by Pryke, Helen
‘Can we?’ Maggie asked, trying to sound enthusiastic. The house had a menacing air that wasn’t at all inviting.
‘Sure.’ She winked. ‘Old Debbie gave me a spare key once, just in case she took bad or something. When she died, no one bothered to ask me for it back, so I kept it. Wait a sec, I’ll go and get it.’ She trudged off to a house a couple of doors away and disappeared inside.
‘She doesn’t seem to have known James very well, does she?’ Mike said. ‘You didn’t ask her what he looks like.’
‘I will, Mike, don’t worry.’ Maggie grinned at him. ‘This is better than I expected. Now we get to go inside the house without anyone watching what we’re doing.’
Chloe cleared her throat. ‘What if we find…?’ She stopped, unable to go on.
‘They’re not here, Chloe. If he had… left them behind, the neighbours would have noticed,’ Maggie tried to reassure her. The thought had crossed her mind too, that they would find a couple of skeletons chained in a room somewhere. ‘You can wait outside, if you like. I completely understand.’
Chloe shook her head. ‘No, I want to come in with you. If there’s anything there, I want to know.’
Maggie admired her courage. ‘I’ll check each room first, okay?’ Mike opened his mouth. ‘No, there’s no arguing over this.’ She frowned at him, hoping he realised it was for Chloe’s sake.
‘Okay.’ He hunched his shoulders and put his hands in his pockets, in the familiar teenage pose of reluctant acquiescence. Maggie’s heart broke as she thought how Thomas should be reaching that stage by now.
‘Here you go.’ The woman was back, dangling a key from her stubby fingers. ‘I won’t come in, the cats are going crazy for their tea back there.’ She handed the key to Maggie. ‘I’m at number four, just knock the door when you’re finished. Bell don’t work.’
‘Thanks, I really appreciate this,’ Maggie said.
‘No problem. Oh, and be careful down in the cellar. ’Lectricity’s off, so mind your footing on the stairs.’
‘There’s a cellar?’ Maggie asked as the woman walked away.
‘Yeah, we all got one. Most of us don’t use them, too damp to keep anything down there. But like I said, be careful. The steps are probably full of rot by now,’ she called over her shoulder.
‘We will, thanks,’ Maggie yelled back as the woman stomped off down the street. ‘Ready, you two?’
They nodded, and Maggie opened the front door.
24
Charlotte knew Jane was hiding something. After spending so much time shut up with her, she knew her every mood and habit. Jane was good at keeping secrets, able to close herself off from everyone around her, but Charlotte had noticed Jane chewing her nails, deep in thought, or her brow furrowed as she pretended to watch TV.
She observed her as she ate breakfast, breaking off tiny pieces of toast and chewing on them for so long that Charlotte knew something was wrong. Usually, Jane bolted down her food. Sometimes she finished before Charlotte had even eaten a spoonful. Jane was a bundle of nervous energy, unable to sit still for any amount of time – this more lethargic version was worrying, to say the least.
‘What?’ Jane snapped when she realised Charlotte was watching her.
Charlotte gritted her teeth. That was all the thanks she got for being concerned. She didn’t know why she bothered.
‘I was just wondering what’s wrong,’ she began.
‘Nothing’s wrong, I’m just not hungry,’ Jane retorted. ‘Can’t I even eat in peace now?’
‘Sorry,’ Charlotte mumbled. ‘I was only asking. You look pretty pale too. Is it a stomach bug?’
‘No. It’s because someone keeps asking me stupid questions.’ Jane threw the toast on her plate and glared at it.
Charlotte picked up her breakfast things and carried them over to the counter. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t bother in the future.’
‘Good.’ Jane sat back. Charlotte noticed beads of sweat on her forehead and saw her face go even whiter. She stepped out of the way as Jane jumped up, her chair falling backwards in her rush, and ran to the sink. She just made it in time before she vomited, heaving violently.
