by Mark Edwards
Jessica stared at her sister, unblinking. ‘Mr Parker, Mr Parker. Where shall I put the equipment? What’s that? You want me to put it up your bottom?’
Izzy exploded with laughter. ‘Stop it!’
Jessica clawed at the bunk bed ladder. ‘Oh, Mr Parker. You set my heart aflame and make my knickers tremble. Please let me give you a big, slurpy kiss . . .’
They both shrieked with laughter. It felt so good, after the horrific tension of the last few days.
‘I think it’s you he wants to kiss,’ Jessica said. ‘I’ve seen the way he looks at you.’
‘Oh, gross! Don’t be disgusting!’
‘It’s true, though. His eyes follow you around the room.’
Isabel made retching noises and they both started laughing again. When they had calmed down, Jessica said, ‘Do you think Mum’s okay?’
Izzy shrugged. ‘Is she ever okay? She’s so highly strung.’
‘You can’t blame her, though, can you?’
Izzy did an imitation of their mother. ‘Do you think it’s easy, bringing up the two of you, single-handed?’
‘She’s not doing it on her own, though, is she? Larry’s helping her.’
Izzy sniggered then stopped smiling. Since the newspaper story, both girls had been teased endlessly at school. It was Mum’s fault. Izzy had begged her not to contact the Psychical Investigation and Research Association, reminding her that Larry always hid when visitors came anyway, but Mum had made up her mind.
‘I wonder what Dad’s doing now?’ Izzy asked in a soft voice.
Jessica didn’t want to think about him. Izzy made him out to be a saint but the man Jessica remembered had been grumpy and distant, making them go to bed straight after dinner. She had actually been relieved when he left and couldn’t understand why Izzy was so upset.
Wanting to see her sister laugh again, she went back into Madam Grimm mode, making her eyes bulge and pointing at a spot behind Izzy’s head. ‘I’ve found it. The foul intruder. A creature that cannot be from this world.’ She formed a cross with her fingers. ‘Be gone, strange being. Leave these fair maidens be!’
Izzy whirled round, realised Jessica was talking to a poster of Kurt Cobain, and the two of them dissolved once more into a fit of laughter.
‘What are you smirking at?’ Mum asked, bringing her out of her daydream.
‘Absolutely nothing. What are you doing here?’
‘That’s not very—’
‘Mr Parker. Why are you here? What has she told you?’
He ignored the question and drifted further down the hall, fingers outstretched, seemingly sniffing the air. ‘I can feel it,’ he said. ‘A presence.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’ Jessica folded her arms, wondering if it would be okay to forcibly eject an eighty-year-old man. ‘Where’s your assistant?’
‘Ingrid Jenkins?’ So that had been Madam Grimm’s name. ‘She moved to Texas and married an oilman.’
Jessica hadn’t been expecting that.
Simon Parker was examining a framed photo of Izzy that hung on the wall. A fingertip hovered above the glass. ‘She grew up to be even more beautiful, didn’t she? I remember seeing her in the newspaper, when she opened her . . . business.’ There was a faint crease of distaste. ‘I was delighted to see how well she did. And then . . .’ A solemn shake of the head. ‘Poor you, Mo. And you, Jessica.’
He carried on along the hallway, resuming his air-sniffing. Grew up to be even more beautiful. Thinking back to how Simon had let his eyes wander over the thirteen-year-old Isabel’s body made Jessica want to vomit.
‘What did you tell him?’ Jessica hissed.
Mum wanted to follow Simon, but Jessica blocked her path, demanding answers.
‘I told him about the unusual occurrences we’ve been experiencing.’
‘We?’
‘The family. Everything you told me this morning.’
Jessica slapped her own forehead. ‘I knew I was going to regret it.’
Mum tutted. ‘Don’t you see – this was how it started before. Izzy knew things she shouldn’t. She said all sorts of peculiar stuff that didn’t make sense. And the first time Larry began flinging stuff around, it started in Izzy’s room.’
Jessica remembered. Before that the girls had had their own rooms. They only got bunk beds and moved into a single room when Jessica got too scared to sleep alone.
