Close Call

Chapter 6

Cathy sat on the edge of Jenny's photo-strewn bed and let the sobs shudder through her. There was no use in thinking. Logic wouldn't explain anything because there was no reason in her life anymore. She just wished there was some proof, something that would confirm whatever had happened so she could hope or mourn and move on.

What the hell was with Peony digging up past events that Cathy really did not want to get into? Perhaps she should be grateful that Philip had returned, it should have been a relief, given her hope even, sadly it just made the impossible so much more real.

If she hadn't seen him that day nearly two decades ago, hadn't scrabbled the soil away from his pale face, she would never have believed Peony's explanation of Jenny's disappearance.

"You know as well as I do where Jenny went!" Peony had screamed.

"You're lying! All the stories I told you about what happened that day were just that: stories! Don't you dare lie to me again!"

She of all people had accused her daughter of lying! She was more than ashamed, but Peony's reality didn't bare thinking about. The girl had just stared at her with those dark blue eyes that had the same haunted look. A look that told her far more than she was willing to accept; a look that told her more than even Peony could fathom.

"Why won't you admit it?" the question snapped like whiplash.

Cathy had retreated into fury, "Get out!"

What else could she have done?

Now looking around Jenny's room at the neatly stacked teddies and the Barbie dolls with nail-scissored hair-dos, all her board games and even the baby toys that she wouldn't have put away. Cathy brushed her finger across the teddies as if touching them would prove this was just a nightmare, but they were real enough. She picked up and old and tatty rag doll; Jenny must have picked it up in a jumble sale, it was a filthy old thing but obviously well loved. If the worse came to the worst, what would she do with all of this? It didn't bare thinking about.

***

Peony marched purposefully down the incline and off the track through the grass left to grow long to allow wild flowers to flourish. She slowed as she neared the exact place where the den had been built. In step behind her, Philip paused as he drew closer; he felt the static peter out and the air took on an all too familiar cloying stagnancy that set his heart pounding.

Peony glanced round to see if he was still with her. His skin was translucent with a clammy sweat.

"You must calm down or they will suck you in too."

"Who?"

"The travellers, the paupers."

Before Philip could question her further she took him by the hand and pulled him towards the grassy bank. Rather than stop or begin an ascent she pulled him right through the soil, merging with the earth, disappearing from the light.

The rich decaying aroma of soil was soon replaced by the stench of human excrement and his shoes slid in the sludge beneath his feet. As he stared around him he saw that they had emerged from a narrow brick shed and were traversing a stone paved yard. It was as if they'd walked right through the bank and stepped back in the Close, only now it no longer existed. Where the houses had been there was now an imposing stone building lined with sash windows, all open despite the damp air. The building was divided into three sections with tiny dormer windows along the roof and a hexagonal glass tower jutting out of the middle section. The rain drenched ivy creeping up the walls added weight to the dismal atmosphere, imposed by the leaden sky. Philip felt a dreaded shiver of claustrophobia creeping up his spine. Peony beckoned.