Charlotte gasped, her mind whirling as she realised what was wrong. Her blood ran cold as she stared at Jane leaning over the sink, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. Now that she looked closely, she could see a bulge in her stomach, cleverly hidden with a baggy top. Despite her feelings towards Jane, she knew that now, more than ever, it was imperative they get away, before he found out. She was grateful he was out of the house, and there was no danger of him walking in on their discussion.
‘You’re pregnant, aren’t you?’ Even to her, it sounded accusatory. She was unable to suppress the hurt she felt.
‘Don’t say anything, please,’ Jane begged. She picked up the fallen chair and sat down heavily with a sigh.
‘How long?’
‘What?’
‘How long have you known? How many months along are you?’
Jane shrugged. ‘About six, I think. Maybe seven.’
‘And you’re still vomiting? Isn’t that supposed to be the first months?’ Charlotte remembered how she’d had trouble keeping anything down, and glared at Jane, suspicious.
‘I was okay at the beginning. You know me, I have to be different. It’s starting to hit me now, I’ve been feeling pretty groggy lately.’
Charlotte felt groggy too as thoughts of hate raged through her head. She clenched her fists, barely able to control herself as she looked at the girl in front of her. She imagined grabbing a knife from the block on the counter and running towards Jane, the knife held out before her… She squeezed her eyes shut, shocked at the violent urges running through her, and blocked out the image, taking several deep breaths until she finally felt in control once more.
‘I can’t believe you,’ she retorted. ‘After everything you did to me.’ She glared at Jane. ‘If he finds out–’ Her voice faded to a whisper at the thought of what he would do to them, and she saw from the expression on Jane’s face that she’d realised the trouble they were in as well.
‘You can’t tell him,’ Jane begged.
Charlotte shook her head. Her whole world collapsed around her as Jane’s betrayal hit her. She wanted her heart to stop beating right at that moment and drift into the cold embrace of death, put an end to the pain and hurt. She was never going to see her parents and Mike again anyway, she realised that now. But deep within her the tiny spark ignited, refusing to let her give up, urging her to hope, as she always had.
The image of the children’s hideout at the bottom of the garden popped into her mind, pushing aside other, darker, thoughts. She’d thought of nothing else since she’d found it, trying to come up with ideas of how to contact the kids, and rejecting each one as too dangerous. She dreaded to think what he would do to them if they didn’t understand her need for secrecy. What if they should storm into the house, demanding answers? No, she couldn’t risk them getting hurt, or worse. But could she take Jane with her now, after this latest revelation?
Charlotte stood, her legs trembling. She felt nothing but disgust for the girl in front of her. ‘You’re pathetic.’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘You don’t want me to say anything? Just like you kept my secret… Oh, wait, you didn’t,’ she snapped. She ignored Jane’s wince. ‘He killed my baby because of you, and now you want me to keep quiet. You’ve got a nerve.’
Jane sat up and looked Charlotte directly in the eye. ‘Yes, I’m pregnant. And I’m sorry I told on you. I didn’t know he would do that… I would never have said anything if I’d known. I didn’t want that to happen to you, I promise.’
Charlotte hesitated. Those times were surrounded by a mist in her mind, confused memories of body-ripping pain and voices and blood, so much blood. She no longer trusted Jane, though. She wouldn’t tell her about their chance to escape until she’d made up her mind whether to go alone or together.
‘I need some time alone,’ she said,
exhaustion washing over her. ‘I need time to think.’
‘Charlie, I’m–’
‘Don’t,’ Charlotte interrupted. ‘Please don’t say you’re sorry. I don’t think anything could fix what you did.’
She walked out of the kitchen, ignoring Jane’s sobs behind her.
* * *
Charlotte walked down through the garden, picking flowers as she went and adding them to her bouquet. She wanted it to appear as if she were wandering aimlessly, even though her every sense was on high alert. He wasn’t due home from work for a while, but he could come back at any time. He seemed to have a radar that picked up on their moods, inexplicably turning up in the middle of her and Jane screaming at each other, or interrogating her when she was deep in thought, daydreaming about her life before, with her family. Her real family. She grasped onto those memories like a drowning person clinging onto a buoy, desperate not to forget, not to drown in the reality her life had become.
