The Lost Ones

by Ben Cheetham

  One of the dolls was wearing a navy-blue suit and tie. He had short, centre-parted hair, a thick black moustache and a thin white face. Another was wearing a flowery dress with frills at the neck and sleeves. Her lips were set in a straight line that matched her cheerless eyes. Between these was a plumpish, pigtailed doll in a green dress. To either side of them were two even more familiar dolls. One was wearing a charcoal grey business suit with a light-pink pinstriped shirt and a blue tie. He had short black hair, dark eyes and, except for a bump on the bridge of his nose, good-looking, even features. The other was wearing cut-off blue jeans and a red vest top. Tousled auburn hair framed a face a little too angular to be pretty and eyes as green as a cat’s.

  A shudder crawled through Jake. He wasn’t sure what disturbed him more – the image of his parents having tea with the Inghams or that their effigies were dressed identically to his actual parents on the morning Erin disappeared.

  The sixth doll had its back to him, but its hair sticking up in punkish tufts, black T-shirt and skinny jeans were all the clues he needed to guess its identity. He moved around the table to look at its face – sullen eyes, sulky mouth, a few zits, a hint of bumfluff above the upper lip. Do I really look like that? he thought. What an arsehole.

  ‘She must be watching you. She knows you’ve cut your hair,’ pointed out Lauren.

  Jake peered under the bed – more rolls of fabric, boxes of cotton thread, sewing needles, cotton wool, tins of model paint, paintbrushes, glue and myriad other craft items. All stored with an orderliness that seemed profoundly out of place compared to the rest of the bungalow. He saw Lauren pulling down the waistband of his doll lookalike’s jeans. She grinned stupidly. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t resist.’

  Jake sighed. ‘So what now? Do I go to the police?’

  ‘And say what? This is all weird as fuck, but there’s no law against that or you’d have been arrested years ago.’

  ‘This is more than just weird, Lauren. I want to know why I’m having tea with dead people.’

  ‘Why does it have to mean something bad? You wouldn’t invite someone you didn’t like to a tea party, would you?’

  ‘Not unless you wanted to poison them.’

  ‘Fair point.’ Lauren pushed out her lips. ‘Hey, something just occurred to me. If Mary’s watching you then—’

  Jake finished her sentence for her, his voice quick with realisation. ‘Then maybe she knows we’re here!’

  As one, they turned to the doorway. As one, their eyes flew wide and they gasped. Mary Ingham was staring at them from the hallway, dead-eyed, gaunt, twigs of matted hair sticking out in all directions, like something from one of the Grimms’ Tales Jake’s parents used to read him. She was wearing the tatty army-surplus jacket he’d seen her collecting berries in. A frayed floral dress showed off shins covered in scratches and a fuzz of hair. Her bare feet were black with dirt. A pair of cats wound their way between her legs, purring loudly.

  Jake’s first thought was to shove Mary aside and make for the back door. But her unblinking eyes held him rooted to the spot. They seemed to be looking right into him. He could almost feel them rummaging through the fear and confusion in his head. Lauren’s voice broke the spell. ‘The window,’ she yelled, springing onto the bed.

  Jake spun to follow her, but tripped over the little chairs. Scattering cups and saucers, he sprawled across the table. He scrambled to his feet, trampling the dolls. Lauren had opened the curtains only to reveal a wooden board. He jerked towards the doorway as Mary let out a strangled howl. She was rushing at him, goggle-eyed, arms outstretched. He flung up his hands to defend himself, but she scooped up the fallen dolls. Clutching all six to herself, she retreated to a corner, her eyes dancing between the intruders.

  Jake and Lauren exchanged a glance. Mary didn’t look angry. She looked scared. Lauren reached for a doll. Mary let out a low, plaintive moan. Lauren pulled back her hand. ‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘We won’t hurt them.’ Motioning at the upended chairs, she said to Jake, ‘Tidy that up.’

  Keeping one eye on Mary, he stood the chairs up and arranged the tea set on the table. Mary moaned again as he collected the shards of a broken cup, her expression so pitiful that he found himself saying, ‘Sorry.’

