‘Don’t you live with your ma and da?’
‘No,’ said Jake, ‘my da ended up in the loony bin and my ma’s well dead so I live with my aunt, she’s Tanya Curtis.’
‘Curtis?’ I said, and I suddenly went cold.
‘Yeah, don’t worry, she didn’t hear a thing. She’ll not learn about your adventures from me.’
‘She’d better not,’ I told him, grimly, thinking I’d have to keep my mouth shut. Miranda would have a fit if she knew. ‘Have you got that key to the door then, Jake? I have to get on.’
‘Here,’ said Jake, and chucked it across. ‘I don’t suppose I can wait and watch.’
‘You damn well can’t, as you’ve let me down, and not just me, my mates as well. But don’t worry, I’m still grateful.’ Jake grinned, broadly.
‘I reckon that’s two favours you owe me.’
I threw him an almost-full packet of fags and his eyes lit up. ‘You can have these for starters, so long as you promise to keep your mouth shut.’
‘I’ve said I will, you can trust me mate.’
I raised my eyebrows, showing my doubt and Jake scarpered, as quick as a flash. I watched him scamper up the stairs and heard him easing the trapdoor down. He might be small, but Jake was wiry and stronger than me, tougher as well. I heard him slip the bolt into place.
Then I had a moment of panic. If the key didn’t work I was trapped in here.
I’d barely turned the key in the lock and leapt out of the way, when the door burst open and Ben charged in. ‘Where the hell have you been?’ he said.
‘In here,’ I said, ‘and for far too long. It’s hard to find a key in the dark when you can’t see enough to look in the drawers.’ I didn’t feel in the mood for a grilling.
‘But the key’s in the lock,’ Miranda insisted, squeezing past Ben and into the room. She swung the lamp around the basement.
‘Jake forgot it. He’s only just brought it, minutes ago. I thought I’d be stuck until Eisen turned up.’
‘Just as well you weren’t,’ said Ben, looking grim. ‘Well, now that we’re here, we need to decide where to hide the shoes?’
‘I’ve already said we can’t hide them in here,’ Miranda insisted. ‘Someone would open the cupboard and find them. It might look all abandoned to you, but every Sunday this place is a kitchen for feeding the poor. I think we’ll have to store them in the crypt.’
‘Oh no we won’t,’ said Ben, abruptly and I wondered why not but I kept my mouth shut. Then I remembered the crates I’d seen, stacked in a corner, as I rushed on through, on my way to the churchyard. Odd, I’d thought, I wonder what’s being stored in them? But I hadn’t been able to investigate then, I had much more pressing matters to deal with. Like keeping Miranda and Ben happy. It wasn’t working. Miranda was looking as red as her dress. Red with rage.
‘That’s a nice frock you’re wearing,’ I said, seeing the fabric shimmer in the light. I was trying and failing to calm her down. It only seemed to incense her further.
‘It was until I ripped it earlier. I must have caught the hem on my shoe.’
‘You shouldn’t have worn it this evening, then. Wearing a posh frock on a trip like this, that was just stupid.’ Ben sounded grumpy.
‘It’s not a posh frock, it’s only the thing I wear at the pub.’
‘It looks like it’s satin and that’s posh to me. And now you’ve gone and torn it, quite badly. I doubt it’ll ever be the same.’
Miranda bit her lip and said nothing, and I recalled how earlier this evening, yesterday now, when Miranda had been on her shift at the bar, she hadn’t been wearing the dress at all. She’d worn the dress tonight for him. To walk in a dark, filthy, tunnel. Aren’t girls stupid?
‘What shall we do about the shoes?’ Ben was rapidly losing patience. And I knew time was running out. We had to be quick. Miranda spoke up.
‘Why don’t we move them to the shed outside? There’s only some wood and the tools in there. That’s right, isn’t it, Thomas?’
I grinned at Miranda, nodding agreement. She was acting as if Ben didn’t exist.
‘That’ll be alright,’ Ben added his comments, ‘if they stay in the trunks and we move them soon. I very much doubt if Wetherby would notice.’
