by Ben Cheetham
Henry thanked him again and returned to Jake. ‘Well, you certainly won’t be climbing any trees for a while.’
‘I don’t climb trees any more, Granddad,’ said Jake. ‘I’m too old for that.’
‘Yes, you are,’ Henry replied with a meaningful look. He took out his phone.
‘Who are you calling?’
‘Your mother.’
‘But you said you . . .’ Jake trailed off, lowering his head. ‘Dad’s going to kill me.’
‘I think you might be surprised. But if the situation at home does become too difficult, you know where your grandma and I are. We’ll always be here for you, Jake. You, Erin and your mum.’
Jake noted that his dad’s name was pointedly absent from the list.
DAY 1
11.28 P.M.
Tom’s mind drew a picture of the fog lying over the forest like a suffocating blanket. He saw himself wandering blindly through it, calling out, Erin! Erin! Silence. Hated silence. His thoughts drifted to Jake. He replayed the things he’d said, the backhanded slap. Oh, Christ, how could he have done that to him? Then he was back in the forest. The fog was gone, but everything seemed distorted, pulled out of shape like a child’s plasticine creation. He emerged from the trees by the pool of impenetrably black water. His heart throbbed in his ears at the sight of it. The throbbing intensified as a small hand broke the water’s surface. A willow-thin arm followed. Then dripping-wet long russet hair, eyes as dark as his own, a button nose, dimpled cheeks. Erin! Had he said her name or just thought it? He didn’t know. But she seemed to hear, because she lowered her hand and pointed expressionlessly at him. I’m coming, sweetie! He waded into the water, gasping as it wrapped cold arms around his chest. He swam desperately towards Erin. She was only a few metres away, but it seemed to take a long time to reach her. Daddy’s here! He caught hold of her hand and gasped again. Her fingers made the water seem warm. They closed tightly on his and began to pull him down, deeper and deeper into breathless blackness.
He opened his eyes with a jerk of his head. A sandwich and a mug of tea swirled into focus on the coffee table, surely put there by Amanda. I must have drifted off, he thought, reaching for the tea. It was cold. How long was I asleep? He glanced at the clock, recalling simultaneously that he’d removed the battery. He shuddered. The dream had seemed so real. He could still feel the touch of Erin’s fingers, as cold as . . . He shook the memory from his mind, took a bite of the sandwich, chewed without tasting and forced it down with a sip of tea. He flinched so hard tea slopped over his hand when the phone rang in the hallway. He sprang up and ran to answer it. Amanda beat him to it. He looked at her in anxious expectation as she held the handset to her ear, barely able to restrain himself from snatching it away.
Her forehead squeezed into furrows. ‘What? How?’ There was a pause, then, ‘OK, we’ll be there asap.’
‘What’s happened?’ Tom asked fearfully.
‘That was my dad. He’s with Jake at the hospital.’
Tom’s chest constricted. ‘Is Jake—’
Amanda raised her hands in a calm down gesture. ‘Jake’s fine. Well, not exactly fine, but it’s nothing life threatening. He’s broken his wrist.’
‘Broken his wrist? How?’
‘I don’t know. Dad said he’d explain when we get to the hospital.’
They rushed to the car. As he drove, Tom shook his head and muttered, ‘What a fucking idiot I am.’
‘Please, Tom, save the guilt for later. Let’s just concentrate on dealing with Jake.’
They parked up and dashed into A&E where Henry was waiting. ‘He fell. Don’t ask me where or how because I don’t know,’ he explained as he led them to Jake.
A nurse was applying the finishing touches to Jake’s plaster cast. Jake looked sheepishly at his mum and avoided his dad’s eyes altogether.
Tom hung back as Amanda approached Jake. ‘Oh, sweetheart, does it hurt much?’
‘They’ve given me some painkillers.’
She gently parted the hair around the scabbed cut. ‘What happened?’
Jake’s gaze dropped away from hers. She ran her fingers over his dusty T-shirt, a frown of realisation gathering. ‘Have you been back to that house?’
