The Woman in Black

by Martyn Waites

  ‘It was an accident, that’s all. Just a terrible, terrible accident …’

  Harry placed his hand on her shoulder. ‘Jean.’

  She turned and looked at him, her lower lip trembling, eyes wild and unfocused.

  ‘It wasn’t,’ he said, in as soft a voice as possible.

  Silence fell. Even Ruby stopped crying.

  Eve stood up. Helplessness, fear and anger were roiling within her, fighting for prominence. She had to do something, make some kind of move. She walked over to the nearest wall and slowly traced her fingers along a newly appeared crack, then pulled her fingers back and examined them as if she had been somehow contaminated.

  That’s it, she thought. That’s it.

  ‘What’s the point?’ she said, quietly.

  She looked round the room, took in all the blackness, the cracks, that no amount of sunlight could ever reach.

  ‘You’re not going to bring him back!’ she shouted. ‘No matter how many you kill, he’s not coming back!’ She screamed the last three words.

  The children just stared at her, fear in their eyes. They had never seen her like this before. First their headmistress, now Miss Parkins …

  ‘Just … leave us alone …’

  Harry got up and came to her, placing his arm round her shoulders. She felt her body slacken as tension ebbed away. He led her back to the table.

  ‘We’ll leave as soon as the tide clears,’ he said. ‘I can drive you to the village, then we’ll work out how to get you all home.’

  Eve stopped moving, shoulders tense once more. ‘I’m not going back to the village,’ she said.

  Harry frowned.

  ‘Take us to the airfield.’

  Harry looked momentarily shocked at the suggestion. He appeared to be doing some calculations, she thought, like he was deciding on something.

  Then he smiled. ‘Fine,’ he said.

  The evacuation was in full swing. The children were being hurried out of the house as quickly as possible. They had packed only as much as they could carry in the Jeep. Edward, Eve noticed, was clutching Mr Punch firmly in his hand. It looked like it was deteriorating before her eyes. She didn’t know how the boy could bear to touch it. She placed a hand on his arm, stopping him.

  ‘We should leave that,’ she said, as reasonably but firmly as she could. She managed the ghost of a smile. ‘It belongs here.’

  Edward didn’t even acknowledge he had heard. He wouldn’t let go of the toy.

  ‘Give it to me, please, Edward.’ Steel had entered her voice.

  He shook his head.

  ‘Edward …’

  She made a grab for the doll, but he moved it away. She wasn’t going to be beaten. With one hand she gripped Edward’s arm tightly, with the other she pulled the doll from his grasp. As she did so, she felt a sharp pain in her hand. She gasped, dropping the doll and examining her fingers. She was bleeding between her thumb and forefinger.

  Damn, she thought, it’s so old and cracked it’s given me splinters.

  She picked the doll up and looked at it. The same leering grin was still in place, but this time there was blood between its teeth. If she didn’t know better, she would have said that the doll had bitten her.

  She threw it back into the house and turned to Edward. But he had silently joined the others in the Jeep.

  Once they were all squeezed in, Harry got behind the steering wheel and drove away. Eve was sitting in the back with the children. While the rest of them were facing forward, she noticed Edward’s head was turned, staring at the retreating house.

  ‘Edward,’ she said.

  He looked at her, his eyes dark, unreadable.

  ‘Don’t look back,’ she said.

  She kept her eyes locked on his. Eventually he turned to face the front once more.

  Rage. That was what was burning in the woman as she stood at the nursery window and watched them depart.

  She stretched her fingers out, tried to touch them, reach them, bring them back. No good. They were too far away. Her fingers met the glass of the windowpane, her hand turned to a claw. The rage bubbled and burned within her, a life force feeding her, sustaining her continued existence.

  She raked her fingers down the glass, her nails screeching and howling. The glass cracked into crazed razor patterns as she did so.

  The Jeep disappeared over the causeway.

  She let out a scream of wrath and pain as she watched them go, her fingers pressing harder on the fractured glass, the screeching increasing.

