56. Winnie

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

WINNIE

Faye: Winnie, I got a job through this morning and they asked for you specifically. That’s a bit rude – I hope you’re not telling clients to do that. We are supposed to be partners.

But I suppose it’s okay just this once since I have some promo for the TV show to shoot today and a couple of long lunches.

I’ll also need you to brainstorm some ideas for a new clutter anagram. People are going to be confused by Winnie Wins because my name isn’t Winnie! Ta, doll!

“ Y ou better not be getting rid of any of my stuff,” Mum calls out as I drag four heavy tote bags filled with Savemart purchases into the hallway, where the hotel manager waits to whisk them away to the tip.

Clack-clack-clack goes the keys on the typewriter she rescued from someone’s skip bin the other day, burrowing into my skull.

“Of course not.” I shut the door as quietly as possible and start shifting cups around our small kitchenette. “I’m making a cup of tea. Do you want one?”

Clack-clackity-clack.

“Sure, thank you, honey. You’re always so considerate. I’m in the middle of writing my memoir. I’ve had such an interesting life. When I publish this, I’ll be rich and famous and we won’t even need to wait on the silly insurance to get a new house. It’s going to be amazing.”

Clack-clack-clackity-CLACK-CLACK.

Stab me with a rusty spoon.

I push a bunch of half-empty cereal cartons off the bench I cleaned yesterday and unearth the kettle. As I lift the lid on the jar containing the tea bags, a little mouse pokes his head out and wiggles his whiskers at me.

I wish I could say that mouse made me scream, but the truth is that I’m now used to seeing them again and hearing their little rodent feet scurrying around at night. The hotel isn’t exactly top-of-the-line, but it’s all I can afford.

I replace the lid of the tea tin and hunt out another stash of teabags in the cupboard that bear no signs of teeth marks, while Mum clacks away in the bedroom. As I bring her tea through to her, she flips on the telly. An ad for the Clutter Queen show blares from the screen, Faye’s grinning face mocking me.

“Turn that off before I pull a Keith Moon and toss the telly out the window.”

“But this place doesn’t have a swimming pool. All you’d do is drop it on the cafe awning downstairs.” Mum flips the channels. “I don’t understand why you’re not on the show. I thought you and Faye were business partners.”

I thought so, too.

Another mouse scurries along the skirting board behind the tallboy. I yelp and dart into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.

I can’t live like this anymore.

I’ve been sharing the small hotel suite with Mum for the last month. The rebuild on her and Ken and Barry’s places can’t begin until the insurance pays out, and they’re dragging their heels. So for now, she’s homeless.

At least I managed to drag her to a doctor after she wouldn’t stop coughing, and she’s been diagnosed with a severe respiratory illness from the dust and mould that accumulated in her old place. She also hasn’t cooked for herself for nearly two decades, since her hoarding put the kitchen out of commission, so she’s severely malnourished and can barely fend for herself. This means that when I’m not working, I’m nurse, chef, maid, and amateur psychologist. She needs my help, and I don’t exactly have anywhere else to go.

Being busy is good. I’m helping Mum and it keeps my mind off a forlorn castle where a certain grumpy, beautiful vampire used to live…

But some days, I can’t see how I’ll ever dig us out of this hole. Like today.

I sit on the closed lid of the loo and try to sob into my hands so Mum doesn’t hear me.

I’m drowning in my trauma.

I miss Alaric. I miss him so bad that the pain is physical – a constant tightness in my chest, like the butterflies are being stretched on a rack. I miss his wry humour and his rare laugh and the way he made me feel safe…until he didn’t.

I miss having friends like the Nevermore Murder Club and Smutty Book Coven. I miss being able to sink into a comfy beanbag and unload my problems on empathetic women.

I miss laughing.

I miss Black Crag’s creepy, gothic beauty.

I miss Reginald’s hot chocolate.

I miss Mirabelle’s mischievous nature and mouse-catching abilities.

I miss Alaric. I might’ve mentioned that.

I miss myself .

I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m not the same person who left on that train to Argleton, but I don’t recognise this new Winnie, either. She’s like a stained glass window that’s been smashed to pieces and put back together by a stoned squirrel.

Clack-clack-clackity-clack-clack.

Inside the walls of this motel room, I’ve lost Winnie. Mum needs me so much. But even though her hoarding is the cause of the fire, she can’t seem to stop. Every day when I come home from work there are more Savemart boxes and piles of random papers. The cleaning staff complained to management about the state of our room, so on top of everything else I now have to try and sneak her stuff out so we don’t lose the room.

Mum switches to the Home Shopping channel. I dab my eyes several times until I’m calm enough to move, then smooth down my outfit and exit the bathroom.

“I have to go to a job.”

“What about your tea? You left it on the tallboy.”

“You have it.” I square my shoulders and plaster a smile on my face. “I don’t need tea. I’m fuelled by my torn cuticles and feminine rage.”

