Shadows of the Lost Child

by Ellie Stevenson

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but as far as I know there aren’t any ghosts. Not in here.’ I must have sounded rather curt. Cressida put her hand on my arm.

  ‘It’s alright, I’ll change the subject. It was just a way to break the ice.’ I took a deep breath and smiled at her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m feeling rather edgy tonight. Cooking always makes me nervous.’

  ‘Even when you haven’t cooked?’

  I couldn’t help laugh.

  Later that evening, after the meal, we took our coffee into the lounge, which overlooked the front of the house. Like the kitchen, the lounge was huge.

  ‘Such a beautiful room,’ said Cressida softly. She looked around, clearly curious.

  ‘In a terrible state.’

  ‘Yes, right, I can see you need some new wallpaper, and maybe a carpet, but even so, you could do so much, if you had the time, and the inclination.’

  But I do, I thought, and studied my guest. She was beautiful there, no doubt about it. I would almost say she belonged to the house.

  But not with you, said the voice in my head. I couldn’t allow myself to forget. The light that had shone, faded and died. But I still enjoyed the beauty of form.

  Every movement she made was precise. The way she sipped her wine was an art.

  An excellent choice, she said to me. Then she reached across and touched my cheek, light as a feather. I flinched, instinctively. She looked surprised and then amused.

  ‘You had a speck of curry on your face, I had to remove it. I like order.’

  Looking at the woman, I could well believe it. She was casually dressed, in trousers and shirt, but there was barely a thread or a hair out of place. Even the colour of her watch matched.

  Now, you’re being silly, I said to myself. What kind of person makes everything match?

  Someone quite different from me, I thought. But, I still knew I wanted her there.

  Chapter 8

  Now – Cressida

  It hadn’t been hard, Cressida thought, to persuade Aleph to let her stay over. The room she was in was bare but sufficient, it had a bed and a view of the courtyard, the former graveyard of Curdizan Church. And there, in the background, towered the abbey.

  There used to be houses next to the church, Aleph had explained, late last night, as they’d both peered out of her bedroom window. He’d pointed to the left and Cressida had looked, but although she’d tried, she couldn’t imagine the place in the past. There had been no moon and very little light, just the faint outline of Curdizan Church, now demolished, and the old church wall.

  ‘Where did you say you’d recently moved to?’ Aleph had changed the subject abruptly.

  ‘Ebbenheart Green, about two miles out.’

  ‘I’ve heard that’s quite a good place to live. In the suburbs but almost rural, country lanes and quite a few trees.’ He smiled, briefly. ‘That’ll be nice for your daughter, Alice.’

  He’d taken well to her having a daughter, Cressida thought, he’d even asked some relevant questions, her age, her interests and then finally, the one that mattered, where had they’d lived before the move?

  ‘Leverhulme,’ she’d told him smiling, ‘and I was very sorry to leave, but I needed somewhere a bit more central. And then, of course, I work in Curdizan. Convenience matters, being a single mum.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Aleph, looking thoughtful. Cressida smiled.

  One day soon, she’d tell him the sort of woman she was and then his dreams would be all washed up. Not that he looked like a man with dreams, more like someone haunted by nightmares. And he’d been the perfect gent. She tucked into breakfast, suddenly hungry.

  Breakfast, like supper, was served in the kitchen, and Cressida almost expected some staff, someone brought in from Downton Abbey like Mrs Patmore or little Daisy. Instead it was just herself and Aleph. Aleph leapt up when she walked in.

  ‘I hope you slept well. Would you like some tea and toast?’

  ‘I’d prefer some bacon and eggs, if you’ve got them.’ Aleph’s face fell and Cressida laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I’m only joking. Though I would like coffee, instead of tea, if there’s some left?’ As it happened there was.

  They sat together, eating and drinking, as if they were friends.

  ‘You’re not having toast?’ she said, amused, watching him polish off last night’s curry.

  ‘I don’t eat toast,’ said Aleph, shortly.

  ‘What, never?’ she asked, smiling, seeing the way his face turned grim.

  ‘Never,’ he said, ‘I don’t like it.’

  And that’s a lie, she thought, puzzled, looking at Aleph.

