(I haven’t finished the final part of “Rosalyn and the Origins” yet, so I thought I’d put this up as a stopgap.)

*

Autumn 2006

Octavia Lambton’s parents had been an actor and a society hostess, but they’d periodically declared themselves experts in other career paths, too.  Whenever somebody annoyed them, Robert and Josette Lambton would make much of their connections in that person’s field, be it catering, charity, politics, teaching, or anything else.  You name it, they knew somebody with power over it.  “They wouldn’t give you the time of day,” they’d say, “In fact, I rather think they’d call security.”

It had been overwhelming to think of their power.  No matter what you chose to do in life, they could ruin you with a single word in the right place.  It would have been impossible to stand against them.  All you could do was try to stay invisible and hope that they attacked someone else instead.

Octavia must have been around thirteen or fourteen when she first noticed the looks people sometimes gave her parents.  People rolling their eyes when they talked, and stifling giggles when they turned their backs.  It took a while to work out what that meant, and a lot longer to believe it, but as soon as she did, it felt as if the whole world had been turned upside-down.

She’d learned a lot more over the years.  When she was younger, she’d worked admin in a few prominent corporate firms, where she noticed that people tended to waffle a lot about “brand loyalty” and “customer-centric strategies” when they didn’t really know what was going on.  Later on, she’d branched out into her mother’s old line of work, except Octavia actually got people to pay for it.  Goldemar Event Planning, book us and watch your party stock rise.  You wouldn’t have thought that people would fall so easily for the ‘I’ve heard so much about how extravagant and tasteful you are’ approach, but they did, and in huge numbers.  Deep down, nobody knew what they were doing.  And they were all terrified of getting caught.

It was Goldemar Event Planning that had led her to Tamsin Doggett’s door.  Octavia knew, logically, that Tamsin was probably somewhere in her mid-twenties, but between the nervous smile, the weird little lisp, and the way she was flicking her hair around, she could have been mistaken for thirteen.

“I knew it had to be you,” she told Octavia, sitting opposite her in her cramped living room, “Isaac was just telling me how he worked for your brother last year, and then I saw an ad for your company in the paper.  It was like fate.”

Octavia grinned.  “I love it when these things come together.”  Tamsin, this is a bad idea.

Tamsin sat up straight, and seemed to narrow her body as she did it, bringing her knees and wrists closer together like a book closing.  “It’s going to be a vow renewal ceremony.  We’ve been through so much, and I want us to take a moment to celebrate what we mean to each other.”

“Sounds lovely.”  Tamsin, I’m not the person you want for this.  “What time of year were you thinking?”

“Definitely summer.  I know you’ve got to plan.  And who wants to renew their vows when the weather’s miserable?”  She gave a snuffly little laugh.

“Oh, there’s ways to plan around it… but if summer’s what you want, I’d go for July.  Just after term ends.”  Tamsin, I only started this business to fleece horrible rich people, and you’re not rich and barely horrible at all.  Reconsider this.  “That way, any parents you invite can just bring their kids along instead of having to dither for weeks about schedules.”

“That sounds amazing,” said Tamsin, stretching out that last word as far as it would go.  “I’m thinking of a fairy tale theme- children will love that.  So I want them to be there.”

Octavia clasped her hands together.  “Tamsin?  If it’s not a rude question… what made you want to hire an event planner in the first place?  You know what you want, and you’ve got plenty of ideas already…”

It took Tamsin a moment or two to answer.  “I want this party to be special.”  She shrugged.  “And I don’t know how any of these things work.”

Octavia smiled, and leaned forward.  “Let me let you in on a secret, Tamsin- deep down, nobody knows how anything works.  You probably have just as much of an idea as me.”

Tamsin laughed.  “Then can you give me a discount?  Mates’ rates?”

Ah well.  She’d been as honest as she could.  “I don’t see why not.”

(To be continued)

Denny heard the mattress army marching up towards him, and settled into listening to it before he was even fully awake.  It felt right.  As long as he was here, listening to them, he knew he wasn’t causing any trouble.

But then there was another noise.  Little, scurrying steps from up above him.  A duck?  A squirrel?  Denny listened to the steps and tried to work it out.  Ducks didn’t run that fast, did they?  If they wanted to move fast, they flew.  At least, that’s what he assumed.

He got up, opened the window and tilted his head so he cold see up onto the roof.  Maybe if they came back this way, he’d be able to see what they were.

*

(From “On the Trail of Kelpie and Silkie” by Rosalyn Pepper, published 2012)

The story Judith had told us somehow found its way into my thoughts about Kelpie and Silkie.  The two little girls hearing voices from the fireplace and seeing their mother’s leg hanging down from the chimney.  It made me think of another story I’d read, about the man who’d promised his daughter to the water spirits, only to have her stab herself to death before he could hand her over.  There’s a common theme there, of fathers selling out their daughters for their own benefit.  The whole thing made me think of Bernard French again.

(It also made me think of something Natalie had told me, about fathers in America who took their daughters to “purity balls” where they dressed in white and pledged to stay virgins until marriage.  That whole tradition of parents treating their children like property.)

According to the story, when the girl stabbed herself, her blood turned all the waterlilies in the area red.  I hadn’t had a chance to check the plants around this lake yet.

*

They’d started watching a film over breakfast, and now they were engrossed.  It was one of those corny American films they showed on TV sometimes, where there was always a big game tomorrow and gentle wind instruments swelled whenever two characters had a heart-to-heart.  This was the first holiday Judith had been on without family, but they were all settling into the same routines as usual.  It was as if nothing was different.

There had been a time- not long after they’d gone to live with their uncle- when Judith wouldn’t have dreamt of spending a night away from her sister.  She’d been anxious when Harriet so much as stayed out late on an evening.  It had taken a while to break her out of that mindset, but at least Harriet had been understanding.  She hadn’t liked to be away from Judith for too long, either.

Harriet had moved up to Cambridge last winter.  It had been a bit of a wrench, but it had to be done.  They couldn’t spend the rest of their lives in each other’s pockets.

Judith reached out and put her arm around Rosalyn’s shoulders, and felt Rosalyn reach up and hold it in place.

*

(From “On the Trail of Kelpie and Silkie” by Rosalyn Pepper, published 2012)

Two weeks into our stay, I found something interesting.  While I was looking through the newspaper archives in the library, I found Bernard French (October 1993- ‘Questions raised over local man’s drowning death’) and Alison Winters (August 1972- ‘Girl killed in lake tragedy’).  But while I was trying to track down Siobhan McCluskey, I came across an editorial.  It was from March 1958 (a month after Siobhan’s death, as it turned out), and the title was “Elm Gates Staff should clean their own house before lambasting others.”

_{For five years, this community has lived with the knowledge that criminals were being housed within a few miles of our homes.  Despite this, we did not grumble.  We continued to live our lives, as honest and unafraid as we had before.  Some local businesses even offered work-placement schemes, giving dozens of troubled girls the opportunity to pay their debt to society.}

_{And how has the Elm Gates Reform School thanked us for our kindness?  With accusations, threats and bitterness.}

_{The staff at Elm Gates would do well to remember that their residents are in their care because they have stolen, lied, cheated and even attempted to kill their fellow human beings.  They are there because society has given up on them.  If somebody is generous enough to offer them a second chance, one would think that their reaction would be one of sheer gratitude.  Clearly, though, this is too much to expect.}

The article was credited to a reporter named Raymond Underhill.  I looked through the rest of the issues that month, and I couldn’t find any indication of what he was talking about.  There was no other mention of Elm Gates Reform School.

I also didn’t have any evidence that this was connected to Siobhan McCluskey.  But I couldn’t help wondering.

*

“It reminded me of a few things Pinder used to say to me,” Denny told Judith.  They were walking by the banks of the lake- after spending so long hearing stories about it, it seemed high time they actually took a look at the damn thing.  “You know- ‘How dare you complain?  How dare you be ungrateful?  Don’t you know you’re lower than dirt?’”

Judith nodded.  “And what sort of things were you complaining about?”

Denny shrugged.  “Not being fed.  Having to sleep on the floor when everyone else at least got a mattress.”  He gave a harsh laugh.  “Apparently I should have been grateful for being taught a lesson.”

Judith nodded.  It was alarming to hear his voice so full of anger- so full it practically shook with it- but she knew it helped to talk about it.  Denny needed to be brought out of himself.

The lake looked pleasant, cool and calm under the oppressive August sun, but it was hard to trust it after everything they’d heard.  Maybe it hadn’t finished giving up its dead.  Still, Rosalyn was like a dog with a done, checking every plant and every piece of litter floating in the shallows as if it might be a vital clue.  She glowed with purpose.  It was impossible not to admire her.

There wasn’t much information about the Elm Gates Reform School online- just that it had existed, and done so from 1953 to 1962.  Rosalyn hadn’t let that put her off.  If they didn’t find anything here, their next move would be to try and track down the man who’d written that article.

“Do they know whether Pinder will be put on trial yet?” Judith asked Denny.

“No-one’s said anything.  I don’t think they can work out what to charge him with.”  He looked sideways at the bright, silvery water, a couple of feet away.  “No-one’s mentioned the bombs.”

“Are you going to?”

“No.  That’d get Alex in trouble.  That’s the last thing he needs, on top of everything else.”

Judith didn’t like it much, but she accepted Denny’s logic.  “What about everything he did to you?”

Denny laughed.  “I don’t know if any of that even counts as a crime.”

“Well, if it doesn’t, it should.”  Judith looked at Rosalyn, a few yards ahead of her on the path, and felt something loosen in her chest.  It felt like putting a burden down at the end of the day.

They’d been staying in the same house for two weeks now.  If Judith was a man, she’d call it “being a gentleman.”  Deep down, she wondered if she was just too scared to say anything.

