Shadows of the Lost Child

by Ellie Stevenson

  When we finally reached my office, I reminded Cressida of the old story. ‘Old School Lane is supposed to be haunted, you were the one who mentioned the ghosts when you came round. Don’t you remember? People have heard children laughing and crying.’ I looked at Alice.

  ‘One was distraught,’ she typed on the screen. ‘I couldn’t bear it, hearing him cry. It went on and on, it was terrible, dreadful.’

  Cressida dragged me onto the landing. ‘Do you believe it?’ she said, sharply.

  ‘I don’t believe in ghosts,’ I said. ‘Mostly it’s just imagination, or maybe a trauma, disturbing the mind. But, I have to say, I’ve heard these children, usually crying, and just this week, a client hinted at children’s deaths. In this house.’

  ‘And knowing that, you let Alice come here?’

  ‘I don’t believe it, it’s only a story.’

  ‘But I’m the one who makes those decisions, the ones about Alice. Especially with Alice being so fragile. Didn’t you even think to mention it?’

  ‘I’m not fragile, Mother, please.’ Alice had followed us onto the landing, was typing rapidly as we watched. ‘I just don’t feel like talking right now.’

  ‘Right now, being the last four years?’

  ‘I go to school, I do my assignments.’

  ‘And you don’t mind talking when you’re at school. It’s only at home you don’t want to speak, only to me. Maybe it’s won’t, not can’t, Alice. Maybe you’re just being stubborn and spoilt. Perhaps if I took that thing away, then you’d start talking.’ Alice gripped the iPad tighter.

  ‘Cressida, don’t…’

  ‘Stay out of it, please, she’s not your child.’ Alice sighed and typed rapidly.

  ‘It’s always all about you, isn’t it? It’s not that I’m not speaking that matters, but only that I’m not talking to you. You can’t bear thinking you’re not in control. That’s what you care about, really, Mother, not about me.’

  ‘How dare you say such terrible things, and in front of a stranger? When I think what I’ve done for you, the worry I’ve had.’ She made a dive for her daughter’s hand but Alice was fast, too fast for us both and tucking her iPad under her arm, she hurried downstairs and out of the door. Cressida followed as fast as she could. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ she hissed as she went, giving me a cursory wave.

  By the time I’d made my way down the steps and onto the street, Alice had gone and Cressida was running around the corner, rapidly vanishing out of sight. Christ, what a mess!

  I walked back up the steps, to the door, when a sound below made me turn around. Alice emerged from the lengthening shadows. I peered down at her over the railing. ‘Alice,’ I said. Her eyes met mine.

  ‘There’s something you need to know, Aleph.’ My heart was thudding, thumping like mad.

  ‘I was there, the day that it happened. Just in case you don’t remember.’ And before I could answer she’d turned away and hurried off in pursuit of her mother.

  I turned around and went inside, feeling light headed, the palms of my hands were visibly sweating. I leant against the door, thinking. I wondered if what she’d said was the truth, and if it was, what it might mean? I didn’t know the answer to that.

  But I had noticed something else about our unexpected, little exchange. Alice hadn’t used her iPad once.

  Chapter 22

  Then – Thomas

  I was on a mission, and it felt important. Miranda had something that needed doing. And I was the one to do that something. Or at least get it started, like when I’d been to see Percy Thomas.

  Ben was having a cup of tea.

  ‘Hi there, Tom, how are doing?’

  ‘Fine,’ I said and grinned at my friend. ‘Is there any tea for a mate?’

  Ben laughed and poured me a mug. ‘It’s pretty well stewed, don’t let it go cold.’

  I took the drink and peered outside at the church next door. There were too many graves. It wasn’t as smart as Curdizan Church.

  ‘Is it true what they say, that it’s all full up?’

  ‘It certainly is,’ said Ben, nodding, he’d finished his tea and was hammering nails into a coffin. Undertakers are always busy. Or, at least, around here. The Low wasn’t the healthiest of areas.

  ‘But Matt McCarthy’s got a spot.’

  Ben paused for a minute and looked at me. ‘I never thought you were stupid, Tom. Despite what I’ve heard.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I said, sharply and then I grinned. ‘You mean because the guy was rich he’s able to have a place in the graveyard?’

