The Shade of Hettie Daynes (12 page)

FORTY-SIX

NOT EVERYBODY WAS
happy with Bill’s snapshot. Carl Hopwood, who’d been kept at home because of his bruised face, saw it in the paper his father had left on the coffee table. He gazed at it.
Try to put it out of your mind
, his mother had said last night, and he
had
tried. This stark reminder made him moan, so that his mother looked up from her magazine.

‘What is it, Carl?’ She hadn’t quite forgiven him for calling her a daft beggar.

‘This kid in the paper, Mum, look.’ He held up the
Echo
.

‘Yes, your father showed it to me.’

‘She’s just like the woman I saw at the res. The ghost. It says local people have seen it, so why won’t you and Dad believe
I
saw it?’

Felicity shook her head. ‘It’s a
story
, Carl. A local legend. Lots of places are said to have ghosts, and some people think they see them because they
expect
to. You know the story of the ghost of Wilton Water, so when you were alone in the dark by the reservoir, you
saw
her.’

‘You mean I only
thought
I saw her?’ He shook his head. ‘She was
there
– I saw her like I see you now.’

His mother nodded. ‘You saw her, Carl, but she came from your mind, not from the water. A psychologist would say she arose out of the cortex. These things happen, it doesn’t mean people are lying.’ She frowned. ‘And it
certainly
doesn’t justify knocking them about.’

Carl folded the paper, dropped it on the table. ‘I don’t want to be going there all the time, Mum. Will you talk to Dad?’

His mother nodded. ‘I’ll talk to him, certainly, but you know what he’s like. We must hope this work on the reservoir will be finished soon, then perhaps your father will stop fussing.’

Carl shook his head. ‘No, Mum, he won’t. You know he won’t. He’ll just find something else to go on about.’

FORTY-SEVEN

‘MR CRABTREE?’ ASKED
the man on the step. Tony shook his head. ‘I’m Tony Crabtree, you probably want my dad.’

The man nodded. ‘I’m seeking the gentleman who called the
Echo
recently about an unusual snapshot.’ He smiled, stuck out a hand. ‘I’m Stan Fox, Chief Reporter on the paper.’

‘Oh.’ Tony hesitated, then took the hand and shook it. ‘Yes, that was my dad but he’s out. So’s my mum. They go to the supermarket Friday afternoons. I . . . didn’t my dad call back to say it was all a mistake?’

Fox nodded. ‘Yes, Tony, he did, but then one of
our
photographers took this picture at the primary school last Friday.’ He pulled a brown envelope from his coat pocket, slid out a glossy photograph and showed it to the youth. ‘Is this young woman your sister?’

Tony nodded. ‘Yes, that’s our Alison. She won a fancy-dress competition. The pic was in yesterday’s paper.’ He frowned. ‘What’s this about, Mr Fox?’

Stan looked at him. ‘Alison told our man she’d come as the ghost of Wilton Water. Your dad claimed he had a snapshot of that ghost. I was wondering . . .’

Tony shook his head. ‘It wasn’t a snap of our Alison, if
that’s
what you were wondering.’

Fox pounced. ‘
What
wasn’t?’

‘The . . .’ Realizing his mistake, Tony stammered, ‘I . . . I mean we didn’t take a picture of my sister in her costume, up the res. It wasn’t a trick.’

Fox eyed him narrowly. ‘So what
was
it, Tony?’

‘A mistake, like my dad said. Look – I’ve got to go now, I’m shutting the door.’

He tried to shut it, but Fox stuck his shoe in
the
way. ‘Come on, lad, let me see what you’ve got.’

‘I haven’t got
anything
, Mr Fox.’

‘Yes you have. They don’t call me Curiosity Fox for nothing. I’m a dab-hand at sniffing out what’s been did and what’s been hid. All I’m asking is a quick peek. It’s not for publication, I promise you.’

Tony hesitated, then gave in. ‘Aw heck.’ He opened the door, stepped aside. ‘The thing is, Mr Fox, it’s not our photo. Alison’s friend took it, and she doesn’t want owt in the
Echo
about it.’

The reporter smiled. ‘Haven’t I just promised not to publish, Tony? All I want’s a quick shufti. Come on, there’s a good lad.’

FORTY-EIGHT

‘BETHAN, IS THAT
you?’

‘No, it’s Beyonce – how did you get my number?’

Alison sighed. ‘Stop messing about, Bethan. Listen, I’ve got something important to tell you.’

‘You
must
have – it’s not half seven yet. Anyway, you can tell me at the res.’

‘The
res
?’

‘Yes. You’re not the only one making early calls. Me and Harry are meeting Rob there at half eight.’

‘Bit early, isn’t it? And what about Carl and the cave trolls?’

Bethan chuckled. ‘Carl was off school yesterday,
and
the day before. His dad smacked him at the bonfire. Harry reckons it pulverized his brain.’

Alison giggled. ‘Can you pulverize something that isn’t there?’