  With a hand that looked as if it spent a lot of time digging in dirt, Mary made a quick give them here motion. He held out the shards. She snatched them from his palm and, tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth, began working out which piece fitted where. Lauren and Jake glanced at each other again. Mary’s fear had given way to intense preoccupation. Lauren flicked her eyes towards the door. Jake shook his head. His fear had given way, too. He no longer wanted to make a run for it. He wanted to stay and discover what, if any, secrets Mary possessed.

  Mary turned her attention back to the dolls, examining them like an over-anxious mother. Satisfied they hadn’t been damaged, she suddenly seemed to remember she wasn’t alone and her wariness returned.

  ‘You don’t need to be scared,’ said Jake.

  Mary stared at him uncertainly. She inched forward and set up the dolls of her parents and sister at the table, taking great care to position them just so. She returned the other three dolls to a shelf, seated herself on one of the unoccupied chairs and motioned for Jake and Lauren to do the same.

  ‘I think we’re invited to the tea party,’ said Lauren.

  Jake sank onto a chair. It was so low his knees poked in front of his chest. Lauren sat down beside him. Mary briefly closed her eyes and put her hands together in silent prayer. Then, as if undertaking some sacred ritual, she delicately poured invisible tea through a silver strainer into the cups, starting with her father and working clockwise around the table. Using cake tongs, she placed a cupcake in front of each guest. Like an attentive host anxious to please, she looked expectantly at Jake and Lauren. Lauren picked up her cup and pretended to take a sip, followed by a bite of cake. Trying not to feel too much of an idiot, Jake followed suit.

  ‘This is lovely, Mary,’ said Lauren, prompting Jake with a nudge in the ribs.

  ‘Yes, the cakes are really delicious,’ he agreed.

  Mary broke into a gap-toothed smile, her eyes sparkling with the unaffected joy of an eight-year-old girl. She fed her parents and sister tea and cake, before taking a sip and nibble herself.

  Jake cleared his throat nervously. ‘Mary, I er . . . There’s something I want to ask you. Why did you put that doll of my sister on our doorstep?’

  Mary’s smile faded and the leathery wrinkles on her forehead grew even deeper. She touched a hand to her chest, then gestured to Jake.

  ‘It was a gift from her heart,’ interpreted Lauren.

  ‘Yes, but why?’ persisted Jake.

  ‘Excuse us a second, Mary,’ said Lauren. She addressed the dolls. ‘Excuse us, Mr and Mrs Ingham, Rachel.’ She drew Jake away from the table to the hallway and whispered, ‘Don’t you get it? To her these dolls are as alive as you and me. So giving you Erin’s doll was the same as giving you Erin.’

  Jake had to admit Lauren’s words made perfect sense in an insane kind of way. ‘Where did you pull that one from?’

  She grinned, pleased with herself. ‘I guess I’m just a clever bitch.’

  They returned to the table. Mary smiled again, the same sweet, innocent sparkle in her eyes that made it seem as if they occupied the wrong sockets. As she poured more tea, Jake asked, ‘Mary, do you know where my sister is?’

  She gave him a quizzical look and nodded.

  Jake’s voice quickened in time to his pulse. ‘Where is she?’

  Mary motioned at the effigies of Jake’s parents. His heart sank in comprehension.

  ‘I think she’s saying Erin’s with your parents,’ said Lauren.

  ‘Yeah, I get it,’ sighed Jake. He looked at Mary. ‘You’ve got to stop it. Do you understand? You’ve got to stop watching my family or you’re going to get in big trouble.’

  Mary stared blankly back like she didn’t know what he was
talking about. She turned to the doll of Elijah Ingham as if it had spoken to her, then her gaze returned to Jake and she nodded.

  ‘Thanks. We’ve got to go now. I’m sorry we broke into your house. I promise I’ll pay to fix your window.’ Jake made to stand, but Lauren nudged him and indicated the dolls. Taking the hint, he said, ‘Goodbye, Mr and Mrs Ingham.’ His gaze lingered on the Rachel doll. It stared back with wide eyes that seemed to be looking to him for answers to unasked questions. ‘Bye, Rachel.’

  Lauren waved to the room. ‘Bye, everyone.’