And then, finally, things went smoothly. We unbolted the door that led to outside, climbed the steps and stood in the churchyard. Moved the trunks across to the shed, one at a time, all of us feeling exceedingly weary. Ben then moved a few planks across them, leaving some space for me to get through.
‘So you can take the shoes to Percy,’ Miranda confirmed.
‘As soon as you can,’ Ben interjected. Miranda said nothing but pursed her lips.
After our delayed but successful venture, Ben then said, as he brushed himself down, ‘I think this calls for a celebration. How about a kiss for luck?’ He looked at Miranda, waiting and hopeful.
‘Perhaps when’s Tom’s got rid of the shoes.’ Miranda said and looked at me. She smiled briefly and I grinned back. Both of us knew it could take a while.
Chapter 47
Now – Aleph
As soon as Guinevere James had gone, I grabbed a jacket and cycled to the library. I was hoping to shed some light on the story, hoping to find that Ginny had lied. My first attempts seemed doomed to failure.
‘The body was found mid-twentieth century, and she was murdered? We’ve several books on local murders.’
I skimmed them all, there was no mention of my house at all, or even the street. So, what to do next? I found the assistant.
‘Her body was found in the Old Schoolhouse.’ I was rather reluctant to give this away, knowing they’d probably make the connection and realise I lived there. Curdizan wasn’t the largest of towns.
The archives assistant paused and smiled. ‘You should have told me that straight away. The local paper had loads on the murder. I’ll get the editions now, if you want.’
‘Editions?’ I said, my heart sinking. ‘Aren’t the papers on microfilm?’
‘No, not this one. But lucky for you it’s weekly, not daily.’
I saw what he meant when he brought up the papers, dozens of copies, bound up in a volume the size of a house. They came on a trolley.
‘There’s a year in there,’ I said dismayed, looking at the book and staring in horror at the tiny print and narrow columns. Just reading a page could take an hour. ‘I don’t suppose there’s an index?’ I said.
‘You’ve got to be joking. But a student was studying the murder recently. I can tell you where the articles are.’
It was strange reading about my house in an earlier time, before I was born. There was even a photo and a copy of a drawing from around the turn of the twentieth century. The house looked much the same as now, but the street looked different, the road was cobbled, and some of the nearby houses looked grim. Tenements, mostly, and round the back, Curdizan Church, and right behind that, Curdizan Abbey. I felt rather sad.
So much had since changed, no church, no graveyard and only a rather twee courtyard instead. Since the awful accident happened, I’d thought a lot about time and change, how time moves on, and can’t be rewound, however much we would like to rewind it. My house might have looked the same then as now, but then it had been a school for the poor, and surrounded by those who lived in the dark. I knew the area used to be rough. I thought briefly of the churches behind it, the beautiful abbey with its gothic spires and Curdizan Church, so solid and strong, yet overshadowed. I wondered what the vicar had been like. He would have a difficult job, the place had been rife with prostitution, and brawls that continued into the night. A place where the children wore no shoes.
And bread wasn’t just a part of a meal, or so I’d been told.
Time had moved on and so had the street, but was it a good place to live, even now? I had my doubts. I settled down to the in-depth reading.
The writer relished sharing the details, including where the body was found. Behind a cupboard in the cellar
, he told us, I knew where he meant, there was only the one. All I’d found were a number of shelves and a feeble draught. I obviously hadn’t looked hard enough.
Marianne Parks had found the body. She’d only been five, it must have been a shock, a life changing moment, assuming she remembered what happened that day. According to the paper, the body was wedged in some kind of passage, behind some wood which had blocked off the entrance so no-one had known the passage was there.
A child couldn’t move that wood, I thought. But then I learned the family were having the bathroom improved, and a builder went downstairs to check on the plumbing.
I bet he opened that cupboard, I thought. Maybe he’d found some pipes or something that needed some work and had used his drill or some sort of tool. Presumably taking out the shelving first. And, in so doing, disturbing the wood that had been there for years. But not enough to spot the body.