  ‘The penny’s dropped at last,’ said Ben.

  ‘So where are they going to bury the rest?’

  ‘Curdizan Church, the one by the abbey. And the rest in the field across the Blue.’

  ‘Now, that is a joke,’ I said, laughing. ‘You’re having me on.’ Ben nodded.

  ‘Yes, but not about Curdizan Church.’

  ‘That’s quite a way to take a body.’

  ‘So, why should I care?’ said Ben, grinning. ‘The further they go the more it costs, although being so poor, they rarely pay, so maybe I should care after all. What do you think?’ He paused, considering. ‘Why are you here?’

  This was where things might get tricky. ‘I gather you’ve got some storage space.’

  ‘And what if I have, what’s that to you?’

  ‘I wondered if you’d store something for us.’

  ‘Depends,’ said Ben, ‘on what it might be.’ He put down his hammer. ‘Come on, I’m waiting.’

  ‘It’s only a trunk.’

  ‘A trunk,’ said Ben. ‘So what’s inside it?’

  ‘The owner would rather I didn’t say. But nothing you need worry about.’

  ‘So the owner’s really the owner, then, is she?’ I stared at Ben, incredulous.

  ‘How did you know the owner’s a she?’

  ‘Got you!’ said Ben and I cursed him then, swearing out loud. ‘I suppose the owner’s Miranda Collenge?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘that’s right, she is.’ Sort of, I thought.

  ‘Well, lucky for you, I like Miranda. More than most girls I know, as it happens.’

  ‘Miranda’s too good for you,’ I said.

  ‘And far too old for you, Tom. Happen you think she’ll wait for you? It’ll be a long wait, that’s what I say.’ Ben grinned.

  ‘She’s just a mate, like an older sister,’ I said, embarrassed.

  ‘More like a parent from where I’m looking.’ I scowled again, knowing I was beaten.

  ‘I’ll store her stuff on one condition, you let me look inside the trunk first. I can’t be handling stolen goods.’

  ‘They’re not stolen,’ I said, sharply, thinking the shoes were more like a gift. A gift received in advance of permission. I crossed my fingers.

  ‘I’m waiting,’ said Ben.

  ‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘I’ve given my word and I won’t break it. That’s the deal. You’d have to promise not to look.’

  ‘No way,’ said Ben, shaking his head. ‘It’s my building, and my reputation.’

  ‘Well, sod you then,’ I yelled, leaving. ‘I guess we’re not the mates I thought.’

  I wandered, woebegone, down the street, passing the church with its spindly hedge. I peered between it into the graveyard, grave upon grave, with no space to speak of. Even when they were dead and gone, the poor very often had nowhere to go. And what about the trunk of shoes? What on earth would we do with them now?

  ‘What did she say?’ I asked Miranda later that day. I knew she’d meant to talk to her mother.

  ‘What do you think she said?’ said Miranda. ‘She thought the trunk would stay a secret, hers and your mother’s, hidden in the attic. She never expected me to discover them. God knows what they think they were doing.’

  I hung my head, unable to speak. It was hard to know about Mrs Collenge but knowing my ma was involved was worse.

  ‘My da is useless at bringing home cash. He might have a job, b
ut he spends it all on booze and fags.’

  ‘You don’t have to make excuses to me. I know how it is, Tom, really.’ Miranda was sharp and I couldn’t blame her. We were the ones who were stuck with the problem, getting rid of the stolen shoes, while those responsible left it to us. I didn’t feel such a clever lad now.

  ‘You know what made me really angry?’

  ‘What?’ I said, not wanting to know.

  ‘My mother said we could simply sell them, just as they’d planned to do all along.’ And then she said, “Matt wouldn’t mind, he was such a dear. I wish you’d known him better, Miranda.” She actually said he was “such a dear”. My father’s only been dead four years.’

  ‘That’s quite a long time,’ I said mildly.

  ‘It is for you,’ Miranda retorted. ‘Seeing as how that’s about your age.’

  ‘So you did explain why we couldn’t sell them? How if we did, it would look like theft, now that he’s dead and someone would notice.’

