Death's Sweet Echo

by Maynard Sims

  I caught up with her at an older part of the cemetery. The gravestones here were pitted with moss and worn smooth by the years. This couldn’t be where her father was buried; the graves here were all far too old.

  She was seated cross-legged on the grass, her eyes closed, and her hands were outstretched, touching the sloping headstone of the grave she was sitting on.

  I wanted to honour her privacy, while she went through what seemed to be a private ritual of mourning. Then again, she had invited me to visit her family.

  ‘Is your father buried somewhere near here?’ I said. This grave must be a grandfather, or an even older relative.

  For a long moment she ignored me, and then she opened her eyes and the look on her face was as close to contentment as I ever saw. ‘This is my dad,’ she said.

  I’d seen the dates carved into the old stone, and even though maths wasn’t my best subject at school, I knew well enough that a man who had died in the 1800s couldn’t be the father of a sixteen-year-old girl who was alive and warm and breathing now.

  There had been a lot of lessons during the training period about delusions. Young people who suffered abuse, or family breakdowns, could often convince themselves of things that weren’t real. It gave them a kind of comfort, reassured them that their lives were normal, even when they clearly were not.

  It seemed to me that what I was witnessing with Melinda here was a transference of her obvious need for a male role model in her life. In her disturbed mind, she was making the link between the need to grieve and the actual embodiment of death by way of the grave. I was secretly quite pleased with myself for summoning that up as an explanation, and I decided there and then to write up Melinda as my test paper.

  I couldn’t disagree with her – that might lose the slim amount of trust I was gaining from her.

  ‘How did he die?’ I said quietly.

  ‘I probably killed him,’ she said, and in a fluid, feline movement of grace and style she rose from her seated position and began to kick savagely at the headstone.

  I was shocked. The violence was fast and the anger was intense. I held out my hand, thinking I might catch her arm and pull her away, but within seconds she had stopped. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘You can take me home. We’ll visit my mother tomorrow.’

  I had to walk fast to keep up with her. This time she found a well-used gap in the railings to squeeze though, and as I pushed myself after her, the night was all but upon us.

  So I would meet her mother tomorrow. If that entailed another visit to the cemetery, I would have to confront her, but that was for another day. She had asked me to take her home, and the visit to her mother was suggested as a different event. The conclusion had to be that she didn’t live with her mother.

  We walked more or less side by side, although there was no suggestion that we should hold hands. She was confident of her directions, as she was about everything. She led me through a maze of side streets, back alleys, and seemingly blind ends that opened up at the last moment into little cut-throughs that took us past boarded-up houses, closed-down shops, and forlorn scraps of land that were populated by feral cats and burned-out cars.

  ‘Is it near?’ I said, after a while. I was getting concerned that I wouldn’t be able to find my way back, and I didn’t think for a moment that she would invite me to stay with her.

  ‘You’ve already seen some of my friends.’

  I didn’t know what she meant. We hadn’t seen anyone, apart from an old drunk who had called out an inarticulate scrap of words as we passed. He was slouched against a wall, a bottle in one hand, the other outstretched for anything he might grasp. I saw Melinda bend down as she glided past him, and I wondered if she was handing him money. When I glanced back, the man was lying flat on the pavement, and he didn’t seem to be moving.

  It was fully night now, clouds obscuring the moon, black shadows smeared over roofs and walls, keeping darkness hidden in corners as if for their own safety.

  ‘I haven’t seen anyone,’ I said. ‘Except that old tramp. What did you…’

  ‘Forget him. You’ve seen lots of my friends. You just didn’t realise it. They’re the ghosts that no one sees. Like me, living where they can, bothering nobody. They hide away from the do-gooders like you. The interferers.’

  I looked back, and the man was still laid out motionless on the slimy pavement. ‘Is that man all right?’

  ‘You can’t help everyone, Gavin. See if you can help me.’

