The Child Garden (17 page)

“Oh God! I remember that,” she said. “Johnny was as sick as a dog the next day. He was sick in the car coming back and he said to me if I wanted to be a doctor I had better clean it up and bring him some Lucozade. I told him that was nursing, not doctoring, and if he wanted doctoring then he had to let me examine him. Then Mummy explained to me that he was in shock and I had to be very kind. Shock! You couldn't shock that boy with a taser. God knows what it was like when you were all together there.”

“
Lord of the Flies
,” I said, and again she gave that shout of laughter.

“So I imagine. I bet your kids didn't go anywhere like it. Mine are local comp and all the better.”

“My son has special needs,” I said. “PKAN.” I can never resist talking about it to someone who'll understand.

She sucked her breath in over her teeth. “That's rough. Infantile or adult-onset? There's a kid over near Dalry with late-stage infantile PKAN.”

“Adult onset,” I lied. “In Edinburgh. So he wouldn't be camping and cooking his own sausages even if he wanted to.”

“Silver lining,” she said, callously. I concentrated on saying nothing, telling myself she didn't know it was as bad as it was because I'd told her the wrong kind. “And that nasty trick,” she went on after a pause. “It sounded like some sort of mad shunning from a sect or something.”

“What's that?”

“Eh?” she said. “Didn't you know? The children who were sleeping out in the woods picked one to go and spend the night alone in some haunted little chapel place. Sent him off in the dark, dared him to spend the hour over midnight all on his own.”

“Moped,” I said softly.

“That rings a faint bell,” she said. “Something like that. What was his real name?”

“Mitchell,” I said. “The boy who died.”

“That must be right then. The child who was out on his own
was
the one who died. Johnny insisted it was nothing like the way it sounds, though. He said the boy was full of bravado and taking bets that he would do it. He said he was sneering at all the other kids who were too scared. Johnny wanted to be the one who went, he told me, but this other boy shouted him down and told him to wait his turn.”

“I missed all of this,” I said.
Stig had missed all of this
, I was thinking.

“Anyway, thank God—Mitchell, was it?—did shout him down. It was bad enough him dying in his thirties. If he'd drowned at twelve—” She stopped walking, frowning and staring straight ahead. “That's a bit horrid, actually, isn't it?” she said. “When you get right down to it, the way the child died in the woods that night and the way Johnny died on his honeymoon in Herault are not a million miles apart. That's rather nasty.”

I nodded but said nothing.
Nasty
wasn't the word for it when you added April Cowan dead in the same huttie where Moped went to win his bet, and his brother dead in a churchyard, hanged against a sculpture of Adam and Eve. And Edmund McAllister drowned at another ravine with a huttie of its own.

We were back at the garden gate now and as we turned in we saw a woman—another tiny elfin woman, dressed in the same black jeans and dark, chunky jersey as her sister.

“She's asking for you,” this new woman called to us. “She's a bit brighter, but she wants another painkiller and won't take no for an answer from me.”

Dr. Jameson sped up until she was almost trotting.

“Sorry,” she called over her shoulder. “I'll have to go. Thanks for listening. Above and beyond.” Then she hurried away.

I got into my car and started the engine, waiting for some warmth. My feet in my work shoes were almost numb from the icy ground, but not quite numb enough not to hurt. I cranked the heater up and turned the blowers downwards.

Mrs. Jameson was too ill to have been out in the woods on Monday night and then driving to Glasgow on Tuesday to avenge her son. And if Dr. Sally Jameson knew anything about it, she was the best actress ever born and wasted on medicine.

The noise of the fan was so loud that I jumped when the knock came the window. It was the sister.

“Cryptic message from Sally,” she said. “And I quote: ‘It wasn't Moped. It was Van.' Don't ask me why she's talking like Charlie Chan because I can't tell you.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Tell her thank you.”

“Does it make sense to you?”

“I wouldn't go that far,” I said. “But I know what she means anyway.”

Twenty-Three

Deirdre was in her
place on the bench by the front door, swinging her little pipe-cleaner legs to and fro.

