The man stares up at the CCTV, straight into Pigalle’s eyes.
What are you thinking, monsieur? What have you done?
Eventually, the man turns away – following the woman’s gaze to life beyond the window. Pigalle looks out. Passers-by occasionally glance in at them, mild interest on their faces. But what are they looking at? Just a man and a woman, trapped and slowly falling apart behind a large pane of glass.
Thirty-Six
SATURDAY NIGHT
The house was a lot less welcoming than Tristan had hoped for. From the forums he’d joined, he’d got the impression that the place was occasionally used by hikers who’d planned an overnight trip. He was expecting the rooms to be empty, maybe swept clean. Perhaps with some things left behind by other walkers and climbers that might be of use to the next person to come across the place. But it was not like that.
It was more like the abandoned house in a horror movie.
The first room, which the front door opened into, was mostly empty. The corners piled high with dead leaves and twigs, the occasional flash of white from some rubbish hidden amongst the detritus as he swung the torch into the corners. He wrinkled his nose. The air stank of dirt and dust, and something worse underneath, old and decaying.
The room leading off was the kitchen, with a wooden table and chairs that looked like they would collapse if touched. There was an old cooker, coated in a mix of old soot and grease. And a huge sink with a pool of stinking brown water and various things partially submerged. Tristan had no urge to uncover what might be in there. He shone the torch over the filthy draining board and a family of small beetles skittered away into the cracked woodwork behind.
‘Can I come in yet?’ Cat’s voice cut through the darkness, making him jump.
‘Just one more minute. I was going to check upstairs.’ He took in the narrow wooden staircase at the far end of the room. There was a faint dripping sound coming from somewhere up above. He shone the torch up to the ceiling. The beams were dark, and bowing, as if water had been dripping on them for a very long time. A leak in the roof. Probably one of many. But it made him nervous about the safety of the floors upstairs.
He walked to the bottom of the stairs, shone the torch up and into the corners. Then back down to the stairs in front. They looked mostly intact, but that didn’t mean they were safe. He took a tentative step on to the first one, testing his weight. Seemed OK. He took another step, and this time the stair creaked under his weight. Maybe it would be OK, but thinking about it – did they really need to go up there?
He abandoned the stairway and went back through to the first of the rooms. There was the faintest of breezes from the open door. The torch’s beam caught Cat’s face. She put her hand to her brow, shielding her eyes.
‘Well? Is it safe?’
‘I think so. But I think it might be best if we stick to this room.’ He directed the torch into the corners, then up the walls, across the ceiling. No dripping in here. It seemed more robust. It would do.
‘There’s a funny smell . . .’ Cat said. He shone the torch back on to her and took in her unimpressed face. Christ. What was she expecting? Who knows what had crawled into this place and died, but at least if they hunkered down with the door shut, it would keep them away from anything else that might be lurking in the woods. He had no idea what time it was now, but it must be well into the night. They only had a few hours to go.
‘Just come in and get the door shut. I’ll light some candles.’ He held the torch between his knees as he slipped off the straps of his rucksack and dropped it on the floor.
Cat came inside, pushing the door carefully shut behind her. She took her own rucksack off and laid it down beside his. ‘What’s through there?’ She gestured towards the open doorway, the movement of her arm causing shadows to jump up the wall.
‘Kitchen. It’s horrible though. I wouldn’t bother.’ He walked over to the wall by the front door. There was a window. He hadn’t noticed it before, as it was boarded up. ‘Here, can you hold this?’ He handed Cat the torch, then slid his fingertips under one edge of the wood. It was soft from years of damp, and it crumbled away in his hands. He slid a fist into the gap he’d made, then pulled away the rest of the boards. The window was filthy, but intact.
He turned to Cat. ‘Better to have the boards off. As soon as there’s a hint of light, we can make a move.’ He ripped one of the dirty ragged curtains off the rail and used it to wipe a patch of grime off the glass, then he threw the filthy fabric in the corner, on top of the leaves and god knows what lurked beneath, then wiped his hands on his shorts.