(To be concluded)

They did start with a candle.  There was a little tealight in the idle of the picnic table on the patio, and after they’d cleared away their dinner things, they lit it and got out the marshmallows. 

They’d been the last customers in the chip shop before it closed.  By the time their food was halfway done, the staff had already begun to stack the chairs and turn off the machines.

“They used to say that there was something evil in the air at night,” said Denny, “I don’t know the details, but they thought night air was different from day air, somehow.  There was something corrupting in it.”

Rosalyn nodded.  “Night air definitely smells different to day air.  It’s sharper.  I don’t know how else to describe it.”           

“Things cooling down, I think,” said Judith, turning her marshmallow around on the end of a cocktail stick, “After the sun’s gone.”

The moon was full, or nearly there.  It shone through the trees and onto the stream nearby, giving everything a silver tint.  There weren’t any electric lights here, except the ones in the cottage, so the stars looked close enough to touch.

“I saw an advert for a bat walk, while we were in town,” said Judith, “I wonder if we’ll see any out here?”  She looked backwards at the trees, scrutinising them for any wildlife.

The moonlight shone through the trees, lighting up occasional bits of bark and branch, but beyond that, it was dark.  It was the huge, black forest you read about in fairy tales, hiding all manner of wolves, witches and trolls.  Hiding all manner of crimes.  Enter it and you might never come out at all.

“Do you know any good ghost stories?” Rosalyn asked Judith.  It seemed like the night for them.

“Hmm.  Ghost stories around the campfire?”  An angular smile appeared on Judith’s face.  “They used to tell a lot of them at school, but I expect you’ve heard most of them…”  She made a humming sound.  “What about the story of the chimney?”

Rosalyn shook her head.  “I don’t know that one.”

“Me neither,” said Denny.

“Well,” said Judith, “Once upon a time, a man married his daughter off to his apprentice.  He wouldn’t have been her first choice, but her father insisted.”  She held the cocktail stick between her hands, as if she was trying to decide what to do with it.  “The apprentice then spent his life navigating between what the father wanted and what the daughter wanted.  They were both strong-willed people- stronger-willed than him, anyway- and they rarely agreed with each other.  The apprentice was constantly on the wrong side of one or the other.  And that was probably why he was so receptive when the father began to drip poison into his ear.”

The woods were quiet.  A rustle here and there, but that was it- nocturnal animals didn’t seem to make as much noise as diurnal ones.  Or maybe they just had enough sense to avoid humans.

“The father told him there was something wrong with his daughter.  It wasn’t natural for a woman to be so angry all the time.  It wasn’t natural for her to take such glee in causing strife for her husband and children.  He suspected she was under a curse, or maybe even possessed by an evil spirit.  And his apprentice looked at him with wide eyes, and he asked what they should do.”

*

(From ‘On the Trail of Kelpie and Silkie’ by Rosalyn Pepper, published 2012)

There are other supernatural creatures associated with the water.  For instance, there are the rusalki (plural of ‘rusalka’), which sounds enough like ‘silkie’ to get my attention.  These are the vengeful spirits of abused or jilted women who drown themselves in Norwegian lakes.  Maybe in the Coney Park lake, too, if the man in the antique shop was to be believed.

There are sirens, who lure sailors to their doom.  There’s Peg Powler, who drags children into the river, and the shellycoat, which tricks people into getting lost.  There are the grindylows, which might be related to Grendel from Beowulf, and the nixies, who will teach you to play the violin if you drop three drops of blood into their pond.

June Shepherd, at the tourist information centre, said that there had been three people drowned in the lake within the last hundred years.  Siobhan McCluskey in 1958, Alison Winters in 1972, and Bernard French in 1993.

Alison Winters’ case was more straightforward than the other two, just because there were so many witnesses.  She and some friends were on a rowing boar, and they went out further than they were supposed to.  Somehow, the boat overbalanced and tipped everyone into the water.  Luckily there were people on hand to go and rescue them, but Alison hit her head on the side of the boat as it tipped over, and she was knocked unconscious and trapped underwater.  By the time the rescuers got to her, it was too late.

Siobhan McCluskey was ruled a suicide.  By all accounts, she was a lonely young woman, new to the town, who had no friends or family that anybody knew of.  She’d been seen walking along the banks of the lake for several nights before her body was found.  Apparently she’d lost her job in a haberdashery a few weeks previously.  I couldn’t help but think about the man in the antiques shop again.

Bernard French was the most recent, and the most complicated.  Neighbours said he’d been having violent arguments with his wife and teenage daughter for weeks beforehand.  They finally moved out of town on the morning before his body was found, and were never seen again.  Which would suggest another suicide, if not for the fact that, according to pathologists, Bernard’s body had been in the lake for more than twenty-four hours when it was found.

As I said, Bernard French’s wife and daughter were never seen again.  They were sought for questioning, but they’d completely vanished.  Apparently, one of the things they’d argued about was a boy the daughter had been seen with, but no-one was able to track him down, either.

Maybe it was a suicide.  Maybe the people who said they’d seen Bernard’s wife and daughter leave were mistaken, and Bernard just weighed their bodies down a lot more completely than he did his own.  But maybe not.  Maybe they’re still around.

*

In the woods, about twenty minutes’ walk from their cottage, there was a little wooden bridge.  It was in a neatly-carved semicircle over the stream, like an illustration in a children’s book.

“Did you ever play Pooh Sticks when you were a kid?” asked Rosalyn, looking over the side.

Denny shrugged.  “I suppose I must have done.  I don’t really remember doing it, though.”

“My dad would get my brother and me to play it whenever we went to Chelmsford.”  She let go of the railing and caught up with him.  “The trouble was, the bridge was too high for us to be able to tell the sticks apart when they came out the other side, so Dad always said he’d won, and we could never prove he hadn’t.” 

Denny had been quite young when his father had died, but he managed to summon up a memory or two.  “My dad used to quiz me on the Kings and Queens of England since 1066.  I can still manage Henry the Seventh to George the Fourth, but anything before or after that is a bit hazy.”  He looked around at the trees and bushes around the path.  A few days ago, they’d seen a monkjack bounce across the path in front of them, and there was always the hope that they’d see one again.

It was a hot summer day, the kind where your clothes got damp after two minutes of walking, and it was a relief to have the trees around casting shadows for miles around.  Rosalyn had heard there was a café around the edges of the wood, somewhere they could have cold drinks on the benches outside.  No matter what they did, there would be a voice in Denny’s head telling him that it was just a pointless distraction from unpleasant truths, but sometimes he ended up enjoying himself anyway. 

Judith was wearing a skirt that looked as if it had been made out of a massive sail.  Every time a breeze blew, it fluttered in the wind and seemed to grow bigger and bigger.  “My uncle used to make us memorise poetry.  I have no idea why.”

Rosalyn slowed down and nodded backwards.  “Do you want to go back to the stream and dip our feet in for a bit?”

Denny thought about it.  “Is it alright if we do that on the way back?  I’m looking forward to getting to this café.”

“Fair enough,” said Rosalyn.  She kicked a pebble a little way up the road.  She was wearing neat brown shoes that looked as if they were made out of leather straps, a sort of cross between sandals and ballet flats. The toes didn’t look as if they’d provide much protection if one of the pebbles turned out to be bigger than expected.  “Wait, can you hear that?”

Denny listened out.  Somewhere in the distance, there was music playing.  Three, six, nine, the goose drank wine… 

“That’ll be the café, won’t it?” he asked.

“Probably, yeah.  Which way is it coming from?”

Denny had a mental image of them getting hold of a dowsing stick and following it in the direction of the music.  Instead, he just listened for a bit, and pointed vaguely northwest.  “Over there, I think.”

(To be continued)

August 2006

“When I was younger, nine or ten, maybe,” said Rosalyn, “I used to imagine living in a place like this and setting up…  I don’t know.  A kind of extended country park thing.  Complete with theme park rides and zoo animals.”

Denny nodded.  It was getting on for midnight, and the three of them- him, Rosalyn and Judith- were lying across the twin sofas in the living room, drinking hot chocolate and talking about nothing in particular.  To Denny’s right, there were two big, red curtains drawn across the French doors, keeping out the forest.  “Like in Chessington?”

“No,” said Rosalyn, frowning in concentration, “The point was, it would mostly be a wood.  Just, every so often, there’d be a clearing with something interesting in it.” 

“Always something interesting in a wood,” said Judith.  The TV was next to them, completely blank.  No matter how late they stayed up, they never seemed to keep it turned on after about ten.  Maybe it would have felt disrespectful to the owls and bats nearby.

“I used to imagine living in the jungle and leading an army of animals,” said Denny, “I think I settled on sloths, in the end.  They seemed like they’d give me the least trouble.”

Rosalyn laughed.  “Do you want to get some more of those marshmallows?”

“Alright.”  Denny got up and went to the cupboard before Rosalyn or Judith could.  There was such a thing as being gentlemanly.  The kitchen was neatly packed into a corner of the main room, adjacent to the sofas and TV.  When they’d first come here, Denny had assumed they’d mostly be eating takeaway, but it had turned out that they all knew how to cook more things than they thought.  Most of it involved eggs or pasta.

“I still think we could probably get a campfire going out there,” said Rosalyn, nodding towards the French windows, through which (hidden by the curtains), there was a little patio where birds and squirrels sometimes came in search of breadcrumbs. 

“Best not,” said Denny, putting two more marshmallows into her mug.  The packet did say “Cooking Marshmallows,” so it seemed a shame to waste them on hot chocolate, but when it came to campfires, Denny didn’t know what was safe and legal and what wasn’t, and none of them wanted to be responsible for burning down half the forest.  “We could try roasting them over a candle.  Or putting them in the microwave.”

