicked from side to side, and one corner of his mouth twitched nervously.

  “It’s nothing, forget I said anything.”

  “Hey come on, you can’t ask a question like that and then clam up. It’s obvious there’s something you want to tell me, although I get the feeling I’m not going to like what I hear.”

  ***

  Melody sat at the table and sipped her orange juice. She had chosen a seat which gave her the best view of the room as a whole, and couldn’t help but smile as she took it all in. She glanced over to the bar, and could see Steve and Will deep in conversation. She considered calling out to Steve to hurry him along, but she could see that whatever they were talking about was apparently important. In fact, as she watched she realised that Will that was doing most of the talking. Steve was simply watching, nodding or saying the occasional word which Melody had no hope of hearing above the general din of the pub. She decided not to disturb him, and was glad that Steve was making friends.

  She’d been concerned that he was becoming isolated; he had seemed tense and withdrawn of late. The two looked over at Melody, who smiled warmly, but neither husband nor bartender smiled back, and she saw a frown on her husband’s brow that concerned her. She was about to get up and see what the delay was when Steve walked to their table and sat down.

  “What was all that about?”

  “Nothing, just small-talk.”

  “You looked to be pretty deep in conversation to me.”

  “Yeah, we were talking sports, nothing that would interest you, sadly.”

  She took a sip of her drink and left the line of questioning there, even though she knew him well enough to know he was lying, as he wasn’t enough of a sports fan to engage in such a lengthy conversation about it.

  They sat in silence for a while, watching their fellow patrons drink. Every so often, a bray of laughter—or more accurately cackles—filled the room, but it seemed everyone was so used to Mrs. Briggs that they barely seemed to notice.

  “So, what do we think about the old battle-axe then?” Steve asked, nodding towards the witches sat at the corner table.

  “I’m not sure.”

  She didn’t really care about Mrs. Briggs in the corner anymore, or even how quaint the pub was. She was concerned about Steve and the lie on his face that she was still able to read despite his best attempts to hide it.

  “Might be worth asking her for some info, get a bit of local flavour of the house,” he suggested, trying just a little too hard to be normal and conversational.

  Melody nodded, looking across to the corner but not really seeing. She felt nauseous and couldn’t imagine why Steve would lie to her. For his part, he seemed oblivious, and it was clear that he was trying just a little too hard to act like there was nothing wrong. She sipped her drink and began to tear nervously at the cardboard beer-mat.

  “What’s wrong?” Steve asked quietly.

  “Nothing,” she responded with a shrug. “I’m just taking in the ambience.”

  “I quite like this place,” he said, trying his best to force conversation.

  “I do, too. It’s nice.”

  Again, their conversation fizzled out until Melody spoke up. “Why are you lying to me?” she asked suddenly.

  “I have no idea what you mean, I—”

  “What did Will say to you over by the bar?”

  He could see that she was angry, and because he didn’t feel the time was right to share the information given to him by Will, he was forced to continue with the lie. “I told you, we were talking sports. Jesus Melody, don’t you think you are overreacting?”

  “I can tell when you’re lying. It’s all over your face.”

  “Well go ahead and ask him yourself since you obviously don’t believe me!”

  He was also angry now, and noticed that the argument they were on the verge of was already attracting unwanted glances from neighbouring tables. He leaned forward and took her petite hands in his. “Look, I don’t know what you think you saw but really, there’s nothing to tell.”

  She pulled her hands away, cupped her half-empty glass and lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry. I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight. I’m… just tired I suppose.”

  Steve drained his glass and set it down. “Let’s not argue, okay? I hate it when we fight.”

  “Me too.”

  They were silent again, and the awkwardness drifted back.

  “Look, I need to go to the bathroom, then I’ll get us another drink okay?” Steve said suddenly.

  “Yeah, why not.”

  She smiled, but the gesture felt fraudulent, however it must have been enough because Steve seemed satisfied, kissing her on the head as he passed her.

  “Back in five. Love you.”

  “Love you, too,” she said as he went.

  13. MRS. BRIGGS

  STEVE RETURNED FROM THE bathroom to find their table empty. He knew that Melody w
as pissed at him, and although she knew he wasn’t telling her the truth, he had to stick to his guns, for the time being at least, until he had a chance to consider the new information that had been presented to him. With Will’s words swimming around his brain and the chilling text messages still plaguing him, he was sure he had made the right decision. However, as he looked towards their recently vacated table, he considered the very real possibility that she had walked out and left him here.

