Shadows of the Lost Child

by Ellie Stevenson

  I caught the rag she threw me, and more, a whiff of something, it didn’t smell good. ‘I came to give you the good news.’

  ‘I’ve found a place to store the shoes. Until we can take them back to the shop. And Ben’s offered to help us move them, on his cart. I reckon we can take them as soon as you want.’ I smiled, proudly.

  Miranda got to her feet, looking weary. ‘I think you’d better come with me.’

  ‘Why, where are we going?’ I asked her. She didn’t answer.

  I followed Miranda up the stairs, each flight taking a little bit longer. Several years later we reached the attic, ducking our heads as we crept through the door. The glow from her lamp lit the room, barely.

  ‘See that trunk with the shoes over there?’ I nodded slowly.

  ‘Well, go beyond it, past the old suite. Right behind it, you’ll see what I mean.’

  I did as she said, it took me a while, the shadows were worse, away from her lamp. I stubbed my toe as well, for my pains. Two more trunks were lurking in the corner. She made way her forward, to stand beside me, pulling at the lids to reveal their contents. I couldn’t help it, I gasped with surprise.

  Dozens more shoes nestled within.

  Chapter 31

  Now – Aleph

  The lack of sleep was getting to me, it had only got worse as the day wore on. But now it was time to reverse the sound file. I smiled at Cressida.

  ‘This is when we hear what she thinks. Really thinks, as opposed to what she tells you she thinks. Assuming that you believe it works. Not everyone believes it does.’ Cressida nodded.

  ‘I’m willing to give it a go,’ she said.

  ‘We might hear the same backwards as forwards, or we might hear something we didn’t know before, or we might hear something totally different , a contradiction of what was said forwards. If the two versions contradict, the reversal is much more likely to be true. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Cressida, ‘although I’m still not convinced that doing this will help.’

  ‘Well, let’s just hear what Alice has to say. It’ll give us an insight into her mind.’

  ‘She’s just being stubborn, or maybe she’s ill. I can’t see how this process will help.’

  ‘You said you’d give it a go,’ I said. ‘It’s vital you don’t prejudge what happens.’

  ‘I know,’ said Cressida, looking doubtful. ‘It’s just, I’m rather sceptical.’

  ‘Fine,’ I said and clicked on Play. Time to hear things from Alice’s perspective.

  When Alison Clipper asked about Tom.

  He’s a friend, said Alice.

  ‘So that bit’s true.’ I gave her a look.

  Tom didn’t know what an iPad was.

  ‘Maybe his family can’t afford one. I hadn’t used one before I bought hers.’

  ‘Right,’ I said, through gritted teeth. I wished she’d shut up.

  That’s because Tom is dead.

  ‘What?’ said Cressida. ‘Stop that, now.’ I pressed Pause.

  ‘Did she say what I thought she did?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It probably means they’ve fallen out. He’s dead to her.’

  ‘No,’ said Cressida, ‘that’s not right. Alice and Tom are still good friends, she mentioned him only yesterday evening.’

  ‘Reversed words tell the truth,’ I said. ‘It might be veiled but it is the truth.’

  ‘So what does that mean?’

  ‘I don’t know. Let’s listen to the rest.’

  Streets of houses, row upon row. A horse in the yard. Next to the old-fashioned coaching inn. With its black and newly-painted door.

  A woman outside the Keepsake Arms. I think the woman’s called Miranda.

  This is Tom’s world but… Tom is dead.

  His world’s dead. I can’t tell Alison Clipper that.

  ‘She certainly can’t,’ said Cressida softly. She reached across and paused the recording.

  ‘You’re the professional, you explain.’ She glared at me.

  ‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘I only know what I’ve already told you, the words that are said in reverse aren’t lies. Except, there’s one thing.’ I paused, thinking.

  ‘You said the Low was mostly rubble. Only one pub and no houses at all on Haversham Road?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Cressida.

  ‘That’s not the way Alice saw it. From her perspective, the Low still exists. The houses, the people, there’s even a horse, and a woman called Miranda. When you went there did you see Miranda?’

