“Anyone ever tell you the story of Lady Maeve’s Staircase?” Noah asked after a minute of quiet driving.
I glanced at the stairway in the distance through the overhead mirror, and a cold shiver trickled down the back of my neck. “Of course. Everyone in this town knows that story.”
I hated thinking about it though. The tale of a wealthy noble woman throwing herself to her death was one that never failed to make my stomach twist. I was pretty sure one of my recurring dreams was about her, and I feared her ghost haunted the grounds around Vee’s house.
The story went that the noble woman was married to a cold and abusive landowner, and the only place she could find solace was on the private staircase that led to the beach beyond the grounds of their castle. One night it all became too much, and she decided to end her own life. Lots of people say that in the earlier hours of the morning you could see her ghost running up the stairs and down to the cliff where she threw herself into the sea.
The castle still exists, but it’s been empty since before I was born, having fallen into disrepair long ago. Sometimes teenagers broke into it to drink and smoke.
“You look spooked,” Noah commented. “Don’t tell me you believe in ghosts.”
I glanced at him. “Don’t you?”
“Not particularly,” he answered. “There are plenty horrors in the real world, there’s no need for invisible ones, too.”
My palms grew sweaty. “So, you don’t think Vee’s house is haunted?”
“Technically, it’s Sylvia’s house. And yes, it’s haunted, but not in the way you might think.”
“What does that mean?”
“Like I said, plenty horrors in the real world,” he repeated.
A silence fell before I continued my line of questioning. “What about your dad? Sometimes I wonder if his ghost is still hanging around.”
Noah frowned, his expression perturbed. He didn’t answer my question, and I felt guilty all of a sudden. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked him that. After all, I knew the pain of losing a parent. Vee and Noah’s dad, Victor, died of a heart condition years ago. I’d seen a few old pictures of him. He was a jolly looking man with a bushy grey beard and a dark complexion. Noah resembled him in that regard.
“What were you and Irene talking about before I got home?” I asked, bringing the conversation back around.
He cast me a quick, silent glance before focusing back on the road.
“You were mistreating Sylvia, weren’t you? You should be ashamed of yourself,” I said, my anger building.
“Very high and mighty talk coming from the girl who fantasises about stabbing her classmate in the eye with a pencil,” Noah shot back, and I glared at him.
“I told you that in confidence.”
“And that was your first mistake,” Noah said before pulling the car to a stop.
When I looked out the window, I saw we’d arrived at my school. Confused, I wondered why he’d brought me here. It was mostly empty, with just a few students still hanging about for extra-curricular activities. Noah parked close to the sports pitch, where the camogie team practiced.
“Stay here,” he instructed.
I nodded and watched quietly as he left the car and walked directly across the sports pitch to the other side, where the caretaker’s shed was located. Several girls stopped to eye him up and down, and for a second, I saw him from their perspective. A hot twenty-something year-old guy who had suddenly appeared in a school where the student body was (often painfully) all female.
They whispered and giggled, but he didn’t spare them a glance, instead knocking on the door to the caretaker’s shed. A second later it opened, and Noah disappeared inside. My brow furrowed as I tried to figure out what he might be doing in there.
The school’s caretaker was Sam Ryan, a local man from a big, well-known family. He was old now, but the rumour was that he used to be a member of the IRA back when the Troubles were still ongoing. So even though he looked like a kindly old granddad, people tended to be wary of him. The fact that he and Noah knew each other put me on alert.
Fifteen minutes went by, and I started to worry. I emerged from the car and paced, wondering if I should go over and see what was taking so long. Then, the door to the shed opened, and Noah and Sam emerged. They shook hands, and I caught sight of Noah shoving a small envelope inside his coat. He strode across the pitch again, but this time he was approached by the sports coach, Mr. Flynn.
“Excuse me, Sir,” said Mr. Flynn. “Can I ask what you’re doing on school grounds?”
Noah stared him down, not responding for a long moment. I acted on instinct, hurrying over to them.