The Woman in Black (8 page)

Eve moved gingerly towards him. ‘Edward?’ she said quietly.

He didn’t look up, just went on playing with his toy.

‘Edward, are you all right?’

She got no response. It seemed as if he hadn’t even heard her.

She knelt down beside him, gave him her hand. He took it, and as she straightened up he rose with her. She looked at what he was holding. It was an old Mr Punch puppet, his red tunic now mottled black, his gold braid hanging loose. Eve could still make out the features of his wooden face: eyes bright and blue, smile vivid, cheeks and hooked nose and pointed chin still red.

Edward allowed her to lead him out of the room, clutching Mr Punch tightly in his other hand.

As she left, Eve, frowning, noticed the state of the walls. The house seemed to be deteriorating by the hour. But she didn’t have time to dwell on that.

She led Edward from the room, and closed the door firmly behind her.

Lunch was a sombre affair.

In the dining room, Tom and James were kept apart from the other children, going hungry. They sat at a separate table writing out lines as punishment, under Jean’s watchful gaze.

I must not bully the other children.

I must not bully the other children.

I must not …

The others knew exactly what had happened and, just as they had regarded Edward the previous day, were studying the two transgressors with similar fascination.

Eve sat next to Edward. She was worried that his experiences at the hands of Tom – and, she thought reluctantly, James – would have made him even
more withdrawn. But the opposite seemed to have happened. He wasn’t the boy he had been before he lost his mother, but he seemed, in his own mute way, to be unscathed by his ordeal.

However, he still wouldn’t let go of Mr Punch.

‘Where did you get that, Edward?’ she asked him. There was something about the toy she didn’t like. It made her uneasy, but she couldn’t express why. It felt as if a small piece of that sad room had detached itself and latched on to Edward.

He didn’t reply. Just finished his lunch, his focus all the time on the toy.

Eve continued. ‘I saw some like that in the cellar. There was an old puppet theatre down there, too. Did you go down there to get it?’

He shook his head.

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to conspiratorial level. ‘You won’t be in trouble if you did. I just want you to tell me how you came by it.’

Edward didn’t respond. Encouraging him further, she placed her hand on his arm to comfort him. He briefly leaned into her, which she found reassuring, but he didn’t let go of Mr Punch.

There was a knock at the front door.

‘Get the door, please, Miss Parkins.’

Eve nodded and stood up. As she left the room she was aware of Jean, behind her, going to the
window. Eve almost smiled. She wouldn’t answer the door herself, but she wouldn’t want to miss who was there.

What Eve didn’t see was Edward. He waited until both the adults were otherwise distracted then crossed over to the table at which Tom and James were sitting. James looked anywhere but at his former friend.

Edward stood over Tom and handed him a note.

Give me back my drawing.

Tom put down his pencil, a nasty smile spanning his features. He shook his head.

Joyce saw what was happening and came over. She took in the note, along with Tom’s reaction. ‘Give it back,’ she said, ‘or I’ll tell.’

Tom lunged forward, face an angry mask. ‘I’ll rip it.’

Joyce and Edward jumped back.

Eve knew nothing of this. She opened the front door, expecting Jim Rhodes, and found Harry instead. He was smiling, bundled inside his greatcoat, rubbing his hands together in the cold.

‘Thought I’d come and check up on you. See how you’re getting on.’ Then, quickly added, ‘All of you, I mean.’

He saw a face at the window. Jean was watching him through the glass. ‘Is this a bad time?’

Eve followed his gaze and Jean retreated. She smiled. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not at all.’

They both stood there, unmoving. He looked even more handsome in daylight, Eve thought, then chastised herself for thinking such a thing.

‘Listen,’ said Harry, ‘I’m not a fan of pneumonia …’

Eve laughed and invited him in.

Not wanting Jean to accuse her of anything untoward, Eve continued her duties while talking to Harry. She was in the children’s dormitory, making their beds. Harry was standing in front of a heater, still trying to get warm.

‘Would you like a hand?’ he asked.

Eve smiled. ‘Thank you.’

He took off his greatcoat and joined her, tucking in, folding and pulling the sheets tight. ‘Should be used to this by now,’ he said.

‘Indeed you should.’

Harry glanced at the door and dropped his voice. ‘How’s Sergeant Battleaxe?’