‘We need to nip it in the bud, Jessica. Before it gets as bad as it was last time.’
‘But—’
Something went crash in the kitchen and Jessica hurried along the hall to find out what was going on. Simon Parker was standing near the cooker, which was in an island in the centre of the room, with Caspar at his feet, the dog wagging his tail furiously. A broken plant pot lay nearby, dirt spread out across the tiles.
‘I’m so sorry. Your dog jumped up at me and I knocked into the pot.’
‘Are you sure it was you and not a poltergeist?’ Jess said.
Mum had followed her into the kitchen. ‘There’s no need to be like that.’
Jessica dragged Caspar away from Simon, telling him to get on his bed, then retrieved the dustpan and brush from beneath the sink. She needed to get rid of Simon and Mum, but felt compelled to clean up the mess first. She prepared an argument as she swept up the dirt, determined not to shout and rage, but when she looked up they had both left the room.
She abandoned the dustpan and followed them, hearing voices from above. She hurried up the stairs. They were in Olivia’s bedroom.
‘What the hell are you doing in here?’
‘I wanted to show Simon where it happened.’
Jessica pointed at the doorway, the other hand on her hip. ‘Get out.’
But Simon didn’t move. He was crouching on the carpet, holding a shard from the smashed plate which Jessica must have missed.
‘It’s cold in this room,’ he said. ‘Colder than the rest of the house.’
‘That’s because the radiator needs bleeding.’
He ignored her. ‘It’s stronger here too. The sense of . . . other.’
Mum put her hand to her mouth, eyes wide. ‘Other?’
Simon got to his feet. He was surprisingly limber. ‘Yes. I mean, I need my equipment—’
Jessica suppressed a smile.
‘—but I’ve become increasingly sensitive over the years. Even more attuned to the spirit world.’
‘Do you think it’s Larry?’ Mum asked. She sounded scared but kind of excited too, like a woman hearing that her bad-boy ex was back in town. ‘Has he returned?’
Simon went over to the bookcase, touching the spines of some of the books Jessica had found on the floor during the night. Jessica wanted to grab hold of him, drag him out, but there were two things stopping her: social niceties, and a twisted desire to find out what he was going to say. Because weird stuff had been happening. And she couldn’t deny it: there was a large part of her that believed in the paranormal. It was why she couldn’t pass a lone magpie without saluting it. That superstitious part of her refused to completely die, no matter how hard she tried to smother it with reason.
‘I don’t think it’s him,’ Simon said. ‘This presence feels different. Softer. And newer.’
Mum gasped. ‘You mean . . .’
‘A tender spirit. Like they only crossed over within the last five years.’
‘Oh. Isabel.’ Mum turned to Jessica. ‘That fits, doesn’t it? Isabel taught Olivia that song. She’s been talking to her.’
She told Olivia she was pushed off the balcony by a bad man. Jessica’s heart jolted.
‘It could be,’ Simon said. ‘But if Isabel’s spirit is lingering, that suggests—’
‘No!’ Jessica yelled, trying to hold on to reason. ‘That’s enough! My daughter is not being visited by the ghost of her dead aunt. This is craziness. And I don’t want that old lech in my daughter’s bedroom. You need to leave. Now.’
‘Old lech?’ Mum spluttered. ‘What are you talking about?’
Simon tried to touch Jessica’s arm and she backed away, pointing towards the door again. ‘Go.’
He still didn’t move.
‘I said, go!’ This time she did shout. Mum was horrified, and tried to apologise on Jessica’s behalf, which made her even more furious.
‘Get out!’
Simon left the room first, then Mum, and Jessica shooed them towards the stairs and down to the front door.
‘I’m not having you coming round here, freaking out my daughter. There has to be a simple explanation for everything that’s happened. Olivia made all that mess in her room herself. Maybe she was sleepwalking, who knows? Four-year-olds do that kind of stuff. As for the song, she must have heard it online or on the radio. There’s no great mystery here. No need for all this overreaction.’
By the time she had finished she had almost convinced herself.
‘Will you not even let me set up some equipment?’ Simon asked.
She stepped past him and opened the front door. A blast of cold, refreshing air hit her. ‘Goodbye, Simon.’
