by S. B. Hayes
‘There is one thing … It’s just a thought and is probably way off the mark, and I’ll need some help …’
Luke groaned and covered his ears. ‘I know it’s going to mean trouble or something worse. What is it?’
‘The attic,’ I told him quickly. ‘It’s where Mum keeps all her photos, letters, books, furniture … all kinds of stuff from the past.’
Luke looked doubtful. ‘She wouldn’t keep anything secret if she thought you’d root about up there.’
‘But that’s the thing … we used to have a pull-down ladder, and once when I was about ten I climbed up there and she went ballistic …’
‘She was probably worried you’d fall.’
I gave him my best sinister stare. ‘Or she’s hiding something. After that the ladder mysteriously disappeared almost overnight …’
‘Attics are horrible,’ Luke grumbled. ‘I hate dust and cobwebs and creepy stuff like bats and skeletons …’
‘There aren’t any skeletons up there.’ I laughed and looked at my watch. ‘Mum won’t be back for at least another two hours. Are you up for it?’
He nodded grudgingly and rolled up his sleeves. But now that he’d agreed I was stumped because there were loads of things I hadn’t thought through. In an embarrassing climb-down I was forced to voice my concerns.
‘Sorry, but we only have a stepladder … and it’s not tall enough to reach the hatch and … if Mum came back early she’d never forgive me, especially for getting you involved.’ I took a nervous sip of Luke’s coffee. ‘Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.’
‘You’re not thinking hard enough, Kat. There’s an easier way to gain access to your attic, and your mum will never find out.’
I hated it when he was smug like this, but no matter how I wracked my brains there was only one way and that was through the hatch.
Luke gestured towards the door. ‘Come with me and I’ll show you.’
‘Should I take a coat?’
He shook his head, still maddeningly secretive. Two minutes later we were climbing the stairs of Luke’s house. We stopped on the landing and faced four doors that perfectly mirrored the layout of our own house. The first I knew to be his bedroom, then his parents’, then the bathroom and, lastly, a tiny space barely big enough for a single bed and used by my mum as a place to do her laundry. I nudged him impatiently, but he simply grinned in his annoying way and flung open the door to the smallest bedroom. It was empty apart from a steep wooden staircase leading upward.
Luke bowed his head and did some sort of flourish with his hand. ‘Dad’s converting our attic to become his office and has roped me into helping him. And guess what?’
‘What?’
‘Our roof spaces are connected. All you have to do is step through the gap.’
I threw my arms around Luke’s neck and squeezed tightly.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
The Cassidys’ attic was a light bright space. Everything had been cleared out and a floor already installed. Only the walls and ceiling were yet to be constructed. There was a new sloping roof window, just like the one in Merlin’s studio, and I could see a whole row of chimney pots, patches of blue sky and a couple of blackbirds resting on a telegraph wire. A glance through to my house revealed how dark, dingy and crowded it was. I stood for a minute, screwing up my eyes, trying to make out the various boxes and strange shapes. Holes in some of the slates let pockets of daylight shine through, like tiny sunbeams, and I wondered how long it was since Mum had had the roof repaired.
‘In another week this will be bricked up,’ Luke said knowledgably. ‘We have to conform to fire regulations, so there won’t be any more access and I won’t be able to burgle your house, Kat.’
I smiled vacantly, realizing this was my very last chance to look around in here. It almost seemed like it was meant to be. There was something here that Mum didn’t want me to know about, but now the moment had come I was nervous. I gave Luke an anxious look, steeled myself and moved forward.
‘Make sure it’s safe to walk on,’ he warned as I stepped over the boundary.
‘I think it’s safe … I was up here before, remember?’
Luke followed close behind and nervously placed one of his size-ten feet. He sounded relieved. ‘It’s been boarded with planks of wood.’
I peeled a wet cobweb from my cheek and stood for a moment glancing around, wondering why my first emotion was an overwhelming one of sadness. It wasn’t just the dust, neglect and junk; it was something tangible, and once again I was glad of Luke for support.
‘Dressmaker’s dummy,’ he pointed out. ‘And a birdcage.’