‘Never mind that, Aly. Meet us by the fence at half eight. The trolls won’t come without Carl, and the workmen don’t do Saturdays. Wear wellies – we get to explore the old mill at last.’

When Rob arrived at twenty five to nine, the others were waiting.

‘What kept you?’ demanded Harry.

Rob pulled a face. ‘I was just setting off when my mobi rang. Rooney, wanting a few tips on taking free kicks.’ He shrugged. ‘Got to help, haven’t you?’

‘ ’Course you do, Rob. Come on.’

Their old footprints curved across the mud like a gigantic bite. They walked in them, watching the trees along the shore. It was a still, cold morning with a thin mist. Nothing stirred.

‘Too early for old Steve,’ grunted Harry.

Rob nodded. ‘Hope so. You OK, girls?’

‘ ’Course,’ said Bethan. ‘We’re younger, not babies.’

They hauled themselves onto the shore and walked along to where they could see what was left of the mill. Bethan wasn’t a baby, but she was tense. Out there was where the ghost stood. She wasn’t there now, but everyone’s got to be somewhere. Even ghosts.
Where is she in the daytime?
whispered a voice in Bethan’s head.
Can she see us?

‘OK,’ growled Harry. ‘Let’s do it.’ They slid down the bank and sloshed towards the remains of Hopwood Mill.

Halfway, Bethan remembered something. She touched Alison’s sleeve. ‘What were you going to tell me, Aly?’

Alison groaned. ‘I hoped you’d forgotten about that, Bethan.’ She put her mouth to her friend’s ear. ‘Guy from the
Echo
come to our place last night. Mum and Dad were out. Tony screened your snapshot for him.’

‘Oh, no!’ Bethan looked stricken. ‘He’s not going to put it in the
paper
, is he? Mum’ll go ape-shape.’

Alison shrugged. ‘He says not.’ She looked at
her
friend. ‘Tony couldn’t help it. The guy practically forced him. Said he was just curious, didn’t ask for a printout or anything so maybe it’ll be OK.’

Bethan nodded. ‘Let’s hope so. And let’s hope he’s not curious enough to come poking about here today – this is
our
adventure.’

FORTY-NINE

‘HEY LOOK.’ HARRY
pointed to the ground they stood on. ‘There’s hardly any mud here. It’s cobbles, like some streets in the village.’ He grinned. ‘This isn’t going to be as messy as I expected.’

‘We’re in the mill yard, I suppose,’ said Bethan. ‘These walls all round were the weaving sheds, and the warehouse and office and that.’

‘Weird, isn’t it?’ breathed Rob. ‘The last people to cross this yard have been dead for a hundred years. D’you think if we listen really hard, we might hear the fading echo of their clogs.’

‘Oooh, Rob,
don’t
.’ Alison shivered. ‘I’m scared
enough
wondering if I’ll walk round the end of a wall and bump into the ghost, without
you
starting.’

Harry laughed. ‘You won’t bump
into
her, Alison, you’ll walk right through.’

‘Shut up, Harry,’ snarled Bethan. ‘We’re here to explore, not to tell ghost stories. What’re all these heaps of rubble, d’you think?’

‘They’re broken stones,’ said Rob. ‘It’ll be all the stuff that wasn’t worth carting off when they demolished the place.’ He kicked a lump. ‘The chimney stones’d smash when it fell, wouldn’t they?’

They walked about, scrambling over mounds that shifted under their feet, running their hands along the slimy tops of walls. Bethan tried to picture what it must be like here when the reservoir was full – a realm of dim green light, swaying plants and shoals of little fish. An alien place, lost to human eyes. Now the fishes were confined to the dark pool which lay in the deepest part of the reservoir.

It was Rob who made the find. He called to the others in such an odd voice that they knew he had something special before they ran to him.
The
bones lay along the foot of a wall, close in, as if their owner had sought a sheltered place to sleep. There were long bones, ribs and vertebrae, and a skull so like the ones they’d seen in movies that they knew for sure it was human.

FIFTY

THEY GAZED IN
silence at the bones, feeling unreal. People on TV find skeletons. Pretend detectives and real archaeologists. Kids
imagine
themselves finding skeletons during adventures, but they never actually have adventures of that sort. Or of
any
sort, really.

Rob broke the silence, more for the sake of breaking it than anything else. ‘How come you girls aren’t screaming?’ he asked in a husky voice. ‘On telly, if a woman finds a body she screams.’

Alison whispered, ‘I’ve noticed that. Scriptwriters live in a time warp. They think we
still
swoon at anything wilder than embroidery.’

‘
I
’ll scream if you like,’ volunteered Harry. ‘I nearly did anyway.’

Rob shook his head. ‘No it’s OK, Harry, thanks.’ He looked towards the shore. ‘We might not be by ourselves much longer, so we better decide what we want to do.’

Alison looked at him. ‘What d’you mean,
want to do
. What
can
we do?’