by Mark Tilbury
‘Suit yourself. I’m not much hungry.’
Not much hungry? ‘Oh, is that so?’ Mel sat down opposite her. She half-filled a bowl with cereal and added milk. ‘Can I ask you something, Pumpkin?’
‘Why are you calling me Pumpkin? It’s babyish.’
‘I won’t call you it anymore if you don’t want me to.’
‘I’d appreciate that.’
‘Can I ask you something?’
Chloe nodded, eyeing the Honey Nut Loops as if they might contain a deadly toxin.
‘Do you remember what happened last night?’
‘I studied and went to bed.’
‘Studied what?’
‘History. Anne Boleyn.’
Mel’s heart picked up speed. ‘Anne Boleyn?’
‘Henry the Eighth’s second wife. Found guilty of high treason and beheaded in 1536.’
‘Where did you learn that?’
‘My history book.’
‘You don’t have a history book. You don’t go to school yet.’
‘I wish!’
Mel pushed the cereal in front of her. ‘Please, try to eat something.’
‘I don’t like cereal. I already told you that.’
‘Would you like some toast and marmalade instead?’
Chloe sighed.
‘So, you don’t remember going to the theatre last night?’
‘Nope.’
‘Or headbutting Mummy on the nose?’
‘I wouldn’t do that.’
Mel busied herself making a cup of strong black coffee. Perhaps Tony talking to Bernard wasn’t such a bad idea. She could hardly take Chloe to the doctor’s, could she? Have you got a prescription for my daughter? I think she might be possessed by the spirit of someone who studies history and doesn’t like Honey Nut Loops.
By the time Mel had made the coffee, Chloe was fixing her hair back with a bright pink ponytail. She was a practical child. Could even do a passable French plait. She also had a flair for drawing and colouring.
‘We’d better hurry, Mummy. Kerrie-Anne will be here soon.’
A surge of relief. Normality! She watched her daughter tighten the hairband, shovel Honey Nut Loops into her mouth, and kick her feet against the chair legs.
‘We don’t want to miss the bus,’ Mel said. It was their little joke after missing the bus once when they were going shopping in Oxford.
Chloe raised a hand, pretended to ring a bell, and lost a Honey Nut Loop out the side of her mouth.
‘Ding, ding,’ Mel said. ‘Station, please.’
‘I love you, Mummy.’
‘I love you, too, Pum…’
Chloe frowned. ‘What’s wrong, Mummy?’
Mel hesitated. Christ, she didn’t even know what to call her anymore. She forced a smile. ‘Nothing, sweetheart. Nothing at all.’
Possibly the biggest lie she had ever told her daughter.
4
Mel somehow dragged herself through the day. She taught Year Two at Feelham County Primary School. Every noise seemed louder, every question more difficult to answer, every child a little more demanding. She’d even raised her voice a few times, something which she normally avoided at all costs. Shouting was the first step to losing control, and a teacher who wasn’t in control was, perhaps, someone doing the wrong job.
She pulled up outside Kerrie-Anne’s terraced house, switched off the engine, and took a few moments to compose herself. She’d almost bought a packet of cigarettes when she’d filled up with petrol. Thankfully, she knew someone in the queue, got chatting, and the moment was lost.
Kerrie-Anne opened the door before Mel had a chance to ring the bell. She gawped at Mel without speaking. Something was wrong; Kerrie-Anne was usually as hyped up as the kids.
‘Is everything all right?’
‘Can you come in for a minute? Chloe’s playing upstairs with Harriet. There’s something you ought to know.’
Mel followed her along the hallway and into the kitchen. Worry drew a picture in her mind; Chloe choking, clutching at her neck, eyes wide. ‘What is it?’
‘Look, this is probably nothing. It’s… something Chloe said when I was brushing her hair.’
‘What?’ Mel asked, not sure she wanted to hear her answer.
‘She said she knows how her Grandma Audrey died.’
Mel’s heart stopped. The last reserves of strength drained from her body. She held onto the back of a chair for support. Mel had never spoken to Chloe about Grandma Audrey. Ever. Mel’s mother was strictly off-limits. Chloe didn’t even know the woman’s name, for God’s sake.