I delved into some tea chests filled with books and old toys, surprised that Mum had bothered keeping this stuff.
‘What’s in the suitcase?’ Luke asked.
It was an old-fashioned trunk, with several bags of old cushions and curtains on top, but it was well and truly locked, with no key in sight. I tipped it up slightly and heard a dull thud.
‘I’ll force it,’ he said.
I put one of my hands on his arm to restrain him. ‘No need … the hinges are rusty. This one’s already come apart.’
I wriggled one hand inside and felt cloth wrapped around something long and thin. My fingers came into contact with cold metal interspersed with small holes.
‘I know what it is. It’s Mum’s flute.’
‘I didn’t know she played.’
‘She doesn’t – not any more – but she told me she used to be really good.’
I moved among wicker baskets, fake plants, tennis rackets, an old paraffin heater and kettle, fearful that I’d been wrong and this was just a dumping ground for unwanted things.
‘Some of this stuff’s worth money,’ Luke exclaimed, running his hand over a small oak desk with a leather top.
I went over and opened the lid. Inside was an assortment of various-sized photographs. I looked through, randomly, amazed to see photos of Mum when she was only my age, some taken on a beach, some at a funfair. Her hair was long and windswept and she was laughing and carefree, so unlike the mother I knew that the sadness came back again, washing over me in waves. Weirdly, it felt as if she’d left behind this happy smiling person to gather dust with the other things, including her dreams of becoming a musician. I sat with my knees tucked under me staring at the images while Luke continued with the search. I think he was giving me a moment to myself. It was tempting to take some of the photos away with me, but they would only remind me of how unhappy Mum was now. I carefully put them back.
My attention turned to a large black holdall, which I quickly unzipped. ‘There’re even baby clothes up here,’ I told Luke. ‘A tiny romper suit, baby cardigan, knitted booties and a baby blanket.’ I held up a white embroidered shawl which had a satin ribbon threaded around the edge. ‘Wow, this is gorgeous.’
Luke pointed to some stitching in one corner. ‘It’s got something written on it.’
‘It says HOPE. Isn’t that strange? Maybe some sort of wish for the baby, like peace and love.’
‘It was a name years ago,’ Luke answered carefully. ‘Parents used to name their children after virtues. Hope, Patience, Chastity, Mercy and …’
He stopped and I stuffed the shawl back into the holdall. I knew what he was thinking – Grace, the name I never wanted to hear again. I took a last lingering look at the photos of Mum and closed the desk, sitting down heavily on the floor.
‘I was wrong to drag you up here, Luke … there’s nothing of interest to us.’
‘Well, it’s pretty much like most attics. Ours was the same – Dad and I took four carloads of stuff to the dump.’
A feeling of despair filled me. ‘This problem with Genevieve – it’s made me … deranged. I’m always looking over my shoulder in case I’m being followed, permanently on edge waiting for her next trick, and my real life doesn’t exist any more …’
‘You’re not deranged,’ Luke reassured me, joining me c
ross-legged on the filthy boards, ‘although she might be trying to make you that way.’
I gave an empty laugh. ‘Well, I think it’s working. I mean, what are we doing here? It’s crazy.’
‘Kinda fun though.’ He grinned, trying to cheer me up.
‘And the worst thing is,’ I moaned, ‘she’s shown me a side of myself I never knew existed.’
‘What side?’
‘One filled with hate,’ I answered flatly. Luke didn’t reply and my hands banged against my thighs with frustration. ‘And I see stupid connections everywhere … even dragging my own mum into this sick game.’
‘You have to be strong and focused, Kat; she wants you to fall apart.’
I struggled to my feet. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
When I turned round, Luke was holding up a carved dark wooden box inlaid with a paler pattern. ‘These are really sought after,’ he said admiringly.
‘Where did you get that?’
‘It had fallen down by the water tank. I saw something shining.’
‘I remember that,’ I breathed, thinking back to Grandad and how he would open it for me and pretend it was a sea chest full of pirate jewels.
‘Whose was it?’