“Yeah,” said Rosalyn noncommittally.  Her voice was almost a yawn.

There were some days here when Denny was almost sorry to go to bed.  Some days you wanted to stretch out as far as they would go.  But at least around here, odds were good that tomorrow would be similar.

*

There were still days when Denny woke up and listened to the army march for hours, because it seemed like the most sensible thing to do.  The closest thing to a place where he actually belonged, instead of awkwardly sticking out, going through the motions and getting in everyone’s way.  The closest thing to feeling solid, and not as if the self he knew was about to dissolve and be replaced by something terrible.

The first day they were here, he’d got Judith and Rosalyn to promise to lock their bedroom doors at night.  If it had been John or Octavia or Alex, they’d have gone into their usual speech about how Denny didn’t have to worry and they always felt safe around him, and then Denny wouldn’t have been able to sleep for fear that they deliberately hadn’t locked it to show how much they trusted him.  But Judith and Rosalyn had just shared a glance, and then Rosalyn nodded and said, “If it makes you feel better.”

When Denny wasn’t listening to the invisible army, they spent a lot of time exploring the woods.  More often, though, they just sat and read.  Denny hadn’t had any trouble concentrating on books since they’d got here- maybe because he didn’t have to keep an ear out in case he was called away to do something else.  He’d read his way through most of the cottage’s bookshelf at this point.  It probably wouldn’t be long before they had to go out and buy some more.  Judith said there was probably a bookshop in town.

Rosalyn, who’d been working on Philosophy coursework almost constantly for two months, could often be drawn into long conversations about religion.  She was particularly interested in the Problem of Evil.  “Some people say that suffering’s a test,” she told him, “But it’s not exactly an even test, is it?  I mean, think about the Queen- she was born with money and power, so she’s had a lot of opportunity to do a whole lot of good and a whole lot of evil, if she wanted.”

“I don’t think the Queen’s done anything evil…” said Denny, a little uncertainly.  It wasn’t as if he was an expert.

“No, no- I just meant she could have done, if she’d wanted to.  She’s able to affect the lives of a lot of people.  And she’s had a long life, so she’s had a lot of time to do it.  Now, compare that to someone who was born on the same day as her, but in a slum.  Or somebody who died of cot death when they were six months old.  The Queen’s definitely had a more… comprehensive test than those people.”  She waved her bookmark in the air.  “So I think, if suffering’s a test, it can’t be a test of individuals.  It’s got to be a test of the species as a whole.”

Judith laughed.  “Do you think we’re going to pass?”

*

(From ‘On the Trail of Kelpie and Silkie’ by Rosalyn Pepper, published 2012)

The graffiti on the railway bridge referred to a woman being forced to marry a man after he stole her sealskin, which is a myth that turns up over and over again across different cultures, most commonly in Scotland.  Silkies (more commonly known as “selkies”) are people who can turn into seals, or possibly seals who can turn into people.  The legend goes that silkies take off their seal-skins so that they can walk about on land, but that one day a young (human) man found the skin of a beautiful female silkie and hid it, so that she couldn’t return to the sea and he could have her as his wife.

So, why didn’t he destroy the skin?  The legend doesn’t say.  Maybe he knew it was her only incentive to come with him, the hope that one day he’d let his guard down and give her enough clues to find it.  And according to the legend, that’s exactly what happened, after about seven years.  She found the skin and went straight back to the sea, leaving behind her kidnapper-husband and their half-silkie children.  You can’t help but wonder how they felt about all this, but the legend doesn’t bother with that, either.

Sometimes there’s a second half to the story, in which fishermen kill the woman’s new silkie husband and children, and she curses the entire island in revenge.  Maybe that would turn out to be relevant to whatever had happened in Coney Park, and maybe it wouldn’t.  Only one way to find out.

*

The first time they’d gone into town, Rosalyn and Judith had told Denny he could wait in the car while they went into the supermarket, but Denny hated that idea.  He wasn’t such a hopeless case that he couldn’t stand going into a shop when he had to.  Even at his worst, he was OK with having other people around.  Especially at his worst.  More people meant more chances for somebody to stop him if a blackout hit.

The supermarket was a cosy, golden-brown place that smelled of baking bread, and every Monday it was the same thing.  They looked at the newspaper headlines (but never actually bought any), then checked the magazine rack to see if there was anything interesting there (Rosalyn liked TotalFilm and NME, and Judith had once surprised him by getting Cosmopolitan), then onto ready meals, then meat and fish, cereal, and so on.  Up one aisle, and down the next.  There was a sort of rhythm.

“We should get one of those food pyramid posters,” said Rosalyn, as they headed to the tills, “I always feel like I’m not eating enough of something.”

“I think you do alright,” said Denny.  The last aisle had a shelf full of stuffed toys, including black panthers and lemurs with soft fur and blue glass eyes.  The first time they’d come here, Rosalyn had exclaimed over how well-made they were, and Denny had felt a pang of fear for her.  The world had a habit of doing awful things to sweet, gentle people who went into raptures over soft toys.  “I think if we got scurvy, we’d notice.”

“Yeah.”  Rosalyn ruffled her own hair.  Denny had never seen anyone else do that.  “I guess I just worry that I’m eating too much cheese.”

“We can eat something else instead, if you like,” said Judith, “If you want a break from it.”

“Yeah.  More rice or something.  Or fish.”  Rosalyn looked up and down the aisle, as if in a daze.  “You know what my brother told me?  He said, the cheaper food is, the more likely it is to make you fat.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it’s got something to do with fats and sugars being cheaper than other things.  So a hundred years ago, the poorest people would have been all skinny and malnourished-looking, but today, the poorest people are more likely to be fat.  And people look down their noses and say, oh, it’s because poor people are lazy, but that’s not why.”

Denny had heard something like this before.  “But that’s only true in First World countries, right?  They probably don’t get many fats and sugars in rural African communities.”

“I guess so.  But what he was saying was, someone can be fat and still really malnourished.”

Denny hoped she wasn’t talking about herself.  She was well-padded and round-cheeked, with arms that looked like rolls of pink dough, and it suited her.  Denny had seen a picture of her from a few years ago, when she’d weighed less, and it had made her look like she was made out of twigs and coathangers.  “Well, we don’t need to worry about that.  We get plenty of vegetables.”

“Yeah,” said Rosalyn.  She sounded genuine, so Denny relaxed.  They joined the queue at the tills.  “Plus all this country air.  That’s got to be good for us.”

Denny thought about Pinder and the others finding him missing and panicking in case he was rampaging around the woods.  Denny thought of himself hiding in the bushes and eating picnickers, and smiled.  The country air wouldn’t have done them much good.

Rosalyn tapped something in the trolley.  “See?  Cooking marshmallows, again.  We’re going to have to build a fire at some point.”

“Let’s start with a candle and work our way up,” said Denny.

*

This week, they didn’t drive home straight after packing the food into the back of the car.  This week, they had a job to do.

Coney Park was little more than a village.  The high street, with the lake at one end and a roundabout at the other, took less than ten minutes for them to walk from end to end.  As far as they could tell, most of the shops, cafes and pubs in town existed in that one little area, and today, Rosalyn intended to go into as many of them as she could, show the picture on her phone to whoever would look at it, and ask them what they thought it was referring to.

She’d been worried that people would tell her to sod off, or shrug their shoulders and say that it was probably somebody’s idea of a joke.  But that wasn’t how it turned out at all.

The elderly man behind the till at the newsagent said, “Well, there were a few cases of people pretending to be drowning as a joke.  Kids, mostly.  Then half the time it would be the person who came to rescue them who ended up drowning instead.  And of course they just got a slap on the wrist for it.  Life’s just not fair.”

“But there was one girl,” said the old lady behind Rosalyn in the queue, “This was years ago…  Some bullies pulled her into the water and threw rocks at her to stop her from getting out.  It was a terrible tragedy.  The bullies were never brought to trial.  They had rich parents, you see, and they made it go away.”

In the dark, cluttered antiques shop next door, the owner said, “Yeah, there was a woman who drowned herself in the lake a few years ago.  Apparently, she’d been having an affair with her boss, and when she told him she was pregnant he gave her the sack and went back to his wife.”  He handed the phone back to Rosalyn.  “But the person you really want to talk to is June Shepherd down at the tourist information centre.  She’s a local historian- she’ll know about this kind of thing.”

A young woman in Oxfam said, a bit uncertainly, “I heard…  It’s a horrible story, really…  There was a woman who left her children in the car while she went to the supermarket, but when she came back, the car was gone, with the children inside.  They found the car a few weeks later, completely burnt out.  But the children were never seen again.  Awful…”

*

(From ‘On the Trail of Kelpie and Silkie’ by Rosalyn Pepper, published 2012)

There were other rumours, too.  A family killed in a storm eighty years ago and rumoured to haunt the banks of the lake.  A woman whose husband suspected her of having an affair and drowned her.  A brutal criminal gang (who chose to operate out of suburban Surrey, for some reason) who’d torture to death anyone who went out on a certain night.  A woman who’d seduce men, then drug and rob them.

And there was nothing on the internet about any of them.

Here’s what I could verify:  Coney Park has existed, as a settlement of one kind or another, since around the 12^th Century.  Historically, its economy was based on fishing and farming, but in the 1950s a number of car and machinery manufacturers set up not far away, and that changed things.  Today, approximately a third of the adults who live in Coney Park commute to London (an hour’s drive, depending on which part of London you mean).  The area is fairly wealthy.  There are five private schools within ten miles- three primary, two secondary.

And that’s it.  I couldn’t find any significant news stories that had taken place in Coney Park.  Nothing about a family killed in a storm, or about two children kidnapped from a supermarket car park, or about school bullies throwing stones and drowning their friend.  If anything sinister had happened in Coney Park over the last eight hundred years, it had gone more-or-less under the radar.