  The window shattered into thousands of tiny shards; suddenly, explosively.

  She would not let them get away.

  The Phantom Airfield

  ‘Planes!’ shouted Alfie.

  ‘Alfie, come back …’ Jean’s voice was lost on the wind, but she gave chase, wanting to keep them all together.

  The boy, his earlier anxiety forgotten, had been excited as soon as he had glimpsed the planes through the fence as the Jeep approached the airfield. Once he had realised where they were headed, he had talked of nothing else all the way there.

  Alfie ran as fast as he could towards the stationary planes dotted around the perimeter of the airfield, Jean and Eve close behind him. But he stopped dead as soon as he reached the first plane. Eve, panicking and fearing the worst, ran even faster to reach him.

  As she came to a stop next to him he turned to her, disappointment and confusion on his face.

  ‘They’re not real. This isn’t real …’

  Eve looked round, seeing the airfield properly for the first time. Only then did she notice that it wasn’t as she had imagined or expected an airfield to be. There were no hangars, just large sections of canvas stretched out upon the ground to give the impression of buildings from the air. The planes, while convincing from a distance, seen up close looked nothing of the sort. They were hollow, made from wood and canvas, their markings and engine parts merely painted on. All around the perimeter fence, scattered around the site, were large mesh baskets full of kindling.

  A figure came out of a bunker buried in the side of the hill and strode towards them. Heavyset, in his forties, he was buttoning up his uniform tunic and loosening a linen napkin from around his neck. He stopped when he saw the women and children, frowned at Harry.

  ‘What’s going on, Corporal?’ he said.

  Eve looked at Harry, who reddened and cleared his throat.

  ‘These people need to stay here for a few hours, Sergeant Cotterell. Evacuees. Their … house was destroyed in the bombing last night. I’m arranging transportation for them.’

  Cotterell looked between Harry and the children, clearly unhappy with the situation. ‘You should have cleared it with me, Corporal.’

  Harry looked like he wanted to earth to open and swallow him up. ‘Yes, Sergeant. I’m sorry.’

  Cotterell found a last morsel of food stuck between his teeth, sucked it out, ate it. He nodded. ‘Don’t let them get in the way of your duties.’

  ‘Sir.’

  Cotterell drew in breath, expelled it slowly. ‘The sitrep’s all clear for tonight,’ he said. ‘So it’s just you on watch. S-Team are on standby if things change.’

  Harry saluted his sergeant, who strode away. Eve turned to Harry.

  ‘Harry, what’s—’

  He put his arm in hers and walked her away from the rest of them. Storm clouds gathered overhead, turning the day to a dark, near-night. Once they were out of earshot of the others, he spoke.

  ‘It’s a dummy airfield,’ he said, unable to look her in the eye. ‘So the Nazis bomb here instead of a real one. We move lights around to make it look like planes are taking off.’ He gestured to the large mesh baskets full of kindling. ‘Then we set off the fire baskets to make them think they’ve hit us.’ He sighed. ‘We’re decoys.’

  ‘But you said you were a pilot. You said you were a captain …’

  Harry looked away into the storm clouds. ‘I was both of those things. Once. But after the crash, I …
’ He wiped the corner of an eye. ‘Wind,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘After the crash, I … I couldn’t fly. So they demoted me. Sent me here. Lack of moral fibre, they said. LMF. Means you’re a coward. Officially.’

  Neither spoke for a while. Eventually Eve broke the silence.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Her voice was small.

  He tried to laugh. It sounded almost like a sob. ‘I liked the way you saw me … Pathetic, isn’t it …’

  Eve slowly placed a hand on his cheek. She smiled at him. He pulled away.

  And there’s that smile again,’ he said. ‘That enigmatic smile. Is that to patronise me?’

  She shook her head and placed her hand on his cheek once more.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s not.’

  He looked at her properly for the first time, and he saw what was in her eyes, just for him. She smiled once more. There was no mistaking the smile’s meaning this time, and he returned it.

  She kissed him and he kissed her back.

  Friends Again?