‘It belonged to Grandad, and the lining is made of red silk.’
Luke opened the box and revealed the still-vibrant red lining. I inhaled the familiar smell of his cigars. ‘He always teased me that when I was old enough he’d show me the secret.’
‘Secret of what?’
‘Secret of the hidden treasure.’
‘And where was it?’
‘That’s the thing. I never found out – he was probably just making it up.’
Luke’s brow creased as he turned the box over and over in his hands. Impatiently he handed it to me. ‘You try.’
I slid one finger around the rim and underneath, shaking it with annoyance. ‘I spent years trying to work it out.’
He gave a cynical laugh. ‘No false bottom?’
‘No.’
‘It’s so intricate,’ he pondered. ‘If you look closely it’s two sets of different carvings, and they fit together like a dovetail joint.’
I didn’t have a clue what Luke was talking about. My face must have been blank because he took the box back and his fingers nimbly pressed different parts of the two-tone wood. This seemed to go on for minutes and I was losing interest when something moved and a hollow compartment shot out.
He grinned. ‘I love puzzles. You have to press the two perfectly aligned spots or it doesn’t work.’
Luke carefully handed the whole drawer to me as if it really did contain something precious, although all I could see inside was folded paper. I felt certain there was something momentous in my grasp, but I didn’t want to examine it here. I began to clamber over all the obstacles to get back to Luke’s house, glad of the delay because I was jumpy with nerves. We stepped back across the boundary and my stomach muscles tied themselves in knots. Luke handed me a cloth to wipe my hands on, and I noticed his face was covered in soot, which looked funny, contrasting with his blond hair. There was no more reason to stall so, with a nervous smile, I carefully unfolded the first piece of paper with trembling fingers.
‘It’s my birth certificate,’ I whispered, wondering why Mum would keep it hidden, but then remembering the most obvious thing – the identity of my dad. I quickly checked the entry for ‘Father’ and my faced flushed. It was blank. I hung my head and pretended to be looking at something else so Luke wouldn’t notice. A small ring of clear plastic caught my eye, still nestled in one corner of the drawer. I held it up to the light.
‘It’s a wristband for babies,’ Luke informed me. ‘There should be a name on it.’
‘“Baby Rivers”,’ I read, ‘and there’re two six-digit numbers.’
‘Hospital numbers,’ Luke answered quickly. ‘Anything else in the drawer?’
‘Just a photo of a baby.’ I flipped it over and could see writing on the back, but it was so faint it was illegible. ‘I think Mum’s been putting off the inevitable. When I’m eighteen I might try to trace my father. Maybe that’s why she’s been so tense. There’s something about him she dreads me finding out.’
‘So all this is nothing to do with Genevieve?’ Luke sighed.
‘It doesn’t look that way. The photo must be significant, but I can’t think who it is.’
His voice was gently amused. ‘It has to be you.’
‘It isn’t,’ I insisted. ‘And there’s writing on the back, but it’s faded.’
‘What about that trick we learned in the Spy Club? How to make writing reappear.’
‘You wouldn’t let me join,’ I reminded him, sticking out my tongue. ‘“No girls allowed” was the rule.’
Luke playfully pulled my hair and took a pencil from his pocket. I watched, fascinated, as he carefully shaded all over the back of the photo. If you looked closely, the writing gradually re-emerged, standing out white against the grey.
‘What does it say?’
He was rapt with concentration and never even looked up. ‘I can just make out a date … 5 June, and the year … 1994.’
‘That’s my birthday!’ I said, completely taken aback.
Luke peered hard. ‘There’s a name as well, Katy. It says “Katy Rivers”.’
I snorted. ‘That baby really isn’t me.’
‘You don’t recognize yourself.’ He laughed. ‘All babies look alike, or so my mum says.’
‘There’s something we’re missing,’ I groaned. ‘It’s like when a word’s on the tip of your tongue but you can’t remember it.’
I looked at the birth certificate again and read all the details. ‘Wow! Look at this. I was born in a maternity hospital in North Yorkshire.’ I clapped my hands together but Luke didn’t appear impressed.