  He was about to move casually towards the door and try to catch up with her when he heard her voice calling him from across the room. He turned towards the sound of her voice, and had to force himself not to wince.

  She was sitting with the witches, and was smiling at him, the teasing tone unmistakable, or at least to him it was. To anyone else she was just a wife smiling at a husband.

  His eyes flicked to the witches—who glared at him as if he had sprouted a second head, or was a notorious love cheat. Melody was waving him over and to his horror saw that she had made a space for him to sit, and a fresh drink was waiting for him. Realising that there was no escape, he forced a smile, weaved his way towards their table, and squeezed in next to his wife.

  He looked at the three women in turn, his eyes finally coming to rest on Mrs. Briggs. There was no nice way to put it, but the old lady really was a hag. Her massive head was perched on her shoulders, her chin (if she possessed one) seemed to be forever lost among folds of flab, which threatened to spill over her mustard-coloured blouse. She had tiny, yellowed eyes with brown irises—a sure sign that the old girl’s liver was close to giving up the fight. Her mouth was thin and harsh, her crimson painted lips turned into a humourless smile. All of this paled in comparison to her two most dominant features: her nose was a huge, red-tipped bulbous lump hanging off her face, and her hair was ridiculous: an immensely tall, badly-dyed, purple perm. She held out a flabby hand, her cheap gold jewellery jingling as he shook it.

  “You must be Steve. I’m Annie Briggs,” she croaked.

  Her hand was warm and sweaty, and he was more than a little relieved when she released her grip and gave it back.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Steve mumbled.

  “I have already introduced your wife to the rest of the girls, but for your benefit, I suppose I’ll do it again.”

  He wanted to tell her not to bother, that he had no desire to speak to them, but he could feel Melody’s eyes on him, and even without looking, he knew she would be wearing that secret smile on her face, the one reserved for them when they want to share an unspoken joke.

  “This is Molly,” she said, pointing to the woman beside Melody.

  She appeared to be the polar opposite of Mrs. Briggs, stick thin with features which seemed too small for her face. Her hair was pulled back into a tight black bun, and like Mrs. Briggs was trying desperately to hang on to a youth that had last been seen sometime in the fifties.

  Steve smiled and nodded, and was met with an icy stare and a barely perceptible nod. She reminded him of the grandma from Roald Dahl’s George’s Marvellous Medicine, and in his mind saw her growing, shooting up through the pub roof and into the night air. He suppressed another smile, and turned to the third member of Mrs. Briggs’ coven.

  “And this is Petunia.”

  Steve turned to the woman nearest him, and offered a smile. She, at least, responded in kind —offering a wide grin that showed her numerous but somewhat odd-looking teeth. They seemed like baby teeth—way too small for the rest of her face. It was as if they had stopped growing with the rest of her when she’d been a child.

  “Pleased to meet you young man,” she said, flicking her ridiculously fake eyelashes at him. He either smiled or grimaced, not quite sure which as he shook her oily hand.

  Introductions done, Steve sat back and took a long sip of his beer. Melody reached out under the table and gave him a reassuring squeeze of the thigh—or at least he hoped it was Melody. His mind’s eye filled up with a bizarre image of Molly reaching her marvellous medicine elongated hand under the table to cop a feel of his leg, and couldn’t help but smile into his glass as he took a drink. The rest of his laughter he swallowed with the beer, but he glanced over to Melody, and he knew she had seen it.

  He desperately wanted to leave, but he reasoned that Melody no longer seemed to be angry, and at least here he wouldn’t be in her bad books. So he battened down the hatches, took a deep breath and prepared for what would come.

  ***

  The hags could drink, of that there was no doubt. For the last hour, Steve and Melody had endured the cackling and the increasingly slurred conversations which seemed to increase in volume with their intake of alcohol. Steve had only drunk a couple of beers, Melody sticking to the orange juice, but the trio of witches drank as if their lives depended on it. It would be kind to say they were ‘merry’ or ‘ three sheets to the wind’, but the fact was, as Steve listened to them bitch and moan about another community controversy featuring people that neither of them knew, that they were well on their way to being shit-faced.

