Deadly Games (4 page)

“Don't be so daft.” Jenny was angry now.
“Haven't you got
any
sense of responsibility?”

“All right then.” David was honest at last. “I'm scared.”

“What of?” But she knew what he was going to say, because she was scared too.

“Her. Mrs Garland. She looks so powerful. Do you think she did away with those poor little kids? I mean, do you reckon she murdered them?”

“You keep on saying that. I reckon she looked as if she could do with as much help as May and Leslie,” said Jenny. “There's so much going on that we don't understand – that we've got to find out.”

“What are we going to do then? Follow the kids and check out the tunnel, all these years later?” David was scornful. “Whatever happened was a long, long time ago. What can we do about it now?”

But Jenny knew her brother was only thinking aloud. If there was something more positive to cling to, he would be more resourceful and less negative. At the moment they had so little to go on. Why did May and Leslie seem to need Sid? Why were they running away from Mrs Garland? What had they done? What was she going to do to them?

“Maybe we could find their bodies,” said Jenny miserably, exhausted by the questions hammering away in her mind. “Perhaps if Sid knew what
really happened, it would set his mind at rest. We've got to help him somehow.”

“So we
should
go down the tunnel,” said David. “And try and find a way into the old railway repair works from there.” He suddenly sounded far less scared and more positive.

“Of course we could get into the works without going down the tunnel,” said Jenny. “But that would be cheating somehow.”

David nodded. “I know. Those kids are bound to contact us down there, aren't they?” he finished uneasily.

“If they don't, the rats will,” replied Jenny.

“What was that?” They both stood there in silence, listening intently, but there was nothing but the sound of the wind rising on the swollen river. “I thought I saw someone on the wharf,” David whispered uneasily.

“There's no one there,” said Jenny.

“And I thought I could smell peppermint – but I can't now.” The twins gazed at each other. “I reckon we're up against something much stronger than we've ever faced before, don't you?” said David, his unease increasing. Then he added, “I was wrong – we should never have concentrated our wills like that. Now we've put Mrs Garland on her guard.”

But Jenny was wondering if they had managed to reassure her, to confirm they meant no harm. In
her mind's eye she could see Mrs Garland's suspicious eyes, hear her tentative questions, but then she remembered her fierceness and her driving sense of purpose. Mrs Garland would make a formidable enemy.

Mrs Garland was staring down at David in his dream. Her face filled the horizons of his mind and he could smell her sharp peppermint breath, see into her angry eyes.

He woke with a jolt, shivering and gasping for air, and sat up. There was nothing on the ceiling where he had expected to see the sombre shape of her head, but there was peppermint on the wind that was flapping his window to and fro, making it rattle, and he couldn't remember opening it. He went over and closed the window with a slam, but not before he had seen the figure waiting on the quayside, looking up at him, her coat billowing in the stiff wind. It was her. It was Mrs Garland.

Jenny was beside David as he began to scream, holding a hand over her brother's mouth. “Don't wake Mum and Dad. I've seen her too.” Slowly she released him.

“She's going to come up,” he muttered.

“She hasn't moved. You can see that.”

“That doesn't mean she won't. I can't go back to bed,” he said. “Not with her out there.”

“We'll have to try to contact her again,” said Jenny forcefully. “Use our wills.”

“That was
my
lousy idea – that's how she got wind of us in the first place.”

“So if we can raise her ghost, we can speak to her.” Jenny knew that they had to reach Mrs Garland somehow.

“OK,” said David doubtfully. “We can try.” He opened the window again and the twins leant out into the storm-laden night. The river had risen until it was almost level with the wharf and Mrs Garland's stout and sensible shoes. But ghosts can't drown, thought Jenny.

Concentrating as hard as they could, the twins focused their minds on Mrs Garland's spectre. As they did so, they both felt a sharp pain that seemed to penetrate their very beings, and then the commanding words came into their minds.

Who are you? What do you want?

We want to help you
. Jenny was anxious to be as direct as she could.

We want to find May and Leslie
, David urged her.

Why?

Jenny focused as hard as she could.
They're in trouble
.

They're dead
, came the reply in their minds. You must leave them alone. It's too dangerous. Too dangerous.

No
. David was exerting every inch of his will.
They need help
.

The communication was like a beam, a force that was slowly building inside them.

As the twins' willpower intensified, so did the pain that probed their minds, sharp as a needle, searching out the truth.

Suddenly, there was a snapping sound and Mrs Garland's spectre vanished.

“She's gone,” said David miserably. “We failed.”

“She'll come back,” replied Jenny confidently. “At least, I hope she will.”

“She was warning us off,” said David.

“But we
can't be
warned off,” Jenny insisted. “There's Sid – we've got to think of him and why the kids need him.”

“Do you think she'll come back again tonight?” asked David.

“If she does, we've got to get through to her.”

“And if she doesn't, we've got to get through that awful tunnel.”

“We'll have to do that anyway,” replied Jenny firmly.

“What's up with you two?” asked Mrs Golding over breakfast the next morning. “You look done in.”

“I didn't sleep that well,” David told his mother guardedly.

“Neither did I,” said Jenny casually. “Don't know why.”

But Mrs Golding was suspicious. They had told their parents that they were visiting Sid in hospital, and although their father had been all for it, she had been uneasy.

“It's nothing to do with that old tramp, is it?” she asked.

“You mean Sid Lennox,” said David defensively.