I dash outside before she can waylay me to read her memoir. While I wait for my Uber, I pull up my bank account app and stare at the number, wishing it was bigger. I’ve been working ten hours a day, taking on as many Clutter Queen jobs as I can fit in (which is all of the jobs, since Faye is busy with the TV show). I’m trying to save enough money to get Mum into a flat of her own so I don’t have to listen to typewriter keys pounding in my skull.

At least the work keeps me occupied; it keeps me from thinking about him .

Because when I think too much, I start to wonder if maybe we could have found a way through the gulf that divides us. I begin to ask myself if my trauma had made me overreact to his secret room, or if my visceral reaction to the idea of the Kiss is more about my fear of committing to someone who might let me down. I bet that’s what Harudha would say if I could still afford to see her.

But then I’ll remember that Alaric did let me down, and he was supposed to be the one thing in the world that was safe. And that it doesn’t matter if I change my heart about any of it, because he’s gone off to live a happy bohemian life in Italy with Perdita.

They’ll be good for each other. Better than he and I ever were.

And the worst part is, I can’t even talk to the Nevermore Murder Club and Smutty Book Coven about it all.

At first, the girls sent me updates about their ongoing murder investigation. Gideon had the body examined by a vampire doctor who said it wasn’t a husking. He said it looked as if the guy had been attacked by some kind of large animal, like a dog, but the Nevermore Murder Club weren’t satisfied. But after I didn’t answer them, they slowly stopped texting. Last week they removed me from the group chat. That stung almost as much as Alaric leaving with Perdita.

It’s just as well. They were a fun part of my life for a while, but my world is Mum and insurance companies and trying to save my business relationship. I can’t be distracted by supernatural shenanigans and book clubs. It’s not as if I have any time to read anymore, and I shouldn’t be thinking about…

What’s happened to Black Crag now Alaric’s in Europe with Perdita? Is it falling into disrepair? Does Reginald live there by himself? I imagine he’s keeping the silver polished until Alaric and his beautiful vampire wife return next summer to enjoy hosting balls and swimming in the grotto…

No. I jam my fist into my eyes, willing the graphic images to leave my skull. Don’t think about what they might be doing.

Alaric isn’t mine. He never was.

This was always how it was supposed to be.

When I arrive at the new client’s Belgravia house, I suck in an awed breath. Even by Clutter Queen standards, this house is hella posh. All of the fancy windows appear mirrored, throwing black reflections of the tidy street. I wonder briefly if Patrick might have installed them. His company made bespoke windows and he worked on several old houses in this neighbourhood. I shove the thought away. I don’t want to think about my poor ex-fiancé now, either.

I check for mouse droppings or cereal crumbs on my coat, smooth down my hair as best I can, and reach for the bell.

“Oh, thank the gods. I was terrified you wouldn’t show.” A woman throws open the door before I ring. She tugs a black veil down over her face like a sinister Victorian widow. Her comically large beaded earrings make a tinkling sound as she darts forward. “Come in quickly. I have to get out of the sun.”

She’s a vampire.

I don’t know what gives away her secret. Perhaps it’s the alabaster pallor of her skin beneath the veil or the excruciating beauty of her voluptuous figure. Possibly it’s the ancient tilt of her eyes, as if she has seen through eons and has too many stories to tell. But when she wraps her long fingers around my arm to drag me inside, and I feel the coolness of her undead skin, I know that I’m right.

She slams the door behind me. Inside, the house is bright, even though the windows are so dark they are practically blacked out. Expertly placed lighting illuminates large pieces of modern artwork against crisp white walls. The old Victorian house has been gutted and reimagined as an modern open plan space – architectural features like ornate cornices and plaster details sharing space with a dazzling floating glass staircase and steel industrial design. Every space has been tastefully adorned with designer furniture and yet more artwork.

“You must be Winnie. I’m Viviana. Welcome to my home.” Viviana sweeps her arm dramatically around. “I’m told that you have a way with people like me, that you can help us to celebrate the life we have lived while enabling us to let go of what we no longer need to carry.”

Who said that about me? But it’s rude to ask, so instead I nod vigorously. “Thank you for trusting me. You have a beautiful home. Perhaps you could show me where you need my help.”

Viviana leads me down a wide corridor to what is clearly intended to be a bedroom, but it’s packed with stuff. I bite back the bile sticking in my throat at the sight of those stacks and piles.

Viviana called me because she wants to get rid of her stuff. Unlike certain other vampires that shall not be mentioned, she wants to change.

“My wife and I have had our application accepted by the Conclave,” she says. “We are siring a new vampire.”

“You’re giving someone the Kiss?” I can’t help the fission of curiosity running down my spine.

“We are! Not a child, you understand. That’s not allowed. But they will be our child, someone who has been let down by their human life and deserves another chance. They will need to live with us while they adjust to their new form, so I’m making this room ready for them.” She smiles wistfully. “My wife and I have carted these objects around many homes over our lifetime. Each one of them is a memory from our lives together, but it’s time to clear them out to make room for new memories. It’s such a big job and I haven’t been able to face it. I’m afraid?—”

“I can help you,” I assure her. “I have a system, the Winnie Wins System, although I’m not sure it’s quite the right thing here. But let’s get started and we’ll see where we end up.”