She held up a hand to indicate that she didn’t want Mum to speak. As soon as they were outside she shut the door and slumped against it.
She felt ashamed for having let the irrational voices creep into her head. The idea that Izzy’s ghost was visiting them, talking to Olivia, was ludicrous. Again she chided herself for telling Mum what had happened. She should have known she’d get overexcited.
She spoke to the empty air. ‘You’re not there, are you, Izzy?’ She forced herself to laugh, to make light of it. ‘Knock once if you are.’
A thump came from the kitchen.
Jessica clutched her chest, then collapsed on the floor, giggling helplessly. It was the dog, that was all, and here he was, trotting along the hallway to lick her face. No ghosts here. No phantoms – just an overweight golden retriever with meaty breath.
She led Caspar back to the kitchen, wishing it wasn’t too early for a glass of wine, and her phone rang.
‘Is that Mrs Gardner?’
It was a young woman. She didn’t recognise the voice. ‘Yes.’
‘I’m calling from Foxgrove School. It’s about Olivia.’ The woman had a smooth, officious voice, but she sounded a little nervous. ‘Um, would you be able to come and collect her? It’s nothing to worry about, but there’s been an incident.’
Chapter 12
All the way to school Jessica imagined the worst. The woman had said there was nothing to fret about, but how could a mother not worry? She pictured Olivia falling from a climbing frame and landing on her face. Or riding one of those stupid trikes into a wall. Although if Olivia was really hurt they would have said ‘accident’ not ‘incident’, wouldn’t they?
Oh God, what had happened? It was almost home time so it must be serious, otherwise they would have waited until then.
She pulled into the school car park a little too fast, narrowly avoiding a shiny four-by-four that looked far too expensive for a teacher. Squeezing her car into the gap beside it, she ran up to the double doors that led to the reception area and pressed the buzzer. She stood there, sweaty and dishevelled, tapping her foot impatiently and pressing the buzzer again before telling herself to calm down. She could imagine the school staff judging her, thinking it was no wonder Olivia was acting up, before getting straight on the phone to social services. Will always laughed at her when she mentioned social services, which, in Jessica’s mind, was a great modern bogeyman, a band of contemporary child-catchers who would swoop in with their big net and take your kid away if it had a dirty face or was overweight or underweight or watched too much TV.
It didn’t matter that the papers were full of contradictory evidence: all those neglected, abused children who were left to live with their parents after multiple visits from social workers, before ending up dead. With a mixture of horror and fury Jessica recalled that case of the little girl who had been forced to live with her dad despite her grandparents’ protests; the dad who had tortured and murdered her. It was a grim reality check: no one was going to take Olivia away. But that didn’t mean people wouldn’t look at Jessica and judge her. Bad mother. That was the very worst label of all.
Finally she was let in and the receptionist asked her to wait. She anxiously chewed her thumbnail until Mrs Rose appeared.
‘Ah, Jessica, thanks for coming in.’
‘What’s happened? Is Olivia all right?’
Mrs Rose led her into a little room beside the school hall and asked her to take a seat on a rickety wooden chair. It wouldn’t have surprised Jessica if this very chair had been here when she attended Foxgrove thirty years ago. There was probably chewing gum stuck beneath it that was older than most of the teaching assistants.
‘I’m afraid we had a biting incident,’ Mrs Rose said, pulling up an equally rickety chair.
Jessica was thrown back to Halloween, when Olivia had bitten her. She put her head in her hands. ‘Oh God. I’m so sorry.’
‘Oh no – it wasn’t Olivia doing the biting. Another child bit her.’
‘What? Is she okay?’ Jessica stood up, emotions torn in two: guilt that she had presumed her daughter was the offender, but, chiefly, concern. ‘I want to see her now.’
‘Please, Jessica, sit down.’
Reluctantly Jessica did as she was asked, but a torrent of questions rushed forth the moment her bottom touched the chair. ‘Is she hurt? Where did they bite her? Did they break the skin?’
‘She’s fine. The other child bit her on the arm.’ She touched a point just below her elbow. ‘And no, it didn’t break the skin. It’s left a bit of a red mark but it’s nothing serious.’