  ‘I only saw Alice and a drunk on the pavement and plenty of rubble. And of course there was Tom.’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘But she saw a place which was vibrant with life. Bustling, breathing, even the paint on that door was fresh.’

  ‘The coaching inn door.’ Cressida said. ‘That building was there.’

  ‘And was the black paint on the door fresh?’

  ‘No, of course it wasn’t. It was faded and peeling and barely black, most of the door was just tired old wood. The paint had long gone.’

  ‘That proves it, then, Alice didn’t see the place you saw, she saw the Low as it used to be, a long time ago. She saw the past, with Tom in it. And if she saw the past and Tom in it, then in the present, Tom would be…’

  ‘Dead,’ said Cressida, and our eyes locked.

  Chapter 32

  Then – Thomas

  Pearson’s Tenements were worse by daylight. The light only made the building look derelict, dirty and shabby, and worn at the edges. I didn’t want to go there, not anymore. But I had to try to find Louise. This time next week, I’d be doing two jobs, working for Mason as well as the pub, with the school in between, it had to be now.

  I made my way to the fifth floor, slowly, trudging, not walking, looking around for rats and dogs. I saw two dogs, tied to some railings, but not any rats, the daylight was probably keeping them away. I sighed heavily.

  When I finally reached the top, I couldn’t see much, just a long string of washing, blocking my view. I pushed my way through it and began trying doors on the left hand side, as quick as I could. The first one I tried opened easily.

  It was damp and dark, with very little light, apart from the light from a tiny window. It made our house seem like a palace. We had four whole rooms, if you count the scullery, which Da always did, he said he paid for it, same as the rest.

  Under the window a man was snoring, asleep on a mattress, he barely stirred as I wandered around. I couldn’t see anything girly at all, no shoes or clothes or the kind of touches my ma likes to make, fancy chair backs and loads of ornaments. No, there was nothing. I went back outside.

  The next door along belonged to the woman I’d met before. I gave it a miss, at least for the moment. Then a lad emerged from a doorway opposite. He glared at me.

  ‘What’re you doing up here?’ he said.

  I studied the boy. He was shorter than me and far more scruffy, with wild brown hair.

  ‘I’m looking for a mate, she’s called Louise. I’m trying to find which room she lives in. Any idea?’

  ‘There’s no Louise here,’ he said abruptly, and tried to get past me, but something about his manner felt wrong.

  ‘So let’s have a look, to prove you’re right.’ I hurried towards the door he’d come out of and gave it a shove.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing, mate? You can’t go in there.’ The boy turned around and grabbed my arm. ‘I’ll set my da on you, laddie, and then you’ll regret you came up here.’ From the sound of his voice, I reckoned he was Irish and the ones around here were known for their tempers. I knew I’d have to be quick at the job. I scanned the room as fast as I could, it was more or less empty, with the same poor lighting as the one I’d just been in, and the same dank smell and a mattress in the corner. Along with a pile of women’s things. I made straight for them.

  ‘Hey, now, you, come away from those things, they’re my ma’s, right enough.’ The lad was now giving vent to his ang
er, kicking at my ankles but I didn’t much care. I held up a cardy, Louise’s cardy.

  ‘Sure they are,’ I said to the lad. I recognised the thing, it was old and tatty, she’d worn it for school and I’d teased her about it, every day. Said it was made of holes not wool. It made me feel choked.

  I bundled the cardigan under my arm, along with a dress I thought was hers too. Then I turned on the lad and grabbed his throat. ‘Why don’t you tell me where you got these?’

  He made some sort of animal noise, so I eased off the pressure and asked him again.

  ‘They were here when we got here, honest they were. We’ve haven’t been here for more than a month, we were lucky to get it, that’s what we thought.’

  ‘I’m looking for the girl who wore these clothes. I want to know what you’ve done with the rest.’

  ‘I haven’t done nothing, and neither’s my da. A man came around and took some away, such as there was, apart from what’s there. I reckon he thought those things wouldn’t sell.’

