Chapter 7: Seven - A London Haunting: A Christmas Ghost Story

“Lottie, it’s Sarah. Mr Lord’s been on the phone. Complaining.”

“Yes, yes, I know he has.”

“You’re not fulfilling the brief.”

“I’m not?” Lottie’s temper spiked. “Sarah, did any of you actually visit Mr Lord before taking him on as a client, or was it all arranged over the phone?”

“I…Well…Um.”

The fact that bored, blasé Sarah was stuttering told Lottie all she needed to know.

“He wants you replaced,” Sarah continued, defensive now.

“No.”

A moment of stunned silence followed her refusal. Lottie could picture all too well Sarah’s pinched little face glaring at the receiver instead of constantly admiring her nails, usually painted the most hideous shade of pink.

“I don’t think you under––”

“No,” Lottie said again, firmer. “And it’s you who doesn’t understand. No one will take the job of looking after Reg – Mr Lord.”

“Of course they will! It’s well paid.”

“It isn’t. But be my guest – try. No one will last. Except me.”

“But…why?”

“Okay, right. Well, since you’ve never been there, at least, I’ll explain.”

This time Sarah stayed quiet, while Lottie laid it all out for her: the strangeness, the suffocating atmosphere, the locked windows, the kitchen drawers and cupboards that were locked too. Even the living room door – she knew because she’d tried it again before being thrown out, nothing to lose if she did.

He truly expected a carer to just sit with him, ten till five, in that one room upstairs. No conversation, no TV, no radio, no distractions. Nothing.

No one would endure that.

No one but her.

What Lottie didn’t tell Sarah was the thing that had happened after Reggie caught her in the kitchen – before she’d even let Tony in. That part she was keeping to herself, still unsettled by how much stranger things had become.

He’d stood there, blocking the doorway – an old man, yes, but solid enough, almost towering over her. And his face…ah, his face had been twisted almost beyond recognition, not merely with indignation, but with something close to fury.

As she’d stared back at him, her own body racked with emotion – not least guilt, because he’d told her not to do this, not to snoop, as he’d put it – his anger engulfed her. It was as though there was a chasm inside Reggie Lord, filled top to bottom with rage, and there he was dragging them both headlong into it.

“I’ve told you…” he’d continued, barely able to get the words out whole. “When you come into this house, you’re to go upstairs. Straight upstairs!”

She’d opened her mouth, unsure what would come out – defence, denial, or an admission of guilt. Ideally, an apology, because it was true: she shouldn’t have strayed without asking first. Swallowing hard, feeling smaller and smaller as he loomed larger and larger, she heard not her own voice but something else. Something beyond his ranting. Beyond Tony calling out again, ‘Lottie, pet?’

She felt it – in her bones – a vibration. The kind you might experience if you lived near a train station: the rumble of the overnighter to Inverness or the early bird service to Manchester, shaking the very foundations of the house.

The doors too. The cupboards.

The locked doors and cupboards.

The wrath of Reggie Lord still held her in its grip, and it took all her will to tear her gaze from him and look around, but it was just as she’d thought: the doors and cupboards were rattling, as though something alive was trapped on the other side.

“Mr Lord,” she whispered, her voice trembling, almost pitiful. “What is that? What’s happening? Can you feel it? Can you see it? The cupboard doors, Mr Lord – the drawers – look at them. Look at what they’re doing!”

Finally, he wrenched his gaze from her – and when he did, he…slumped. No longer looming, he seemed as shaken as she was, sagging back against the door.

Lottie rushed to him, calling down the hall as she went. “Tony, wait – just a minute. I’ll be there soon. Sorry!”

The rattling stilled. Tony’s voice faded. Only Reggie’s ragged breathing remained.

“It’s all right, Mr Lord, I’m here. You’re safe. But…what was that?”

She shouldn’t press him – he was still struggling for breath – but if he was in shock, so was she.

What just happened shouldn’t have.

Reggie did not live near a train station.

The time for questions, though, was later. For now, she had to help him back upstairs. She’d reached towards him, half-dreading that touch might bring on another vision, but before she could, as he’d done when waking earlier, he batted her away.

“Out,” he rasped.

“Mr Lord––”

“I said out! You’re in breach of the rules. Rules I’ve been clear on. Fetch your things, get out of my house, and don’t come back.”

There was no use remonstrating with him, no point trying to explain herself – not then. He was far too agitated. She did as he asked and hurried upstairs for her rucksack, taking one last look around the room before coming back down. He was still there in the kitchen doorway, straighter, his expression now glacial.

She shouldn’t have done what came next either – knew it would only inflame him further – but she had to be sure. The living room door. Was it really locked?

She pushed at the door. She pulled. Locked tight.

As he’d shouted ‘girl’ at her again, she’d bolted to the front door and found Tony on the other side of it, bemused, holding aloft the fan she’d asked for.

She didn’t take it, just turned him around and begged for a lift instead.

In truth, she’d been glad to get out of there. But now, all she wanted was to return.

Though she hadn’t told Sarah everything, she’d said enough to make her pause.

“Right, I see,” Sarah said, sounding – dare Lottie think it – interested. “Um…”

“I’ll go back tomorrow,” Lottie said, filling the silence. “I’ll apologise.”

“Of course you’ll apologise! But if there’s any more trouble––”

“There won’t be.”

“Toe the line, Lottie. The client is the client. It’s his way––”

“––or the highway. Yes, I know.”

“Okay then. See how you go and report back.”

Report back? Lottie almost laughed.

She would not be reporting back, at least not all of it. As she’d just done, she’d tell the agency only what she had to and nothing more – just like they’d done with her. Meanwhile, she’d work to uncover who Reggie Lord truly was, and how he’d come to be in the predicament he was in.

To do that, she’d have to open herself up psychically – more than ever before.

It was only when the call ended that any triumph in her smile faded.