  ‘I’m making a list of things you don’t do. Drive, eat toast, is there anything else?’ It was dangerous, this, but she didn’t much care.

  ‘It’s a very short list,’ he said, sombre, and where she thought he’d be curt or angry, he simply retreated into his shell. She studied the room.

  ‘This kitchen needs a woman’s touch. I wouldn’t have placed that fridge-freezer there, right in the middle.’

  ‘Neither would I,’ Aleph agreed, finishing off the last samosa and washing the pastry down with tea. ‘It’s been in the middle since I moved in. I’ll get around to shifting it sometime.’

  She leant towards him, closer, intimate. ‘I have to confess to something, Aleph. And not about the freezer’s location. It’s about my motive for coming here.’

  Aleph blinked and looked surprised.

  ‘You know when I stepped in front of your bike and hurt my ankle? I didn’t really.’

  ‘No?’ said Aleph. He looked uncertain.

  ‘I was thinking of coming to see you anyway. And blaming you for an injured ankle made it so much easier. Because I hoped you’d be kinder, more open.’

  ‘Open to what?’ His voice grew chilly.

  ‘Late last night, we were talking about your counselling work, and you said you were particularly interested in speech and language. I’m sure you remember?’ Aleph nodded and Cressida continued.

  ‘Then you mentioned your other work, where you reverse recorded discussions, and from those reversals, pick up on things that people don’t say. The hidden meanings behind their words. And how you use those to help people heal.’

  ‘Yeah, I remember talking about that.’ He wasn’t giving her the slightest help.

  ‘Well, I’ve got someone I’d like you to help. A child, actually.’

  ‘I told you last night, I don’t work with kids.’ Aleph stalked off to the back of the room.

  ‘Yes I know, you said, and I read it on your website, but that’s why I told you that little white lie.’ She hurried across the room towards him. ‘I thought if I told you about myself, if you got to know me a little bit better, you might be prepared to make an exception, just this once.’

  ‘No,’ said Aleph, shaking his head. ‘There are no exceptions, none, ever.’

  Cressida begged, she didn’t care, she knew she had to get a result.

  ‘All I’m saying is think it over, please don’t dismiss this straight away. I’m only asking because it’s important. The girl who needs your help is my daughter.’

  Chapter 9

  Then – Thomas

  I felt I’d been in a dream for weeks. Miranda was acting rather strange, distant, distracted, and Ma was busy, something to do with her work in the laundry, or so she said. So, I thought, Sod it, I won’t go to school, not today, I’ll have the day to myself for once. Mister Pike won’t throw me out. And then I remembered my mate, Louise. That’s what he’d said he’d do to her, and now she’d vanished. I shook my head.

  So what if he did throw me out? I wasn’t alone like Louise had been, I’d find myself another job, to go with the one I already had, until I could get some proper work and earn decent pay, be a man. But until that happened, I’d do what I liked.

  I sauntered jauntily down the street, aiming for the river and hoping to see some lads I knew, and maybe even cadge a smoke. What Ma didn’t se
e… I thought, guiltily. But when I reached the end of the street I changed my mind when I noticed some of the curtains were closed. A sure fire sign that someone had died. I had to know who.

  I hurried along Croston as fast as I could, turning right down Blackberry Close and went to see Ben, my undertaker friend. Ben was related to Reg and Cath who worked in the pub, and Tencell & Son was the family firm, but they thought they were too good for a firm that made coffins and buried the dead.

  ‘More fool them,’ Ben often told me. ‘I make a good living, better than them.’

  It was true that people were always dying, around here anyway. Curdizan Low was a grim place to live, although not as rough as Curdizan High where the tenements were and the drunks paraded the streets at night. Living the life Louise did was hard.

  I pushed on the door of Ben’s workroom, his house had once been a smart coach house, but now was almost derelict in parts, so he got the place for a snip, he said. It was mostly for work, the rooms upstairs were all rotten, although that didn’t stop Ben sleeping there nights. The yard next door had a tap and a shed, the water for him and the shed for the horse. The horse was called Norah.

