The Well (19 page)

Abby paused. “My mother taught me the curse – one of the more unusual nursery rhymes of my childhood. It goes:
The baby you carry will never be male; the life of the man who sired it will fail. The lives that I take must never grow old; or from you and yours I take back tenfold.
”

There was a long silence while Abby let Helen absorb the story.

“Oh God,” said Helen. “You and Sammy. You’re descended from the apothecary, aren’t you?”

Abby nodded. “You believe me?”

“Of course I do. I’m so, so sorry, Abby.”

“Don’t be. It just is what it is.”

“And Sammy’s Dad?”

“You ever read
The World According to Garp
?” asked Abby. Helen shook her head.

“Garp’s mother, Jenny, wants a child but not a husband. She’s a nurse. She decides to – erm –
take
a soldier who was mentally a vegetable. I guess you could say it was a type of rape. She just wanted his sperm. Well, I kind of did the same thing. To have a child, I have to kill – you have to admit it’s one hell of a curse, truly testing a woman’s greatest desire. Anyhow, I got an evening job as a hospice volunteer, visiting the terminally ill at home, and chose someone who was already dying. I’d say he was pretty grateful, actually. He got a great send-off and didn’t have to suffer his expected prolonged death.”

Helen genuinely didn’t know what to say.

“Oh don’t worry, he didn’t die on the job. He died a few days later, when I guess I’d conceived. He was a good man. His name was John. Youngish, late forties I think. His wife had left him; taken his son. He was trying to deal with the cancer on his own. I liked him. A lot. And it wasn’t as sordid as it sounds. I made it nice – better than nice. He was being cared for at home. I went around one night, washed him. Lit lots of candles, ate dinner with him. Then we made love.
And it was making love
, not screwing. Well, I thought it was making love – until I met you.”

Helen smiled, appreciatively.

Abby continued. “He wasn’t physically very able, so I did most of the work. Slowly, sweetly – I made it last,
for him
. I stayed all night; we made love three times. I wanted it to be as fair an exchange as I could. I still put flowers on his grave. I’ve never slept with anyone else.”

“Christ,” said Helen.

“Well, what’s the alternative? Meet someone in a pub and have a one-night stand?”

“That would be pretty awful,” agreed Helen.

“Too true. That’s what my mother did.”

Helen looked at her, to see if she was joking. She clearly wasn’t.

“We have to keep the line alive. And the story. No one else knows the full story, or the curse. If
she
takes a child, it’s our job to make sure she can keep him. Her taking the child is bad, but the town getting the child back is worse. Ten times worse.” Abby turned on her side and propped her head up with her elbow, her blonde hair falling around the pillow. “Now,” she asked, “do you still love me?”

“Every inch,” said Helen.

“I come with a fair bit of baggage.”

“Don’t you just. You’re a witch groupie’s goldmine.”

Abby smiled. “You sure you believe me?”

“Of course I do. Why would I not? It’s no weirder than similar folk tales.”

“Except this one’s true, even if it sounds like a crazy story. I’ve never told anyone,” said Abby. “Ever. And I never for a moment thought that I would. Helen?”

“Yes.”

“I never said. I love you too.”

Helen smiled and kissed Abby warmly. “You didn’t have to. I already know it.”

Helen thought for a moment. “So that’s why Sammy often knows things without being told?”

Abby nodded. “I have the same gift, but I’m nowhere near as good as Sammy. Even at her age, she’s way better than me. In fact, I’m pretty rubbish at it. It’s not a reliable thing for me, just something that happens every so often.”

“Does she know?”

“Know what? That she sees things in her mind that happen somewhere else? No, I don’t think so. She’s too young. But before long I’m going to have to start telling her to be careful. She probably won’t get burned as a witch, but she could easily get into a lot of trouble.”

“When will you tell her what you’ve told me?”

“When she’s older. I don’t know when. When she’s ready. I was fourteen when my Mum told me.”

“And your Mum?” asked Helen.

“Committed suicide when Sammy was six months old.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I’m sorry,” said Helen.

Abby dismissed Helen’s apology with a casual wave. “It was her choice. I guess she couldn’t face things any more. It’s not an easy thing to live with. I think it weighed heavily on her – more even than it does on me.”