‘Are you all right, Mel?’
She tried to swallow, but she had no saliva in her mouth. She sat down before her legs folded. ‘What… did… she… say… exactly?’
‘Like I said, I was brushing her hair at the dressing table in the playroom. She seemed fine. Talking about what Santa was going to bring her. She had Ruby in her lap, and then she started talking in this weird voice. Like how ventriloquists talk with their dummies. It was as if she was a different child. Her eyes looked older. Sad. Not those of a child excited about Christmas.’
‘Maybe it was just a trick of the light,’ Mel said, not believing it for a minute. Kerrie-Anne wasn’t a woman given to fanciful exaggeration. Enthusiastic, energetic, brilliant with kids, and highly recommended, but never prone to overreaction. That’s why Mel had hired her.
‘Maybe,’ Kerrie-Anne agreed. She studied the table for a few moments. ‘Does she have a Grandma Audrey?’
Mel ignored the question. ‘What did she say?’
The childminder hesitated, and then said, ‘She told me it was your fault Grandma Audrey died.’
Mel’s mouth hung open. ‘She… said… what?’
‘I know it sounds ridiculous. But I swear on my life, that’s what she said.’
This couldn’t be happening. Not on top of everything else.
‘Mel?’
Mel felt as if someone had set fire to her thoughts.
‘I’m sorry, Mel. I just thought you should know.’
Kerrie-Anne’s eight-year-old daughter, Harriet, skipped into the kitchen and ended the conversation. ‘Chloe’s fallen asleep on my bed. We were playing dolls, and she threw Ruby down the stairs and said she had a broken neck. Then she started crying and ran into my room. I went and got Ruby. When I got back upstairs, Chloe was asleep.’
‘Wake her up,’ Kerrie-Anne said. ‘Tell her that her mummy’s here to take her home.’
Harriet nodded and scooted out of the kitchen.
They waited in silence for Chloe to come downstairs. The unspoken words were somehow louder and clearer than the spoken ones. Mel’s head felt like a maze; the Tall Man waiting in the shadows for her to make one wrong turn.
Chloe shuffled into the kitchen. She looked sulky. Her bottom lip was jutting out, eyes bleary, Ruby clutched to her chest.
‘Hiya, Pumpkin,’ Mel said, trying to inject cheeriness into her voice.
Chloe didn’t answer. She sucked her thumb.
‘Busy day?’
Chloe nodded.
‘Come on, let’s get you home.’
Mel thanked Kerrie-Anne and carried Chloe to the car. When they arrived at St Kilda’s Close, Chloe was fast asleep. Mel switched on the interior light. She decided to put her straight to bed. The trauma of the last couple of days had clearly wiped her out.
She looked so angelic with her long blonde hair tumbling forward over her purple coat. Chloe had the most beautiful long eyelashes. Mel knew she was biased, but her daughter really was going to melt boys’ hearts when she was older.
If the Tall Man doesn’t get her first.
Mel shuddered and took the keys from the ignition. She wrestled Chloe out of the car seat, opened the front door and managed to get her upstairs without waking her. She laid her on top of the bed and decided to leave her coat on until she was in a deeper sleep. She needed some space to evaluate what Kerrie-Anne had said. Try to put it into some kind
of perspective.
Mel couldn’t understand why this was happening now. Until the visit to Feelham Theatre, Chloe had been like any other normal child. Grumpy, excitable, full of energy, full of questions. No mention of the Tall Man or Grandma Audrey. Nothing.
As she walked out the bedroom, Chloe woke up. ‘Where are you going?’
Shit, shit, shit. ‘Go back to sleep, Chloe.’
Chloe sat up, Ruby clutched to her chest. In a strange, croaky voice, she said, ‘But it’s not yet six.’
A butterfly, laden with iron wings, tried to take off in Mel’s stomach. ‘You’ve had a busy day, Chloe. You need to catch up on your sleep.’
‘Says who?’
‘Says your mother.’
‘Oh, the irony.’
‘What the…?’
‘What’s the matter, Smelly-Mellie? Cat got your tongue?’
