Ellie, her naturally streaked hair looking like it needed a good brush, enunciated slowly, as if she still couldn’t quite believe she could speak. Or was Paul projecting his own wonder at his daughter’s power of speech? She had been able to speak for years, of course, but had indeed been a slow starter.
“You can’t have one,” said her brother.
“Why not?”
“Because I haven’t got one.”
“You’ve got one on your Christmas list. I saw it.”
“But I haven’t got one yet and you can’t get one at the same time as I get one. You have to wait till I’ve had one for six weeks. Or a year.”
“No, I don’t. Mummy, do I?”
“That’s enough, children,” said Cassie, smiling at Paul. “Look at the wonderful scenery. Isn’t this lovely? Just imagine. If we’d been driving for half an hour from our old house, we wouldn’t even have got beyond the North Circular.”
James and Ellie ignored this, bent over PSP and Game Boy respectively, articulating their thumbs in ways their parents had never learned to do. Paul wondered how long it would be before Ellie decided she also had to graduate from a Game Boy to a PSP.
Sunlight flashed across the windscreen, sparkling in a scattering of raindrops and temporarily blinding him.
“Are you keeping your eye on the map?” he asked Cassie.
“Just keep going on the A666,” said Cassie. “All the way.”
“Right through Blackburn?” he asked, blinking.
“Right on past these dark Satanic mills,” she said as they passed another refurbished chimney.
“Mummy?”
“Do you know what I read the other day?” said Paul. “I read that ‘dark Satanic mills’ was never meant to imply this sort of thing—” he waved his hand at yet another converted mill, “—the industrial revolution and all that. What Blake was really talking about, apparently, were Oxford and Cambridge universities.”
“Mummy?”
“What, darling?”
“What does Satanic mean?”
“Oh, really, Paul?” said Paul, pretending to mimic Cassie. “That’s fascinating, Paul. Thank you for sharing that, Paul.”
“Ask your dad, Ellie. He seems to know all about it.” Cassie placed her hand on Paul’s leg and smiled at him. “It was fascinating, darling. I didn’t know that, actually.”
“It’s only conjecture. Academic gossip, you know.”
“Are we nearly there?” asked James.
“That’s a good question,” said Cassie, looking at Paul. “Are we nearly there?”
“You tell me. You’ve got the map.” Paul’s lips straightened into a suppressed smile.
Conversation was soon restricted to the essentials of navigation while they negotiated Blackburn.
“Who are we going to see again?” James asked as they found their way back on to the A666.
“Penny and Howard. Friends of your mam’s.”
“Howard and Penny, friends of your dad’s more like,” said Cassie.
“I thought we were going to see Connor,” said James.
“We are,” said Paul. “Connor is Penny and Howard’s son.”
“Are those the people we met in the park?” James asked.
“You know they are. Now, shush, matey. I’ve got to read the signs.”
“Your dad needs all his concentration to read the signs. A lot of men find it very, very hard reading signs.”
Paul smiled, then frowned at a hidden sign.
“What did that say? Did that say Wilpshire?”
They turned off the A666 and within a couple of minutes pulled up outside a well-kept Victorian semi. Pampas grasses grew in the lawned garden, steps led up to the front door. Paul pulled on the handbrake.
“Paul, I hope this is going to be all right,” Cassie said quietly. “I mean, we barely know these people.”
“It’s a little late for that,” Paul answered.
“We’ve been out with them, what, twice for drinks?”
“You know what they say about pampas grasses, don’t you?” Paul muttered.
“What?” came James’s voice from the back.
“Never you mind,” said Paul. “It’ll be fine. Penny’s into stained glass, remember. If you run out of things to talk about, just talk about stained glass. Did you know, children, that your mam’s in the Guinness Book of Records for length of time talking about stained glass.”
“What about you and Howard?” asked Cassie with an indulgent smile.
