Silent Children

By: Ramsey Campbell

"Over the past two decades, Ramsey
Campbell, always strikingly gifted at the evocation
of unease, terror, and the uncanny, has been
refining himself into our most nuanced, evocative, and
profound writer of what is called horror or
dark fantasy. Greatly to his credit,
Campbell has always relished being
described as a horror writer, but the depth of his
achievement demonstrates the inadequacy of
conventional genre-classifications. At this level,
fiction
exists beyond category, enlarges our lives, and
offers ambiguous truths available through no other
means.
Silent Children
brings into being, by grace of imagination, a painful and
transcendent world we have no choice but to recognize
as our own. This thrilling book is Ramsey
Campbell's finest work to date."-Peter Straub
"I'm stunned by
Silent Children.
Ramsey Campbell distills the sort of pure
quiet terror few other writers even know exists.
Like Stephen King at his very best, Campbell
plumbs the depths of what humans can do to each
other. A terrifying, ferocious, and deeply
compassionate book."
-Sarah Smith, author of
The Vanished Child
"Campbell has perfected a story style
distinctive for its stifling atmosphere of dread and
oblique approach to horror. Applying it
here to the shocking theme of a serial childkiller, he
has crafted a nail-biting psychological
thriller, his best in nearly a decade. The tale
begins on a high note of menace; the sense of
impending terror only intensifies. The climax
is a tour-de-force of suspense, in which
Woollie's abduction of Ian is abetted
by miscommunication, duplicitous moves and a
freakish but plausible succession of near discoveries
and cliffhanger escapes, all expertly set up
hi the early chapters. Ingeniously imbedded
reflections of family ties, personal
responsibility and even the esthetics of horror
fiction give the narrative substance without ever slowing
its relentless, cinematic pace.
-Publishers Weekly
(starred review)
BY RAMSEY CAMPBELL FROM TOM
DOHERTY ASSOCIATES
Ancient Images
Cold Print
The Count of Eleven
Dark Companions
The Doll Who Ate His Mother
The Face That Must Die
Fine Frights
(editor)
The Hungry Moon
Incarnate
Influence
The Last Voice They Hear The Long Lost
Midnight Sun The Nameless Nazareth Hill
Obsession The One Safe Place
The Parasite
Silent Children
Waking Nightmares
SILENT
CHILDREN
Ramsey Campbell
TOR*
ATOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK
NEW YORK
NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover
you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It
was reported as "unsold and destroyed8ffthe
publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has
received any payment for this "stripped book."
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and
events portrayed
in this book are either products of the author's
imagination or are used
fictitiously.
SILENT CHILDREN
Copyright [*copygg'2000 by Ramsey
Campbell
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce
this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates,
LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor.com
Tor* is a registered trademark of Tom
Doherty Associates, LLC.
ISBN 0-812-56872-9
First Edition: July 2000
First mass market edition: November 2001
Printed in the United States of America

For Poppy Z. Brite, who helps me
remember how strange I am
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Jenny helped as always, not least by finding some scenes
more disturbing than I'd realised they were. Good,
say I. Are our children in here too? They must
decide-it's inspiring to have them around, at any
rate. As to research, some American details were
supplied by my friend Pearl Elsasser. Barry
Reese advised me on care in the community, Asa
Casey was the medical advisor, and Cyrelle
Mace was responsible for the tour of London and its
suburbs.
ONE
Terence was following the boss through the trees, down the
slope that led away from the hotels to the wide bright
trembling sea, when he couldn't keep quiet any
longer. "I know what I saw."
"That's as may beea8sd Mr. Woollie as if
imitating Terence's loudness might make him lower his
voice. "Let's wait till we're out where you
want to go and you can tell me all about it."
"In the kitchen at that house.8Terence was on the edge
of confusion, unsure if Mr. Woollie understood,
unable to judge how loud he himself was speaking. "It
wasn't a worm with a funny head, was it? It
wasn't a worm with earth on the end."
A helter-skelter in the forest on the slope sent a
little girl twirling down toward the promenade, a
gull seesawed in the blue air above her, and for a
moment Terence couldn't distinguish which of them was uttering a
plaintive scream. Mr. Woollie leaned
sideways toward him, his grey caterpillar
eyebrows squeezing his reddened eyes thin and revealing
pale cracks in his broad leathery forehead, and
gestured with one large calloused hand at children trotting
to the playground. "Let's keep it to ourselves for now,
shall we? We don't want little ones upset when
they've come for a lovely day out by the sea."
Terence might have felt as guilty as Mr.
Woollie seemed to hope he would if he hadn't
heard two boys in fat white shoes and shorts
garish as cartoons, laughing just ahead of him. "A
worm with a funny head," chortled the boy with a back
like a wall half-stripped of pink wallpaper.
"A funny headea8his friend repeated, his voice
even shakier with mirth.
"That's the styleea8Mr. Woollie said. "Let's
have a laugh or let's have nothing."
"It wasn't a head. I'm
saying
it wasn't, that's what I'm
saying.
It was a nail, a nail on a finger."
Neither boy looked at Terence-they were busy laughing
at a woman's voice from a public lavatory
window: "How are your bowels performing today, dear?
Are they behaving themselves?"-but at least a dozen people below
them on the slope did. "Come along nowea8Mr.
Woollie said, and dug a thumb into the crook of
Terence's elbow. "If you make any more of a scene
they won't let you on your boat you want to go on."
His tone was telling everybody that Terence wasn't like
them, that he was one of the people they tried to stay away from in
the street and shouldn't be taken too seriously: he was
talking as if he'd no idea what Terence meant
even though Terence had done his best to explain to him
yesterday. But he was leading Terence down to the sea that
always calmed him as not even his medication did, and
Terence didn't want to seem ungrateful when the
Woollies had taken care of him for so long,
Mrs. Woollie mothering him at the Haven while her
husband trusted him enough to take him out on building
jobs. He watched the broken line of boats
swaying on the edge of the water close to the start of the
mile of pier, the bunch of them swaying on their
stalks of ropes, pods emptied of their
seeds on a tree in the wind. He brought his mind more
under control as the keeper of the boats, a wrestler
dressed in trunks that sprouted black hair wherever
they had the chance and with all the muscles of his arms
tattooed, turned to examine his customers. Now
Terence saw that each boat was rocking like a cradle,
and began to hear a lullaby in his head, though not the
words. "Two for an hour's worthea8Mr.
Woollie said.
"Handled a motorboat before?"
"Many a time, andwitha lot younger than him in them.8When
the man blinked less than happily at Terence
Mr.
Woollie said "It's his treat. He's been
looking forward to it. He wouldn't spoil it for the world."
"Keep out from under the pierea8the man said, having
visibly decided to forget about Terence, and pointed a
finger black with hair along the coast. "Stay well
clear of all the danger flags."
Terence hadn't realised there was supposed to be any
danger. As he planted his right foot between the two
low benches that spanned the boat, the floor lurched
and he went staggering helplessly forward to trip over the
pointed end of the boat and sprawl in the jittery
water-except that Mr. Woollie had
grabbed his arm and bruised it. "I've got you.
Turn round. Sit down now. Sit down."
He sounded exactly as Terence's parents used
to-the sullen urgency, their voices willing him not
to be an embarrassment-and Terence had to do as he was
told. He watched Mr. Woollie sit
opposite him and pull the string to start the motor
once the tattooed wrestler had thrown the rope at
him. The boat steadied itself and eased itself away from the
swaying of its companions, and then there was sea all
around Terence.
As the seafront shrank away from him he saw the red
flags shaking their warnings at him along a stretch of
wet sand past the end of the promenade. They were too
distant, and swiftly more so, to mean anything to do with
him. A train chugged along the pier, and he
pretended the boat was racing it-would have emitted
appropriate noises if those mightn't have made
his boss think worse of him. When the train reached the
end of the pier first, he contented himself with willing it not
to start back until the boat was past it, and that was a
kind of victory. Off it chugged again, carrying an
assortment of dolls for return to the hotels a
mile away. The trees were dragging the hotels down
into the green fuzz that was squeezing the children's
playground smaller, muffling the tiny squeals that could
have been of panic. The sounds reminded Terence of
something the boss had said. "Mr. Woollier"
"Talk to me, Terence."
"Did you have children?"
"What's making you ask me a question like that88Those were
too many words, and Terence had to struggle free of the
tangle of them. "Because you told the man you'd had some
in a boat."
"A
long time ago."
Behind Mr. Woollie, to the left of the pier, a long
thin gleaming blade rose from a bird sanctuary
to vanish and reappear further along the coast, where the
trees had crushed the playground almost to nothing. They
pressed it down into the sea and followed it with the
hotels, and the paddlers and swimmers near the beach were
only cries and shrieks. "How far are we going?"
Terence said.
"That's up to you.8As if this were part of the same answer,
Mr. Woollie stared at him and said "What did you
want to tell me?"
"I
don't
...
tell you
...
you mean.
. ."
Terence felt the waves splashing up into his brain
to wash away his thoughts. "About..."
"What you wanted everyone to hear when we were coming down
to your boat."
"You know, Mr. Woollie. Just before we were pouring the
concrete at the house in, where was it, you know,
Jericho Close."
"Never mind telling me what
I
know. It's bad enough you're seeing things when you're
supposed to be capable of doing a
job,
when Adele and me have been doing our best to get you
back in the community. What are you trying to make out
you saw?"
"I
did see it, and you did, because you threw some earth on
it and banged it down, remember?
I
thought it was a worm coming up at first, but it couldn't have
been, because it wasn't moving. Maybe it had
been, but now it was just sticking up."
"A
bit of rubble. That's all you saw, a bit that needed
smoothing over."
"But you always say we can't do that. We've got
to dig
CHILDREN

out anything like that before you lay the concrete.8That silenced
Mr. Woollie-his eyes and mouth shrank as though
the receding coast had tugged at them-which emboldened
Terence. "Anyway, it wasn't only us that saw
itea8he said. "Hughie did."
"Hughie's worse than you when he starts. If you
ask me you set each other off, and that's what anyone
will say if you tell them.
If
you want to talk yourself out of being trusted on any more
jobs-was
"That's not true, Mr. Woollie$11
Mr. Woollie's eyes grew so small that
Terence could barely see them watching him. "What's
not true?"8Hughie told the doctor yesterday, and
I
did, and she didn't say we'd made it
up."
Mr. Woollie's eyes closed, and his face set
like concrete. "What did she say?"
"She said she was meaning to have a word with you anyway.
Mr. Woollie let go of the rudder and wiped a hand
over his face, which might have been why it began
to glisten. "That's what you get for trying to help
peopleea8he said. "For thinking they've enough sense to keep
quiet when it's good for them."
Beyond him Terence saw the pier retracting itself like a
lifeline he'd failed to grasp. He wished he
hadn't spoken, not if that was making Mr. Woollie
neglect to control the boat.
A
wave splashed against it, spraying Terence's face,
and he tasted the salt that would
fill
his mouth and nose if there was an accident out here at
sea.
"I
want to go back nowea8he said.
He wouldn't have minded if his voice had carried to the
tiny people on the pier. It seemed not to have reached Mr.
Woollie either until his eyes revealed slits of
themselves. "We've got nowhere yet," Mr.
Woollie said, then cut the motor. "We need
to quiet you down."
"I
don't like it this far out. It's too deep."8Just about
deep enough, more like."
0,
"Let's go nearer the beachea8Terence begged.
Mr. Woollie's eyes widened as if Terence had
inspired him. "You're taking charge, are you?"
"I
just want-was
"I
heard, and you'll get it. The boat's all yours.
Change seats and you can steer."
Terence supposed he should take that as an expression
of trust, but he was too nervous. "Y8was as much as
his mouth could manage as he watched Mr. Woollie
rise into a crouch.
"I'm finished, Terence. It's your turn."
"I
don't want toea8Terence pleaded, digging his
fingernails into the underside of the seat as Mr.
Woollie straightened up and swayed above him.
"You can't always have what you want, Terence. You sound
like a little child whining, do you know that? What do you
reckon the doctor would say if she could see you
cringing like that? What do you reckon your parents would?"
"Don't careea8Terence wailed, gripping the seat so
hard his nails bent, as if that might stop Mr.
Woollie and the boat from swaying, whichever was causing
the other. "You aren't meant to stand up in a boatea8he
protested.
"Not
by
yourself you aren't, that's right. Get up now, quick. Come
this side of me before we lose our balanceea8Mr.
Woollie
said, jerking his clenched face leftward.
"You're making it do itea8Terence cried, hanging
onto the seat with all his strength. "You sit down and
it'll stop.8Water sloshed over the left side of the
boat, then the other,
so that he was terrified that the next time it dipped, the
boat would scoop up so much water it would start
to sink. Spray stung his eyes, but he saw the
coast tilting as if the world were getting ready to throw
him off into the sea. He saw a line of people waiting
for a train at the end of the pier, closer than the
distant swimmers but dismayingly far away, and every one
of them had their back to him as they watched a
SILENT
CHILDREN
train start toward them. "Stop it. You're doing it.
He's doing itea8he yelled.
Nobody heard him except Mr. Woollie, who
lunged at him. "Come here, you damned-was
Terence threw himself aside, trying to hold on to the
slippery wood with one hand. His weight sank that
side of the boat into the water. Mr. Woollie
floundered across the empty stretch of the seat, and his
purple face squeezed his mouth small. His
impetus carried him over the seat as the side of the
boat opposite Terence heaved up. There was a
large flat splash, and Mr. Woollie was in the
sea.
Terence saw the waves rub out the splash. He was
expecting Mr. Woollie to reappear in the same
spot, but when the purple face heaved itself above the
water it was several arms' length further out to sea.
It spluttered furiously and sank again, and Terence
tried to make his stiff brittle body do something
besides wait for the head that looked enamelled with greying
hair to pop up somewhere else like someone who was trying
to amuse a child. It might have been a hundred yards
away when it reappeared, grimacing like a
mask as unreal as the situation felt to Terence, as
unreal as the finger in the earth was supposed to have been.
Didn't people who were drowning get just three chances? The
idea released Terence from his trance, allowing him
to notice that his side of the boat was lower than the
other. He was inching himself toward the middle of the seat,
clutching at it in a panic that almost blinded him, when
Mr.
Woollie's head bobbed up, twice as distant.
It glared an accusation at him, so fierce he
imagined that it was capable of keeping the head afloat.
Then it vanished as if the glittering blades of the
sea had chopped it up, and Terence thought at last
to shout for help.
The sea shrank his voice and flattened it, even when
he pointed his mouth at the pier. He'd hardly
cupped his hands around a shout when he had to grab the
seat in terror. He made himself let go in order
to direct his shouts, only to panic and clutch the
seat again. It must have been minutes
later-by which time he was weeping so hard he could
barely pronounce the syllable he kept
repeating-before somebody on the pier noticed him out there
alone on the sea.
TWO
One day, Leslie promised herself, she was going
to sell the man in the tweed hat a record: perhaps the
day he came to her and Melinda's shop without his hat
pushing his large pink ears wider as if to help them
strain to extract every nuance from the music in the air.
As always, he'd gone straight to the secondhand
section before risking the temptation of the full-price
racks, and now he'd strolled to the month's
bargains, where he was weighing a box of Wagner in
one hand while he fingered the top button of the
jacket of his tweed suit with the other. He took some
time about replacing the fat box on the shelf and pinched
the bridge of his expansive ruddy nose before
turning toward the counter. "Which other versions of the Ring
do you carry?"
It was a game, Leslie knew, but playing it
came with the
job. "All
the best ones.
I
own the one you were just looking at, the Solti."
"Ah
yes, the worthy Georg.
A
solid fellow. Too studiobound in this
instance, however."
"You might like the Bohm, then. That's live at
Bayreuth."8Every cough and rustle of the audience and
lumbering of feet onstage faithfully reproduced,
no doubt. Not for me."
"How about the Furtwangler? We've had more people
fall in love with that than any other recording."
"With the recording? It must be getting on for my age.
Maybe
I
should take that as a sign I've still a chance in the
romantic stakes, would you say88The customer, if
that was
CHILDREN
the word for him, let his briefly speculative
gaze drift over Leslie's face, then tugged his
hat down as though to contain himself. "Thanks so much for
indulging me.
I
hear it rumoured young Rattle may attempt the
cycle.
I
believe
I'll
await his reviewsea8he said, and let himself
out of the shop.
She watched him cross Oxford Street once the
two-way parade of buses and taxis and venturesome
bicycles allowed him. As he disappeared up
Wardour Street toward the film distributors and
sex shops, she asked Melinda "What was your
customer wanting to sell us?"
Melinda copied out the catalogue number of an
order to phone through before she straightened up, rustling with
all the layers of lace meant to make her body
seem as small and pretty as her face.
"A
pile of discs for types who'd be afraid to come in
here."
"I
thought
I
saw
Mellow Out With Mozart."
"You did, and there was
Tremendous Tchaikovsky Tunes.
his
"77ze Best Bits of Beethoven?"
"That as well, and Open
Up
to Opera."
"Never
Don't Back
Off
Bach."
"Afraid so.
I
was polite, all the same. But did you see the
Haydn operas went? And the Gardiner Beethovens
to that old chap who'd heard the finale of the Eighth, and
he took the Dvofdk quartets as well. And we
mustn't forget the student you persuaded to brave
Elliott Carter."
"We aren't doing too badly for a couple of girls
who used to work at His Mistress's
Voiceea8Leslie said, and the phone rang.
Melinda turned down the disc of
The Lark Ascending
and lifted the brass receiver of the antique phone
they'd chosen to go with the oak panelling the shop had
acquired in its incarnation as a specialist in all
the coffee there was. "Classical Discountea8she
said, and with hardly a pause "Yes, she is. It's
your mother, Les."
"Maybe she wants my
adviceea8Leslie joked, and accepted the heavy
receiver. "Yes, mother."
"Perhaps if you occasionally took mine, you'd have reason
to be grateful."
it wasn't an accusation so much as an expression of
her constant disappointment with Leslie, with her having
done only just as well at school as her parents
expected, falling short of the university they'd
considered best for her, graduating from the university
she'd enjoyed for three years only to find work in
HMV, and as for her life since then.
. . "I
have, you know, mother," Leslie said gently. "You just
don't notice when
I
do."
"Name me one occasion."
"None of the ones when you tell me to do things you know
I
won't so
I'll
feel I've let you down." Leslie kept that
to herself, not a new experience, and said "This isn't why
you rang, is it?"
"I
fear not. When I drove to collect Ian he
wasn't there."8Oh dear. Could you have missed him?"
"You should know there's very little
I
miss. He was meant to be in detention yet again, but
he'd failed to present himself"
Leslie's grimace was so fierce that a man
examining the display of standees in the window moved
away quite speedily. "What's his crime now, do you
know?"
"I
made it my business to find out. He and his usual
cronies were caught smoking. The solitary crumb
of comfort, if it's that, is they were only
cigarettes."
"Takes after me at his age, don't say it.8When
her mother took her at her word Leslie said
"He'll be home. He knows where his dinner is.
Maybe he just didn't want you seeing him in
disgrace again."
"I
fear I've almost grown used to that. Perhaps if you were
to show a little more concern about his behaviour-"Leslie
interrupted only partly because an idea had sug-
gested itself. "It's Thursday, isn't it?
That used to be Roger's day off. Maybe Ian's
gone to him."
"Perhaps
I
can leave you to ascertain that."
"I'll
call nowea8Leslie said. Her enthusiasm deserted
her as soon as her mother rang off, but she dialled the
number
CHILDREN

