When he’s gone, I start clearing away the plates. When I make pancakes, there’s batter on the countertop and a stack of utensils in the sink, but the only evidence of Jack having made anything are the leftovers and crockery we used. I carry everything to the sink, but we’re out of washing-up liquid so I wander into the utility room off to the side of the hallway.
But, as I’m searching through storage baskets, I accidentally knock a bottle of detergent behind the metal shelving unit. Sighing, I drag the unit away from the wall to retrieve it.
Then I see it.
A door. It’s painted the same eggshell white as the walls. If I hadn’t physically moved the shelving unit, I’d never have discovered it. This isn’t the entrance to the basement; that’s on the other side of the house. There are two deadbolts on the outside and a keyhole lock beneath the handle.
A feeling of wrongness slips down my spine. I slide the bolts out of their holsters. They’re stiff, like they haven’t been used in a long time. My fingers curl around the door handle, my heart beating a little faster. Maybe I should wait for Jack. Or … I push down on the handle. It’s locked.
In the hallway, I peer through the window, but Jack is still on the phone, and I don’t want to disturb him, so I search the little grey-painted key box mounted on the wall beside the front door. Ada has the same one, bought as a Christmas present by Kathryn last year. I pluck all the keys from their little hooks and try each one until I hear the unmistakable click of success. Then I stare down into yawning darkness. When I flip the switch on the pantry-side wall, the basement is bathed in artificial light. Carefully, I make my way down the narrow stairs and realise the basement is split into two halves. The half I’ve always known is full of old kayaking equipment, but this half has the makings of a bedroom with its double bed, nightstand and chest of drawers. I try to open them, but they’re locked. To the right of the bed is a second door which leads into a little bathroom with a tiny shower cubicle, a toilet and a sink. I turn back to the nightstand and try the top drawer. It opens easily. Inside are loose sheets of paper, stationery, a CD, and an old Nokia, which I pick up eagerly, wondering if it would still work.
‘Elodie?’
I jump. The Nokia flies from my hand, hits the floor and skitters beneath the bed.
Jack is standing on the stairs.
‘Did you know this place was here?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, of course.’
‘How did I not know about a secret room?’
‘Didn’t know it was a secret.’
‘It was hidden behind a shelving unit!’
‘Not very well if you found it.’
He’s trying to be breezy, like it’s perfectly normal to have a secret basement room in your house. No different from having windows or light switches. ‘Jack, why didn’t I know about this place?’
He casually scratches the corner of his mouth with his thumb. Casually shoves his hands into his pockets. Casually makes his way further down the stairs. Only, there is nothing casual about Jack right now. He’s uncomfortable. Why is he uncomfortable?
‘Jack?’
‘I don’t like this room. Let’s go.’
‘Why?’
He looks away.
‘Why?’ I move closer to him, trying to catch his eye. ‘Jack?’
His jaw is clenched, his mouth is a hard line. He isn’t just uncomfortable. He’s tense. I lay a hand on his arm and he flinches, ever so slightly. Some of the tension creeps into my own body. I wait for him to open up because he won’t be pushed.
‘This is where I stayed whenever I came with Jeffrey. When it was just the two of us.’
‘Your Easter trips?’
He nods.
I always thought it odd that Jeffrey and Jack came away to Wisteria alone, but Mum said Kathryn insisted, claiming it was important they had time to bond.
‘Okay …’ I say gently. ‘But why would you sleep down here when there are several spare rooms in the house?’ I make a show of looking at the windowless walls and the basic furnishings. It pales in comparison to the lavish bedrooms above.
He suddenly looks very young and vulnerable. I reach out and take his hand.
‘I didn’t just sleep down here, Fray. I lived down here.’
‘But … why?’
‘It wasn’t a choice. The moment we arrived, he’d toss me down here.’
‘That doesn’t make sense. You went hiking and kayaking and had BBQs on the beach.’
He’s shaking his head. ‘Never happened.’