The Skeleton Tree by Diane Janes (reading women TXT) 📕

groped by a ghost, you know … Oh, isn’t she the one who drinks? Lost her licence, didn’t she?’

Wendy led the way out of the room. It had occurred to her that if she took John through the courtyard at the back, it would avoid any need for him to say goodbye to Bruce.

‘It’s quite a remarkable survival, you know,’ John said, as he followed her out of the back door. ‘A great many houses of this age have been altered beyond recognition. You’ve managed to retain a lot of the original features. Our chairman has been talking about the possibility of getting up a little tour, taking in some of the local buildings of interest and finishing with a few jars in a local hostelry. A lot of our members would love to see over The Ashes, I’m sure. You could show them around, tell the story and offer them your theory about the murder. Everyone loves a ghost story, after all.’

As they reached the corner of the house, they all but collided with Bruce, coming in the opposite direction. He had clearly heard the last part of the conversation and his face was pale with anger. His expression stopped Wendy dead, so John automatically stopped too.

‘No one will be seeing over this house unless they’re a prospective buyer,’ Bruce growled. ‘This is a family home, not a bloody peep show.’

‘We couldn’t make any definite arrangements,’ Wendy blundered in, trying to smooth things over. ‘Not with us liable to move at any time.’

‘If you’re interested in the house you’d better make an appointment through the estate agents,’ Bruce said. ‘Other than that, you and your ghoulish weirdo friends can keep away.’ He stalked past them and entered the garage, all but brushing John Newbould aside.

Wendy felt like weeping with embarrassment. The momentary silence that followed seemed like an eternity.

‘I’m sorry, Wendy, that I seem to have said the wrong thing.’ John’s voice betrayed both self-righteous annoyance and a degree of nervousness. ‘I regret that my little suggestion appears to have upset Bruce, but I don’t think he needed to be quite so offensive. No … please don’t apologize.’

Wendy had said nothing at all. She was still floundering, trying to form her mouth into appropriate shapes from which suitable platitudes could issue.

‘I do think, though, that you might have forewarned me about Bruce’s views on this matter.’ His voice had developed an aggrieved whine. ‘When all is said and done, you asked me to find out about the house for you. I gave up my own precious research time to look into it, and in return I have received a string of insults and what might well be construed as threatening behaviour. I can only say that I consider our friendship is at an end.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ Wendy found her voice as she accompanied him down the drive. ‘I really didn’t expect … you see, Bruce … well … I never thought …’

At the gate John paused to bluster about how it was fortunate that Wendy had been standing between Bruce and himself, as he wouldn’t normally have taken that kind of thing from anyone. Wendy stood stupefied with embarrassment, not only at her husband’s behaviour, but now at John Newbould’s too. She wasn’t much troubled by the withdrawal of the friendship, since the Newboulds had never been much more than acquaintances, but the thought that a version of the scene would soon be circulating the PTA, the squash club and every other village organization in which John Newbould had a finger – which was pretty much all of them – was deeply humiliating.

‘I trust,’ he said, ‘that I can still rely on you for the cheese and pineapple?’

‘Oh, yes … yes, of course.’

She found Bruce in the kitchen.

‘Why on earth were you so rude to him?’

‘He needed it. He’s the sort of prat that people ought to be rude to at regular intervals. And I don’t want him coming round here, spouting that sort of rubbish.’

‘It’s not rubbish,’ she said. ‘It all happened.’

‘Have you forgotten that we have children living in this house? Is that the type of thing you think you should be talking about? Murders? Ghosts? Is it any wonder the kids are having nightmares?’

‘That was weeks ago. Months ago … If you don’t want them to hear about it, then I suggest you keep your voice down. You’re shouting fit to wake the dead.’

‘The sooner Katie and Jamie are away from this house the better. I thought you’d gone far enough with this nonsense before, but guided tours? Christ, you’re getting worse.’

‘It wasn’t my idea. I hadn’t agreed to it.’

‘No, but you would have done. Admit it, you would have let him go ahead if I hadn’t been here.’

‘I don’t know. I expect I would have said “no” if I’d only had the opportunity, before you started laying down the law and acting the heavy-handed husband.’

‘Of course you wouldn’t have said “no”. You’d have jumped at the chance of showing the house off to a bunch of strangers, because you always do. Because it’s your house. Wendy’s blasted dream house. It would never occur to you to consider anyone else, not when it comes to this house. It wouldn’t matter if the kids were going to be scared to death, because nothing can get in the way of Wendy and her ego trip about her great big house.’

‘That’s absolutely not true, Bruce. Why are you saying these horrible things?’

He turned away, as if he was considering some invisible item on the kitchen table.

‘Bruce? You know these things you’re saying aren’t true.’

‘Of course they are. Ever since we came here … in fact, before we came here. Ever since you got hold of that money and became obsessed with this place, you’ve thought of nothing but this precious bloody house.’

‘I don’t know why you keep saying it’s my house. It belongs to all of us. It’s our home. We’ve always shared everything.’

‘It’s never been mine. Your aunt