The Wraiths of War (35 page)

She laughed again, though the way her eyelashes flickered made me feel I’d got pretty close to the truth.

‘Course not. I just… I want to give you some space, that’s all. Whether you want me to or not,
I
want to. It’s important to me. You do understand, don’t you?’

‘Yes, sure,’ I said. ‘But don’t ever feel you’re not welcome here.’

‘I won’t.’ She thrust her flat palm in front of my face like a teacher demanding a pupil spit out his chewing gum. ‘So hand over the keys to the flat.’

‘I haven’t got them. Frank’s living there now, remember.’

‘No problem. I’ll give him a call, tell him to put the kettle on and get some decent biscuits in.’

An hour later I was on my way to Wales in a hired Chevrolet Cobalt. It was a long time since I’d driven and it felt strange at first, the car responding more eagerly than I could initially cope with, which resulted in me stalling at a set of traffic lights in central London and spending an embarrassing twenty seconds re-starting the damn thing with horns blaring behind me. Once I’d been behind the wheel for ten minutes, though, I started to get the hang of it, and by the time I hit the A40 heading out of London I was cruising. It was a typical November day – cold and murky, the sky, streets, buildings and even people looking grey and drab, and somehow indistinct, like a charcoal drawing smeared by damp. But enclosed in my spotless, clean-smelling metal box, with the heater and the radio on, I was happy. I sang along to a bunch of songs from the ’80s and ’90s I only half-knew and didn’t even like that much – Sting and Queen and Michael Jackson – and kept glancing at the sat nav as it counted down the miles. At around the halfway mark, on the M6 somewhere near Stafford, I stopped at a service station for a piss, a ham-and-cheese Panini and a cappuccino. I did it only because I didn’t want to arrive at the cottage hungry and dying for the loo, though the entire time I was out of the car I found myself itching to get back into it again.

It was mid-afternoon when the sat nav finally informed me I’d arrived at my destination. I parked in the same lay-by I’d parked in the last time we’d been here and cut the engine. There was a part of me that wanted to leap straight out of the car and run up to the cottage, but I forced myself to sit tight for a few seconds so I could compose myself. I gripped the steering wheel to try to stop the trembling in my hands and took several deep breaths in a vain attempt to quell my churning guts. Now I’d finally arrived at this point, not just geographically but after a journey that had not only taken several years of my life but had also spanned centuries and turned my previously held notions of reality on its head, I was finding it hard to believe that it was over, that this was finally
it
.

And okay, so it wasn’t
really
over. There were loose threads all over the place, and I still had the long shadow of the Dark Man stretching over me. But my search for Kate, and more specifically my desire for us to be reunited, and to resume our life together as a family, which had been my driving force for so long, was something I was now finally on the verge of turning into reality.

I turned my head and looked at the unassuming cottage perched halfway up the bleak rise of wind-swept fields that surrounded it. The white walls looked grey under the sloping slate roof; the windows were featureless black squares.

The lack of light and life gave me a sudden quivering pang of concern. What if they weren’t there? What if they’d packed up and gone? What if they’d been
taken
?

Trying not to let my concern burgeon into panic, I fumbled open the car door, crossed the road in a staggering run and pushed open the gate in the black stone wall that surrounded the house. If I’d had any spare breath I would have shouted Kate’s name, but my guts were so cramped, and my chest so tight, that it was an effort simply to breathe. By the time I reached the cottage sweat was pouring off me. I fought the urge to hammer on the door, and instead knocked with at least a semblance of composure.

I palmed sweat from my face and tried to stay calm as I waited. I was about to knock again when the handle first jiggled, and then turned…

Followed, moments later, by the door slowly beginning to open.

I resisted the urge to shove at it, and instead stepped back warily. The door opened like a sleepy yawn, seeming to take an age. And then a small figure leaped into the widening gap, shouted, ‘Boo!’ and started roaring with laughter.

The tension fell away and I laughed too.

‘Were you scared, Daddy?’ Kate yelled. ‘Did I make you jump?’

‘No, I wasn’t scared,’ I said – and she started to frown. ‘I was
terrified
! I thought you were a ghost.’

She whooped and started laughing again. I grabbed her, scooped her up and blew a raspberry on her neck. She wriggled frantically, her laughter turning into gleeful shrieks.