Mel gawped at the doll as if it had just come to life. Her mother was the only person who had ever called her Smelly-Mellie.
‘Well you might look like that. You were nothing but bothersome from birth.’
‘Shut up!’
‘What are you going to do? Throw me down the stairs?’
‘I never threw you down the stairs,’ Mel whispered.
The doll changed. Its dark woollen hair was replaced by her mother’s long unkempt grey hair. The button- brown eyes transformed into Grandma Audrey’s red puffy eyes. Mouth bearing large nicotine-stained teeth.
‘You always were skittish.’
Mel’s heart thundered across her chest as the doll grinned at her.
‘Skittish and bothersome. Never liked being told what to do. Is that why you killed me?’
‘I… never… killed… you….’
‘Liar, liar, pants on fire.’
Mel raised her hand, ready to strike and silence that awful croaky voice from beyond the grave.
‘Didn’t like it because I had all the attention, did you, Little Miss Skittish.’
Mel’s hand hovered inches from the doll, shaking.
‘The truth will out, Smelly-Mellie. It always does.’
‘Shut up. Shut up. SHUT THE FUCK UP!’
‘What’s wrong, Mummy?’
Chloe’s voice suddenly jolted Mel as she was about to lash out. The doll returned to its usual inanimate state.
‘Mummy?’
Mel lowered her hand.
‘Why are you mad with me?’
Mel clamped her fingers between her teeth, biting down hard.
‘What’s wrong, Mummy?’
She looked at the little girl who could melt her heart with smiles and tears in equal measures. She brushed a strand of hair out of the child’s eyes. ‘I’m just tired, Pumpkin.’
‘I don’t like it when you’re mad.’
‘I’m not mad.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise. Do you want a bath before bed?’
‘I’m hungry.’
‘Didn’t you have tea at Kerrie-Anne’s?’
‘Uh-huh. But I’m eating for two.’
Mel was thrown off course yet again. Not only by her daughter’s strange voice, but by the implication of her statement. ‘Two?’
‘Me and my sister.’
Mel tried to keep her voice calm. ‘You haven’t got a sister.’
‘Have, so.’
‘Who told you this?’
‘Grandma Audrey.’
Mel looked at Ruby Rag Doll as if she might sprout yellow teeth and a vile tongue again. ‘But you don’t know Grandma Audrey.’
‘Do, too. She talks to me.’
‘She can’t talk to you, Chloe.’
‘Can.’
‘When?’
‘At night when I can’t sleep.’
‘But that’s impossible.’
Chloe shook her head. ‘She told me I had a sister.’
A shiver rolled down Mel’s spine. ‘Do you see Grandma Audrey like a real person?’
‘No.’
‘Then how do you talk to her?’
‘She tells Ruby, and Ruby tells me.’
Ruby had been Mel’s childhood doll. She’d been left at the house after her mother had died and Mel had gone to live with her Aunt Cathy and Uncle John. Her father had given Mel the doll, along with a suitcase full of old drawings and clothes, a few years ago. The case had been shoved up in the attic and forgotten about until Tony had decided on a clear-out a month ago. Chloe had begged to keep her. Look after her. Love her forever. Now Mel was beginning to wish she’d sent the doll to the rubbish tip along with all the other junk.
‘How long’s this been happening?’
Chloe shrugged.
She’d heard Chloe talking in that strange croaky voice several times before, but had assumed it was nothing more than child’s play. An imagination working overtime.
‘Can I ask you something, Pumpkin?’
Chloe nodded.
Mel took a deep breath. ‘You said you’ve got a sister?’
‘Uh-huh.’
Here was the million-dollar question. The one she didn’t want to ask, but had to, because curiosity always killed the cat. ‘Has your sister got a name?’
‘Yes.’
‘What is it?’
Without hesitation, Chloe said, ‘Megan.’
Mel clapped a hand over her mouth. Chloe had just named the three-month-old child they’d lost to a heart defect several years before Chloe’s birth.
5
When Tony got home from work, Mel was halfway down a bottle of wine. She’d also eaten a bag of twiglets meant for Christmas, and a mince pie which wasn’t sitting too well on a near-empty stomach.