(To Be Continued)

The woman sitting across the aisle had her headphones on.  Beside her, two children- aged about six or seven, it looked like- played with a couple of action figures, making zooming noises as they had them fly around looking for bad guys.

Mariam sat next to Jana, who was holding Helena in her lap.  She hadn’t even brought a pram.  She said she was just going to carry her through town.

One of the children tugged at his mother’s sleeve.  “Mum?  Mum?  When we get off the bus, can we…?”

“Stop.  Shouting.”  The woman said this through gritted teeth.  Jana’s mouth fell open in shock.

“But can we…”

“I said, stop shouting.  I am trying to concentrate.”

After the woman and her children got off the bus Jana whispered, “He wasn’t shouting at all.”

“I know,” said Mariam, “If she thinks talking normally is the same thing as shouting, she’s in for a nasty surprise when he turns thirteen.”

“And what had he done wrong?  Interrupted what she was listening to for a few seconds?”  Jana gazed into Helena’s sleeping face.  “I can’t believe any mother would talk to her child like that.”

Mariam had to squash down a nasty little thought that said, Right, because you’re an expert on all aspects of motherhood.  After less than a month.  “Yeah,” she said instead, “I think she should count herself lucky that her kids are better-behaved than we were.”

*

On the fifth night, Mariam was woken up by angry voices again.

“It’s an investment, alright?  Don’t worry, it’ll go right back in!”

“And when were you planning to tell me this?  That you’d cleaned out our daughter’s account?”

“I think ‘cleaned it out’ is a bit of an exaggeration there, Jana.  There’s still a hundred pounds in there.  Or do you think Helena’s going to blow through that before she’s six months old?”

“Just answer the question!  When were you planning to tell me?”

“Look, whose parents put that money there in the first place?  Mine or yours?”

There was a slammed door, and then a long silence.  Mariam couldn’t do anything else, so she did her best to go back to sleep.

*

The next day, Mariam overheard Philip talking to one of his friends on the phone.  “Yeah, it’s been a rough week.  Lots of little dramas.”  He laughed.  “I mean, put it this way- this isn’t what I pictured when Jana told me her hot college-aged cousin was coming to visit.”

With a shudder of revulsion, Mariam went to find Jana.

*

Mariam’s parents were coming to pick her up tomorrow morning.  One last check of the spare room, to make sure she hadn’t left anything in the corner or under the bed, and she’d go and join Jana in the living room.  Philip was working late, so they wouldn’t have to put up with him this evening.

But Jana ended up coming over to her.  She appeared at the doorway just as Mariam crouched down on the carpet.  “Alright?  Packing done?”

“Just about,” said Mariam.  She stood up so she could talk to her properly.  “Anything good on telly tonight?”

“I don’t know.”  Jana was clutching her right bicep with her left hand, as if it was sore.  “Listen, I talked to your mum on the phone earlier on, and she says that when she takes you back to Bradford tomorrow, me and Helena can come too.”

“What, back to ours?”  Mariam lowered her voice.  “Without Philip?”

“Without Philip.”  Jana brought her other arm up to clutch her other bicep, so that her arms were folded awkwardly across each other.  “You’ve seen how he’s behaved this week.  I thought he’d grown up, but he hasn’t.”

“Wow,” said Mariam, “I’m sorry.”  She actually wasn’t, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

“I could put up with it if it was just me, but this isn’t the kind of environment I want Helena to grow up in.”

And even though Jana had just completely blindsided her, even though she’d just gone a long way towards proving the family’s dire predictions wrong, Mariam’s first instinct was still to lecture her.   “Well, relationships aren’t something you should just ‘put up with,’ even if…”

“No, no.  That came out wrong.  What I meant was, it’s one thing to have a whiny, irresponsible boyfriend when you feel like being whiny and irresponsible yourself, but you expect more from the father of your child.  And he’s just not measuring up.” 

Mariam put an arm around Jana’s shoulder.  “I think you’re doing the right thing.  Not that I’m an expert on the subject.”

Jana sighed.  “None of us are.”

The End

July 2006

Jana’s daughter had been born on the twenty-first of June, so she’d called her Helena.  Originally she’d wanted it to be Titania, but Mariam’s mum had talked her out of it.

“She’s perfect,” said Jana, “Seriously, isn’t she the most beautiful baby you’ve ever seen?  Those eyes…”

“Mm,” said Mariam, feeling a bit guilty because, to her, Helena looked more or less like every other baby she’d ever seen.  She had quite a lot of hair, which probably counted for something.  Maybe Mariam just didn’t have the right maternal instinct.

“She’s like a little sunbeam,” continued Jana, “The best parts of me and Philip, rolled up into one.”

Back at Mariam’s parents’ house, there had been dark mutterings about Philip.  She’s making the same mistakes her mother did, Mariam’s dad had said.  Mariam knew that her parents were hoping she’d use her week in Ilkley to try and talk some sense into her cousin, but she also knew that Jana probably wouldn’t be told.  Jana was three years older than Mariam, and she knew best.  That was what she’d told her every time they’d argued as kids, and that was what she’d say if Mariam started anything now.

*

Mariam was in the shower when she heard the door buzzer go off.  At first, she assumed that Jana would get it, but then she remembered hearing the front door open and close a few minutes previously.  Not much Mariam could do about it, anyway- she was dripping wet, her left leg was covered with shaving cream, and she wasn’t about to answer the door in a towel.  The buzzer went off a second time, and then, about thirty seconds later, she heard the door open and close again.

Mariam left the bathroom expecting to see that Jana had come back, but instead she saw Philip, packing the shopping away in the kitchen.  “My arms were full,” he explained, “Didn’t you hear the doorbell?”

“I was in the shower,” said Mariam, opening up the fridge so she could put the cheese and vegetables away.

“Oh.”  Philip’s shoulders seemed to relax a bit.  “So you didn’t hear it\?”

“Yes, I did hear it,” Mariam explained slowly “But I was in the shower.”

For a few seconds, Philip gave her a tight-lipped look, as though he was going to say something.  Then he just carried on putting the cans away.

*

Jana had put together a whole astrological chart for Helena.  “She’s got a fifty-per-cent chance of making it to a hundred and fifty,” she told Mariam “Imagine that.”

“How do they know that when nobody’s ever made it to a hundred and fifty before?””

Jana shrugged.

Helena’s star sign was Cancer, but only just.  One day earlier, and it would have been Gemini.  But that didn’t make much of a difference, because they were both water signs, which meant that Helena was going to grow up to be imaginative, but with a healthy sense of scepticism.  She was also going to grow up to be sensitive to pain, because that wasn’t a reasonable description of just about everyone on the planet or anything.  “Jana, do you actually believe this stuff?  Because I don’t remember you ever being into horoscopes before.”

Jana shrugged again.  “I just think it’s interesting, really.  Here’s Helena, right at the start of her life, and that life could go any one of a million ways.  We don’t know.  So… I’m speculating, I guess.”

“Hm.”  Mariam read a little more of the chart.  Apparently, Helena was going to be outgoing, grateful and candid, but also prone to health problems in the thorax.

There was thirty seconds or so of silence.  Jana’s face changed, as if she was trying to decide whether or not it was a good idea to say what she wanted to say next.  “Listen… how are you doing?  Really?”

“I’m fine,” said Mariam, gently.

“It’s just, this is the first time I’ve seen you since…”  Jana waved her hands around by way of finishing the sentence.  “It was frightening.  Frightening enough for me, and I didn’t even hear about it until it was all over and we knew you were safe.  I can’t even imagine how it was for you.”

Mariam shook her head.  “I got off light.  Rosalyn got her collarbone broken, and Alex is lucky he can even move and talk after what happened to him.  Compared to that…”

“It doesn’t mean that what happened to you wasn’t bad, just because what happened to them was worse.”

“Jana, I’m fine.  Really.”

Jana held her hands in her lap.  They twitched.  “Just… sometimes, you let things eat away at you.  Remember when there was that fire at Swordpoint Books?”

Mariam froze.  She’d never told Jana- or anyone else- exactly what had happened that night, and she wasn’t about to start answering questions about it now.

“That bothered you for months.  I could tell, but I didn’t know how to talk to you about it, and…  Well, I wish I’d tried harder.”  Her hands twitched again.  “And if this is going to bother you like that did, then I want you to know you can talk to me.  OK?  I won’t try to make a big deal about it, but you can.”

Mariam sighed, in relief as much as anything else.  “Thanks, Jana.  That actually does mean a lot.  But…”

“…But you’re fine.  OK.”  Jana smiled.  “If you insist.”

“I do.”

*

On her first and second nights at Jana’s, Mariam had been woken up a couple of times by baby Helena crying out in the next room.  On the third night, however, she was woken up by raised voices.

“There is no reason for you to have those pictures on your phone!”

“Jana, you’re being ridiculous!  I just got curious!  Men do!”

“What if I went around digging up pictures of the men I work with?  Would you be OK with that?”

“Honestly?  Yeah!  Because it’s harmless!  Listen…”

Mariam pulled her pillow over her head to block out the sound.  This was obviously nothing she needed to hear.

She’ll never stop trying to turn him into Prince Charming, Mariam’s mum had said with a sigh, Girls like her never do.

*

On the fourth day, the postman rang the doorbell so that Jana could sign for a package.  A few minutes later, Philip stepped out of the bathroom and went over to Mariam.  “Hey,” he said, with a smug grin, “Turns out you can hear it from the shower!”

“Never said you couldn’t,” replied Mariam, not looking up from her book.