His silence was as good as a yes. Huffing through her nose, Amanda opened her mouth to say more. Before she could, Tom put in, ‘We can talk about all that later. Let’s just get him home for now.’ He smiled at Jake, a silent plea for forgiveness in his eyes. A twitch pulled his smile out of shape as Jake looked past him at Henry.
‘Granddad said I—’ Jake began, but he broke off with a quick look at his mum’s worry-worn face.
Tom threw an almost suspicious glance at his father-in-law. ‘What did he say?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ The cast dangling heavily at his side, Jake got off the trolley bed. His granddad winked at him as if to say, Good boy.
‘Any word from the forest?’ asked Henry as they made their way to the car park.
‘No,’ Amanda replied in a voice of toneless exhaustion.
‘Well, I suppose no news is good news,’ Henry said, failing pitifully to sound as if he believed his words.
When they reached the cars, Jake turned suddenly and hugged his uninjured arm around his granddad. Tom couldn’t help but feel a flash of jealousy. He couldn’t remember the last time Jake had hugged him like that.
‘Remember what I said about your mother,’ Henry murmured in Jake’s ear, before drawing away. As Jake ducked into the Volvo, Henry’s eyes slid across to Tom. ‘He’s a great lad, you know.’
Tom thought he detected a gleam of something in Henry’s eyes. Was it disapproval? Had Jake told him about the slap? He found himself blinking guilty. ‘I know. Thanks for sorting him out.’
He got behind the steering wheel. The journey back to the house passed in silence. The events of the previous couple of hours hung heavily in the air. Jake broke the silence as they pulled into the driveway. ‘You don’t have to worry about me, Mum. I won’t go back to that house again.’
Amanda twisted to look at him, frowning as if she doubted his word. But when she saw the sincerity in his eyes, she said, ‘Then we’ll speak no more of it.’
Amanda headed straight for the living room. The clink of glass on glass told Tom she was pouring herself another drink. Jake and he stood awkwardly in the hallway. Tom almost seemed to hear the slap echoing in the silence between them. For want of something to say, he asked, ‘Are you hungry?
Jake shook his head. ‘I’m really sleepy. Is it all right if I go to my room?’
Tom’s eyebrows lifted slightly. Jake didn’t normally ask permission to go to his room. ‘Of course.’ He left his mouth open, wanting to say more, but unsure if now was the right time. As Jake started up the stairs, Tom added with a sort of hopeful lift in his voice, ‘Just shout if you need anything.’
Jake nodded without glancing back. Tom stared despondently after him, then turned towards the living room. Amanda was in the armchair, sipping gin. Tom looked at her, but she didn’t look at him.
DAY 2
1.46 A.M.
Jake was relieved to get upstairs. When his dad had hit him, two possible responses had flashed through his mind – hit him back or run. Instinct had chosen the latter option for him. He was less sure how to deal with the shame he’d seen in his dad’s eyes. He was surprised to find himself feeling as if he should be the one apologising. After all, he’d been pushing his dad for months, not listening to or outright disobeying him. Was it any wonder he’d finally snapped?
He yawned as he closed his bedroom door. His limbs felt like rocks. There was only one thing he wanted to do more than throw himself on his bed and sleep. He propped his desk chair against the door – a trick he’d learned from the movies. Then he removed the book from his jeans and studied the cracked leather strap and rusty lock. It would be simple enough to cut the strap, but he was loath to damage the book. He switched on his laptop and navigated to a website that demons
trated how to pick a diary lock. He rummaged through his desk drawers until he found what he needed – a couple of paper clips. He bent one into a straight line and the other into an ‘L’ shape. He inserted the straight paper clip into the top of the keyhole and its L-shaped accomplice into the bottom. Then he eased out the straight paper clip, feeling it tickle the lock pins. Simultaneously, he twisted the second pick. To his surprise – he hadn’t really expected it to work – the lock turned with a satisfying click.
A musty smell of old paper feathered his nostrils as he eagerly opened the book. Excitement tingled through him when he saw what was written on the first page in neatly printed black-inked letters. ‘The diary of Rachel Ingham. Aged 12.’ Childishly simple drawings of flowers sprouted from the words. Careful not to damage the damp-crinkled paper, he turned the page. The first entry was dated ‘Sunday, 2 January 1972’. Almost eight months before the murders. He resisted an impulse to flip forwards and see if there was an entry for the 26th of July. Lauren had a bad habit of always reading the last page of a book first. To him that was like peeking inside wrapping paper – it ruined the surprise. He took the diary to his bed. Careful not to disturb the chicks, he propped the book against his plaster cast and continued reading.