“We’ll have something in common. Didn’t he say he liked punk and new wave? Late 1970s, 1980s music? In any case, no one expects blokes to talk. We just have to sit there looking like we’re not having a shit time. Anyway,” he added, “this is for the children, isn’t it? They liked Connor when they met him in the park. And it’s kind of them to invite us. Perhaps they know what it’s like to be new to an area.”
At that point, Cassie became aware of the front door opening and Penny and Howard appeared, all smiles. The child, Connor, squeezed between their legs and ran down the path towards them.
“Here goes,” she said as she opened the car door.
They got the standard tour.
Downstairs rooms tastefully restored, with an attractive archway (“Looks original. I don’t know, maybe 1920s”) connecting them. Kitchen long and narrow – “We’re going to open it up at the back – here and here – and have lovely big French windows where that corner is,” said Penny. “It’s lovely how it is,” flattered Cassie. “What, all this clinker? Tongue and groove? Ugh.” And so it went on. Upstairs, Connor’s bedroom (“Is this really my room?” Strange child. Though weren’t all children strange, apart from your own, Cassie thought), amazingly tidy for a ten-year-old’s; Penny and Howard’s room, drawers and wardrobes neatly closed; and a tiny office for Penny (“Oh, you know, PR,” she said with a modest, almost dismissive wave of the hand, when asked to remind them what she did) – a filing cabinet, a laptop closed on a little table, a suspiciously tidy desk-tidy, a pile of magazines (Lancashire Life, Closer, OK). And finally the converted attic, double bed, fresh towels. Velux windows – “You can see Blackpool Tower on a good day.”
It wasn’t a good day.
Back downstairs a bottle of Pinot Grigio was opened for Cassie and Penny, and local beers broken out for the boys.
“Boys,” said Penny with a little laugh.
The children had stayed upstairs with Connor.
“Is this Wire?” Paul asked, glancing at the stereo. “Early Wire, by the sound of it.”
“Yes, it’s Pink Flag,” said Howard.
“Oh, they’re off,” said Penny, leaning towards Cassie on the leather sofa and dropping her hand briefly on her knee.
Flashes of red and green lit up the sky outside the window, followed by a bang.
“It’s not fireworks night yet, is it?” asked Paul.
“We’ve not had Halloween yet,” Cassie said.
“I remember when fireworks were saved until Guy Fawkes’ Night and Halloween was neither here nor there,” said Howard.
“Mmm,” agreed Paul. “Nice beer,” he added, holding his glass up to the halogen lighting to admire its golden-brown colour.
Howard passed him the bottle.
“Pendle Witches Brew,” Paul read from the label.
“Pendle Hill’s just up the road,” Howard offered.
“It’s very good of you to invite us over,” Paul heard Cassie saying to Penny.
“We know what it’s like when you’ve just moved somewhere new,” Penny said in response.
“It was weird that day in the park,” Cassie remembered. “You and I met pretty much exactly at the same time as Howard and Paul bumped into each other right over the other side of the park.”
“I remember you had Ellie with you in the playground,” said Penny, “and I assumed it was just the two of you. Then you told me your husband and son were somewhere kicking a football. And a minute later they turned up – with How
ard and Connor.”
“What were you doing there anyway,” Cassie asked, “so far from home?”
There was a moment’s silence. Paul looked up and saw Penny staring into her wine glass.
“We’d been for a walk, hadn’t we, darling? In Fletcher Moss Gardens,” said Howard.
“Yes, of course,” said Penny, getting to her feet. “I’m just going to check on the hotpot.”
“Lancashire hotpot!” exclaimed Paul in delight.
“Is there any other kind?”
“So, have you not been here long?” Cassie asked Howard.
“Oh dear, is it that obvious?” Howard said, and Paul saw Cassie colour up. “No, we haven’t been here that long, hence the drive down to south Manchester to investigate Fletcher Moss. We’re still seeing the sights.”
“I think I’ll go and see if Penny wants a hand,” said Cassie, and Paul raised his glass to his lips to hide his look of dismay.
