What? No, it can’t be. I rewind the tape so I can hear that bit again then I let it run on.
‘There’s a little lad. Tiny little thing, can’t be much more than three or four, in the house next door. I see him all the time. In the garden, outside the shed, he flits about like a little pixie. And I hear his voice too, mainly at night. I hear him crying for his mummy. Paul thinks it’s my mind getting slow and he might be right . . . You see, he’s the absolute spit of my baby David. I miss him so much.’
A little boy . . . I remember now what Kate said. In that last phone call.
I’m calling to ask you a favour. It’s really important, Sally. I need you to keep an eye on the house next door to Mum’s . . .
My head is spinning as I sit there with the device in my hands, trying to make sense of what my mother is saying. Mum may have been losing it, but she had also seen a boy. Just like Kate.
Then Fida’s words come back to me. What had she been trying to tell me?
I need your help.
I put the Dictaphone down and get up from the chair. Something very odd is going on in that house. I grab my coat from the end of the stairs and head out, Kate’s voice ringing in my ears.
Please, Sally.
This time I promise not to fail her.
37
The sun is just dipping when I reach Smythley Road. Mum’s old house is all lit up with the orange rays from the sunset. It makes it look pretty though it’s just a shabby old semi. It makes me think of those Easter Sundays when Mum would drag us off to Reculver beach to see the dancing sun.
As I walk towards the house I can see the three of us clearly. We’re huddled up in a tatty beach blanket waiting for the sun to rise. ‘Look at the water,’ my mum shouts and it’s there, the sun, like a big orange beach ball bobbing along the waves. ‘It’s dancing,’ Kate shouts. ‘It’s really dancing.’
It was just an illusion; the water was moving, not the sun. I knew that and I thought the whole thing was daft; a childish folk tale passed down through the family. But Kate and my mother believed in it and would sit there mesmerized, lost in their own little fantasy world, as the sun flitted across the waves.
What if all this is a fantasy too, I think to myself, as I walk up the driveway. What if this kid is just a product of my mother and Kate’s imaginations? Still, either way, I feel good for just doing something. Maybe this is what Kate felt like when she was out in some far-flung place following up a story.
When I get to the front door I notice it’s open. Who leaves their door open at this time of night, I think to myself as I tap gently on the door frame.
‘Hello?’ I call. ‘Is there anyone home?’
I can see through the crack that the house is in darkness. Suddenly I feel afraid. Maybe I should go and come back tomorrow in the daytime when there’ll be more people around on the street. But then I think of Kate again. I need to show her that I can be strong. I take a deep breath and step inside the house.
The hallway is so dark I can barely see. My heart races as I step further inside.
And then, as my eyes adjust, I see her. She’s lying at an odd angle at the bottom of the stairs, her arms over her face. Shit. What’s happened? I go to her and move her arms away. Her face is dark with blood.
‘Fida,’ I say, trying to keep calm. ‘Fida, what happened? Did you fall?’
She mutters something I can’t understand.
‘You need to go to the hospital,’ I say. ‘You might have broken something.’
I reach in my pocket but my phone is not there. In my rush to leave the house I must have forgotten to pick it up.
‘Fida, do you have a phone? Or a landline?’
‘Shh–’ she says, pointing behind me.
‘What?’ I say, not daring to look.
‘Shh–’ she says, her eyes bulging.
I look over my shoulder into the darkness. There’s nothing there.
‘Where’s the phone, Fida?’
‘Shh–’ She’s trying to tell me something.
I make my way up the hallway, but I can’t see a phone. There’s something sticky underneath my feet. I shudder. It’s blood. The house smells of it. I remember that smell. It’s what my childhood smelt like. Even though Kate was always first on the scene I would hover behind her, standing on tiptoes to see what state my mother was in this time. Even though Kate tried to shoo me away, I still saw the bruises; I still smelt the blood.
I need to get her out of here. Perhaps I can get her next door to Mum’s and break in somehow, then call the police from there.
‘Shh–’ she gasps then flops her head back on to the step.
‘Sorry, love, I can’t hear you,’ I tell her, my heart thudding. ‘Look, we’re going to have to get you up.’
She shakes her head then grabs my hand. Her breath is shallow as she forces the words out.
‘He’s . . . gone.’
‘Who’s gone?’ Does she mean her husband?
Her eyes roll in her head.
‘Shh–’ she says, wincing in pain. ‘Shed.’ The word falls out of her mouth like a stone.