chapter EIGHT
The early morning light filtered in through the thin curtains, its dim glow doing nothing to disguise the living room’s shabby and cluttered appearance. Sybil sighed as she stumbled over the worn rug. Something else for the Christmas list, she thought and twitched back the curtains. There was a steady drip from the eaves as the snow began to thaw, it was already disappearing from the path and patches of green were appearing in the snowy cemetery opposite. She pulled the borrowed dressing gown tighter, even the sunshine couldn’t dispel the chill of the room. The fire had burned down and her vigorous stir with the poker didn’t encourage a spark so admitting defeat she collected the dirty plates from the previous night and carried them through to the warm kitchen. Queenie’s voice drifted down from the bathroom and she winced as her tone deaf sister began a spirited rendition of, ‘I feel pretty, oh so pretty and gay!’
‘God help us,’ she breathed and hearing a knock on the front door glanced in surprise and a certain amount of suprise at the wall clock. It was only just gone eight ‘o’clock and she was baffled as to who could be calling so early. ‘Unless,’ she suddenly chuckled to herself, ‘it was one of the neighbours complaining about the noise.’
There was another knock and she hurried to answer the door. It was Archie on the doorstep.
‘My goodness, you’re early!’
‘I know,’ he began apologetically, ‘But I couldn’t sleep. I was worried about you especially after that awful creature appeared in the back yard.’ He wiped his wet shoes on the doormat and stepped into the hall. ‘So you’re okay?’
She nodded.
‘Both of you?’ he asked and looked over Sybil’s shoulder towards the kitchen. ‘Is Queenie about?’
‘She is in the bathroom,’ Sybil replied calmly and led the way down the hall.
He cocked his head on one side and a pained look crossed his face.
‘That is Queenie singing,’ said Sybil. ‘Awful, isn’t it?’
‘Well,’ he said diplomatically, ‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that.’
‘Don’t worry, you can say it, Queenie says she only does it to keep the rodent population down,’ she smiled brightly at him. ‘It might work, who knows!’ She opened the kitchen door and ushered him in. ‘I was just going to make some tea.’
‘Thank you.’ He placed a bag on the draining board. ‘I have brought a few things with me as I thought we could have breakfast together.’ He reached in and pulled out a frying pan. ‘And I brought this just in case.’
‘That was a good idea,’ she said. ‘Queenie lent hers to a neighbour last summer, he was organising a scout’s camping trip and it never came back.’
‘I have bacon, sausages, waffles, baked beans and eggs,’ Archie said, pulling out the contents of the bag. ‘What would she like?’
‘All of it,’ Sybil said calmly. ‘A well fed Queenie is a happy Queenie.’
‘Well, in that case I’ll start,’ he said and looked across the room at the ancient stove squatting in the corner. ‘As long as you light that thing, please!’
The bacon was sizzling in the pan by the time Queenie appeared at the top of the stairs.
‘Sybil!’ she bawled. ‘Where did you find the bacon?’
Sybil hurried out into the hall and stared up at her sister. ‘Archie is here, and he is cooking breakfast for us, so be nice,’ she said in a low voice.
‘He’s here already? What time is it, for God’s sake?’
‘It’s just past eight thirty,’ pointed out Sybil.
Queenie rubbed her wet hair briskly with a towel. ‘What is he making besides bacon?’
‘Eggs, waffles, sausages, tomatoes and mushrooms; a full English breakfast. I think he’s determined to feed you up.’
‘Fine by me,’ Queenie said cheerily and threw the wet towel into the bathroom.
‘Hang that towel up, Queenie!’ she chided. ‘And tidy the bathroom up before you come down. We have a visitor and I don’t want to see any wet towels lying on the floor or you will be in trouble!’
Her sister snorted and glared at Sybil. ‘It’s my house!’
‘And it’s your mess so clear it up!’ She turned on her heel and headed back into the kitchen, Archie was already tipping the food out onto the plates. Sybil poked her head back out into hall. ‘Queenie hurry up! Breakfast is ready.’
‘Do you have to shout?’ she said primly as she clumped down the stairs. ‘Good morning Archie.’
