The Whispers of Wilderwood Hall Read Online Free Page B

hurtle into an enormous room with equally spectacular amounts of ornate mouldings and
actual
mould on the walls.
    She’s wearing old boyfriend jeans and her favourite pink Arran knit jumper. Her blonde-white hair is piled up on top of her head with a pencil stuffed in it, holding it all in place. Against one wall is a bunch of big boards, filled with sketches and designs and swatches of paint and fabric. On the dusty but lavish mantelpiece sits Mum’s iPod dock, and White Star Line’s single – “Turn the Corner” – is blasting from the travel speaker.
    â€œ
Turn the corner
,” Mum carries on with the chorus, arms now outstretched, doing RJ’s line.
    â€œ
Take my hand
,” I sing, jokily holding my hand out to Mum. She grabs it, even though it’s a bit sticky with chocolate and marshmallow gloop.
    â€œ
Turn the corner
.” Mum pulls me to her.
    â€œ
Don’t be scared
,” I sing, mock sincere
.
    â€œ
Turn the corner
.” Mum tilts her head, stares lovingly at me.
    â€œ
I’ll be THERE!!
” I do that last bit in a dumb, over-the-top, operatic voice, and we both fall about laughing.
    Then Mum lets go long enough to walk across to the fireplace and turn the volume down on the next track so we can hear each other talk.
    In that tiny moment alone, I gaze around at the echoing, tatty room and my spirits sink again. What’s Mum done taking us – dragging
me
– here?
    â€œ What made you stick that song on?” I ask her. “Missing your husband, Mrs Johnstone?”
    My words are jagged with a hint of sarcasm. I can’t help it.
    â€œâ€˜Mrs Johnstone’… Ha! When will I get used to that?” Mum laughs, blissfully unaware of my barbed tone.
    It’s funny to think this is now Mum’s third surname. She started out as Sadie Price, was very, very briefly Sadie Harper (when she married my dad), and now she’s Sadie Johnstone. There are still plenty of Prices in our family – Granny and Uncle Ben and his family, who all emigrated to Australia – but now I’m the only one called Harper, since my dad doesn’t count. That suddenly feels a lot like lonely…
    â€œAnyway, yes, I’m missing RJ, but there’s plenty to be getting busy with here!” Mum replies, spinning around in her white Converse trainers, as happy with the prospect of doing up this dump as a little kid being locked inside Legoland for the night.
    I don’t join in with the spinning; instead I stare some more at the state of the broken-down room, and think that it’ll be a long, long time before Mum can get busy with details like paint and fabric. And it’s just as well RJ is away working; camping out in the servants’ quarters isn’t exactly rock ’n’ roll, is it? Plus I get Mum all to myself for just that little bit longer. We might be in the wrong place, but if I try really hard, maybe I can make-believe that it’s just me and her against the world, same as it’s always been…
    â€œAnyway, enough of the house. How are you feeling?” Mum asks as she twirls her way over to the floor-to-ceiling, rotting French windows and pushes them – with a struggle – wide open.
    â€œBetter,” I tell her. “Maybe I just needed a good sleep.”
    To be honest, I haven’t slept well for weeks, with the upheaval of Mum and RJ and their whirlwind romance. Though, when I think of it, it’s been longer than that. I haven’t slept well for months, really.
    â€œGood, I’m glad!” Mum smiles, stepping out on to the terrace. “You must have been exhausted after yesterday’s drama, Ellis.”
    â€œMum, it was hardly a drama,” I say, following her and crossing my arms against the brisk, chilly Scottish wind that’s penetrating my layers of clothes. “I was only out for a couple of minutes.”
    â€œA couple of minutes too long for my