As she neared the end wall, her heart began hammering in her chest. What if they were there? What would she say to them, how could she convince them she needed help? Would they just laugh at her, as if she were crazy? No, she had to keep calm, speak slowly, and make sure they understood.
She pulled some ivy from the crumbling brickwork and added it to the flowers in her hand, fussing around with them so she looked busy, then leaned over on tiptoes as if searching for more foliage. She rested her free hand on the top of the wall and peered over, seeking out their den. It was cleverly camouflaged; wooden boards covered with ivy, grass, and branches rested against the trunk of a tree to create a shelter. If she hadn’t been searching for it, she would never have seen it.
All was quiet, except for a blackbird singing in a tree nearby, the mellow musical notes floating across the breeze to her. She sighed and turned around, holding the bouquet to her chest. There were no children here today.
‘Picking flowers again, Charlie?’
She gave a little scream and dropped the flowers. Trembling, she bent over to pick them up, but he held out his hand.
‘I’ll do it. I didn’t mean to make you jump.’ He collected the flowers and roughly gathered them into a bouquet. ‘Here. I’m sure you can sort them out later.’
‘Th-thank you.’ She hoped he didn’t notice her shaking hands as she took them from him.
‘What are you doing all the way down here?’ His eyes searched her face, boring into her as if he were trying to reach her deepest secrets.
She gulped. ‘I-I wanted to see if I could find other flowers, for the house. You liked the last ones so much,’ she added. She had to keep talking, prevent him from looking over the wall and seeing the children’s den.
‘You seem distracted,’ he said, his jaw clenched. He grabbed her arm, pinching her skin.
‘The blackbird,’ she gasped, resisting the urge to pull away. ‘It was singing so beautifully, I was listening to it…’
‘Well, it’s gone now,’ he said with a smirk, pointing at the black smudge in the sky. ‘Guess I scared it off. Come, let’s go indoors now. I think you’ve had enough fresh air for one day.’
Charlotte had no other option than to allow him to pull her back towards the house, stumbling as she tried to keep up with him. Thoughts buzzed around her head as she tried to think of ways to contact the children, all the while keeping her face neutral to avoid arousing his suspicion.
* * *
Neither of them noticed the boy high up in the branches of the tree, frowning after having witnessed the scene below. He waited until they were in the house before he scrambled back down to the ground and ran off towards his home.
25
I didn’t want to believe Mother at first, when she told me Charlie was up to no good, but thank God I listened to her. What the hell was she doing at the bottom of the garden? She definitely wasn’t expecting me, the look of guilt on her face when she saw me was priceless. I guess she’s trying to find a way to escape – good luck with that. I rented the farm precisely because it’s in the middle of nowhere, off the beaten track.
Mother says Charlie will get me into trouble, that behind her angelic face lies a black soul. She keeps telling me to get rid of them both, to start again with new ones. Doesn’t she remember how long it took me to find these two, the amount of schools I had to get lousy jobs in, just so I could search for them? Two girls, same ages, same names. I don’t think she appreciates the effort it took.
I tell her that this Charlie wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, she’s learned to be good for me. She’s my salvation. My little girl. But Mother insists, hissing angry words at me, and an image of another Charlie shoving me away, disgust on her face, comes into my mind. I feel faint as a memory from the past hits me.
* * *
Charlie is shouting at me, hitting out with clenched fists, leaving bruises everywhere, on my arms, legs, chest, kicking out in fear. She’s frightened, terrified… of me. Why? All I want to do is hold her close to me, like we do every night. She takes care of me when the nightmares come, soothing me, touching me, giving me the release I so desperately need to make the world right again. But not tonight. Tonight she’s looking at me as if I’m a monster, coming to eat her up. I hold out my hands in supplication and she screams, her face so distorted she doesn’t even resemble herself. And then I see it, her bulging stomach she’s so desperately tried to hide from me. I step back from her, disgusted that she could allow this to happen. She truly is the daughter of a whore.