that, however much she resented it, she found readily
available in her head. The phone hadn't finished
ringing twice when a breathless voice demanded shrilly
"Hello?"
"Hello, Charlotte. Is Roger there?"
The phone emitted a clatter that suggested it had
been flung away. "Mummy, it's Roger's old
wifeea8the eight-
year old
shouted across at least one large room.
The phone took its time about speaking again.
"Leslie. How are you? How's your business?"
"Fine. "I'm very glad to hear itea8Hilene said with a
genuineness Leslie found harder to cope with
than she thought insincerity might have been. "What can
I
do for you?"
There was no use retorting that she'd already done a
great deal more than enough. "Ian isn't with you, is
he?"
"Well, no, he wouldn't be. It's not our day for
him, is it88With so little change in her voice it was
clear that her daughter had stayed in the room Hilene
said "You haven't hidden your friend Ian anywhere, have
you?"
The giggles that provoked must have been accompanied
by
an outburst of Charlotte's vigorous shakes of the
head. "No scent of him here, I'm afraid. Is
there some trouble?"
"He's at the puffing stage. Silly boy and his
silly friends couldn't even wait to light up till
they were away from the school."
"Gosh,
I
thought we'd impressed on him how dangerous they
are. Nasty smelly cigarettes. They make you
ill, but you can't stop smoking once you start, so
don't you ever touch them."
Only the words, not her tone, made it clear that most
of this was addressed to her daughter, and all of it felt
like a rebuke to Leslie, who retorted
"I
didn't expect him to be there, but
I
thought
I'd
better check."
"I'll
tell Roger when he brings the car back from being
fixed. Poor old thing, it's starting to show its
age."
"That gets to us allea8Leslie told the younger
woman, younger
by
only two years that weren't worth resenting, and
was about to ring off when Hilene said
"If
you ever need to talk about Ian, please know I'm
here."
"Yes. Thank you, Hileneea8Leslie said with an
effort that involved squeezing her eyes shut until
she replaced the receiver. She opened them when
Melinda laid a soft warm slightly
moist hand over hers. "How bad this time88Melinda
said.
"He's wandered off to be
by
himself and feel the world's against him.
I
remember how that used to feel."
"So he won't be with his friends you don't like at
least."8They're locked up at school for a while.
Maybe he's somewhere he doesn't want to be with
anyoneea8Leslie said almost without thinking, and then her
eyes widened as her mind did. "I know where he
isea8she said, and saw Melinda know it too.
THREE
Less than an hour later the train drew
into Stonebridge Park. It hadn't quite halted when
Leslie edged the door open and jumped onto the
platform to dash down the ramp to the main road. No
doubt her fellow commuters took her for one of
themselves, in more of a hurry to get home than they were.
Most of them followed her across the road into Wembley
and dispersed themselves through the streets of the suburb, and before
she'd crossed three streets she was alone with her
hurrying footsteps.
An airliner hauled a ragged strip of
cloud across the wide blue sky above the broad red
roofs.
A
bat patted a soft ball in some child's back garden,
a lawn mower drew long deep purring breaths.
Here was the house where she'd kept hearing someone in an
upstairs room practicing the solo part of the
Trumpet Voluntary once ascribed
to Purcell, each re-
SILENT
CHILDREN

hearsal a little improved, but the window was silent
now. Here was the front drive where she'd seen a
large dog and a kitten that would have fitted in its
stomach lying back to back in last year's
midsummer sunlight while they took turns
to pant, but the concrete was deserted. The memories
were awakening others she was going to have to face. Ahead was
the junction with Jericho Close, and now here was its
co
rn
er where the paving stones had cracked and sunk under the
weight of a builder's lorry or some other
vehicle, and she could see to the end of the
cul-de-sac-to the house that was pretending to be as
innocent as its equally whitewashed partner.
It still looked like hers. It was the only house that had
been just hers and Ian's. Her curtains still bordered
the windows, and as she walked swiftly up the short
quiet discreet road, her mirror framed
by
wooden blossom on the frontroom wall greeted
her with a flare of sunlight. It might have been a
warning, or an indication that she ought to notice what
she already had: the For Sale sign had been broken
off its pole, and a curtain was swaying to a halt in
the smaller of the two front bedrooms-Ian's
room.
She unlatched the gate and lifted it the half-inch
necessary to prevent it from catching on the rogue fragment
of the jigsaw path, and saw the For Sale sign
propped against the inside of the low chunky wall,
crushing a dandelion that had invaded her flower bed.
She marched along the path and reached for the bell push
to summon Ian.
Then
, wanting to discover how the house felt to her, she
slipped her keys out

her handbag instead and, with a stealth she couldn't explain
to herself, opened the front door.
For a moment her hall looked as it should. The plump
green carpet extended itself up the stairs, at the
foot of which the phone sat on its table, though the line
had been cut off for months. Her collection of
wonderfully dreadful record covers, starting with
Beethoven and Glenn Gould in the cab of a truck,
still decorated the wall over the stairs. But the hall
led past the front room and the dining room to the closed
kitchen door, glossy as sweat, pale as fear.
She
reminded herself that Ian was upstairs and made herself
pad quickly down the hall to rest one hand on the
painted wood, which was chilly and slick. She pushed
and felt the metal ball of the catch lose its grip
on the socket with an almost imperceptible click,
and the door swung inward.
Whiteness almost blinded her: the white of the wall
cupboards, the cooker and dishwasher waiting in
patient silence, the tall refrigerator humming
its monotonous note, the slitted blinds at the
windows-the new floor. She thought concrete was
floating above it until she saw it was only a fan
of sunlight that was turning the dust white.
She clenched her fists, and when they began to relax
she ventured a step into the room.
There was no use her pretending: she no longer had a
sense of treading on a hidden grave. Nevertheless her
mouth was dry, and so she crossed to the sink and lifted
a glass down from the cupboard and filled it from the
tap, having ran that longer than she ordinarily would.
She raised the glass and took a tentative sip,
and then a mouthful. It wasn't just cool, it was
calming, and tasted as pure as water ever did.
She finished it as she gazed out at the back garden.
Her side of the hedge was as tousled as a
five-year-old's hair. At the end of the strip of
lawn that was brandishing weeds at her, the umbrella
of the garden table drooped like a neglected flower against
the alley wall. She turned away to be confronted
by
the open cupboard full of items there had seemed
to be no point in moving until she and Ian had
somewhere else of their own to live. She was feeling altogether
less compelled to retreat off the new floor than
she'd expected when she heard the stair immediately below
the landing emit the creak even the thick carpet couldn't
hush. She set the glass down on the pine table and
paced into the hall.
Now that Ian knew he'd been heard he let his
weight drop on each stair, every step a declaration
of defiance. He swung himself around the end of the
banister and lolled into the hall, confronting her with his
thirteen-year-old bulk as
CHILDREN

though he didn't care whether it impressed her as more
than a gawky object, too much of which he didn't
quite know what to do with. His black school blazer with its
scuffed elbows didn't help his image, nor did
his reddish hair that refused to lie down no matter
how much he sprayed it, and even his necklace of a
tic that was dangling its strangulated knot failed
to create the effect it was meant to have. He couldn't know
that in him she was seeing a version of her own awkward
adolescence, of the compulsion to rebel even against oneself.
Perhaps he didn't realise he had Roger's
broad square face and her eyes, as apparently
sleepy as they were keen. She mustn't let any of
this, nor her surge of exasperated affection at the
sight of him, divert her from dealing with his behaviour.
She was opening her mouth when he spoke in his new
mostly deep voice. "Can we come back
to live88he said.
FOUR
"Will you listen to what she's proposing now,
Edward.8To Leslie her mother said "Sometimes
I
think
I
don't understand you at all."
"She has to make her own decisions, Ivyea8her
father said, but Leslie had the impression of being
discussed like a customer at the bank he managed when
he added "She's old enough to live with the consequences."
"They
aren't consequences just for her. There's a child to be
considered."
Outside the picture window the expansive houses
of Wealdstone paired off toward Harrow. Whenever
Leslie Came to it the street was as quiet as a
waiter in an expensive restaurant, and now the
evening had muted its sounds further while toning down
the sunlight, but the quiet fell short of
her parents' house, where at times it seemed no
conversation was complete without the accompaniment of some
tape of their old favourites. Just now John
Lennon was demonstrating how several repetitions of
"her"
were hidden in "tooea8wh failed to lift the concern that
weighed down her mother's long face toward the mouth.
"Do you hear what I'm saying, Leslie88she said.
"I
hope you aren't going to retreat into one of your sulks,
or you'll be having him take after you in another of the
ways you've discovered you don't like."
Leslie restrained herself to glancing at her son,
who was perched on the edge of a soft fawn leather
armchair, his legs in purple calf-length shorts
wide apart as he leafed through an Internet magazine
she could tell he wasn't actually reading. "You're
being considered, aren't you, Ian? You want to move
back."
"Rightea8he said without looking up.
That was the maximum enthusiasm he and his friends would
let themselves betray about anything just now, but
Leslie's mother took it for reluctance. "How can
heea8she said, leaning toward Leslie and lowering her
voice, comif he knows.
.."
"He does."
Leslie's mother turned her face to him, but was
apparently requiring him not to hear what she was about
to murmur when he spoke. "They found a
dead girl under our floor."
"Careful with the old tongue if you don't
mindea8Leslie's father said, his plump ruddy face
still looking for a reason to be optimistic so that he could
relax at the end of the day. "Sensitive souls
present, remember."
"Thank you, Edward, but
I'd
like to hear it all."
"Me man who fixed our house did it.
My
dad's aunt's house dad gave us when she died,
and when mum and dad sold their old one we had the
money to do things to it."
"And enough left over to help your mother open her
business. Your father tried to do his best for everyone at
least.8Whatever rebuke that was meant to contain,
Leslie ig-
nored it for Ian's sake, and he gave a shrug of
his kind of
SILENT
CHILDREN

agreement with her mother's words to huffy past the
interruption. "Hector Woollie was the
man we got. His wife runs a home for
loonies and he had some of them helping him. He
used to murder kids and bury them where there was going
to be concrete. Only when he buried the one in our
kitchen she wasn't-was
"We're cognisant of the facts, old chap. No
need to wallow in them."
"Let him speak up for himself, Edward."
"One of the loonies saw a bit of her when they were
putting in the concrete. We were staying here out of the
mess, so we never saw. Then the loony started
telling people, and his boss tried to drown him and got
drowned instead. So the police brought the loony round
to our house and said they'd have to dig it up, so we had
to come back here again."
"Leslie,
I
don't know how you can stand the way he talksea8her mother
said. "I thought we weren't supposed to use
derogatory terms for anyone these days."
"It's just his way at the moment, isn't it, Ian?
I
don't believe making too much of it will help.
Anyway, look, we weren't talking about Ian
to begin with."
"No, we were discussing something else that makes as little
sense to me. Isn't your house still up for sale, or
is that another idea you've abandoned?"
"I
never saw anyone that was seriously interested in
buying.
They just wanted to prowl around the house, and
I'd
rather not think why. And sorry, but-was
"Allow me the floor for another moment. We're not
wholly insensitive, whatever you may think. We
realise you'd prefer to be living somewhere you could call
your own, and your father would be prepared to arrange a
loan for you. Tell her, Edward."
"Just until you shift the house you've got. We'd
use it as collateral. It's not the kind of loan
I
can swing for everyone. Too little profit for the bank."
"Thanks, dad.
I
appreciate it.8Behind him the Beatles were finding more
syllables than melody in "rideea8and she
I
couldn't help raising her voice. "Only
I
was going to say before,
I
haven't abandoned anything. We're set on moving
back in.
Her mother exhibited her open hands and let
Leslie's unreasonableness weigh them down.
"Whenever we have a conversation
I
feel as if we might as well not have had it at
all."
"I
think that's a slight exaggeration, Ivy, do
you88Leslie's mother allowed the silence to answer for
her, the Beatles having paused for breath between
tracks, and then she said "Make an effort for me,
Leslie. Try and help me understand."
"I have been."
"One more effortea8she said as she might have addressed
toddler Leslie on the toilet. "Give me one
good reason why you insist on moving back to that
place."
This melodrama of an argument and the impossibility
of avoiding such confrontations while Leslie and her
son were staying here was one, along with the oppressiveness
of being treated like not much more than a child, but these
were among the last things Leslie could say. "Help
meeeea8the Beatles shrilled, and she was reminded of
an old film she'd once seen on
television-reminded of a
fly
with a man's head emitting that cry while a spider
reeled it in. She'd found the image both absurd
and frightening, and now she had to tell herself those words had
no bearing on her future. She and Ian needed
to return to the only place he seemed to regard as
home, where she could ride out his adolescence and do her
best to bring him up without her mother's attempts
to help aggravating his behaviour. She managed
to reduce all that to an answer she could risk
uttering, one that her father might even persuade her mother
had some sense in it, given time. "It's a
challengeea8she said.
FIVE
Leslie had finished unpacking the toiletries
she'd returned to the bathroom and was sharing a
proprietary smile with herself-a smile that the
halves of the mirror on the wall cupboard couldn't
quite fit together-when the doorbell rang. "I'll see
who it isea8she called, and ran down the stairs that were
once again hers.
She felt the front-door latch snag, its
familiar trick that no amount of oil had
overcome. Janet Hargreaves from the adjoining
house was on the path, wiping her lined leathery forehead
with the back of one hand in a gardening glove.
"I
just wanted to welcome you backea8she announced
loudly in her hoarse cigarette-ridden voice.
"I'm glad
I
am, Janet. Will you have a coffee? Ian's being
mother."
"That's a promising development, isn't it? I'd
better not, thanksea8Janet said, lifting one earthy
boot to demonstrate the reason. "Ring the bell
whenever you want a chat.
I
just had my old man on the mobile from some
motorway services over the border, and he
agrees you made the right decision, whatever anyone
else says."
"Anyone being
... That'
"Whoever they are. As Vern says, they'd own up
to who they were if they were anyone worth knowing."
"I'm lost. Who's been doing what?"
"Don't say you haven't been seeing the
Advertiser."
"I
cancelled it while we weren't here."
"I'd
have thought the estate agent might have shown Youea8Janet
said, so obviously unhappy to be the bringer of the
news that she almost took hold of her mouth with an
I
20 RAMSEY CAMPBELL
earthy thumb and forefinger. "Shall
I
dig them out for you? They're in the recycling heap."
"You're kind."
"You'll seeea8Janet said and stumped off,
scattering earth into the cracks of the path.
Leslie glanced along the hall. Ian was
sprawling on a pine bench in the kitchen, one elbow
on the table just about holding him up, his feet drumming
on the concrete as the percolator kept him waiting.
Beyond the kitchen window Melinda was raising the
umbrella over the garden furniture, having
provided herself and her car to help Leslie and Ian
move. In the distance a church bell
celebrated the hushed bright Sunday afternoon that
eventually brought Janet back with an armful of
issues of the
Wembley and Sudbury
Advertiser.
"You aren't in all of these,
I
don't thinkea8she said as some kind of reassurance.
"I'll
leave them with you, shall I, and get back to my
spinach."
When Leslie saw the headline on the topmost
newspaper she folded the bundle and jammed it under
her arm to carry it past Ian. He was only tapping
die floor with one heel now; it sounded not unlike
an impatient finger.
"I'll
be down the gardenea8she said, as unnecessarily as his
expression told her it was, and stepped into the
spotlight of the sun.
HOUSE
OF HORROR TO BE
SOLD,
declared the headline, as the bundle she dumped on the
garden table spread itself. Staff reporter
Verity Drew summarized the history of
Leslie's house and expanded the headline to a
paragraph, and that had been enough to start a
correspondence. "Outraged Ratepayer8demanded
why the house couldn't be compulsorily purchased
by
the council and torn down. "Concerned of
Cricklewood" suggested this might damage the
adjoining property but felt the motives of anyone
who bought the house deserved to be questioned. "Retired of
Wembley8recommended that any profit from the sale should
at least be shared with the victim's family, but
"Suburbanite8went further, insisting that anyone
who touched the money would be tainted and quoting the Bible
to prove it. Melinda was reading each item after
Leslie, muttering "Ridiculous8and
CHILDREN
"Pity they've nothing better to d8and
"I
hope you aren't letting this get to you, Les," when
Ian made his way to them, spilling not much of the
contents of two mugs of coffee. The moment he'd
set the mugs on the table he swung back toward the
house. "Ian88Leslie said.
"What?"8Don't you want to see what
we're reading?"
He took his time about turning the left side of his
face to her.
"I
know."
She'd guessed as much. "Since when?"8When it
says. Stu showed me at school."
"Why
didn't you tell me?"
He spoke toward the house, and she almost didn't
hear him. "Thought it'd put you off coming back."
"It hasn'tea8Leslie said so vehemently that
Melinda patted her hand, and more gently "Thanks
for the coffee. Aren't you having a drink?"
His unequivocal answer was to slouch into the kitchen,
where he filled half a glass with grapefruit
juice and topped it up with lemonade. As be fed
himself a gulp he screwed his eyes tight shut before
letting them relax.
"I
take it that means he's enjoying itea8Melinda said.
"I
have to tell myself that about quite a few things. Maybe our
parents had to about us."
"That's, you'll tell me if
I
shouldn't say this, but I wouldn't have expected to hear that
from you."
"There's nothing like having a child to make you wonder how
it was for your parents."
"That's a reason I'm never likely
to haveea8Melinda said, immediately followed
by
a smile that didn't feel the need to be forgiving, and
had little else to say until they put down their mugs
with a united thud.
"I
should be on my way. Unless..
."
"Don't miss the beat, Mel."
"I
was just thinking if you wanted
I
could phone Sally and say
I
was staying here tonight, if you'd appreciate the company.
Only don't let me make you feel you need it
if you don't."
"That's really thoughtful of you, but I've got a young
man about the house."
"Then forget
I
even thought
I
should offer."
That didn't help as much as it was meant to, but
Leslie had realised what should. "As long as it's
on your way home, could you give me a lift
to Cricklewood? Me or us."8The more the,
I
oughtn't to say merrier."
Ian was at the kitchen table, his elbows resting on it
like clipped wings. "I'm going to visit the little
girl's graveea8Leslie said. "Coming with me?"
He stared at the floor and shook his head. "May go
to Shaun's."
Her expressing disapproval of his friends would only
make him more determined to keep them. She said as much
to Melinda as the Volkswagen chugged through Wembley,
and then no more during the twenty minutes it took
to arrive at the church, a long concrete box
practically featureless except for a triangular
spire and a few coloured windows of various angular
shapes. The Volkswagen puttered away toward
Highgate as Leslie followed the flat
white path beyond a metal sketch of gates.
A
railway ran behind the church, and a goods train spent
some time ticking off its many wagons along the
track, after which the churchyard grew quiet as stone
except for a rustle of litter caught in the poplars
beside the path. White headstones shone under the lowering
sun, black ones glared like negative images of
their neighbours. Leslie was close to where she
remembered she had to
go
when a woman in a black tracksuit emerged from the
church.
She was about Leslie's age but prematurely
greying. Her plump sullen face, lined not
unlike a balloon starting to deflate, wobbled as
she stalked toward the gate. Leslie moved out
of
her way, having spotted a wreath leaning against a
small thin headstone that did indeed belong to Harmony
Duke,
1991-1999.
REST NOW BABE, the gilded inscription said.
Leslie crossed the chunky turf and had just reached
the grave when the woman demanded "What are
you after there?"
CHILDREN

