The Soul Auction

by Amy Cross

  “No, it's my fault,” I tell her. “I could tell something was wrong last night, as soon as I mentioned the place. I guess I've just been so wrapped up in my work lately, I've barely been paying attention to the real world. Still, that's no excuse. I honestly can't believe that I was rambling on and on about that town, and I never once realized it was the town where Mum...”

  My voice trails off, and I can't help feeling utterly shocked that I was so insensitive.

  Above, rain is hitting the skylight harder than ever, and I suddenly realize that I haven't switched any lights on. The apartment is so gray and gloomy.

  “Well,” Kate says suddenly, “it's all a big coincidence, isn't it? I mean, coincidences happen all the time. This is just a great big, throbbing one.”

  “I guess,” I whisper.

  “God, I hate even thinking about that place,” she continues. “If it was up to me, somebody'd nuke the whole town and then nobody'd ever have to think about it again.” She hiccups. “And now I'm sitting here with my make-up running, sobbing about something that happened thirty years ago. How pathetic am I, huh?”

  “You're not pathetic at all,” I tell her. “Listen, I'll come over and -”

  “No, you don't need to do that.”

  “I want to!”

  “Well, tough! I'm going to meet Lisa for a late lunch.”

  “You already sound drunk.”

  “She'll understand. I'm sorry I bothered you, Alice. I guess I just wanted to see whether you'd really, truly forgotten about our link to Curridge.”

  “I had. I swear.”

  “I'll call you tomorrow,” she continues, “when I'm sober. Probably late in the afternoon. Or maybe even the day after. I dunno, whenever I feel a little more up for company. Then we can go for lunch or something. Deal?”

  It takes several more minutes before the call ends, and I'm finally left sitting all alone at the table, staring at my screen as more and more rain comes pounding down against the skylight above my head. When I look up, I see that the weather just seems to be getting worse by the minute, and I can't help feeling as if the elements are trying to wash the whole of London away. Looking back down at my laptop, I realize I should force myself to get on with some writing, but at the same time everything about my new book feels so utterly inconsequential.

  Finally I grab my laptop, a hastily-grabbed bag of clothes, and my car keys, and then I head to the door. As I hurry down the stairs, I keep telling myself that I'm just going to the corner shop, but once I'm in the car I drive straight past the corner shop, and then straight past the supermarket too. Eventually I even outrun the rainstorm. And that's how, a little over three hours later, I step out of the car and find myself right on the pebbly beach at Curridge.

  Chapter Ten

  Lizzie

  Thirty years ago

  “Be careful over there! Kate, be careful on those rocks!”

  She's clambering over several large gray rocks at the top of the beach. I know I shouldn't be too protective, and that I should be happy she's acting like a normal kid, but I'm still worried she might slip. Finally she reaches the top of the highest rock, several meters above the pebbles, and she stands tall with her toy bear still clutched in her left hand.

  I swear, that bear goes everywhere with her. Mr. Puddles must be some kind of comfort toy.

  “Be careful,” I say again, heading over and stopping to look up at Kate. “Don't fall, okay?”

  “I won't,” she replies, but she seems busy looking out toward the sea. “Is it true you can see France from here?”

  “Sometimes. On a really clear today.” I turn and look. “I think it's not quite clear enough right now.”

  Hearing her scratching about again, I look back up to see what she's doing. The scratching sound stops, however, and I find that she hasn't moved at all. I glance around, but there's definitely nobody else out here with us. All I see are more rocks, and then the town of Curridge way back behind us on the shore.

  “Are you sure Alice is going to be alright without us today?” Kate asks.

  I look back up at her. “Of course. Don't worry about her.”

  “Isn't it bad to leave her with a stranger, though?”

  “The nice lady at the pub is named Kerry,” I reply, “and I'm sure Alice is being very spoiled. Trust me, I've made sure she's fine. Today is just about you and me. Kate and Mummy. Doesn't that sound like fun?”

