The Secret of Crickley Hall (16 page)

'Sure, I can try.'

'Can we take it downstairs? Can I play with it?'

'Lot of other toys here to choose from, Sparky.'

'No, this one, Daddy. Please.'

Gabe straightened. 'Okay, let me carry it 'til we can give it a good wipeover, okay?'

'Yes, please.'

Eve, apart from them in the gloom, felt a sudden shiver run through her. She thought of the sounds they had heard coming through the ceiling when they were downstairs. A scurrying. A rushing of feet. From the attic room that had once been used as a dormitory.

A sound that was loud on the bare floorboards; yet somehow light. As though the sounds belonged to children scampering in bare or stockinged feet.

Running, scattering, children.

18: THIRD NIGHT

Yet another night they slept together, the girls snuggled between Gabe and Eve. The only difference this time was that the dog refused to leave the kitchen, the rain having forced Gabe to bring him in. Chester had resisted Gabe's tugging at his collar, whimpering at his master's coaxing, haunches low. Despite Gabe's entreaties, the mongrel had refused to leave his spot beside the garden door; he cowered there, eyes wild with fear that only he could understand.

In the end, Gabe could only shake his head in mystified frustration. Sure, Eve was right—there
was
something weird going on in this place—but last night the mutt had howled to be allowed upstairs with the family; tonight nothing would induce Chester to leave his blanket by the door. The engineer was certain that if he opened the outside door the dog would be through it like the wind and this time, in the dark, they'd never find him.

Exasperated, Gabe had left Chester there, hoping he wouldn't howl in the night.

Naturally, Loren and Cally wanted to know who or what had been running around in the old dormitory earlier (although Cally had seemed more interested in the spinning top she was allowed to bring downstairs) and there was no logical explanation either parent could give them. Gabe had unconvincingly muttered about airlocks and waterpipes once more and the girls were not taken in. They were too tired, though, to be more curious, especially Loren, who, unusually, wanted to go to bed. Gabe and Eve knew their daughters would be too jittery to fall sleep on their own, despite their tiredness, so had retired with them.

Because of this, Gabe and Eve had no opportunity to discuss the phenomenon between themselves, and the truth was, neither of them felt like it that night; they both lacked the energy.

They were all fast sleep within minutes of settling down and the only noise in Crickley Hall, apart from the distressed mewlings of Chester in the kitchen, was the creak of rough floorboards and timbers, and the faint but constant whispering of rushing water that crept up from the bowels of the house and through the open cellar door…

19: MONDAY

'You nervous, Slim?' Gabe changed up a gear and stole a glance at Loren, who was strapped into the Range Rover's passenger seat beside him.

There was no guile about Loren; she was still young enough to be open and honest and totally without front. She responded without hesitation: 'Yes, Dad.'

'Don't be. You'll soon make new friends.'

'I'm not from around here.'

'It'll make you more interesting.'

He slowed the car, indicated left, and swung out from the narrow lane with its high hedges on either side into a wider and busier road.

'I've spoken to the headteacher, Mr Horkins, a coupla times, once on the phone and once in person when I scouted out the school last time I was down here. Seems an okay guy, runs a tight ship. The kids impressed me when I visited, almost civilized, y'know?'

Gabe was taking Loren to Merrybridge Middle School on her first morning, but the school bus would bring her back in the afternoon. They had all overslept, even Cally, who normally could be relied on to be wide awake and singing loudly or playing with her dolls at the crack of dawn. But it had been a late night for her and a troubling one for them all. Gabe had lamely put the sleep-in down to 'good country air' and there had been no time to discuss the events—the mysterious running footsteps—of the previous night. A quick breakfast of coffee and toast for Gabe, cereals for the girls, and then he and Loren set out for Merrybridge. Chester, who once again had been tied outside to the tree, barked after them as they hurried across the bridge.

Gabe slowed down with the flow of traffic. It seemed even coastal Devon had its rush hour.