“Lovely house,” he said, his eyes scanning the walls. There was a handful of pictures, but they were beyond bland, the sort of thing you might buy for a fiver in IKEA. “Do you mind?” he asked as he got up and walked over to check out the CD collection.
“Go ahead. A lot of stuff’s still in storage. That’s just what I couldn’t bear to be parted from.”
Joy Division, The Cure, Buzzcocks, UK Subs.
“What’s your favourite Cure album?” he asked Howard.
“Oh, I don’t know. Remind me which ones are up there.”
“Seventeen Seconds, Pornography, Faith, Disintegration . . .”
“Er, I really don’t know. Disintegration, perhaps.”
“Mm-hmm. ‘The Hanging Garden’ is an amazing track, isn’t it?”
“Fantastic.”
Paul moved away from the CD collection and noticed an Ordnance Survey map folded up on the mantelpiece.
“I love OS maps,” he said. “May I?”
“Of course.”
Paul spread the map out on the coffee table. The conurbations of Blackburn, Accrington and Burnley looked like clots in the green lungs of Lancashire.
“Can you see Barnoldswick?” Howard asked, kneeling down next to Paul. “See how big it is considering it’s not even on an A-road? That’s because of the Rolls-Royce factory.”
“Oh, right.”
“All these little villages here—” Howard pointed to the section of the map between Burnley and the moors above Hebden Bridge, “— the roads just run into the hills and stop. Interesting places. Lots of unusual traditions and rituals . . .”
“Really?” Paul was interested, but they heard Penny calling everyone from the kitchen.
The children came running downstairs. Paul caught James and gave him a bear hug. As the boy struggled to get free, Paul ruffled his hair.
“Good kids,” Howard said.
“Yeah, we’re lucky. They leapt at the chance to come here so they could see Connor again.”
Howard’s lips stretched over his teeth in an approximation of a smile.
In the converted attic, Paul and Cassie lay side by side. Cassie was reading a Jackie Kay collection; in an effort to meet some new people, she had joined a book club. Paul was making inroads into a thriller by Stephen Gallagher but was finding it hard to concentrate.
“Cassie?”
“Hmm?” Not looking up.
“Don’t you think they’re a bit odd? Howard and Penny. Don’t you think there’s something about them that’s not quite right?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m serious.”
Finally, Cassie looked up. She closed her book but kept her place with a thumb.
“You’ve had too much to drink.”
“I only had two beers.”
“That second one was quite strong.”
“Do you know what it was called? It was called Nightmare. Can you believe it?”
“Another local brew?” There was a faintly patronizing tone in Cassie’s voice, as if she regarded the interest in local beers as endearing, a “boy” thing.
“It’s actually from Yorkshire, but Yorkshire’s just up the road. Something to do with the Legend of the White Horse.”
“I hope it doesn’t give you nightmares.”
“I felt at times tonight as if I might be having one, actually.”
“Was the hotpot a bit too fatty for you?”
“That was all right. It was the warm salad with black pudding I wasn’t sure about.”
“Faddy. I think Penny and Howard are very nice and they’ve been very kind.”
“There’s just something about them. It’s hard to put my finger on. Howard thought ‘The Hanging Garden’ by the Cure was on Disintegration, but it’s not. It’s on Pornography.”
“Big deal.” A little impatience was starting to creep into Cassie’s voice.
“But these were CDs he said he couldn’t bear to be parted from. I just got the impression they were trying a bit too hard to get us to like them. Or trust them.”
“Don’t be silly. We just have some shared interests. Like stained glass.”
Paul laughed. “I thought you and Penny were never going to shut up about stained glass at the dinner table.”
“Common interests, that’s all it is. Now do you think we could get some sleep? They said they’d show us a bit of the countryside in the morning.”
But sleep was a long time coming, for Paul at least.