(To be continued)

June 2006

Mike’s parents were throwing his grandfather’s birthday at their house this year.  Usually, that would have been no problem for Mike- he loved his grandpa- but it meant that Aunt Daisy and Uncle Ben would be coming over.  And, wouldn’t you know it, at the last minute they called Mum and said they’d be bringing their son, Isaac, too.

Mike’s parents had told him to be welcoming.  Fine.  He knew how to behave in front of guests.  But he wasn’t going to start feeling sorry for Cousin Isaac, not this time.  They’d given him enough of that after the car accident.  OK, it had been a horrible thing for him to go through, but it had only happened because he’d been hanging around with guys like that in the first place.  You had to watch the company you kept.  A cliché, yeah, but it was true.  And what were Ben and Daisy thinking, letting him go around with pusbags like that at three in the morning?  A-plus parenting, guys.

This time, three of his flatmates had been attacked in the street by some lowlifes they’d got themselves mixed up with.  Which, Mike was sorry, but it sounded like the same thing all over again.  How did one guy run up against the same type of people over and over?  At some point, you had to believe that it said something about him.  If you didn’t realise that, you were deluding yourself.

Isaac looked the same as ever- straggly, unwashed hair and too-cool-for-school sneer.  Apparently all he was learning at university was how to have bigger and better parties.  He’d brought a girl with him, someone called Natalie.  Mike didn’t think that Grandpa had actually invited her to his party, but apparently she’d shown up at Ben and Daisy’s house two days ago and they couldn’t just leave her there

“Thanks for having me,” she told Mum and Dad as they let her in, “I thought about bringing a bottle of wine, but Daisy said…”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” said Mum, taking her coat, “We’re just glad you came along.”  Mike picked up on the subtext of what she’d said- We’re just glad there’s somebody here to watch Isaac.  Mike remembered all those times when they’d been kids, and things just seemed to go missing whenever Isaac came to visit.  Mike hoped he’d grown out of it, but he wasn’t too optimistic.

Anyway, once the party got started, Mike ended up stuck in a corner of the garden with Isaac and Natalie.  They were the only people there between twelve and forty, so that was just how it went.  “Isaac says you’re going to UCL next year,” said Natalie.

Mike nodded.  “Business Studies.”  Natalie had mentioned that she was studying English Literature and Animation.  Mike couldn’t help but feel that was a little shallow, what with everything that was going on politically.

“Mike’s gonna be the next Alan Sugar,” Isaac drawled sarcastically.  As if that was supposed to be a bad thing.

Natalie just smiled and nodded.  “I took out a prospectus from UCL last year. Didn’t have the grades for it, though.”  She took a sip from her drink.  “The thing that stuck in my head was the fact that they keep Jeremy Bentham’s body on-site.  Did you see it when you visited?”

Mike nodded.  “The auto-icon.  It’s in a display case.”

“Cree-py,” muttered Isaac.  Mike wished he could have said he was shocked.

Natalie turned to look at him.  “Yeah, but I like it.  They always say dead people are ‘gone but not forgotten,’ but in his case, it’s true.  You might forget someone who’s neatly tidied away in a grave, but not someone who’s staring at you from a glass case.”

“Yeah, but we can’t all do that.  There’d be mummies everywhere you looked. You wouldn’t be able to move for dead relatives.”  He played with the bottle-cap from his beer.  “Jeremy Bentham gets to be gone but not forgotten, but Joe Bloggs the butcher, he can just go to the cemetery and lump it.”

Mike scowled.  Isaac was just such a pusbag.  Here was Natalie, his friend, his guest at this party, and all he could do was shoot down her ideas. It wasn’t a surprise, though- Isaac had always treated people like that. It was as if he didn’t even understand that it was wrong.  Mike had even heard him talking back to Aunt Daisy in public, and, he was sorry, but no matter what you’d been through, you did not disrespect your mother like that.  Mum had said so many times, “If it was my son acting like that, I’d be ashamed.”  But not Ben and Daisy.  They’d let things slide so many times that they didn’t even know which way was up anymore.

“Well, they could always arrange it like that church in the Czech Republic,” said Natalie, “The one with the bone chandelier.  People actually have it written in their wills that they want to be a part of that.  You can’t see anyone’s faces, because it’s all skulls, but…”

“You can’t see Jeremy Bentham’s face, either,” Mike interrupted, “The head’s a replica.”  He leaned towards her.  “But you’re right.  It’s a powerful reminder.  When you look at him, you’re reminded of all the people who’ve gone before you.”

Isaac made a childish raspberry sound.  Mike ignored him.

Natalie nodded.  “I think that’s what I like about London in general.  All these ancient historical monuments squashed right up next to coffee shops and newsagents.”

“But… well… don’t you think that cheapens them a little?” asked Mike, “People can just rush straight through St Paul’s Cathedral and then go back to clothes shopping and stuffing their faces.”

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing.  If you’re going to rush through something just because it’s easy to visit, then you probably wouldn’t have visited it at all if it wasn’t.  So at least then, you get to see it.”

Mike nodded.  He didn’t know where a pusbag like his Cousin Isaac had found a friend like Natalie, but she was something else.  You could actually talk to her.

Isaac, of course, just looked bored.  Probably irritated that Natalie was paying attention to any guy that wasn’t him.  “Mike doesn’t think the peasants should get to visit cathedrals, do you, Mike?”

Mike glared at him.  “That is not what I said.”

Isaac put on a braying posh-boy voice.  “Yaah, the plebs will just rush through St Paul’s Cathedral and then go right back to stuffing their faces.”

“That’s not what he said, Isaac,” muttered Natalie.

“It’s what he meant.”

Mike could feel his cheeks burning.  “So you can read my mind, can you?”

“As good as.”

“You don’t know anything.”  Mike stood up, knocking over his glass as he went.  “Your brain’s so fried-up with whatever you’ve been taking, you’ve probably got the memory of a goldfish by now.”

Isaac laughed.  “‘Whatever I’ve been taking’?”

Mike kept control of himself.  If there was one thing he’d learned throughout his life, it was how to keep a cool head.  “You don’t know anything.  It was nice to meet you, Natalie.”  And then he turned round and walked off before he could say anything he regretted.

Across the room, Mike spotted his grandparents chatting to some of Grandpa’s old work colleagues.  He went over to join them.  He might as well show them that one kid here knew how to behave respectfully.

Grandpa was talking to that friend of his, the old guy from the council.  Some people might not have understood how important his kind of work was, but when you had a grandfather who’d run for mayor twice, you got used to following local politics.  Mike stood politely to one side, waiting for Grandpa to introduce him.

After a few seconds, Grandpa seemed to do a double-take.  “Oh, Jim, you remember Michael, don’t you?  Lily and Bill’s oldest boy?”

Jim leaned forward to look at him.  He was old, like Grandpa, but his eyes were sharper than most people’s.  It wouldn’t have paid to underestimate this guy.  “You’re Michael?  No!  Last time I saw you, you were this high!”  He held out a hand around waist-height.

Mike smiled.  “I’m eighteen now, sir.  I’m going to UCL in September.”

“Well, congratulations!”  Jim put out a hand so that Mike could shake it.  “Big future ahead of you!”

Mike felt himself turn pink.  He was used to hearing that from his teachers, but coming from a man who’d seen as much life as Grandpa’s friend had, it meant more.  “Thank you.  People say their Business Studies course is second to none.  I’m sure I’ll learn a lot.”

“I’m sure you will,” Jim turned back to Grandpa.  “Did you read about that…”

“I’ve already got a job lined up for when I get there,” Mike added, “I’ll be working in the offices of McIntyre and Burton.  They’re a local manufacturer.”

“Really?” said Jim, “Good for you.”

“I think it’s important to work your way through university, instead of relying on your student loan.”  Mike’s mouth was running away from him, he knew, but it was just so rewarding to meet someone who valued the same things that you did.  “I was raised never to assume that things were owed to me.”

Jim nodded.  Mike might have been imagining it, but he thought he looked impressed.

*

Walking over to the barbecue, Mike saw Isaac running around the lawn, pointing a water pistol at Mike’s little brother and their cousins.  Clearly he’d found his level. Mike spotted Natalie sitting in a deckchair on the patio, in between his mother and Aunt Daisy.  He smiled, and walked over.

“Ooh, listen to this, Mike!” said Mum, as soon as he came into earshot.  “Do you remember that article in the Sunday papers a couple of weeks ago?  The one with that beautiful dining room?”           

Mike nodded.  He liked looking at pictures of old houses.  It was good to see something that had been looked after and passed down through the generations.  “Josephine something, right?”

“Josette Lambton!”  Mum waved an arm towards Natalie.  “And Natalie used to work for her!”

Natalie smiled, looking a little embarrassed.  It was amazing how she commanded your attention.  She wasn’t supermodel-beautiful, but there was something about her that caught your eye.  “It was only for a couple of weeks.  Her son asked me to…”

“It was through her son!” Mum enthused, as if that was the cherry on the cake.

Mike chuckled.  “Really?”  Once again, he couldn’t help but wonder what a girl like Natalie was doing with his cousin Isaac.  Maybe she thought she could make a go-getter out of him.

Natalie looked down demurely.  “Like I said, it was only for a couple of weeks.”

Mike would have pursued this further, but at that point he spotted Grandma standing out in the sun, wiping sweat off her brow, and went over to check on her.  She insisted that she was fine, just a little warm, but Mike made sure that she sat down somewhere with a lot of shade, and then he went to fetch her a drink.  On his way, he had to narrowly avoid being soaked by Isaac, who was waving the garden hose around.  Mike would have liked to go over there and teach the pusbag a lesson, but in the end he let it go.  Life was too short.

*

“I caught them trying to teach the dog to climb onto the car roof,” announced Uncle Chris, sitting down in a deckchair with a bottle of beer, “Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous?”

