‘Have you heard them yet, Mr Jones?’ she said. I stopped, short.
‘What did you say?’ I said sharply, turning around.
‘Have you heard the children’s voices in the night?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I heard them last night, about half past two. Parents these days are far too lax.’
‘And were the children crying or laughing?’
‘Neither,’ I said. ‘They were chattering loudly, in high pitched voices. I was half asleep when they woke me up. Tourists, I guess.’
Marianne Parks gave a slow, small smile, a smile that made me feel quite uneasy. But not as much as the words that followed.
‘No, Mr Jones, they weren’t tourists, or even the kids who live around here. The children you heard were the School Lane ghosts.’
Chapter 4
Then – Thomas
I should have been helping Miranda in the pub, but instead I went up to Curdizan High, to look for Louise. The High’s the part where the abbey is, as well as my school, although nothing about the place is high. I walked past the school and finally came to Pearson’s Tenements, that’s where she lives, but Louise wasn’t there, surprise, surprise. I wasn’t surprised, the place was a dump, but all the same, I had to look. The tenement building was tall and grim, tiny spaces joined by a stairway and open landings, the black of the open night in between. I thought they were more like rooms than landings, people’s possessions scattered about, rooms on the outside. I thought of escape.
I once saw a woman jump from a landing, far too high from the ground to be safe, but almost worse, too low to be dead, and gone in a flash. They patched her up, as best as they could, and she even went back to her room for a bit, but she never walked the same after that and not long after, finally died. I didn’t know it at the time, but her name was May, and she was also Louise’s ma. I never did learn which room she came from.
It’s a maze inside the tenement building, stair after stair to each new landing, the landings themselves being almost homes, with chairs or a table and a dog chained up and even the odd bit of carpet or rug. But the landings were cold, an outside cold and all exposed to kids like me.
I shivered, scared in the black of the stairway, I knew I ought to go back, and soon. Miranda would be wondering where I was. But I’d promised old Pike I’d find Louise.
‘He’s Mister Pike,’ my ma would say, but she didn’t know Pike the way I knew him, he didn’t deserve to be called Mister. He was cold, indifferent and sometimes cruel; he’d said if I didn’t find Louise, he’d throw her out of the school for good, and she’d end up lost, like Miranda’s ma. I didn’t know what he meant by that, but I didn’t much like the way he’d said it, and I liked Louise, she wasn’t rough like most of the kids, and she lived in a flea pit, storeys high. If I had to live in Pearson’s Tenements, in amongst all the privy smells, I’m sure I’d forget to go to school. School would be just a dream or something.
I reached a landing, the fourth or fifth, I didn’t know which, so I tossed a huge stone over the edge, and counted until I heard it land. Although I’d looked, I hadn’t found her. I’d even tried a few of the doors, but nobody seemed to know her name. A shadow slunk by and I held my breath, you’re never alone in a place like this. I turned around, got ready to run, but a hand shot out and grabbed my collar, pulling me back, very sharply. Somebody’s hand against my mouth. The somebody spoke.
‘Tom, Thomas, you shouldn’t be here, I haven’t the time to look for you. I wouldn’t have come, and won’t the next time, it’s only because your ma was worried.’
Ma, worried? That was a laugh. I snorted, loudly, and wriggled my collar out of her grasp. It was Miranda from the pub, looking wild as always, her eyes glowing bright in the light from the moon. She tossed her hair and I stared right back.
‘How did you know I was here?’ I said.
‘I know you well enough by now. The sort of place you like to go. Each to their own, that’s what I say.’
She looked around as we walked back down and hurried along the shabby street, all shadows and shade and stinking gutters. A rat rushed past and Miranda’s nose twitched, as if to say, You see what I mean? I grinned in the dark, I liked rats and I liked Miranda, although not as much as I liked Louise.
‘I presume you’re coming back with me?’ Miranda asked, as we stopped on the corner by Curdizan Church, the church that stood in the shade of the abbey. I nodded, sadly.
