Long Lankin (29 page)

Almost feverish with curiosity, and hardly knowing what to look at next, I went back to the notebook.

Then, on the next page:

My hands had gone clammy and left marks on the fine paper.

Suddenly I heard a noise — Auntie Ida’s footsteps on the stairs.

As quickly as I could, I gathered up the papers from the floor, tiptoed across to the bed, jumped in with the box, the notebook, and everything, and covered myself right up to my chin with the eiderdown. I held my breath and squeezed my eyes tight shut. The box was hard and cold against me, and a corner of the leather book dug into my neck.

Mimi turned over.

Auntie Ida stopped outside the door, listening. I was holding my breath so long I thought I’d die.

I hadn’t shut the curtains. Would she see the strip of light under the door and know I was awake?

The latch clicked. I swallowed. The papers rustled slightly. I didn’t dare, dare move.

The latch went back down again. There was quiet for a minute, then I heard Auntie’s feet moving away down the passage towards her own room. Her door opened with a creak, then banged shut. I came out from under the covers, and my breath rushed out.

I put the loose paper and letters back in the box and rested it on the eiderdown between Mimi and me, then sat up and propped the soft feather pillow behind my head.

I opened the notebook once more. The warm sunlight streamed across the bed. I pulled the eiderdown up around me. Mimi’s little toes touched my legs, but as I read, I began to feel a creeping chill in my bones.

Cora was banging on the back door. I was only up because Dad woke me before he went to work saying Mum wasn’t feeling too good, so could I take her a cup of tea in bed.

“Blimey, you’re early,” I said, peering round the door, trying to hide the cowboy pyjamas I’d got from Grandma.

“I’ve got to show you something! It’s really important!” Cora was breathless. She pushed her way in, dragging Mimi, looking bleary-eyed, behind her.

“Don’t slam it! Mum’s still in bed. Pamela’s had a fever and been sick all night. Mum’s whacked. I don’t think Terry’s all that well, either. Keep Mimi in here for a minute.”

I took Mum her tea, though I don’t think she noticed, then I went into my bedroom to find myself some clothes. Pete was still asleep.

My old shirt from yesterday was still on the floor, so I stuck it on again. Just as I shut the door, I heard a horrible retching noise coming from Terry and Dennis’s room. I waited for a few seconds, hoping Mum would come, but when she didn’t, I knew I’d have to go in.

Terry came lurching towards me and whooshed sick all over my shirt and trousers. Smartly I took a step backwards and the rest sprayed over the lino.

“Blinkin’ hell, Terry!” I yelled.

“I was trying to get to the toilet,” he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “I feel horrible, Roger. Ooh, there’s more coming. . . .”

And it did.

We didn’t know how to start off the washing machine, so filled up the bath with hot water and tipped in the whole packet of powder. Then we dumped the clothes in and swished them around with a wooden spoon from the kitchen.

Baby Pamela started crying, so Roger got her from his mum’s room. I could see Mrs. Jotman through the crack of the door, flaked out on the bed. Pamela smelled awful. Roger said I should change her nappy, but luckily Mrs. Jotman, her eyes bloodshot and her hair sticking out, came and took the baby.

We tried mopping Terry’s bedroom floor with a bottle of Dettol and made him stay in the bathroom in case he was sick again.

Dennis and Mimi went to play in the garden. Pete was still fast asleep. Mrs. Jotman wandered around rocking Pamela in her arms, trying to make up her mind whether or not to bother the doctor.

We couldn’t find much in the cupboard, so made ourselves some sugar sandwiches, then sat side by side in the crook of the big oak tree.

Cora took a small leather notebook and some old squashed letters out of her pocket.

“They’ve all come out of that box I told you about,” she said. “I found it. Auntie went out first thing, really early, and I sneaked in and got it.”

“Where’s the box now?”

“I hid it under the bed. I couldn’t bring all the stuff that’s in it, but this is the most important. I had to wear these trousers because they were the only things I had with a pocket big enough. Look at this.”

She opened the notebook and forced it under my nose.

“It’s rotten handwriting,” I said, reading.

She would not so, and went to die deserving of the punishment of the law
.

“What’s all this about, then?” I said, when I’d finished all the letters and pages Cora wanted me to read for the time being. “It’s horrible.”

“And that Anne Swift in the letter is the girl in the photo from the paper in your mum’s scrapbook. And — and she’s the same little girl in the graveyard, the one with her arms out. On my mum’s side, they’re all Swifts, you know. Mum’s name was Swift before she married my dad. Her mum was Auntie Ida’s sister, Agnes Guerdon, and her dad was One-Eyed Jack Swift. Dad and Auntie Ida said something about Anne when he came. I overheard them. It’s all something to do with my family.”

I looked over the letters again.

“You see this — Coldwell Hospital,” I pointed out, “where it says Mr. Scaplehorn went — it’s an asylum, where people go when — when they’ve gone mad. It’s out in the country on the other side of Lokswood. In the Easter holidays when Mum was having Terry, Dad had to go over there to do some surveying. He took Pete and Dennis and me with him to keep us out from under Mum’s feet.

“We went through some huge gates in this great high wall with bits of broken glass stuck in the top. He left us in the car while he went in to do whatever he had to do. There were lots of little windows with bars across, and the walls went up and up. I saw a face look out, and they had a white nightie thing on, even though I think it was a man, and I was really scared till Dad got back.”

“Maybe Mr. Scaplehorn was going crazy then. . . . Look at this,” said Cora, thumbing through the leather notebook again and showing me a page.

Applications were made to the Bishops of Lokswood in 1753, 1812, and then in 1878, and again in 1902 to carry out the Rite of Exorcism at Guerdon Hall, Bryers Guerdon, each time by request of the Guerdon family.
“What’s this word here?” She jabbed her finger at the word
Exorcism
. “Look, it says the names of the priests who did it — ‘
Francis Payne, Inigo Ryecart, Percival Wormald’
—”

“Hang on a minute,” I said, getting up. “I’ll go and get my dictionary.”

The house still smelled revolting and was full of steam from the big pan bubbling away on the gas, full of boiling nappies. Mum was opening the windows. She said Terry had been sick again, so I might have to go down to Mrs. Aylott’s to get more Dettol. Pete was tying up his shoes, ready to pop down to fetch Dr. Meldrum from North End.

I found my dictionary under a cushion on the settee in the sitting room. It was open on the
B
s. Pete must have been looking up
bloomers
or
bosoms
again.