  She pauses, before turning and jumping from one rock to the next.

  “Careful!” I call out, but she's already jumping again.

  Heading a little further along the beach, while my daughter leaps from one rock to another like some kind of acrobat, I can't help looking up at the vast white cliff-face that towers over this part of the beach. From here, the white cliffs run all the way to Dover and beyond, and I've already got that goddamn song stuck in my head. A healthy sea breeze is blowing in from the sea, and I take deep breaths in the hope that I might do my London lungs some good. This is the kind of place where I should be raising my girls, and I'm starting to think that when I get myself a little more sorted financially, I might try to figure out a way to move us all down here.

  London's too busy and dangerous. It's difficult to imagine anything bad ever happening in a place like Curridge.

  “No!” Kate gasps suddenly.

  Startled, I turn to see that she's still standing on one of the nearby rocks, but that she's staring down at a gap.

  “What's wrong?” I ask.

  “Mr. Puddles!” she continues, crouching down to peer into a crack between two of the rocks. “I dropped him!”

  “Okay, be careful,” I reply, stepping back and trying to figure out how we're going to fish the bear out. “Can you see him?”

  “I think so,” she says, leaning a little further forward. “He's down in the crack.”

  “Don't try to reach him,” I continue, crouching down and quickly seeing that there's no way I can crawl into any of the gaps. “We'll get him out, Kate, but you might have to be patient.”

  “He just fell out of my hand!”

  “Don't worry, accidents happen. I promise we'll get him back.”

  She gets down onto her front and tries to reach into the gap, but there's no way she can reach the bear from up there.

  “Kate, be careful!” I continue. “I don't want both of you stuck down there.”

  Ignoring me, she slithers a little further across the rock, until she's starting to dangle down.

  “No, don't do that!” I shout. “Kate, listen to Mummy! I want you to come down now and we'll find another way to rescue Mr. Puddles.”

  I wait for her to reply, but finally I realize I'm going to have to go up there and get her. I start climbing, although I quickly find that I'm way, way less fit than I expected. I huff and puff as I struggle up, gasping for air like some kind of old woman, but eventually by some miracle I manage to haul myself onto the flatish surface at the top of the rock, where I immediately grab Kate's ankle.

  “That's enough!” I say breathlessly. “Kate, I'll fetch some fishing wire and a hook from town and come back for Mr. Puddles, okay? He'll be fine down there for a few hours.”

  “I want him now!”

  “Well, you shouldn't have -”

  I catch myself just in time. I can't be impatient with her, not on a rare day out for just the two of us.

  “Kate,” I continue, “I promise, hand on heart, that Mr. Puddles will be back with us by nightfall. We'll walk a little more, and then we'll head back to town. Then I'll come back out with some wire and a hook, and it'll be real easy to pull him up.”

  “Can we go and get a wire and a hook now?” she asks, turning to me. “He might be scared down there.”

  Crawling to the edge, I peer down into the gap. Sure enough, Mr. Puddles is at the very bottom.

  “I think he's a brave enough bear,” I say, hoping to give Kate a little cheer. “Are you okay down there for a few hours, Mr. Puddles?”

  I wait,
before realizing that maybe I should do a voice.

  “I'm fine,” I continue, putting on a grizzly voice. “You two have a nice walk and come and fetch me later. I'm happy just chilling down here.”

  I turn to Kate and find that she's scowling at me.

  “What?” I ask.

  “That was you talking,” she replies, “not Mr. Puddles.”

  “You're five years old,” I reply. “Can't you suspend your disbelief a little?”

  “What's that scratching sound?” she asks, looking over her shoulder.

  I'm about to tell her that there's no scratching sound, but then I realize that perhaps she's right. I look back across the rocks, and sure enough there does seem to be something moving nearby, although it sounds like it's down near the bottom of the rocks. I wait for a moment, as the sound seems to move a little closer, and then it fades away, leaving just the morning breeze.