Leslie turned, thinking she ought to have acknowledged her
with more than a passing smile, and met her pinched
gaze. "Mrs. Duke.
.."
"Reporter, are you?
No more stories. We want leaving alone for a
change."
"I'm not a reporter.
I-was
"You're not another frigging social workerea8Mrs.
Duke said, suggesting the opposite, and turned her
fiercely dry eyes toward the grave as though
to reassure herself her daughter hadn't heard her
swearing. "If they'd kept their snouts out of our
business Harmony might still be alive."
"I'm sorryea8Leslie said before she realised that
might sound more like an admission, but Mrs. Duke
didn't let it interrupt her. "They made out she
was at risk from the bloke
I
was living withea8she said, close enough for Leslie
to smell mints on her breath. "He'd gone
with a girl he didn't know was under age, and you wouldn't
have either if you'd seen her, like it was anyone's business
but ours after he'd served his time, so when Harmony
went missing they went for him and me as well like I
knew he'd done it, and never looked where she was
till it was too late."
"That's
. . ."
Rather than complete her thought, Leslie felt safer
saying "I'm not a social worker."
Mrs. Duke's scrutiny felt like a weight on
her face. "What's she to you, then?"
"I
own the house where, where she was found, Mrs. Duke.
I
nearly came to the funeral, but
I
stayed
by
the gate, so
I
felt
I
had to come now."
"Really?"
The question was so hostile Leslie couldn't help being
compelled to produce a motive more specific than
in fact she was aware of.
"I
feel-not responsible exactly, but if we hadn't
had the house fixed up.
.
"You should."
Leslie thought it best to turn to the grave. She
interleaved her fingers and gazed at the inscription so
hard that she heard the words in her head. "I'll
leave you alone nowea8she said once she was certain her
voice wouldn't sound as
though it were borrowing some of Mrs. Duke's grief.
As Leslie stepped back from the grave the other
woman stepped between her and the path. "Selling the
house, are
you?"
"I've given up on that. We've moved back
in."
When Mrs. Duke only stared, Leslie paced
around her. She was on the path when she heard Mrs.
Duke snarl "Living where he did that.
. ."
Leslie glanced back to see her crouched
over the grave, a stance that looked both
protective and threatening. "Stay awayea8Mrs.
Duke said through her teeth. "You and your brat stay
away from her and anything to do with her."
six
The thuds as regular as heartbeats Leslie heard
as she stepped into Jericho Close were indeed coming from
her house. They were the bass line of one of any
number of albums Ian liked just now-she wouldn't have
been able to distinguish which. Not much more in the way of
music was apparent once she'd let herself in. She
shut the front door none too quietly and called
"Ian, I'm home."
He either didn't hear or didn't think an answer
was required. At least he'd switched on the oven
when he'd come in from school, and the house was greeting
her with the spicy aromas of imminent dinner. She
sprinted upstairs to shy her bag and her linen
jacket onto her mockingly wide bed, then she
knocked on his door, knocked harder. "Ian?
lan$11
-Vftaff' Since this was as much of an invitation as
she was likely to receive, she inched the door open.
A
roar of guitars and a snarl of harsh torn
voices had been awaiting her cue. Ian
CHILDREN

was sitting on his bed with his back against the headboard,
his shoed feet on the quilt, schoolbooks strewn
around him as he glowered over scribbling in an
exercise book. On the walls the overlapping
posters for loud films and louder music fluttered
their edges as she stepped into the room. "Let's have the
window shut. No need to share your tastes with the whole
neighbourhoodea8she said, picking her way around the
assortment of obstacles on the floor, and had
to lean all her weight on the half-open sash before it
would deign to slide down. "How long do you think
you'll be?"
He scribbled no more than another line and slapped
the book shut. "That long."
"No hurry. I can slow dinner down."8Don't.
I'm going to Shaun's after."
"Turn that down a bit.
A
bit more so we can talk."
Ian jabbed the button of the remote control for his
miniature hi-fi stack until he judged even
she had to be satisfied. ""What?"
"Do you know if Harmony Duke has a brother at
your school?"
"Rupe Duke."8ally know him?"8Seen him round."
So that was how Mrs. Duke knew Leslie had a
son. As if this explained his not having mentioned the
other boy, Ian said "He's only half her
brother. His dad wasn't hers or the one he's
got now."
Was there anything else Ian hadn't told her that she
ought to know? She was trying to think of a question sufficiently
casual not to aggravate his defensiveness when the
doorbell rang beneath her feet. She made for the
window again, stepping over a sprawl of dog-eared
magazines about martial arts and motorcycles and
teenage female pop stars wearing very little on the little
there was of them.
A
woman was subsiding
into
a wheelchair on the path.
By
the time Leslie opened the front door the woman was
levering herself erect with one hand on the chair to poke the
bell push with a crimson-nailed forefinger. Beneath a
I
I
cap of close-cropped artificially silvered
hair, her sharp face pale as china blinked long
lashes in what might have been reproach at
Leslie's slowness. "Carefulea8Leslie was unable
not to say as the woman fell back into the chair and
planted her fists in the lap of her ankle-length
brown dress. "Sorry if
I
kept you waiting. I'm afraid I need to go to the
bank."
"I
beg your pardon?"
"I've no money you'd call money in the
house."8May
I
ask whom you're taking me for?"8ationobody. I
mean.
. ."
"I'm not collecting for the disabled, nor selling door
to door.8Having paused for Leslie's silence
to betray she'd had such possibilities in mind the
woman said "Leslie Ames? Verity Drew."
She raised one hand, either offering it to shake or
negligently indicating herself, and Leslie
was about to reach for it when the name registered. "You're from
the
Advertiser."
"It's good to be famous. Is it convenient for me
to ask you a few questions?"
Leslie wondered how many interviewees had been
too abashed to refuse. Discomfiture wasn't her
primary reason for saying
"I
wouldn't mind a word." She retreated as far as the
stairs, then saw how high the doorstep was. "Can
I-was
"Please don't trouble.8The reporter tipped her
chair back, at the same time grabbing the sides of the
doorframe, and in a moment she was speeding down the
hall, barely allowing Leslie time to dodge. "So
this is the roomea8she said as she came to a halt
by
the cooker.
Leslie turned the oven down a setting. "It's
my kitchen all right. Would you like a drink?"
"I
don't, thank you."
"Tea or coffee,
I
was meaning."8Thank you all the same."
"Not even a glass of water? You look hot."
The reporter's gaze flickered to the taps and then
to the pipes that led under the sink into the floor. "I'm
comfortable as
I
am, thank youea8she said, though her shoulders shifted.
"Perhaps
I
can start
by
asking-was
CHILDREN

There was a screech of pine on concrete. Leslie
hadn't meant to pull the bench out quite so vigorously,
and almost flinched as the reporter did. She sat on
it and thumped the table with her elbows. "Let me ask
you something first.
Why
was that story of yours news?"
"I
take it you mean my piece about this house."
"The house of horror, as you called it, or whoever
wrote the headline did."
"I'm responsible for it,
I
assure you."
"I suppose when the paper's so local you might
be.8As Verity Drew sat up straighter as though
her raised eyebrows had hauled her erect
Leslie said "But however local it is,
I
don't see why selling a house, and that's all this
is now, is news."
"Quite a
few of our readers did, Mrs. Am
es."
"After they'd been stirred up, maybe.
Why
did you?"
"Why
did we decide it was worth reporting? Some people-,,
"Let's stay with ones who've got names. What were
you
thinking?"
"I
believe the public has a right to know what's being
done with the site of
by
far the most horrific crime that has ever appalled
our community, especially when it's slap in their
midst."
"As you see, nothing's being done with it. I'm
back."8Which brings us to the subject
I
wanted to raise. Can
I
ask you about it now?"
"What do you feel is worth asking?"
"How you feel about returning to, returning here."
"To the scene of the crime,
I
suppose you stopped yourself saying." When the reporter
only gazed expectantly at her over the
notebook that an ample pocket of the brown dress
had proved to contain, Leslie said "It wasn't my
crime, Perhaps you'd like to keep in mind.
I
was just coming back to my favourite house that
I'd
lived in. And maybe you'd like to consider that your paper
made it impossible to sell the house except to people you
wouldn't have wanted in it,
I
can tell you."
"So would you say there were any feelings you had
to overcome before you could be comfortable?"
"What do you think? There still are.
I
feel sad and worse than sad whenever
I
think of the little girl, and sorry for her family.
Don't you?"
"This isn't about my feelings, Mrs. Amesea8the
reporter said, and immediately contradicted herself
by
starting so violently she almost dropped the
notebook. For a moment Leslie felt as if the
kitchen had grown cold as the underside of concrete,
as if the sunlight had turned into clinging mist, and then
she saw that the presence behind her was Ian. "How long
have you been there88she said with a laugh that surprised her
by
not being nervous.
"A
bit."
Verity Drew pressed her lips together, erasing their
tinge of pink.
"I
wonder if I could have a brief chat with your
sonea8she said, and set about turning the wheelchair
toward the hall.
"That's up to him."
"In that caseea8the reporter said, though Ian had
expressed no enthusiasm, "let's adjourn
to another room."
"What for88Ian said, lounging in the doorway.
"I'm sure a big boy like you must have understood my
meaning.
I'd
like to hear how you feel about living hereea8the reporter
said, and wheeled herself toward him.
"I
mean, what's wrong with doing it in here?"
"I
should prefer not to. Just let me past and you can tell
me all about your feelings."
"There's nothing wrong with it, is there, mum?"
"Not as far as we're concerned, but if Ms. Drew,
I
assume it's Ms., if Ms. Drew isn't
happy-was
"It's Mrs.ea8the reporter declared as if Leslie
had cast doubt on her mar
r
iageability. "Will you please let me out of this-was
"'Thought you wanted me to say how
I
felt."8allyes, as
I
made clear, when--2"
"The same as my mum. The same as she said, that's
how
I
feel."
SILENT
CHILDREN

"If
you say so. Now will you
just-was
"Aren't you going to write it down?"
"I'll
remember. Believe me,
I
will," the reporter said, her voice barely under
control, and flattened her hands on top of the wheels
preparatory to driving the chair at him.
"Ian.8However much the reporter deserved
to suffer the effects of the atmosphere she'd created,
Leslie felt that was enough. "Don't teaseea8she
said.
Perhaps she should have omitted the last word, because the
reporter fixed her with a look that contained no
gratitude. As Ian advanced into the kitchen the
reporter accelerated down the hall, not quite along the
tracks she'd already dug in the carpet, and didn't
slow until she was past the stairs.
By
the time she'd levered herself up to seize the latch and
pull the door open, Leslie was there to assist her
in maneuvering the wheelchair over the step. She'd
hardly taken the handles when the chair lurched forward.
"Let go of me," Verity Drew almost screamed,
bumping the chair down onto the path. She twisted
round to glare at Leslie and caught sight of the
picture above the stairs of Beethoven in a
truck. "Can't even take good music seriously,"
she muttered in something like triumph.
('Leslie strode to open the gate and close it with
pointed gentleness as soon as the wheelchair was past.
She stood in her doorway and watched Verity
Drew pack the chair and herself into a Mini, and as the
car swerved away with a rubbery squeal she
closed the front door. "She's goneea8she called
into the kitchen, "and we aren't going to care what she
writes, are we? It can't touch us. We're here for
as long as we want to stay. What happened is over
now."
SEVEN
"Mummy, look at the children in the clouds."8That
one's bouncing on a cloud, mummy."
"And those ones are dancing in a ring on one Like we
dance at ballet school."
"That one wants to sleep on his cloud, doesn't
he, only the others won't let him.
Why
is he laughing about it?
Why
have they all got the same face?"
"Ask the old man, Felicity. He drew them."
"I
don't want to, Rosalind. You ask."
"Stop being rude to the gentleman, both of you.
You'll have him thinking you're no better than all these
children let loose to roam the streets without their
parents. I do apologise.
I
assure you they've been brought up
to respect their
elders."
"No offence, madam. Your little charmer was only
speaking the truth. When you're as old as
I
am there's no point in pretending you aren't."
"Why
is he speaking like that, mummy? Has he hurt his
mouth?"
"Felicity, I'm utterly surprised at you. You
know perfectly well not to make personal comments.
Just you tell the gentleman you're sorry."
"But
I
only-was
"Never mind turning on the squeaky tap.
I
want to hear a sorry from you as well, Rosalind,
or there'll be no pony lesson for either of you."
"Mummy, that's not fair. It
isn'tfair."
"Seriously, madam, don't upset them on my
account.
I
don't mind if children laugh at me. Let's
have a laugh or
CHILDREN

let's have nothing, that's what
I
say. Do you two want to see the funny bunny?"
"Yes. "Yes, please."8Please."
"I
should think so too, Rosalind. You're supposed
to be
setting your little sister an example. Now just see
whatever the gentleman is so kindly going to draw you
and then we must be trotting off to piano practice."
"I
don't need to draw him. Here he is. What's
up, doc?"8Oh, mummy, the poor old-the old
gentleman has hurt his mouth."
"Don't worry about that, Felicity. I'm not
crying, am
I?
Don't you think the rabbit's funny?
Ehhh,
what's up, doc."8Say thank you very much, both of
you, and here's some
extra pocket money each to put down for the
gentleman."8Thank you, Mr. Rabbit."
"Yes, very much."
"That's it, Felicity. Wave goodbye now. And
excuse me"-the young blonde blue-eyed mother leaned
toward him, her tailored grey suit releasing a
hint of discreetly expensive perfume-"but maybe
you ought to pop round to the hospital and have that looked at
in case it gets infected."
She and her daughters weren't quite out of earshot down the
newly cobbled alley opposite when the smaller
of the two blonde girls remarked "His drawings
weren't very good, were they, mummy?"
"At least he's trying to earn himself a little cash,
Felicity, and he isn't taking any younger
person's
job."
"He mustn't have any children of his own to look after
himea8the older girl said.
"He hasn't got anyone to make faces forea8her
sister agreed, as a group of chattering Japanese
tourists put paid to the sight of the two children skipping
along hand in hand with their mother. He was gazing after them as
if doing so might bring them back when the chalk
drawing on the flagstone between his splayed legs began
to turn red.
Nobody else saw. The tourists and students above
him
were ignoring him except to avoid his drawing, as though
nobody existed below the level of their stomachs. He
wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then his reddened hand
on the side of his boot, and dug in the rucksack
lolling beside him for a pocket mirror, which he held
in the palm of his hand and raised in front of his
face.
He'd have said that was an old man if he'd stepped
out of its way in the street: shaggy faded hair,
eyes cracked
by
seeing too much, caved-in cheeks dragged down
by
weeks of stubble. Only the mouth could do with being more
collapsed. He dabbed at a last trickle of
blood with the sleeve of his raincoat and ran his
tongue over his aching gums, then he lifted his top
lip and twitched the lower. No wonder the little girls
hadn't been impressed: the glimpse of the remaining
teeth in his lower right jaw spoiled the effect.
He'd had enough of the rabbit-there were better things he could
do with his face. He dropped the mirror in the
rucksack and saw a woman watching him from
the doorway of a souvenir shop.
Weren't pavement artists supposed to use
mirrors? She was looking at him as though wondering
how much of a criminal he might be-as though she
knew he'd stolen the chalk from a shop across town.
As soon as she withdrew to deal with a customer, he
grabbed the rucksack and the very few coins that had been
dropped for him, and lurched painfully to his feet,
treading on the telltale drop of blood that had
fallen on the curly yellow hair of the child trying
to sleep on the cloud. He pivoted his heel and
felt the child vanish like dust-felt himself grinding the
stone thin underfoot, thin enough to give way beneath him,
revealing the secrets it hid.
He wasn't really feeling that, he had too much
control, He lifted his foot and saw that the child's
face had become a pale blur smeared with dark
red. He'd never seen anything like that elsewhere, and there
was no reason why it should affect him. He shoved his
meagre pickings into a trouser pocket and thrust his
arms through the straps of the rucksack, and put some
crowd between him and the erased child.
CHILDREN

