The Making of Gabriel Davenport

by Beverley Lee

  ‘I need your help, Carver. There’s something evil in my parish.’

  Chapter Twelve

  It was nearly 10 p.m. when Noah finished reliving his last twenty-four hours. Carver had listened calmly, occasionally asking questions whenever Noah stalled. His glass was topped up more than once, and now that he was spent, he wasn’t sure if the warm glow he was feeling was from unburdening himself, the fire, or the alcohol.

  Carver sat deep in thought for a few moments, his fingers drumming on the side of his glass. ‘The baby. He is with the Jacobsons now?’

  Noah nodded. Beth had been taken to the neurological unit of the hospital in the next town. She still hadn’t said a word. No one had told her about Stu. He hadn’t survived the impact.

  ‘What about other family?’

  Noah shrugged. ‘I don’t know. The police are investigating.’

  ‘I can pull some strings here if need be. I have a contact in the social services. She helps with my students.’

  Noah glanced across. ‘You mean she turns a blind eye?’

  Carver laughed, a short, sharp sound. ‘I mean that she used to be a student here. She knows how things work and why certain children need more than a mainstream education.’

  Noah shuffled in his chair, reluctantly rousing himself. ‘Damn it. I forgot all about my car. I never rang the breakdown service.’ He hoped the change of subject wasn’t as obvious as it had felt.

  ‘You’re not going anywhere tonight, Noah. I want you under my roof. And your car will still be in the ditch. It can wait until tomorrow before they haul it out. Ella has made you a bed up already. That woman has lived with me long enough to be one step ahead of me.’

  Part of Noah wanted to decline, but a bigger part was quite happy to stay and that confused him. He knew this place was a ‘safe-house’, and children who didn’t fit in with what society deemed normal were welcomed here. Carver was an excellent teacher, even if some of his subjects were considered diverse.

  ‘We’ll see what the morning brings. But I’m telling you now, I want Beth and Gabriel to stay here, at least until I can investigate what you told me.’

  ‘Do you think they’re in danger?’ Noah licked his dry lips.

  ‘I’m not jumping to any conclusions until I can rummage around in the farmhouse for myself. Hopefully, Beth will be able to tell us more fairly soon.’

  Noah nodded and drained the last of his glass. He hauled himself to his feet and stretched out, his lower backache from his night in the chair slightly muted by the alcohol.

  ‘Thank you. For helping. I didn’t know who else to turn to.’ He paused, setting his glass down on the table. ‘Sometimes it seems as if I dreamed it all. It’s distant but right there at the forefront of my mind at the same time.’

  Carver was silent. Noah wondered what was going through that intelligent, complex mind.

  Rapid footsteps sounded outside in the hallway.

  ‘Noah.’ Carver knelt at the hearth, pushing a half-burnt log to one side with the poker. ‘Not everything can be explained by the knowledge we have. Your faith can help you through this, but you can’t be blind.’

  Ella waited at the bottom of the stairs with a mug of hot chocolate in her hand. Noah closed the door and followed her up to the wing which housed the guest bedrooms. She showed him into a simple room with a dark wood double bed. The coverlet and pillows were pale cream and edged with lace. Three silhouette drawings hung above the bed—two men and a woman, their profiles captured for eternity. By the side of the bed was a small, round mahogany table with a single candle in a glass sconce and a leather-bound book.

  Noah smiled. Even though the house existed in this century, Carver didn’t want it to forget where it had come from.

  He was beyond tired, the kind of weariness where even thinking becomes an effort. He kicked off his wellingtons and sighed. He hadn’t even prayed since this morning. He hoped God would forgive him.

  ***

  Noah awoke to patches of sun playing on his face, and the sound of a radio from another room. He sat bolt upright in bed, and swung his legs to the floor, unsure for a few hazy moments of where he was, and whether he should be somewhere else. The mug of hot chocolate stood, untouched and skinned over, on the table.

  There were voices in the corridor. Noah ran his fingers through his hair—it had more spikes than a hedgehog.

  ‘Father Isaacs?’ It was Ella.

