Kelly sat thoughtfully for a few moments, not knowing

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  what to say. It was a terrible, terrible thing to happen, and she still felt none the wiser, but she was grateful to her father for getting the information.

  ?Thanks for finding out for me. I know you’re retired and probably had enough of all this kind of stuff years ago. I’m really grateful that you put yourself out.? She stood and rinsed her mug out in the sink, wanting to go and spend some time playing with Tabby. That always helped to raise her spirits.

  Jack smiled at her. ?I knew it meant a lot to you. I’ll just have to have my wild party tomorrow.?

  He watched his little girl disappear into the lounge and then turned to gaze out the small kitchen window, looking at nothing in particular, sipping his cooling tea. He hadn’t been entirely honest with Kelly. If it had been only she who had been so unsettled about the rape, then he would have probably told her to let the police get on with their jobs in peace, and she would have to wait until it came to trial to get her information, like everyone else. He was retired. He’d done his time. It was nothing to do with him anymore.

  But it wasn’t only she who needed to know what had gone on. The irony was that he was probably more disturbed than she was by the recent events. Ridiculous as it sounded, he’d kind of forgotten that the house was there, as if the years that had passed had erased it, made it invisible to the mind. But of course it hadn’t gone anywhere, the bricks and mortar standing the test of time far better than his flesh and blood had done, and when he’d seen the name there in the newspaper, heard it whispered in the streets, it was like cold water hitting his face, the spell broken. In his head, he could hear the words as easily as if they’d been spoken yesterday by that cool, composed voice.

  ?You’d better come quickly. There’s been a terrible accident. I don’t understand how it happened. One minute in my hand. The next it was gone.?

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  He hadn’t understood what Camilla Grace nee Cowley had been talking about until he’d gotten there. And then, with the sound of that little girl’s awful screams coming from the kitchen, as her mother calmly opened the front door and invited him in, it had all become crystal clear.

  But even that memory probably wouldn’t have been enough to make him go up to the station today. If anything, it would have kept him away. It was something Kelly had said yesterday that made him get his old suit on and shake off the cobwebs in his brain. She’d been reading the weekly rag and pointed out in passing that the woman up at Gallows Hill who killed her family and herself had been one of Gina Grace’s circle of friends at school. Just like that writer who’d come back to town last week.

  Something was disturbing his sleep, and it was nothing he could put his finger on, ghosts of the past whispering in his head. All he knew was that Streatford didn’t have crimes like this, not one on top of the other. People in this town did not go around hurting each other and themselves. At best, murder happened once in every couple of generations; everyone knew each other too well here. Murder and suicide tended to happen in communities of strangers.

  He chewed his bottom lip. He may not understand it, but something was happening in Streatford. Something bad, and it started with that rape.

  That rape broke the spell.

  The thought made no sense to him, but it felt right. A flash of pain surged up his lower spine from his hip, making him catch his breath. He waited for it to pass before attempting to move. Maybe something is happening here, he thought as he trod carefully toward the door. And maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s just your old man’s imagination. But one thing’s for sure: you’re too damn old to do anything about it, so just let it go. It’s not your business. Not anymore.

  For the first time in the years of his retirement, that thought brought him some comfort as he settled into the armchair to watch the news.

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  In the four days since he’d read about CaroleAnne in the paper, Rob’s work had slowed down. The book that he’d thought was so fantastic now just looked like words on a page, thin and lifeless. His characters seemed two-dimensional as they wallowed aimlessly in his stagnant plot. Staring at the screen, he decided enough was enough. Without bothering to save his new pages, he switched the laptop off and refilled his mug from the carafe of his new coffee machine sitting on the breakfast bar. No milk this time, black moods called for black coffee. He smiled to himself. Shit, he was even thinking in clichés.