Now that he was on the move he was better
than unobtrusive. Nobody wanted to spare him
more than half a glance, especially once he set
about rooting in waste bins. He found himself three
newspapers and clamped them under his arm while he
searched for somewhere he wouldn't be overlooked while he
read them. He was out of the bustling streets and on the
far side of a ring road that smelled of several
lanes of hot traffic when he chanced on a park.
Several people as decrepit as he hoped he looked were
asleep on the grass under a blue sky with a white
sun carved out of it, others were drinking and even talking
on benches. Eventually he located a bench with
nobody on it or near, facing a lake that contained
ducks and litter, and within earshot of a children's play
area, He sat on someone's spraypainted
initials and unfolded a newspaper, and sang
to himself whenever he heard a child cry or scream. He
was turning the pages of the second newspaper when a
headline and a photograph turned off the sights and
sounds of the park in his head.
CONTROVERSY
MOUNTS
OVER
SALE
OF MURDER
SYMS. Of
the five houses in the areas of London where the
bodies of children murdered
by
builder Hector Woollie had been discovered,
four were still for sale despite protests from the
families of victims. Leslie Ames, owner
of the site of Woollie's final crime, had now
withdrawn the property from the market and was living there with
her thirteen-year-old son.
A
photograph showed the house with a
FOR
SALE
Sign Outside.
"Not for sale,"
the caption said.
The words went away, and there was only the
photograph that might have been the h
ouse itself, reduced to handy po
cket size and stripped of everything-colour,
surroundings, occupants-irrelevant to the
memories it held. He caressed it with his
fingertips and resumed singing the lullaby the cries from
the play area had urged out of him.
"Now
I
lay you down to sleep, Close your eyes good
night.
. ."
I

RAMSEY CAMPBELL
It had almost been perfect that time. The medicine had
done its
job.
He only wished he'd realised sooner what else
it was capable of besides keeping his employees" minds
normal or at least in check. The little girl
hadn't struggled at all once he'd given her the
pills he'd said were sweets: there had been no
clenched fists, no mouth grimacing for air, no
toothmarks on the underside of the pillow, just a trace
of saliva that had faded as he'd watched. As he'd
wheeled her in the pushchair to the van, the pillow behind
her head, an old couple out for a stroll had smiled
at the sight of a child peacefully asleep. That was the
image he'd brought away with him-that and the memory of the
concrete, white and smooth as a sheet drawn over
a slumbering face.
Even if she'd wakened before the sheet had covered
her, he was sure she hadn't panicked. Though
she'd managed to poke a finger out of the earth, there had
been no sign of a struggle, no upheaval of
soil. It must have felt like a dream to her, he thought,
if she had even been aware of groping through more than
darkness. He'd spread earth over the finger with the side
of his boot and trodden it down, promising himself that
next time, if there had to be a next time, he would
double the number of pills.
"Angels come your soul to keep, Close your eyes
good night..."
He was having to sing more loudly, because the sounds of the park
had started to get to him.
A
little girl was being dragged away from the lake where her
toy boat had lodged on litter in the middle, and
screaming louder as her older sister swiped at her
head with the back of a hand. He bit into his raw
gums so as not to imagine the kind of home the girls
came from, the lives they led. The world was full of children
who deserved to be given some peace, but there was nothing
he could do about that now.
If
Terence and Hughie hadn't seen the flaw in
his workmanship before he'd had time to put it right-if
he'd found a way to deal with them before they'd told
anyone else
...
He hid the lullaby
CHILDREN

under his breath while he used his longest fingernail
to cut out the photograph, which he slipped into his
shirt pocket. He dumped the papers in an
overflowing concrete bin as he made himself only
stroll out of the park.
Having just felt helpless in the case of one child, he
was anxious to avoid them. He mustn't risk
intervening, not yet, not until he didn't know when.
Whenever he heard a child in distress, any number of
them in the increasingly
uncared-for
streets, he sang to himself. In less than an hour
he was free of the city and tramping along a devious
road toward distant woods that were hauling the sun
down, and the only squeals he heard weren't of children but
of pigs. Very infrequently he met people out for an
evening walk, and ranted at them well after they were
past him. "How's your feet? Don't
want to swap them for mine, do you? Any idea where
I
can get some new ones? Maybe some doctor would
give me a transplant. They can do anything these
days, the doctors. It's a good old world, never
been a better
......
There was nothing like pestering strangers to make them want
to forget you, nothing like playing the madman to conceal how
sane you were-no trick like drawing attention to yourself
to convince people you had nothing to hide. But he was going to have
to hide while he finished changing his appearance, and
when he came to the edge of the woods he left the
road.
At least he was certain nobody was looking for him.
He'd swum underwater to the pier while all the
attention had been on Terence in the boat; he'd
moved toward the shore when nobody was watching, so that
by
the time the coast guard began searching for him, he'd
been able to stand on the Ocean bottom and cling to one
of the pier's supports, only his head above water,
disguised
by
a clump of seaweed. Once it was dark
he'd made his way along the water's edge Until
there were only screaming birds to see him emerge.
Oil
an otherwise deserted stretch of promenade, he'd
found a
.
drunken tramp asleep on a bench in a shelter,
only his right arm in the raincoat he must have struggled
to pull off because
of
the heat, and had relieved the man of it. He'd
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
spent the night feeling the salt dry on him in a
hollow on some wasteland, having pulled bricks out
of the earth to make himself something like comfortable.
By
the time shops started opening nearby on the edge of
town, his clothes had been sufficiently dry, and
sufficiently concealed
by
the long raincoat, for him to risk buying a new
outfit and a rucksack in a charity shop. An
incinerator on a rubbish tip had taken care of his
old clothes once he'd changed in a public
convenience, and then he'd been well on the
way to becoming his new public self.
Tonight would see it finished. Though he seemed to be
alone in the woods, he followed the gravelled
waymarked path until he was miles from the road and the
twilight started filling in the cracks in all the
trees around him. He sat on a grassy
hillock facing a fallen tree, having planted
two large stones to brace his heels against. Even
if nobody could be looking for him, he wanted to be
certain nobody thought' they saw him. He fished out
of the rucksack the pliers he'd snatched from a
do-it-yourself shop and clamped them to the outermost of his
remaining lower teeth. As he bore down on the
pliers with both hands he began to sing, soon more
indistinctly and higher and higher. When he wasn't
able to keep up the gurgling lullaby he did his
best to laugh.
EIGHT
When Ian came home from school he could tell that
his mother had got ready to say something serious to him.
What she said, however, was "Do you want to help me
shop?"
He hated that-her making him wait to find out which of the
things he'd done she was going to bring up. He hadn't
been caught smoking since they'd moved
back to the house; he hadn't skipped detention either,
and the couple of stupid
CHILDREN

detentions he'd been given for nothing at all had
been short
enough
that he'd arrived home before her. He'd hung around
with Shaun and Stu and Baz nearly every night, but he
knew she was hoping he would grow out of them if she
didn't go on about them. Maybe the subject she was
holding back might even turn out to be interesting,
if that wasn't too much to expect.
"All
rightea8he mumbled, though it was more of a wish.
on the way to the supermarket she only asked him
boring stuff, what kind of a day he'd had at
school and whether he'd thought any more about what he
wanted to do with his life. Two women gossiping across
the gate of a front garden with a Victorian
streetlamp in it fell silent before resuming their
chat, and he knew they recognised him and his mother from
all the publicity-knew that was why his mother raised
her
voice just slightly to suggest he ought to work
toward staying at school after he was sixteen so as
to qualify for a better
job.
The games adults played with one another bored him
even more than most of the stuff they talked about, and why
should they expect him to grow out of anything when they never
grew out of those? His answers were growing shorter
until they hardly emerged at all, though he
didn't particularly want to make her feel bad:
it was just that since his father had found himself another
family to live with, and for quite a while leading up to that,
Ian had kept experiencing the sensation that a slab
had been laid on top of his mind, a weight as
dark and heavy as it was insubstantial. Thoughts could
lift it if it didn't squash them into pointlessness,
but more often he needed something outside himself to free him
of it-right now, swinging a supermarket trolley up the
ramp and driving it at the automatic doors to see
if they were fast enough to get out of his way. It might have
been more interesting if they hadn't, but they did.
He was following his mother out of Frugo twenty
minutes later-minutes that had felt slowed down
by
hushed thin music and the pace of all the trolleys,
not to mention how half the customers had seemed
not to want to be noticed watching him and his mother-when an
orange-uniformed
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
assistant some years older than he was andwitha good
deal more acne to show for it accosted him. "Where you
prowling off with that, mate?"
"Just to unload it at homeea8Ian's mother said.
"We'll bring it straight back."
"The other boy lets usea8Ian said.
The assistant ignored him. "Where's your
house?"8Just in Jericho Close."
"Jericho Close."
"That's what she said. What's your problem?"8I've
got none with most of it."
"Don't have one with our house eitherea8Ian said.
"It's our house."
Delight not too unlike contempt dawned on the
assistant's face. "Thought you were them. The manager
won't want you taking that there."
"Think we're going to bring a body back in it?"
"Shut that, saying bollocks like that. You're as bad
as-by "Forget it, Ian. Leave it now. Excuse
meea8Ian's mother said, and stepped between the assistant
and the trolley. "We'll do without. We can
manage."
Ian grabbed the two heaviest carrier bags and
pretended they needed no effort while the assistant
was watching.
By
the time the five-minute walk home had lasted ten
minutes, the increasingly flimsy handles were cutting
into his fingers. He did his best not to let his mother
see the trouble he was having, but when at last the
kitchen table took the weight she caught his hands and
turned them over to wince at them, then kissed them.
"I'm sorry
I
made you do thatea8she said.
He only looked at her, which made her say
"I
wonder what you'd think of a notion I've had."
"Don't know
.
"If
you aren't in favour no pretending, promise88She
waited for him to shrug before she began loading the
refrigerator. "How do you think you might feel about
having somebody else in the house?"
"Who?"
"Nobody just yet. Only it struck me
we've a bedroom
J IF
CHILDREN
going spare and
I
wanted to know what you'd say to the idea of a lodger."
"Don't know."
"Just the idea. Nobody's going to be moving in
unless we both approve of them. Do you want time
to think about it? You could tell me tomorrow when you come home
from Hilene's, or whenever you decide.
I
don't want to put pressure on you about it."
"You're not."
"I
wouldn't advertise it round here.
I
thought of putting a notice in my and Melinda's
window."
"Go on then."
"You think88Much more neutrally she said "Will you be
telling your father?"
"Don't you want me to?"
"Up
to youea8she said, and saw that he wasn't
convinced. "Let's see if it happens and then he can
know, do you think?"
"If
you want."
"It doesn't always have to be what
I
wantea8she said, so wistfully that he was preparing
to mumble "It isn't8when a car door
slammed
outside the house.
His mother shut the freezer, which emitted a frosty
breath, and ducked into the front room to glance through the
window. "Must have heard usea8she amused herself
by
saying. "Here they are."
Here was another one of the games his parents played,
she meant or ought to mean. He wasn't going to ask
who had turned up with his father. He stayed in the
kitchen and fed himself a drink of sharp sour
grapefruit juice from the carton while she waited
for the bell to ring before opening the door and straightening her
mouth to greet his father, who responded
by
throwing his head back an inch and pushing the upper lip
of his broad square face over the lower.
All
this performed, Ian's mother said "He isn't quite ready.
He's been helping me shop."
"They're good at that when they don't have to dig in their
own pockets, aren't they88Ian's father seemed
to wish he
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
hadn't said that, because he added hurriedly comwe're
early,
I
expect. Whenever you're set, big feller."
Perhaps Ian's mother didn't like being talked past, because
she drew almost imperceptibly aside. comw
Charlotte come in for a glass of something?"
"I
think she's best left in the car if we don't
want hysterics."
"That must be hard on youea8Ian's mother said with, he
suspected, as much delight as sympathy.
"What sort of crisis do eight-year-olds have these
days?"
"Anything can turn into a drama. There's no knowing
what until the curtain's up.8He hesitated before
saying "Don't let it bother you, but she got herself
into rather a state on the way about coming here."
"I'm sorry to hear it. About what?"
"Well, obviously, about...8He waved at the
kitchen. "You won't be too much longer, will you,
Ian? We'll both end up with a headache if her
highness decides to create."
"I'm surprised you told her at her
ageea8Ian's mother said.
"I
can promise you we didn't, but unfortunately she
overheard Hilene reading some of your press
coverage."
"Hilene can be rather audible, can't she? Are you waiting
to be invited in?"
"I'd
better stay where Charlotte can see me, otherwise
her siren's liable to go off."
"That would never do. You might want to consider putting
on a spurt, Ian, before anyone gets the
impression
I
won't let your father in the house."
Ian dumped his drained glass in the sink and went
upstairs to grab his shoulder bag, into which he threw his
toothbrush and deodorant and skin soap and
hairbrush and another pair of the jeans he was
wearing and a Drilled Skulls T-shirt followed,
to placate his mother,
by
socks and underpants for the morning.
All
that should be enough for an overnight stay, but he wasn't
going to let anybody think he'd rushed because of
Charlotte, and so he stalked to his window.
She was in the front passenger seat of the Peugeot,
squandering the leg room he needed a lot more than she
did. She'd
CHILDREN