“Whose car roof was it?” asked Dad.  The men of the party had gathered near the barbecue so that they could keep an eye on things, and Mike had gravitated towards them.  They’d even passed him a bottle of beer, without even commenting on it.

“Mine.  Don’t worry- your Mercedes is still in one piece.”

Dad laughed.  “Is the dog alright?  After her adventures?”

“I think she was a bit disappointed, to be honest.  They’d been training her for the last half-hour.”

Uncle Ben laughed and shook his head.  Mike didn’t think he was in any position to look down his nose at Uncle Chris’ kids- after all, it was probably his son who’d given them that idea in the first place.  It sounded like exactly the sort of thing Isaac would try and pull.

With that thought in mind, Mike scanned the garden, trying to work out where his cousin was and what he was up to.  He didn’t spot him, but he did see Natalie, on her own, sitting in the same corner they’d been in at the start of the party.  Mike made his excuses to his father and uncles, and went over to join her.

Natalie looked ethereal, like a ghost girl fading into the atmosphere, but when she looked up and saw Mike, her face lit up.  “Alright?  How are you doing?”

“Never better.”  Mike sat down, absent-mindedly tapping his thumb on the mouth of his beer bottle while he thought of something to say.  “So… Josette Lambton, huh?”

Natalie sighed.  “I wish I hadn’t mentioned it now.”

“So do you still work for her?”  Even as he said it, Mike remembered her saying, It was only a couple of weeks, but maybe she’d just wanted to be modest.  Maybe there was more work in the pipeline, if she played her cards right.  Mike knew how important it was to make connections early on.

“No.”  Natalie looked him right in the eye.  “To tell you the truth, I quit.  She was horrible.”

That was a disappointment; Mike couldn’t deny it.  Jobs were hard to come by.  When you were given an opportunity like the one Natalie had been given, you didn’t throw it away.  You worked hard to make the most of it. 

Something must have shown on Mike’s face, because Natalie leaned in and said, “Listen.  You heard about our friends, right?  How they were attacked?  Well, one of them called me at work while it was happening.  She did it by accident.  I picked it up and heard her screaming, and it scared the shit out of me.  But when I told Mrs Lambton about it, she just took my phone off me and told me to get back to work.  And that’s when I quit.”

Mike took this in, and thought about it.  “But… well… were you anywhere near where they were?”

“No.  I didn’t even know where they were.  I had to get a taxi back to our house and figure things out from there.  I didn’t even…”

“So there wasn’t anything you could have done to help them?”  Mike tapped his beer bottle again.  “So, really, it wouldn’t have made any difference if you’d stayed and focused on your job?”

Natalie stared blankly at him.  She’s probably trying to work out whether to agree or slap me, Mike guessed.

There was a loud crash behind them, and suddenly everybody was shouting.  Mike looked round, and saw that the barbecue had toppled over, and his father and uncles were desperately trying to stamp out the fire that had started on the lawn.  A few yards away, the dog hid behind a bush with a bunch of freshly-cooked sausages in her mouth, looking pleased with herself.

*

The party mostly petered out after that.  People started to leave after realising there wasn’t going to be any real food, which left Mike and his parents to deal with the burnt patch of grass in their garden.  Thanks a lot, guys.  Very helpful.

Uncle Ben and Aunt Daisy were one of the last pairs to leave, which, if you asked Mike, added insult to injury.  Mike’s parents had enough to deal with without having to worry about what Isaac was doing while they weren’t looking.  And, frankly, who had been the one teaching the dog to misbehave in the first place?  If they’d had any decency, they’d have left right away and let Mum and Dad clean up their mess in peace.

Instead, just as Mike was tidying away the deckchairs, his pusbag cousin came up to him.  “Need any help?” he asked.

Mike wasn’t sure if this was a trick or something, but he liked to give people the benefit of the doubt, so he played along.  “Could you just pick up those last two chairs and bring them to the shed?”

Isaac nodded, and followed Mike across the lawn to the shed.  Once there, Mike put the remaining chairs inside, closed the door and put the padlock back on.  The end of another party.

“Listen,” said Isaac, “I wanted to say sorry for earlier.”

Mike turned around and goggled at him.  He couldn’t have been more surprised if Isaac had announced he was going to go and join a monastery.

“I shouldn’t have picked a fight with you like that.  It was petty.”  He scratched at the side of his jaw.  “So, I’m sorry.  I just wanted to say that before we headed off.”

Mike shook his head.  He didn’t know what Isaac was up to here- maybe just more of his pranks, or maybe he’d seen Mike talking to Natalie earlier and hadn’t liked it- but he wanted no part of it.  He elbowed past Isaac and made his way back into the house as quickly as possible.  It didn’t pay to let yourself be alone with a pusbag like him.

From the Berrylands Gazette, Thursday 6^th of April 2006:

Horror in the High Street

Three university students attacked in broad daylight

Two students were injured in a crazed hammer attack yesterday afternoon, while horrified shoppers looked on.  A third victim was dragged into the river in an attempt to drown her.

The attack, which took place barely twenty yards from the busy High Street, left a 23-year-old man fighting for his life in intensive care after his skull was fractured by two vicious blows. Two other victims, both nineteen, were treated for…

*

From the Berrylands Gazette, Monday the 10^th of April 2006:

High Street Attackers Denied Bail

Men behind hammer attack charged with attempted murder

Two men who attacked a group of students were today told that they would remain in prison until their trial.  Bradley Simmons, 25, and Gregory Melham, 21, were charged with attempted murder after an attack that left one of their victims with a fractured skull.

Simmons and Melham did not deny the attack, but argued that they were in fear of their lives due to threats made by the victims.  A spokesman for the court responded…

*

From the Berrylands Gazette, Wednesday the 19^th of April 2006:

“Gas Them Like the Vermin They Are”- Horror of Murder Cult that Fixated on Four Teenagers

Source claims that attack was planned a long time in advance.

The three students attacked in the street last week had been the subject of a long-term obsession by the group connected to the attackers, a source claims.

Although the Oakmen, a “free-thinking group” to which attackers Bradley Simmons and Gregory Melham belonged, have attempted to distance themselves from Simmons and Melham’s actions, a source close to the group claims that there had been a months-long harassment campaign afainst the victims and their two flatmates, including an attempt to burn down their home.

The source, who has asked to remain anonymous, described meetings in which…

*

From the Berrylands Gazette, Friday the 21^st of April 2006:

“I Had No Idea,” Says Landlady

Murder cult secretly operated out of local woman’s house

Carla Everett, the owner of the house in which a cult allegedly plotted a harassment campaign that climaxed in a horrific hammer attack, insists that she had no idea of the group’s activities.

“My niece asked me if she and her friends could use the house for a few months while they got their self-help business off the ground,” Mrs Everett told the Gazette, “I trusted her.  I never thought they’d get involved in something like this.”

Two of the group’s members are awaiting trial for attempted murder.  Mrs Everett says that she has served her remaining tenants, eight adults and two children, with a notice of eviction.

The Oakmen, a group variously described as “free-thinkers” and “amateur life coaches,” had lived in the house for four months.  In this time, they organised a number of recruitment events, many of which were organised to attract Berrylands students.

The Oakmen themselves were shocked by the eviction notice.  “In a few days, we’ll be homeless,” said Maya Bell, “I can understand Carla wanting to distance herself from what Bradley and Greg did, but what about my children?”

Two weeks ago, Bradley Simmons and Gregory Melham carried out…

Natalie was bent over the scanner again, working her way from the 80 million parties the Lambtons had held in the Seventies so she could get onto the 95 billion they’d held in the Eighties, when her phone rang.  She’d put it on silent, so as to be professional, but she felt it vibrating and took it out almost by instinct.

She would have let it ring off- everyone knew she had work this afternoon- but the screen said “Mariam,” and normally Mariam would have been the last person to annoy her friends when they were busy.  Even so, if Mama Lambton had been in the room, Natalie would never have dared to answer it, but she was on the phone in the living room again, discussing dinner plans with a friend of hers.  Natalie decided to risk it.

“Hello?” she said, but Mariam didn’t reply.  There were muffled voices and rustling and bumping noises, and then, just as Natalie was about to dismiss it as a pocket-dial, there was a scream.

But “scream” was the wrong word.  It wasn’t just a shrill, high-pitched wail- you could tell it had words in it, even though you couldn’t hear what the words were.  It was tearful and frantic, and it was recognisably Mariam’s voice.

“Mariam!  Can you hear me?”  Even as she said it, Natalie knew she might just be making things worse.  What if Mariam was being mugged, and Natalie had just shouted loud enough to let them know she had a phone on her?  She turned up the volume on the side so she could listen for more details, but it was no good.  The voices had stopped now.  All she could hear was a strange, watery sound.

All of a sudden, Mama Lambton appeared in front of her.  “Explain yourself.  Now.”

Natalie’s face and hands and body had gone numb.  Her phone was still connected.  The watery sound was still there.  Maybe there was a way of tracing where Mariam’s phone was through hers.  “I just got a call from…”

Mama Lambton held a hand out.  “Give me that.”

Natalie passed her phone to Mama Lambton.  Maybe she’d know what to do.  “It’s my friend Mariam.  She sounds like she’s in danger.  I don’t know where she is, but maybe we can…”  She caught her breath.  “I don’t know…”

Mama Lambton pressed the red button, hanging up.  “I have never seen such disrespectful behaviour in my life,” she hissed, “How dare you betray my trust like this?  Did you think I was paying you to gossip on the phone?”

Natalie’s breath hitched in her throat.  She couldn’t seem to get her voice loud enough to be heard. “She’s in trouble.  I heard her screaming.” 

