Her father had bought a machine like the one the young lady was using, feeding it beans and polishing it till it shone. It had been a staple of the family meal; after roast dinner, which Hannah helped with, they would go to the kitchen and her father would busy himself with the machine.
The smell of coffee would fill the room and a gush of steam would come from nowhere, condensing on the windows. Her parents would have tall mugs of coffee, and she would be given a smaller one, with plenty of milk and sugar. The machine should be arriving tomorrow, along with the rest of their things.
‘Hey, you okay?’ asked Tom.
‘Yeah, sure!’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Just daydreaming, that’s all.’
He grinned again. ‘Cool. What do you want then?’
‘Are you paying?’
He chuckled. ‘Yep, so don’t make it too expensive.’
She smiled at him, and asked for a mocha. He nodded, then asked her to find them a table. She nodded back, and walked to the back of the shop. She was pleased to see that all the chairs were leather, and picked one in the corner. A bench ran along the side wall, also coated in leather, and she sat down there. Tom appeared the next second, carrying a tray with two mugs balanced on it. Cream spiralled out of one, dotted with chocolate.
‘Wasn’t sure if you wanted cream or not,’ he said, sliding the tray onto the table, ‘so I got both.’
‘With, please,’ she said, reaching for the mug.
He pushed it towards her, then sat back. He’d acquired a lighter from someone, and applied the flame to the end of the cigarette. He inhaled deeply, and blew a thin plume of blue smoke towards the ceiling.
‘Alright then,’ he asked, ‘what do you want to know?’
Hannah took a sip of her coffee and considered. ‘I want to know about the guy who lived there. The one with the limp.’
Tom inhaled again. ‘That would be my grandfather,’ he said. ‘Nasty piece of work. Oh, and Hannah?’
‘Mmmm?’
He motioned to his top lip. She mirrored his movement, and wiped off the cream moustache she had acquired. She blushed furiously, and he laughed. She frowned ruefully, then laughed too. On a sudden whim she scooped a finger into the cream and plonked it on his nose. The look on his face, confusion mixed with mock anger, made her laugh even harder. He crossed his eyes and squinted down the length of his nose, and then very delicately stuck out his tongue. He couldn’t quite reach it, and the look of intense concentration on his face was enough to make her cry with laughter.
‘I’m glad you think this is funny,’ said Tom, still concentrating fiercely on the blob at the end of his nose. ‘We’ll see who’s laughing when I lick this off my nose.’
Hannah thought her ribs would crack. Tears streaming down her face, she held up her hands and cried ‘Stop, stop! I can’t actually breathe!’
He raised an eyebrow, sending her into another convulsive fit of giggles. Then, in one quick movement, he scraped it off and replaced it on her nose.
‘Enough,’ she wheezed. ‘Enough, enough!’ She wiped it off with a tissue and fixed him with her best ‘serious’ look. ‘Why was your grandfather such a nasty piece of work, then?’
Tom examined his cigarette. It had gone out, and he picked up the lighter to relight it.
‘Because.’
‘Because what?’
‘Just because. It’s a piece of family history that we’re not particularly proud of.’
‘Please, Tom!’ she begged him. ‘I really have to know this.’
‘No, you don’t,’ he said, dismissively.
‘Yes I do,’ she retorted, ‘since he’s in my house!’
He laughed, smoke billowing from his mouth. ‘Doubt it. He’s been dead for years. Fifty-two years, to be more precise. I doubt very much if you’ve seen him. I was at his funeral, and I didn’t see his body.’
Hannah stirred her coffee, suddenly cold despite the heat of the room. ‘How come?’
He fixed her with a look. ‘He died in the blitz. Some German flier dropped a bomb on the house. Practically landed on his head. I don’t think I have to draw you a picture. If I did, I’d need a lot of paper. And plenty of red pencil. Y’know?’
Hannah nodded mutely. She could imagine it.
‘Where was he when he died?’
Tom took his time answering. ‘Nursery,’ he grunted, eventually.