‘Morning Queenie,’ he said, beaming at her and held out a full plate in her direction. ‘I hope you have an appetite this morning.’
‘Always,’ she said and held out her other hand for some cutlery. ‘But I will need a knife and fork.’
‘Here,’ said Sybil, thrusting them towards her sister. ‘And don’t get used to this; we’ll be back to dry toast and margarine tomorrow.’
‘Then I will enjoy this while I can,’ she said and carried her breakfast through into the front room.
‘It’s cold in here,’ she grumbled. ‘Why didn’t you light the fire, Sybil?’
‘Why didn’t you light it, lazy bones!’ Sybil retorted.
‘Shall I...?’ Archie suggested.
‘No! Sit down and eat your breakfast,’ ordered Sybil. ‘It can wait.’
He nodded and meekly took his place on the sofa. ‘Have you heard from Paul yet? ‘
‘I thought he might have come with you,’ replied Sybil, ‘but of course he has other things to tend to.’
‘Such as?’ Queenie asked tersely, cutting into a sausage.
‘His family and parishioners for one thing.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ she conceded and looked across the room at Archie who was methodically chewing a piece of bacon. ‘Did you have any luck with your research?’
He politely placed a thin blue veined hand over his mouth then swallowed. ‘Yes, very fruitful,’ he began earnestly. ‘I think I might have cracked the puzzle.’
Queenie sat back and raised her eyebrows. ‘Indeed?’
‘I started with those two women...’
‘Don’t you think we should wait for Paul otherwise Archie will have to repeat himself when he does get here,’ interrupted Sybil, not noticing the disappointed look appear on his face.
‘I suppose that would make sense,’ he conceded. ‘And I’m sure by the time we have finished breakfast he will be here.’
‘And you need to get dressed Sybil, you hussy. You’re still in a dressing gown!’
A flock of hungry sparrows descended on the handful of seeds that Paul had scattered on the snowy lawn just outside the kitchen window; he watched them for a while as they squabbled over a few tasty morsels then stepped back into the warmth of the house. He blew on his cold hands and picked up his phone checking for any messages from Archie. There was a brief text from him, sent on his way to Hill View Terrace.
‘Victoria?’ He glanced up as his wife chivvied the girls into the kitchen. ‘Archie is going to see Queenie and Sybil so I will grab some breakfast and then I’ll be off.’
‘I hope he has found something useful, did he say if he had?’ she asked, taking cereal bowls from the cupboard.
‘No, he didn’t.’
‘What would you like for breakfast? Cereal?’
‘Toast,’ he said absently. ‘Where’s Patricia?’
‘Still sleeping, I just checked on her.’
‘That’s good, she needs rest. Did Doctor Barker manage to get out here yesterday?’
‘He did, and gave her some sleeping tablets.’
‘And his diagnosis?’
‘That she is suffering from severe emotional stress.’
Paul snorted. ‘I could have told him that! Her daughter killed herself in a particularly gruesome way so what does he expect!’ he said irritably, spooning some instant coffee into a mug.
‘I know, I know,’ Victoria said soothingly. ‘At least he gave me a prescription for her.’
He paused, mug halfway to his mouth. �
�So I suppose you want me to pop out to the pharmacy?’
‘If you don’t mind,’ she said sweetly.
‘Of course not,’ he said ruefully.
‘But he did give me enough sedatives to keep her going in case the weather was too bad, so I suppose it could wait until you get back from Queenie’s place.’
Paul consulted his watch. ‘It’s still early; the pharmacy won’t be open until nine so perhaps I can do it on the way back.’
‘Okay, whatever you think best.’ She took some toast and started buttering the slices. ‘At least sit down and have your breakfast with us.’ She placed the plate on the table and pulled out a chair. ‘Marmalade or jam?’
‘Marmalade.’ He sank into the chair and rested his elbows on the table and watched his daughters eating their breakfast. ‘School today?’
‘It’s still closed,’ Abigail said triumphantly. ‘So we have got another day off.’
‘Huh! It’s alright for some,’ he joked. ‘I have to work.’