Mama Lambton acted as if she hadn’t said anything at all.  “My son told me that you were a bright, capable girl.  I’m afraid I haven’t seen much evidence of that so far.”  She seemed to notice that she was still holding the phone out in front of her, and opened her jacket to tuck it into an inside pocket that Natalie couldn’t see.  “The rest of your life might revolve around your phone, but when you’re here, I expect you to do the job you’re paid for.”

“Please!”  Natalie finally got to her feet.  Her legs almost seemed as if they wouldn’t support her, they were shaking so badly.  “We need to call the police!”  And tell them what? she thought, That a crime’s been committed somewhere in Greater London, probably?  By the time they work out where Mariam actually is, she’ll…  “At least let me try and call her back!  If I reach here and she’s fine, I swear I’ll work an hour’s overtime to make up for it, but we need to…”

“This isn’t a negotiation.”  Mama Lambton walked out of the room, Natalie’s phone still in her jacket pocket.

Natalie stayed still, almost unable to believe what had happened.  It was as if Mama Lambton hadn’t heard anything she’d said.  Had she genuinely not understood, or just not cared?  Either way, somewhere Natalie couldn’t hear it, Mariam was screaming.

If she stayed still for too long- if she let herself think for too long- she’d end up collapsing on the floor in tears.  As far as she could see, she had two options:  Run out of the house and get the train back to Berrylands (wasting time travelling when she should be helping Mariam), or go after Mama Lambton and somehow persuade her to give her phone back (wasting time talking when she should be helping Mariam, and if she hadn’t listened to what Natalie had said already, what would she listen to?).

Natalie made her choice.  She got to her feet and ran down the hall to the front door.

Mama Lambton appeared at the top of the stairs.  “What on Earth are you doing?  Come back here!”

Natalie slammed the door behind her.  She was pretty sure she could make it to the station in five minutes if she ran.  She was pretty sure she remembered there being a taxi rank around there somewhere.  If she got back to Pallas House, maybe Isaac or Alex or Rosalyn would be around, and they might know what was going on.  At the very least, they might have some ideas about what to do next, because Natalie didn’t have a clue.

*

Rosalyn had got Mariam’s text just as her lecture finished, and she’d decided to walk up and meet them.  She got there just in time to see a man raise a hammer, a black one with a wooden handle like Rosalyn’s dad had in his toolbox, and bring it down on somebody’s head.

She didn’t recognise Bradley at first.  She didn’t even realise it was Alex he’d hit.  All Rosalyn knew was that it was a normal day, with pleasant weather and shoppers bustling around, until suddenly one man decided to break another man’s head open.

In the split-second before the people around them saw what had happened and started screaming, Rosalyn found herself walking towards the man with the hammer.  She didn’t know why.  Somehow it just seemed like the next thing that should happen.

She was behind the man when he raised the hammer again.  He hadn’t noticed her yet, but the only way Rosalyn could think of to stop what was going to happen next was to reach out and tap him on the shoulder.

He whirled around, his hammer leading him onwards in a wobbly circle.  When he saw her face, he let out an outraged noise, as if he’d just caught her trying to pick his pocket.  Rosalyn wasn’t scared.  She didn’t know why.  Maybe things had happened too quickly for the fear to get started yet.

The man raised the hammer.  Rosalyn couldn’t see any blood on it.  Maybe it was just invisible against the black, or maybe it had come away from the other man’s head before any blood had had time to flow out of the wound.  He was wobbling again, and this time he stumbled, his legs taking him off to the side, and Rosalyn saw her chance.  Before he could bring the hammer down on her, she brought her knee up and tried to kick his legs out from under him.

*

Mariam was underwater.  That Guy had her underwater.  She hadn’t recognised him until it was too late.  She couldn’t breathe- probably wouldn’t have been able to breathe even if her head had been above the surface, because he had something around her throat- and Alex was dead.  He was lying in a pool of his own blood on the pavement because Mariam hadn’t said anything in time, because she hadn’t quite believed that Bradley would smash somebody’s head in on a crowded street in broad daylight.

Mariam could feel herself thrashing about and trying to escape, even though she knew it wasn’t going to work.  That Guy had whatever it was wrapped tight around her neck, and he hadn’t budged an inch.  No matter how difficult she made it for him, no matter how long she refused to give him the satisfaction of just buckling under his weight and going quietly, Mariam was going to die.  She might not even have a minute left to think.

That Guy gave her an extra shove, pushing her further downwards, and when Mariam reached out behind her, she felt something solid.  There was mud, slimy and soft beneath her fingers.  It shouldn’t have been surprising.  If That Guy was able to keep such constant, unmoving pressure on her, the river must have been shallow enough for him to stand up in.

Mariam kept her hand on the mud.  Without even being sure what she was trying to do, she bent one leg back and braced it against the bottom of the river, and kicked out as hard as she could with the other one.  The thing around her neck loosened.  She thrashed about some more, and managed to break the surface, the air feeling like shards of broken glass in her throat.

In a moment, That Guy was on her again, trying to get the thing- it looked like a black electric cable, Mariam saw now- back around her throat.  Mariam could see some of the crowd running towards the riverbank and wading in, but if she relied on that, she’d be dead.  That Guy tried to force her underwater again, but Mariam was standing now, and she drove her elbow into his stomach, trying to throw him off her back.  It wasn’t as easy as she’d thought it was going to be.  All the energy had been knocked out of her when she’d been underwater, and at first it just felt as if she was pulling a muscle, not using it for anything useful.  But after the second or third try, she found herself able to take a step forward.  When That Guy tried to follow her, she threw a punch and hit him in the side of the jaw, then dived forward and swam the rest of the way.

Somebody helped her out of the river.  Quite a few somebodies, actually- most of the people on the riverbank had gathered around this particular spot .  A few of them formed a protective barrier behind Mariam, preventing That Guy from pulling her back in, and somebody else gave her their jacket.  She’d barely even noticed she was cold until now.

A lot of people tried to talk to her in the minute or two before the police and ambulances started to arrive, but when Mariam thought about it later, the only thing she remembered hearing was what Peps said.  Mariam spotted her crouched next to Alex, one hand on his chest and the other holding onto her own left shoulder, as if something had happened to it.  Not far away, a couple of men were holding Bradley, writhing and screaming, down on the ground- no sign of where the hammer had got to, but as long as he didn’t have it, things were probably under control.  Mariam looked at Peps, trying to work out how much she’d seen and how either of them could possibly put the last, awful few minutes into words, but Peps spoke first.  As soon as Mariam approached her, she looked up, met her eyes, and said, “He’s still breathing.”

*

They’d been walking for hours, and, while they hadn’t exactly been ready to call it a day- they were in this for the long haul, him and Judith- the last of that morning’s optimism had drained away a little while back.  By three in the afternoon, they’d been walking along the path they’d laid out for themselves out of sheer stubbornness, not because they still expected to find something.

The, for about the seventeenth time that day, they’d spotted something tall and brown through the trees, and gone to get a closer look.

It was a railway bridge, alright.  Or some kind of bridge, anyway- if there were any actual tracks going under it, they’d disappeared under the weeds years ago.  The letters, starting from twenty feet up and stopping just above Isaac’s head, were white and faded, so you had to read it through twice to be sure what it actually said.  Isaac had read it so many times in the last ten minutes that the words felt seared onto his brain.

The Story of Coney Park

Let’s say there was a man who stole a seal-woman’s skin and forced her to marry him, and, after she finally found where he’d hidden it and made her escape, took to the seas in a rage and didn’t rest until he’d slaughtered her new seal-husband and all their seal-children.

(The silkie)

Let’s say there was a man who saw a beautiful woman bathing in a lake, and, after deciding to swim up to her, found himself pulled underwater and feasted upon.

(The kelpie)

Wouldn’t the world be a much fairer place if it was the same man in both stories?

(Kelpie and silkie)

They’d actually done it.  They were actually here.

“Can I borrow your notebook?” he asked Judith, “I want to copy this down.”  He’d taken a picture with his phone, but he didn’t know if Rosalyn would be able to make out the words from that- and besides, the signal was so spotty out here that he was probably going to have to wait until they were back on the train before sending it to her.

Judith passed it over, along with a biro.  “Where do you think Coney Park is?”

“I don’t know,” said Isaac.  He felt light-headed, as if he was about to either take off and fly or faint dead away.  “But I bet Rosalyn will find out, if it’s the last thing she does.”

Judith turned to him, as if surprised, with a big, warm grin on her face.  Isaac thought he knew what she was thinking.  This would take her mind off the graffiti round the university.  And if they were really lucky, it might take everyone else’s mind off it as well.

Autumn and Winter 2005

After signing the tenancy agreement in their new kitchen, Alex and his flatmates went to a nearby Burger King to celebrate.  The conversation flowed, taking in everyone’s taste in music and TV, a couple of opinions on things in the news, and the reasons they weren’t staying in halls for their first year (somebody hadn’t wanted the university breathing down their neck, somebody else had forgotten to file the paperwork until it was too late, and Alex was technically a mature student and therefore not allowed).

“I bet they don’t ask for your ID when you go to the pub,” muttered Isaac, a scrawny boy whose face made Alex think of a good-natured chipmunk.

It was only by sheer luck (Roxanne having insisted that he come out and be social last Christmas) that Alex wasn’t forced to admit that he’d never tried to order a drink in a pub.  “I think some places are more militant about it than others.”

At first, Alex had found himself carefully stepping around certain subjects- no sense in alarming potential new friends by telling them he used to be in a cult and his friend’s rich brother was paying his tuition – but, as dinner wore on, he’d found that he didn’t really have to.  The other four didn’t poke at holes in his stories or ask why he didn’t have this or that thing in common with them.  He was older.  He probably knew something they didn’t.  They bowed to his experience.