“Is that the end of the story?”

“As far as it goes. The cottage and the well are still there, ruined, but few people go there. In the absence of knowing the real story, lots of false legends have sprung up. In any event, people generally stay away.”

“Have you ever been there?”

Abby shook her head. “Nope. But one day, I may have to. I’ll go if and when I need to. The Whitaker estate has been abandoned for years. Most of it is overgrown. In one room of the cottage, where the old woman died, people say that nothing grows. They never found all of the bodies of the children, though they found some, in a grave, close by. You must have heard what the locals call the old woman?”

“Awful Anna, or something like that. It doesn’t sound too scary.”

“No it doesn’t. She used to be known as
Ufel Anna
and some local historians still know that name. Do you know what ufel means?”

Helen shook her head. “Latin?”

“Nope. Middle English. Ufel means
Evil.
”

“And –” Helen hesitated before asking the question. “Do children still go missing?”

“Now and again,” said Abby, sadly. “Not in my lifetime though.”

“If you’re descended from the apothecary, what about the witch? Does she have descendants?”

“No,” said Abby, fixing Helen with a stare. “The witch doesn’t need descendants, because she doesn’t ever really die.”

5

In over twenty years of teaching, and seven as headmistress, this was the first time that Audrey Chadwick had one child missing from the school, let alone two. She took a sip of her now tepid tea, her hands shaking slightly.

Stephen Carter waited patiently while Audrey composed herself. He was no stranger to the school, but this was new territory for him too. His previous visits had been trivial by comparison: petty theft and bullying, the normal staple of police-school interrelation alongside occasional presentations and liaison work. He sat alone with the headmistress, but outside four more officers waited: two male, two female. Jenny Greenwood had been assigned as liaison officer to the family, so she was on her way over to the house. Already the school was abuzz with gossip and rumours – none of which was correct (and most of which was almost as extraordinary as the truth).

Stephen had met Audrey Chadwick before, several times. Although she was likeable, he considered her to be ineffectual – a view shared by most of her staff and a trait often taken advantage of by the sharper pupils.

There was a knock at the door.

“Just a moment,” said Audrey. She replaced the teacup, rubbed her eyes and composed herself, breathing in deeply. “Enter,” she said, with a greater firmness than Stephen would have expected of her. Brian Garland, the deputy head, stepped tentatively into the room.

“You wanted to see me, Audrey?” he asked, eyeing Stephen.

“Brian – this is Officer Carter. Officer Carter, Brian Garland, the school’s deputy head.” Stephen liked that:
the school’s deputy head, not my deputy head.
They shook hands.

“Brian. Something – something terrible has happened.” She paused, and for a moment Stephen thought that she would dither through the whole conversation, but then she pressed on.

“Two children are missing. Rebecca Richards and Matthew Bradshaw. You know them?”

Clearly shocked, Brian nodded. “Oh good grief – er, yes, I teach them both. Matt’s new. His father moved in with Becca’s Mum, I understand.”

Audrey looked over to Stephen, which he took as a cue to take over the conversation. “They’ve been missing since Saturday, quite possibly Friday, Mr Garland. We don’t yet know exactly when.”

Garland seemed lost for words. “I – they – where were they last seen?”

“As far as we can tell,” continued Stephen, “at school on Friday. Their parents were away over the weekend, so only found out they were missing yesterday. We really need to speak to everyone who came into contact with Rebecca or Matthew on Friday – as a matter of urgency. Teachers
and
children. And parents, too.”

“Of course,” said Garland. “What do you want us to do?”

“We’re going to call a full assembly,” said Audrey. “It’s the fastest way for Officer Carter to address the school. Just before that, he will brief the heads of years. After the assembly, the children can go to their tutor groups. We’ll keep lessons running as normally as we can, but the priority is to enable the police to interview the teachers and children who were with Rebecca and Matthew on Friday.”

Garland nodded.

“We may need to speak to
everyone
,” said Stephen. “At the moment, there are five police officers here – three from Bankside’s force and two we’ve drafted in. We’re expecting more today – a lot more. That will make the job much faster.”