'It's horrible not knowing anybody,' whinged Loren, gazing ahead through the windscreen, chewing at her lower lip.

'Hey, you'll find someone to hook up with. You're good at making friends.'

'I really don't want to go to a new school.'

'It's only for a short time. We talked about this.'

'Will Mummy get… will she get better?'

'I think being away from our old house might help her come to terms with the situation. New surroundings, new people.' He didn't add that the first anniversary of Cam's disappearance was almost upon them. 'It won't make her forget, but it might divert her attention for a while, maybe help her get a grip.'

'But she's been sad for such a long time.' Loren turned towards her father. 'Mummy still cries when she's alone. I can always tell, even when she pretends she's all right.'

'I know.'

'We're all sad about Cam. I still miss him a lot, but…' Her words trailed off.

'But eventually you have to get on with life.' Gabe finished for her. He took a quick look her way. She was pale and troubled and there were faint smudges under her eyes.

'Sometimes I feel guilty because I think of Cam less and less,' she said.

'Don't be. It's natural. You can't grieve for ever, especially not at your age. So long as you remember him from time to time, it's okay. No one expects more of you.'

'I still cry sometimes.'

'Sure, but not so much any more, right? And that's good, Loren, it's part of the healing. But we all have to carry on with our lives, it's the only thing to do.'

'Dad…'

Gabe felt her eyes on him again.

'Cam
is
dead, isn't he? He must be, mustn't he? He couldn't just disappear.'

It was the first time Loren had come straight out with it and he had been dreading such a moment. What to tell her? What did he himself believe? What did he
really
believe?

'I don't know,' he answered after a few moments. He couldn't lie to her; yet neither could he affirm what he knew they all thought. There was no other way to say it. 'Until they find his body we can only assume he's been taken away by someone.'

Loren was equally frank. 'If he was alive the police would have found him by now. No one could've hidden him all this time.'

This was the reality but, mostly for Eve's sake, Gabe would not admit it, even to himself.

'Could someone have stolen him because they didn't have a little boy of their own? Perhaps they were lonely. They took him from the park because he looked so nice. Cam was always smiley, even with strangers.'

He blessed Loren for her innocence. A kidnapping was what Eve wanted to believe even now. She'd been in denial from the first day Cam had vanished. Something deep within her refused to accept the worst and it was this faulty reasoning that kept her from complete breakdown. And, in truth, maybe the same unrealistic hope lay within himself—why else had he not wept for his own son?

They had reached the town and the main street was busy with people, among them, in groups of three or four, the blue uniforms of Merrybridge Middle School pupils. Loren watched them apprehensively, hoping they wouldn't treat her as an outsider, praying she wouldn't make a fool of herself on her first day.

Soon the uniforms—navy-blue trousers or skirts, electric-blue jumpers and blazers over white shirts worn with blue-and-grey-striped ties—began to multiply, then mass, so that it seemed the world's predominant colour was blue. Gabe hung a right into the wide side street and there it was, Merrybridge Middle School—or Merrymiddle as it was known—a concrete congestion of two-storey plain stone-and-glass buildings so beloved by misguided architects and cost-conscious town-planners in the Sixties. If the town itself still had a modicum of charm left, it was lost on the solid but drab interjoined buildings.

Gabe pulled up behind another 4x4 whose passengers were being disgorged and set the handbrake. Some of the children passing by gawped in the passenger window at Loren as if already sniffing a stranger in their midst, and she studiously ignored them. She reached over to the back seat for her school bag. Perhaps in a few days, when she herself wore the Merrybridge uniform, she would not be so visible.

'All right,' Gabe smiled reassuringly: he understood her nervousness. 'You want me to come in with you?'

'No, Dad!' She looked alarmed at the very idea.

'Sure?'

She nodded her head vigorously.

'Okay. So just go inside and ask someone where you can find Mr Horkins. He'll see you right.'

They leaned towards each other and Loren gave her father a peck on the cheek. She grabbed her school bag from the back, then pushed the passenger door open. Gabe saw the apprehension on her face and his heart nearly melted.