Jane runs in and drags me backwards, shouting incomprehensible words, her nails clawing my skin, leaving red, stinging welts all down my arms. I lash out, shocked and confused; I must defend myself from them, and my fist collides with her cheek. There’s a dull thud as she crashes against the wall, and her face turns white as she slumps on the floor.
I have no time to think, as Charlie attacks me once again, screaming as she shoves me backwards, out of her room, away from the safe haven it represents for me. I bellow with rage, my voice surprising me, and anger surges through my body as I fight against this rejection. They’re my sisters, my comfort when the world turns against me. But this creature coming towards me, this isn’t Charlie. Something has taken over her mind, turned her against me. The thought repeats itself over and over again: This isn’t Charlie, this isn’t Charlie.
As the thing rushes at me, I twist my body, taking it by surprise, laughing as it stumbles out onto the landing. I seize my chance and charge forward, shoving with all my might. I watch as it falls down the stairs, arms and legs flailing, cracking as they hit the walls, blood smearing the beige carpet. Triumphant, I stand at the top of the stairs, arms crossed, and study the thing below that used to be Charlie. Behind me, the screaming starts again.
26
Pain. Fear. Despair. Jane lay on the cold stone floor, terrified, her body wracked with violent tremors. What just happened? And why? She cradled her injured arm, the singed flesh stinging. She thought briefly of Charlie, but the pain blocked everything out, making it impossible to concentrate on anything else.
Just five minutes earlier, she’d been quietly sitting in the lounge, reading a book. Then he had stormed in, yelling about something. He’d spotted her there and had ripped the book from her hands, throwing it against a wall, then grabbed her by the arm and frogmarched her into the kitchen, where he was cooking dinner.
His face had been contorted in rage as he’d held her arm over the gas ring, pulling it closer and closer, until she’d screamed out loud. She could still remember the stench of cooked flesh, her cooked flesh, filling the room.
‘My little girl is going to hell,’ he’d hissed at her, his lips twisted in a snarl. Then he’d dragged her, still shrieking in pain, down the stairs to the cellar and thrown her in the room. He’d left her there in the dark, sobbing and calling his name, a blubbering mess.
What had she done? Jane tried to think, but nothing came to mind. Had Charlie done something? No, he would have punished her. An image of a shoebox p
opped into her head.
That morning, something Charlie had said had rankled her. What was it? The throbbing in her arm clouded her thoughts, pushing the memory away, but she strained to focus, until it suddenly came back.
‘We’ll never mean anything to him, he doesn’t care about us,’ Charlie had said while they were talking. ‘Can’t you see we’re just replacements for something missing in his life? Why does he keep calling us his little girls, eh? Why us? Why did he choose us two from all the girls at school? Why don’t you ask him, seeing as you’re his favourite?’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Jane replied.
‘Scared, are you?’
Jane hesitated. ‘No.’
‘Scared of him, or scared of the truth?’ Charlie had glared at her, waiting for her to answer.
‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ Jane had stood abruptly, shoving her chair backwards, and stormed out of the kitchen, down the hallway to the stairs.
‘What are you doing?’ She heard Charlie following, but ignored her as she stomped up the stairs.
‘Jane, we can’t go in there.’ Charlie had grabbed her arm and pulled her back as she was about to enter his bedroom.
‘I’m not asking you to come, I’ll go by myself,’ she’d said, jerking her arm away. ‘You want me to find out why we’re here? Well, that’s what I’m about to do.’
‘You can’t!’ Charlie whispered.
Months of frustration and resentment had come to a head, and she’d ran into his bedroom, opening drawers and cupboards with the desperation of a madwoman. Charlie had hesitated, then joined in the search, crouching down and peering under the bed.
‘Make sure you put everything back as it was,’ Jane warned her, straightening a comb on top of the chest of drawers. Was it like that before? She forced herself to slow down and be more careful.