  ‘And who was the man?’ I said to the lad.

  ‘The rag and bone man, perhaps, I don’t know. He said she wouldn’t be needing the things. Da didn’t argue, I think he was pissed and not quite with it. My da said later, it was a pity they’d gone, my ma had wanted to keep the best stuff. She said she’d turn them into some shirts.’

  ‘I ought to string you up,’ I said. ‘That’s theft, that is, and she’s my mate.’

  ‘We’re not the ones who stole the things, the stuff was here when we arrived, and see, it’s still here, apart from the things the rag and bone took. He didn’t even pay us hardly anything. Here, they’re yours.’

  He shoved the last of her stuff towards me, a thick, scruffy scarf, also full of holes and I stumbled backwards, releasing my hold. I gripped the things tighter.

  ‘That’s all there is, you’re sure of that?’

  ‘As sure as I’m talking to you right now.’ The lad was rubbing his neck and coughing. ‘But my da’s due back so you’d better leave now.’ I took the hint and left then and there, running downstairs at a flying pace. I passed a man on the stairs, coming up, I’d swear he had an Irish face. I knew I had to get out of there fast.

  Once I was safely back on School Lane, I took a deep breath and sighed with relief, but the pleasure at being outside didn’t last. I might have found a few of her things, but I still hadn’t found Louise herself. And if what the lad had told me was true, she wouldn’t be needing her clothes anymore, according to the man who took the best. It gave me a cold feeling inside.

  I didn’t like to think what that might mean.

  Chapter 33

  Now – Aleph

  Cressida and I were standing on the street, on Scriveners Road, where the church used to be. It was empty of people and almost of pigeons. I turned to Cressida. ‘What do you think we ought to do?’

  ‘I’m just remembering something else. Alice said Tom lived ages away, but he said no, it’s just “past the church, then through the passage and down the road.” He meant this church, here.’

  ‘But there isn’t any church here, not anymore.’

  ‘Quite,’ said Cressida.

  We wandered aimlessly down the road. Or so I thought. Cressida spoke.

  ‘They crossed the road about here, I think, and they, we, went down this passage.’

  We stared at the alley, it was grim and unwelcoming. ‘I’d never been down this alley before. I don’t believe I knew it existed.’

  ‘You and half of Curdizan probably. The more fortunate half.’

  ‘Maybe so, but Tom knew it, he used it regularly. That’s the impression I got from Alice. It comes out by an old church hall.’

  Cressida hurried along the passage, and I followed, catching her up on Convent Court, by the old church hall, the one she’d just mentioned. It was virtually derelict.

  ‘Going through the passage is a much quicker way to get down here. And if we turn right down Pasenheuse Road, we can get to the Low and Tom’s old home.’

  ‘Let’s do it,’ I said, and we set off walking.

  Soon we arrived in the old part of town which was not much more than a building site. I stared at the remnants of yesterday’s streets and felt very sad, the place was a dump, but once it been a home to hundreds. A whole community, living and breathing and dying down here. Facing hard things we knew nothing about, I could smell it in the air, the scent of the river and the stench of dung, the dust from the factory, shadows in the sky and the drains overflowing. Blood in the gutters on abattoir days. How did I know this? I hadn’t a clue.

  I suddenly thought we ought to go. So I turned to Cressida who was right by my side, silent and watchful and staring at a building that could have been a pub.

  ‘It’s the Keepsake Arms,’ said Cressida slowly.

  ‘Do you think you really saw Thomas?’ I said, considering.

  ‘I did,’ said Cressida. ‘He looked as real as you do now.’

  ‘So if you saw Tom, and Tom is dead, then you and Alice must have seen a ghost.’

  ‘Right,’ said Cressida, paling slightly.

  ‘But there’s something else,’ I told her, thinking. ‘Alice saw even more than you. You saw a ghost but she saw a ghost town, a bustling place that once existed. How did that happen?’

  Cressida didn’t even try to answer.