  Mary followed them as far as the back door. Jake emerged blinking into the bright day. He took a deep breath, feeling as if he’d just emerged from a surreal daydream. He glanced at Mary as if to confirm she actually existed. That distant, dead look was back in her eyes. A cat nuzzled her legs, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Well, that was a trip,’ said Lauren as they walked in the dappled shadows of the woods. ‘Poor cow. Whoever did that to her deserves something really nasty to happen to them.’

  Jake made a muted noise of agreement.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Lauren. ‘I’d say that was a pretty successful bit of investigating, wouldn’t you?’

  He shrugged. They’d found out where the doll came from, but they hadn’t got any closer to what he really wanted to know. He quickened his pace. ‘I’d better get back before someone realises I’m gone.’

  When they came within sight of Ritton Hall, Jake’s eyes widened and he broke into a run. He poked at the bent gates and splinters of glass, a disturbing train of thought racing through his mind. Had someone broken into his grandparents’ house? If so, what were they looking for? The diary? Did Mary know he had it? Had she told anyone—

  Lauren interrupted his thoughts. ‘Looks like your grandparents are home.’

  His gaze darted along the driveway. He was more relieved than troubled to see the Range Rover. Surely that meant there hadn’t been a break-in, otherwise there would be police all over the place. There was a good chance his pillows-under-the-bedsheets routine had been rumbled, but he’d rather that than lose the diary. There was another reason for his relief too – he’d been dreading telling Lauren she couldn’t read the diary until he’d finished with it. Now he had a legitimate reason for fobbing her off.

  ‘Should I come in with you?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll bring you the diary later.’

  Lauren rumpled her face as if his words hurt. ‘I wasn’t thinking about the diary. I was thinking some heavy shit might be going down. I know I can be a total bitch from hell, but I . . . Well, I . . .’ She looked at him from under her dark eyebrows. ‘Shit, you know what I’m trying to say.’

  Jake nodded. ‘Best mates.’

  Crossing her index fingers and curving her thumbs to touch their opposing tips, Lauren made the infinity symbol she’d so often taken the piss out of other kids for using. Jake smiled despite his anxiety. She found it almost impossible to take anything seriously. That was a big part of why he liked her so much.

  ‘Thanks for helping me out,’ he said.

  ‘No problem. It’s been the most fun I’ve had in ages, apart from all this shit with your sister.’

  Wincing at the mention of Erin, Jake turned to squeeze through the gates.

  ‘I’ll wait for you to give me a thumbs up,’ said Lauren.

  When Jake reached the house, he peeked over a windowsill into a large, beam-ceilinged room. His granddad was sitting in a studded-leather armchair by a tall stone fireplace where a fire was kept burning even on warm days. Henry’s troubled gaze was fixed on the flames. On a coffee table there were several monogrammed leather photo albums. Jake couldn’t read the monograms, but he could guess what they said – Erin 2007, 2008, 2009, etc. There was an album for each year of her life. As there was for his, too. An entire room downstairs was devoted to albums documenting the Brooks family history. There were photos dating back to the late 1800s. Some of Jake’s earliest memories involved poring over them while his granddad regaled him with tales about their subjects. This is William Brooks who used the money he made as a textile manufacturer to purchase Ritton Hall. This is Alfred Brooks who died aged nineteen in the First World War. This is Edith Brooks who paid for the war memorial in the market square. And so it went on, right up to the present day. Jake’s favourite photos were from the sixties and seventies. He used to laugh at the flared suits, bad hair and oversized moustaches.

  Jake gave Lauren the thumbs up. She blew him a kiss and turned to leave. Two days ago that kiss would have completely thrown him. But things had changed since then, for better and for much, much worse. He slunk along the wall to the front door. As quietly as possible, he turned the thick brass handle.

  DAY 2

  10.01 A.M.

  The image of Amanda and Graham clawed mercilessly at Tom’s mind. His jaw muscles pulsed, his fingers convulsively clenched the steering wheel. Amanda had always been able to twist him around her little finger, make him feel whatever she wanted him to, be it lust or love, sadness or guilt. Guilt! He’d come away from their encounter feeling as if he was somehow the villain. How the hell was that possible? How was wanting to give your family a better life wrong?