  ‘Of course I did, you stupid boy. But then she said, “Just leave them in the trunk.”’

  ‘For Reg and Cath and the others to find!’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Miranda, ‘a stupid idea.’ She paused, looked worried. ‘Although, knowing Reg, he’s already found them and sold more than a few on to his mates.’

  ‘So what are we going to do now?’

  ‘We’ll have to think of another alternative, now Ben Tencell’s said he won’t help.’ She scowled briefly, probably at Ben, but maybe at me. ‘We need a secure hiding place, until I can talk to Percy Thomas. Persuade him to take them into the shop.’

  ‘Let’s tell him now,’ I said eagerly. Percy wasn’t such a bad old stick.

  ‘Not on your life,’ Miranda threatened. ‘Because if you do, you’ll be in that trunk, instead of the shoes, and you won’t be coming out very soon.’

  Chapter 23

  Now – Aleph

  I try not to think of the little boy’s name, knowing his name made it so much harder, made him more of a real person, even though he was real enough. I knew I’d never be able to forget. Most would say that’s how it should be. I’d been driving along the Leverhulme Road, on a sunny Sunday morning in spring. I wasn’t that fond of spring anymore.

  I must have been going about the speed limit, around thirty or maybe less, but definitely not more, I’m sure about that. I’d just set off from my girlfriend’s flat, I was still eating toast as we’d just finished breakfast. We’d also had another row.

  Gerry was blonde, she liked good clothes, and her car was new, it went with her look, which was clean and glossy and well-presented. I thought I was part of that image too, but after the accident, all that changed, I was tarnished, damaged and definitely over. I didn’t fit the look or her life.

  ‘I think it’s time we had a baby,’ she’d said that morning, not for the first time, but much more decisive than when we’d last talked. I couldn’t help thinking she made it sound like a supermarket purchase, something you went and picked off the shelf.

  ‘Soon,’ I said, not really focused or paying attention. Sometime next year, or the year after that.

  ‘It’s always soon or sometime with you.’

  ‘You’ve never seemed overly bothered before. I thought it was something we’d planned for the future.’

  ‘Of course I’m bothered, why wouldn’t I be bothered? I’ve just been subtle, not pressuring you. A nice little girl, with silky blonde hair, of course I’d like one, why ever not?’

  ‘A blonde little girl all pretty in pink? You just want a carbon copy of yourself.’

  ‘What is it with you? You know I hate pink. You make it sound like a crime to care. You’ve never minded my blonde hair before. Or anything else about me, either.’

  ‘I don’t,’ I said. ‘You know I like the way you look. I like your hair and I like kids too. Just not at the moment, that’s all I’m saying. Damn it, Gerry, we’re only young.’

  ‘We’re not that young,’ she said, slowly. She was right about that. And I guess for a girl, the clock always ticks.

  ‘I didn’t say no. I said, just not now.’

  ‘And that’s what you said the last time I raised it, will probably the next time, and the time after that. And ad infinitum.’

  ‘That’s really not fair,’ I said, sharply ‘you haven’t mentioned it all that often.’ But she had of course. I just hadn’t wanted to hear the words. I picked up the car keys and grabbed some toast. ‘I think I’d remember about the blonde hair,’ I said sharply.

  ‘Piss off,’ said Gerry, so I did just that. And wished I hadn’t, ever since.

  I thought I’d go to the office for a bit. Those were the days when I worked in a team, felt I belonged, was part of a group. I enjoyed my job, was liked and respected, admired sometimes, when I worked with a client who was more than challenged and managed to help him turn things around. I was proud of my skills, arrogant almost. Now all that was gone.

  Because it was Sunday the roads were quiet. I knew the route I was taking well, I’d lived there several years before, before I’d moved into Gerry’s place. There weren’t any corners or tricky little side streets. There were lots of parked cars which narrowed the road, so I drove carefully, leaving room for other drivers. I hadn’t been drinking, I hadn’t been doing anything wrong. Except thinking about my future.