drawn up her knees in a long dress like a tube
of floral wallpaper, to wrap her arms around them,
and was pressing her small slightly pudgy face
against the window, her breath swelling on the glass as
though she were trapped beneath it. She was keeping a
proprietary gaze on Ian's father, which made
Ian bare his teeth just as she glanced up at him and
showed him most of her tongue.
He'd shoved the window open, intending to yell one of the
words she wasn't supposed to hear or know, when he
realised what he'd done. Pushed that high, the sash
always stuck. "Dadea8he called, "can you
fix this?"
"Can't your mother?"
"It's my window. I can't shut it."
"It won't matter overnight, will it? We're
meant still to be panting for rain. It's not as though
anyone is likely to-"Perhaps Ian's mother had
communicated some rebuke to him, because all at once
he dashed upstairs. his
Let's
get it dealt withand be on our damn."
The last word had greeted Charlotte's protest that
was well on the way to a scream. "Don't,
Roger. Roger, come back."
He sprinted to the window and ducked out. "Here
I
am, Charlotte. Just shutting this and
I'll
be there."
Perhaps she didn't hear him for her cries, because she
only raised her voice. Either she'd forgotten how
to operate the window or she was too busy clutching
her knees and pressing her forehead against the glass,
on which her breath kept transforming her face into a
wide-mouthed blur. Her distress struck Ian as
no more than she deserved, not least for being
allowed to call his father
by
his first name. He watched as his father leaned hard on the
sash and brought it down, muffling Charlotte's cries
a little. "Are you ready, Ian88his father was already
saying. "Come along at once."
"Roger, where are you? Don't stay in there, please
don't, please.8Charlotte's pleas had drawn
Ian's mother to the car, and she was trying to persuade the
little girl to open the window as his father ran out of the
house. The clamour stopped instantly, leaving the
adults to sidle around each
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
other at the gate while Ian trudged after his father-
"You want him back for dinner tomorrow, do
you?"
his father said.
"Of
course.8To Ian his mother said "Be good8z a preamble
to an unavoidable kiss greeted
by
a giggle from Charlotte. She craned around to make
a face at him as he sprawled onto the back
seat, glimpsing the wink of a net curtain
opposite the car. His father swung the car Out
Of
Jericho Close and used the mirror to frown at
him. -Ian, did you do that on purpose?"
"No."eaeaHmm$11 That was bad enough-the sound
adults made when they didn't want you to be sure
whether they believed you-but Charlotte made it
worse. Dry-eyed as though she had never lost her
composure, which Ian suspected to have been the case,
she told him "My mummy says she doesn't know
how you can bear to live there."
"Now, both of you try to get on togetherea8his father said
as she turned her back on Ian, and that was when he
knew he hated her. He was glad he'd found a
way to frighten her. He only wished, as long as
he'd been accused of it, that he had meant to.
Another time he would.
NINE
LARGE
SUNNY
ROOM IN FAMILY HOME; FIVE
NMBLED equals S
FROM TRAIN TO WEST
END;
BREAKFAST
AND EVENING MEAL
IF
REQUIRED
It had been her idea that Ian should stay overnight
with his father and the rest of them, Leslie reminded herself.
However unforgiving of his father she might be, she
didn't want to pass that on to Ian. Her fury
of a year ago occa-
sionally flared up out of its ash, but she'd accepted
that she would never be sure of the details of Roger's
behaviour whether while Leslie was being soothed
by
music in the basement of HMV, h
e
His
d begun
by
sympathising with his colleague on the top floor
over the disintegration of her marriage and then had made
more than his sympathy felt, or whether the cause and
effect had been more the opposite
and there was no longer any point in caring.
If
she herself had turned out to be less or other than
he'd thought he was marrying, that was surely part of the
experience of marriage, and he should have
talked to her about it instead of to Hilene, as Leslie
was sure he had. Still, now all that mattered between them
was that Ian didn't lose whatever relationship he
needed with his father, and that was even worth her spending tonight
by
herself in the house.
So far that hadn't proved too daunting. Listening
to favourite music without its being even slightly
overshadowed
by
her sense of Ian's automatic dislike of it was a
treat in itself. The Bach cello suite had emerged
from introspection to celebrate with a dance, and then
another. The final throaty chord faded, and as the
last suite began she tore the page off the
message pad and deposited the screwed-up wad
on the plate with the remains of her lasagna.
LARGE
SUNNY
ROOM IN
FRIENDLY HOUSE
Of
course she would have to tell anybody who responded
the history of the house, but when she imagined doing that,
the advertisement hardly seemed worth
writing. The only way of being sure to fail was not
to
try,
and she'd learned never to be satisfied not to. She
scrapped the page and started on another.
LARGE
SUNNY
ROOM IN
SUBURBAN HOUSE;
FIVE MINUTES" WALK TO DIRECT
LINE TO WEST
END; CONTINENTAL
BREAKFAST
AND EVENING MEAL
IF
REQUIRED
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
Room with view of sunset, the sight through the dining
room window suggested she should have written.
A
version of the yellow afterglow had appeared in a bedroom
over the wall at the end of the garden, and except for the
area lit
by
the small chandelier dangling its tears above
the table, her house was growing dark. She gathered her
plate and utensils and tall glass printed with
white lipstick that was milk and carried them to the sink.
As the fluorescent tube jittered alight the
floor appeared to shift, and a shiver sent a tear
down each of her cheeks. She was remembering the
photograph of Harmony Duke she'd kept from the
Advertiser-a
school photograph in which the little girl had been
even younger than she'd had the chance to be. The small
bright-eyed face smiling proudly with a hint of
self-consciousness had put Leslie in mind of
Ian when he'd started school-Ian bringing home a
painting of two big pink lollipops and one sucked
small that she and Roger had realised just in time was a
picture of the family, Ian helping her to garden
by
building a Lego scarecrow complete with a sign that
said No
SLUGS,
Ian reading the
SQUIRREL
WALK sign in a nature reserve and solemnly
commenting "Rabbits might know, but not
squirrels.8There were still moments when she
glimpsed that innocent child in him, however hard he worked
at denying it, and she thought it might be the basis of
some of how he grew up, particularly if she
didn't draw his resentful attention to it. There would
be no growing up for Harmony Duke, no
protracted clumsy adolescence. Leslie
imagined Mrs. Duke calling Harmony's name
into the growing dark, her voice turning harsh with rage
that perhaps had given way to panic-she imagined calling
Ian's name like that, and closed down her thoughts. As
soon as she'd washed up her dinner things she walked
no faster than she ordinarily would out of the kitchen, and
kept her back to the darkness as the glow of the tube
fluttered and died and the Bach danced itself to an end.
The compact disc lingered over the echo before halting with a
faint whir. The abrupt silence, broken only
by
a whis-
CHILDREN

per of movement in the kitchen-the contraction of the glass
tube-caught her wondering what to do next. There was
no use wishing she'd accepted Melinda's invitation
to join her and her partner for a night on the town, not when
Leslie wouldn't have known until she joined
them how the girlfriend might feel about it. Time to watch
one of her films Ian couldn't stand while she had the
opportunity, and she turned off the compact disc
player before slipping
Meet Me in St. Louis
into the video recorder.
She was able to lose herself in the film: the soft bright
nostalgia, the colours more vivid than life, the
sense of a family as close as surely some
families were, the studio allowing Judy Garland
to act her age at last, the seasons passing fast as
a dream of a year
...
Winter came, and she found her head sinking in time with the
large soft monotonous snowflakes, and started
awake with a breathless impression that there was a lost child
in the house.
Little Margaret O'Brien was smashing a family of
snow people to bits because she and her family were about to move
away from their home, but Leslie's impression
seemed more real than the film, and perhaps as near as the
unlit hall. She was holding her breath and straining
her senses when the phone shrilled in the hall.
As it repeated itself she clutched at the remote
control to pause the image on the screen.
In the midst of the pale crumbling figures the little
girl trembled-eager to be released from her
unnatural stasis-as Leslie snatched the door
open. The light from the room framed the lower half
of the stairs and the phone on the table ahead of them, and
helped her reach for the switch of the hall light, which
drove the darkness back into the kitchen, where the
concrete floor gleamed like exposed bone. Now she
was fully awake, and as she lifted the receiver her
sense of any presence other than herself was
extinguished. "Leslie Amesea8she said.
"Hello?"
Several breaths invaded her ear before they admitted
to having a voice-a man's, so far as she could
judge. It didn't speak, only hummed a
simple tune over and over, until she
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
recognised that the low repetitive sound belonged to a
lullaby. With it came the rhythmic noise of some
kind of improvised percussion instrument held
close to the phone, the kind of item someone might
make to amuse a child: she thought the caller might be
shaking a handful of small hard objects in his fist.
She'd asked him several times who he was, and
once what he wanted, when he expelled
a breath in her ear and was gone.
She cut off the droning of the dead line and bent a
fingernail against the digits that would identify the
caller's number. When a recorded voice informed
her that he had withheld it, she silenced the message
and stared almost blindly down the hall. There was no point
in pretending not to wish that soon she would have more company
in the house.
TEN
"You're rightea8Melinda said. "He's watching us."
Two red double-decker buses cruised
by,
close together as elephants on parade. Once
they'd passed, the man was still staring fiercely across
Oxford Street at the shop. His grey hair
sprawled over the collar of an old tweed
jacket, his fists bulged the pockets of a baggy
pair of slacks the brown of dried mud. The fists
jerked against his hips as he darted through a gap in a
selection of taxis to the concrete island in the middle
of the road, and from there to the crowded pavement. His large
loose face, the redness of which was concentrated in the
eyes and the nose swollen out of shape, bent heavily
toward Leslie's advertisement in the bottom
corner of the window full of Ives and
Copland and Bernstein and Glass, then his gaze
swung to meet hers as he pushed the door inward.
Her stomach tightened, yet she felt relieved.
He was here
to be confronted at last-he was more than just an
impression that she was being watched. She'd suffered
intermittently from that since the wordless phone call
almost a fortnight ago, she'd begun to feel watched
both inside and outside the house, and yesterday she'd
been so convinced she had been followed to work that she'd
spent too much of the day watching the street and growing
tense whenever anyone seemed about to enter the shop. Now
he had, and Melinda would hear whatever he had to say
for himself, and if anything threatened to get out of hand they
had company, a man of about Leslie's age who was
peering at a leaflet he'd slipped out of a box from
the secondhand rack. He didn't look up as the
red-faced old man jabbed a finger at her, bestowing a
smell of stale tweed. "Can't you do better than
that88he said in a voice that was mostly effortful
breath.
She remembered how his displeased gaze had moved from
her notice to her. She straightened her back and
planted her hands on the counter. "What would you
suggest?"
"Where do you think you are?"
Even if Leslie hadn't had enough of questions,
Melinda had. "We're in our shop, and so are you.
If
there's something definite we can help you with-was
"You're in Britain. Better than that, you're in
England.
If
you're supposed to be dealing in serious music,
what's all this American stuff doing in your
window?"
Leslie swallowed a laugh that might have come out
hysterical. She was reflecting how much of her sense
of the world her situation had invaded when he began
to wave his hands as though invoking the kind of music he
approved of, not the Copland ballet score that was
dancing in the air. "It's beyond a joke. It's
taking over," he complained. "There's nothing to see in
Leicester Square but American films and
American restaurants and hot-dog vans for people
who talk like Americans and spell like them too,
I
don't doubt. We need a few laws to keep
what's left Englishea8he
told the customer who'd abandoned squinting
at the tiny print of the compact disc leaflet and was
regarding him wide-eyed. "Don't you agree?"
"Excuse me, sir, but
I
don't think I'm the person to ask.8Leslie
snorted and covered her mouth, but the revelation of an
American accent only enlivened the interrogator.
"You people come for the Englishness, don't you? Aren't you
here to get away from everything you left at home?"
"Makes sense to me."
"Of
course it makes senseea8the tweedy man said as though
the American had dared to contradict him. "You
won't claim you enrich us, will you? Except with
tourist money.
I'll
give you that."
"Me personally? I'm not sure
I'd
even-was
"Not you personally, but let's take you if you
insistea8the man said, turning his back on Leslie
and Melinda as they managed to interrupt only each
other. "You won't have written any"-he flailed
at the dance overhead-"music, will
you?"
"Just a bunch of books."
"Ah,
books. Works of American literature. May
I
ask what kind of a name you've made for yourself and with
what?"
"While there was a market for it
I
wrote horror."
"Most American of youea8the tweedy man said, and
confronted the women. "Do you feel you must bow to the
market too?"
Leslie waited long enough to be sure of sounding
calm.
"I
can't speak for this gentleman, but
I
think we've had enough of you."
"How surprisingea8the man said, redder-faced than
ever, and held off letting himself out of the shop until
he'd prepared an exit line. "Country and
westernea8he protested, baring his teeth at the
music, "even worse than jazz." With that he
tramped off towards Tottenham Court
Road, and Leslie and Melinda gave each other
a look that might have led to mirth if the American
hadn't broken the silence. "Sorry if
I
was the cause of that somehow."
"Whatever makes you say that88sd Melinda.
"It seemed like it might be the thing to do."
Leslie was taking in his appearance: grey eyes that
looked eager for the unexpected, wide lips poised
to smile, long nose that turned up at the end as if
to deny some clich6 about itself, broad face nearly as
fight-angled as the red crew cut on top.
"I
hope we didn't make you feel that wayea8she said.
"You make me feel just fine."
The women shared a pause before Melinda lifted one
eyebrow. "Is that the kind of thing people say in your
books?"8Some do, sure enough."
"And can we ask what becomes of them?"8Some of them
make out okay."
"I
can see how they mightea8Melinda said with the faintest
hint of censure, then relented. "Are you here working
on a new book?"
"Researching one."
"You'd rather not say any more about it at this
stageea8Leslie guessed.
"Talk about it too soon and the chances are you never
write itea8he said, and looked impressed with her
perceptiveness.
"Will you tell us your name at leastea8Melinda said,
"in case we've heard of you?"
"I
don't believe you will have. Jack Lamb."
"Do you know,
I
think that does ring some sort of bell. I could
ahnost swear I've seen it on a cover or two
recently."8They'd have to be imported. I'm only
published in the States."
"Then maybe we'll see you in print here soon.
Leslie, save me from making more of a fool of myself
in front of our delightful customer."
"I
just wanted to say, Mr. Lamb, that if our window
enticed you in we should apologise for everything you had
to put up with."
"Your window did, ma'am, but you haven't a thing
to apologise for, either of you."
"If
you say so.
I
mean, good, thanks. Is American music your
territory?"
"Some. Stuff people like who aren't, as expert as you two
have to be."
"So what were you looking at before88Melinda said.
"I don't honestly remember, except trying
gave me a headache."
"But you say our window brought you in."
"The notice about the room to let did.
I
was going to inquire when you started talking about that guy
who came in. Would it still be available?"
"Couldn't be more soea8Leslie told him. "You're the
first to ask."
"You're kiddingea8he said, so surprised that she
couldn't help taking it as a compliment. "I guess
you've only just advertised it."
"For most of a fortnight."
"Maybe I'm plain lucky. Would you say it was
quiet enough to write in?"
"It certainly is when my son's at school, and
if you need it to be when he's there he'll have to use his
headphones."8It's a room in your
house."
"A
big bedroom, that's right.8I-Es gaze was lingering
on her, and she felt absurdly in danger of
blushing. "There's plenty of space for a desk if you
need itea8she said.
"Would it be okay for me to view it soon?"8Perhaps
I should tell you about the house first."
"Why
don't you do that when I've seen it and got the feel
of it.
I
like to keep my first impressions innocent. Comes with the
job."
"Nothing wrong with a bit of innocence now and then, is
there, Leslie? You could take Mr. Lamb now if
you want and
I'll
lock up."
No glance at Melinda was needed to confirm she was
hoping Leslie might acquire more than just a
lodger. When Leslie thanked her, Melinda had
the grace to keep her astuteness out of her smile, but
there was no mistaking what she continued to think. "See
you tomorrowea8Leslie said
CHILDREN
firmly enough, she hoped, to put paid to any
misplaced romantic notions. Right now it was
sufficient that, as she emerged into the crowd with her new
acquaintance, whom she didn't think she would mind
having both as a friend and a tenant, she no longer
felt watched.
ELEVEN
They had almost reached Shaun's when he shouted at
Ian. "Our Crys wants to see in y
o
ur house."
"Wants to lie on the floor in the kitchenea8Baz
improvised at the top of his voice, "and stick her
ear on it and listen to the worms."
"Wants to see the kid's head come up out of your
sinkea8yelled Stu.
They were having to bellow because Shaun lived on the
North Circular Road. Ian might have
objected to how they nearly always ended up at
Shaun's, where the traffic noise and the smell of
petrol followed you into the house, if Shaun
didn't have most of their good ideas. Baz stole a
magazine from just inside a different Soho sex shop
every weekend and hadn't been grabbed once,
Stu had already dropped acid several times and said
things like "Where's the fucking focus on this thing88while
he clutched at the sides of his head, but it was
Shaun whose right cheek bore the scar from shoving his
face through the glass of a bus shelter when he was
twelve to show a gang he wasn't scared of anything
they could do to him. "Let's show herea8Ian hollered.
A
lorry several times the size of Shaun's house
rattled the insecure glass of the windows as Shaun
stabbed the lock with his key on a chain with a skull.
Ian was first after him into the token hall, where they had
to sidle past a bicycle with one wheel missing and
some bits of the furniture
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
Shaun's father kept attempting to build so that he
would have another kind of
job
to try for. Baz heeled the door shut as they
followed Shaun into the front room, where shabby
chairs faced a television crowned with a video
recorder and cable box. The furniture left
space only for a plasterboard bar in one corner,
where three bottles of spirits hung their heads on the
wall. On top of the bar a quartet of
crumpled empty cans of Skol guarded the comers
of a car repair manual bristling with yellow slips
of paper. The boys had hardly thrown themselves into a
chair each as Shaun set about switching channels
when his big sister Sharon appeared from the kitchen,
pushing seven-year-old Crystal ahead of her.
"Someone let her sit before she spills her
juiceea8Sharon shrilled, and more directly to her
brother "They haven't kept you back at school for
once, then, so I needn't rush to work.,,
"Don't know what you'd have to rush for. They must be
hard up, anyone who'd pay to watch you wag your
arse on a table."
"Never mind joking someone who's got a paying
job,
Shaun Nolan.8Since she'd ducked to pat her
elaborately careless heap of blonde hair in
front of the mirror above the electric fire, she
appeared to be addressing herself. "You wait till you
finish school and you're out of work like dad."
"At least he doesn't have men looking up his arse,
and I won't either."
"We'll see, won't we. Turn that down and let
her sit before she stains her dress, and you've got
to stay in with her till mum gets home."
Without waiting to see if any of this was likely to be
obeyed, Sharon stalked out ahead of her hot spicy
perfume and was gone with a slam.
Baz shoved himself out of his chair, writhing his shoulders
as if someone might need to be punched. "Sit
hereea8he told Crystal. "We don't want you
messing your pretty white dress."
Stu looked at the ceiling and found nobody there
to observe his grin. "Not yetea8he added.
"Just park your arse there, Crys, and finish
thatea8Shaun
CHILDREN

