111 West End

Chapter Three: The Storm

After the room lit up, it plunged into darkness. Georgie pulled the duvet up to her chin and waited as a few minutes passed. A loud clap of thunder followed the lightning and rattled the bedroom windows.

The storm outside had begun whilst Georgie slept and she'd woken with a start, disorientated, forgetting for a moment where she was.

The next flash of light illuminated the huge oak wardrobe they'd inherited with the house, the two large radiators, one in each corner near the window, and the crystal drops on the chandelier above her head.

Another flash of light had her sitting up in bed.

To her left, Nick slept soundly. He snored softly, oblivious to the storm. Georgie slid out of bed without making a sound. The room was icy cold. She shivered as she pulled on her robe and slipped her feet into her white, fluffy slippers.

The hall outside the bedroom door was in darkness.

In the daylight, she could see the mismatched repairs in the mortar between the grey stones, and the moss that filled the cast iron guttering. And below, the glass roof above the kitchen diner.

In the night she saw nothing—but she heard the constant draught whistling through every thick wooden window frame, every heavy door, and every ornate fireplace. This house was not a quiet house. This house was not a peaceful house.

Georgie pulled her robe tighter as she made a mental note to buy curtains—heavy, thick, velvet curtains. Neither she nor Nick had considered the cost of heating a house of this size. They'd been so caught up in the romance of living here. But with high ceilings came exorbitant bills.

She made her way down the cantilevered staircase, her hand stroking the smooth wood of the banisters. She'd loved the staircase from the moment they stepped into the house. It was a stunning example of Georgian architecture and her mind instantly filled with images of a grand Christmas tree decorated with shiny baubles and silver, brightly lit candelabras. She could almost smell the turkey, taste the wine, and hear the chatter.

The wall at the end of the passageway was devoid of ornament or pictures. The deep red of the wallpaper would complement a clock. Or rather, a clock would complement the deep red... Georgie imagined the walnut wood, the gold numbers on an ivory face, the ebony hands, and the soothing ticking. Tomorrow she would look online for a local auction house.

The aga in the kitchen was warm to the touch and Georgie rested her hands against the oven doors, savouring the heat as she waited for the kettle to boil. Rain lashed against the roof in a thunderous rhythm. Georgie studied the glass and the dark timbers above her head. It seemed safe. Sturdy and unbreakable. She squinted, trying to find even one drip of water, but there was nothing. The kettle clicked off as another bolt of lightning lit up the sky.

She poured the water into her mug and stirred the tea bag, adding a splash of milk. With her mug in her hand, she walked from the kitchen to the lounge. She didn't turn on the ceiling light, instead, she turned on the lamp. The soft glow of light instantly warmed the room. How splendid the room was? Heavy Georgian doors with beautifully crafted frames and shiny brass doorknobs. The grey marble fireplace would be cosy and welcoming when lit.

Above, a thick ornate coving of swirling leaves and plump berries made the ceilings appear grander, higher, and more impressive. The heavy brass and crystal chandelier twinkled, suspended from a decorative ceiling rose, now painted ivory. Georgie imagined the coving and ceiling rose painted gold—if the house was hers and not rented. In a similar way, the walls, now an insipid beige, she could imagine papered and painted a pale blue or soft pink. In the Victorian era, they would decorate with bold colours—red like the hallway or earthy green. The eye for detail when designing this room had been precise, deliberate, and feminine. She couldn't say how she knew it was a woman's work. It was a knowing, deep within her.

The storm showed no sign of blowing itself out and Georgie sat on the sofa with her feet tucked under her. She cradled the mug in her hands. The minutes passed as she sipped her tea and watched the storm light up the garden pond. Georgie yawned and looked at her watch. It was past midnight. She should try to get some sleep. Georgie placed her mug on the side table and rose stiffly from the sofa, stretching her arms above her head. She switched off the lamp and stepped out into the hallway. The storm flashed and rumbled somewhere in the distance. The rain had eased at last.

As she walked along the passageway, she didn't notice the ticking. As she climbed the stairs, she didn't hear the rustle of fabric. But, as she walked along the gallery, she felt the draught, the sudden chill, and she heard the thud. In her daze, she got back into bed, closed her eyes, and slept.

  Morning brought sunshine and clear skies. Steam rose from the water-logged lawns. The pond had overflowed from the sheer quantity of rain.

Georgie was unpacking a box marked kitchen when Nick finally made his way downstairs.

"Morning," he mumbled before pouring a black coffee and sitting at the kitchen table. "Looks like we had quite a storm last night."

Georgie stopped looking for a space in the cupboards for the ice cream maker Nick had bought her last Christmas (which she had never used) and frowned at him.

"I swear you'd sleep through a hurricane."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yes, that bad. It woke me up around eleven and I couldn't sleep after that, so I came downstairs to watch the lightning from the lounge. It was quite something." Georgie crouched to rearrange the saucepans.

"I need my beauty sleep more than you." Nick took a sip of his coffee and flinched. "No sugar," he grumbled. Georgie shoved the ice cream maker to the back of the cupboard and shut the door so she wouldn't see it again.

"Sugar. Spoon." She placed the items in front of Nick.

"Thanks."

"Will you sort out your boxes today?" She watched him tip three sugars into his coffee and stir.

"That's the plan. I have to get my office sorted before next week." He took another sip of his coffee.

"Why?"

"I have a job starting... In Germany. I'll be away for two weeks."

"You never said." Georgie could feel the panic. Two weeks.

"I thought it best to wait until after the move. I didn't want to add any more stress. Moving is stressful enough."

"Oh."

"You'll be fine, Georgie. Two weeks is nothing. It'll go by in a flash." Nick looked apologetic.

"I just wish you didn't have to go." Georgie's chest tightened.

"It's what I do. It's my job."

"I know."

"Georgie..."

"It's fine, I'm fine."

"Sure." Nick left the room taking his mug with him.

Georgie stood among the boxes and rubbed her forehead. She'd be ok... it was only two weeks.