‘Can I come?’ asked Eva, milk dribbled down her chin as she pushed a heaped spoon of frosties into her mouth.
Paul leant across and wiped her mouth with a tea towel. ‘No, sorry. Not today.’ He sat back and began quickly spreading the marmalade on his toast. ‘So instead of helping me, you can help mummy today, and if you’re all good perhaps we can have a treat at the weekend.’
‘Help do what?’ asked Abigail suspiciously.
‘Well...you know,’ he looked at Victoria helplessly, ‘a few chores perhaps?’
She grinned as the girls groaned. ‘I wish!’ she said. ‘Of course you could help me look after Patricia.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she’s not very well and needs our help.’
‘That other lady is looking after her,’ offered Lily.
‘You mean Queenie?’ Paul asked absently, scrolling through his messages.
‘No, the other one.’
‘Sybil?’
‘No Dad!’ Lily said impatiently. ‘The other one!’
He looked up quickly, a frown on his face. ‘When did you see somebody else with Patricia?’
‘Yesterday; in the garden. Patricia was sat on my swing.’
‘Lily, we didn’t have any visitors yesterday, not after Queenie and Sybil left.’
‘But there was somebody,’ she said doggedly. ‘Out in the garden with Patricia, I saw her!’
‘Did you recognise this woman?’ he asked, looking at her intently.
‘Paul!’ his wife said impatiently. ‘There wasn’t anybody out there with Patricia. I was watching her the whole time she was outside and that wasn’t very long as it was so cold!’ She leant over Lily and pushed a tangled lock of hair out of her eyes. ‘You imagined it, Lily.’
‘I didn’t!’ she said and pushing her mother’s hand away scrambled off the chair and ran out into the hall.
‘Lily! Come back and finish your breakfast,’ Victoria called after her then glared at her husband. ‘Paul!’ she snapped.
‘What? What did I do?’ he asked, looking aggrieved. ‘Perhaps she just got confused.’
‘No I didn’t!’ Lily had reappeared in the doorway, her face angry and flushed. In her hand she held her pink glittery phone. ‘I took a picture,’ she said.
Her father wordlessly held out his hand for the mobile and looked at the photo his daughter had taken of the garden. It clearly showed Patricia sitting dejectedly on the small child’s swing. Behind her and reaching forward was a shadowy grey figure.
‘Bloody hell!’ he breathed.
‘Paul!’ remonstrated Victoria, glancing quickly at the children. ‘Not in front of the girls.’
Ignoring her Paul held out the phone. ‘Look at that.’
She held out her hand determined to humour him then glanced down at the picture. Her hand jerked and it dropped onto the table.
‘Mum!’
‘Sorry!’ she said quickly and picked it up. ‘It’s okay, no harm done.’
‘Lily,’ Paul said, taking the phone from his wife’s hand. ‘I would like to send a copy of this photo to my phone, if you don’t mind?’
She nodded. ‘Okay.’ She pulled a face at her mother. ‘See, I told you!
‘Oi, don’t be cheeky,’ he said. ‘Otherwise you will be doing chores...for the next ten years.’
‘What are we going to do Paul?’ Victoria asked quietly and glanced at the children who were staring inquisitively at their parents. ‘I thought it was going to be okay?’
‘What’s okay?’ asked Abigail.
‘Nothing,’ she said quickly. ‘Everything is fine, girls. Why don’t you take your breakfast into the living room and watch the TV?’
‘You’re trying to get rid of us, aren’t you?’ Abigail said. ‘Okay, we get it, come on guys let’s leave the adults to it.’
There was a scuffle as the chairs were pushed back and the girls raced to see who would be first to the tv remote.
‘I bags first choice,’ said Lily, reaching the door first.
‘No,’ wailed Eva. ‘I want to watch the Midnight Garden.’
‘Noo way,’ said Abigail.’ We are going to watch Horrible Histories.’
‘Girls!’ said Paul sternly. ‘Stop making so much noise and behave yourselves or nobody will be watching anything!’
They disappeared down the hall still arguing and Paul watched wearily until the door banged. The blaring sound of a children’s show echoed up the hall and he sighed as he closed the kitchen door.
