He was looking at her vacantly, his body awake but his mind still lost in some dream far away. ‘Oh please God, let him be all right!’ She couldn’t hear the baby crying. If he was cold or hungry he would cry as loudly as he could, unless – she did not let herself pursue that thought. ‘Tom, darling, I want you to wake up and help me.’ She took the little boy’s shoulders and pulled him into the sitting position. ‘Can you hear me, sweetheart? I need you to help me.’
He was beginning to move at last. Puzzled, he blinked several times and at last the thumb went back into his mouth. She smiled at him, trying to keep her voice gentle. ‘Now. Were you playing with little Ned?’
Tom nodded.
‘Do you know where he is now?’
The little boy shook his head.
‘Try and think, Tom. Where were you both playing? It’s important. Ned is cold and frightened all by himself. He wants us to go and find him.’
‘Tom show Lyn.’ He scrambled to his feet.
Lifting him out of the cot she put him down on the floor and pulled on his small pale blue dressing gown. ‘That’s it. Now slippers.’ Her hands were shaking so much she was finding it difficult to dress him. ‘Now, Tom, show me where he is.’
Tom took her hand and skipped confidently out into his parents’ bedroom. From there he led the way across to the landing and on up the attic stairs. Lyn was trembling. It was bitterly cold up there. No heating relieved the iciness as they walked through into the first attic.
‘What were you doing up here, Tom?’ she asked as he led the way across the floor towards the door in the far wall. ‘It’s dark and cold.’
‘The moon.’ He gestured towards the window. ‘Georgie wants us to play in the moon.’
Lyn swallowed. Opening the door she peered into the darkness of the passage and then at the doors opening off it. Moonlight flooded across the dusty floor boards. ‘Where’s Ned, darling? Show me quickly.’
Tom seemed less confident now. He hung back. ‘Don’t like it.’
‘I know. It’s cold. But Ned is cold too. Let’s fetch him and then we can all go back downstairs to the warm.’
Still unwilling to move, Tom pointed ahead of them. ‘He’s there.’
‘There? In the next attic?’ She ran towards the door, leaving Tom standing in the middle of the room. He had begun to cry.
The door was locked. ‘Oh no. Please God this can’t be happening. It can’t.’ She spun round. ‘Tom, where’s the key?’
He shook his head, tears running down his cheeks.
‘Darling, please, try and remember. We have to have the key. Poor Ned is very cold. We must find him quickly.’
‘It’s Georgie’s key.’
Lyn took a deep breath. ‘Georgie is imaginary, Tom. He’s not really there. He can’t have a key. Tom has got the key. Where is it?’ Her voice was beginning to shake.
‘Georgie put it on the door.’ He pointed above the doorway. She stared up at the pale, worm-eaten beams which framed the room, then she reached up, feeling on the dry, splintered wood. A heavy iron key, dislodged by her groping fingers fell down with a clatter and lay at her feet. Grabbing it she tried it in the lock. It was very stiff, but at last it turned and she managed to force the door open. There was what seemed a cruelly small bundle of blankets lying on the floor in the far corner.
‘Ned?’ Icy with terror she ran towards it and fell on her knees. For a moment she thought he was dead. He lay quite still in her arms, his eyes shut, then as she clutched him against her they fluttered open and he stared at her. For several moments he did not move then at last he gave a big smile of recognition.
‘Oh thank God! Thank God! Thank God!’ She was crying now in earnest.
Behind her Tom crept into the room and came over to her. His hand clutched at her dressing gown. ‘Is Ned happy now?’
‘Yes, darling. Ned is happy now. Come on, let’s go downstairs and get warm.’
She took them both down to the kitchen. Warming milk on the stove she was thinking very hard. Of course, he must have fetched a chair to put the key so high; but why? Why should the little boy want to get rid of his brother. She glanced at Tom who was sitting half asleep on the rocking chair, cuddling Kit. Ned, in his bouncy chair was watching her alertly, obviously pleased with the idea of a warm night-time drink – something he had finally relinquished as a regular activity weeks before. Of course hostility was common in elder children when their siblings arrived; very common; it wasn’t really surprising. It was only odd that Tom had shown no sign of it before.
As if conscious of her gaze Tom looked at her suddenly. He gave her a sleepy smile. ‘Georgie likes Ned,’ he said slowly.
‘Everything OK?’ Jimbo was standing in the doorway next morning watching as she cooked breakfast.
‘Fine. Why shouldn’t it be?’ Astonishingly, she felt pleased to see him. She took two pieces of toast from the toaster and put them in the rack. ‘Would you like some coffee?’
He hesitated, then slowly nodded. ‘All right then. Thanks.’
‘Sit down.’ Lyn spread the pieces of toast and cut them into fingers. ‘Is something wrong?’ He was still standing by the door.
‘No. No, I suppose not. Thanks.’
He moved into the room awkwardly, half shy, half nervous and inserted himself without pulling it out onto a chair which was drawn up close to the table.
Lyn smiled to herself. Putting a large cup of coffee down in front of him she turned back to the dresser. ‘Do you want some toast now you’re here?’
‘Might as well. Thanks.’
‘Help yourself to milk and sugar.’ She paused. ‘Jimbo, what is it? I’m not going to bite you.’
He blushed scarlet. ‘I know that. It’s just … it’s just I reckon I don’t like this house, that’s all. It don’t feel right. I don’t know how you could stay here by yourself.’
‘There’s nothing to be afraid of here.’ She sat down with her own cup. ‘Nothing at all. It’s a lovely house.’
‘Look at what happened to Reverend Gower.’
‘A heart attack can happen to anyone.’
‘I suppose so.’ He shook his head. ‘And Mary Sutton. What about Mary Sutton?’ He had finally told her about Mary’s death the evening before. He shrugged. ‘I reckon that had something to do with this house an’ all. You heard when Joss and Luke are coming back?’