House of Echoes (28 page)

‘Where is he, Joss?’ Luke’s grip tightened on her arm.

She shook her head. ‘He was here.’

‘For God’s sake, she’s obviously not going to tell us. We’ve got to look.’ Lyn’s voice was shaking. She turned back out of the room and crossed the narrow corridor into Ned’s. The baby was fast asleep. There was no sign of Tom in there.

‘He’s in the attic,’ Joss whispered suddenly. ‘I think he’s in the attic with the boys.’ She didn’t know how she knew.

The others stared at her for a moment and she was the one to run first towards the attic stairs. ‘Tom –’ her scream echoed round the house. ‘Tom, where are you?’

He was sitting contentedly in the middle of the double bed in the attic room which had been occupied by Elizabeth and Geoffrey Grant. Before him, on the middle of the eiderdown was a box of wooden animals. At the sight of the faces in the doorway he beamed at them contentedly.

‘Georgie’s toys,’ he said happily. ‘Tom play with Georgie’s toys.’

‘How many times do I have to tell you, I put him to bed.’ Joss sat down at the table and put her head in her hands. ‘He was all right. I read him a story. I tucked him in. I put the side of the cot up and checked it. I lit the night light and I turned on the baby alarm.’

Tom had gone back to his bed with only a token protest, after twenty minutes ecstatic rocking on the horse, asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. Making sure the alarm was on this time, they left him and came back down to the kitchen.

Luke was watching her soberly. ‘Perhaps you ought to see Simon, Joss,’ he said tentatively. ‘Honestly, it might be the best. I’m sure it’s no more than a lapse of concentration or something because of your tiredness.’

‘There is nothing wrong with me.’ Joss rubbed the palms of her hands up and down her face several times, hard. ‘For God’s sake, why will no one believe me?’

She was conscious of Lyn and Luke exchanging glances. It was Janet who came up to her and gave her a hug. ‘I believe you, Joss. I think there’s something funny in this house. And I think you should all leave. Come and stay with me. We’ve plenty of room. I’d love to have you.’ She glanced at them all again. ‘Please.’

‘That’s kind of you, Janet.’ Luke spoke firmly before Joss had a chance to reply. ‘But there is no need. There is nothing odd about the house which isn’t in my wife’s imagination. She has been scared by a lot of silly stories and the sooner we admit that, the better. I’m sure she’s fine. All she needs is to rest. I’ll get Simon to come over tomorrow and prescribe something.’

‘Luke!’ Joss stared at him. ‘How dare you! It’s me you’re talking about. You sound like a Victorian patriarch! I am not imagining things, and I did not take Tom upstairs and leave him in the ice cold attics to gratify my lurid imagination. And where did those toys come from, is any one going to tell me that? I’ve never seen them before. If they were Georgie’s, how did Tom Tom know? Oh, Luke, how could you think that I would terrify my own child like that!’

‘He wasn’t terrified, Joss,’ Janet said quietly. ‘Whatever happened and however he got up there, he wasn’t terrified. He was having a good time with those toys, and that’s the main thing, surely. There is no harm done.’

‘There’s a great deal of harm done.’ Lyn’s hands were shaking.
Sitting down abruptly, she chewed her lip, trying to stop herself sobbing out loud. ‘When will someone realise that the children are in danger?’

‘I agree.’ Joss met her eye steadily. ‘The children are in danger. But not, for God’s sake, from me!’

‘There is no danger.’ Luke gave a deep dramatic sigh. ‘My God, this is what happens when you have a house full of hysterical women. For heaven’s sake pull yourselves together. This is the twentieth century. The nineteen nineties. Lyn, let’s have supper. Please! We’ll forget all this for now. Tom Tom is asleep and safe and the alarm is on, so there is nothing for us to fret about for now.’

There was a moment’s silence as all four of them looked towards the dresser where the small white plastic box of the baby alarm sat between a bowl of fruit and the coffee jug. From it came the sound of gentle snuffling snores.

‘T
om Tom, are you awake?’ Joss lowered the side of the cot gently and touched the little boy’s cheek with a cautious finger. ‘Tom Tom, can you hear Mummy?’

He mumbled and stirred slightly in his sleep.

‘Tom Tom, who was it that took you upstairs to play with Georgie’s toys?’ she whispered.