Then a few days later a girl of five went down to the cellar with her mother and father, who were checking for damp and maybe checking the plumber’s work, and she, curious, opened the smaller door to the cupboard. And nearly died when a large plank of wood, which was stacked by the wall, and very badly balanced, toppled from its place and landed beside her. The builder should have put the shelving back.
‘It only just missed me, Daddy,’ she said. And because she missed the flying wood, and was only young, she hurried behind it, into the passage, to see what was there. And found the woman’s body on the ground. Her parents were stunned.
The victim had worn a cheap necklace, a long thin string of blue coloured beads. The beads had been crucial to the investigation, along with what little had remained of her clothes. The victim was believed to be the vicar’s daughter, and people remembered her going missing. They also remembered her wearing the necklace, not that long before she vanished. Finding witnesses hadn’t been easy, the girl had vanished decades before. Her father, the former vicar of the church, was long since dead and so was her mother as well as most of the people who’d known her. Those who were left were hard to track down. Her sister Clara had been alive, but had lived abroad for a number of years and didn’t come back for Mary-Ann’s funeral.
The woman had vanished decades before, along with her lover, Wetherby Eisen. Eisen was believed to be her killer but no-one had managed to track him down. They probably hadn’t tried that hard, even though they’d believed he was guilty. The girl was dead, her parents were dead, and a long time had passed, so nobody cared. There were presumably, more urgent cases.
After she’d vanished, her father, the vicar, had retired from the parish, under a cloud. It was thought she’d eloped, which at that time in history was something of a scandal, especially given her father’s job. When, decades later, her body turned up, it appeared she hadn’t eloped after all, the woman had been murdered, presumably not that far from her home, with her parents at the vicarage. I paused, thinking.
If Wetherby Eisen had killed her, she probably was murdered in my cellar. Or at least, in the passage behind the cupboard. Eisen’s workshop was now my kitchen so it all made sense, he would have had easy access to the passage. Despite all of Guinevere James’ denials. She was probably trying to be kind, I thought. Or maybe she wasn’t.
I wondered if Ginny knew more than she said, it seemed likely, given her track record. The journalist who had written this report certainly did. I thought a little about what I’d learned. Marianne Parks discovered the body, her mother and father were also called Parks. And the dead woman’s name was Mary-Ann Parks. It was definitely not a coincidence.
Chapter 48
Now – Guinevere
Guinevere James placed the USB drive on the table between them. ‘I hope you’re satisfied now,’ she said. She fixed her eyes on Martha, opposite. The day was mild, with a touch of spring and Ginny was sorry she couldn’t enjoy it.
‘I don’t know if I’m happy or not, not having heard what you’ve got to say. You gave him the recording, like I suggested?’
‘Yes,’ said Ginny, ‘and I’m sorry I did. I wish you hadn’t involved me in this.’
‘Nobody forced you to do it, Ginny. I’m surprised you’re bothered, given what he is.’
‘Yes,’ said Ginny, ‘I know what he is. It’s just, he seems so pleasant and reasonable.’
‘Lots of bad people are pleasant and reasonable. That’s how they get away with their crimes. Please don’t try to defend him to me. You hardly know the man, remember?’
And neither do you, thought Ginny, sadly, despite all that’s happened. She dug around in her bag for the transcript then watched as Martha read the words, hearing the child through the printed page.
I want to see you. It’s been so long.
But now you’re gone.
It was all his fault. He took you away.
I want you back. And I want me back. And I want…
This awful time to be over.
But it can’t be over. And I can’t go back.
She watched as Martha raised her eyes and saw the terrible look on her face.
‘I shouldn’t have done it and asked you to do it. I wish I hadn’t.’ Martha looked grim.
‘Yes, and me but Cressida wouldn’t have given her permission, not for this, and Aleph wouldn’t have analysed the file without her agreement. Or Alice’s either.’
‘It’s crying for God’s sake,’ Martha exclaimed. ‘How did he get all of this out of that?’
Guinevere shrugged. ‘He said it’s possible, convinced me some more by saying he’d never done it himself. He works on analysing talking, normally. I think he was as shocked as we are.’