  I was driving along with the window open, the sun in the sky, thinking about Gerry and about having a kid, and wondering whether the kid was the problem, or whether it was Gerry. That brought me up short. I grabbed my toast from the passenger seat and chewed on it slowly, thinking, deciding. My car rolled forwards a few more feet, and then I saw a flash to the left, it was barely more than a sliver of colour, and then I felt the thud of the impact and knew that something terrible had happened. Something far too bad to undo. I slammed on the brakes. It was far too late.

  I don’t remember a lot after that. The police informed me I left the car, went round to the child, a boy, who was dead. He was only young, he hadn’t a hope. The witness, an elderly man, I was told, had seen it all, been powerless to help. I’d driven past him a few yards back. He rang for the ambulance, then the police.

  ‘The boy ran out from behind a car, suddenly, abruptly. The driver couldn’t have done anything about it.’ The boy I’d hit was only small.

  The man also said I was driving carefully, looking alert, with my hands on the wheel. I thought of him then as my guardian angel, and thanked him again and again in my head. Now, I wish I’d gone to prison. It wasn’t my fault, they all said that, but I didn’t get that – when it had happened, I’d been thinking about my row with Gerry, not little boys dashing into the road. I’d picked up the toast, I remembered that, so what if my hand wasn’t on the wheel? The man was old, perhaps his eyesight wasn’t that good? And as for me, I couldn’t remember.

  Everyone said I’d had no chance, the boy was young and had just dashed out. But what makes a kid so young do that, and what were his mother and father doing? Shouldn’t he have been at home with them?

  Because of the witness and the evidence, I didn’t get charged or taken to court. In theory my life should have stayed the same, the same old job and the same old life. But that was never an option for me. The child, whose name I’ll never forget, whose parents refused to talk to me, who never answered my letter, is always there in the back of my mind, wherever I go and whatever I do. I never stop thinking about the child, and the life I ended.

  My own life ended too, on that day. My job fell apart, I no longer coped very well with the clients, when my position seemed much worse than theirs. I hated my friends for wanting me to ‘move on with my life’, and for being so glad I was found ‘innocent’. When Gerry finally chucked me out, I was almost relieved. I was no longer suitable father material. I think it took her three weeks to decide. I knew I’d have to start over again.

  At first, I stayed in Leverhulme, getting a flat in a different suburb, but that was just too close to home. So
then I moved to London for a while, thought about Spain or even Australia, but none of the options seemed to work. In the end, I came back to the region and moved to Curdizan, which is near Leverhulme, but not too near, living in the shadow of churches and ghosts.

  I don’t believe in ghosts, I thought. Except the ghost of the child I killed, a lost little boy who never went home.

  I stared at the black-edged envelope. The cards didn’t come from my ex, Gerry. They arrived each year on the anniversary of the day it happened, the day I killed that little boy. I’d only ever opened the first one and that was enough. I knew I should have thrown them away, kept throwing them away as each one arrived, or told the police, or told someone, but instead, I put them all in a box, a box with a lid, an old shoe box.

  And never, ever, ate toast again.

  Chapter 24

  Now – Cressida

  Martha had been her friend for ages, for at least five years, and had stuck by her when things had got tough. Being on your own with a kid wasn’t easy, even a kid as bright as Alice. Especially a kid as bright as Alice. Cressida sighed.

  ‘Coffee and scones?’ Martha asked her.

  Cressida watched her friend lay the table, put out jam and mugs of coffee, extra strong, especially for Cressida. Martha’s kitchen was nothing like Aleph’s. The small pine table, the bright blue curtains dotted with gold, the window that looked on a perfect garden. Paradise in England, Cressida thought, although one that was earned and achieved with effort.

  ‘Len’s at the yard,’ Martha informed her, pulling her chair right up to the table. She hoovered up some crumbs from the cloth and dusted them carefully onto her plate. ‘He can’t keep away, now the weather’s improved.’

  Len was Martha’s loyal husband. The man had a small and ancient boat. He was gradually making it more than viable. Better that Len is out, thought Cressida.

  ‘I’m taking the sound file to Aleph soon, the one of Alice talking to Alison. I’ve no idea what’s going to happen.’ She sipped her coffee. God, that was good.

  ‘So it’s Aleph, now?’ said Martha mildly, the soft enquiry not hiding her thoughts. ‘Are you sure you’re not being taken in? We know that man can spin a tale.’