  Rolling his head, he felt the tense muscles stretching in his neck, and sighed. There was nothing wrong with the book. It was a good piece of work. The problem was with him. Since his conversation with Jason, he hadn’t been able to concentrate, Carrie’s final message playing over?and over in the back of his mind. Teacher. We got it wrong. Jason might have been able to drink it away, but he couldn’t. Not now he knew about that rape case as well.

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  That one local paper had a lot to answer for. With his hermit lifestyle these days, there was a good chance he never would have found out about that if Carrie hadn’t been blazed across the front page in all her destroyed glory. Local papers had never been his idea of reading; he’d probably just have used it for starting the fire, and he wasn’t a TV man. He’d learned everything he needed to know about the world from The Sunday Times, and local rapes, no matter how horrific, weren’t going to make a mention there, even if Carrie had got herself an obituary.

  He wondered briefly whether Gina had seen it, wherever she was these days. Did she sit there in a daze and think of her childhood friend, or did she blithely move on, cold and uncaring, to the financial section? Probably the latter. Gina, for all her terrible and wonderful strangeness, had always been untouchable. Well, that was how it had seemed to an infatuated twelve-year-old, anyhow.

  He yawned and then downed the rest of his coffee in an effort to quash his tiredness, ignoring the heat that seared his insides. His sleep hadn’t been good either, his nightmares a mish-mash of Teacher, his father and Syracousse, none of it pleasant. He seemed to be spending an awful lot of his nights running from something, trying to escape, and often woke up more exhausted than he’d been when he’d turned out the light.

  Maybe it’s the lack of Grade-As in your system, he mused while lighting a cigarette. Maybe your body’s just readjusting. God knows all this clean living’s got to be a shock to the synapses. The combination of smoke and coffee was drying his mouth, but he didn’t care, as he went to the hall and gazed thoughtfully up to the landing. He’d given up kidding himself a long time ago, and he knew his unsettled feelings had nothing to do with the coke and the booze, and everything to do with the past. His past.

  ?Maybe it’s time to start a little self-help therapy,?he muttered, climbing the stairs, his eyes fixed on the large

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  wooden loft door in the ceiling above. Maybe it’s time to face down the memories. And here’s a really good place to start. Let’s start with Dad. You and Jason and Dad. Thirtieth May, 1976. You can face this one without even leaving the house, Robster. So let’s give it a go, shall we? How hard can it be?

  Chewing his bottom lip, Rob studied the attic hatch. This was the one part of the house he hadn’t explored since his return. Shit, he hadn’t been up there since that afternoon, and he’d made sure he was at Syracousse when his mother’s friends came to clear it out, his father sitting like a zombie in front of the test card on the TV. That was before the doctors came and took him away. His father had known what executive burnout was long before those boys in the city gave it a name.

  Not wanting to delay, to lose his nerve, Rob opened the laundry cupboard by the small boxy room and found what he was looking for inside the lintel of the doorframe, what he’d known would be there, forgotten but waiting. Wrapping his hand around the old wooden pole, he felt the memories flooding back.

  ?Are you sure this is okay? What if your mum comes back and catches us? She’ll go mad.?Jason’s eyes were shining with excitement as Rob pulled the long pole out of the cupboard, its length almost twice his height, unwieldy in his small hands.

  ?She’s not going to catch us. I told you, she’s walking up to Dulverton to see a friend. She’ll be gone for hours. Anyway, I’ve just got to see what he does up there all night.?

  His dad had started using the attic as a study weeks ago and spent all his time at home locked away in it, and Rob’s curiosity was starting to drive him crazy, like the itch under his plaster cast had when he broke his ankle the summer before. No one was allowed up there, not even Mum. Not that she’d go up there anyway. She never went up ladders, not beyond the second step anyway. She

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  said that it wasn’t dignified for ladies, what with their dresses and everything, but he was pretty sure she was just plain scared. Girls were like that. Even Carrie got funny sometimes, like when she wouldn’t go up to the highest branch in a tree just ‘cos it was getting a bit thin. Gina probably wouldn’t do it either, but then Gina was different. She wouldn’t be scared of it, though. Not with the kind of things she could do. No way.