There was no reply. The little boy began to breathe deeply and evenly again, his eyes tight shut, his thumb in his mouth. Joss watched him for a few minutes in silence. Across the passageway Ned, fed and changed had snuggled back into his own small crib and both rooms, lit by the gentle glow of night lights were warm and safe. The sound of the wind playing amongst the gables of the house emphasised the silence and the gentle breathing of the sleeping child.

With a sigh she turned away from the cot. Lying on the chest of drawers, just within the pool of light thrown by the night light lay a white rose.

She stared at it, feeling suddenly sick. It had not been there when she walked into the room.

Don’t scream.

Don’t wake them.

Taking a deep breath she clenched her fists, then slowly she turned round to face the window. There was always a pool of deep shadow there, where the faint candle light never reached. The room felt the same as usual. It wasn’t especially cold; there was no strange half echo in her head. A stronger than usual gust of wind blew and she saw the curtains move slightly. Her palms were sweating. Stepping closer to the cot she gripped the rail on the side. ‘Go away,’ she mouthed silently. ‘Go away. Leave us alone.’ She was aware suddenly that Tom’s eyes had opened. He was watching her, his thumb still in his mouth. He caught her
eye and gave her a big smile. Withdrawing the thumb he held out his arms. ‘Kiss Mummy good night.’

She smiled at him and bent over the cot, stroking his hair. ‘Good night little chap.’

‘Tin man take Tom to play with Georgie’s toys,’ he murmured sleepily. Already his eyes were closing.

Joss felt her heart do a somersault with fear. Stepping away from the cot she studied the room again. There was no one there. Even the shadows were empty.

The rose was fresh, velvet to the touch and sweetly scented. It did not fall to pieces. She carried it into the bathroom, and for a moment she was tempted to try and flush it down the lavatory. Instead she threw open the window, and leaned out into the wind. As she dropped it, it vanished out of sight into the darkness like a puff of thistledown. When she closed the window again she found her finger was bleeding where she had caught it on one of the thorns.

‘Joss? What time did you get up?’ Luke came into the study, rubbing his eyes at about six thirty. ‘Ned’s crying. You said you wanted to do his morning feed.’ He groaned, running his fingers through his hair. ‘God, it’s cold in here. Why on earth haven’t you lit the fire?’

She stared at the hearth blankly. It had been about half past two when she gave up all attempts to fall asleep and, careful not to wake Luke, had crept out of bed and come downstairs. She had lit the fire then and wrapped in a rug, had curled up in the arm chair, cradling Kit on her knee and gazing into the flames. Obviously she had fallen asleep in the end. The room was freezing.

With a groan she tried to straighten her legs. ‘I couldn’t sleep and I didn’t want to disturb you. Can you make us a cup of tea while I get his bottle ready?’

He nodded. ‘Of course. Five minutes.’

Joss tucked Ned inside her dressing gown and, sitting down, abandoned herself to the silence of the early morning and the gentle rhythm of the baby’s sucking as she gave him his bottle. When the door opened and Lyn appeared she was almost asleep.

‘Joss! What are you doing?’ She too was carrying a newly warmed feeding bottle.

Joss opened her eyes. ‘I’m giving my son his breakfast.’

‘But that’s my job!’ Lyn was fully dressed, her hair neatly brushed.

‘Didn’t you see Luke in the kitchen? He’s making tea. He should have told you I was doing it. I’m sorry, Lyn. Could you get Tom up?’

Lyn swallowed a retort and banging down the bottle on the table turned on her heel. ‘Perhaps next time you want to do it, you’ll let me know so I don’t have to get up at dawn.’

‘Oh Lyn, I’m sorry – ’

‘No. That’s OK. I’m just reminding you.’

Already she had gone. With a sigh Joss dropped a kiss on Ned’s head, listening as Lyn’s voice changed from nagging sarcasm to bright and cheerful. ‘Good morning Tom Tom. Time to get up, sweetheart. Tom Tom?’ The tone abruptly turned sharp with fear. ‘Oh God, Tom!’

‘Lyn? What is it?’ Joss stood up. Dropping Ned into his cot she ran towards Tom’s room, pulling her dressing gown around her. ‘Lyn, what’s happened?’ Behind her the baby was screaming with indignation.

Lyn had lifted Tom from his cot. ‘Quick, he’s choking on something. He’s turning blue.’

‘Push his tummy – quickly –’ Joss grabbed the little boy, folding him across her arm. With two desperate gasps Tom coughed up a tiny wooden bird, vomited a trail of bloody spit and began to cry in short rasping sobs.