  The bunker had been cut into a hill. In other circumstances it would have been an exciting place to visit, a grand place for an adventure. But not today, not now. The children stood outside, huddled close to each other, not wanting to let anyone out of their sight.

  All except one.

  Edward stood slightly apart. He hadn’t noticed what they had. He hadn’t looked up when Mrs Hogg had followed the gruff sergeant inside the bunker, hadn’t worried in case something happened to her and she never came out again. He hadn’t watched Miss Parkins and the captain kissing and cuddling over by the fake planes.

  He had just stood there, hands in pockets, lost in his thoughts, his sadness.

  He became aware of whispers around him. For a few seconds he thought he was back in the house, hearing the old voices talking to him once more, but then he realised it was the other children, and they were talking about him. He tried hard to give the impression that he wasn’t listening. He managed to catch snatches.

  ‘Tom was mean to him …’ Ruby’s voice, her rough Cockney accent unmistakable, even at a low volume.

  ‘And Joyce was going to tell …’ Fraser. Edward didn’t need to look to know that the little boy would be all wide-eyed as he spoke.

  And look what happened.’ Ruby again. She had copied her mother’s mannerisms, right down to the fact that if she made a statement and made it strongly enough, it was always right. ‘Stands to reason, don’t it?’

  ‘Look.’ James this time, getting angry. Trying to show leadership. ‘Just … be quiet. All of you. Listen to what you’re saying. This is stupid.’

  The others fell silent. Edward relaxed slightly. He felt something warm inside for his former friend. Wished he could express it in some way.

  ‘I think he did it.’

  Edward froze. He knew that voice only too well. Flora. At times she had been his only ally, taking his side against the rest of them, standing up for him. Not any more.

  He glanced up at her. She looked so sad and hurt. And something else, something even worse. She was scared of him, really, really terrified.

  Edward longed to say something, longed even to cry. But he couldn’t. Trapped in the prison of his own body, he just had to stand there while they all discussed him, pretending not to hear.

  Ruby, emboldened by Flora’s words, started up again. ‘James,’ she said, alarm in her voice, ‘you spilled his milk.’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ said James, trying to shake off her words, but it was clear from his tone of voice that she was getting to him.

  Ruby persisted. ‘Yes, you did.’

  ‘And … and … you locked him in a room, too.’ Alfie was joining in now.

  ‘That was Tom,’ said James, exasperated. ‘Not me.’

  Edward saw Fraser raise his hand, point his finger at James, eyes still wide. ‘You’re next …’

  ‘Oh, shut up, all of you,’ said James. ‘You’re really, really pathetic. Childish.’

  He turned away from them and walked over to join Edward, but Edward couldn’t even look at him. He still felt the touch of that cold hand in his, even though they were miles away. Could still smell the chill and the rot of the house.

  ‘Listen,’ said James, once he was standing right next to him, ‘I’m … sorry that we trapped you in the nursery. I didn’t …’ James sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I did nothing. I should have done something and I didn’t. And I’m sorry I spilled your milk, too. It was an accident, I didn’t mean to.’

  Edward said nothing. James moved round until he was directly in front of Edward and Edward couldn’t look away.

  ‘Can we be friends again?’

  Edward wanted to answer, wanted to tell him, ‘Yes, of course we can. Let’s be friends, let’s have fun together again. Like it used to be.’

  But he couldn’t.

  He tried to, but that cold, dead hand tightened its grip on his, the smell of damp and rot growing even stronger. Edward had left the house, but the house was still within him.

  ‘Edward?’

  Edward just turned his head away, stared at the empty, flat horizon.

  James, his eyes brimming with sadness, walked away.

  It began to rain.

  In the Bunker

  The rain was coming down hard now, hitting the corrugated-metal roof like rapid machine-gun fire.

  Eve had marshalled the children into the bunker as soon as the rain started. They were all there, huddled together in the middle of the room. Jean stood at the back of them, arms round the shoulders of the nearest ones, fingers digging into their flesh. Eve wasn’t sure whether the headmistress was making sure they were safe, or whether the children were supporting her and keeping her upright.

