Ruins (9 page)

Weakened by the heat, Nicholas and Sam staggered into the parched back garden and collapsed onto the grass.

Nicholas wiped the mixture of soot and sweat from his forehead, staring up in horror.

The house was ablaze. Thick black smoke streamed upward, a jagged scar in the coral-coloured sky.

“There was nothing in the house,” he murmured, coughing up cinders. “We looked. There was nothing in there that could’ve done that.”

Sam took out a handkerchief and mopped at his brow.

“Somebody came in after us,” he muttered, folding the grimed handkerchief in half and dabbing his upper lip.

“Who? Who was it?”

Sam was transfixed by the burning ruin.

“If only we knew,” the old man said softly.

Sighing, Nicholas sagged against the grass and listened to the approaching sirens.

CHAPTER FIVE

New Arrivals

“
H
ERE,” SAM SAID, HANDING NICHOLAS HIS
suitcase. It felt like it was stuffed with rocks.

They’d managed to evade the police, rounding the corner just as the first blue and red lights tumbled across the tarmac toward Snelling’s house. Sam had driven them into the centre of town, muttering something about finding a place to stay, and Nicholas had felt too beaten up to argue. He coughed, tasting smoke, and he could still feel the heat against his skin.

Together, they crossed the narrow street. At the end, a sandstone tower craned over the surrounding buildings. The Norman Tower looked like a giant chess piece. Just one of the peculiar, ancient buildings that populated Bury’s older quarters.

Sam led them down an even narrower alleyway that was lined with pretty doorways. The sign read Angel Lane. He stopped halfway down and rapped at a red door. Even his knock sounded exhausted.

After a moment it drew open and a woman appeared.

“Samuel!” she exclaimed.

“Aileen,” Sam said cordially.

Aileen resembled an old dinner lady. Her face was round and jolly. A tissue was crammed under the strap of a slender gold watch and her elbows had all but disappeared into a supple mound of doughy flesh. She wore a long, pleated brown skirt and a short-sleeved blouse, over which a flowery tabard had been fastened. It barely covered her ample bosom.

“What a pleasant surprise!” the woman exclaimed. She primped at her purplish hair in dismay, the flesh under her arms wobbling. “Look at me, I’m a mess. Whatever must you think?”

Nicholas suppressed a smile.

“It’s a pleasure as always, Aileen,” Sam said.

“I wasn’t expecting anybody,” Aileen trilled. “We’re completely empty and nobody called ahead for you. But, my! You’re looking well. Haven’t aged barely a day.” She beamed brightly at the elderly gentleman. The fact that he was covered in ash didn’t seem at all unusual to her.

“Yes,” Sam coughed. He seemed uncomfortable, perhaps because of their appearance. “This is Nicholas,” the old man continued, gesturing at Nicholas.

“And Isabel,” Nicholas added.

The woman’s smile slackened at the sight of the cat on Nicholas’s shoulder. “Ah,” she began. “House pets. Thing is, we don’t normally allow them. Rudy’s friendly as anything when it comes to people, but other cats...”

“We don’t want to cause a problem,” Sam interjected.

Aileen’s gaze softened as it returned to him and she flapped the air with podgy hands. “No bother, no bother. I’m sure we can arrange something.”

The chatter subsided.

“Could we–?” Sam entreated, crooking an elbow at the door.

Aileen threw her hands up again and dabbed delicately at her forehead. “Look at me, blathering on and I’ve not even invited you in. Yes, yes, come in, come in.”

The hallway was busy and dated. The yellowing wallpaper was distractingly fussy and a string of oval-shaped frames lined the walls. A doily-covered table by the door supported an ancient telephone with a dial. Beside that was a framed photo of a tabby cat with a protruding fang. The patterned carpet, paired with the scent of bleach, made Nicholas woozy.

“Come in, come in,” Aileen insisted, leading them through the house. “It’s lucky I cleaned this morning. You should’ve seen the state of the place just yesterday, you’d have called for Aggie and Kim in a moment’s breath.”