“Whatever you need,” said Garland. “Just ask.”

“The police want to set up an incident room in the school,” said Audrey. “I suggested the library annex.”

“That’s fine,” said Garland. “I’ll get some of the prefects to move the desks together.”

“Don’t worry,” said Stephen. “We can do that. It’s best that the children only speak to us when they’re being questioned.” Brian looked puzzled. “Partly because it’s easy for anything that’s overheard to be taken out of context. But also because we don’t want to influence what people say.”

Audrey glanced at her watch. “If you don’t mind, Brian, we need to get moving.”

Brian nodded. “Of course. The main hall, fifteen minutes?”

“That would be excellent,” said Stephen. Brian left, and Stephen made ready to follow him.

“Anything you need, Mr Carter, just ask.”

“Thank you – I will. Can I ask you: how well do you know the children?”

Audrey considered. “Not terribly. I’m as hands-on as I can be, but that’s not very much these days. Rebecca’s a bit of a shining light in the school: a genuinely talented swimmer. She’s won more competitions than any pupil in the history of the school, twice over. We have lots of photographs of her – you’ll see them in the awards cabinets. She does OK in school. Not exceptional academically, but certainly by no means dim. Quite strong-minded, but a bit on the quiet side. I don’t really know Matthew. He’s not been here long.” She hesitated. “He’s not been in any trouble, but a couple of the teachers have flagged that he can be – well, hard work. He’s not really made friends – which can be a concern in itself – and some of the children seem to steer clear of him. But he seems to get on very well with Rebecca.”

Stephen remained impassive. “Thanks,” he said. “We can speak in more detail later.” He went outside to brief the small team, wondering when more bobbies, the CID and his sergeant were going to arrive.
And then,
he thought,
God help us. The social workers will be here next.

6

Jenny Greenwood ran her finger along the map. “This is the most direct route from school, at the northern edge of town, to here – running through the town centre. So, this is the route that we’re currently searching.”

Sarah and Jim looked carefully over the map. “God,” said Sarah. “It’s such a small town – but there are so many different ways for them to get home.”

“Do you know what their normal route home would be?”

Sarah shook her head; the question made her feel inadequate. “No. I know I should but –” She stopped, unable to finish the sentence.

“It’s OK,” said Jenny. “We don’t expect any parent to know their child’s exact movements. But anything you can tell us,
anything
, could help. For example, do they usually buy sweets from a particular shop? Do they hang around anywhere with friends before coming home?”

“I don’t know,” said Sarah, running her hands through her hair in exasperation. She and Jim had slept very little in the last thirty hours and she was having trouble thinking straight.

Jenny turned to Jim. “Mr Bradshaw?”

Jim pondered the map, thinking hard. “They didn’t always get home at the same time.”

“They didn’t usually come home together?”

“Sorry, no, I didn’t mean that,” said Jim. “Sometimes they would be home before five, sometimes a bit after, sometimes it could be almost five-thirty. Does that mean they didn’t have one set route?”

“It might,” said Jenny, “or it might just mean that sometimes they stopped to chat. Are you sure they never got the bus?”

“Not that I know of, though they may have if it’s been raining,” said Sarah. “Mostly they’d walk, sometimes one of us would pick them up, but not that often. We tend to run them in more than we pick them up.” She studied the map. “God,” she said, “they could have gone down any of these roads.”

“And we will search them all, Mrs Richards, I promise.” Jenny held eye contact with Sarah until she could see that Sarah believed her. “Every single one. But we can’t search every route at once. We have to start with the most likely and work outwards. At the moment, we’ve only managed to draft in a couple of dozen extra hands. But by this afternoon, we’ll have twice that.”

“What about us,” said Jim. “Can’t we help?”

It was a difficult but expected question. “Not directly with the main search,” she said, avoiding the word
hunt
that the police used between themselves. “We need to be very methodical and not get in the way of the main team.” While this was the truth, Jenny knew it wasn’t the whole truth: when children go missing, everyone is a suspect, including the parents. The parents need to be involved, but not allowed to compromise the investigation or contaminate any evidence. Jenny was there to not only provide support, but to observe Sarah and Jim too.