  The balance of power had shifted considerably within the group. Jean no longer had anything to offer, nothing constructive to contribute. What had happened was beyond her experience, beyond her comprehension. Eve had been put in charge. She didn’t want that kind of leadership, but she hoped she was up to it. For all their sakes.

  The bunker was windowless and depressing. It consisted mainly of a long room, the concrete walls covered with curved corrugated-metal sheets. The sheeting continued upwards, forming a ceiling. At one end was a ladder, leading to a hatch in the roof. At the other was a generator room from where the lighting, heating and incendiaries in the fire baskets were all controlled. Two overhead bulbs threw down a cheerless, sterile light into the room.

  Eve looked at the children standing before her, wide-eyed and terrified. Even the Underground air-raid shelters would have been safer than this, she thought. She needed to find something to say that would comfort them, inspire them. Help them.

  ‘Our train back to London is coming tomorrow,’ she said. ‘So we’ll stay here tonight.’

  She found her smile, put it in place. Looking at their scared and tired faces, it didn’t seem to make much difference.

  Harry opened a storecupboard in the generator room, pulled out some thin, padded mats.

  ‘War Office issue, I’m afraid,’ he said to Eve, who had followed him in, ‘but they’ll do for one night. The children can bed down on these.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Eve smiled. It was a different one from the smile that had failed to comfort the children. ‘I’m sure they’ll do fine.’

  As Harry went about pulling out mats and counting them up, Eve had a look round. Her attention was immediately drawn to a battered old photograph propped on the control panel above the generator. She took it down. It showed an air crew standing in front of a bomber, all smiling, fresh-faced and full of life. She looked closer. Right in the middle was Harry.

  ‘That’s you, isn’t it?’ she asked, showing him the photo.

  Harry looked up, his arms full of mats, ready to answer. Once he saw what she was holding, his expression darkened.

  ‘It was,’ he said.

  He turned away from her, went on with his work.

  Night fell, bringing with it even more rain.
The world became dark and full of static.

  The children were still gathered together in the bunker. They had barely spoken, barely moved. Once Harry had unrolled the mats they had all bedded down on them. They were absolutely exhausted but too wired and scared to sleep. Instead they just lay there, the mats in a circle in the centre of the room. Like a western, thought Eve, all the wagons pulled round together to stop the Indians attacking.

  Harry, Jean and Eve were sitting on folding metal chairs behind them. The only sound in the room was the incessant hammering of the rain on the roof.

  Edward lay slightly apart from the others, hands clasped across his chest, staring at the ceiling. The other children were trying to sleep, or at least making a pretence of it. Edward was doing no such thing. It looked to Eve like the boy’s body was a prison and he was trapped within it.

  ‘Try to get some sleep,’ she said.

  As soon as she approached him, he flinched, turned away from her. He kept his eyes resolutely on the metal roof.

  ‘It’s all right, Edward. We’re far away from the house. We’re safe. She can’t get you here.’

  He didn’t answer. She studied him. There was anger in his eyes. Anger at her? For what, throwing his Mr Punch doll back into the house? Was that it? Just as she opened her mouth to say something more, Ruby appeared at her side.

  ‘Miss …’

  ‘Yes, Ruby.’

  ‘Tom told us Edward saw a ghost, Miss.’

  The statement was so unexpected, it stopped Eve in her tracks. ‘Well, I …’

  ‘Did he?’

  Eve’s first response was to lie, to say that Tom had been talking nonsense. But she stopped herself. Ruby deserved more than that, more than lies. If they were ever to get away, if they were ever going to be safe, they all deserved more than lies.

  ‘Yes, Ruby. He did. I saw her, too.’

  ‘Eve …’

  Eve looked up. Jean was shaking her head in admonishment. Eve ignored her, returned her attention to Ruby.

  ‘Yes. I saw her, too. But it’s all right. If she isn’t seen, then she can’t hurt us. We’re here now. We’ve left all that behind.’