  He opened the door and she handed him a pile of clothes, neatly folded. ‘From Mr. Carver,’ she said, neatly avoiding taking too much notice of Noah’s unkempt appearance. ‘He says they should fit, as long as you haven’t been indulging too much in those WI cakes.’ There was a hint of a smile on her lips.

  Noah took the bundle and thanked her—yes, he would be fine. Yes, he had slept well. Yes, a cooked breakfast would be wonderful. Yes, half an hour?

  He closed the door and made the decision he would have to get an Ella. She was definitely the oil in the machine that ran this household.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Edward Carver was reading the morning paper when Noah appeared, freshly showered, well fed and dressed in dark grey jeans and a pale lemon sweater. He lowered the paper an inch and grinned. ‘You look nearly the same as you did ten years ago, my friend. Only with better dress sense.’

  Noah laughed and glanced down at his feet. ‘Even the loafers fit. Was that good guesswork or perfect planning? Although the yellow is a little extrovert.’ His feet looked strangely casual to his eye and his sweater surely belonged on a younger man.

  ‘I never forget a detail, or had you forgotten that? And the colour is perfect. All of that black you wear washes you out. Live a little.’ There was a teasing note in Carver’s voice. ‘I assume Ella has worked her magic and you’re ready to get down to work.’

  Noah knew it wasn’t a question.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of arranging to get your car pulled out of the ditch. The garage by the Post Office is going to keep it for you until you can sort out the nitty gritty with the insurance company.’

  ‘My memory has been refreshed. And my stomach. Ella fed me enough bacon to deplete the pork supplies of the entire county. Thank you, but right now the car isn’t high on my priority list. Have you heard anything about Beth?’

  ‘Tom Jacobson rang. Apparently, the police were at his door with some family liaison officer. The Jacobsons used to foster, did you know that? So they agreed Gabriel could stay with Tom and Betty for a few days, just until they release Beth from hospital. Physically, they say there isn’t anything wrong with her.’ Carver’s mouth set into a thin line.

  ‘Relatives?’

  ‘Both sets of parents deceased. Both Beth and Stu are...were...only children. Once the police go through the personal papers at the farmhouse, the arrangements for Stu can be sorted. Noah, do you think his death was an accident?’

  Noah’s muscles tensed. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind, and he didn’t like the way it made him feel. ‘I thought so, until just now.’ He sighed. ‘The outlook for Gabriel doesn’t look good. Beth can’t care for him the way she is.’

  ‘Which is exactly why I want them both to come and stay here, at least for the short term. Beth can get all the help she needs in order to get better, and Gabriel will be well looked after. Ella has many talents. And I can hire a nanny if needs be. We keep nocturnal hours here anyway, for the most part, so he won’t keep us awake.’

  Noah stared out of the bay window at the wintry landscape. A spider’s web hung between two bushes, dusted with frost.

  ‘If you can arrange that,’ Noah said, ‘I think it’s the best solution. I don’t want Beth and Gabriel farmed out and getting lost in the system.’ He paused. For some unexplained reason, he believed God had placed him at Beth’s door on purpose. He didn’t want any more harm to come to them.

  ‘I’ll set the wheels in motion. And Noah, I’ll need you too. From what you said about the entity being forced back by your p
salm book, I’ll need your input from a religious point of view. I trust your judgement.’

  A thundering of steps resounded on the stairs, followed by Ella’s raised, stern voice saying this wasn’t a playground and they well knew there were rules.

  Noah raised an eyebrow. ‘I see you’re still playing God in your own house.’

  His host laughed out loud, a deep and human sound.

  The carriage clock on the table under the window chimed eleven times. Outside, a blackbird perched on a prickly bush, pulling red berries from amidst its thorns. The sun caught a moving car beyond the hedgerows, turning it into gold.

  Deep within, something shifted in Noah’s existence—the same shift he had felt when the church had called him. He knew that nothing would be the same again.

  Part 2

  Chapter Fourteen

  The boy sat in the dark, the only light the glare from his laptop screen. Strands of hair fell over his brow and he pushed them away impatiently, his eyes scanning the words quickly.

