The Guardian's Protector: The Chamber of Souls (18 page)

‘Enough!’ Thomas bellowed from behind, making everyone jump. ‘I will have no one say anything bad about Tom—no one! Do you all understand?’

‘Yes,’ they all mumbled. Alicia slid back in her seat, her eyes wide with alarm.

‘I thought you, above anybody, didn’t believe in anything like this?’ Frank asked Thomas.

‘He said he wouldn’t believe in anything until it had been
proved
!’ Amy cut in. ‘But don’t worry, Frank, even with the evidence, he still doesn’t!’ Thomas stormed back into the kitchen.

Tom, seeing his mother’s face, stood tall and faced his uncle. ‘He said he was proud of you when you won your trophy, Uncle Frank,’ Tom said with broken breaths, tears flooding from his eyes. ‘He wants you to know he
was
watching.’

Every ounce of contempt fell from Frank’s expression. ‘How on Earth…’ He stared at Tom in total disbelief, looking like he could cry at any second.

‘I don’t believe it,’ Joan murmured, looking confused as she turned from the TV.

‘What is it?’ Alicia whispered to Frank. He didn’t answer.

Amy knew. Amy remembered, just after her granddad’s death, Frank telling Joan and Thomas that he was sure his granddad was watching when he won his rugby trophy. Amy also remembered her dad telling Frank that he was dead and when you’re dead, you’re dead—simple as that!

Amy squeezed Tom’s hand. ‘Tom can do a lot more than this,’ she said boldly. ‘He’s special and I’m proud of him! So if you call him weird one more time…’

‘It’s okay, Mum,’ Tom repeated. ‘I’m used to people thinking I’m weird. Aunt Alicia’s always felt like that about me, but don’t be mad. It’s not her fault.’ Alicia scowled at Tom like he’d just swore at her.

‘We’re sorry!’ Frank said to Amy, coming round from his state of shock. ‘I want to say…
thank you
, Tom,’ he added, to everyone else’s shock. ‘That was…
good
to hear!’

Tom’s face lit. ‘He said you’re not such a stubborn mule after all!’

Frank could no longer hold back his tears. ‘He always called me that!’ Joan rushed over to hug him.

Even though Frank and Joan seemed to believe Tom, Amy left right away. As they arrived back home, Amy peered into the hallway mirror. At just twenty, she could see her youth had been taken. She moved closer to study the bags under her eyes, searching for permanent lines.

‘What are you doing, Mum?’ Tom asked.

‘I’m looking at my ugly mush,’ she joked.

‘You must have a faulty mirror,’ he said. ‘Don’t let Aunt Alicia make you feel bad.’

Amy smiled at him. ‘She likes to make people feel inferior so it makes her more superior.’

After Amy had explained what inferior and superior meant, Tom still looked confused. ‘But she
doesn’t
feel superior to begin with!’ he said. ‘When she makes you feel inferior it stops
her
feeling inferior. She was always made to feel inferior. That’s why she feels bad inside…and that’s
why
she does it.’

‘She doesn’t show it!’ Amy stuttered, gob-smacked at his psychological analysis.

‘I know she doesn’t. She learnt a long time ago not to show her feelings.’

‘Why are you so clever?’ Amy asked.

He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I won’t say I just know everything. I don’t want to be called
Aleck
!’

‘It took courage to stand up to your uncle Frank. Instead of letting them carry on thinking you were being bad, you stuck up for yourself. You should do that more often!’

‘I stuck up for
you
!’ he said.

The next morning, Amy woke to a piece of paper at the side of her bed. It was a poem from Tom titled ‘Faulty Mirror’. It read:
Through that faulty mirror, your reflection isn’t true; you look good on the outside because the inside shines through
. Amy held it to her heart thinking it was the best thing she’d ever received.

CHAPTER 12

THE DAY WITH MARK

‘You look wonderful,’ Mark said to Amy as she and Tom met him on Portland Street to help with the soup kitchen.

Amy beamed at him, her long mascaraed lashes batting like butterfly wings as she blushed. ‘These old things,’ she mumbled, looking at her new bum-flattering skinny jeans as if she’d made no effort.

‘I mean your hair and your…eyes,’ he corrected, holding her gaze and staring at her like she was a miracle. She’d straightened her hair and applied eyeliner and lip gloss, which she thought, because of her baby face, made her look like a beauty pageant wannabe, so she’d never expected a reaction like this. Refined and dignified, Mark was a true gentleman.