“Well, this is a day of surprises and no mistake,” Donna said as she buzzed me in. “What's going on?” She had a point. I'd been coming to the home at the same time every day for at least eight years. Then last night I was late and tonight I was early.

I wanted to … I didn't want to finish the thought because the only ending was to say
get it out of the way,
which wasn't true. What I really wanted was to be able to go home, cover the kitchen table with sheets of paper and write down everything I knew and everything Stig had found out in another day on the Internet and try to make it make sense. I couldn't face another night where I filled Stig in quickly and then went out again, came back tired, and tried to pick it up where I'd left off, with Nicky and Miss Drumm distracting me in between times.

“I'm not feeling well,” I said. “I need to get home and get settled.”

“You shouldn't be here if you're ill,” Donna said. She didn't exactly bar the way, but she certainly didn't stand aside for me.

“It's just a heavy period,” I told her. “Nothing catching.”

“I'm glad to be past all that,” she said. “I didn't know you were troubled with your monthlies, Gloria. You've never said.”

“I've never been troubled until now,” I told her. I was shocked at the lies spilling out of me. To poor Mrs. Best, to Sally Jameson, and now to Donna who'd always been so kind to Nicky, so good to me. “I think it must be the start of the change.”

Donna nodded sagely. “Sounds like it, though you're young,” she said. “In my day they'd have you in for a D&C, and if that didn't work they'd whip the lot out. These days, you can be that anemic a vampire wouldn't bother with you and they just tell you to eat a bit of spinach and do some Pilates.” She pronounced it
pie-laits
, but thankfully, when I laughed, she just thought she had cheered me up and wasn't hurt.

“So it's just a coincidence?” she said.

“What is?” I asked her.

She wiggled her eyebrows. “You'll see.”

I heard it before I saw it. When I was halfway down the corridor, Duggie's voice rang out, confident and loud, set to carry across the golf-club-house bar when he was buying a round or claiming the floor at a Rotary meeting.

“You'd think they'd bring a cup of coffee,” he said. “Bloody place costs enough. It wouldn't kill them.”

I sped silently the rest of the way, and the first he knew was when I blatted the door wide open with my fist and made for him.

“Don't you dare swear in front of him,” I said. “And don't you dare find fault with these people who've cared for him his whole life. And don't you
dare
talk about the cost of it when you don't pay a sou.”

“
A sou
,” said Duggie. He reached a hand out as if showing me off like a object of curiosity, as though he was a tourist guide pointing out a funny little statue somewhere. “Gloria, where do you get your patter? And what makes you think Nick would prefer you slamming around and screeching like a fishwife?”

At long last I turned to the other side of the bed to where he was gesturing at Zöe sitting there. She was wearing another one of her moleskin suits, sage green this time, and had one of her hands over one of Nicky's. She took it away when she saw my eyes flash, put it up to her neck and fiddled with her scarf.

“Gloria, I'm so sorry,” she said. “I wanted to meet him. We thought we'd be here and gone before you got here. I wouldn't have had this happen for the world.”

I had been winding up to unleash a good mouthful, but she took the breath out of me.

“You wanted to meet Nicky?” I looked between her and Duggie, but my eyes came back to her.

“I pestered Dougall,” she said. “Blame me.”

“I can't blame you for him not setting foot here in ten years,” I said, my anger rising again. “Did he tell you that?”

“Men,” she said. “They're not like us. Even the best of them.”

I turned again to see what Duggie would make of being criticised this way. He had two spots of colour high up on his cheeks and his mouth was working as if he was gathering saliva for a spit, but he said nothing.

“Mine was just the same,” Zöe said. “And I learned too late. Mind you, if I'd been less of a battle-axe to him and we'd made it, I wouldn't have met this piece of work here.” She winked at Duggie and got up to go around and tousle his hair. She even dropped a kiss on his head.

I sat down in her chair and took hold of the hand she had let go.

“I'm not a battle-axe,” I said. “I'm just a mother.”

“Oh, I know,” said Zöe. Duggie made a snorting sound and rolled his eyes. “Behave, you,” she told him, tweaking his ear and shaking her head at me. “
I
was, though. When our little one was taken, my husband couldn't do right for doing wrong.”