  His bed stood against the window wall and it was there he sat, surrounded by pillows and toast crumbs. Ella would have a lot to say if she knew he had sneaked supper up to his room, but by 10 p.m., she was usually in bed.

  Gabriel Davenport had only moved into this room a few weeks previously, and he was still getting used to four square walls and the difference in the quality of light. Before, he’d had a room at the attic level, where his bed had nestled under the sloping eaves. He had loved to lay awake and listen to the sound of the rain pattering on the roof, and the splish-splash of the tiny rivulets running into the lead gutter. But he had outgrown his boyhood room; he needed more space.

  The attic bedroom had a single casement window. Sometimes, he liked to crawl out of that window and scramble up onto the moss-strewn roof, to the great chimney, and sit with his back against the bricks, watching the stars. He knew it wasn’t sensible or safe, but no one had ever told him he couldn’t do it. Gabriel was an odd twenty-first century teenager, more at home with a mountain of books than Twitter trends. And who would he tweet anyway? Everyone who was important to him lived under this roof. Apart from Noah. But he visited so often, he wasn’t really a guest anymore.

  The light from the hallway shone under his door. Foot shadows paused outside.

  ‘I’m nearly asleep,’ he said, in what he hoped was a drowsy tone.

  ‘No, you’re not. You’re online, unless the glare from under the door is extra-terrestrial.’ The door creaked open a little and a bearded head appeared.

  ‘I just want to finish this last bit of design,’ the boy pleaded, minimising his browser window. ‘I’m helping Ollie.’

  ‘And Ollie would agree to that, would he?’ The head was having trouble keeping its lips set in a stern line.

  ‘Without a doubt.’

  ‘Five minutes, Gabe. And I mean five of my minutes, not the ones where you stretch time. I swear you should study quantum physics.’

  Gabe waited until a door clicked further down the hallway. The muted tones of classical music filled the silence gently, as Carver switched on the radio.

  Maximising the browser window, he continued where he had left off. The wireless dongle of his 3G Internet connection glared at him with its single red eye. His conscience prodded him. He hated hiding away and browsing in secret, but if Carver found out what sites he had been on, there would be hell to pay.

  Growing up in this house was all Gabe had ever known. He’d been surprised when he learned that other kids went to school; school was here for him. He had never needed other children to play with. Noah had tried and given up when Gabe appeared at his heels after a few minutes, saying he was bored.

  Over the past few years, however, he had developed a gnawing need to find out what had happened to his birth family. It started off as an itch that flitted into his mind a few times a day, and then took flight. But since then, it had matured into a hungry beast, demanding to be fed more and more.

  As close as he was to Carver, he knew bringing up any mention of that winter would result in a quick and clever change of subject. Why? Was it because he thought Gabe was too young to know the truth, or because the truth had never been proven and Gabe knew Carver hated to be beaten?

  Gabe realised he had been reading the same paragraph for the last two minutes. He closed the laptop lid. Sleep would come, but his brain was too wired to settle yet. A strange disorientation unrolled itself in his head, as though at some point he had come adrift from the young boy that he was, but he hadn’t quite caught up with the ship of adulthood. It loomed on the horizon, slipping in and out of the fog.

  And he didn’t want to dream. Because they were never anything but nightmares.

  It would be so much easier to say fuck it and go on pretending everything was fine. When he played his video games, he could be anyone he wanted—and the hero always won. He didn’t want for anything here, so why would he risk rocking the boat, or rather the flimsy vessel he was floating on right now?

  Outside, the night was warm and sultry. A soft breeze rustled the tree tops and a fat moon, three days from full, shone down on The Manor like it had done for hundreds of years. Gabe’s eyes grew heavy as the moonlight crept across his bed. The scent of honeysuckle from the twining climber on the wall drifted in through the open window. The flowers glowed in the moonlight, attracting passing insects. In the attic, a family of mice scratched their way along the rafters, searching for food. Gabe’s leg jerked under the covers as he finally gave in to sleep.