‘So?’
‘That’s where we’ve been scratching around for Genevieve’s past. Isn’t that a coincidence?’
‘Well, it’s one of the biggest counties in England, but … if you say so, Kat. What was your mum doing there?’
I shook my head. ‘Don’t know. She’s never told me she lived away, and I never thought to ask.’
There it was again. The feeling that something was staring me in the face and I was too stupid to see it. I tried to join all the pieces together, but they fell apart and I could have screamed with exasperation. From nowhere, a terrible weakness seemed to descend across my whole body and I had to get out. The view from the top of the steep wooden stairs was a lot scarier on the way down and made me feel giddy, but I stumbled towards them and descended so fast that I tripped on the bottom step and twisted my ankle. Luke found me sprawled on the carpet clutching my left foot, almost glad of the pain.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
‘Put some ice on it straight away, Kat. It might help the swelling.’
‘I can’t even stand up … Can you help me?’
Luke pulled me to my feet, put one arm around my waist and positioned my left arm over his shoulder to take my weight as I hopped out of his front door. Even the few steps from his house to mine seemed impossible. My ankle had already ballooned and my shoe was getting tighter by the second.
‘If I tickled you right now you’d be helpless,’ he joked.
‘Don’t even think about it.’ I laughed weakly, nauseous with the intense throbbing in my foot.
A loud cough made me look up and almost lose my balance. If Luke hadn’t held on tightly I’d have fallen into Mum’s rose bush. Why did I look so guilty, and why couldn’t I stop blushing? The curse of having red hair was that once my cheeks had reached full beetroot colour, they stayed that way for ages.
‘Hi, Merlin,’ I managed to whisper. ‘I-I’ve hurt my ankle and Luke is helping me inside.’
‘I’ll do that,’ he glowered, and Luke gave me a sneaky wink and let him take over, disappearing discreetly into his own house. The problem was that Merlin was so tall he couldn’t support me at all. My arm wa
s almost pulled out of its socket and I had to let go and hop indoors, pausing only to worm my hand into the pocket of my jeans for the key. I held on to the wall all the way to our lounge and then slumped on to the sofa, cringing as I caught sight of myself in the mirror above our fireplace. My face was even worse than Luke’s. I must have rubbed it, and the dirt was smeared across both cheeks. My hair had a giant cobweb nestling in it. Merlin had spent last night with a perfectly groomed, glamorous Genevieve in a killer black dress, high heels and stockings, only to come face to face today with his girlfriend the chimney sweep. Even worse, my phoned beeped at that moment so I couldn’t even lie about not getting his messages.
‘Sorry I didn’t take your calls,’ I simpered. ‘We were in Luke’s loft and I couldn’t even see my phone. That’s why I’m filthy and covered in … er … dust.’
Merlin sighed with mock annoyance and picked something out of my hair.
‘You can’t stay here alone … you might have broken that ankle. Come back to my house; Mum will look at it for you.’
‘No … really, I’m fine, and I need to get cleaned up and …’
Merlin didn’t give me a chance to finish. His phone was already in his hand, dialling the number for a local taxi. I usually liked it when Merlin was decisive, but today it irritated me; it felt as if he was simply disregarding my feelings. In less than five minutes we heard the beep of a car horn, and this time I was allowed to hop outside without any support. The taxi driver chatted all the way to Merlin’s house, which meant that we didn’t have to talk to each other. It hadn’t escaped my attention that neither of us had yet mentioned the party.
When we got inside there was no sign of anyone else and Merlin sheepishly pretended this was unexpected, but I didn’t believe him for a second. He took me into the kitchen, made me a cup of sweet tea and insisted on bandaging my ankle. But he didn’t do a good job, because I almost tripped again as I hobbled over to the drainer with my empty cup and looked out on to the garden. There was a circle of flattened grass where the marquee had stood, and fairy lights still hung from the trees. I could see the exact spot where the photo of Genevieve and Merlin had been taken, and could still picture the look on his face as he danced cheek to cheek with her. I held on to the sink for support as the knife twisted again.