For some reason, Nicholas doubted Aileen’s house was ever anything other than spotless.

They passed an equally antiquated living room, where yet more doilies were draped over the backs of every chair, and a steep staircase, then went into the kitchen. Nicholas felt as if he’d stumbled across a set from an old sitcom. Everything was a lurid shade of green. The cupboard doors. The plates fixed to the wall. The bustling wallpaper. The only thing that wasn’t green was the linoleum floor. It was orange.

Nicholas looked at Sam, but the old man didn’t seem to have noticed.

“Just a minute,” Aileen said. She foraged in a drawer and retrieved a rudimentary wooden carving of a woman. It had twigs for hair and cut-stone for eyes.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Aileen asked, turning to them.

“By all means,” Sam said, taking the effigy. He held it for a few seconds and then handed it to Nicholas, whose bemusement must have been clear. Just who was this woman?

“Only a precaution,” Aileen explained brightly. “It screams bloody murder if you’re a bad egg. Can’t be too careful what with everybody coming and going around here. I’m not one for rumours, but better safe than sorry, I always say. Ah, lovely.” She took the totem back and threw it into the drawer. “You’ll be wanting your rooms first. And then I’ll put the kettle on.” She opened a lime green door to what turned out to be a pantry.

“The beds will need making up; it’s been a while,” Aileen quavered as she went inside, talking more to herself than either of her guests. Nicholas noticed she was playing with a set of keys. What was she doing?

Sam followed Aileen into the pantry and beckoned for Nicholas to do the same.

At the back of the storeroom rested a full set of shelves, all of them crammed with food. Tins. Fresh vegetables. Little herb containers. It was as if Aileen was expecting an air raid any moment and she’d be blown if she was going to let any of her guests starve if that happened.

Their host brandished an old key and foraged between the shelves for something. Nicholas saw her flabby arm jiggling, then heard the
click
of a lock. Aileen pushed a shelf and the wall swung inward.

“Didn’t I mention?” Sam said to him, knowing full well that he hadn’t. “Aileen runs a Sentinel safehouse.”

“Safehouse?” Nicholas asked.

“They’re dotted all over the place,” Sam told him. “You can never be too careful. The house itself is a false front for the real house, which resides behind. A quite clever idea, I have to say. Very Dutch. Who’d ever suspect Aileen?”

The old man winked at him.

Aileen had disappeared up a flight of stairs and Nicholas heard her humming to herself animatedly.

“Sentinels and their secret doors,” he muttered, hurrying after Sam.

Upstairs looked like a completely different house. A long, bright landing was broken up by numerous flights of stairs that led off in different directions. They followed the sound of humming and came to a small room that was sparingly furnished, but preferable to the finicky décor downstairs. A single bed with crisp white linen. A beige armchair. A sink.

“Here,” Aileen said to Nicholas, “this’ll be yours. I’ll put Samuel in across the hall.”

She left the room and Sam trudged after her.

Nicholas went to the window. The sun hung over the town and he admired the golden view. They were high up and he could see over row upon row of neat rooftops. An old stone building that looked like a watchtower peeked above them. Nicholas remembered it was the entrance to the Abbey Gardens.

“Looks alright,” he said, “different to how I remember.”

It was strange; Bury resembled a compressed version of Cambridge. Almost like a toy town imitation. The Market Square contained most of the shops, and the cobbles of Abbeygate Street led from there to the Abbey Gardens. It was a small town with quirky lanes and not a single skyscraper, not counting the spire of St Mary’s Church.

As he eyed a flinty shape within the Abbey Gardens, Nicholas felt a pang of… what? Grief? The last time he’d been to Bury, he’d come with his parents. He must have been about seven. The thought unsettled him, reminded him of the loss. The thought that, one day, he’d be without his parents would never have occurred to his seven-year-old self. He wished he could be seven again.