‘Yes,’ I said, torn between my longing for a pie at the end of my shift, and the word I’d given to find Louise. Shame on me, for the hot pie won. We hurried down Scriveners Road to the alley, through the alley to Convent Court and down to the streets called Curdizan Low.
‘Don’t be dragging your heels,’ said Miranda. ‘I’m supposed to be serving ale right now, and washing the glasses you didn’t do.’
I smiled to myself as we hurried along. Collecting the glasses and washing them after was what I was paid for, and I liked my job at the Keepsake Arms. The money I earned from my job at the pub helped my ma, and it helped Miranda, her da was dead and Mrs Collenge was never around.
Miranda was good in the pub, I thought, cheerful and bright, but not too friendly, sharp enough to keep them drinking, spending their money, not talking to her. I wished again, like I’d wished before, that she was my sister and not just a girl who could boss me around. Neighbours and mates, that’s what we were, even though she was all grown up. Miranda Collenge was eighteen.
Chapter 5
Now – Aleph
Marianne Parks’ words shocked me. I’ve never believed in ghosts, I thought, so why start now? Or at least, not the ones that weren’t in my head. I cycled home in the fading light, forgetting my plan to go to the library, hardly aware of the world around me. Something had shifted inside my head. Starting again was proving to be what I’d guessed all along, another illusion. You’re never allowed to forget, I thought.
I’d wanted to ask Ms Parks some more but she didn’t seem eager to talk fully. The door had opened and someone walked in, another gullible tenant, probably, eager to part with some hard-earned cash. I left them alone.
I cycled away, vaguely troubled, and now with even more questions than answers. I rode with care down Narrowboat Lane, ducking my head when I came to the arch. I was almost home when a woman stepped out in front of the bike. I braked, sharply. The woman shrieked and her shopping and handbag fell to the ground.
Old School Lane was pedestrianised, which was just as well in the present circumstances. I dropped my bike and hurried towards her. The woman was struggling to pick up her parcels, margarine, bread and a bag of potatoes, all in one hand. Her other hand was glued to her ankle. At least she’s alive, I thought, detached. My mind froze over.
‘Are you alright?’ I heard myself say.
‘I think I’ve sprained my ankle,’ she said.
When she finally removed her fingers, it was true the ankle seemed slightly puffy, a reddish colour, rather than pale. I picked up her handbag and gathered her food. ‘My house is just here,’ I told the stranger. ‘Please come inside, I’ll bandage that up.’
‘Oh no, it’s okay,’ the woman replied, but her voice was faint and the no meant yes. I helped her make her way up the steps. Once inside, I steered her gently into the kitchen, and then to a chair, putting her shopping by her side.
‘Would you like tea, or maybe some whisky?’ I paused, waiting.
‘Whisky, please,’ she said smiling, her eyes darting all over the place. ‘This is quite some kitchen, much bigger than mine. You’ve got so much space.’
‘It’s certainly different,’ I said, dryly, passing her a mug with the whisky in it. ‘I’ve just moved in so there aren’t any glasses.’ I sat down opposite the stranger and smiled.
‘Aleph Jones? That’s your name?’ The woman was reading the estate agent’s brochure; I’d put it there beside my tea.
‘Yes, that’s right. I know it’s unusual, everybody says so.’
�
�A name to go with the house, I’d say. Quite unique.’ She took a deep breath and looked behind her, stared at the hall. ‘I’d love to have a look at the place; does that sound rude?’
A little bit forward, perhaps, I thought, but I wasn’t offended, not in the least. Then she blushed.
‘Not now, of course, not with the ankle. Climbing the stairs might be too much.’
‘I’d offer to run you home,’ I said. ‘But I don’t have a car.’ I stopped abruptly. The woman smiled.
‘I don’t suppose you need one here, in the centre of town? Isn’t this road pedestrianised?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But not round the corner in Scriveners Road. Would you like me to call a taxi?’
‘When you’re ready,’ she said, lightly, and I realised then how lovely she was. Her hair was short and slightly spiky, her dark eyes chocolate, the Bournville kind. She was casually dressed, but quite impressive. I stood up abruptly.