The door opened wider, to reveal Paula/Maude Sherwood standing there, grinning. She snapped on the light switch beside the front door. ‘She wanted to surprise you. I hope you were duly surprised.’

‘I was,’ I said. ‘I was so surprised that I nearly ran away, jumped into my car and drove all the way back to London.’

‘You can’t do that, Daddy!’ Kate cried.

‘Can’t I? Who’d have stopped me?’

‘I would. I’d have chased you down the road and caught the car with my magic lasso and made you stop.’

‘Really?’ I looked at her, wide-eyed. ‘Can you really do that?’

‘Yep,’ she said, nodding vigorously. ‘And I can spin round, look. Put me down!’

This last command was delivered in a voice so imperious it warranted no refusal. I put her down and watched as she twirled around so vigorously she almost fell over.

‘Wow!’ I said.

‘She and Hamish have been watching re-runs of a show called
Wonder Woman
this week,’ said Paula drily.

I laughed again. Looking at Paula, it was astonishing how different she was from the young woman – Maude – I’d met in Victorian London, how quickly and completely she’d adapted to the twenty-first century.

I must have been a
very
good teacher.

I went into the cottage and Paula put the kettle on. Adam and Hamish came through from the front room, where they’d been watching TV. There was a lot of gooey, floury mess on the kitchen surfaces, and even on the floor, and pots piled in the sink and stacked up next to it. Paula saw me looking and said, ‘The kids have spent the morning making buns in honour of your arrival.’ She grabbed a big round cake tin from the kitchen counter and opened it, tilting it towards me to display the contents. I saw a pile of lavishly and messily decorated buns. Kate poked one topped by a dollop of dripping green icing that had the word ‘Dady’ shakily depicted in chocolate sprinkles.

‘That’s your one, Daddy,’ she said proudly. ‘I made it myself. Only you are allowed to eat that one.’

‘Yummy,’ I said. ‘I’ll have it with my cup of tea.’

When the tea was poured, Adam, Paula and myself sat around the kitchen table while Kate and Hamish, both of them carrying plates on which a couple of buns apiece were sliding about precariously, went through to the front room to watch TV.

‘She’s all packed up and raring to go,’ Paula said.

I sipped my tea. ‘Thanks for looking after her.’

‘It’s been a pleasure,’ said Adam. ‘Genuinely. As you can see, she and Hamish get on like a house on fire.’ He hesitated. ‘I hope the kids can stay friends. Once we’re all back in London, I mean.’

‘Of course.’ I looked from him to Paula. ‘You’re staying in the twenty-first century then? You’re not going back?’

‘How can we,’ said Paula, ‘after seeing what this century has to offer? The advancements in technology and medicine and education, the opportunities for women, the cleaner air…’

I smiled. ‘Many people think there’s a lot wrong with the modern world, that we’re on the verge of destroying it because of our technology.’

‘Those people haven’t lived in the 1800s,’ said Paula fiercely.

More tentatively, Adam asked, ‘It is okay for us to stay, isn’t it?’

I spread my hands. ‘I might have been your boss back in your old life, Adam, but I’m not your keeper. I’m not going to dictate how and where and when you live your lives.’

‘I’m not so sure about the where,’ said Paula.

‘What do you mean?’

She took a piece of folded notepaper from the windowsill and handed it to me. I unfolded it and saw that an address in Crouch End had been written in block capitals, above a date: October 18th 2012.

‘What’s this?’ I asked.

‘When your older self came to see us before your last visit, he gave us this and said I was to give it to you the second time you came back to fetch Kate. He said to tell you it’s the address of the house you’ve bought for us in London, and that the date is…’

‘The date I bought it.’

She nodded. ‘He said you were to write it in your book so you wouldn’t forget. And he said to let you know there was no rush.’

‘I’m such a manipulative so-and-so,’ I said, smiling, and taking out my notebook, I slipped the sheet of paper inside. I put the book back into my pocket and patted it. ‘I won’t forget.’

‘Thank you,’ said Adam. ‘We really appreciate all you’ve done for us.’

‘I appreciate all you’ve done for me,’ I replied. ‘Without your help… well, who knows what might have happened?’