‘But you told him the crying was ghosts, and he believed it?’
‘He seemed to believe it and as you know he’s heard them himself. Aleph Jones is somewhat damaged.’
‘So he bloody should be. Don’t expect any sympathy from me.’
‘I’m not,’ said Ginny, ‘but it’s easy to see the man’s in pain.’
‘That’s too damn bad, he ran down a child, my child at that.’
‘He was cleared of all blame, you know that Martha. The boy just ran out, there was nothing he could do, the witness said so.’
‘The boy, the boy! That “boy” was my son, and don’t you forget it. How dare you trivialise Daniel’s death.’
‘I’m not,’ said Ginny, ‘I promise, I’m not.’ She leapt from her seat and hurried to her friend, putting her arms around her, gently. ‘I know it’s terrible, was and is, but years have gone by, and you need to heal. I’m sure the man’s sorry for what he did.’
‘But sorry won’t bring my Daniel back.’
‘Of course it won’t, but I think for you, and also for Len and for the future, you ought to at least try to move on. Daniel would want that.’
‘How dare you tell me what Daniel would want! He was a child, an innocent child, he’d barely had any life at all. And then that man came and took him away, gone in an instant. Leave me alone, you’ve no idea.’ She struggled out of Ginny’s embrace.
‘Please, Martha, please, you’ll make yourself ill.’
‘And you think I’m not,’ said Martha then, turning around and staring at Ginny. ‘You think that every day of my life I’m not ill with pain and sick with loss and guilty as hell for not keeping him safe. And wondering how I’ll survive my life. It never, ever gets any easier. Don’t you forget that.’
‘No,’ said Ginny, backing away from Martha slowly. ‘I know I can’t comment, it’s not my loss. I’m just worried, because you’re my friend.’
‘Yes,’ said Martha, breathing deeply, ‘and I’m glad you’re my friend, because you got the file and that’s what matters. Helping Cressida, because she’s helping me.’ She paused briefly. ‘So what do you think the reversals mean?’ Ginny considered.
‘I think it means that Alice is troubled, deeply troubled, about losing Daniel. According to you, they’d always been close, despite the big age gap. Alice could have looked upon Daniel as a brother. The
trauma of losing him must have shocked her, badly.’
‘But she wasn’t even there when we learnt what had happened.’ She patted the nearby empty chair. ‘Come and sit here.’ Guinevere did.
‘Cressida and Alice stayed overnight, like they often did when Len was away. The next morning, Alice went out to see a friend, but then we discovered she hadn’t turned up when Annerley’s mother gave us a call. So we both went out, looking for Alice, and because of the panic I left Danny alone, which was unforgivable. He must have got out of the garden somehow, even though I wasn’t gone long.’ She paused, thinking.
‘I’ve wondered since, if Alice left the latch off. Daniel was in the garden playing, but he wouldn’t have been able to lift that latch, all by himself. Alice could have done it, being that much older, but she wasn’t there and I thought he was safe.’ She choked back a sob. ‘I asked her later if she’d left the latch off but Alice said no. It didn’t seem like she was lying, to me.
‘So when the police called round with their news, Cressida thought they were calling about Alice. We’d just got back from doing the rounds and were coming down the drive to the house when we saw them. I hadn’t even realised Daniel was missing.’
‘Perhaps Alice blames herself for dragging you away, so you weren’t with Daniel, keeping him safe.’ Martha flinched. ‘Not that I’m saying…’ Ginny trailed off.
‘Maybe,’ said Martha, ‘or maybe she simply misses my son, but none of this explains why she won’t talk to Cressida. She talks to the teachers, to me and her friends, so long as her mother isn’t around. She uses her iPad for those she calls strangers, but once she gets to know them, she talks to them too. But she never, ever, talks to her mother. It doesn’t make any sense to me. They used to get on well, before.’
‘And now?’ said Guinevere.
‘Most of the time she tries to avoid her.’
Chapter 49
Now – Aleph
I’ve always lived in the shadow of churches.
Well, perhaps not always, but lately it almost seems like always.
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