“I mean that old tramp.” Mrs Golding was a forthright woman and once she'd got her teeth into a subject, she worried at it like a terrier. She disapproved of Sid and was frightened of what he might do to her children. “I wish you wouldn't see him.”

“He's sick, Mum,” said David reproachfully.

“But he'll be looked after by the hospital. And there are hostels,” she countered vaguely.

“He won't go into them.” David was getting angry.

“There's nothing you can do about that, though,” said their mother, crunching toast.

Jenny quickly intervened, knowing that her brother would lose his temper at any moment and a blinding row would follow.

“We're helping the hospital to get Sid into a hostel. We won't get into trouble, I promise.”

Mrs Golding trusted her daughter's judgement far more than her son's and she decided to back off. Besides, the last thing she wanted was an argument with David, for she knew all too well how stubborn he could be.

“I suppose you're going to see him this morning?”

“That's right,” David muttered. “And I'm missing football.”

It must be important, thought Mrs Golding, and became even more concerned.

“He's discharged himself,” said the nurse. “We all tried to dissuade him, but you know what Mr Lennox is like. He got very agitated last night. Kept getting up and looking out of the window.”

“Did he say anything?” Jenny was as shocked and as worried as her twin. Had Mrs Garland visited Sid as well? And what was she trying to do? Warn them all off? Or had she got something special in mind for him?

“He was rambling.”

“Rambling?” David repeated.

“He kept on about a Mrs Garland and how she was trying to put a stop to his mission.” The young nurse sounded confused, but the twins were trying so hard to cover up their shocked reaction that they barely noticed.

“Anything else?” asked Jenny.

“Why? Is it important?”

“We're just wondering if he mentioned any friends he might have gone to.” David was always inventive in a crisis.

“He mentioned two children – May and Leslie. He said they were in danger and that this Mrs
Garland was powerful – very powerful. He said a lot of things that I can't remember. He seemed to get more and more worked up.”

“I'm sure he did,” said Jenny.

“But you've no idea where he went?” David persisted.

“No, but I'd like to give you some advice. Don't get involved with him any more – either of you. Mr Lennox is disturbed. I know it's sad, but he could be dangerous and there's absolutely nothing you can do for him. I've met these cases before.”

She sounds just like Mum, thought David, scowling at the young nurse fiercely, but Jenny intervened before he could reply.

“You're right – we did want to help Sid, but I can see there's nothing we can do,” she said with a sad, sweet smile.

The nurse nodded approvingly and walked briskly into the Sister's office, leaving Jenny and David to make their way back towards the lift.

“What did you say all that for?” he complained.

“Because I don't want anyone trying to stop us,” Jenny said calmly. “We've got to find Sid right away, but that nurse could phone Mum and Dad, tell them we're getting too involved, and then it would be more difficult, wouldn't it?”

David had to agree that she was right.

The morning was sunny and bright but sparklingly cold. Jenny and David had decided to see if Sid was at the Roxy, which seemed the most likely place for him to return to, but when they arrived at the old cinema, they received an unpleasant surprise. Nell was sitting on the steps yelling at a group of young men who were boarding up the Roxy's entrance, and it looked as if they were making a very secure job of it this time. While they worked, they were grinning at Nell, who was getting more and more angry. When she saw the twins, she launched into a torrent of words.

“You, see what they're doing? Denying us access, boarding up our refuge.
And
on a Sunday – the day of rest. Six days shalt thou labour –” Nell turned back to berate the workers. “The Sabbath is meant to be a day of rest!”

“We're on time and a half,” one of the young men said with a laugh.

“Got to make it while we can,” said another.

“You work-shy, lady?” sneered a third. “You could be on your hands and knees somewhere, doing a bit of scrubbing.”

“You belt up and leave her alone,” yelled Jenny, losing her temper. “You shouldn't insult an old lady.”

“She can look after herself,” muttered one of the workers, but they all returned to their task, looking embarrassed and slightly ashamed. David
felt a surge of pride in his twin. Jenny didn't usually lose her cool, but when she did – well, people had better watch out.

Nell grinned at them and shifted herself slowly to her feet. “All his possessions are in there, you know. I got mine out. But he was furious.” She turned to shout back at the workers. “Theft – that's what it is! You should be nicked.” But none of them took the bait.

“You talking about Sid?” asked David.

“'Course I am. He discharged himself, didn't he? Wouldn't stay in that place any longer. Quite right too – all that happens to you in hospital is you die and then they experiment with your body.”

“Where is he?” asked Jenny.

“Where we're all going to have to kip tonight,” muttered Nell. “Down that tube station. It'll fair freeze me bones off. Could be the death of Sid, it could.”

Like the Roxy, the front of the underground station was boarded up, and the hoarding was plastered with flyposters, advertising everything from rock concerts to travelling circuses and from sale bargains to saunas and gym clubs. There didn't seem to be any obvious way of getting in, and worshippers from a local church were just coming
out into the street. Faintly, the twins could hear the thundering tones of an organ.

“Let's check out this alley,” said David. “Maybe there's an entrance down there,”

There was, and the wooden door in the hoarding was slightly ajar.

“Got your torch?” asked Jenny.

David nodded gloomily.

This was worse than the Roxy, for the shut-in smell was much more acrid. The booking hall, with its ticket office and barriers, was still complete and undamaged but surrounded by mounds of stinking rubbish. Grey light filtered through the broken panes of skylights on to the posters peeling from the damp walls.