‘Thanks.’ Amy grinned, trying to calm her palpitations. Thoughts of her impending doom faded when Mark was around. She felt brighter, perkier. And now, thanks to him, confident she looked okay.

‘Are you ready for the soup kitchen?’ Mark asked Tom.

‘I am,’ Tom said and held out his right hand. Mark took it and looked as happy to be holding Tom’s hand as Tom did his. Amy took his left hand and Tom turned his head from side to side as if proud of the chain he’d created. Amy beamed at the sight of them: The three of them walking down the road together like a happy family seemed so right.

As they walked into the gay village, she could feel the bounce in Tom’s stride. He was so happy to be helping people that even before they’d arrived, Amy felt grateful to Mark.

‘Mum,’ Tom began, as they walked down Canal Street, ‘do we
have
to stay in our bodies?’ Amy was used to Tom’s questions but she looked at Mark for his reaction.

Mark smiled. ‘I think you should learn physics and biology next!’

A bit farther down, Tom looked up at her. ‘Do you think the light I have will ever go dark?’ he asked. Thankfully he continued before giving her the chance to answer. ‘I hope it doesn’t. I wouldn’t want that.’ Mark, seemingly amused, just kept smiling.

After passing the male transsexual who Tom told looked pretty and made his or “her” day, they arrived at a shabby-looking building. Above the pale, wooden door, a sign read, ‘Soup kitchen for the homeless, open Saturday and Sunday 12-4’.

‘This way,’ Mark said, opening the door. ‘Mind the step…and the rubbish,’ he added, gesturing to some cardboard boxes as they walked down the dank corridor.

Amy could hear talking and cutlery clinking coming from behind the door at the bottom of the corridor and as Mark opened a door, she saw why. A vast difference to what would be a regular café, the place was as big as Winston’s two shops together, and not decorated nicely at all. It had an open kitchen in the corner where many homeless men and women were queuing at the counter. Amy watched as a scraggy-haired lady handed bowls of some sloppy mixture to them. A notice board behind indicated that it was hotpot.

The rest of the place was filled with old tables and chairs, most of them occupied.

‘Hello there,’ began a ginger-haired grizzly looking man who sat at the table beside them. ‘My name’s George.’

‘Hello,’ Tom replied. ‘I’m Tom and this is my mum, Amy.’

George coughed uncontrollably, bits of hotpot flying from his mouth, his huge belly shaking as he did.

Tom patted his back instinctively. ‘Mum, he’s not well,’ Tom announced, looking concerned. ‘Can he stay with us?’ he added.

Before Amy could answer, George raised his hand. ‘No, no,’ he spluttered, ‘I’m okay. I’m staying with Mark!’

‘Yes,
unfortunately
!’ Mark laughed.

‘Don’t be cheeky, sonny Jim!’ George said.

‘Who’s Jim?’ Tom asked.

‘It’s a saying,’ Amy explained.

‘Oh,’ Tom said, looking interested. ‘It’s okay, Jim,’ he added to Mark, ‘I’m Aleck!’ Tom raised his hand and gave Mark a high-five.

‘Why you here, Tom?’ George asked.

‘He’s helping,’ Mark boasted, looking at Tom fondly.

‘Get me another cuppa then!’ George ordered, unimpressed.

‘Course,’ Tom said, eager to have his first job.

‘Err, I don’t know if you should carry hot tea, Tom,’ Amy said.

‘I can do it, Mum. I’m twice the size I should be, and if I burn myself, I’ll just heal it!’ he offered, as though his reasoning was perfectly logical. Having no reaction to what Tom claimed, Mark looked at Amy for her answer. Amy, realising Mark must think this was normal behaviour for a child, or for just knowing Tom as well as he did, nodded.

‘Let’s get George that cup of tea then, shall we?’ Mark asked. They followed Tom to a table full of cups and saucers. Mark placed one under the hot drinks machine at the side of the table and handed it to Tom. Amy watched on tenterhooks as he crept over with the mug of tea and placed it carefully onto George’s table, expecting a clap…or a thank you…or
something
from George.

‘Well, get us the sugar, sonny,’ George ordered.

‘Oh, okay,’ Tom said, running back to retrieve it.