Jessica knew Mrs Rose wouldn’t tell her who the other child was, so it wasn’t worth asking.
‘I don’t understand. Isn’t this something you could have told me when I picked her up? Why did you bring me in early?’
Mrs Rose shifted on her seat. ‘It’s because, well, the other child says he bit Olivia because she was scaring him.’
Here it came. The ice-cold trickle in her guts. She swallowed. ‘Scaring him?’
‘Yes.’ Mrs Rose fiddled with the collar of her blouse. ‘They were all in the playground for afternoon break. It’s difficult to get much sense out of a group of four- and five-year-olds, but apparently Olivia wanted to play “ghosts”.’
Jessica held her breath.
‘It’s something she’s wanted to play a lot recently, according to the other children. Like I said, it’s hard to get a coherent picture, but I think the game consists of one child pretending to die, before coming back to haunt the other children and chase them around until they find out who killed them.’
‘Oh my God.’
Mrs Rose smiled wryly. ‘It was all tag and kiss chase in your day, wasn’t it? Anyway, this boy, the one who bit Olivia, says that she really frightened him because she was playing the ghost and was running after him screaming, “You killed me, you killed me.” She grabbed hold of him, so he says, and said she was going to kill him too, and that’s when he bit her.’
Jessica didn’t know what to say. It was another thing. Another strange, disturbing incident to add to the list.
‘Is everything all right at home?’ Mrs Rose asked.
‘Yes. It’s fine.’ She hoped Mrs Rose couldn’t see through the lie, although the teacher was used to dealing with small children. She was undoubtedly an expert at sniffing out bullshit.
‘Hmm. Olivia seems . . . unusually interested in death. Isabel died before Olivia was born, didn’t she? Have you had any other, more recent deaths in the family?’
‘No.’
‘What about pets? Have any of them died?’
Jessica shook her head.
Mrs Rose attempted a reassuring look. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. This is the age when most children start to develop an awareness of death. It’s generally more pronounced when they’ve experienced it directly – a grandparent or other elderly relative, or a pet.
But maybe . . . I don’t know. Do you talk about what happened to Isabel a lot at home? I know I said you mustn’t forget about Isabel but perhaps you shouldn’t talk about her so much in front of Olivia.’
‘But we don’t.’
‘Oh. Well, perhaps Olivia really is being visited by a ghost. Like you and Isabel when you were children.’
‘What?’
Mrs Rose held her hands up. ‘I’m only joking, Jessica. Listen, Olivia has a vivid and creative imagination. I expect in a couple of years her English teacher will be getting her to read her stories out to the class. As long as they’re not too scary. But I’m sure that’s all it is. Her imagination.’
‘You don’t think I need to seek professional help? Take her to a child psychologist?’
‘Oh, goodness, no. Like I said, it’s her imagination. We certainly don’t want to stunt or curb that in any way, do we? But we need to ensure she understands boundaries. That the other children are less comfortable with make-believe than she is.’
Jessica was silent for a minute. The teacher’s words made sense, but Mrs Rose didn’t know about everything that had been happening at home.
Unusually interested in death. Mrs Rose’s words made Jessica shudder. She had no idea what was going on with her daughter, and it made her want to weep with frustration. The only thing she knew for certain was that this interest wasn’t because of a real ghost. She knew that one hundred per cent.
Well, ninety-nine per cent.
Ninety per cent.
‘Honestly, Jessica, I don’t want you to be overly concerned,’ Mrs Rose said, breaking the silence. ‘But we should both work on ensuring Olivia knows not to frighten her classmates. I think we should get her to channel her imagination in other ways. Like drawing. That would be an excellent outlet for her. I know she’s a keen artist already, so let’s really try to encourage her.’
The bell rang. Almost immediately there was a shift in the atmosphere inside the school, the sound of doors opening, little feet dashing for freedom. Outside, parents would be gathered around the classrooms like zombies crowding a shopping mall.
‘That time already?’ said Mrs Rose, standing up. ‘I need to get back. If you wait here I’ll get someone to bring Olivia up.’