She’d tricked him, she’d asked him the sort of question he couldn’t answer with a yes, no, OK or a shrug. Friends were OK, though, he could talk about friends. He could talk about Josh Cooper, he was OK.
‘Are any boys at school not your friends?’ she asked, when they’d talked about boys in Tom’s class for a few minutes.
‘Jake Knowles,’ Tom answered, without hesitation. Jake Knowles, his arch enemy, who had somehow found out that Tom was seeing a special doctor and had made his life extra miserable about it for days now. According to Jake, Tom was destined for the madhouse, where they tied you up and kept you in a padded cell and sent electric shocks through your brain. The special doctor would see he was nuts and send him away and he’d never see his mum and dad again. Worst of all, he wouldn’t be able to look after Millie. He wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on Joe.
‘Do you want to talk to me about what happened a week ago last Saturday?’ Evi was asking him now. ‘When something frightened you and you ran into the churchyard?’
‘It was a dream,’ said Tom. ‘Just a bad dream.’
37
M ILLIE HAD CLIMBED DOWN THE BACK STEPS INTO THE garden. She pushed herself upright and looked all around. When her eyes found the yew tree her little face lit up. She set off towards it.
‘Millie!’ Tom had appeared at the back door. ‘Millie, where are you going?’ He jumped down and crossed the garden to his sister in three strides, then bent to pick her up.
‘Millie shouldn’t be out on her own,’ he said, as she started to squirm and he carried her back to the door.
Millie looked back at the yew tree as she was carried indoors and the door was firmly closed behind the two children. She wasn’t allowed to be alone any more, not even for a minute.
38
23 October
‘SCHIZOPHRENIA IS QUITE RARE,’ SAID EVI. ‘ONLY AROUND 1 per cent of the population develop it, and it’s only in a very few of those cases that we see an onset of symptoms before the age of ten. Most importantly, neither you nor your husband have any family history of the illness.’
It was Evi’s first meeting alone with Alice Fletcher, in the family’s large, colourful sitting room. The two boys, both of whom she’d already met individually, were at school, Millie upstairs napping. So far, it was proving to be an unusual meeting. From the outset, Alice had almost seemed determined to charm her son’s psychiatrist. She’d shown an interest in Evi personally, which patients, normally rather self-obsessed, rarely did. She’d tried to make her laugh, had even succeeded a couple of times. And yet it was so clearly a facade, and a fragile one at that. Alice’s hands had shaken too much, her laughter had seemed forced and before the meeting was twenty minutes old she’d broken down and confided her fear that Tom was suffering from COS, or child-onset schizophrenia.
‘But these voices…’ she was saying.
‘Hearing voices is just one symptom of schizophrenia,’ said Evi firmly. ‘There are quite a few others, none of which Tom appears to have.’
‘Like what?’ demanded Alice.
‘Well, for one thing, his emotional reactions seem quite normal. I’ve seen no evidence of what we call thought disorder. And other than his insistence on this little girl – who he still hasn’t mentioned to me, by the way – there’s no sign of any delusional behaviour.’
Alice Fletcher interested her, Evi decided. A long way from her own home, she, more than the rest of the family, might be expected to find it hard to settle in Heptonclough. The question was, how much of the children’s problems were the result of their picking up on the mother’s anxieties?
‘Even when schizophrenia is diagnosed in childhood,’ Evi continued quickly, ‘it’s nearly always preceded by other diagnoses.’ She started ticking them off on her fingers. ‘Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Bipolar Mood Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Do you know what any of these conditions-’
‘Yes,’ interrupted Alice. ‘And the OCD, the obsessive compulsive thing, that fits too. Tom goes round the house every night, checking and re-checking the locks on all the doors and windows. He has a list. He ticks things off one by one and he won’t go to bed until he’s gone through it. Sometimes he gets up in the night and starts running through the list again. What’s that all about?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ said Evi. ‘But I have noticed Tom’s anxiety about his little sister. Joe shares it too, incidentally, although he may just be picking up on Tom’s fears. Have they seen something on the news, do you know, something to make them especially anxious about her right now?’
Alice thought for a moment, then shook her head. ‘I doubt it,’ she said. ‘They only watch children’s television. Several times I’ve found him asleep on Millie’s bedroom floor.’
Evi glanced down at her notes. ‘Just to come back to this little girl, for a while,’ she said. ‘Because from what you’ve told me, most of what’s bothering Tom seems to centre around her. Is it possible that there is someone in town who just looks a bit odd, maybe behaves in a strange way? Have you thought about that?’
Alice nodded. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘And I have asked a couple of people. Not many, I don’t want everyone to know what we’re going through, but I did have a quiet word with Jenny Pickup. And with her grandfather, Tobias. They’ve lived here all their lives. They’d never heard of anyone remotely fitting the description Tom gives.’
Alice paused for a moment.
‘Besides,’ she continued, ‘Tom talks about this little girl as though she’s barely human, the sort of thing we see in nightmares. This is a strange town, Evi, but harbouring monsters? How likely is that?’
39
27 October
HARRY WAS GETTING CLOSER TO THE TOWN. THE silhouettes of the great stone buildings were bigger every time he turned another bend in the road. Over his left shoulder a firework burst in the sky. He slowed the car a fraction more. He’d always loved fireworks. Maybe on 5 November he’d drive up the moor again, park the car and watch the fireworks exploding from a hundred different bonfire parties, stretching all the way across the Pennines.
The tarmac of the road gave way to cobbles and he turned the last corner that would bring him into town. Gold stars burst in the sky to his left and he was looking at them, not at the church, as he drew up and parked. He switched off the engine and got out of the car.
He’d been visiting one of his oldest parishioners. Mrs Cairns was in her nineties and almost bed-ridden. Afterwards, her daughter and husband had insisted he eat with them. By the time he left it was nearly nine o’clock and he still had to collect the church accounts from St Barnabas’s.
His feet had just made contact with the smooth stones of the church path when he knew something was wrong. He’d never considered himself a particularly sensitive man, but this feeling wasn’t one he could ignore. He knew he had to turn round and face the ruined church. And he really wasn’t sure he could bring himself to do it.
He had turned. He was looking. He just didn’t believe what he was seeing.
The ancient ruins of the abbey church were still there. The great arches still soared upwards, towards the purple sky. The tower, tall and forbidding, cast its shadow across the ground. Everything was just as it had been since the day he’d arrived. Pretty much as it had been for several hundred years. Only the figures were new. Sitting in window frames, leaning against pillars, sprawled along the top of arches, squeezed into every conceivable gap in the stonework were people. They sat, stood, leaned, sprawled, still as statues, mouths leering, eyes staring, surrounding him. Watching.
40
29 October
THE INTERMENT OF TWO-YEAR-OLD LUCY ELOISE PICKUP, only child of Michael Pickup and Jennifer Pickup née Renshaw, was the last entry in the burial register. Harry flicked back to the beginning. The first entry recorded the burial of Joshua Aspin in 1897. A church register had to be closed and taken to the diocesan record office when the oldest entry was 150 years ago. This one hadn’t got there yet. He was about to close the book when he spotted the Renshaw name again. Sophie Renshaw had died in 1908, aged eighteen. The words ‘An innocent Christian soul’ had been entered after the basic details. Harry glanced at his watch. It was eleven o’clock.