House of Echoes by Barbara Erskine Page A

remember Beltane, or Baal from the Bible who came to represent the devil himself. Then I think heddon means heather – or a temple on a heathery hill or some such – ’
    ‘What did you say?’ Joss’s voice was sharp.
    ‘A temple – ’
    ‘No, before that. About the devil.’
    ‘Well, it’s just a possibility I suppose. Rather romantic really. Perhaps the original site housed a temple.’
    ‘There’s a local legend, David, that the devil lives here.’ Her voice was strangely thin and harsh.
    ‘And you sound afraid rather than amused. Oh, come on Joss.You’re not letting the credulous yokels get to you, are you?’ The jovial manner had dropped away abruptly. ‘You don’t believe in any of this, surely?’
    ‘Of course not.’ She laughed. ‘I’d just like to know why the house has this reputation. It is a bit sort of dramatic!’
    ‘Well, I suppose it is on dark nights with the wind howling round. I must say, I can’t wait to come and see it.’ There was a pause. ‘I don’t suppose I could look in this weekend, could I? I know it’s getting awfully near Christmas but term’s practically over. I can look a few things up for you; find a few books, perhaps?’
    She laughed, extraordinarily pleased. ‘Of course you can come! That would be wonderful. One thing we are not short of is space, providing you pack enough warm clothes. It’s like the Arctic here.’
    When Luke came in, carrying a filthy small boy, both of them cold and terribly pleased with themselves Joss was smiling to herself as she stirred a huge pan of soup. ‘David’s coming up the day after tomorrow.’
    ‘Great.’ Luke held Tom under one arm over the sink and reached for the Swarfega. ‘It will be nice to see him. He’ll bring news no doubt of dear old London and civilisation.’ He chuckled, smearing green goo all over his small son’s hands as Tom crowed with delight. Luke glanced at her over the sticky curls. ‘He’s not going to make you feel you’re missing out, is he? Rural stagnation instead of academia.’
    She shook her head. ‘Nope. If I want to get back into it, I can always start some kind of research project with the prospect of a book in about a thousand years’ time. Or something less academic and more lucrative. The book David suggested I have a go at, perhaps. I might just have a chat to him about that.’ The idea had in fact been growing on her.
    Reaching for the pepper mill she ground it over the soup, stirred, put down the wooden spoon and sat down at the kitchen table. ‘You haven’t asked how I got on with Mary Sutton.’
    Luke raised an eyebrow. ‘I could see it was good and bad when you came back. Want to tell me now?’
    ‘Both my little brothers died here, Luke. In accidents.’
    She was looking at Tom, suddenly aching to hold him. How could her mother have borne to lose two boys?
    ‘Nothing will happen to Tom Tom, Joss.’ Luke could always read her mind. He changed the subject adroitly. ‘Listen, talking about Tom Tom and your writing what do you think of the idea of asking Lyn if she’d like to come and help you look after him. As a sort of proper job.’ Drying Tom’s hands he posted the little boy in Joss’s direction with a gentle slap on the behind.
    Joss held out her arms. ‘While she’s out of work, you mean? She’s certainly good with Tom and we could do with some help, though we could only pay her pocket money. It would give me time to get on with the house.’ She smiled. ‘And write my best seller.’
    ‘No joking, Joss. We need the money. You’ve had stuff published in the past. I’m sure you could do it.’
    ‘In the past it was in academic magazines, Luke. They don’t exactly pay megabucks. And just those few short stories.’
    He smiled. ‘Mini bucks would do, love. I do think you should give it a go. Anything to help. Keep us in bread and spuds until next year when we start our own vegetable patch, vineyard, bed and breakfast business, vintage car restoration