  But despite the serenity of the night, something was watching.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was a Thursday evening in mid-September and the English summer refused to budge. It had dug itself a nice little hole and broken all records for heat index and lack of rainfall. The newspapers were thrilled. It was the perfect subject about which they could wax lyrical one day, and the next create a healthy dose of scaremongering, by informing the great British public about skin cancer and the possibility of water rationing.

  They’d eaten supper early because Ella fretted they wouldn’t eat properly if she left before then. She had also left them a cooked ham in the fridge and fussed until Carver had literally marched her to her car.

  ‘Ella, we can manage for a day without you. I promise we won’t starve. Your sister dislikes me enough already without you being late.’ He pushed her travel bag into the seat beside her. ‘Now, go!’ He emphasised his words by smacking the back of the car as though it were the flank of a small pony.

  ‘Is this where you order takeout?’ said Noah with a grin, the dust from Ella’s car wheels still hanging over the driveway.

  ‘What’s takeout?’ Gabe lingered on the brick porch, wearing an expression of feigned innocence. He always caught onto Noah’s sense of humour.

  A shaft of evening sun broke through the trees and caught Gabe’s face. He had dark hair and blue eyes, which came from his mother, but there was something about him in this light that made Noah take a mental step backwards. His chin was tilted slightly upwards and, despite his joking, the humour was missing from his eyes.

  ‘Walk with an old man, Gabe?’ Noah asked. He could feel Carver’s eyes on him, though the curator appeared to be inspecting a rosebush for greenfly.

  Gabe jumped down onto the gravel and was by Noah’s side in an instant. ‘Old man? You’ll never be old, just maybe a bit worn around the edges.’

  Noah slid an arm around the boy’s slender shoulders. ‘You should see me after the Sunday School annual picnic. There’s only so many under-five’s and sticky teddy bears that any man can suffer. And don’t even get me started on the parents.’

  They disappeared around the side of the house, towards the oldest wing, which housed the overflow libraries and underground cellars. Noah could feel Carver’s eyes on them until they rounded the corner.

  ‘Are you happy here, Gabe?’ Noah decided to cut right to the point. The sun hovered above the tree line, casting long arrows of light as the bra
nches filtered the evening rays.

  ‘Most of the time.’ Gabe’s brow furrowed.

  Noah’s heart quickened. Hadn’t this day always been inevitable? ‘Don’t you ever want to hang out with other kids your age?’

  ‘I never have, so why would I start now?’

  Noah smiled. ‘I’m only checking. I know Carver assumes people never want to leave his hallowed halls but he’s not right all of the time.’

  Now it was Gabe’s turn to laugh. ‘I’ll tell him that.’ He paused as a shadow passed overhead. ‘Look, red kites. Wouldn’t it be amazing to soar on the thermals like that?’ Gabe craned his head back and watched the great birds with their huge wingspan soaring above.

  ‘So your super power would be the ability to fly then?’

  ‘It would be cool. But I’d take any super power that was on offer.’ He stretched his arms above his head, as though trying to brush his fingers over the feathers. ‘Sometimes it’s just hard, you know?’ His voice tailed off.

  ‘What’s hard, Gabriel?’

  Noah only used the boy’s full name occasionally and he always had Gabe’s full attention when he did.

  ‘Being the only one here who doesn’t have a direct line to psychic central.’

  ‘Don’t I count in that?’

  ‘You’ve got a connection to God. That’s a premium ability.’ Gabe chewed the side of his mouth.

  ‘I’m not sure I’d call it a super power. More like a calling I can’t ignore. Have you talked to anyone about this?’

  ‘I mentioned it to Ollie and he said I was being ridiculous. But he can move objects with his mind if he concentrates hard enough. And Olivia has her ability to see the dead before they cross over.’ He paused. ‘And then there’s me, whose only claim to fame is one night with a box of smoke that never went anywhere.’

  Noah remained quiet for a while. It was rare for Gabe to say what he was feeling, and this had obviously been brewing for a while. He didn’t reply until he was sure the boy had finished.