‘Why was he in the nursery?’ asked Hannah, curiously.
‘Grandad took in a load of children who had been evacuated. Him and grandma were taking care of my sister and I already, since dad was in the navy and mum had enrolled as a medic, and he offered his house as a refuge for all these children. They came in droves; I remember the night they arrived. It was horrible; thunder, lightning…the works. I leant out of my room, over the banister, and saw all these kids come in, looking like drowned rats. They left wet patches-’
‘All over the carpet,’ interrupted Hannah.
‘Yeah. How did you know that?’
‘I-I think I saw them.’
‘What?’ Tom was incredulous. ‘First you think you saw my grandfather who is, to the best of my knowledge, still in the nursery walls, and now you’re telling me you’ve seen an event which happened before you were even born?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, hanging her head, suddenly acutely aware that she sounded extremely crazy.
Tom took a long drag. ‘Cool,’ he said, simply.
Hannah’s head shot up; ‘Sorry?’ she asked, unable to believe what he’d just said.
‘Cool,’ he repeated. ‘I mean, I can believe it happening. Can I come and see?’
Hannah was completely lost now. ‘Sorry,’ she asked again, feeling dazed.
‘Can I,’ he repeated slowly, motioning to himself, ‘sleep,’ putting his palms together and resting his head on them, ‘at,’ drawing the symbol in the air, ‘your house,’ motioning this time to her and drawing a house in the air, ‘tonight?’ He held up two fingers and then hid his eyes with his hands.
‘You know, sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,’ she said, tartly.
He drained his mug and stood up. ‘Hey, who needs to be witty when you’re this good looking?’
She shook her head, supressing a smile, and drained her own mug. ‘Come on, then. I’ll ring my dad.’
They stood outside, huddled close-to keep warm, of course-and her dad soon rolled up. ‘Someone ordered a taxi?’
‘Hi Dad,’ she called through the window.
‘Who’s this?’ he asked, nodding towards Tom.
‘Tom,’ she said, ‘Tom, this is my dad.’
He grinned. ‘I guessed. Pleased to meet you, Mr-’
‘Cheshire,’ supplied her father. ‘But call me David, please.’
‘Can we go please?’ asked Hannah, her teeth chattering. ‘I mean, I hate to break up this little bonding session you guys are having, but it’s freezing out here!’
Tom opened the door for her, and Hannah was pleased to see that her dad was impressed. They drove slowly back, giving the two teenagers plenty of time to talk. He was very interested in what she’d seen, and made her go over her description of the ugly man several times.
Her throat was quite sore by the time they got back to the house, and she walked to the kitchen with him. Once again, the winter night had drawn in quickly, and the kitchen was dark. She poured herself a glass of water from the tap-Tom had declined-and noticed her plate, still in the sink. She had just turned to resume her conversation with Tom when she heard a hiccup behind her. Turning, she saw that something had been spat out of the plughole. Leaning over, she saw that a couple of spots of liquid had splattered around the hole. It gurgled.
‘Tom…’ she asked, looking between the bars of the hole, ‘Tom, I think there’s something wrong with these drains-’
She felt a sudden tug on the back of her shirt and, at the same time-with an odd feeling of detachment-noticed that the spots were blood; dark red and accusing. And then Tom was in front of her, pressing his hands over the hole, trying to stop whatever was in there escaping. It spurted suddenly, and she heard him grunt as it hit him in the eyes. Without thinking she rushed over and turned on the tap.
‘No-don’t-’
Too late. A jet of blood shot into the sink, splashing everywhere and covering their hands in the hot, slippery fluid. She screamed and tried to turn it off. It was stuck, and her hands were too slippery to twist it. Tom gave up and grabbed her.
‘Get out of here!’ he yelled, pushing her towards the door.
She slipped and looked down. Immediately she regretted it; between the blood jetting from the tap and the blood spurting out of the sink, there was a growing pool of the stuff spreading across the kitchen floor. It was this that had tripped her, and now she was coated in it. It was even in her hair. She retched. The smell coming from the liquid was the scent of blood mixed with sewage.