  Chapter 34

  Then – Miranda

  Miranda sighed as she carried the pot. My mother thinks she’s the local saint. The laundry, McCarthy, dancing on the tables and now she’s making soup for the poor. And I thought we were the ones who were poor!

  She paused briefly on Convent Court, taking a rest outside the church hall. A pity that wasn’t where she was going. The pot was heavy, full of soup and she carried two loaves under one arm.

  ‘Others give money but we can’t afford it. That doesn’t mean we can’t do our bit.’

  ‘We’ve done our bit for the church already. The church down here on Blackberry Lane.’

  ‘But they still need help at Curdizan Church. The vicar’s wife’s ill and there’s plenty more soup. And Mary-Ann Parks could do with a hand. I thought she was your friend, Miranda. I don’t know why you’re making a fuss.’

  ‘Perhaps because I work at Chaucer’s and at our pub. And now you want me to work on a Sunday.’

  ‘A few extra hours, Miranda, that’s all. It’s not a big deal.’

  No, it’s not, Miranda thought, not in itself. But added to the jobs, and all the small chores and managing people when Ma was off out, it was more than enough, especially today, at the end of the week. Miranda’s feet ached.

  She wiped the rain away from her face, it was pouring down, and she staggered carefully into the passage. At least the alley would be quiet today, with less of the usual passing trade. She squeezed her way onto Scriveners Road, being careful not to drop the bread, and as she did, she noticed a couple of people in the distance. The man was tall with his hair tied back and his shirt was white, which was rare in these parts. They’ll be up to no good.

  The people who lived around here could be trouble. But the man looked rather well dressed, all the same, and the bloke who was with him was clearly not skint. He was obviously younger, maybe a boy. Miranda blinked, she couldn’t believe it. The younger bloke was a woman in trousers! She needed to get away from this place. But first she must do what her mother had asked. Where was the church? She couldn’t see it, damn all this rain! She blinked and sighed and looked again. There it was! She’d better make haste, before she went mad.

  The soup kitchen was held in the schoolhouse, down in the basement, which was hardly ever used but at least there was a sink and a tap that worked, and the lads had brought tables down from the workshop. Miranda looked round, the place was crowded, she’d never seen such a crush as this. She squeezed herself past the burgeoning queue.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve arrived,’ said Margie Mace, who worked part-time in the laundry with Carol, Thomas’s ma. ‘We’ve got som
e more pots but at such short notice, we didn’t have time to get a vat going. I’m not sure we’re going to have enough.’

  ‘Well, this should help,’ Miranda said. ‘It’s vegetable broth and stuffed with veg and I’ve brought some bread, just a couple of loaves.’ She lifted the big pot onto the table.

  ‘That’s just what we need,’ said Margie, smiling, prodding the loaves, then tearing them up into generous portions. The vicar’s daughter served up the soup.

  ‘Isn’t this thick? That must be all the good that’s in it.’ She smiled at Miranda.

  Miranda smiled back, Mary-Ann Parks was a friend of hers, despite the woman being several years older. She felt much better, now she was here and out of the rain.

  ‘Aren’t you a pet, bringing all this soup, and your mother is too for making it all. I can’t believe you carried it here.’

  Neither can I, Miranda thought. ‘It might need a little reheating,’ she said.

  Mary-Ann nodded and tried a spoonful. ‘No, it’s just right. Some of the people who come here are old, we try not to make the food too hot. You’ll stay for a while, and have some too?’

  ‘I can’t, I’m afraid, I’ve got to get back.’ She stared at the people filling the room. A girl squeezed past, and manoeuvred her way to their side of the table.

  ‘Miranda, I don’t think you’ve met my sister? This is Clara, the baby of the family.’

  Miranda smiled and held out her hand but Clara ignored it and scowled at her sister.

  ‘She looks more like you than me,’ she said. Mary-Ann laughed and nodded at Miranda.

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘It’s the hair and the height. Don’t you think that’s it, Miranda?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Miranda, who hated the thought of being just like another. Though Mary-Ann Parks was pretty enough. Clara scowled and walked away, clearly resenting Miranda’s presence.