  We were in a dead end. To one side was a railway embankment, to the other a row of derelict buildings, and ahead a brick wall covered with posters and spray paint.

  ‘This is me,’ she said.

  ‘Where?’ I looked all about, but when I turned back to her she had gone. ‘Melinda.’ I shouted loudly this time. There didn’t seem to be anyone about.

  Then I heard the movement. It was like a low rumble at first, and I thought it might be a train, as I was so close to the tracks. When I realised the soft sounds were voices, although they didn’t seem to be speaking in any language I understood, there was a distinct threatening aspect to the noises. There were feet scraping on the concrete floor.

  I saw the shadows begin to move, gently at first, as if the wind was blowing a silk curtain, but then the movement became more vigorous and spread out further, on both sides of the street.

  ‘Melinda,’ I said, but she didn’t come back and I knew I was on my own, in the dark, in a strange part of the city.

  I turned and ran.

  ***

  When I got in to work the next morning, I found a note stuck to my computer asking me – well, telling, to be honest – to go and see my boss as soon as I got in.

  Ruth was lovely so long as you did things her way. If you didn’t, then she wasn’t lovely, not at all. I wasn’t surprised to see that Jenny was with her.

  ‘Ah, Gavin,’ Ruth said when I opened the door uncertainly. ‘Come in, I won’t bite… not at first, anyway.’

  I tried a smile rather than a laugh, but even that was wasted on her. Jenny was glaring.

  ‘How are you finding things?’

  ‘Fine, I’m enjoying it.’

  Ruth put her hands flat on her desk and I noticed that her nail polish was chipped on three fingers. ‘Are you sure this is the job for you, Gavin? I know you’re still finding your feet and all that, but there are some fundamentals that we require in our people.’

  ‘Like not lusting after the young girls,’ Jenny said cruelly, and I knew why I had been summoned.

  ‘Thank you, Jenny,’ Ruth said, and for a brief moment I thought I was safe. Then she pounced. ‘Tell me where you went last night after you left the youth centre.’

  Should I lie? Why should I? But how much of the truth should I reveal? ‘I walked Melinda home.’

  Ruth looked at Jenny and I saw each of them nod.

  ‘And why would you do that?’ Ruth said.

  ‘Well, as I explained to Jenny last night, I think I’ll be most effective on my patch if I get to know the families. Jenny mentioned that this girl is vulnerable…’

  ‘The word I used was trouble.’

  ‘Same thing. I know I’m not experienced, nowhere near either of you, but I think I had a real connection with her. She took me to see her father.’ That last bit was a gamble. If they knew about her real father, and not the imaginary one that Melinda had taken me to see, I was leaving myself open to all sorts of internal complaints.

  ‘I doubt her mother even knows who the father is,’ Jenny said.

  ‘A woman in her position, as well,’ Ruth said.

  ‘Look,’ I said. ‘I realise I may have jumped in with both feet before I knew the full facts, but she’s promised to take me to see her mother. I’ve made progress with her. Isn’t that why we’re here? To help these young people?’

  ‘Melinda isn’t one of your charges, Gavin,’ Ruth said. ‘She doesn’t live on your patch, as you will no doubt have reali
sed if you did take her home last night.’

  ‘Where does she live?’ Jenny said.

  I couldn’t give an honest answer to that question; I didn’t know, for starters. ‘It’s true it isn’t in my area.’

  ‘That settles it,’ Ruth said. ‘You aren’t to engage with that girl again. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘My position is clear on this. Everyone in the department has more experience than you, don’t forget that. We don’t get involved with cases that don’t concern us or where we can’t facilitate improvement. The girl is sixteen, so far as we know. She’s young, too young for you to get involved. Young, but she’s made her choices.’

  When I left the room I felt like a schoolboy excused from the head teacher’s office. I didn’t agree with their dictate about abandoning Melinda. I wanted to do some good, and she was a perfect opportunity to make a difference.