said, flicking through the channels.
Crackpot Jackpot
flashed
by,
and
Driving Me Crazy
with its harassed clown of a driving instructor, and a
talk show in which teenagers were screaming and bleeping at
their weepy obese parents while an audience howled
and catcalled to prove themselves normal. When
Crystal glimpsed
Hocus Focus
and the camera that magicked its owner into the scenes of its
old photographs, she perched on the vacated
chair before Baz could reclaim it and began to wail.
"Put it back on. Mum says you have to let me
see my programmes."
Shaun switched the television off and aimed the
control at his sister as though it might work for her
too. "Shut that. Do it, bitch. Leave your drink
if you aren't going to finish it or you won't get your
surprise."
The instant he stopped speaking Crystal's tears
brought themselves to an end, reminding Ian of the girl he
was expected to think of as some kind of sister. "What
is it88Crystal sniffed.
"Wouldn't be a surprise then, would it? It's at
Ian's.8She downed half her black currant
juice so that its place in her plastic mug could be
taken
by
a hollow gasp. "She said I can't go out."
"Shar did, but she's not here. Now you have to do what
I
say or you'll never know what your surprise was going
to be."
She hadn't asked to visit Ian's house
at all, and Ian might have been angry with Shaun
for trying to deceive him, except that all four of them
often said things the others were supposed either to know weren't
entirely true or to find out soon enough. "It's
specialea8he said. "It'll make you special."
He knew that would get to her-it might have done so
to him. He felt contempt for them both, a contempt
that squashed his thoughts. When Crystal emptied her
mug, daubing her mouth with purple juice, he
grabbed her plump warm sticky hand for as long as it
took to pull her out of the chair. "Wipe itea8Shaun
said in disgust, and Ian felt as if he were obeying as
he rubbed his hand dry on his trousers
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
while Crystal smeared her wrist with her mouth.
The noise of the traffic swallowed the slam of the
front door. The boys marched in single file across
the road, Crystal in the middle of them with her hands
over her ears to shut out the screech of brakes and
furious blaring of horns, and into the park, a lot of
green with some muddy water cutting through it, and kids
walking home across it, and people taking their dogs for a
shit. The slab on top of Ian's mind made his
surroundings mean less than nothing to him, and sometimes
he wondered if his friends felt that way
too, not that he was about to ask. They crossed the park
so fast that Crystal had very little breath to wail about how
much further they were going, but when they reached the gates
she stopped to look maltreated. "Hurry
upea8Shaun said, and when that didn't shift her, "or
you won't see your new friend."
"What friend?"
"A
special little girlea8Ian offered, and felt a
flicker of excitement reach beneath the slab as Shaun
said "She wants to play with you."
Not much was happening in the streets. Kids with keys
were letting themselves in, and cartoons were uttering short
bursts of words together with a good deal more noise beyond quite a
few of the sets of net curtains, but otherwise the
houses were keeping their occupants to themselves. The boys
had hurried Crystal almost to Jericho Close when
a white Astra, its back seat heaped with bags of
food, cruised past them and stopped with a gnash of the
handbrake. The driver's window slid down
to extrude the grey curls and then the
crimson-lipped determinedly tanned remainder of the
head of Mrs. Lancing, who lived in the corner
house. "Ianea8she said.
It wasn't a greeting so much as a
summons. "What88he just about responded.
"is that the little one who was making all the fuss
outside your house the other day?"
"No.
CHILDREN
"I
hope you won't be upsetting her the way you did the
other little girl."
"Peaight$11 "What do you mean
by
that, Ian? Just you wait until I've finished
speakingea8Mrs. Lancing called after him. He
grinned at hearing her voice rise only to find it
hadn't quite enough breath, but he was even more pleased
by
how her comments must have improved his friends' opinion of
him, though they couldn't question him in case that put
Crystal off. Instead they followed him down
Jericho Close to his house.
Everyone but him stayed behind Crystal on the narrow
path as he twisted the key in the lock. When he
turned from pushing the door open, however, she had
retreated a step and was tugging at her right-hand bunch
of hair with one sticky fist. "Where is she88she
complained.
"She can't come to the door.
I
said she was special."8What's wrong with her88sd
Crystal, her mouth on the way to drooping, one
sandal digging at the path. "Can't she walk?"
"She's just asleep. You've got to wake her."
"Why
can't you?"
"She doesn't like boys toea8Ian said, and saw his
ingenuity impressing his friends. As soon as Crystal
ventured forward, almost leaving the sandal with its toe
stuck in a jagged crack of the path, he said "Come
on and
I'll
show you her room."
Crystal hesitated with one foot over the
threshold. He saw Stu think of pushing her into the
house, and looked at him hard enough to prevent it.
"Why
did the woman in the car say the little girl made a
fuss88Crystal said.
"About coming in a house she didn't know, just like you.
She's used to me and my mum now. She likes it
here just like you will."
When Crystal stepped forward he felt as
though his friends' admiration for his technique had given
her a stealthy shove. The moment she was past the door
the boys crowded after her, and Shaun shut it while
Ian blocked the way upstairs. "Want a drink
before you see her?"
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
"You made me thirsty walking so quick."
Her using an accusation as a demand lost her any
sympathy he might have had to suppress. She
followed him to the kitchen and sat where he pointed, on
the bench at the far side of the table from the hall. The
back door was locked, and the key wasn't in it.
He watched the floor, where the shadows of her thin
bare impatient legs made the concrete or something
beneath it appear restless, until Shaun and the others
filled the doorway. "What am
I
supposed to give her88he asked Shaun.
"Something with water in."
The door of the refrigerator cast a shadow like a
trapdoor creeping open in the concrete. "Want
some red stuff.8Ian said.
"What is it88Crystal said, so suspiciously that
the boys in the doorway covered their mouths.
"See what it says on itea8Ian told
her, and laid the bottle on the floor.
He watched her grip the edge of the table to lean down.
Her little finger touched the concrete as she took hold
of the bottle
by
its neck and dragged it to her with a scraping of plastic
that seemed to grow louder in his ears once it had
stopped. She hauled herself into a sitting position and
stood the bottle in front of her, but gave the
label no more than a grimace for being unfamiliar.
"Is it sweet?"
"Try it and seeea8Ian advised, and carried the
raspberry juice to the sink, where he filled a
glass almost to the brim with juice before adding a dash of
water. There must still be some of the little girl under the
floor close to the pipes, he thought, however much of
her the police had cleared away. The notion sent a
shiver of excitement through him as he stooped to place
the glass on the floor.
"Stop putting it down thereea8Crystal protested, but
leaned off the bench to reach for it, her bunches swaying
on either side of her intent face. The shape of a little
girl's hand swelled up out of the concrete beside the
glass, then vanished as her closing hand met its
shadow. Ian saw her fingers tremble as they
gripped the table while she concentrated on
CHILDREN

raising the glass. He saw Baz and Stu itching
to speed up the game, and Shaun scowling at them.
Then Crystal had the glass and lifted it to her
mouth, not spilling a drop. She continued to grasp the
edge of the table as she tilted the drink into her mouth.
Ian saw an inch of unsweetened juice vanish
at a gulp, and held his breath. He watched her
suck her lips in and her eyes start to water. Her
head jerked up, and she tried to stand the glass on the
table fast enough to give her time to reach the sink, but she was
only in the process of swinging her legs off the bench
when the contents of her mouth proved uncontainable,
hitting the floor with a loud flat splash.
There was a silence that emphasised how the stain was
seeping into the concrete. Not until Crystal glanced
up, looking ready for an argument, did Baz say
"You've done it now."
"Better say you're sorry quickea8Stu advised
her.
"It wasn't sweet.8When her complaint brought no
response from Ian, not even a blink, she muttered
"Sorry."8ation to himea8Shaun said.
She tugged at her hair.
"Why
not him? Who?"8The little girlea8sd Ian. "You've
woken her up.8Crystal tugged so hard her head
began to cant as though
the floor was drawing it sideways and down. "Where
is she?"
"Under where you spat. You'd better talk to her before
she comes to see who spat on her."
Crystal shoved herself in a single movement to the far
end of the bench. Her heel caught an upright of the
table, and her sandal flew off, slithering across the
concrete toward the stain. "Don't want toea8she
wailed.
"You've got to. She knows you're here."
"If
you don't talk to her she'll follow you home and
get in your bedea8Stu said.
"You've got to lie on the floorea8Baz said, "so
you can hear her."
"If you don't she'll come outea8sd Shaun, "and you
won't like how she looks."
Crystal stared at him, her mouth pulling itself out of
shape and releasing a trickle of red as though she had
bitten her tongue. "This is where mum and
dad were talking about and they stopped when
I
came inea8she cried.
"Where the little girl was buried, that's right, under there, and
now you're going to see her if she doesn't think
you're sorry enough."
"She's got worms for eyesea8Baz assured her.
"And her entrails are all hanging out with insects
crawling on themea8sd Stu.
Ian thought the last two were going too far, at least
for him, though they were causing Crystal's mouth to wrench
itself into progressively more interesting shapes. For him
it was sufficient that the new floor and all that it was
meant to conceal had grown intensely present, its
whiteness vibrating, the stain gleaming like the
irrepressible mark of a death. "She made your shoe
come offea8he said. "She made it go to her. You'd
better listen so you hear her. Listen hard and you will."
Crystal's eyes turned unwillingly toward the
stain as though it, or something whose location it marked, had
fastened on them. The rest of her appeared to be unable
to move except for a slight quivering. Ian willed
his friends not to give in to the temptation to make her
jump, because he was sure that if they waited she would
hear what she'd been told to hear. But he
wasn't expecting to hear it-a muffled scraping like the
sound of a buried finger trying to draw attention to itself
The concrete appeared to flutter, having grown thin as
a sheet that was about to be flung off. Then, as his friends
swung round to stare along the hall, Ian realised
that the sound wasn't in the kitchen. He'd heard car
doors slamming near the house, but there was no reason
why they should have anything to do with him. He was facing the
front door,
SILENT
CHILDREN
which was the only course of action his friends seemed able
to think of, and there was no sound in the kitchen except
for a tentative whimper from Crystal, when the door
swung open and a stranger stepped into his house.
TWELVE
"You mustn't be doing too badly if you can afford
to park off Piccadillyea8Leslie said.
"I'm still trying to get my head around some things about
England."
That might include driving on the unfamiliar side
of the road, and so, as Jack Lamb turned the hired
Nova along Park Lane, she confined herself
to directing him. An ambulance racing to the children's
hospital nearly made her send him into the
wrong lane at Paddington, but once they'd
escaped the hot clogged fuming streets under
Westway, there wasn't much for her to do except
tell him to carry on. The Grand Union Canal
came to find the road and swung away again, taking with
it a barge brighter than a florist's display, and the
car was following an elongated lorry that wagged its
drunken rear at them through Kensal Green when
Jack said "Say, did
I
offend you somehow?"
"Not that
I
noticed. What makes you ask that?"
"Just that you've been quiet for a good while, but don't
let me intrude if you've got things you need to think
about."8ationothing that won't keep. I just thought you might
want to concentrate on driving."
"Am
I
that scary? I've been trying to take care."8ally're
fine. I've never felt saferea8Leslie said, and
found she wasn't exaggerating out of politeness after
all-he certainly never made her feel compelled
to brake with her feet
against the front of the cabin, as Roger used to whenever
he saw the slightest opportunity to overtake.
"So how long have you been over here? Is this your first
time?"
"First time out of the
US
of
A
for Jack Lamb, and as
I
said to your friend at the shop, just me, not my
books."8Let's hope before long it's both. And
by
the way,
I
wouldn't want you to think
I
was laughing at you back there, just at that awful man not
realising where you came from."
"No mistaking that once
I
open my mouth though, huh?"8ation muchea8Leslie said,
and waited while he braked as the lorry swayed
left into Harlesden. "So how long has it been?"
"The cops would be after me in
Californiaea8he said, and she had to deduce the offence
was having flashed his headlamps to invite a woman in
a Mazda to steer across his path. "Forgive me, you were
asking how long..."
"How long you've been in the old country."
"Got you. Just a few months. I'm staying with some
friends in Hampstead that
I
met at a concert in the Bowl. That's as close as
some of us Hollywood types get to your kind of
music."
"I should think that must be pretty close."
"You wouldn't if you'd heard half the audience
applaud whenever they thought the symphony was over.
At least
I
knew better than that. It was apologising to Charles
and Liz because
I'd
heard they were English that started us getting
acquainted."
"So are you in films? That's to say, are your
books?"8I'm not a performer in either sense, I have
to tell you. Wes Craven's office asked my
agent about one waste of paper, but that's the
only query
I
ever had a name for."
"It's researching your new one that's brought you
to England, then."
"It's the people who are making me want to stay.
"Tell me if I'm asking too many questions."
"I
don't see how. You'll want to know about me.,,
That struck her as somewhat presumptuous, yet
discon-
CHILDREN

certingly true. She'd known him less than an
hour, and she had no idea how he might react to the
disclosures she had still to make, and so there was no
point in liking him as much as she already did. At
least now they'd crossed the North Circular
Road, requiring her to direct him through the
suburban streets. In two minutes they were in
sight of Jericho Close, on the corner of which
Mrs. Lancing, never a favourite neighbour of
Leslie's, was in conversation with another woman. The
Nova swung into Jericho Close and cruised to the
end. '7his is itea8Leslie said.
So it was, and she didn't feel ready. Was she
going to take him through the house before she told him what
he had to be told? Apparently so, because now she had
climbed out of the Nova and was preceding him along the
path. She reached for her keys and heard someone
calling her name-rather more than calling. Mrs.
Lancing's partner in conversation was approaching with a
purposefulness that drove all expression out of her
face, which looked tightened
by
the ponytail that rendered her head too small for the
large frilly blouse blossoming from her terse
skirt. In a moment Leslie recognised her from
having exchanged not much more than guarded greetings with
her once at the school: Shaun Nolan's mother.
What had Ian been up to now? Nothing, Leslie
suspected, that she wanted Jack Lamb to hear as
his introduction to her household. She unlocked the
front door and gave it a push. "Go right in,"
she said, and faced Mrs. Nolan, only to find her
staring into the house. Before Leslie could turn she
heard a little girl's cry along the hall.
She felt as though her keeping the secret of the house
had caused it to manifest itself. As she swung round
she had to grab the doorframe for fear of
losing her balance. At first she couldn't see the child
whose cry she'd heard, because Jack had stepped over
the threshold and was blocking her view. "Hey,
guys, what's been happening here88he said.
The response was a rush of small feet. As if
his appearance had proved too much for her, a little
girl in a white dress and wearing a solitary
sandal bolted out of the kitchen.
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
He held up his hands to show they were harmless and dodged
aside, and she shoved past Leslie onto the path.
When her unsandalled foot caught on an edge of the
jagged paving she fled one-legged, each hop jarring a
whimper out of her. "Come here, Crysea8Mrs.
Nolan said in a voice too loud to be addressed
solely to her, and flung Leslie's gate open so
hard it rebounded from the wall. "Come here, love
What have they been doing to you? What's he been
doing?"'
It was clear from the look she aimed at Leslie that
she wasn't referring to her own son. The mute
accusation only aggravated the rage Leslie
turned on Ian. "Just what have you been up to?"
He hadn't quite managed to produce the expression of
bored innocence his friends had achieved.
"Showing her where it happened. She wanted to come."
"Sweetbreads to that, Ian, gonads. I can see
how much she wanted to be here, so you explain-was
Mrs. Nolan was louder. "What did he do to you,
Crys?"8Excuse me, Mrs. Nolan, but
I
see four boys in there.
I
don't think there's any reason to assume it was all
Ian's doing.
If
you'd like to come inside we can sort this out,
I
hope."
Crystal flinched against her mother and clung to her. "Not
in thereea8she pleaded.
Leslie saw Jack not knowing what to do except
stay in the hall and look neutral. The prospect
of his tenancy was receding fast, and she felt angrier
than ever, not least with herself for regretting that so much in
the midst of everything else. "We'll go in the front
roomea8she made herself suggest.
"We'll be going nowhere in there, Crys. One little
girl may have come to harm, but you won't be another.
Get out of it, Shaun, and bring the other
two while you're at it. I don't want you near
this house again."
Ian's friends obeyed readily enough
by
their standards, Shaun carrying a sandal like a trophy.
They were passing the stairs when Jack stretched out a
hand. "Listen, maybe you should stick around till this
is sorted out."
W-0"
"I
CHILDREN
"It's all right, Mr. Lamb, let them go.
I'll
get the truth out of my son."
"I
wouldn't like to think what you'd get out of him or
anybody who wants to live in that place."
Though Mrs. Nolan meant that for Ian and his mother,
it was Jack who responded, levelling his fingers at
himself. "Could be I'm one."
"might do some good to have a man about the houseea8Mrs.
Nolan said to nobody in particular, and to Jack
"Have you got any idea what kind of place this
is?"
"I
believe I've figured that out, yes."
"God forgive you, then, if you have. You're as bad as
her, and look how it's affecting her boy. Come
away, Crys, and you, Shaun, and the two of you as
well. You can be a bit less friendly with him in the
future, Shaun. We don't want you ending up like
him."
Leslie's anger nearly forced her mouth open, but a
row in the street would only leave her feeling
worse. She watched Mrs. Nolan herd her children
along Jericho Close, the other boys trailing
behind. When she saw Mrs. Lancing hurry down her
garden to accost Shaun's mother, Leslie closed the
front door with a gentleness that felt like a
slow-motion
slam.
At least she wasn't angry with Jack.
"I
don't mean to sound rudeea8she said to him, "but what do
you think you've figured out?"
"Did
I
read about your house?"
"I don't know what you may have read.
I
don't know you that well."
"This is where a little girl.
.
"Was murdered
by
a man called Hector Woollie while he was
doing building work, and he buried her under the
kitchen."
She'd wanted to get it said, but her brevity sounded
callous to her, as though the secret of the house was
becoming simply a part of her life. She thought
she'd alienated him until he gave her a careful
smile. "That's what
I
thoughtea8he said.
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
"I
should have told you when you asked about the room."
"I
can see how you might have decided that wasn't such a
good idea."
"Sorryea8she said with a gesture that was on the way
to reaching for the latch. "S..
."
"I
wasn't planning to go anywhere unless you want me
to leave. I'm not like the lady who just left,
I
hope."
"I'm sure you aren'tea8Leslie said, withholding her
delight-there was still Ian to be dealt withand taken
into account too.
"I'd
better introduce my son. Ian,
I
said we're going in the front room."
"That's okay.8As though to reassure her that he was
harbouring no reservations about the house or anybody
in it, Jack strode into the kitchen and proffered his
hand. "Ian, Jack Lamb."
Ian stared at the hand for only a moment before shaking
it. "Hi."
"You can hear where I'm from, and I've written a
bunch of horror books, so now you know all about
me."
"Are you after the room, then?"
"If
you'll both have me."
Ian gave a shrug that risked betraying some
enthusiasm. "Fair enough."
"Can I take that as a vote for me?"
A
grin succeeded in escaping onto almost half of
Ian's mouth. "Expect so."
"Good deal. I've a feeling we'll have lots
to talk about once I've settled in."
Leslie couldn't be sure if he was gently mocking
Ian. "I'll show you the room so you can
decideea8she said, "and then
I'll
want a few words with you, Ian."
"Say,
I
hope you won't be embarrassed to have me round the
placeea8Jack said to Ian. When the answer was even
less than a shrug he turned to Leslie. "May
I?"
Though
he'd
swung an open hand toward Ian, she had no idea
what he was asking.
"Why
notea8she nonetheless said. "Okay, so listen, Ian.
Let's not pretend
I
didn't see the
VIFW"
CHILDREN