‘I’ll do it now,’ I said and vanished, and before very long the taxi was booked.
The rest of our time together passed quickly. She said she’d come into town to shop, I told her I’d meant to go to the library. I didn’t say why.
The taxi turned up before I was ready and I noticed her looking around at the hall. I was suddenly seized by a crazy moment, the sort that defines one’s life forever, and I asked this woman, who I’d only just met, to come back again and eat with me. ‘Tomorrow?’ I said.
‘I can’t tomorrow,’ she said, softly. ‘I’m going away for a few days’ break. With Alice, my daughter.’
She watched my face as she said the word daughter, and it felt to me like some sort of test.
‘Well how about a week tomorrow?’
We agreed on that and parted happily; she managed the steps to the street quite well. When I’d finally closed the door on my guest, my mind began to drift in reverse, recalling my chat with Marianne Parks.
‘You asked if the children were laughing or crying, the School Lane ghosts. Why did you ask that?’
‘It’s just a rumour, Mr Jones.’
‘Yes, Ms Parks, but what rumour?’
‘They say it depends on who you are. The good hear laughter, the bad, crying, or even screaming. It’s all rubbish, Mr Jones.’ She sniffed loudly.
‘My mother lived there most of her life, after she married, and she never heard the ghosts, not once.’
But wasn’t your mother deaf? I thought.
Those were the thoughts that engaged my mind as I cycled back to the Old Schoolhouse, and caused me to fail to see Cressida Sewell. As time went on I recalled those words again and again, with good reason. I often heard the children at night, just around midnight and sometimes later. But from that day on, they were always sad.
Chapter 6
Then – Thomas
Mister Pike was the same as always, bored and boring. I didn’t know why he turned up at all, I thought it was kids who were meant to hate school. I did, often. But I also liked the porridge they gave us.
I shifted my bum on the hard wooden seat and played around with a couple of words. The work we did was far too easy, my ma had taught me to read already. I was proud of being able to read and write, most of the lads I knew couldn’t count, let alone read. I wanted a better paid job than my da, he worked at the mill, when he was sober. A lot of the time he just didn’t turn up.
The mill was everything in our street. We were right at the bottom on Haversham Road, our house backed onto the factory walls, you could the hear the generator’s constant hum. Because our house backed onto the factory, it was dark at the back, there weren’t any windows. There wasn’t much light at the front either, the factory’s silos towered above us and blocked off most of the sky and sun. Not far away was the factory chimney, belching out horrible smells all day. I hated our street.
I felt the sting as a huge piece of chalk bounced off my arm and onto the floor and under my chair. I seriously thought about throwing it back.
‘Time to quit dreaming and starting working, Islip, unless you’d like to be out on your ear.’ Pike was yelling as loud as ever but somehow it never made any difference.
‘Plenty of lads would like to be you, sitting in the warm and dry all day. Lads who act a little bit grateful, not as if they can’t be bothered.’
Warm? In here? He’d got to be joking. I glanced at my feet, which were bare as usual. Ma said I couldn’t wear shoes in summer, or even in spring, the money for shoes just didn’t exist. Despite all three of us having a job.
I felt a tiny twinge of guilt. Because I’d been late to the pub last night, I’d be docked some pay and Ma would be short, she was always short. My father drank it all away. She wouldn’t be pleased that I’d turned up late and she’d no doubt give me some stick for that. But at least I had a ma to go home to, unlike Louise, whose mother was dead. I tried not to think of Louise anymore. Even more guilt.
It wasn’t because Louise was missing, I’d done my best, I’d tried to find her, Louise was a mate, she loved to climb trees and beat me at conkers, and when it was hot we swam in the Blue. Our house and the factory were both by the river, which wasn’t as good as you’d think it would be. Not when the days were really warm and the dung had been dumped by the corporation.
No, I felt guilty for something else. I hadn’t gone looking for Louise at all, despite what I’d said to Miranda later. Looking for her was what I’d done after, after I’d given up looking for Alice. Alice was totally different to Louise; she was a girl, all flowers and hair, and pretty to boot. Strangely enough, that’s why I liked her.
