Phoenix

by Alison Ashley

  I sighed. So many killed in my past life yet how quickly the population regenerated. Except Jack.

  I searched his name on the internet but all I got was American sports players. I tried Kathy Stewart, but she was a marriage celebrant or something. Finally, I searched Katie and it brought up my social networks. I clicked back on the one I privately shared with Zac – I had so much to tell him, but how could I? It would sound stupid. I was about to shut it down when I realised my inbox had registered a new message. Had he only just sent it? My heart quickened at the thought that we could chat, but he wasn’t online.

  Hey Katie. Mum and Dad reckon I need cheering up after breaking up with Stacey, ha ha, so guess what! Me and Dad r going rock climbing for a few days. So hey, won’t b online 4 a while. Don’t miss me 2 much! Oh u managed 2 get in time with your guitar yet? lol. U gotta video yourself and put it on net so I can hear (and c) u. Zac

  I typed in my reply, hoping he’d read it before he left.

  What a shame – my guitar’s not here yet, lol. Have fun on your trip and stay safe. Can’t w8 2 hear about it when you get back. Katie. xoxo

  Zac loved rock climbing, any outdoorsy stuff really, that was why he was so strong. He would never have been allowed to go if Stacey was still on the scene; her idea of extreme sport was walking up stairs rather than riding the escalator at the shopping mall.

  “You left half the washing downstairs!” Mum scolded.

  Not my problem.

  Hours ’til dinner, Dad was helping Freddie with a bath, Mum was making a list of I didn’t know what. She survived by lists, way too forgetful otherwise, and she had the nerve to say Freddie was losing his mind. As no one was online, I guessed everyone back home was in bed, so what else was there to do but go back to the past? I felt dizzy as soon as I retrieved the jewel from my pocket and wondered if I looked fuzzy like Freddie had.

  “Ally?”

  Her eyes widened when she looked up, then she blinked rapidly, snatched her computer and pretended to type. Guessed that was a positive then.

  I dropped the stone beside me. “Ally?” I tried again.

  The keys tapped furiously but I doubted her words were legible.

  I lobbed my pillow at her but it bounced off the back of the laptop and dropped to the floor. Ally peered over her screen, scowled then lowered her gaze.

  “Al, how d’ya like to come back to my former life and help solve the mystery of the jewels?”

  “Former life?” Ally said. She snapped her laptop shut, shoved it on her bed and glared at me. “You mean the one before you went totally psycho?”

  “I know you know it’s true. When you hold this,” I tossed the jewel at her and she caught it in reflex. Her outline instantly blurred. “Your body tries to be in two times at once, that’s why you feel kinda fuzzy.”

  Ally flinched and hurled the jewel back to me. It knocked against the wall and dropped on my bed.

  “Look,” I said. “Why d’ya think Freddie calls me Kathy?”

  “Der, he’s an old man with an old brain.”

  “I’m his sister,” I said.

  Ally jumped from the bed and hurried to the door.

  “It’s true – he’s two years younger than me and…” I broke off. How could I make her believe me? I snatched the jewel and closed my eyes. Maybe there’d be something from our childhood I could show her.

  But everything – except the photo albums and clock – was destroyed by the bomb. Mum had the foresight to store them in Auntie Carol’s basement, but she hadn’t stored the camera! No wonder there were no more photos of Freddie, no more photos of any of us, other than those taken by the school.

  “Ask Freddie what our camera was!” I yelled at Ally’s back. “Bet you he’ll say a Brownie Junior!”

  “Totally la, la.” Ally swivelled around to face me and twirled her finger at her temple. “And tell you what? I’m gonna prove it.”

  Two thumping footsteps and she was in the kitchen. The bathroom door opened in the passage and Freddie’s and Dad’s voices grew steadily louder.

  “Grandad!” Ally yelled. “What camera did you have when you were little?”

  “Ally!” Dad scolded. “Grandad and I were talking.”