situation when
I
came in. What was all that about exactly? What were
you trying to do?"
"Just playing with her.8Ian saw that wouldn't suffice,
and made to shrug, but Jack raised his eyebrows.
"Teasing herea8Ian admitted. "Scaring her a
bit."
"Is that your kind of fun88Having waited until
Ian shrugged, Jack said "Are we going to be
honest with each other?"
"Maybe."cc'Whose idea was it?"
'All
of ours. Shaun said she wanted to come."
"It's your house though, isn't it? If you hadn't
brought her nothing could have happened. Or did you need
to see someone being scared like you sometimes are?"
"I'm not scaredea8Ian said fiercely.
"Well, good. No reason why you should be of anything
here, is there? And I'm sure your mother isn't either
or she wouldn't be living here.8Jack
looked at her for agreement, then gave her a wry
smile instead. "Excuse me.
I
haven't been in the house more than a few minutes and
already I'm taking over the show."
con'allyou've done nothing
I'd
call wrong so far."
'Then
I'll
just finish. Ian, would you say
I
saw you at your worst when I came in? Is that
right, mom?"
"He can be pretty decent when he wants to be,
can't you, Ian?"
"I
know it. How's this for a deal, Ian? Don't let
me see anything bad about you again and you never will about
me."8Okayea8Ian mumbled, if with a shrug.
"I
can tell your mom wants to be proud of you, so
let's give her plenty to believe inea8Jack
said, pretending not to have seen the boy blush. "Maybe
I should see the room now, though there'd have
to be a huge trick being played for me not to like it."
Leslie conducted him up past the framed record
covers and opened the bedroom door. Sunlight was
waiting in the room to demonstrate how white the
quilt and the wardrobe and the rest of the furniture
were. The subtle pattern of the
It
discreetly green wallpaper looked overexposed
or just starting to develop. "Told youea8Jack said,
kicking off his shoes, and lay back on the quilt,
unself-conscious as a child in a holiday room. They
hadn't discussed terms yet, Leslie thought, but she
knew they would reach an agreement, and so she could
acknowledge to herself how glad she was. Little as she
liked to agree with anything Mrs. Nolan had said,
he seemed capable of having such an effect on
Ian that she might indeed be able to use this man about the
house.
THIRTEEN
"Who's got my teeth?"
"What's Tom lost now?" "Says his feet have
gone."
"His what have?"
"Feet,
I
said. Has the wine messed up your ears as well as
your eyes now? His feet."
"Shut up, can't you, and let me sleep."8His
feet have what?"
"How do
I
know? Gone like your ears and your eyes and the rest of the
lump on top of your neck. Watch out the old
women don't put it in the soup with the rats and all the
stuff they get out of bins."
"What's gone now? It's full of thieves, this
place is. They'd steal the lice off your head if
you hadn't been sprayed. Smuggled a few of those in
past the security last night all the same, I
did. You've got to have some company.
If
you're quiet enough you can hear the tiny blighters
talk."
"Isn't anybody listening? It's my teeth is
gone, can't
you
hear? I'm naked without them."
"The lot of you shut up. Shut up, for Christ's
sake."8He isn't here. He stays upstairs,
him. Got more sense
CHILDREN

than to come down here and smell us lot. He'd fall
off his cross with the pong of some of us."
"What's someone saying about teeth?"
"It's old Tom. Couldn't be anybody else.
Says they've run off like his pockets were supposed
to have last week."8Don't you go saying it's like my
pockets.
I
just couldn't
find them, that's all. Someone woke me in the middle
of the night and got me all confused, and
I'd
still value knowing who. Teeth aren't pockets. They
was under this pillow and now there's nothing, look.
All
of you look."
"We're looking. Might find some of your brain as
well if you're lucky. It rolls out of your ear in
the night, you know, and then one of the old women has
to stuff it back in so you can wake up.
I
saw her doing it. She's your favourite, the one with the
hairy blob under her chin who always gives
you extra rats" tails in your soup."
"Don't you try confusing me, Bill Buncle.
I'm not confused.
I
know someone nicked my teeth, and I'm having them
back."
"There they go, under Carl's bed. Chatter chatter
chatter."8What's under my bed? God, it's a
beetle, a bloody great beetle."
"It's your boot, you daft drunk sod."
By
now the wakeful voices had strayed out of the middle
of the dormitory beneath the cathedral and ended up beside the
wall. "Shut up and let me sleep," he snarled
at the owner of the boot, but it was no use. When at
last exhaustion had proved stronger than the aching of
his raw gums and the throbbing of his blistered feet and the
relentlessness of the caged tube of light above him, a
dim glow that clung like a coating of dust to the ranks
of restless sleepers huddled under blankets, he'd
seemed to sleep for hardly a minute before being wakened
by
a shrill wailing, a cry that had threatened to become
so much worse he'd thought it must be Biff. Even
when he'd managed to remember that there were no
children in the place, the impression had persisted as the
dull glow beyond his eyelids held his eyes. The world
outside was full of children, and how could he avoid them
all? The notion of their helpless suffering made him
want to pull the rough blanket of the narrow trestle
bed over his face, but he knew the women who ran the
refuge wouldn't let anybody linger in bed, and he
mustn't draw attention to himself: he had to pass for just
another of the sweepings of the streets. He wasn't like
them, and that was why he could pretend to be. Pretending
to the extent of sharing the communal toilets and showers with
them didn't appeal to him, however. He eased his
stiff legs off the bed and pulled it away from the
wall to retrieve the rucksack it had been
protecting, and picked his way through the maze of
grumbling dozers to the stony corridor.
The showers faced the toilet cubicles and the urinals
with their pouting lower lips across a double line of sinks
along the centre of the white-tiled room. The light
on the tiles was as sharp as the smell of disinfectant
in the air. Apparently none of the cubicles had ever
benefited from a bolt on the door, and so he jammed
his rucksack against the hinged inside of the door of the
cubicle farthest from the corridor before lowering his
clothes and trusting his buttocks to the
scrawny plastic seat, which tried to sidle from beneath
them. As in all the refuges he'd used, the paper
on the roll was clinically harsh, the kind he'd
dreaded every morning as a child but which Adele wouldn't have in
the house or the care home. Adele had been all
softness-her plump body, her yielding breasts, her
hugs, her large dark eyes constantly on the
lookout for a way to help someone. Never mind had
been: still was, and now-
Footsteps were approaching the tiled room. He
pressed his buttocks together and shut down his thoughts in
case they somehow drew attention to him. The light quick
footsteps halted at a urinal, where he would have
expected the early riser to greet the day with a
resounding hawk and a copious spit. Instead he
heard an eventual trickle that sounded too thin for a
grown man's, at the end of which the footsteps veered
toward the middle of the room, and somebody began
to whisper in a small high voice.
It sounded like a child, perhaps more than one. Had some-
CHILDREN

one who worked in the refuge let their children use the
toilet? Children would surely make more noise than that
unless they knew he was in the cubicle-of
course, they could see the rucksack under the door-and
were discussing him. Except that the more he strained his
ears, so hard his face ached almost as fiercely as his
gums, the more he thought there was only one voice, one
child whispering to itself
Why
was it making sure he couldn't distinguish its words?
Suppose the child's life was so dreadful that it couldn't
be articulated even in a whisper? He didn't
think so-he was beginning to suspect a trick. He
craned forward and seized his rucksack, and then he
did the unexpected: he snatched the rucksack
away and threw the door open and lurched out of the
cubicle as if he'd been tugged
by
his tube of limp flesh that even Adele had never
seen, not even while they were labouring at making their
son in their dark bed. The shackles of his trousers
had sent him stumbling away from the cubicle before he
grasped that no child was to be seen in the tiled room.
Yet it was still whispering, and now he could hear its
message. "Biffea8x was repeating,
"Biff.8Was Biff able to whisper at last
to make up for all the screams he had uttered in
life? Was he trying to convey that he'd found
peace? "Biffea8Hector called, tugging his
trousers high enough to let him shuffle to the centre of the
room. In a moment he saw the mouth that was whispering
to him-the stiff greenish circular mouth of a
plughole into which water was trickling.
Had whoever was responsible crept out of the room?
He couldn't recall having heard them leave. Perhaps
the whisper had been a trick they'd tried to play
on him so that he would betray himself-but of course that
made no sense, and he mustn't start thinking such things
just because he wasn't fully awake. He was
supposed to act confused, not be it. He twisted the
tap, bruising his fingers, until the whisper gurgled
into silence. He was so intent on hushing it wasn't
until he looked up that he noticed two of the
vagrants he was
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
trying to resemble staring at him from the corridor, each
with a hand on the other's arm.
They must think him as mad as one of Adele's
residents. The idea clenched on his mind, robbing
him of the ability to move-and then he remembered that he
was meant to be an outcast people would prefer not to have near
them. He took hold of his waste tube and wagged it
at the men, calling "It's good morning from
me and good morning from him." When they looked
suitably disgusted and convinced of his daftness he
retreated into the cubicle and sat on the unstable
seat, his heels pressed against the door through the
rucksack. Once the showers began to hiss and
splash he managed to finish his own activity without
emitting any sound that would remind anyone he was there.
At the least stained of the sinks he confined himself to washing
his hands and face while he gripped the rucksack
between his ankles. He dried himself on the plain rough
towel he'd been issued, and dabbed at the sodden
cuffs of the overcoat he'd worn even in bed, and
spat a little blood into the sink before heading for the
breakfast hall.
He could think of so little to say to any of the loudmouths and
ranters and babblers who wandered in after him that he was
glad when it was time for prayers and hymns. Behind the
counter at the end of the wide cardboard-coloured room
full of trestle tables, women put aside their
ladles and spatulas to hold up their prayerful
hands while a blurred smell of porridge and
bacon descended upon the gathering like the promise of a
reward for their devotion. He wasn't about to pray
or sing hymns-no matter how desperately he'd
prayed, it had done Biff no good.
Instead he murmured "Now
I
lay you down to sleep.
. ."
in the midst of the prayers and sang it for a hymn, and
didn't care if the priest in a polo-necked
shirt who was leading the chorus noticed. At last it
was time to shuffle to the counter as if his trousers were still
around his ankles. The woman with the spatula gazed
at him out of her pale toby
jug
of a face topped
by
a froth of white curls that spilled down the back,
and eventually declared "New face."
CHILDREN
How could she know he'd made himself one? His
picture
shouldn't have been in the paper for weeks. He felt as
though it had fitted itself over his altered features-that
she was watching it stiffen them into itself. His mouth had
begun to grow unworkable before he understood her. "Came
here yesterdayea8he said.
"Let's have a name, then."8Bert. Bert Walker."
"You won't be wanting to hang around me."
Her gaze hadn't shifted-he wasn't sure she'd
even blinked. The queue behind him was trying to distract
him with several impatient voices.
"Why
not88he demanded.
"Not unless you've got some teeth to put in there for
me.8She was saying he wouldn't be able to deal with her
bacon sandwiches.
"I'll
have to make do with porridge," he said, sidling along
the counter to her colleague, who dug her ladle into the
tureen of bubbling white sludge and raised her
shrunken bright-eyed face, unwrinkling her leathery
neck. "You'll need to get them seen to," she
advised him. Vnaff'
She doubled her volume and halved her speed. "You
ought to get yourself fixed up with some teeth."
From a nearby table came a dull clang of metal
against china, and a shout with some consonants missing.
"What's that about teeth?"
"Not yours, Tom. I'm telling our new friend he
needs some."
Hector turned from the counter with his bowl of
porridge
glistening with milk to find toothless caved-in
Tom watching him. There was a seat on the bench
opposite Tom, and he took it, hitching up his
rucksack on his shoulder.
While
he waited for the porridge to stop steaming, he found
blood on his gums with his tongue and ignored the way
Tom was tugging at his own lower lip to expose the
lack within. At last the porridge looked cool enough
for Hector to risk a spoonful, which he was lifting
to his mouth when Tom let out a snarl and a more than
generous amount of moisture.
VQOO8FUL
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
"Looking for some teeth for yourself last night, was you?
Find some under my pillow?"
"I'd stick nothing in my mouth that's been anywhere
near yours, believe me.8Hector tipped the
spoon into his mouth and champed the porridge with his
gums, only to find that it was still too hot for them. The
ache blazed through them and pierced his brain, and he
leaned across the table, spitting porridge into Tom's
face. "Want to search me? Want to stick your
fingers up my arse to see if I've hidden them there,
is that your style?"
The priest hurried over, pulling at his
polo-neck as if he'd only just discovered that he'd
forgotten to wear his clerical collar. "Some
disagreement here, chaps? Can
I
take an overview? I'm sure it should prove
helpful."
"Someone nicked my teeth while
I
was asleepea8Tom said more sullenly than distinctly,
wiping his face.
Hector subsided onto the bench and loaded his mouth
with a spoonful of porridge from the edge of the bowl.
If
his gums had been able to flinch, they would have. He
sucked in a breath to lower the temperature, then he
swallowed the searing mouthful and threw the spoon on
top of the pasty mass. "Want a poke round in my
bag to see if there's any teeth in it?"
"I'm sure that won't be necessary. I'm sure
Tom-by "I've got a voice in my head,
padre, thanks ever so buggering much. It's teeth I
haven't got, and as long as he's saying we can
look in his bag-was
"That's it. I'm not staying here to be called a
thief. Thanks for the bed and the prayer
meeting, and you're welcome to this slop."
"Hang on, please. Do please hang on,
what's his name, Bert? Bert, please don't
fly
off, I'm sure between the three of us we can-was
That was all Hector heard before he was out of earshot.
As he tramped along the corridor and up the stone
stairs he mouthed his thanks to Tom, who had given
him an excuse to leave so ostentatiously that
nobody would suspect him of having anything to hide.
When the steps brought him into
CHILDREN