‘I suppose I should be glad they are back to normal,’ he muttered and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Perhaps it would be a good idea if you stayed with your mother for a few days,’ he suggested.
‘And leave you here alone with Patricia?’
He half closed his eyes and groaned. ‘No, that’s not going to work. I can’t leave her alone in the house while I go and help Queenie.’
‘No, so I will have to stay here,’ she replied reasonably.
‘Could your mother come and get the children?’
Victoria shook her head. ‘Not in this weather.’
‘Then what?’ he asked irritably. ‘I want the girls out of this house!’
‘So do I, but we can’t do it.’ She picked up his empty plate and carried it over to the sink then stared out into the garden. ‘That creature was out there, in our garden,’ she said slowly, ‘but why Patricia?’
‘I don’t know; I need to ask Queenie. She’ll know what to do.’
‘You are still going? Now?’ Victoria asked, beginning to get angry. ‘What about the girls and me? Can’t you put us first for once?’
‘What do you want me to do?’ Paul suddenly shouted. He stood up and violently shoved the chair to one side; it fell against the cooker with a crash. ‘I’m trying my best Victoria! I don’t know how to handle this, how could I? It’s witchcraft for Christ’s sake!’
‘What about the Bishop?’ Victoria asked helplessly. ‘Couldn’t he help? There must be somebody in the church you could ask.’
‘This isn’t exactly run of the mill church business Vic, even if we could get anybody to believe us!’ He sighed and rubbed his chin. ‘Perhaps it would be easier if we were Catholic, but even then it would have to be referred to the Pope.’
‘By which time it would be too late,’ she finished.
‘Exactly.’ He picked up the chair and slowly pushed it back under the table. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have lost my temper.’
She nodded and stepped forward wrapping her arms his waist. ‘It’s okay Paul but please don’t go.’
‘I won’t,’ he promised and gave her a hug. ‘You’re right; you and the girl’s safety come first. So I’ll call Queenie instead and see what she suggests.’
‘Queenie? It’s Paul’
‘Good morning,’ she replied. ‘You sound as though you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, young man.’
‘I feel like I have.’
‘Why? What’s happened? We were expecting you
this morning.’
‘I can’t come. I have a problem at home, that’s why I am calling.’
‘Do you need my help?’ she asked.
‘How did you guess!’ he gave a slight humourless laugh. ‘It’s Patricia.’
‘Oh?’
‘I think the witch was here yesterday. Lily saw them together in the garden.’
‘In the garden; not the house?’
‘Yes. I can’t leave them alone Queenie, not now,’ a slight note of panic crept into his voice.
‘Of course not Paul,’ she replied briskly. ‘Keep everybody inside, I don’t think she will enter the house but just in case bless all the entrances and lay a barrier of salt on each threshold including the windows. And don’t worry about Patricia, just look after the girls.’
‘But what if she goes outside again?’
‘Just do your best to stop her but if she does wander off let me know. Don’t go after her yourself.’
‘Okay,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sorry, I have let you down.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous Paul, you haven’t. Archie is here and we are just about to go through all his notes.’
‘You will let me know what you find?’ he asked.
‘We will,’ she promised. ‘And don’t worry about Patricia.’
She replaced the old black Bakelite phone on its receiver and stared thoughtfully out of the window, a frown descended on her face.
‘Penny for them?’
She turned; Archie was in the doorway holding a couple of mugs of hot coffee.
‘Is one of those for me?’ she asked.
‘Yes, with three sugars.’ He watched with a slight frown as she took the mug. ‘You look worried.’
‘That was Paul,’ Queenie replied. ‘He’s not coming.’
‘Why?’ he asked, looking surprised.
‘The witch was there at his home, well, the garden to be precise,’ she said slowly, ‘and understandably he doesn’t want to leave his family alone and unprotected.’
‘She was there? When?’
‘Yesterday; in the garden with Patricia.’ Queenie shivered and glanced across at the cold ashes in the grate. ‘I must light that,’ she murmured. ‘It’s freezing in here.’
The Doll Page 18