  I didn’t know it then, but I should have heeded Ruth’s warnings.

  ***

  I went to the youth centre another three times before Melinda reappeared.

  I waited until Jenny went to the toilet before I approached Melinda.

  ‘I thought you were going to take me to see your mother a few days ago,’ I said, and sounded like a petulant child.

  ‘They’ve warned you off me, haven’t they?’

  ‘How could you know… that doesn’t matter. I want to help. When can we go and see her?’

  ‘Tonight.’

  Jenny was back, and so I supervised some boys playing table tennis. As I chatted about football, Melinda was visible out of the corner of my eye. She didn’t seem to talk to anyone, or even to make an effort to do anything. She drifted about like a cloud of smoke, and I was struck at her apparent shyness, and at the way that she seemed scared. Her eyes were forever flickering about, watchful, suspicious. She was very troubled, I was certain of that, and warnings aside, I was going to be the one to help her.

  When I saw her leave, we still had another hour or so before we closed up. I glanced over at Jenny and saw her watching me closely. She had seen Melinda leave. It took all my resolve, but I threw myself into the proceedings of the other kids with insincere gusto. My enthusiasm sickened even me.

  That was a very slow hour, but at last I was outside and locking up as Jenny waved the remaining youngsters away from the entrance.

  ‘Do you want to go for a drink?’ Jenny said.

  I was surprised, but I recognised the offer for what it was: a ploy to keep me occupied, to ensure that I wasn’t tempted to follow and find Melinda. Either of us should have known that would only be possible if she wanted to be found.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘But I promised my dad I’d help him tonight when I got home,’ I said.

  Jenny all but chuckled. ‘Living at home with mum and dad, I forget how young you are. Okay, see you tomorrow.’

  I watched her scuttle across to her bright yellow Beetle, and waved casually as she drove off.

  ‘Thought the old bitch would never leave.’

  ‘Where have you been hiding?’

  ‘I’m used to waiting. Very patient, me. Come on. Got a car?’

  I shook my head. ‘It’s my dad’s.’

  ‘But you can drive? It’s here, right?’

  I pointed at the maroon hatchback.

  ‘Come on. You can drive me to my mother’s.’

  In the enclosed space of the car, I began to realise that she probably wasn’t the cleanest of people. Not to be judgemental – I didn’t want to fall into that trap. Her living arrangements were chaotic, I should imagine, a squat at best. The chances of a hot shower and clean clothes were few and far between. Even so, I opened my window to let in some air. She smelled as if something had died in her clothes, even though they appeared to be clean, if crumpled.

  She directed me, and the drive took longer than I thought it would. I had supposed she would take me to a nearby part of the city, but we headed away from the bright lights and were on a motorway for a while, lorries and faster cars treating me as an irritant as I meandered along.

  ‘Off there,’ Melinda said, and I indicated and left the main road.

  I was on a country road now, with no streetlights, and just the moon shining down to pass some illumination to my headlamps.

  ‘Does your mother live near here?’

  ‘Obviously. Why else would I bring you to this back of beyond? Over there, park up there.’

  I drew the car to halt on a grassy back, half on and half off the road. I left my window open as I switched off the engine. An owl screeched in the distance, and I realised we were far from the city, and far away from my comfort zone. The words Ruth and Jenny had both used came back to mind, and I wondered if I was being in any way sensible, being alone with this young girl. She might accuse me of all manner of impropriety, or worse, she might be dangerous.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, and opened her door to the warm night air. After she had left, the stench lingered. It was a damp smell of wet earth, clothes that had been wet and not fully dried.

  I followed her and found her at the base of a tall wall that seemed to go on for miles. ‘What is this place?’ Peering over the top of the wall, as best I could, in the distance I could see what looked like a very large manor house, more or less a stately home.

  ‘This is where I should live.’

  The warnings I had been given started sounding loud and clear.

  ‘I’d love to live in a grand mansion like that, as well,’ I said.