  Ben used to call the shed a stable, just for a laugh, but I was surprised it was still standing. Inside the house, there were dozens of rooms, all of them dark, but none as grim as Ben’s workshop, with its half-made coffins hanging on the walls. Ben looked up.

  ‘I haven’t the time to talk, Thomas, I’m far too busy. We’ve had one die, unexpected like.’

  ‘That’s why I’m here. I want to know who.’

  ‘And what makes you think I’d tell you, lad?’ He gave me one of his wicked grins.

  ‘Getting your laundry done on the cheap, or maybe you’d rather look a scruff? Not that I’m sure I can tell the difference.’ Ben swung his chisel round and I ducked. He laughed, loudly.

  ‘I guess you won’t leave me alone till I’ve said?’

  ‘That would be right.’ I hoisted myself up onto his bench and winked.

  ‘It’s Matt McCarthy of Terrace Hall Mews. He died last night, in his sleep, so I’m told. I’ve just been round to see the corpse. Flat on his back, like you’d expect.’

  ‘Matt McCarthy?’ I said, surprised. ‘The bloke’s not even sixty yet. He shouldn’t be dead.’

  What I really meant, was McCarthy was rich and nobody wealthy died around here. Not that there were many rich around here. Death was for the poor and hungry, not for the likes of Matt McCarthy.

  ‘I can’t believe he’s gone,’ I said. Matt McCarthy owned several shoe shops, his wife was dead and he had no kids, so who would run the business now?

  ‘He looked well gone the last time I saw him. But why don’t you go and see for yourself?’

  ‘I doubt they’d let me in for a look.’ Just for a moment I thought he meant it.

  ‘They might,’ said Ben, looking thoughtful, ‘if you pretended to be my apprentice. Tagged along, all good and quiet.’

  ‘I’m far too young to be an apprentice.’

  ‘You’re far too young to be giving me cheek. Now are we going to his house or not?’

  ‘Yes!’ I said and made for the door. I wasn’t going to miss a chance like this. I’d never seen anyone dead before, apart from that bloke they found in the river, and he barely looked like a man at all. Matt McCarthy was someone. We hurried along the road to the end.

  The corpse was dressed in his shirt and shoes and even sported a loosened tie. His jacket was hanging over a chair, looking as if it needed a home. The man would have looked as smart as ever, except that he wasn’t wearing his trousers. He looked almost vacant, not quite there, which of course he wasn’t, although where he was, I wasn’t quite sure.

  ‘What did he die of?’ I said to Ben. I knew most folk didn’t die in their sleep, not without a proper cause.

  ‘The demon drink,’ said Ben, grinning. ‘He drank too much, on too many nights and it did for his liver, and that was that. Remember that Tom, when you get older.’ I frowned, silent. I didn’t need telling to remember that.

  I looked around the room we stood in. Terrace Hall Mews was a smart row of houses, not that far from Blackberry Close. The houses had railings and tiny front gardens, and bright brass rappers for knocking on doors. I’d never been in one of these before, but this one had been fitted out special. Ben bent down and whispered something in my ear. ‘It even has an indoor bath.’

  ‘No!’ I said, and wondered if he was having me on. Most of us had to share a privy and an outside tap, all we had was the old tin bath, that hung in the yard and rattled in the wind. McCarthy’s life had been so different, although not anymore, now he was dead. Death, it seemed, was the great leveller.

  When we came out I glanced at the church which was next to Ben’s place. A smaller version of Curdizan Church.

  ‘At least he won’t have to travel far,’ I said, grinning and Ben laughed and punched my arm.

  ‘And that, my lad, makes it easy for me.’

  It was then I noticed Miranda’s mother. She stood by the hedge that skirted the churchyard, slightly bent over, and wiping her face. She looked to me as if she’d been crying.

  I turned away and ran after Ben, I didn’t want him to see her there. I hadn’t realised she’d known McCarthy, like my ma, she worked in the laundry, that’s how I got the job in the pub. The pub didn’t bring in that much money, so Miranda and her mother both had jobs. Which didn’t explain her knowing the man.