  “I'm sure it was nothing,” I tell Kate, turning to her with a smile. “Just a crab or something.”

  “I heard it in the bedroom last night.”

  “Well, that must have been a different scratching sound.”

  “It was the same.”

  “I don't think so. Come on, let's climb down and walk to the base of the cliff, and then we can think about going back to fetch some rescue equipment for Mr. Puddles. Does that sound like a good deal?”

  She hesitates, clearly deeply skeptical. “I suppose so. As long as you promise.”

  “I promise,” I reply, reaching over and placing a hand on her shoulder. “I promise on anything you like.”

  “Do you promise on your life?”

  I pause, shocked by the question.

  “Do you?” she continues, squinting slightly in the sunlight.

  “That's a little morbid,” I point out.

  “What does morbid mean?”

  “It means...” I take a deep breath. “It means I promise, solemnly and sincerely, that I will rescue Mr. Puddles before the sun goes down. He'll be in bed with you tonight, and he can tell you all about his adventure down in the gap between the rocks.”

  She stares at me for a moment, before turning and starting to climb down to the beach again.

  “Mr. Puddles can't talk, Mummy,” she says, not unreasonably. “I'm not a baby anymore. As long as you get him back and he doesn't have to spend the night out here alone, that's okay by me.”

  She slips from view and I hear her land on the pebbles.

  “Do you promise on your life?”

  For a moment, those words echo in my thoughts, and I can't help thinking that it's strange Kate would ask such a question. Then, hearing her running across the pebbles, I look out and watch as she starts clambering over some other, smaller rocks. She's been through a lot, and she's clearly struggling to deal with the loss of her father. I guess I just have to give her some space, and help her understand what's happening, and not fuss too much over the details.

  “Seeya later, Mr. Puddles,” I mutter, before starting to climb very carefully and very awkwardly back down to the beach. “Don't worry. I'll get you out of there in no time.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Alice

  Today

  I might have escaped the rain of London, but that doesn't mean it's a sunny day here in Curridge. In fact, as I stand on the beach and watch waves crashing against the shore, I feel a couple of cold drops on the back of my neck, which I guess means that the rain is rolling in this way.

  So far, Curridge seems like a ghost town, or more like a ghost village. The whole place consists of three rows of pretty white cottages that run away from the beach. There's a pub at the end of one of the rows, with its front door opening directly onto the pebbles, and a little further along the shore there are a couple of rundown-looking beach huts, but otherwise this place seems almost deserted. I mean, sure, there are a few cars parked here and there, but the only real sign of life is the fact that the windows of some of the cottages have been left open.

  Even the pub is shut, although a sign on the door claims that it'll open at five. Checking my watch, I see that it's almost five now, but so far there's no indication that this sleepy little town is about to wake up. I haven't even seen another person since I arrived half an hour ago, although a few seagulls have been hopping about in the parking lot.

  Finally, at about ten past five, I hear a faint clicking sound in the distance, and I turn just in time to see that the Closed sign has been taken away from the pub's door.

  I guess there's life here after all.

  ***

  “I saw you out there just now,” the landlord says as he limps around to the other side of the bar. “Normally we'd be open from twelve, but I had to make a run to the cash-and-carry, and I couldn't get anyone to watch the place. Now what can I get you?”

  “Just a lemonade would be great,” I tell him, looking toward the far end of the room and seeing several rows of empty seats. This is an old-fashioned pub, with a slightly musty smell.

  “Lemonade coming up.”

  Stopping next to the bar, I can't help thinking about the fact that I must have been here before. I was just a baby when Mum brought me to Curridge with Kate, but I guess she probably brought us right here into the pub. I have absolutely no memories of my mother at all, and this is the first time I've stood in a room and known that once she was here too. Sure, thirty years have passed, but this doesn't look like a place that has changed much. Maybe Mum even stood right here in this exact spot. Maybe she even ordered a lemonade here.