Paul wanted his dream to continue. In fact, he was convinced it would continue with or without him. The question was whether he could remain part of it. His journey towards full consciousness became a struggle between his strong attachment to the dream – the grammar and meaning of which were losing coherence by the second – and his acknowledgement of responsibility. The day, he sensed, was bringing anxiety, though from what quarter he did not know. Within a few more seconds the warp of reality had completely overpowered the weft of the dream and Paul felt a sudden, inexplicable panic. He sat up and hurriedly pulled on his clothes. Cassie woke and asked him what the matter was, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer.
Seconds later he was taking the stairs two at a time down to the next floor, where the children had slept in Connor’s bedroom. He opened the door. The room was as quiet as the rest of the house. The curtains were still drawn and the room was dark, but he saw instantly that not only was the bed empty, but the two sleeping bags were as well, left untidily where they lay like the discarded casings of chrysalises.
Paul backed out on to the landing and descended swiftly to the ground floor. Marching down the hall as if wading through treacle, he glanced into the living room, which looked no livelier than the bedroom, and approached the closed door that led to the kitchen. He watched as his hand reached out to open it and the next thing he saw was Penny standing at the sink and beyond her were James and Ellie sat at the table eating croissants and pains au chocolat with Connor. All three had chocolate rings around their mouths.
Paul felt confused and relieved at the same time. He said hello and accepted Penny’s offer of a pot of tea and retreated, saying he would be back down in a minute. As he passed the living room he saw Howard bent over the coffee table studying the map.
“Morning,” said Howard.
“Hi.”
As Paul climbed the stairs, he tried to calm himself down, as there was clearly no sense in sharing any of this with Cassie. She met him on the first-floor landing and they went back down to the kitchen together.
Once breakfast was over and the children were dressed, everyone moved towards the front door. Paul and Cassie stepped onto the garden path. Paul took the bags to the car, while Cassie waited for the children. He packed the boot and leaned against the car, enjoying the view over the fields and feeling sheepish for his strange behaviour and yet pretty good about everything, considering. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, enjoying the purely physical sensation of filling and emptying his lungs. Over there were Blackburn, Accrington and Burnley, yet he could see nothing
but green.
Cassie joined him and told him that the children wanted to go in Connor’s car.
“Fine,” he said and opened the driver’s door to get in.
“Their car’s around the back,” Cassie said.
“No problem. We wait here, yeah?”
Cassie nodded and Paul looked in the rear-view mirror. It didn’t matter how much the children might occasionally bicker in the back of the car, when they weren’t there he missed them.
Two or three minutes went by and Howard and Penny still hadn’t shown up. Paul kept checking the rear-view mirror.
“How long does it take to strap three kids into a car?” he asked.
Cassie shook her head.
“Maybe they’re arguing over who sits where?” she said. “You know what they’re like.”
“Not usually when it’s someone else’s car,” said Paul. “I daresay Howard’s a safe driver,” he added after a moment.
Cassie, who knew what was going through Paul’s mind, said, “How do you drive when you have someone else’s child in the back? Recklessly or even more safely than usual?”
“Yeah, you’re right. As usual,” he said, with a little smile. “But what’s taking them so long?”
They waited a further minute then Paul got out of the car and wandered down to the lane that led to the back of the house. There was no sign of a vehicle making its way down towards him, so he had a quick look back at Cassie sitting in their car and started walking up the lane. He reached a track on the left, which could only be the access to the rear of Howard and Penny’s house. Still no sign of their car. He ran down the little track towards the back of their house, which he isolated from its neighbours. There was no car. He looked around wildly, suddenly feeling exactly as he had done upon waking when he had been convinced, for whatever reason, that the children were no longer in the house.
At his feet in the mud was a set of tyre tracks. They led towards the lane and then turned left rather than right.
There had to be another way around to the front of the house. He turned right and ran back to the road, where Cassie was still sitting waiting in the car.
“Have you seen them?” he asked breathlessly as he reached the car.
“What do you mean?”
“The car’s gone. They’ve gone. They’ve all gone. They’ve got the children!”
The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror 19 Page 31