  Jason gripped the other end of the pole as they maneuvered it into position under the latch, ready to slide it back. He was an inch shorter than Rob, but his thin, pale frame was wiry, and he managed to steady the wobble. ?Do you really think he’s working on something top secret up there??

  Rob grinned as the hatch moved back, leaving a gaping square of blackness above them. ?Gotta be. I reckon he’s got a prototype of a new kind of gun or something up there. Maybe even a nuke.?

  Jason snorted. ?Sure thing, Robster. I bet they all get to take the nukes home.?He paused. ?A gun’d be cool, though.?

  Rob was pleased that Jase was as excited as he was. He was proud of his dad, who worked in London for the Ministry of Defense. He loved the sound of the words when he said them. They sounded special; important, and he knew that Jason was pretty impressed, too. But then Jason was pretty impressed with most of Rob’s life, had been since they were kids in preschool. Jason’s dad worked part time in one of the new factories that were springing up around the town, and he lived on the Hill like Carrie, not here in Streatford where it was nicer. They didn’t go up there much.

  Maybe Jason was more impressed with Gina’s life right now, but they hadn’t been friends with Gina that long, only since Carrie had introduced them after deciding she needed another girl in their gang. And anyway, Gina may

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  have been rich and able to do weird stuff, but she didn’t have the Ministry of Defense.

  They waved the pole around the edge of the square until they felt it connect with the ladder. ?You’d better stand back, this ladder kind of comes down fast.? There was a loud clattering of metal as the ladder crashed down, its joints crunching as they slotted into place, and Jason dived for cover into Rob’s parents’ bedroom doorway.

  ?Shit, that’s loud.?He laughed, as he straightened up and stared at the metal stairway that now rested on the carpet.

  Rob too was looking, wondering for a second just how the hell they were going to negotiate it back up again, not knowing that in about one and a half minutes that was going to be the least of his worries. Oh well, the ladder was down, and they might as well use it. His stomach contracted, knowing his questions of the past weeks were about to be answered.

  ?Come on, then,?he whispered over his shoulder as he gripped the cold rough steel and started to climb.

  No further. Not yet, Rob told himself, firmly pushing the memories away. The rest could wait a few minutes longer. The pole was light in his hand, and he slid the cover away with ease. No need for two this time, Jason old buddy. The hook edged under the bottom step of the ladder and he eased it down slowly, letting it drop by itself for only the last few inches. His heart beating in his chest, he stared at the rungs in front of him for a few moments before glancing up into the darkness and reaching for the first step. ?Come on, then,?he whispered to the emptiness as he headed into the past.

  He could feel Jason close behind him as he stepped over the final rung and into the attic room. They stood silently side by side, for a moment, their breath sounding harsh in the quiet as they enjoyed the final moments of unsatiated curiosity, the anticipation like Christmas morning,

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  knowing you can finally rip all that pretty paper up and get to the gloriously unknown present inside. ?It smells sort of funny in here.?Rob couldn’t see Jason’s face in the gloom, but he knew he’d be crinkling his nose in the same way he did when he smelled cabbage as he waited hungrily in the queue for school lunch. Jase was right; it did smell strange, something strong and sweet had invaded the musty wooden scent that lived in all lofts, something sickly and new challenging the rights of the old, traditional comforting odor. And then there was the buzzing, the discordant hum coming from somewhere in front of him. In that second, Rob didn’t want to turn the light on, didn’t want to be here at all, and if he’d been on his own he’d probably have just turned right back around. He was starting to think there were some things best left unexplored. Things that smelled like this. Things that smelled wrong. He swatted something, maybe a cobweb, away from his face.