This is the first time I have kept a diary. I’m not really sure what to write so I will just write what I have done today. This morning Daddy and me went to church. Mummy stayed home with Mary because Mary was not feeling well. It was a very cold day and I could not stop shivering in the church. Reverend Douglas spoke about new beginnings. He said the New Year is a time to renew faith and come to know our Lord Jesus Christ better. I have not read my Bible for a while but tonight I will read it for ten minutes and I will read it every night from now on. When we got home Mary was playing with her dolls. She said she was feeling better.
At this point a sentence had been scribbled out so that it was almost illegible. Jake held the page up to the light and managed to make out the words, ‘I don’t think she was really ill in the first place.’
The entry continued with more mundane details about Rachel’s day – helping Mummy prepare Sunday dinner, saying grace, an after-dinner walk along the river, Bible reading, more praying before bed. Jake sucked in a deep breath and popped his eyes wide to stave off encroaching sleep. This stuff was every bit as dull as you’d expect a twelve-year-old girl’s diary to be.
The next entry was dated ‘Wednesday, 5 January’ and began ‘First day back at school.’ There was a little outline drawing of a sad face with a teardrop hanging from one eye, then
I was sick twice this morning. I told Mummy I felt too ill to go to school but she said it was just my nerves again. Mary was really happy because she was allowed to take one of her Christmas presents to school. She took her doll Rebecca. I spoke to Christine in the playground. She went to her grandparents in Newcastle for Christmas. She said her mum wants to move to Newcastle. If Christine leaves I will have no one to speak to at school. Lessons I had today: maths, English, RE, biology. In biology I was supposed to be taught about sexual reproduction but I had to leave the class because Daddy thinks I should not learn about those things. After school Tina Dixon and her mates laughed at me and said I would never get a boyfriend if I didn’t know how to do it.
The significance of ‘it’ had been highlighted with a red ring. Jake sighed. Some shit never changed. Kids like Rachel would always be an easy target.
Mary was there and she thought it was really funny even though she did not know what Tina was talking about. She told Mummy what happened and Mummy said they have a word for girls like Tina.
The next word was written in red capitals ‘WHORE’.
This is more promising, thought Jake. But once again the remainder of the entry was a humdrum catalogue of chores, homework and prayers. As too were the next few entries, which were scattered haphazardly over a period of several weeks. Jake yawned again. He was on the verge of putting down the book and giving in to sleep, when the first sentence of an entry dated ‘Thursday, 24 February’ caught his eye.
Today is the worst day ever! Christine is moving to Newcastle. She is my only friend. Now I will be completely alone. When she told me I had to run to the toilets to be sick. Christine promised to write to me and said I could come and visit her in Newcastle. But I know Daddy will not let me go to Newcastle. He says cities are places of sin. In maths I started crying and Tina Dixon made baby boo hoo noises. I know Jesus says we should love our enemies and I do try to but sometimes I really really HATE Tina.
The word hate was ringed in red and a line was drawn from it to what looked like a Bible quotation in the margin: ‘If we confess our sins He is faithful and just to forgive our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.’ Next to the words was a drawing of a crucifix inside a heart.
After that there were no entries until ‘Saturday, 18 March’:
Christine moved to Newcastle today. I went to her house to say goodbye and we gave each other a present. I gave her a Saint Christopher pendant to look after her on her travels and she gave me a silver four-leaf-clover pendant with ‘luck’ written on it. We put on our presents and said that we would never take them off. After waving off Christine I went home and cried in my bedroom. Mary came in and said she wished I wasn’t so sad. She said I could come to her dolls’ tea party and be friends with her friends if I wanted. I said I’m too old to be friends with dolls and that she would be too in a few years. She said no she would not and that she would always love her dolls and they would always love her. I asked her to leave me alone but she wouldn’t. In the end I gave in and went to her dolls’ tea party and it did actually make me feel a bit better. Mary said it was the best dolls’ tea party ever and asked if I wanted to know a secret. I said yes and she told me that she sometimes pretends to be ill so she doesn’t have to go to church. I asked if she was afraid God would punish her and she stuck her tongue out and blew a raspberry. I was so shocked that I did not know what to say. Tonight I will pray for her.