Ten minutes later, revived by tea and buns, I decided it was time to hit the road. With Adam’s help I loaded the car with Kate’s stuff – a suitcase of clothes and a couple of bags of toys and books, most of which she’d accrued since being ‘abducted’ – and then it was time to say our goodbyes. There were hugs and kisses all round, and even a couple of tears shed by Paula, and by 4:30 p.m. Kate and I were on the road.

Kate and I. Even now it feels wonderful to write those words, to remember how much they meant to me at the time. It was beyond amazing to be reunited with my daughter, for us to be together again, after all I’d been through. A few minutes into the drive, while I was still negotiating the rugged, hilly terrain leading away from the cottage, it struck me that this was the first time I’d been truly alone with Kate since the morning I’d got her ready for school and taken her across the landing to the Sherwoods’ flat, prior to my reunion with Benny in The Hair of the Dog, and my first meeting with Clover. That was… forever ago. For me, at least. I looked across at Kate and grinned, overwhelmed, once again, by that glorious rush of well-being.

‘Well, here we are, kiddo,’ I said. ‘It’s just me and you again. The Gruesome Twosome.’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m not gruesome.’

‘Yes you are. You’re the most gruesome one of all.’

‘You are,’ she retorted. ‘You’re more gruesome than a hundred dog poos and fifty hundred smelly sausages.’

‘Well,’ I said, shaking my head gravely, ‘there’s no arguing with that, is there?’

What did we talk about on that long journey back to London? To be honest, I can’t remember. It was nonsense mainly. The sort of nonsense that a father and his young daughter can talk about for hours on end, and find highly entertaining. The sort of nonsense that is accompanied by much name-calling, much laughter and much affection. The sort of nonsense that feels glorious, and happy, and
right
.

I told her about her new house (
our
new house) –
that
I remember. I broached the subject tentatively, knowing how much she loved being across the landing from Paula, Adam and Hamish. I feared she might be upset to find we wouldn’t be living there any more, but I’d forgotten how adaptable and accepting kids are. She took the news on board with minimal fuss, and although I initially tried to over-egg the pudding by telling her about all the rooms and the garden, and the nearby park, and the new TV and computer she’d find when she got there, all she really wanted to know was whether she’d still have her own room, and whether she’d still see plenty of Hamish. As soon as I ticked all those boxes for her she was more than happy.

‘Cool as a mule from Liverpool,’ she said, which made me laugh.

‘Where did you get that from?’

She shrugged. ‘Dunno.’

I glanced at her for the hundredth time, marvelling at the sheer fact that she was
there
. She was too big for a car seat now, but sitting in the passenger seat, with an adult belt stretched across her and her little white-trainered feet dangling in mid-air, she looked so tiny, so vulnerable.

‘Oh, there is one other thing,’ I said casually. ‘You remember Clover, that nice lady who came with me last time?’

She wrinkled her nose, as if trying to remember. ‘Did she have purple hair?’

‘She did.’

‘Is she your girlfriend?’

‘No, she’s just a friend. A buddy. Like Hamish is your buddy.’

‘Hmm?’ she said.

‘Well, Clover’s got nowhere to live, because her home was burned up in a big fire. So, as we’ve now got a big new house with lots of rooms, she’s probably going to be living with us for a while. Is that all right?’

‘Will she have to sleep in my room?’

‘No, she’s got her own room.’

‘That’s all right then. Will she watch
Wonder Woman
with me when Hamish isn’t there?’

‘I’m sure she will.’

‘Cool.’

But when we finally arrived back at Ranskill Gardens, at around ten that night, Clover was nowhere to be seen. Kate had fallen asleep in the car at around 8:30 p.m., and was still snoring gently when I turned in through the open gates and parked with a soft crunch of tyres on the gravelled drive. She didn’t stir even when I unclipped her seatbelt, scooped her up and lifted her from her cosy seat into the chilly November air. She merely gave a little grunt and huddled further into me as I carried her up the path. Much as I wanted to show her our new house, I decided that now was not a good time. She’d be too confused and grumpy. Better leave it till the morning.

Supporting her weight awkwardly with one arm, I fumbled my key into the lock of the front door. The next ten minutes were spent putting Kate to bed and fetching her stuff from the car. I didn’t call Clover’s name, because I didn’t want to wake Kate up, but I did think it odd she hadn’t appeared to welcome us. I decided she must have had an early night or fallen asleep in front of the TV. No doubt I’d find out soon enough.