“Your—” I said.

Even Duggie turned to her with a curious look on his face. “You never told me that,” he said.

“Stillbirth,” said Zöe. “It's not the sort of thing you say on a date, and then the moment passed. But don't worry, Dougall, I'm reformed. Life is short and you've got to see what you've got and hang on hard, I say.” She squeezed him with one arm, a really friendly sort of hug, no clinging, no nuzzling, not the sort of hug Duggie used to wriggle out of when I was married to him and craved a bit of contact. “Now, I'm going to go and get you two some tea. You should just sit here, the three of you.”

We didn't speak for quite a while after she left. Duggie was staring at the floor. I was staring at him. It pains me to say it but, for the first time ever in that room, I wasn't looking at Nicky. And I wasn't thinking about him. I was thinking, miserably, about myself. Hankering and hoping and making Duggie feel trapped and angry, instead of tousling his hair and teasing him.

“You've won the jackpot there,” I said at last. “And I don't think you even paid for a ticket.”

“What are you on about now?” Duggie said.

“Zöe,” I told him. “She's great. She's really lovely.” Then I had to go and spoil it, adding, “and she doesn't seem to mind that you're not.”

“I'm not looking to get sucked into anything.”

“Well, you're an idiot then. Because women like that don't come along every day.”

“You branching out, Glo?” he said, and thinking of something so crude put him in a good mood again. He smirked at me.

“I've got a question for you,” I said. I gave Nicky a wary glance but decided to press on anyway. “It's about the night Mitchell Best died when you were at Eden.” His smile snapped off as if he'd flicked a switch. “Was it you who took the dare to go and sleep all alone in the hallowed place?”

“
Hallowed place
?” said Duggie, sneering again. “You sound like that old bag Naismith.
Hallowed place, bridge of souls
.”

“You know what I mean,” I said. “It
was
you, wasn't it? You weren't there sleeping with the rest of the kids. Did you tell the police that?”

“What are you on about, Gloria?” said Duggie. “Who have you been talking to?”

I considered the question. I'd have to tell him something or he might guess that I was in touch with Stig. “Jo-jo Jameson's sister told me,” I said. “I know her, and it came up because of the news about April Cowan and Stig Tarrant. She told me what Jo-jo said about that night. That you were showing off, blustering on about not being scared.”

“God, Jo-jo Jameson!” Duggie said. “How's he these days? Bungee jumping in Oz? Climbing Kilimanjaro? He was a complete nutter when I knew him. Unless that posh school turned him into a ponce. Probably, eh?”

“He's dead,” I said. “He died crossing another ‘bridge of souls.' Devil's Bridge, I think it was called, actually. You never volunteered to do that, did you? Just to spend an hour in the safest place for miles around.”

“Safe?” said Duggie. “For God's sake, Gloria, you sound as if you believe it.
Wooo-woooo.”
He waved his hands like a ghost, mocking me. “The rest of them were giving themselves cheapies going on about it, so I thought somebody should show them what it meant to have a pair.”

“You are so unremittingly crude, Duggie,” I said. “And cruel too. You went to a sanctuary and left the rest of them out where the devil could get them.”

He was staring at me. “Have you any idea how completely doo-lally you sound? You should get checked out before you end up in here with his lot.” He pointed at Nicky as he spoke, gestured to him with one hand, the way you would show which lobster you wanted out of a tank, or the way you would tell someone where the rat was they'd come to kill for you.

I stumbled to my feet. “Why do you do that?” I said “Why pretend to be such a monster? Nobody could really think the things you say.”

“Here we go,” said Zöe's voice and she backed into the room, pushing the door open with her bottom and turning to show us a tea tray. She looked from one to the other, took it in in a second. “Oh,” she said. “You having words? Gloria, I'm sorry. I've pushed this too far too fast. Look, we'll shoot off now and let you have your time with him. I'm really sorry you're upset.” Then she glanced at the bed and her face softened. “But I'm not sorry we came.” She put the tray down went over and kissed his head, brushing his hair back just the way I do. Then she stood in front of me for a moment. She didn't hug me or even take my hands. She just stood there and smiled at me as if she was trying to will me to understand her.