I work with Viviana for hours, long into the night, and I enjoy myself so much that I don’t even need to pull out one of my playlists. She pours herself a glass of blood, orders Indian on UberEats for me, and makes herself comfortable on a Timothy Oulton pouf while I hold up each object for her to make her decisions.

It takes a long time because, for every piece I hold up, Viviana has a story to tell me about where she acquired it and its significance to one of her many lovers. But I love every moment. She draws me in with her stories – the places she’s travelled, the world history she’s been part of, and her literal eternal zest for life and adventure. And now she’s on the cusp of another adventure – siring a new vampire with her love. For the first time since I was at Black Crag, I feel the insatiable itch of doing good work. Work that helps someone, even if that someone is a rich, vivacious vampire.

I realise at some point during hour three that part of my job is to be a witness for memories. Viviana needs to touch each object, to speak its significance, and only once this is done can she release it.

“I have an idea,” I say.

Viviana helps me clear a wall in her hallway. We place each item in front of it as though it’s a piece of art, and I snap a photo with my phone. I’ll put them in an album for her, so she can return to the pieces and their memories without needing to physically keep the items.

“This is working, Winnie.” Viviana pours herself another glass and clicks a button near the window so the glass becomes opaque, letting in a square of pale moonlight. “I’ve been staring at this room for months, willing myself to begin, but it seemed so daunting to sift through all these memories. You make it so manageable. And you never make me feel silly for carrying these things around for years.”

I wish I had done the same for Alaric. I made him so afraid of being himself that he created a secret room to hide his heart from me.

“Thank you for sharing your life with me,” I say. “This has been a special job. Now, what about this jewellery box? The markings on the bottom look French?—”

“Oh my.” Viviana’s hand flies to her mouth. I’m surprised to see tears spring in the vampire’s eyes. “That’s…I didn’t know I kept that…”

“Are you okay?” I quickly set it down. “Do you need a moment alone?”

“It’s fine.” She waves her hand in front of her face. “It was centuries ago. It’s simply that…I loved a human once. The great love of my life.”

My heart hammers against my chest. “You did?”

“This was during my early days as an Upyr, before many of the rules we have today about what is right and proper for vampire/human relations. I was in the French court and I met a woman there. A lady-in-waiting – the most remarkable woman, with a voice like stardust and the most impeccable taste for the finest things in life. She gave me that jewellery box so that I would remember her whenever I was at my toilette, making myself beautiful for her. She wanted me to give her the Kiss. Begged me for it. I refused her.”

“Why?”

I shouldn’t pry, but I’m so curious about it, and Alaric never told me a thing except how much he hated his mother for giving him the Kiss.

“I told her that I loved her as she was and I didn’t want her to become a monster like me. Finally, she grew tired of asking and married another. I haven’t thought of her in such a long time, but oh…” Viviana turns the box in her fingers, her voice shaking. “You see…I realised decades later that I lied to her. I didn’t refuse her because I was afraid of turning her into a monster. I was afraid that if she knew the joy of eternal life, then she would have no need of me anymore. I didn’t believe that love could endure over centuries. In time, everything crumbles. Walls, civilisations, hearts. I was so scared of losing her that I ended up driving her away.”

The hard lump in my throat makes it difficult for me to get words out. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Viviana hands me the jewellery box. “I want you to keep this, Winnie. Let it remind you to never be too stubborn or too afraid to love. Things that break can be repaired, and become all the more beautiful for the cracks. Eternity is a long time for regrets.”

I shouldn’t accept such a gift from a client, especially not one dripping with rubies and gold filigree, but once she places it in my hand I find it impossible to let it go.

“Thank you,” I whisper, forcing back the tears pricking in my own eyes.

Eternity is a long time for regrets.

In time, everything crumbles…

…even walls as high as mountains.

By the time Viviana ushers me out the door, it’s close to midnight. We’ve made a serious dent in her collections and she’s made me agree to return next week. I struggle to accept her praise. My mind is hundreds of miles away, in a gloomy castle perched atop a rocky crag, sitting in front of a cosy fire across from a man whose fathomless eyes still haunt my dreams.

With the jewellery box under my arm, I return to the motel, my skin already crawling with invisible bugs – bugs that I cannot seem to banish. I slide my key into the lock but can’t quite convince myself to turn it, to walk back into the living nightmare that is my life.

But as I’m debating heading out to drink myself into a stupor, I hear my mother’s voice inside…and another voice as well.

She’s arguing with the telly.

But I can’t shake the timbre of that voice. Even through the door, it courses through my body, curling my toes and waking the butterflies from their deep slumber.

It’s a voice that absolutely shouldn’t be here .

It’s Alaric.