Not one of them had had their nineteenth birthday yet.  Alex didn’t know why that was so strange for him to contemplate, but it was.

*

Sometimes it was easy to tell that Denny was having a bad day.  Today, his knuckles were covered in tooth marks, some of which had clearly broken the skin.  Alex had seen him do it hundreds of times, looking like he was trying to shove his entire first in his mouth to prevent any words from coming out.

“Good thing you can’t chew all the way through the bone,” Alex told him, looking at the red, bumpy mess.

Denny laughed bitterly.  “If anyone ever managed to do it, it would be me”

*

Alex didn’t think he was supposed to hear the conversation, but Natalie had left her door open and by the time he realised what it was about, it was too late.

“We were this close!” said Mariam, pacing round Natalie’s room, “We were about halfway to the bed, and then he let it slip that he’s a virgin.  So I had to shut it down.”

“Why?” asked Natalie, sitting on her bed with a magazine on her knees.

“Because his first time shouldn’t be with a girl he barely knows after six pints of cheap beer!”

“I don’t think Isaac…”

“He would!” snapped Mariam, “Boys are supposed to say they don’t care about that, but they do!  Trust me, I’ve got three brothers, I know this stuff.”  She noticed Alex standing outside in the hall.  “And I don’t want to hear any contradiction from you.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” replied Alex.  His own first time had been with the older sister of a friend while said friend had been asleep upstairs, but it would have felt somehow crude to mention that to Mariam and Natalie.

Natalie smiled.  “We’d appreciate it if none of this got back to Isaac or Rosalyn.”

“Of course,” said Alex.

*

“It’s called the Prisoner’s Dilemma,” said Rosalyn, sitting at the kitchen table with her notepad and her dinner in front of her on the table.  She was doing an impressive job of keeping them apart.

Alex nodded.  “I’ve heard of it.  It’s where you have to make decisions based on whether or not your friend is going to sell you out, right?”

“Yeah, kind of.  The way our lecturer put it, if you stay quiet you both get a year in prison, if you both betray each other you both get two years in prison, and if one of you betrays the other they go free but the other one gets five years in prison.”  Rosalyn reminded Alex of a robin.  Part of it was the red hair, and part of it was her height and her quick little movements.  “Apparently most people say they’d keep quiet.  Though they might just be talking about what they’d like to think they’d do.”

“Do you think you’d keep quiet?”

“I think so.  I think it comes down to whether you’d rather be kept up all night by being furious or by feeling guilty.”

“And being furious is a lot more fun.”

“Yeah.  That’s what I think, too.”

*

Alex still called Roxanne every evening.  It seemed like the least he could do.

“I was hoping they’d be closer to your age,” she said a few weeks after Alex had moved in, “They’re definitely all eighteen?”

“Well, Mariam’s birthday’s next week,” said Alex, “And either Rosalyn or Isaac turns nineteen before Christmas.  I can’t remember which one…”

“But you won’t have anything in common with them.  They’ll be out chugging WKD and vomiting into the gutters until three in the morning.”

“They don’t do that,” said Alex, mostly truthfully.

“Their parents might as well be paying you to babysit.  And that’s on top of what the Lambtons have got you doing.”

“It’s not like that.  Either of them.”  Alex swallowed.  “They’re not getting me to do it.  I want to.”

Roxanne made a sceptical noise, and changed the subject.

*

“You have no idea what it’s like,” snapped Denny.  There was a feeling of heat to him- the red in his cheeks, the tears.  “You have no idea how fucking exhausting it is.”

“It doesn’t need to be.  It…”

“Yes!  It!  Does!”  He sniffed and swallowed at the same time, trying to draw everything back inside at once.  “You don’t have to wake up every morning and remember what you’ve done.”

“Denny, we’ve been over this.  I showed you the papers.  Amy Kirwan is aive.  She’s still working in the same shop.  She’s fine.”

“And the boy who went missing from my school?  Is he fine?”

“Well… no, but…”

“See?  You can come up with as many excuses as you want, but the truth is the truth.”

*

It seemed as if Alex was just going from one tearful, furious face to another.  Natalie had just come off the phone with her sister, and she was all but spitting with rage.

“Her boyfriend’s birthday is coming up,” she told him, her teeth clicking on the consonants as if she was trying to bite the words off one by one, “And when she asked him what he wanted, he asked for her to get a boob job.”  She was sitting against the wall outside the bathroom, her arms folded so tight that it looked as if she was about to cut off her circulation.  “He wants her to change her body, permanently, as a present for him.  Because he isn’t happy with it.”

Alex was crouching beside her, just far enough along the wall to be polite.  “Do you think she’ll do it?”

Natalie shook her head.  “He said it was just a joke.  But you know the kind of joke where you half-hope the other person takes you seriously, right?”  Her nostrils were flared.  Alex almost expected to see smoke coming out of them.

“How long have they been together?  Maybe…”

“Oh, they’ll split up eventually.  But her next boyfriend will be exactly the same.”  Natalie unfolded her arms and brushed her hair out of her face.  She had wavy, reddish hair, like an ancient warrior woman.  “Andrea’s got a Master’s degree in Archaeology, she was practically headhunted by the British Museum, but she settles for guys who treat her like a fucking blow-up doll.”  Natalie held her hands out in front of her, as if she was imagining strangling all of Andrea’s bad boyfriends, past, present and future.

Alex reached out and patted her on the back.  “Well… no matter how badly they treat her, there’s one person in the world who cares about her as much as she deserves.”

“Whole lot of good that’s doing her now,” Natalie sniffed.

*

The bookshop was like a warm, bright little nest in the middle of the frosty high street.  It was one of the big chain stores, the kind where they had a coffee shop on the top floor and a selection of DVDs in the basement, but the staff were easygoing enough to let groups of university students spend whole afternoons there without buying anything.  Alex suspected that, if the central heating was warm enough and you had nowhere else to be, it would be easy to fall asleep in one of those round red armchairs at the end of the aisles.  It was the sort of place that welcomed you.

This evening, in what must have been some sort of reward for tolerating students’ quirks all this time, the shop had been chosen to host a book launch.  The author was one of Natalie’s professors, which was how she and her flatmates had managed to score free tickets.  They sat in the back row, their damp coats hanging on the back of their chairs, and did their best to listen.

After about half an hour, Isaac leaned over and whispered, “This is shi-i-it.”

Alex made a weighing motion with his hand.  “It… has its moments.”  The professor, Viola, was reading an extract from a novel about a couple coping with their teenage son’s sudden death.  She’d made it clear from the start that it wasn’t autobiographical and was based on a case she’d read about in the papers, which was probably why Isaac felt comfortable making fun of it.

“I say we take a shot every time she says, ‘every parent’s worst nightmare’,” said Isaac.

From his right, Natalie leaned over and said, “Bet you a fiver she says, ‘He had his whole life ahead of him’.”

“I’m going to bet on, ‘Our house no longer feels like a home’.”

“You’re on.”

Mariam sighed.  “Guys, people do actually say those things.”

“Yes, when they’ve actually lost a family member and they’re grieving.  I expect a bit more originality from somebody who’s been paid to write a book.”

Alex knew a little about houses that didn’t feel like homes, so he had more patience than Isaac did on that front.  On the other hand, you could never count on anyone having a whole life ahead of them.  Or a life worth living if they did.  “We should be charitable.  She’s giving us free wine.”

“Can’t argue with that,” said Isaac with a grin, and became a bit quieter.

*

If he’d been asked to pick out Rosalyn’s mother from a random selection of forty-year-old women, Alex would probably have chosen somebody small and cautious-looking, like Rosalyn herself.  He almost certainly wouldn’t have picked a woman with long, bleach-blonde hair, stiletto heels and gold jewellery, who reminded him a little of a gangster’s moll in a 1940s movie.  But a week and a half before Christmas, that was who turned up.

“Tea or coffee?” he asked, turning on the kettle.

She clucked her tongue.  “Look at you!  So polite!  Black coffee, please, Alex.”  She sat down at the kitchen table, opposite Natalie.  “And please tell me my daughter doesn’t make you make the tea every time.”

Alex laughed.  “No, no.  Rosalyn is a very considerate girl.”  He got out five mugs- one for Mrs Pepper, and one each for himself, Rosalyn, Natalie and Isaac.  Mariam had already left the day before, after a drawn-out phone conversation with her father in which she refused to let him spend eight hours on the road coming to get her when there was a perfectly good train from St Pancras to Leeds.  Rosalyn and Isaac’s parents would be picking them up in the next few days.  After that, Alex would say his goodbyes to the Lambtons and go to Roxanne’s for a week.

He worried about leaving Denny behind, but he’d also have worried about leaving Roxanne alone at Christmas.  Given the choice, he’d have had them both living in the same place.

Mrs Pepper nudged Rosalyn.  “Did you pay him to say that?”

“Mum!” protested Rosalyn, half-amused and half-aghast.

Alex felt a strange warmth inside of him, tinged with a little envy.  It wasn’t just that Rosalyn seemed to have a kinder mother than he had; it was the whole first-year student experience, discovering the wider world before you had a chance to become jaded.  Alex should have been here, doing this, four years ago.  He should have stayed in school, gone out with Melanie Spencer, been there for Marley and Serena, and then started his own life.  And the only thing preventing a wave of despair from coming over him was the knowledge that, if he had, there might not have been anyone to help Denny when he’d needed it.

He finished the tea and handed it out.  “Did you have a long journey?”

“Not too far.  Up from Colchester.”  Mrs Pepper took a sip of her coffee.  “I keep telling Rosalyn that she needs to learn how to drive.  Maybe one of you can teach her.”

Alex smiled.  “Maybe we will.”