‘Ahh,’ George murmured, taking a big gulp and winking at Tom. ‘I needed that.’ Tom beamed at him and then turned to Mark, eager for his next assignment.

‘Come on, then,’ Mark said, leading them both behind the counter and, after introducing them to Joyce, the lady who was serving, he led them into another room in the back.

‘These need to be dished out,’ he instructed, pointing to a table full of bread rolls. He then grabbed a large wicker basket from the shelf. ‘You can carry them in this.’ Tom got to work straight away. ‘As for you,’ he said, turning to Amy, ‘first things first.’ He opened a drawer and rummaged inside. ‘Ah ha,’ he said, pulling out a bobble. ‘Turn around.’

Amy turned and, as his huge hands lifted her hair, his gentle fingers brushed her neck and a powerful, tingling sensation shot through her body, leaving her legs feeling like they’d lost their bones. He twisted the hair around and, after securing it up in scruffy bun, placed a chef’s hat on top.

‘Gorgeous!’ he stated, stepping in front with a sarcastic smile. As he took in her expression, his smile wavered. She didn’t know what sort of feelings had betrayed themselves on her face, but she was definitely in some kind of bizarre, extraordinary and extremely aroused state.

‘Shall I take more?’ Tom interrupted, making Amy jump. He must have been on full speed or she’d been gaping longer than she thought; either way it brought her back down to Earth.

‘Yes,’ Mark said. Amy was about to enter dreamland again of what a perfect dad he’d make for Tom when Mark turned to her, placing his hand on her forearm to get her attention. ‘Are you okay to help Joyce serve?’

‘Yep,’ she gasped, savouring his touch.

For the rest of the afternoon, Amy served and washed pots while gaping at Mark and admiring Tom, who rushed around without making a mistake. Just before closing, a skinny, scraggy-haired girl around eleven walked in. She looked around the place, her honey-brown eyes showing how nervous she felt, then sat in a chair by the door.

Amy stared at her and thought about the girl’s parents. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than having a child who lived on the streets. Amy crept to her table and slowly sat on the chair opposite, noticing how pale she was behind the dirt on her face.

‘Would you like something to eat?’ Amy asked, her tone gentle.

The girl looked over to the canteen area and shook her head.

‘You don’t have to pay.’

Her eyes lit. ‘Okay,’ she whispered.

‘Have you got somewhere to sleep, sweetheart?’ Amy asked, taking her hand. The girl pulled her hand away.

‘It’s a secret place!’ she whispered, her sad, doe-like eyes full of fear. ‘I won’t tell you where it is,’ she added, slowly shaking her head. ‘I don’t like people near me when it’s dark.’

‘Can you tell me your name?’ Amy asked.

The girl considered Amy for a moment and then abruptly stood. ‘I’m not going back,’ she said, grabbing a dirty, pink bag from her side.

‘What do you mean?’ Amy said, panicking.

‘You’re asking my name so you can send me home! That’s what happened last time and I ran away again and…’

‘Please, sit down, Lucy,’ Tom interrupted from behind Amy. ‘We won’t do anything you don’t want us to. We’re just here to bring you some food, aren’t we, Mum?’

‘Yes,’ Amy said, trying to convince her. ‘No more questions, I promise.’

‘I’ll bring you a hot chocolate if you like.’ Tom smiled.

The girl looked from Amy to Tom while clutching her tatty bag then, after consideration, sunk into the chair.

Amy left her at the table with Tom and, after taking her a bowl of hotpot, went to find Mark, who was in the back, counting up the small contributions. Amy quickly told Mark about the girl and how she was worried about her. He nodded in sympathy.

‘It’s going to go dark soon and she’s sleeping on the streets,’ Amy said. ‘We need to phone the authorities.’

‘I understand,’ Mark answered. ‘I’ll get some details and we’ll see what we can do for her.’ He walked over to her table but, taking one look at him, she dropped her spoon and ran. Mark ran straight out after her.

‘Wait here with Joyce,’ Amy instructed Tom, who nodded in agreement.

Mark called the name Lucy but the girl wouldn’t wait. She ran up Canal Street, across Portland Street, through the bus station and onto Piccadilly Gardens without any concern for her safety. Amy weaved through the traffic that had slowed in response, then watched in amazement how not one person who sat watching the fountains took any notice of a six foot man chasing a young and obviously frightened girl.