Eve looked round nervously. ‘Be quiet, she’ll hear. And it’s Brigadier, not Sergeant. Well, wife of, anyway.’

Harry gave a mock shrug. ‘I’m not scared.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Although she does outrank me …’

Eve laughed, and it felt like the most relaxing thing she had done since she had left London.

Harry, smiling, picked up a book from a bedside table, looked at the cover. It was a romance novel,
I’ll Be With You
, by Frances Braybrooke. He waved it at Eve. ‘This hers? Bet it is. Tough on the outside, but deep down …’ He shook his head.

Eve reddened slightly. ‘Actually, it’s mine. I left it in here by mistake.’

‘Oh.’ Harry carefully replaced it as if it were suddenly hot. He looked sheepish.

‘Helps me take my mind off things,’ she said, to make him feel better. ‘Do you read?’

Harry shrugged. ‘Manuals. You know, that kind of thing. Not too keen on stories.’

Eve smiled. ‘Everyone likes stories.’

They had stopped working on the beds.

‘So what’s yours?’ asked Harry.

Eve bent down, plumped up a pillow, avoiding his eyes. ‘Thought you weren’t keen,’ she said.

Harry shrugged again. ‘Try me.’

She stopped playing with the pillow, and gestured round the room. ‘What about this house?’ she said, deflecting his question. ‘I’m sure there’s an interesting story here.’

‘Of rising damp, maybe.’

Eve bit her lip, her expression suddenly serious. ‘I found a load of old things in the cellar last night.’

Harry laughed. ‘Old things? In a cellar? Fancy that …’

Eve didn’t smile. ‘I think something bad happened here.’

Harry looked round. ‘Well, the wallpaper’s pretty ghastly …’

‘I’m serious.’ She threw a pillow at him. Surprised, he caught it. ‘There’s something about this place. It feels …’ She thought of the old nursery, of Edward’s newly discovered toy. ‘Sad, or angry. Maybe both. I don’t know …’

Harry rubbed his hands together, his eyes twinkling. ‘Psychic powers, eh?’ He crossed over to her and put the pillow down. ‘Then tell me what I’m thinking …’

He gently placed two fingers on her brow. They were cool, but Eve enjoyed the touch. Hamming it up, he made a show of acting like a stage mesmerist, contorting his face as if in pain, waving his other hand around. Then he mouthed a sentence at her: ‘Where are you from?’

Eve laughed. ‘Croydon.’

He jumped back. ‘Amazing! Again.’ He replaced his fingers on her brow, laughing. And now?’ His
expression was slightly more serious. He didn’t mouth anything this time.

But Eve wasn’t ready to be serious with him. Not just yet. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ she asked, smiling.

‘Wrong answer.’

She thought some more. ‘Oh, I don’t know. You’ll have to tell me.’

‘What’s behind that smile?’ he said, looking at her thoughtfully.

Eve shook her head. ‘Not that one again.’

‘Like a broken record, me.’ His laughter trailed away and his fingers dropped.

Eve suddenly realised just how close he was to her. His eyes were locked on to hers. ‘It’s just … my way,’ she said. ‘How I cope.’

‘With the war?’ He seemed to have moved even closer.

‘With everything.’

She could feel his breath on her cheek, smell his aftershave. His eyes never left hers.

‘Eve?’

She started, turned quickly. Jean was standing in the doorway. For how long, Eve had no idea.

Jean gave a brittle smile. ‘I think it’s time we had afternoon lessons, don’t you?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Eve, smoothing down the front of her dress, even though it wasn’t creased.

Jean gave a curt nod. ‘Good day, Captain.’ She turned and left the room, stopping to ring the bell to summon the children.

Eve and Harry looked at each other and, the moment broken, laughed.

‘I feel like one of her pupils,’ said Harry. ‘A naughty one.’

Eve laughed once more.

‘Is that your work face again?’ he asked.

She kept smiling, kept looking into his eyes.

‘Perhaps this one’s real,’ she said.

The cold wind sent ripples through the water on either side of the Nine Lives Causeway. It built up into white peaks, lapped and landed at the sides of the road, fizzling away to nothing. Retracting, ready to encroach once more.

