‘We started searching, of course, but we looked in the house – it’s a big house – and then the garden, then the lane outside. It never occurred to us that she might have made her way into the church. And up all those steps. By the time we found her, she was cold. And her skull, her little skull was just…’
The blood was draining from Jenny’s face. Her whole body was shaking.
‘I’m so terribly sorry,’ repeated Harry. ‘I had no idea. All this… opening up the church again, it must be very distressing for you.’
‘No, it’s fine, I’m ready.’ Jenny was still pale, but the trembling seemed to be slowing down. ‘I asked Dad not to mention what happened,’ she was saying. ‘I wanted to tell you myself.’
‘That was very brave of you. Thank you.’ It certainly explained a lot. He’d been told that ten years ago the parishioners had suddenly stopped using the church. When the incumbent vicar retired, the diocese had formally closed the building. Only when the parish had been united with two others had the decision been taken to reopen. He’d had no idea what had really lain behind it all.
At the top of the lane, Gillian was still hovering. Jenny saw his eyes flicker and turned her head to look up the hill.
‘I was godmother to Gillian’s daughter,’ she said. ‘A couple of months before the fire, I gave her all Lucy’s old clothes, including some really precious ones that Christiana had made. It felt like a big step forward for me, like I was getting ready to move on. And then Hayley was dead too and all the clothes were burned. It was almost like I’d lost Lucy again.’
Harry couldn’t think of anything to say.
‘There was a little pyjama set. Christiana embroidered it herself with all the Beatrix Potter characters. It was so beautiful. I thought I was so brave giving it away.’
Again nothing to say. He was hopeless, in the presence of grief, completely hopeless.
‘You’re a good listener,’ said Jenny, getting to her feet. ‘I’m going back inside now. Good luck tomorrow.’
‘Would you like me to come with you?’ He stood up.
‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll be fine. I’ve never been afraid of ghosts.’ She smiled at him and turned to walk back towards the church.
31
‘OH GOD,LISTEN TO IT, GARETH, IT’S STILL GOING ON.’
The gentle, rocking motion that had lulled Tom to sleep and kept him there had stopped. His dad had parked the car and his mum was talking in that low voice she used when she didn’t want him or Joe to hear what she was saying. Normally it was a signal to listen all the harder, but Tom really didn’t want to be any more awake than he already was. He just wanted to sleep.
He heard movement and thought perhaps his dad had turned round in his seat to look at the children. ‘They’re flat out,’ he said, whispering like their mother had done. ‘We’ll just carry them in. They won’t know anything about it.’
‘But listen to it. It’s making me feel sick.’
Tom didn’t want to hear anything. There was a dream somewhere, a good one, if he could only find his way back to it. But he was listening all the same. He couldn’t help it. What was that noise? Like someone was moaning. No, not just one person, lots of people, crying in dull, low voices. Were they people, though? They didn’t sound like people. Rooarrk, they were saying, over and over again, Rooaark. Tom couldn’t explain why, but it was making him feel guilty.
‘We’ll put them in bed and put some music on,’ said his father. ‘Come on, we won’t be able to hear it as much inside.’
The car door opened and Tom could feel cold air on his face. And the noise became louder. Not just Rooarrk but other sounds too. Naaaa! Naaaa! Somewhere close by, men were shouting, laughing, yelling instructions to each other. Tom really, really didn’t want to listen to it but the din was seeping its way into his head, like water through a sponge. Then someone was reaching over him and he could smell his mother’s lily-of-the-valley perfume. The soft wool of her sweater brushed his face and he thought perhaps he was reaching up a hand towards her, to pull her down closer. Then she moved away.
‘We can’t leave Tom out here,’ she said. ‘How are we going to do this?’
Leave Tom?
‘I’ll lock the car door,’ said his dad. ‘We’ll be thirty seconds. Come on, let’s get on with it.’
The scent of Tom’s mother faded. He heard the car door being closed softly, the beeping sound of the remote key and then the locks themselves clunking down. Tom opened his eyes. He was in the car, sitting by the window of the rear seat. Alone.
The car was parked in the driveway of their house. He could see lights in the downstairs rooms. The front door was open. His parents would be carrying Joe and Millie up to bed and then his dad would come back for him. The family often did this when they were out quite late, like tonight, when they’d been to Granny and Grandad Fletcher’s house for dinner. Tom closed his eyes and prepared to drift off again.
But how could he sleep when something close by was miserable and frightened? Over and over again something was moaning. It had made his mother feel sick. It was making Tom want to cry. Then there was a scream. A loud, piercing scream and he was wide awake again.
Tom turned his head to look up the hill. Across the road, the buildings around the butcher’s shop were brightly lit. He could see movement, men walking around, carrying large bundles on their shoulders.
His seatbelt was still tight around him and he reached down to unfasten it. The car was locked and there were child locks on the rear doors, but he knew he could climb over the seats and open the front door. He could be in the house in five seconds. Five seconds between leaving the locked car and getting inside the house.
The shouting and screaming seemed to be getting closer. Maybe it was just louder. Either way, five seconds seemed too long. His dad would be back soon. He shrunk down in his seat, wanting to close his eyes again but not quite daring. He really wanted his dad back. He raised his hands to press them against his ears.
Was there something just outside the car? Something scraping softly against the paintwork? Tom held his breath. There was. Something was moving around outside. He could hear it. He could almost feel the vehicle rocking. Without daring to move his head, he glanced at the door. Still locked. No one could open it without the key. Could they?
He had to scream for his dad. Yell his head off. Except the night was full of screams. No one would hear his. The horn! His dad would hear that. He just had to lean forward, he could reach it from the back seat. His dad would hear and come running. Tom sat upright and got ready to spring.
A small hand appeared at the window, not six inches from his face.
Tom knew he’d cried out. He also knew no one had heard him. He tried again and nothing came out. He couldn’t move either. He just had to watch.
The hand was the wrong colour. Hands aren’t that colour. They aren’t red.
The hand began to move downwards, leaving a trail of something that looked like red slime. Tom could see the mark left behind by the base of the thumb and then five wavering lines as the thumb and fingers squeaked their way down the glass. He watched the arm and then the wrist disappear below the rim of the window. The palm had almost disappeared from view and then the fingers waggled at him, like a wave.
He was up, across the front seat, reaching for the horn. A face was staring in through the windscreen. Tom opened his mouth to yell but it was as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the car. He couldn’t breathe, so he couldn’t shout.
What was it? What the hell was it? A girl, he thought, she had long hair. But her head was far too big. And her face was like the figures Joe sometimes made from plasticine. Her eyes were huge and her lips were full, red and damp. The worst thing, almost, was her skin. It was so pale. It hung loose on her bones as if it was too big for her and it really didn’t look like skin at all. It was like the stuff you get when wax runs off candles and then hardens and goes all white and wrinkly. She looked like someone had dipped her in melted candle wax. But her skin wasn’t the worst thing. The worst thing was the lump on her neck that pushed up against her face and pulled the neckline of her dress out of shape. As she stared at Tom through the windscreen, the lump almost seemed to be moving by itself and he had a sudden vision of the rest of her body below the neck of her dress: lumpy, putty-soft, and with veins standing out against wax-like skin.