‘Tom!’ Joss hugged him. ‘Tom, darling – ’

‘Sweet Jesus, why did you give him these? You must have known he’d put them in his mouth!’ Lyn had picked up a handful of the tiny birds which were scattered all over his bed.

‘I didn’t give them to him.’ Joss was trying to soothe the sobbing child.

‘Hush, darling, please. Tom – please stop crying. It’s all right now. Everything’s all right now.’

‘Blood! Joss, there’s blood all over the bed!’ Lyn pulled back the covers. ‘Oh God, Tom. Where’s he bleeding?’

‘He’s not bleeding.’ Joss was managing to soothe him at last. ‘He’s OK. Just very frightened, that’s all.’

‘I’m going to call Simon. Look at the blood round his mouth – ’

‘It’s only a tiny bit, Lyn. He’s all right –’ Joss was calming down far more quickly than Lyn now that the initial panic was over.

‘He’s not all right. Where did the blood on his sheets come from?’

‘I expect from me. I pricked my finger last night. It wouldn’t stop bleeding.’

‘So you were in here last night. It was you who gave him the toys.’ Lyn’s voice was a mixture of accusation and triumph at catching her out.

‘I am allowed in my own child’s bedroom, Lyn,’ Joss’s temper suddenly snapped, ‘and I never gave him those animals. I told you. I wouldn’t be so stupid!’

‘Well then, who did? Tell me that. Luke?’

‘No, of course not Luke.’

‘Then who? Go on, Joss, as you know so much. Who?’

‘I don’t know who.’ Joss cradled Tom’s head against her shoulder.

‘Look Lyn, go and ring Simon. Perhaps he could look in on the way to the surgery. Go on,’ she repeated as Lyn hesitated.

Reluctantly Lyn went through to the bedroom. Behind her, Joss carried Tom through to Ned’s room. ‘Will you stand close to Mummy while I see if your little brother needs a burp before I change his nappy?’ She set Tom down on the floor, disengaging herself from his arms with difficulty. He had stopped crying at last. Hanging on to her dressing gown with one hand the thumb of the other had found its way back into his mouth. Stooping over the screaming Ned she picked him up and held him against her shoulder.

‘Who gave you those little birds, Tom Tom?’ Joss kept her voice as casual as she could as she gently rubbed Ned’s back. He was quiet at last.

‘Georgie.’ The thumb came out long enough for the one word.

Joss took a deep breath trying to steady the sudden jolting of her heart. ‘I know they’re Georgie’s toys, but who put them in your cot?’

‘Georgie.’ He reached for her sash and began to swing the ends of it backwards and forwards.

‘Tom,’ she moved Ned to the other shoulder and crouched down to put her free hand round Tom’s shoulders, ‘darling, what does Georgie look like?’

‘Boy.’

She swallowed hard. Her mouth had gone dry. ‘What sort of boy?’

‘Nice boy.’

Ned was already asleep when she tucked him back into his crib. Then she squatted down in front of Tom once more and took his hands in hers. ‘Tell me about him. Is he bigger than you?’

Tom nodded.

‘And what colour is his hair? Is it like yours?’ She fingered Tom’s curls.

He nodded. ‘Like Mummy’s hair.’

‘I see.’ There was a lump in her throat which would not go away. ‘And the tin man, Tom. Was he there too?’

Tom nodded.

‘Did he play with the toys?’ Her breath felt as though it were being squeezed between ribs of steel. She couldn’t breathe properly.

Tom nodded again.

‘And you’re not frightened of him any more?’

Tom nodded a third time.

‘You mean you are frightened?’

Tom’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Don’t like tin man.’

‘Tom –’ she hesitated. ‘Tom, has he ever given you a rose to play with?’ He looked at her uncomprehendingly. ‘A flower – a white flower with prickles …’ The other roses hadn’t had thorns – none of them had had thorns.

Shaking his head Tom poked at her skirts with his finger.

‘Why are you frightened of him, Tom?’

He stared at her with huge eyes. ‘Tom go see horse.’

Joss smiled. ‘You liked the horse, Tom?’

He nodded vehemently.

‘Right then, let’s go and see him. You can have a ride while Aunty Lyn and I get breakfast.’

The doctor was in the kitchen with Luke when Joss and Tom arrived downstairs. The two men were seated at the table over cups of coffee, talking in subdued tones which ceased the moment she appeared. Joss felt a moment’s unease as she caught Simon’s speculative gaze on her but she smiled and greeted him amicably. ‘So, Luke, what happened to my cup of tea? I was waiting for it with my tongue hanging out.’ Tom had released her hand and run straight to the rocking horse.