I found myself smiling back. I even reached out and brushed her sleeve with my knuckles.

“It's a start,” she said. “I'll see you soon, eh?”

I didn't notice Duggie leaving. I was so sideswiped by the whole thing. He'd had a visitor who wasn't me. He'd been kissed by someone who wanted to meet him and she'd held his hand. Maybe he was going to have a stepmother. Maybe there was going to be someone else who cared about him that I could talk to. Not Duggie, in my daydream of our happy little family re-formed, but Duggie's new wife in a new, messy, modern family. Could I let go of the daydream and hope for that instead now?

“Gloria!” Miss Drumm shouted weakly. “I heard all of that and I've got to talk to you.”

“Back soon, darling,” I said, kissing Nicky's eyes. “It's the railway carriage poem coming up! I won't be long.”

Miss Drumm was in bed again, lying down flatter than she'd been the evening before.

“Are you okay?” I asked, but she shushed me, waving her arm like a policeman directing traffic. “Are you not feeling well?” I whispered to her.

“I'm listening,” she said.

I listened too, but there was nothing to hear. Just Nicky's ventilator, faintly audible through the half-open connecting door, and the sounds of the kitchen away along the offshoot. Different sounds from usual—clattering and clinking as they got ready for dinner, instead of the whoosh of the dishwasher and Tracey singing along to her iPhone as she washed down the floor.

“They've gone,” said Miss Drumm eventually. “Voices are my faces, Gloria, as you know. I never forget one. So I knew who that was right away, in Nicholas's room. But why now? After all these years?”

“New beginnings, Miss Drumm,” I said.

She nodded. “And endings. I'm so tired.”

“I'll leave you.”

“No!” she shouted. Then she dropped her voice and whispered urgently. “I have to speak to you.”

“Don't upset yourself.”

“I let him out, you see. Fool that I am. Stupid woman.”

“Miss Drumm, don't,” I said, trying to soothe her. “I'm sure that's not true.”

“You know nothing of it,” she shot back. “Nothing at all. I should have known better—
did
know better, because I knew what happened the first time. Listen and see if you don't agree.

“It was 1785,” she said, and I had to hold my breath to stop myself from groaning. “It was Midsummer's Eve. And it so happened that a band of merrymakers decided to spend the night in the woods. A night of revelry—dancing and drinking and what my mother used to call rousing the devil. I didn't know how literally she meant that until I was a grown woman and she explained it to me.”

I could imagine. Even the words she was using sounded like a fairy tale: merrymakers and revelry. I could easily imagine Mrs. Drumm regaling her daughter with it and the little girl, her eyes like saucers, drinking it in. But I had other things on my mind and other calls on my time.

“This was before Rough House was built, of course. The stone was still in a clearing in the wood. And the merrymakers lit a fire and danced around it, all in their garlands, and unbeknownst to any of them, they roused him from his slumbers. He heard their music and came to join them, leaving the place he'd been for a hundred years.”

“He left the stone?”

“And as soon as he found himself back in our realm he remembered the debt, still unpaid, and he flew through the woods to his bridge to claim the soul he had been owed for all that time. And the merrymakers, seeing him, stopped their revelry and fled. Three to the hills and three to the dales, three to the trees and three to the meadows. But the last one, all alone, fled to seek sanctuary in the castle beyond the stream.” She paused. “It
was
a castle then, Gloria,” she said in her ordinary voice, and then she continued in the sing-song she had heard at her mother's knee.

“And the devil chased her—oh, yes he did—roaring and gnashing his teeth, sure that tonight he would win the promised soul. But because she looked back at him, she stumbled and fell. One should always turn one's face away from evil, you see, Gloria, but she looked back and was done for. Her foot was caught in a vine and the more she struggled, the faster she was held. And the devil, seeing that she could not free herself and knowing that she would not cross his bridge, flew into rage. He could hear the shouts of the villagers, dogs barking and horns blowing; soon they would recapture him again. And so he devoured her, there in the woods. He ate up every scrap and left not so much as a buckle or a bow for her parents to mourn.”