I was walking home from school one day, just pottering really, kicking at stones and picking up wood we’d use for the fire, and then in the distance, I saw Alice.
She was right by the gate that led to the church on Scriveners Road, Curdizan Church, and holding something in her hand. It was big and square and flashed in the light. She saw me looking, and put it away in her bag, quickly. Posh, I thought, and I couldn’t resist walking closer. Her bag was blue and it looked so clean, as if it was new, and her blonde hair shone and wasn’t tied back, and she wore shoes, all glossy and smart. None of the kids I knew wore shoes. Slumming it, I thought and scowled, jealous, and strangely angry, bitter and resentful. I wanted to live like them, I did, nobody wants to live in a dump. Sorry Ma.
I thought the girl would run away, she was far too smart, and I looked a scruff, with my shirt hanging out and my trousers baggy, and me being the third person to have them, but she didn’t run away, she just stood there, staring, so I walked closer.
‘I’m called Tom. Who are you?’
The girl didn’t answer, just shook her head, so I tried again, a different tack.
‘Do you live around here? That’s my school, across the graveyard.’ I pointed behind us. ‘That’s the door to the joinery workshop, some of the lads are training in woodwork.’
I thought she’d ask if I was one of the lads in training, but she still didn’t speak, so I prattled on.
‘There are also some lads who are going to be stonemasons, working on the church.’
I saw her glance across at the church and I laughed out loud and shook my head. ‘Not Curdizan Church, the proper church, the abbey up there.’ The abbey twinkled in the sun. She still didn’t answer. I felt uneasy.
‘Cat got your tongue?’ I said impatient.
She shook her head, then pointed to herself and clamped her teeth shut. Then I got it.
‘You’re dumb,’ I said. ‘You can’t speak.’
She hesitated slightly, then she nodded.
‘Alright,’ I said. ‘I can write, can you?’ She laughed at that and her blue eyes sparkled, as bright as the sky. Of course she can write, you stupid prat. She’s posh, and rich.
‘I don’t have anything to write on,’ I said. I felt helpless, useless somehow. Her smile widened.
But I do, she said, and although she hadn’t opened her mouth, I could hear her voice as clear as a bell. It was light and fi
ne and sounded like summer. And then she brought the thing from her bag.
Chapter 7
Now – Aleph
I won’t pretend I wasn’t nervous, the day Cressida came for supper, that would have been a lie.
Things had been going well recently. Apart from Cressida, I had a new client, a Guinevere James, I was due to meet her early next week. It sounded straightforward, a business analysis, the kind of work I like to do. These days anyway.
I opened the oven door cautiously. My Indian meal was almost ready. All that was needed now was the guest. The doorbell rang.
Cressida stood at the top of the steps, holding mints and a bottle of wine. ‘These are for you,’ she said, smiling. I ushered her in.
The bells of the abbey rang out in the background.
‘Thursday evening is bell ringing practice,’ I said to Cressida. ‘When I came to see the house, the bells were ringing, even though it was only morning. Gemma from Cloud House said it was a sign, so I thought, right, and took the house.’
Cressida smiled and we wandered into the vast kitchen.
‘Something smells good,’ she said sniffing.
‘It’s vegetable curry and rice,’ I said. ‘But I’ll tell you now, I didn’t make it. Top of the range from M&S or was that Waitrose? I can’t quite remember.’ Cressida laughed.
‘I don’t care, so long as it’s good. Cooking’s not your forté, then?’
I shook my head and she took the glass of wine I gave her.
‘I see you’ve found your glasses, then.’ Cressida smiled. ‘What’s it like living in a haunted house?’
‘It’s not the house, it’s the street that’s haunted. Or so I’ve been told. But how did you hear about the ghosts?’
‘Everyone knows the old story, even the strangers and tourists do. But I was told they came from the house. This is the Old Schoolhouse?’ Cressida queried.
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