  “Yeah, well, talk about what camera he had.”

  “I never had a camera,” Freddie said. “Never had lots of things. My dad had one though, now what was that?”

  A long pause.

  “Would have been a Brownie of some sort.”

  My heart quickened.

  “Why d’ya want to know, Ally?” Dad asked.

  “Oh, huh, doesn’t matter,” Ally grunted.

  Maybe now she’d believe me, but even if she did, I doubted she’d want to help with the jewels. I took it carefully in my hands again and tried to focus through my instant light-headedness.

  My sight finally settled on the partially dismantled statue behind the church and I gaped at the abbey’s size. It must have been a least three times the size it was now, and the intricate carving and mouldings seemed to suit it better, the intimation of grander things a reality.

  A group of old men and young teenage guys flitted back and forth to the statue and wooden crates lined up on the path in front of the graveyard. Low sunlight caught on the jewelled eyes of the statue’s head as Jack and Dougie Smith struggled towards a straw-lined crate.

  “Thanks, Dougie,” Jack panted as they carefully eased it into the packing.

  I wondered how long it had taken for Jack to forgive Dougie for the dictionary thing, but junior school seemed like a lifetime ago and Jack always looked for the best in people. He reminded me so much of Zac.

  Jack pressed more straw over the top and began laying timber planks across the width of the crate.

  “I got it from here,” Dougie said. He held up a hammer, dug in his pocket and produced a handful of nails.

  Jack nodded and wandered to the rear of the church where two ladders were propped on the walls either side of the headless statue and one against its torso. Two men worked to carefully saw the statue into manageable pieces and clouds of dust and rubble showered down. Chances were the statue would have been okay anyway, yet they were hacking it to bits?

  Jack climbed the torso ladder and grasped the stone monolith as the men sawed.

  “You ready?” one shouted.

  “Ready,” Jack said. He wobbled slightly as the men moved away from the statue then the three of them carefully wrestled a piece of sacking and rope over the cut piece.

  “Steady there, boy.”

  Jack glanced down as Mr Bettis called up to him from the foot of the ladder and his concentration was broken.

  “Ugh,” Jack moaned. “Wait up! It’s too heavy!”

  The men nodded and Jack shimmied down the ladder to get someone else to help lower the weighty section. Jack wandered across to Stan Smith and the lorry parked on the grass but the breeze only wafted fragments of the conversation to me.

  Jack: Knock. Early.

  Stan: Worried. Blackout? See. Home?

  Jack: Kathy’s birth. Come?

  Stan: Alright.

  Stan nodded, waved a half wave and turned back to continue loading the truck.

  Jack hadn’t forgotten my birthday!

  Jack’s voice sounded again, closer to me. “Just leave it, Dougie.”

  Surely Jack wasn’t going to steal the jewels! Had he just told Stan he was going home to see me to throw him off the scent?

  “I mustn’t!” Dougie hissed.

  “Your dad said it was alright,” Jack insisted.

  A wave of nausea washed over me and I opened my fist to let the stone roll out.

  “Oh, meant to tell you, Dad,” Dad’s voice in the kitchen startled me. “Saw an ambulance on the corner just now, outside the shop.”

  I sat up straight.

  “Yeah, the old guy, Doug Smith?”

  I unfolded my legs and dropped stiffly to the floor.

  “Didn’t look so good, poor fellow.”

>   I strode to the kitchen.

  “Poor fellow?” I said. “Twelve pounds he wanted for two bat…”

  Freddie glanced at me and shook his head. “Don’t think ill of the dead, Kathy.”

  “Dead?” Both Dad and I asked at the same time.

  “When did you hear?” Dad asked. “I only just…”

  But Freddie’s eyes locked with mine, and the image of a sheet being pulled over Dougie’s face flashed to my mind. My hand flicked up to mask my gaping mouth. Freddie was psychic? What’d Dad make of that! But rather than being angry, his face turned a weird shade of grey, his body trembled and he sank heavily into a seat. I guessed he couldn’t argue with his own dad. Although he might have just been shocked that the old guy died.