The girl was fast. She sped through the gardens onto Market Street and then raced her way up the full length of Tib Street onto the outskirts of town. As Amy reached the main road, she had to stop to take a breath.

With her hands on her knees, Amy watched Mark dash across the busy road and finally catch up to the girl. No sooner had he placed his hand on her shoulder, she stopped to talk to him like they were the best of friends. Keeping his hand on her shoulder, he then led her down the side of a row of shops and out of sight. Amy took a deep breath and crossed the road wondering why he hadn’t turned back.

They had now crossed another main road farther up and were walking behind the skate park. She passed the back street car parks and old factories and ran across the road and, before she reached the skate park, she imagined there to be more car parks and old factories behind it. As she turned the corner they had ventured down, however, she jumped back in shock. To her utter bewilderment she somehow stood at the foot of a clover covered, meadow-type hill, under a white lattice archway bearing the words ‘Garden of Need’, looking down onto a beautiful, perfect square, which could have easily held another four car parks, of what could only be described as a botanical paradise.

The square garden was made by a gigantic stone wall draped with climbing vines, lush flowers and an abundance of colour, blocking out all the surrounding area. There were stone and marble statues situated next to stepped water featured areas, and in the centre of all the magnificent surroundings was an oblong, grey stone three-storey high building.

Amy turned back confused. Behind her was the busyness of town, with its main roads, old factories and shops, and in front of her was what looked like the hanging gardens of Babylon. Amy hadn’t a clue such a place existed. She didn’t realise there were any greenbelt areas in the middle of town, but it was obvious why it was never allowed to be built on. With masses of colour flooding the entire area, the place was like a treasured oasis.

For a moment, Amy wondered who could possibly live in such a beautiful building like this until she noticed Mark and Lucy walk up the steps leading to the double doors of the building, and Mark take out a set of keys. When he opened the door and led Lucy inside, Amy became even more confused. Amy stood in shock on the clover-covered hill to fully take in the place.

It wasn’t a mansion as such, but the symmetrical building had two huge windows either side of the double doors, five medium-sized windows on the second floor and the same on the third, with white shutters and curtains up at each. Beautiful flowered baskets hung beside the front doors like it attempted to be a house, yet it wasn’t quite. Amy walked down the hill and around the pond and, as she climbed the steps to the building, her heart rapid, the home seemed to grow in size.

Above the doors, a placard stated the place was an orphanage that opened in 1730. If she stepped down from the porch she wouldn’t be tall enough to reach the windowsills so if she wanted to know what was going on, she would have to knock. She thought about it for a second as she looked around. There was no one else in sight. The town had vanished, and there was no noise except the sound of flowing water. No visitors at all; just her. With a creaking noise, one of the double doors opened.

After looking at it for a moment, Amy edged forward, trying to get a peep inside. Just as she did, a wild, frizzy-haired woman pounced in front of her and screamed, ‘Whatcha doin? Don’t yer know I’m mad?’

Amy stumbled back, her heart skipping a beat as she took in the crazed woman in front of her. With protruding, unfocussed eyes and a deranged crocodile grin, she poked her bony, nicotine-stained finger into Amy’s shoulder and Amy stumbled down the steps of the porch back onto the path. The woman twitched her way down the steps after Amy, her wild, frizzy mane wafting along behind her, the light revealing how bald she was underneath the few strands she had but before she reached Amy, Mark came to the door.

‘What are you doing, Mad-Doris?’ he asked calmly.

‘I’m telling this ‘ere
madam
that I’m maaad,’ she hissed, shaking her head and acting like a pirate. ‘I won’ be ‘avin no messin’ roun’ ‘ere!’ She placed her hands on her hips, her chin whiskers bent up towards him.

‘Amy,’ Mark said, rolling his eyes. ‘This is Mad-Doris. She’s a bit mad and she doesn’t like no messin’!’ He winked at Amy for her to humour the woman as he took her hand.

‘Okay,’ Amy stammered, nervously climbing back up the steps. ‘Nice to meet you, Doris.’

‘It’s
Mad
-Doris, fank yer
very
much!’ she quacked, obviously insulted.

‘Sorry—err, nice to meet you,
Mad
-Doris.’

Mad-Doris studied Amy for a second, then her shoulders relaxed. ‘Yer look like a nice enough
money grabber
girl. Yer can come in.’ She smiled as if the screaming insult hadn’t entered her speech and cleared the doorway.