“It’s a park,” he murmured, his eye drawn to the watchtower-like edifice. “They turned the Abbey ruins into a park for kids.”

Isabel hopped onto the windowsill.

“A strange township,” she mused. “Whatever possessed them to turn ruins into a park?”

“People like them,” Nicholas said. “Makes them feel, I don’t know… Part of something, I guess.”

He noticed the cat peering up at him. The depths of her eyes sparkled like gems. Nicholas remembered there was a crystal called ‘tiger’s eye’, and thought the name apt. Then, in a flick of her ears, she was staring out of the window again; had dismissed whatever she’d been thinking.

Nicholas gazed longingly at the freshly-made bed and wanted nothing more than to collapse into it. His stomach grumbled and he decided he’d offer Aileen a hand in putting some of her air raid supplies to good use.

Downstairs, a kettle whistled on the hob and Aileen bustled about, crashing crockery onto the kitchen table and mopping up with a green dishcloth. She even performed a little hop as she went from the table to the sideboard, humming as she went. Nicholas thought of Tabitha, the neighbour who’d looked after him after his parents died. Aileen and Tabitha would probably get along famously.

“I’m sorry about your son,” Sam was saying.

Aileen nodded, busying herself at the counter.

Something had happened to Aileen’s son? When the landlady offered no further response, Sam lowered himself into a chair at the kitchen table. Nicholas noticed that the top button of his shirt was undone. It struck him immediately because to Sam, unbuttoned shirts were for youths and tramps. It was hot in here, though. The temperature seemed to have risen again and Nicholas felt weak with the heat.

As he joined Sam at the table, he caught movement out the corner of his eye. An immense shag of tabby fur unfurled in a basket on the windowsill. A squashed, fanged face surveyed them. It was the ugliest cat Nicholas had ever seen.

When the creature spotted Isabel, who was sitting by the pantry, it emitted a bleak hiss.

“Rudy, stop that,” Aileen said in a horrified whisper. “Excuse him, thinks he’s king of his own castle.”

“I was just informing Aileen of the reason for our visit,” Sam told Nicholas, ignoring the cats.

“Never heard of a Snelling,” the landlady contributed from the hob. The kettle sang and she plucked it from its perch, pouring their tea. “I know most names in Bury, but that’s a new one.”

She eased herself into her chair. Her bosom rested on the tabletop as she daintily stirred her brew.

“No,” she mused. “Definitely never been a Snelling around here.”

“We’re not sure if that was his real name,” Sam explained. “But there’s definitely a house here owned by a Snelling.” He gave Nicholas a wary look. “Or, at least, there used to be.”

A bang resounded as the front door slammed. Nicholas and Sam both jumped.

“Dawn?” Aileen called to the ceiling. “Dawn is that you? Come and say hello!”

A shadow appeared on the wall in the hallway. Large and long. Nicholas just caught sight of a purple-clad elbow before the shadow disappeared and he heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. Whoever it was had gone upstairs – not to the hidden safehouse through the pantry, but to the first floor of Aileen’s garish home.

“Dawn!” Aileen called again, an edge of annoyance in her voice. “We have company!”

A door slammed upstairs.

“She’s not been the same since...” Aileen murmured apologetically, sharing a look with Sam. She seized her tea cup and sipped through pursed lips that, now Nicholas thought of it, seemed to have acquired a fresh application of rouge since Aileen left them to their rooms.

Recomposing herself, the landlady added: “What’s this Snelling got to do with anything?”

“We’ve yet to find that out,” Sam said. “Harvester, perhaps.”

Aileen sucked in a breath as if he’d sworn.

“You’ve heard about the school,” she said.

“School?” Sam ventured.

Aileen was on her feet again. She went to the recycling box by the back door and fished out a newspaper.
The Bury Free Press
.

“It was a couple of days ago. Made the front page. Terrible business.” She slapped the paper down in front of them.

SCHOOL MASSACRE HORROR.

Nicholas craned across the table to get a better look.