‘What on earth is going on here?’
Hannah looked up. Her mother was standing in the doorway, and a look of disbelief was etched into her face. She looked down, expecting to see her clothes soaked in blood. They were soaked, certainly, but not in blood. In water.
She looked across at Tom, who was getting up slowly. His shirt was stuck to his chest by the volume of water, and-despite her fear-a totally separate part of her blushed, turned her heart rate up to "racing", then ran to her stomach and did backflips.
‘Well, young lady? I’d like an answer today, if at all possible?’
Her mother was being extremely polite to her. That meant trouble, for sure. She opened and shut her mouth, waiting for her brain to provide her mouth with an answer, but none came.
It was Tom who answered. ‘I’m really sorry, Mrs Cheshire. I splashed her, she splashed me, and it all sort of turned into a bit of a waterfight. I’ll clear it up.’
Hannah’s mother gave her a Look-it deserved the capital letter-and she tried desperately to look as though that was exactly what she had been about to say, instead of something she’d heard only two seconds ago.
Her mother untensed. ‘Hannah will help,’ she said, ‘but I don’t think we’ve been introduced. Hannah?’
‘Umm, Tom, mum, mum, Tom. Can Tom stay over tonight?’
Hannah's mum was already walking away. ‘Clear up that mess first, and then I’ll think about it,’ she called back.
‘Thank you mum!’
‘I haven’t said yes yet!’ came the faint reply.
Hannah turned to Tom. ‘That means yes,’ she said, happily.
He nodded. ‘Good. Now we’re going to need a mop. And a bucket.’
She found both, and they worked in turns, mostly quiet. Finally, she could take it no longer. She stuffed the mop in the bucket and looked at him.
‘We didn’t imagine that, did we?’
He shook his head.
‘How did you know what was going to happen?’
Shrug. ‘Gut instinct, I guess.’
‘You’re being very cagey.’
‘Mmm,’ he said. He was looking out of the windows. Hannah stepped over to him and looked with him, and noticed that he was shivering. The moon hung low on the horizon, neither full nor new but in between.
‘You cold?’ she whispered.
‘No,’ he whispered back. ‘Scared.’
That took her aback. ‘What are you scared of?’
He shivered again. ‘This house. Too many bad memories.’
‘Do you know why the sink did that?’
‘Yes.’
She probed, gently. ‘Could you tell me?’
He sighed. ‘I don’t know if you really want to know,’ he murmured.
She hugged him tightly, for the first time since she had met him. He looked so sad and alone that she felt like she needed to give him something, anything. He hugged back, a tight, fierce embrace that made her heart skip a beat. His arms loosened, and she stepped away. There was an awkward moment, and she pretended not to notice that his eyes were glistening. She passed him a piece of kitchen towel, and he took it wordlessly.
‘Alright,’ he said, ‘alright.’
He paused, seemingly unsure as to where to begin.
‘My…granddad wasn’t a nice guy. He seemed to be nice; he presented a front to the community. He was always down in the town, and he made himself approachable. He was known as a fair man, and people went to him with their problems. He heard all of them. He was, to everyone who knew him, the best sort of man. He was a staunch supporter of the war, taking every opportunity to curse his leg, which stopped him from taking part.’ He paused.
‘The family knew the real man, though. He was an abuser and a drunk. He beat me twice a day, and he was doing horrible things to my sister. He-’
He broke off, unable to say the word. He didn’t have to. Hannah could imagine the door opening, and that horrible, scraping noise, as her grandfather, drunk and violent, came past her room.
 ‘I never realised. She didn’t talk about it. The first I knew about it was in here. Susie-Susannah-had been ill that morning. We normally caught the bus together, but I wasn’t too worried. People get ill, and if she wanted a day off school, she was welcome to it. She had just started sixth form, the year below me, and I guessed she was finding it a bit tougher than O-levels.’