  “Two pounds and thirty pence, please,” the landlord says as he sets a glass on the bar.

  Reaching into my pocket, I take out some change.

  “We don't get many visitors here,” he says once I've given him the coins. He heads over to the till. “Not so early in the year. Just passing by, are you?”

  “Actually,” I reply, “I'm looking for someone. Do you know a -”

  I catch myself just in time.

  Do I really want to do this? Do I really want to be the kind of writer who shows up on a reader's doorstep, asking questions about her own books? She'll probably think I'm some kind of insane stalker, and she might have a point, but at the same time I figure that maybe I can just pretend to be someone else and pick her brains that way. Besides, I've come all this way, and I can't turn around so soon.

  “Do you know a lady named Dora Ohme?” I ask finally, as I brush away a fat fly that has come buzzing toward me.

  “Dora?”

  The landlord puts the coins in the till, but he takes a moment before turning to me again.

  “Yeah, Dora lives round the corner,” he says cautiously. “Haven't seen her for a while, but her cottage is number five. It's the one with little seagull statues in the window. Are you a relative or something?”

  I shake my head. “No, I'm...”

  How do I answer that?

  “I'm a crazed author who came to track down the author of a good review,” I imagine myself saying, but I know I can't tell the truth.

  “I just wanted to speak to her about something,” I manage to say finally, although I know that probably sounds pretty mysterious. “It's a long story.”

  “Well, like I said, I haven't seen old Dora for a while now. Not that she's exactly the pub type, you understand. I'd be pretty shocked if she came in here and sat herself down for a drink.”

  “I think I -”

  Before I can finish, I hear the door creaking open behind me. I turn to see that a middle-aged guy, maybe a few years older than me, is coming into the pub. He greets me with a nod as he reaches the bar, and I can't help noticing that the landlord is already pouring a pint of beer for the new arrival.

  “You're new here,” the guy says after a moment. “Just visiting?”

  “Something like that,” I reply.

  “She's looking for Dora Ohme,” the landlord tells him. “Can you believe that?”

  “Dora?” The guy seems amused by the idea. “Well, that's not something that
happens every day. Are you a friend of hers?”

  “Not really,” I reply, already very aware that I can't possibly explain why I'm here. I really should have thought up a cover story or, better still, I should have just not come at all. “It's complicated.”

  “I haven't seen Dora Ohme about for ages,” the guy says as a pint is placed in front of him. “My mum used to talk to her a lot. They live next door to each other, so they'd chat now and then. Nice lady, but she keeps herself to herself most of the time. How exactly do you know her?”

  “I don't,” I reply, forcing a smile.

  “Right, so...”

  He waits for an answer, before glancing at the landlord for a moment and then turning back to me.

  “It's a really long story,” I continue, hoping to end the conversation. This whole visit is feeling more and more like a monumental mistake. “In fact, I don't really have time to see her at all, so I think I'll just get on my way.”

  “Where's home?” the guy asks.

  “London.”

  “Did you drive all the way down here today?”

  “I did,” I reply, before realizing that I'm just making myself seem even more strange. “Um...”

  We all fall silent for a moment, and I really wish I could just rewind and make it so that I never came in here, or at least so that I didn't mention Dora Ohme's name. I can't think of a single good excuse to make, and I'm pretty sure I must already seem like some kind of maniac, so my best bet is just to turn around and get out of here.

  “Well, good luck with Dora,” the guy at the bar says. “She's not always the easiest person to talk to. Kind of lives inside herself, if you know what I mean. No harm in knocking on her front door, though.”

  “Sure,” I reply, before stepping back from the bar. “I'm going to be on my way now.”

  “Not gonna touch your lemonade?” the landlord asks.

  “Oh, of course.” I step back to the bar and take a sip, although I feel very much as if I'm on display now. “It's very nice,” I say, “but I have to get going. Thank you again.”