  “Freddie, do you know what happened to Jack?” I asked quietly.

  But Freddie shook his head and all I saw was blackness.

  “Jack?” Dad asked.

  “My cousin.”

  “Please, no.” Dad’s lips went white and he shuddered, burying his head in his hands.

  “Freddie’s cousin then.”

  Freddie nodded in confirmation.

  “D’ya know what happened to me then, Freddie?” I asked.

  “Katie.” Dad moaned. His face was even whiter when he raised it to look at me. “Please, you have to stop this…”

  “Yes, Katie,” Mum snapped, striding into the kitchen. “I thought I warned you…” She jerked her head in Freddie’s direction.

  I rolled my eyes but she must have taken that as me about to keel over as she pressed her hand to my forehead.

  “It’s not me,” I assured her, pushing her hand away. “Dad’s gone a funny colour.”

  Mum flinched when she saw Dad’s sallow complexion and darted back to their room.

  “You went looking for Jack,” Freddie said quietly. “And took all these years to come back.”

  Dad sank heavily against the back of the chair with his head tilted back and I wondered if he was about to pass out. His eyes flickered to mine when I pressed my hand to his clammy forehead and the tears barely held within them brought a lump to my throat. I’d never seen Dad cry.

  “What is it, Dad?” I begged.

  “Here.” Mum dashed back to the kitchen and nudged me aside. A vitamin pot rattled as she spilled several garlic oil capsules into her cupped palm and pressed them into our hands. Dad stared vaguely at his.

  “What’s this for?” I challenged.

  “You have a fever.” She did her hand temperature check again. “In fact, as much as I hate the idea,” she rummaged in her handbag for paracetamol, punched two from the unused blister pack and pushed those in my other hand, “have those as well.”

  “A fever?” Dad mumbled. “Please tell me that’s all this is.”

  Mum squinted at him and, despite his protests, gave him a glass of water to swallow his capsules. I left them arguing and went back to my room.

  The jewel winked in the light from the window. I was ninety-nine per cent certain Jack hadn’t taken them, but how could I prove that?

  And why could Freddie only see blackness when it came to Jack? The attic where the stones were hidden was dark – had Jack put them there? Or was it the blackout Freddie was seeing?

  I flopped on my back on the bed, snatched the jewel up and drifted into the past.

  “Morning, Kathy!” Mr Bettis said brightly. The volume of the wireless went up as he opened his door wider to allow me inside. “Go on through.” The door closed behind me. “Henny must have known what day it is today as she laid you an egg, special!”

  Mr Bettis’ kitchen was a bit like Auntie Carol’s, although half of it was missing because some of his cupboards had been used for firewood during the winter. In the middle of the floor was a tiny table with two chairs, one of which only got used when he had a visitor, the other two having also been burnt. A gas mask and cracked saucer were the only things on the table, and on the saucer was a single brown egg.

  Mr Bettis reached to the windowsill and turned the wireless off.

  “Don’t need to hear about that tragedy again,” he said. “You know the Halifax bombers?”

  I nodded sadly. So many airmen had already been lost.

  “Maybe they could put some good news on for a change,” I said. “Like Henny laying me a special birthday egg?”

  Mr Bettis took my right hand and placed the egg in my palm then cupped my left palm over it.

  “Now you take good care of that,” he said, winking. “And enjoy your treat.”

  I hurried home, cradling the egg as if it were made of glass. The stink of boiled cabbage hit me as soon as I walked in Auntie Carol’s front door so I guessed Auntie Carol was making her disgusting broth again. I wandered to the kitchen where the stale end of a loaf sat on a plate in the centre of the table. I glared at it and her as she dropped some muddy potatoes onto an old newspaper.

