Free The Secret of Crickley Hall by James Herbert

them. And Gabe, himself? Well, he was aware his old aloofness had returned, that he kept his emotions on a tight rein, allowing no one in, afraid of letting go. He was conscious of his own lack of overt emotion, didn't like it in himself, but he was afraid of lowering his defences once more. He tried, oh how he tried, but instead feigned a superficial cheerfulness. Not just for the sake of his family and friends, but for himself also. Inside, he was hurting badly.
    'Choose a couple anyway,' he said to Loren, indicating the magazine rack.
    'Thanks, Dad.' She picked out the magazine she had dropped only a few moments ago.
    The bell over the door tinkled as the hefty girl and her brother left the shop.
    'These'll do for tonight and tomorrow's lunch, Gabe.' Eve was holding several packs in her arms: tagliatelles, shepherd's pies, steak and mushroom pies and a vegetable mix.
    'They'll do for about a week,' he commented, taking some of the packs from her.
    'Hardly. Not with you three gannets. I'll do a proper shop on Monday. There's bound to be a Tesco or, with luck, a Waitrose in one of the local towns.' She had lowered her voice, presumably so as not to offend the shopkeeper who was watching them attentively.
    'Bring your magazines, Loren,' Gabe said over his shoulder as he followed Eve over to the cash till. 'Sparky, where you got to?'
    Cally's squeaky voice came from behind a display of kitchen utensils. 'Coming, Daddy.' She appeared clutching a jumbo bag of Maltesers in her hands as well as the original Smarties.
    Grinning, Gabe shook his head. 'That's too much. Ask your mother.'
    'No, Cally, just one thing, just the Smarties, okay?' Eve told her.
    'But, Mummy
    'No buts,' Gabe said firmly. 'Put the big pack back.'
    Having extorted at least one prize, Cally scooted back to the confectionery shelves.
    While the shopkeeper was totting up the bill on the cash register, Gabe returned to the rack and picked out the book he had glanced through before. He also took an Ordnance Survey map of the Hollow Bay area.
    'Some flood,' he said as he laid the book on the counter and pointed at the black-and-white photograph of the devastated village on the cover.
    The shopkeeper's severe expression had considerably softened now that the evidently troublesome brother and sister had departed and her new customers had made a decent purchase. 'It happened in the night,' she responded as she put the packs in plastic bags marked with the store's name. 'Sixty-eight people crushed or drowned. Don't think Hollow Bay's ever got over it even after all these years.'
    You got that right , Gabe thought to himself. There was definitely something brooding about the harbour village, a kind of heaviness in the very air. Then again, maybe it was only due to the constant rain: it'd make anywhere seem miserable. He nodded his head sympathetically at the woman. She took them all in, studying each member of his family individually through horn-rimmed glasses as she continued to pack by instinct alone.
    'Yer stayin' local like, are you?' she asked Eve after payment had been made.
    'Crickley Hall,' Eve said back and Gabe noticed the shopkeeper's eyes harden for a fraction of a second. 'My husband has business in these parts for a month or two,' Eve continued by way of explanation.
    'Yes, I heard it were bein' rented out again. S'been a long time since.' The woman folded her arms and suddenly looked formidable. But once again, she softened when she looked over the counter at Cally and Loren. 'Just you look after the little ones,' she said to Eve and Gabe both.
    Eve glanced round at Gabe and he raised and dropped his eyebrows at her.
     

 
     

    10: THE GRAVES
     
    The rain had thinned and turned into a steady drizzle as they made their way up the hill towards Crickley Hall. There were only a few houses on either side of the great gorge, and all looked solid, thick-walled, but none as austere, nor as big, as Crickley Hall. Gabe carried two plastic bags of groceries,