'Bye, Daddy,' she said, before slamming the door after her.

'See you tonight.' He watched her go through the gate following two uniformed girls, and he pressed the switch to lower the passenger side window.

'Hey, Slim!' he called, stretching across the seat.

Loren turned and looked back at him.

'Don't talk to boys!' He gave her a broad smile.

She rolled her eyes heavenwards and the two girls in front looked over their shoulders and giggled.

Then Loren was gone and Gabe felt a heel.

20: THE SPINNING TOP

Eve snatched another look out of the kitchen window, checking on Chester who lay forlornly on the grass, roped to the tall oak tree from whose lowest branch the swing hung. His head was down, muzzle resting between his front paws, and he was looking forlornly towards the house.

She was relieved to see it wasn't raining this morning, although the dark clouds looked threatening, otherwise she would be forced to bring him inside, and the thought of dragging him all the way across the lawn while he fretted and resisted was unappealing.

That morning there had been too much frantic bustle to reflect on the events of the previous night because the whole family had overslept. Hasty breakfasts, Chester taken out on his lead to do his stuff, quick kisses goodbye for Gabe and Loren, Eve especially twitchy for Loren, who was starting her first day at the new school, finally waving to them as they crossed the short bridge, and then the panic was over. Peace returned. Eve helped her youngest wash and dress, then came back down for a second cup of coffee at the kitchen table, while Cally played with her toys upstairs until it was time for her reading lesson.

The house seemed different today, not so dispiriting, not so—not so
joyless
. Perhaps it was because the sun kept breaking through the rainclouds, cheering the air itself as it flooded through the hall's tall window, brightening even the gloomiest corners, its warmth stirring the air so the dust floated in its beams. Still in her white waffle dressing gown, Eve sipped from the mug, holding it to her lips with both hands, the coffee's heat reviving her, yet a calmness seeping through her limbs, her back, her neck. It had been a long time—almost a year—since she had felt this level of relaxation, this lessening of tension, and it was good. No, it was wonderful.

But why? she asked herself. Then she remembered, although it had not truly been forgotten, just temporarily laid aside as life around her continued with its flow. Yesterday, in the sitting room, on the couch. The dream. The
bad
dream. Something—
someone
—horrible, leering over her. The foul smell; then the other smell underlying it: the stinging scent of harsh soap. And the paralysing fear that had gripped her while she dozed.

Then its easing. She had felt—she
knew
she had felt—Cam's presence. She had not seen his face, but then never in her dreams had his features been clearly defined. And with most of those dreams had come a terrible sadness. But not so yesterday. Yesterday there had only been a calmness and a sense of loving. Cam, somehow, had reached out to her.

She had been under threat, she remembered that; threat from something wretched in this house; something horrid; something hidden inside Crickley Hall itself. But then the relief: Cam touching her, unseen fingers soothing her brow and cheek. It hit her then: was it his spirit that had come to her?

No! No, it couldn't be! If that were true, if it was his spirit, then Cameron must be dead! And that just could not be! She could not allow it to be!

Besides, there was another conclusion, she told herself, almost slyly, for she could not—
would not
!—accept the death of her little boy.

It wasn't Cam's spirit that appeared to her, not his
soul
. No, it was his
mind
. There had always been a telepathic link between them, between mother and child, but it had never been anything to wonder at, nothing so strong that it demanded anything more than casual interest. Neither was it particularly odd: many mothers had intuitions about their offspring, knew instinctively when their child was in pain or disturbed in some way when they were in different rooms, or even miles apart. Mothers could understand their baby's incoherent cry, mothers could sense their child's moods and ills. But her psychic connection with Cam was stronger than just that. Three out of the five clairvoyants she had interviewed some years ago had virtually convinced her of supernatural power, but she had never followed through, had lost interest once the feature had been written. Yet afterwards, she could never again deny there was something more than mere physical existence.