Tony hung up his coat, kicked off his shoes, and threw his briefcase on a chair. ‘What a crap day. Fancy a curry tonight?’
‘Hi, Mel. How are you? How’s your day been?’
Tony looked at her as if she’d thrown a rock at him. ‘Sorry. How’s—?’
‘Bloody shit, since you ask.’
The weariness around Tony’s eyes vanished. ‘What’s happened?’
Mel gulped wine, banged her glass down on the pine coffee table, and told Tony what had happened at Kerrie-Anne’s.
Tony said nothing for a while. He gazed at the clock above the kitchen door, seemingly fixated by the time. ‘But that’s not possible.’
‘Don’t you think I know that?’ Mel left out the part where the doll had appeared to turn into her mother; that was probably just a symptom of prolonged stress and exhaustion.
‘There’s got to be a—’
‘I’ve never spoken to her about that old witch. As far as Chloe’s concerned, she doesn’t even exist.’
‘Maybe your dad said something to her.’
‘No way. He hates her. And that’s not all. She said something else.’
‘What?’
‘She was eating for two.’
Tony looked relieved. He even managed a smile. ‘That’s just a vivid imagi— you’re not pregnant are you?’
‘No, Tony, I’m not pregnant. But when I asked her what she meant by it, she said she was eating for her sister. I asked her if this sister had a name. Guess what she said?’
‘What?’
‘Megan.’
Tony’s eyes widened. The colour drained from his face. ‘But…’
‘She doesn’t know about Megan.’
Tony walked to the dresser and poured himself a generous measure of Scotch from a crystal decanter. He drained the drink and poured another one. ‘Someone must have told her about Megan. It’s the only explanation.’
‘No one’s told her.’
Tony sat in a chair and focussed on his drink. ‘It makes no sense.’
‘You saw her last night. Saw what she was like.’
‘But—’
‘I think she’s lived before. Remembers stuff about a past life. And I think my mother’s talking to her through that fucking rag doll.’
Tony drained his drink. ‘That’s crap, Mel. We live and we die. End of. Ther
e’s no such thing as ghosts.’
‘And you know that for certain, do you? Is it part of the maths curriculum? One life minus one life equals no life. Is that what it is?’
Tony put down his drink and pinched the skin on the back of his hand. ‘We’re just physical bodies, Mel. We die and we turn back to dust. You’re just clutching at straws. Someone’s been filling our daughter’s head with nonsense.’
‘Like who, for God’s sake?’
‘Your dad. Kerrie-Anne. I don’t know.’
‘Crap.’
‘It makes more sense than thinking your mother is speaking to her through a rag doll.’
‘I don’t know what to believe anymore,’ Mel shouted. ‘All I know is something’s wrong with my daughter.’
‘Our daughter.’
‘When it suits.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means you only ever want the good bits, Tony. The happy, smiling, bouncy Chloe. Everything else, you palm off on me.’
‘That’s absolute rubbish.’
An uneasy truce fell as both combatants stopped to reload their guns. Lick their wounds. Mel refilled her glass.
Then, Tony said, ‘Look, I’m not trying to dismiss you. I only—’
‘It seems that way from where I’m standing.’
‘Sitting.’
‘That’s not funny, Tony. Being pedantic is a side-effect of smugness, and no one likes a smart-arse.’
‘I was just kidding.’
‘It doesn’t suit you.’
A shadow fell across Tony’s eyes. ‘Let’s just say you’re right. Chloe has lived before, and your mother is talking to her through the doll. What in God’s name are we supposed to do about it?’
A vision of a priest with a large crucifix and a bible popped into Mel’s head. ‘Sorry, they don’t teach A-level Supernatural in school.’
‘I honestly think it will just blow over in time.’
‘Is that what you thought when you threw yourself into work after Megan died?’
‘For God’s sake, Mel, I had to go to work. We had a mortgage to pay, in case you’ve forgotten. Bills. Car to run. Clubs. Commitments. A tendency to like wine rather too much for someone whose mother was an alcoholic.’
If Mel had claws, they would have flexed. ‘I’m nothing like that bitch.’