  Amanda had accused him of being just like Henry. And maybe in some ways she was right. He was driven, single-minded, willing to make sacrifices to his ambition. But, unlike Henry, he hadn’t been born with a silver spoon so far up his arse it was practically sticking out of his mouth. Getting what he wanted was all Henry had ever known – that is until Tom met Amanda. For Tom the reverse was true. Amanda had been his first taste of what life could be. She’d given him a glimpse of a larger world beyond the grinding drudgery of the farm, a world of laughter and parties, of beauty and freedom. She’d made everything seem possible. And now he was losing – had already as good as lost – her. Henry had waited twenty-one years for this moment, biding his time as patiently as only a wealthy man could afford to. Despite what Amanda said, he wouldn’t let her wriggle off the hook again. He would move heaven and earth to match her with the right man, trampling any chance of happiness she had in order to fulfil his social ambitions.

  Just to spite Henry, Tom was tempted to return to Ritton Hall, tell Amanda everything was forgiven, plead with her not to leave him. But he knew she’d see through the lie. Even if she didn’t, sooner or later all the anger and resentment would come bursting out and she’d realise that he could never truly forgive her. He could hear himself bellowing at her, You’re nothing but a spoiled rich bitch! You’re not fit to be a mother! He stared at the tree-lined horizon. No, his future – if he had one – wasn’t at Ritton Hall, it was out there somewhere.

  His phone rang. He answered it. ‘What is it, Eddie?’

  ‘They’ve released Graham.’

  Tom frowned with surprise. ‘How’s that possible?’

  ‘All I can think is he must have an alibi.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘The coppers gave him a lift out towards the farm with half a dozen TV vans in tow. He got out just beyond the reservoir turning and went into the woods. The coppers are stopping anyone from following him.’

  Tom knew exactly where Graham was going – a footpath through the woods led to the farm. He turned the car back the way he’d come.

  ‘Are you going to talk to him?’ asked Eddie.

  ‘Yes.’ Tom’s tone suggested he intended to do his talking with more than just his mouth.

  A cautioning note entered Eddie’s voice. ‘Do me a favour. Don’t go losing that temper of yours.’

  Tom smiled cynically. ‘Why? You worried I’ll end up in prison and scupper your plans for the quarry?’

  ‘Partly,’ admitted Eddie. ‘But that’s not all it is. I know what’s going through your head, Tom. You’re thinking about putting your fists in Graham’s face until he’s got no face left. I’d be thinking the same if it was me, and I’d probably do it too. But I haven’t got any kids to worry about.’

  Tom’s
forehead squeezed into furrows as images of Jake and Erin vied for ascendancy with those of Graham and Amanda. ‘He fucked my wife. What am I supposed to do?’

  Eddie blew a resigned breath. ‘You do what you have to do. I’m with you whatever.’

  ‘I know. You always have been. Don’t worry, Eddie, I’ll make sure the quarry goes ahead even if it means giving you my half of the business.’

  ‘I don’t want your half. I want us to get rich together like we’ve been dreaming about since we were kids.’

  Tom thought of the contempt in which Amanda held their ambitions. Her words echoed back to him, No matter how much money you make, you’ll never be anything but a pathetic little man. How easy it was for her to say that. Patronising bitch. She’d never known what it was like to be poor, and she never would. She could afford to play around with a bit of rough, knowing Daddy would always be there to bail her out.

  He knew the thought was unfair. You didn’t marry and have children with the bit of rough, you used them and tossed them aside. But then again, he was in no mood to be fair. He was in the mood to let rip with all his rage on the person who deserved it most – the one person who truly understood where he came from and what it had meant to him to break free of it.

  He pulled over by a dry-stone wall, beyond which a grassy field climbed towards a pine plantation. ‘The Geordies will be here soon,’ Eddie reminded him.

  ‘Good. Speak to you then.’

  Tom hurdled the wall and sprinted towards the plantation, scanning the landscape as he did so. There was no sign of Graham. That meant he was still in the woods. Tom dropped down behind a gorse bush at the side of a footpath, his heart hammering. He didn’t have to wait long. Graham and Bob emerged from the pines. Graham’s head was lowered. His usually impassive face wore heavy lines of strain.

  Tom rose and stepped into his path. Graham showed no surprise. Bob bared his teeth and growled. ‘Stay,’ Graham commanded the collie. Bob lay down tensely with his front paws extended.