  Steve had been making the ‘let’s go home’ eyes at Melody for the last twenty minutes, but she seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the show and his own discomfort in equal measure. She sipped her orange juice as she listened to the old women debate and bicker and argue. There was a lull in the conversation, and Melody decided to speak up.

  “Will said you might know some history of the house we just bought.”

  “Who?” slurred Annie, who was now visibly swaying in her seat.

  “Will. Behind the bar.”

  “Ohhhh, you mean young William!”

  Melody nodded, a huge grin filling her petite face.

  “Oh, I know young William. Not as well as I’d like to though, eh?” the old woman said as she laughed a little too loudly.

  “It’s Annie you want to talk to if it’s about history isn’t it, Annie?” Petunia interjected.

  Mrs. Briggs nodded pleasantly.

  “I know a little about a lot, and sometimes a lot about a little. I’m something of a historian, you know,” she said, draining the rest of the vodka from her glass as Steve tried to make sense at her ridiculous attempt at a rhyme.

  “Yes, Will said as much. We just wondered what you know about our house.” Melody pressed.

  Mrs. Briggs shrugged, again causing her tacky gold jewellery to rattle.

  “Depends where it is you live, I know a little about everywhere, and a lot about a few places,”

  she repeated, and chuckled to herself as Steve’s mind conjured images of Tolkien’s Hobbit, imagining Mrs. Briggs sitting in Gollum’s dark underground cave, playing word-games and clutching her precious booze to her chest. He smiled to himself, but nobody noticed. Melody was now the focus of attention.

  “We live a few miles down the road in Hope House.”

  Silence.

  Where Steve had earlier jokingly suggested that everyone would freeze as they walked through the door and stare at the strangers, it had now actually happened. Not in the entire room of course—the rest of the pub carried on, oblivious to their conversation. People chatted and laughed and drank. However, around their table—the one Steve thought simply as ‘the witches table’—there was a deep and somewhat disturbing silence.

  Mrs. Briggs leaned close, the smell of her breath almost enough to get them both drunk.

  “You live in Hope House?” she repeated, as she cast her glassy gaze on them.

  Steve and Melody exchanged puzzled glances.

  “Yes. We moved in a few weeks ago.”

  She was watching them both carefully, and Steve was sure he could feel her probing around in his mind somehow.

  “Has everything gone well since you moved in?” she asked.

  He felt Melody grasp his hand under the table, and as he glanced at her he saw a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

  We see you.

  “Everything’s fine,” Steve said flatly.

  Mrs. Briggs swayed in her chair and leane
d even closer, her words slurring together as she looked at them both. “Good. The moment that changes, make sure you leave. Leave and don’t go back…”

  “That’s enough, Annie.”

  Steve looked up to see Will standing beside the table. He glared at the drunken woman in the mustard blouse.

  “I’ll decide when I’ve had enough, William Jones. Don’t you talk down to me.”

  “Whilst my name is listed as landlord, I’ll be the one deciding who does and who doesn’t drink here, and when they’ve had enough.”

  “Away with you,” she said, waving a flabby hand at him. “I’ll not be bullied. These lovely young people need to know the truth, and if nobody else will tell them, I will.”

  “Anne I think it’s time to leave,” said Petunia, looking flustered and apologetic at the same time.

  “No I won’t have it, I won’t be silenced!”

  Mrs. Briggs was now causing quite the scene, and their corner table had the full attention of all the other patrons.

  “I won’t ask you again,” Will hissed between gritted teeth.

  “You won’t stop me, not like last time!”

  “That’s enough!” Will said, grabbing Mrs. Briggs roughly by the arm as she was half-walked half-dragged to the door.

  “‘Ware the woods! Hear me now! ‘Waaaaare the woods!” she wailed dramatically.

  “‘Ware em yourself,” came a single voice from the other side of the pub, followed by a short bray of laughter.

  Steve didn’t find it funny though and, by the look on her face, neither did Melody. Mrs. Briggs was unceremoniously bundled outside, and her cronies quickly followed, keeping their heads low and eyes down. Steve and Melody sat awkwardly at the now empty table, not enjoying the unwanted attention. They could feel the eyes of the locals burning into them, and did the best job that they could to ignore it and act as if all was well.

  “I’m sorry about that. She doesn’t know when to stop,” Will said as he returned to their table.

  “It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”