  “Is Jack with you?” she asked, looking up.

  “No,” I said. “But it’s his turn for the crust so he better get himself back soon.”

  “If Jack doesn’t want the crust then he doesn’t have to have it,” Auntie Carol replied.

  “But that’s not fair!” I said. “I always have to have it when it’s my turn and I hate the crust, especially when there’s no butter.”

  “It won’t be so bad if you dip it in your soup,” Mum said, coming into the kitchen. Her hair was still tied up with a scarf, the bow darkened with fingerprints, and dark circles rimmed her eyes after her day at the munitions factory. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.” She plonked a kiss on my cheek then unhooked a pinny from the back of the yellow door, fastened it around her waist and washed her hands with the last slither of soap under the tap. She took the vegetable knife from the chopping board beside the sink.

  “Yuck, you’re not putting potatoes in the soup as well?” I said, rubbing Mum’s kiss away. My cheek smelled of the factory, all metallic and greasy. “Potatoes make cabbage taste even worse!”

  Auntie Carol drew a sharp breath and Mum shook her head to try and stop me antagonising her any more.

  “We have to have something of substance to fill us up,” Mum said, slumping into a seat. “And it wouldn’t be so bad if we had some salt…”

  But even if we had salt, Auntie Carol wouldn’t use it. She was the worst cook in the world.

  “Thought we were supposed to save cooking fuel in summer,” I challenged. “And have salads.”

  “Any more of your complaining,” Auntie Carol fixed me a stern glare and pointed her knife at me, “and you’ll go to bed without any tea at all!”

  “Uh huh,” I said, triumphantly. “I don’t have to have soup today. Look what Mr Bettis gave me!”

  I laid my egg beside the bread and as it slid from my palm, my memory vanished.

  I sat bolt upright, the jewel on the bed beside me. Halifax bombers. The day before my birthday. The day before Jack and I disappeared and the day before the jewels were stolen. Yet that paper the teapot was wrapped in…

  I jumped up and hurried to the attic hatch, bumping into Mum as she headed out of the bathroom.

  “Where did you get to, Katie?” she gasped. “Been looking all over for you.”

  “I wasn’t in my room?”

  Mum looked at me strangely and shook her head. “But no matter now, just wanted to say, Dad’s been called into work, and we’re hoping he can organise a car while he’s there. If so, we can get you to the naturopath and see if we can’t find something to fix you up.”

  “But isn’t Dad sick as well?”

  Mum let out a huge sigh. “You know what a workaholic he is, and as for the naturopath…”

  “Yeah, well I don’t like them either,” I said. “I won’t go unless Dad goes.”

  Her hand flicked to my forehead again but I was sure it wouldn’t have changed; the tablets were still on the bedside table.

  “How about I sleep on it?” I said. “And if you’re still not happy tomorrow, then take me?”


  “Fine,” she said. “How about I get dinner done early so you can have an early night?”

  Whatever, I shrugged.

  As soon as she was out of sight, I hurried into the loft.

  The torch, teapot, newspaper were all where I’d left them. And finally, solid evidence that Jack and I hadn’t stolen the jewels.

  – chapter eight –

  The sapphires had been hidden in a teapot, one of the few survivors of the Smith’s house, and stored in the roof of their rellies hotel – the hotel later converted to the flats where Freddie lived. But the paper they were wrapped in was dated a day after Jack and I disappeared.

  Would anyone believe that Freddie hadn’t hidden the jewels? Even if they did, it didn’t solve the problem of where Jack was. And people hated Freddie already; if I started making allegations about Dougie Smith now that he couldn’t defend himself, people would hate Freddie – us – even more.

  I gathered the evidence, killed the light, and trod one slow, heavy step after the other, grasping the rungs with my elbows. My heart thumped at a million miles an hour when the front door burst open. My feet slipped and I slid down the last two rungs, thud, thump, the teapot nursed to my chest as if breaking it would destroy the truth.