  ‘It’s where I was born.’

  I looked back at the car. It was close enough if I needed to make a run for it. I clutched the keys tightly in my hand.

  ‘You said you were taking me to see your mother.’

  ‘I am, come on. She still lives here, but she threw me out. I only want back what was taken from me. That’s only fair, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s a bit late. Wouldn’t you be better off coming back in the morning?’

  She shook her head and leaped effortlessly to the top of the wall, clinging on with limpet fingers, and dragging her knees and feet behind her. ‘She’ll be awake. She doesn’t like to go to sleep. She knows what would happen if I found her asleep.’

  She laid flat on the wall and reached down with her hand. ‘Come on, I’ll pull you up.’

  I doubted she would have the strength to be able to haul me up a tall wall, slender as I might be. I held up my hand, she grasped it, and then I was propelled up the stonework, my knees scraping against the rough surface. At the top I sat, my feet dangling over the edge, as I looked around.

  The grounds went on forever: trees, bushes, lawns and flowerbeds. The house was in darkness, and I doubted that Melinda’s mother was awake. I doubted that whoever did live in the house would even know who she was.

  Many of the young people who came our way had problems with drugs and alcohol. Many of them coped as best they could despite the damage they were doing to their bodies. Some were badly affected mentally – depression, psychological problems, and delusions. Melinda had clearly been affected quite badly.

  Before I knew it we both dropped to the ground, and after rolling three or four times I came to rest with a crash against the thick trunk of an oak tree. Melinda was already on her feet.

  She pulled me to my feet, and I was struck at how cold her hands were. Mine were hot and sticky, from unease as well as the summer warmth.

  We ran like excited animals through the darkness and the foliage. I felt anything other than excited. I was rehearsing in my mind what I would say to the owner of the house when we disturbed them. It wasn’t quite the middle of the night, but late enough to expect to be left alone. Instead, there was a frightened social worker barely older than the manic young woman who was dragging him along and up to the front door.

  We crunched over deep gravel, and security lights came on – activated by our movements, I should think. I heard dogs barking and thought
that if they loosed the guard dogs on us I would have a heart attack. The steps up to the massive doors were steep and worn smooth over the years. I’m no expert, but my parents took me around enough National Trust houses when I was younger, so I could hazard a guess that the house was Queen Anne but with many later additions. There was a huge portico under which we swooped. To the side of the double doors was a bell-pull, and Melinda used it with practised ease.

  ‘How long since your mother has seen you?’ I said.

  Melinda wasn’t even out of breath despite our fast pace. ‘I come every week, sometimes more.’

  ‘So why does it have to be tonight?’

  ‘Because she’s selling. Everything. The house, the estate. She can’t. It’s mine. When Daddy died, he swore I could live here forever.’

  I was struggling to know what to say to appease her. They hadn’t covered this level of behaviour in the training. Should I agree with her and go along with her? Should I disagree and risk her wrath? Point out that she didn’t live here. She lived… wherever she lived, but not here. The decision was taken out of my hands when the door was opened and light flooded out of the doorway and over us.

  ‘Can I help you?’ The woman who stood there might have been any age from fifty to one hundred. She seemed ageless.

  She stared at me but hadn’t seemed to notice Melinda. I reached out for the girl’s arm, intending to drag her further into the light, but she eluded me and slipped inside the house.

  ‘Melinda,’ I called after her.

  ‘What did you say?’ the woman said.

  ‘She’s gone into your house. I’m really sorry.’

  The woman looked alarmed. ‘I’m not alone, you know. My husband is in the drawing room. I only have to shout for him.’

  I held up my hands by way of appeasement. ‘I’m not here to hurt you,’ I said. Though I couldn’t vouch for Melinda. ‘I’m Gavin White. I work for social services. Troubled teens, mostly. One of my… cases… brought me here. She seems to believe you’re her mother and that she lives here. Said she was born here, although that’s obviously…’