  ?Well, turn the light on then, slowcoach.?Jason elbowed him. ?I want to see this gun.?Rob wondered momentarily why they were talking in whispers alone at the top of an empty house as his hand moved involuntarily up to the light switch above his shoulder. Flicking it down, he squeezed his eyes shut against the glare of the light. No turning back now, he thought to himself. For a long second he heard nothing, except that awful buzzing that sounded like a live electric cable hissing at them, and then Jason, whose breath had caught in his throat, finally let out a long whistle that was more like a sigh. ?Holy moley. Holy, holy moley.?He giggled slightly, a jagged sound from a boy whose only response to something he didn’t understand, couldn’t understand was to laugh instead of show fear.

  Rob slowly opened his eyes and looked at the scene that presented itself to him, looked into his father’s office, into his father’s mind. Something secret had definitely

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  been going on here, something top secret, something the Ministry of Defense would surely love to know about.

  The desk that David Black had built himself was pushed against one wall, the chair neatly tucked beneath it, to make room for the pyramids that covered the ground, covered its surface. The triangular piles were everywhere, in all sizes, the walls covered with newspaper, official documents all made into the required shape. Rob’s eyes moved around the room in disbelief. This couldn’t be right, this couldn’t be right at all. In one corner there was a pyramid of neatly folded towels and dishcloths, and it looked from here as if the base was made from his mother’s guest valance she kept clean in the spare bedroom for visitors who were never invited. How could she not know it was missing? What did she think had happened to it? Maybe she didn’t want to know. He could feel his whole body shaking, but still he stared, couldn’t help but stare at all his father’s hard work.

  Down to the left by his feet was a carefully constructed pyramid of playing cards whose point came above his knees, and he thought he saw traces of glue holding it together; his father had glued it together, determined it should not collapse, it was important that it stood impervious to movement. Rob’s stomach turned and he was unaware of the bubbling sound his breath was making as it escaped between his clenched teeth. His head was filled with the image of his father, huddled over the pile of cards, carefully, painstakingly gluing them all into place. Hours and hours of concentrated effort. How many hours, Dad?

  Finally, unable to resist any longer, he turned to face the piece de resistance, his father’s masterpiece that took up most of the space in the center of the room. The other pyramids were inconsequential next to this, like artist’s sketches made before undertaking a work of magnificence. From the corner of his eye, Rob could see Jason staring at him, staring at him as if his father’s madness

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  were catching. With a small moan, he stepped forward, gazing at the three-foot-high mountain—not mountain, it was a pyramid fit for the pharaoh of rats, not a mountain at all, built entirely from rotting food, the flies, black and angry, swarming madly around it protecting their domain. There were remains of every evening meal his mother had carefully prepared for weeks, his father smiling and telling her he’d eat it in his office, ?So much work, so little time. Got a country to protect from the Commies, you know.?An hour later he’d reappear with the tray telling her how delicious it had been. There were sandwiches in there, his father’s packed lunches brought carefully home, and Rob noticed as his insides freewheeled that there were things there, other things, like used tea bags, half-eaten items no longer recognizable, moving with the maggots that squirmed inside, blending into the green that was overtaking them, turning them into something else, something new and not yet formed. Things that his dad could only have got from the rubbish. ?What did you do, Dad??He whispered to the monstrosity in front of him, as if its decaying form could give him an answer. ?What did you do? Did you sneak out in the middle of the night to see what you could find??

  He felt Jason shaking his arm, and looked numbly into those wide, scared eyes. ?I think we should get out of here, Robster. I think you should go find your mum. I don’t think this is right.?

  It was then that Rob began to laugh, laugh louder and louder until he thought his deadened heart would burst with the sound of it, his eardrums aching with the unwelcome noise. He felt like he would laugh forever, laugh at the ridiculousness of it, at the ridiculousness of him and Jason and no, he didn’t think it was right either, definitely not right at all. He stepped backwards on unstable legs, sliding down the back wall, wanting the wood to absorb him into its solid stability. Somewhere in the movement, and for the life of him he didn’t notice when, it seemed