Jake thought of how until two or three years ago Erin had used to pester him to play dolls’ tea party with her. She’d stopped asking him long before she’d grown out of the game because he always gave the same answer, No way. Dolls are for girls. As he read on, he made a silent vow that he would never say no to her again. The next entry was dated ‘Sunday, 19 March’. It had another eye-catching opening sentence:
I have been crying all day. Daddy took away my four-leaf-clover pendant this morning. He saw it around my neck as we were getting ready to go to church. He said that luck is a blasphemy against God and that God has a preordained destiny for us all. I said I didn’t wear the pendant because it was lucky but because it reminded me of Christine. I pleaded with him to let me keep it but he said no. I got angry and shouted at him that Christine was my only friend and he said that I will always have a friend so long as I am with God. After church Daddy told Reverend Douglas about the pendant and Reverend Douglas said luck is for pagans. He showed me a passage from Proverbs that said the lot is cast into the lap but the whole disposing thereof is of the Lord. We knelt together and prayed for His forgiveness for our sins. I know Daddy was right to take the pendant away but I cannot help but be angry with him for it. I do not think I will say my prayers tonight. I am too tired from crying.
In the margin was a drawing of a four-leaf clover and a crucifix. Was that a sign of some inner turmoil? wondered Jake. Was Rachel doubting her faith? He turned to an entry dated ‘Wednesday, 22 March’ whose margins were filled with doodles of dogs and smiling faces. Its first sentence seemed to answer his question. ‘Thank you Lord for listening to my prayers.’ His stinging eyes skimmed over the rest of the entry.
I have a new friend! Mummy and Daddy bought me a puppy today. He is a beautiful nine-week-old brown labrador. We went to see him at a farm after school where he was in a barn with his 3 brothers and 2 sisters. I chose him because he was the smallest and looked sad. Daddy said I could have him as long as I feed and walk h
im every day. I promised I would do and Mary said she would help me but I do not want her help. Micah is my dog not hers. I know it is wrong to feel that way but she has her dolls and I have Micah. I decided to call him Micah because it means poor and humble. He slept all afternoon in the box we brought him home in. When he woke up I fed him and played with him. He’s not allowed outside until he has had his vaccinations. I told Daddy this was the first time I had felt happy since Christine left and he said that made him happy too. I’m going to say my prayers now and go to sleep. Tomorrow I have to be up early to feed Micah.
For the next few weeks everything was all right in Rachel’s little world of home, school and church. She no longer felt lonely, she stopped being sick before school and she never missed her prayers. Then on Saturday, 6 May, fate played a terrible trick on her. Jake was warned something was amiss by a drawing above the entry of a dog with angel’s wings. The writing was uneven as if Rachel’s hand had trembled.
How could you do this to me, God? I thought you were a loving God. I thought you were my friend. But you are not. You are a HORRIBLE God. Micah was my only true friend and now he is dead. YOU took him from me and I will never forgive YOU.
At this point the writing became smudged as if tears had fallen on it. The next readable words were
It is not my fault. I told Daddy that Micah’s collar was too big for him but Daddy said it would be OK. But it was not OK. The collar slipped off Micah’s head and he ran away. I chased him through the trees by the river but I lost sight of him. I ran to the road and shouted his name. A boy came up to me carrying Micah. Micah’s eyes were closed and there was blood coming out of his mouth. The boy said he had seen a brown car run over Micah and drive away without stopping. He said that he did not see who was driving it. I tried to get Micah to open his eyes but he would not. The boy said he thought Micah was dead. That was when I became dizzy and had to sit down on the road. The boy helped me stand back up and took me to a bench. He asked my name and where I lived and I told him. He said his name was Hank like the American singer Hank Williams. He was wearing a white cowboy hat and spoke like a cowboy from a film.