  All of a sudden I felt dizzy. I’d had no food since yesterday evening and that had been just a chunk of bread. But it wasn’t just that which made me feel odd, I’d been feeling strange for the last few weeks, since the day I’d first seen Alice. I’d been hanging around after school, lately, telling myself I was looking for Louise. I hadn’t seen her, or Alice either, but since that time, I’d felt kind of odd, as if I was living in a different world.

  As if I wasn’t quite here, anymore.

  Chapter 10

  Now – Aleph

  Cressida stood there pleading her case. I couldn’t blame her.

  I should have been angry, but she looked so stressed, as any mother would be, and as I waited, out it all came.

  ‘She won’t say a word, not a single word to me, ever. And she used to be such a talkative girl. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. It’s driving me witless, day after day, always the same.’ She paced the floor and back again.

  ‘Perhaps she needs a speech therapist. Or an educational psychologist or a child psychiatrist. Some kind of expert who’s right for Alice. She doesn’t need me.’

  ‘Do you think I haven’t tried all those? I’m talking years not months, Aleph. Do you think I’d be here, asking you this, if I hadn’t tried all the alternatives first? Can you imagine something so awful going on for so long?’

  Yes, I can, actually.

  ‘She’s not like this with everyone else. She talks at school, to her friends, to the teachers, I’ve even heard her speaking in the classroom so a couple of times I rushed straight in, hoping to persuade her to talk to me too. And guess what happened? She just clammed up.’

  ‘That must have been hard,’ I said, softly.

  ‘You should have seen the look she gave me. I can’t even trust you to leave me alone. So that’s the reason we’ve come to Curdizan. I thought a new start in a different town might help her improve, and then after that, I thought you might help, could help her start talking.’

  ‘I don’t know why you had that idea, I don’t have skills in helping people speak. And as I’ve told you, I don’t work with kids.’

  ‘But you do have a special technique you use.’ She waved a portable drive in my face. ‘There’s a sound file on here. Play it, please.’

  I sighed heavily, and we went upstairs to find my laptop. I inserted the drive and found the file. Then I pressed play. Her daughter’s voice filled the room.

  ‘And the trees make sounds like light and dark, waving their way into autumn weeds, and castin
g off the spell of summer.’ I stopped the file.

  We stood silent, hearing the echoes of the words unsaid. I was wondering how I’d got to this place.

  ‘She made that bit up herself,’ said Cressida.

  ‘The rhythm’s lovely,’ I said, smiling.

  ‘She’s always playing with words in class. Writing them down and reading them out, she’s a natural, really. But what do I hear when she’s out of school, when we’re alone? Not one thing, not even a song. It breaks my heart.’ Cressida paused. ‘It’s almost as if I’m being punished for something.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ I said mildly. Cressida shrugged.

  ‘I need to find out what’s the matter. That’s the reason I’ve come to you. I know you do this special work, the work with recordings. Playing them back the wrong way…’

  ‘In reverse.’

  ‘Playing files backwards, and hearing the words that people don’t say. If I can get her to talk to someone, then record it, I might find out what’s going on. I’ll have to get somebody else to do it, she won’t talk to me, I know she won’t.’

  ‘But what if she won’t discuss what’s the matter?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ Cressida said, sadly. I felt my resistance fading fast.

  ‘I’ll give it a go,’ I said, slowly, ‘but I very much doubt a reversal will help. She’d have to give me something to go on. And, remember, Cressida, I’ve warned you already…’

  ‘I know, I know. You don’t work with kids.’ She caught my gaze and smiled, grimly.

  ‘Alice isn’t just a kid,’ she said.

  Chapter 11

  Then – Thomas

  I’d thought Alice was just like us, like me and Louise. Well, not like us, she was different, posh, but a kid all the same, who liked to laugh when things went right and ended up sad when things went wrong. But Alice was something else entirely.

  She’d pulled the square thing out of her bag and I saw up close that it wasn’t really square, but more rectangular. She pressed her thumb to the front, gently, the part she told me was called a screen, and the thing lit up with tiny pictures. On a blue background. She pressed again on one of the shapes and then there were letters, like on a typewriter. I knew about typewriters because Miranda said they had them at Chaucer’s; she’d always wanted to work in their office. I told my ma, and she said the same, ‘It’s bound to be better than working in a laundry.’