Harry’s hands shook as he gripped hard on the wheel of his Jeep. He stared resolutely ahead as he drove, not allowing himself to be distracted by what was happening on either side of the vehicle. He hated the water. The sound of it built in his imagination. It was loud, almost deafening, a noise too great for the size of waves, amplified in his head until the rhythm of the waves became the rhythm of his breathing, his pulse. Roiling and crashing. Breath coming in increasingly ragged gasps, he couldn’t cross the causeway quickly enough.

Then he heard something else on the wind, over and above the deafening sounds of the water. Faint and subtle, but unmistakable. A scream. Then another. A cry for help. Then nothing, the water claiming the voice, dragging it down.

Drowning it.

Harry stopped the Jeep and removed his shaking hands from the wheel. He tried to block out the sounds of the water, the echoing, fading screams that he still heard inside his head. He screwed his eyes tight shut, grimaced and, feeling the familiar impotence of rage and fear building within him once more, hit the steering wheel hard. Again and again, until, exhausted, he sat still, breathing heavily, trying to regain some kind of calm.

He rubbed his eyes, looked round. Listened. The drowning screams had disappeared. Harry wondered if he had actually heard them, or if they were just the screams he carried with him, inside his head.

He started the Jeep up once more, and drove for dry land as fast as he could.

Behind him, snow started to fall.

Eve shut the front door, turning the key firmly in the lock. Outside was cold, snow falling. Inside wasn’t much warmer.

She was thinking of Harry’s visit. She liked him. He was a charming, handsome young man. But she believed there was more to him than that. He seemed to carry something around with him, some melancholic air, some pain. He hid it well, and it wasn’t visible to all. Only those who recognised something similar in themselves, Eve thought. A kindred spirit. And he seemed interested in her, too.

Smiling, she made her way down the hallway but came to an abrupt halt as a floorboard creaked beneath her foot. She placed her weight on it again.
The board bent out of shape. It was black and rotten with a large hole in the centre. Dangerous, she thought, a job for Jim Rhodes when he came back. Or Harry. She smiled once more at the thought of him.

She knelt down to examine it. Then fell backwards in shock.

A pair of eyes. Shining with dark malevolence in a white face. Staring up at her through the floorboards.

Her heart racing, she knelt forward and looked through the hole.

There was no one there.

Eve stood up, looked round. There was no one else about. She headed to the kitchen and opened the door. And there was Jean sitting at the table, rubbing her ankles. She looked up as Eve entered.

‘Kettle’s just boiled,’ she said, nodding to the cup of tea before her.

Eve stared at her. ‘Were you just in the cellar?’

‘A few minutes ago,’ said Jean, finishing her ankle massage and sipping her tea. ‘Not very pleasant, is it? Stinks to high heaven.’

Eve glanced at the door, then at Jean and the cup of tea in front of her, steam rising from it. Could it have been Jean she had seen through the
floorboards? Could she have made it back up in the time it took Eve to get from the hallway to the kitchen? And put the kettle on?

‘Have some tea,’ said Jean.

Eve snapped out of her trance. ‘Tea. Yes. Tea.’

Is something happening to me?
thought Eve.
Am I going mad? Last night and now this?
She took a cup down from the cupboard, poured herself some tea from the pot.

A hallucination
, she thought.
That’s what it was. Like last night. Yes. A hallucination.

She sat down at the table with her tea.
Don’t think about it
, she told herself,
talk about something else.

‘Was … your husband called up when the war started?’ Eve asked, then immediately regretted it. Eve knew from experience that Jean didn’t take kindly to questions about her personal life.

But to Eve’s surprise, Jean smiled. ‘No,’ she said. ‘We’ve been in the services our whole lives. Our two boys, too.’

Eve leaned forward, responding to this new-found warmth. ‘Do you have any photos?’

The shutters came back down. ‘I know what they look like.’

Eve put the cup to her lips, took a drink and, refreshed, tried again. ‘Where are they?’ she asked, quietly.

Jean took a sip of tea. As she swallowed the liquid, she seemed to relax a little more. ‘One’s in Africa, the other in France. My husband is in France, too.’ She looked away from Eve, took another mouthful.

‘Do you …’

Jean turned back to her. ‘I try not to think about them. They’re not here. If I started wondering, then … who knows where my mind would lead me?’

She looked away once more, but Eve had seen the glitter in the corners of Jean’s eyes. She thought again of Jim Rhodes’s words and didn’t press her further.