‘Sorry, I got delayed.’ Luke stood up and went to lift him onto
it. ‘Jimbo wanted the keys to the coach house. He got here early.’

Simon, relaxed, in an open-necked shirt and heavy sweater took another sip of his coffee. ‘So, it doesn’t look to me as though there’s much wrong with that young man of yours.’

‘There isn’t.’ Joss picked up the teapot and shook it experimentally. ‘You managed to get here very quickly, Simon.’

‘Lyn caught me on the car phone. I was on my way back from the Fords. Their fifth was born in the early hours.’ He grinned wryly. ‘Someone needs to tell Bill Ford to tie a knot in it or they’ll end up with fifteen in as many years.’ He chuckled. ‘Forget I said that. Most unprofessional. So, young Master Grant, I gather you’ve got a bit of a sore throat this morning. Didn’t your Mummy ever tell you not to put things into your mouth?’ He opened his bag and produced torch and spatula.

‘What were you thinking about, Joss, to leave such small toys in his cot?’ Luke stopped pushing the horse and stood back out of Simon’s way.

Joss took a deep breath. ‘I did not give them to him. I am not a complete fool!’

‘Then who did? It wasn’t Lyn or me.’

‘I asked Tom who gave them to him.’ Joss had poured her own tea. Turning away from them she stood for a moment looking through the window out into the courtyard. The doors of the coach house were open and the light poured out into the still dusky yard.

‘And what did Tom say, eh?’ Simon’s voice was carefully neutral as he peered at Tom’s throat.

Tom pushed the spatula away. ‘Georgie gave Tom toys,’ he said helpfully.

‘Georgie?’ Simon switched off the torch. ‘And who is Georgie?’

There was a silence. ‘Georgie does not exist.’ Luke’s voice was suddenly repressive.

‘I see.’ Simon went back to the table and picked up his cup. ‘An imaginary friend.’

‘No.’ Joss spoke sharply from the window. She did not turn round. ‘Not imaginary. If he was, how could he give Tom the toys?’

‘Right.’ Simon glanced at Luke, who shrugged. ‘Luke, would you mind?’ He gestured towards the door with his head. He waited until Luke had let himself out into the courtyard before
standing up again. ‘Why don’t I give you a bit of a push, old chap.’ He went back to the horse.

‘There’s no problem here, Joss. Just a fright. A bit of bruising locally, nothing more. So,’ he glanced at her, noting the tense shoulders. ‘Tell me how you are.’

‘I’m fine.’ Her voice was still tight.

‘Really fine?’ He was still gently pushing the horse’s glossy dappled rump.

Joss turned. ‘What has Luke been saying to you?’

‘He’s worried. He thinks you’re doing too much.’

‘He thinks I’m going round the bend.’

‘Do you?’

He expected her to flare up at the question. Instead she left the window and sat down at the table, her cup in front of her. ‘I think I’m beginning to wonder.’

‘So. Who is Georgie?’

‘My brother.’

‘Your brother?’ He looked astonished. ‘I didn’t realise you had one.’

‘I don’t.’ She looked up. ‘He died in 1962, two years before I was born.’

‘Ah.’ There was only the slightest hesitation in the rhythm of his pushing as he noticed Tom’s sudden tension. Releasing his vice-like grip on the red leather reins with one of his hands, the child’s thumb crept up to his mouth. Simon frowned. ‘Where’s Lyn?’

Joss shrugged. ‘Listening at the door?’

‘Oh, Joss, hey, come on.’ Simon walked over to it and opened it. The hall was empty. ‘I’d like Lyn to come and give Tom here his breakfast before he starves so much he turns into a little tiny frog, and I want you and me to have a little talk. Lyn?’ His shout was surprisingly loud.

They both heard the slap of her exercise sandals on the stone flags as she answered the call. She had not been far away.

‘So, tell me what’s going on.’ In the study, Simon took up a stance in front of the fire. Lyn had already made it up, Joss noted. It was burning merrily, filling the room with the sweet smell of fruit wood.

‘What did Luke tell you?’

‘That he thought you might be suffering from post-natal depression.’

‘And do you think I am?’

‘I think it unlikely. Maybe you’re tired and maybe you’re a bit depressed – show me a new mother who isn’t – that doesn’t mean it’s anything serious. How are you sleeping these days?’