the sunlight beside the cathedral, he shrugged off his
rucksack and dug among the few clothes it contained
as he limped into the enormous porch. Having
retrieved both sets of Tom's teeth, he
dunked them in the font and sloshed them about in the holy
water until he considered them clean enough for his mouth.
They didn't fit. Tom's mouth had appeared to be
the same size as his, but the teeth were more curved
than Hector's gums, if only slightly. When
he tried to force them into place, first with his hands and then
by
closing his jaws with the teeth jammed between them,
he felt as though he was grinding his gums raw all
the way to the bone.
"If I
chuck them back in your water," he mumbled,
relaxing his jaws, "will you make them fit? That
wouldn't be much of a miracle, would it88The teeth
chattered while he spoke as if they were urging him
to make the act of faith, and for an instant he
contemplated it, until he realised that then he would
be as deranged as the worst of Adele's
residents. Adele
...
He spat the teeth and several crimson blots
into the font and trudged away from the cathedral.
It didn't take his feet long to remind him they were
capable of aching as badly as his gums. He couldn't
go on like this. He was out in the open again, beneath a sky as
bright as any child's room. Wherever he walked he would
encounter children sooner or later-the world was crawling with
them-and what might he have to do if he wasn't able
to make them laugh? He couldn't hide from himself, but
at least he could try to hide from them. And however long
it took him to get there, however painful the journey
might be, he'd thought where he could hide.
Ian was so disappointed not to be home from
school to help their new tenant move in that Jack
let him assist with the unpacking instead. When
Leslie returned from work that Friday, she found the
Nova parked outside the house and heard two
pitches of male laughter in the back bedroom.
Jack was transferring the last few shirts into the
wardrobe from one of a pair of large suitcases
while Ian lifted books out of a carton with a
thoughtfulness she'd never previously seen him show for
books. "Mom, can
I
read this one88he said.
These days his asking permission for anything was
exceptional- "Better ask Mr. Lamb."
"Jackea8Jack said to both of them. "Your mom
mightn't be too happy with you reading that, Ian, or
trying to sound like me either."
"I don't mind if you don'tea8Leslie said,
having leaned across the bed, the quilt yielding beneath her
hand, to glance at the apparently unillustrated
black cover on which the title and his name were composed of
bones.
"The
Old
Monster
isn't for children, then."
"Is that what it sounds like? Could be that's why it
didn't do so well."
"We'll let Ian give you his opinion. At
least it's a book, not a video."
"Greatea8Ian said, and hugged the fat book.
"Maybe not that greatea8Jack told him. "The
scariest part is the author photograph."
As Ian turned the book over, the front caught
the light and flashed Leslie a glimpse of a
malevolent old face grinning like a skull. She
preferred the image on the back, of
CHILDREN
the author with hair streaming over his shoulders, with a
smile that looked close to having been held a
moment too long. From the youthfulness of the
photograph, not least its hint of vanished
brashness, she guessed the book to be five or six
years old. She pushed herself up from the bed and
smoothed the quilt as Ian lifted a hand to stifle
his mirth. "It's okay to laugh, trust meea8Jack
said.
"Okay then,
I
won't."
Leslie didn't know whether he was so ready
to please Jack because he was American, or from
Hollywood, or a writer, or even just a man,
and she was content not to care. "Let's let Jack
settle in for a while."
"I
was going to show him some tricks with my word
processorea8Jack said.
"In that case
I'll
leave you men to entertain each other while
I
get on with dinner."
"Do you need to fix it?"
"It won't take long. It isn't too
elaborate a welcome, I'm afraid.
I
didn't know what you liked."
"Can it wait until tomorrow? Then why don't you save
it and
I'll
buy you both dinner.
I
feel like celebrating where I've ended up."
Ian was pretending to read the blurb of the
novel and imperfectly concealing an expression not
unlike the one Melinda would have worn if she'd
observed the situation. "Did you have anywhere special
in mind88Leslie said.
"I
don't know this part of town too well yet.
If
you have a favourite
I
can drive wherever you like."
"And not drink."
"You have to get used to that in Angel City. That and
having to tell the same story over and over until it
doesn't feel like a story any more."
"Sorry, telling a story
. . ."
"To movie producers, in case they're the one who
buys what you're offering."
"Someone still could even though you're over here, do you
think?
If
you want to share a bottle there's a good
Chinese
restaurant down on the main road we could walk
to."
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
"Sounds fine to me if it does to Ian."
Ian was reading the first page of
The
Old
Monster. "It's
goodea8he said without looking up.
She
steered him, still reading, out of the room. She watched him
make his slow way downstairs, turning another
page as he reached the hall, before she went into her
room to choose an outfit. Her favourites all
had something to do with Roger. For months that hadn't
bothered her, but now, inexplicably and so even more
annoyingly, it did. The black dress she'd
worn for clubbing with him in the West End, the
ankle-length crearn silk he'd bought for her last
birthday, the pert red one to which she'd treated herself for
their second honeymoon, a weekend spent in
Paris while
eleven year
comold Ian had given her mother plenty to criticise
once she'd handed Leslie a brimming cup of
boiling tea to keep her seated
...
She was only going out for a Chinese meal, for heaven's
sake. Eventually, after a session of holding clothes
in front of herself as though she were the sort of
cardboard figure she used to dress when she was little,
she put on the white silk blouse and pinstriped
skirt and jacket she'd worn for the opening of the shop,
a costume that had certainly pleased Melinda. She
hooked silver stars into her earlobes and dabbed
perfume behind her ears, and stepped out of the bedroom
to meet Ian on his way upstairs. "Will
I
do88she said.
"More than thatea8Jack said, emerging from his room. He
was wearing a white linen jacket, pale grey
knife-edged slacks, a dark grey shirt and slim
black tie. "You will too," she was able to say without
blushing, for which she was far too old, and walked
lightly downstairs to let them all out of the house.
Janet from next door and Mrs. Lancing were in
conversation halfway along Jericho Close. They
turned as Jack, having held the gate for both the
Ameses, closed it with a snap of the latch.
"Hello, Leslie and Ianea8Janet said, "and
hello.
- ."
"Jackea8Ian said with a proprietary air
.
"Jack Lambea8sd Jack.
CHILDREN
"I'm Leslie's neighbour Janet
Hargreaves. Welcome to Wembley."
Mrs. Lancing had kept her gaze on him but
swung her head aside as if attending to a commentary.
"Aren't you quite a long way from home88she not so much
asked as informed him.
"Not any more."
"It's the kind of place you'd live, is it, in
America?"8It's the kind of hospitality
I'd
hope for, sure enough."8And have you and Mrs. Ames
known each other long?"8Feels like it."
Leslie hardly hesitated.
"I'd
say that too."
"You'll have met here,
I
suppose, since Ian and his parents never managed
a trip to America."
"Last week. The day you watched me
arrivingea8Jack said. "I saw Leslie
had a room to let. Turned out it was just the place for
me to work on my new book."
"So do we take it that you work from home?"8That's how
I'd
like to think of it, sure."
"I
imagine it will do no harm to have another adult in the
house to keep a check on things."
Leslie opened her mouth, but Jack was faster.
"Seems to me Mrs. Ames is doing, you'll
forgive me if you need to, goddamned fine under
all the circumstances, and Ian's shaping up
pretty well too if people give him the
chance."8Well-was
"Which is how it is with most of us,
I
was going to say."8And
I
was about to say we're all entitled to our
opinion."8ally bet, only maybe some-was
"I
can tell one of us is starvingea8Leslie said, steering
Ian away with an arm around his shoulders. "See you,
Janet. Come for coffee soon."
Leslie's party was at the corner of
Jericho Close when Jack said "Sorry if
I
said too much back there. Full of words, that's my
problem."
"I
don't think either of us was complaining, were we,
Ian88She might have taken Jack's arm if that
wouldn't have seemed too forward, not to mention the risk of
embarrassing
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
Ian. Instead she was doubly, if silently,
appreciative of being doubly escorted to the main
road.
They were nearly at the restaurant when a boy who was
emerging from a newsagent's stood and stared at them.
He was about Ian's age, wearing leather and chains, and
had a dull somewhat pudgy face that Leslie
took to be the product of depression and too much
junk food. He gripped his thighs, digging his
thumbs into them, and scowled after Ian. "Friend of
yours88Jack murmured.
"Rupe Duke? He's nobody's friend much."
"Good Lord, that's who he is, of course.8When
Jack had closed the door of the restaurant behind them
Leslie explained "He's the brother of the
little girl
. . .
you know, the little
girl. . ."
"Should anybody talk to him right now?"
"I
think it's best left, Jack, if that isn't too
English of me. Do you ever speak to him at school,
Ian?"
"He isn't in my class."
That was presumably as much of an answer as Ian
wanted to give, and Leslie was afraid that insisting
might make him revert to his previous taciturn
self. She followed the waiter to the table, where
Jack told her and Ian more than once to order
whatever they liked, after which he nearly deceived her
by
pretending to be the kind of American who ordered a
meal and then asked the kitchen to hold the sauce, and
succeeded in persuading Ian that there was a
Cantonese delicacy called Butterfly Wing
Soup, consisting of water in which the wings of
butterflies were soaked until they vanished, and
produced two lines of a limerick for Leslie-
"When he's writing his music, Ry
Cooder
Shouts out words that are ruder and ruder.
.
combbf desisting with a droll apologetic look. He
challenged Ian to pick up the smallest amount of
rice with chopsticks, though it looked as if
Leslie would beat both of them until Jack
lifted a single grain of rice to his
apologetically
CHILDREN

smiling mouth.
By
this time Leslie had seen off more of the second
bottle of Chablis than he had, thanks to his
refilling her glass whenever it was on the way to being
empty, as he told Ian tales of his boyhood,
trout fishing with his grandfather who could trad his fingers in
a stream to call a fish, helping in the auto
repair shop Jack's three uncles and his father
owned, his mother teaching him to play basketball at
midnight in a floodlit cage, the years of
Thanksgiving dinners where all the aunts told him
he wouldn't be a man until he could carry the
twenty-pound bird
by
himself to the table
. . . By
now ('Leslie felt mellow from head to foot, even
a shade unsteady when at last they abandoned the
remains of dinner, so that outside the restaurant she
had no hesitation in accepting the support of
Jack's arm. Ian didn't mind, or only to the
extent of walking ahead, which struck her as having more
to do with encouragement than embarrassment, not that she
intended anything other than a leisurely stroll.
The quiet suburban houses glowed from within, the
streetlamps seemed to be lighting the way to the
future. She squeezed Jack's arm and
relinquished it as they came to their gate.
She saw Ian unlock the front door and step
into the house.
A
moment later the hall fitted a carpet of light to the
path. Ian had halted at the foot of the stairs and
was gazing toward the kitchen-into the kitchen. She'd
closed all the doors before leaving the house, yet the
kitchen door was wide open.
A
shiver chased away her mellowness as she
ventured into the house.
A
chill had come down the hall to meet her, and something
else was wrong with the kitchen. The view beyond the back
door was too clear-she was no longer seeing it through
glass.
A
glistening of crimson drew her attention upward.
With a cry of dismay and rage that left her throat
raw, she sprinted up the stairs to read the words that were
dripping from the door of her room and Ian's and
Jack's.
It was only a bit of paint sprayed on the doors
and spattering the carpet in front of them, Leslie
kept telling herself. Whatever people said, being broken
into couldn't be as bad as being raped, though the sense of
being invaded had lodged deep in her body, the sense
that someone had delighted in the mess they'd left.
Jack brought her a coffee Ian had made, a
bubble that looked full of brown earth bursting on its
surface, and then he loitered
by
the stairs, visibly wishing he could do more to help.
The coffee only lent the dullness that was her delayed
shock a harsh edge. "At least you can't
say your first night wasn't memorableea8she said.
His lips twitched as if he didn't feel
entitled to smile. "It already was."
"For us too. Thanks again."
"Gee,
I
wish you wouldn't say that."
"Why
ever not?"
"Because if
I
hadn't insisted on buying you guys dinner your house
would be fine now."
"It's still going to be. We'll make sure it is,
won't we?" Ian had emerged from the kitchen,
allowing her to turn to him and let Jack choose
whether he wanted to be included in her
pronouncement. She sensed he was about to respond when
they heard a car door slam, echoed instantly
by
its twin.
She pulled the front door open just not soon enough
to head off the doorbell. The unnecessary trill sounded
more piercing than usual, and she hoped the pair of
policemen didn't assume she'd stiffened
at the sight of them, their thin faces younger than hers
and looking as though they had recently been scrubbed
by
their mothers, their chins blue as
CHILDREN
litmus from the hours they must already have worked. "Mrs.
Ames88the foremost, whose sharp quick eyes were almost
exactly the colour of his chin, said.
"Come in."
He gazed at her as if he was waiting for his question
to be answered, then he planted one foot in the
hall. "Did we ask you not to touch anything?"
"No, but we haven't."
"That'll doea8he said, both feet in the hall now, and
emitted a sniff that she thought was referring to the
vandalism until he added "You'll have had a drink
to help you cope, will
you?"
"Just some wine with dinner. We were dining out when whoever
broke in broke in."
"Somewhere local, was it?"
"Close enough that we all walked to it, if that's what
you're getting at."
"I
was trying to establish how long you were out of the
house."
"Three hours at leastea8she told him and his
brown-eyed colleague, whose face immediately toned
down the little expression it had. "We were back
by
half past ten and
I
rang you it couldn't have been more than five minutes
later."
"It's been a full nightea8the policeman with the
chin-blue eyes said, presumably explaining the
hour's delay. "So where's the damage?"
"They broke in at the back, and what they did is
upstairs."8Are you saying they because you think you can
identify the perpetrators?"
"No, I'm saying it because
I
don't."
His gaze flickered at that, then raised itself above
her.
"I'll
deal with upstairs."
He was speaking mostly to his colleague, who headed
for the kitchen. "Good excuse for staying up late, is
it, son88Leslie heard him say, and
Ian barely answer, while blueeyes halted on
the stairs. "This is about your houseea8he said.
Leslie saw the graffiti swell up like red weals
on the
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
wood.
KILLER
LOVER
,
they said on her door, and
KILLERS
FRIEND
on Ian's. The wielder of the aerosol must have run
out of ideas or paint or time in front of Jack's
door, on which there was either too much of a
word-KiLLE'-OR not enough.
A
sudden prickling of her eyes made her blurt
"Why,
do you think it should be?"
"It's not my
job
to have opinions like that, Mrs. Ames.8There was little
doubt in Leslie's mind that he meant yes. She
was struggling not to retort when he said "Were
these doors open?"
"Noea8Leslie admitted, the paint on the carpet
having betrayed as much. "We needed to look in the
rooms."
"Pity. Knobs are favourite for printsea8he
said, surveying the chaos in the rooms-not so different
from usual in Ian's, but clothes strewn on her
floor and Jack's, drawers pulled out,
wardrobes gaping, quilts thrown or kicked to the
floor. "Have you missed anything?"
"Nothing's been taken that we can see, can't see,
if you see what
I
mean."
"Let's see if there's any
joy
downstairs."
She trudged after him in time to hear his colleague
say "And where are you from, sir?"
"Hollywoodea8Ian responded with some pride on
Jack's behalf
"Does this look like a professional
job
to you88Jack said. "In what way, sir?"
Jack was indicating the old sink plunger
that had apparently been used to hold the pane in the
back door steady while the edge of the glass had
been carefully smashed. "More likely they got the
idea from a film," the policeman said with a
brown-eyed glance at him, so blank it was meaningful.
"I'll do the paperwork if you want to take a look
aroundea8his colleague said and sat on a kitchen
bench.
He asked Leslie questions about herself and Ian
followed
by
questions about Jack while the other policeman prowled
the back garden toward the alley gate she'd locked
last night, no longer locked. Before the questions ceased
she was
CHILDREN
having to close her eyes, because the floor kept
twitching like a sheet about to be thrown off a sleeper.
She could have imagined the night was half over when she
heard "Was there anything you'd like to add?"
It was a mutter from Ian, not quite a word, that made her
open her eyes. "Sorryea8she said for more than one
reason. "No."
"We'll get out of your wayea8the other policeman
offered, locking the door with her key and
lifting the sink plunger in a plastic bag, and then
the doorbell contradicted him. "That'll be
fingersea8he said.
The newcomer was a short man in a gray suit rather
too ample for him. His freckled dome was striped
with half a dozen lines of faded black hair. His
expression as he spread dust on various
surfaces suggested that he was unable to shift an
unpleasant taste from his mouth. He seemed
especially to dislike being watched at work
by
Ian, though Leslie didn't see why he should
object to someone following him around their own house and
into their own bedroom. Eventually the fingerprint man
tramped downstairs, looking dissatisfied. "Are you
through88Jack said.
The man sucked in his lips as if he'd swallowed
some of the dust. "We'll want your prints."
At first Leslie thought only Jack was going to be
fingerprinted, presumably for being a foreigner.
Once that was finished it was Ian's turn, however, and
then hers to be made to feel like a criminal, having
ink rolled onto her fingertips before they were pressed
one
by
one against an official sheet of paper.
By
the time the last of her fingers had been pinched in his
finicky grip she felt manhandled and grubby. As
she held her blackened hands away from herself Jack
said "That's going to help, right? You had to eliminate
us."
"I
doubt that'll be called for."
"By
which you
mean..."
Leslie prompted.
He didn't answer until he'd snapped the
locks shut on his briefcase. "Anyone who
takes that much care breaking in isn't likely
to leave prints."
Leslie felt more than ever like a victim, and not just
of
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
the break-in. She let Jack and Ian see him out
while she used a nailbrush in the bathroom, then
hurried downstairs to clear away the broken
glass, only to find Jack busy with dustpan and
brush, and Ian on his hands and knees in
search of stray fragments. "Can you get the window
fixed tonight?"' Jack said.
"It'll wait until tomorrow so long as nobody can
get in." He helped her upend the table against the
door and wedge it with the benches. She switched off the
fluorescent tube, though a trace of its glare
appeared to linger in the concrete, and led the way
upstairs, bracing herself for the sight of the raw words on
the doors.
"I
should try and get some sleep, Ianea8she said.
"You'll have all tomorrow to tidy your room."
Perhaps that sounded too much like her frequent rebuke.
"Won't need itea8he muttered.
"Will it bother anybody if I make a start on
my room now88Jack said. "Just thump on the wall
if
I
keep you awake."
Once Leslie had closed her door she had
to restrain herself to tidying only the bed. She lay
naked beneath the quilt, all her skin tender with her
sense of the invasion of the house. Every so often she heard
faint sounds through the wall she shared with Jack, the
metallic whisper of a coat hanger, the
hushed creak of a board. She found herself waiting at
the edge of sleep for a cry that would mean he'd
discovered his research or however much of his new book
he'd written had been tampered with or destroyed.
But his room stayed almost as quiet as the suburb, and
eventually she deduced that he must have crept into bed.
For the first time in months she felt alone in hers.
She stretched one arm across the mattress and turned
her empty hand palm upward, and squeezed a
fistful of the quilt. The thoughts she began to entertain,
if a little guiltily, resembled a better dream
than she would have expected of herself just now, and in time
her awareness of being less alone in the house than
yesterday allowed her to sleep.
She was wakened
by
smells of coffee and bacon and
CHILDREN

toast, and Jack's and Ian's voices
downstairs.
All
that made the sight of the sunlit mess around the bed more
bearable than she would have dared hope, and she was letting
herself bask for a few seconds in a sense
of unexpected rightness, when it occurred to her that the
kitchen staff might be planning to serve her
breakfast in bed. She kicked off the quilt and
grabbed her bathrobe from the hook on the door, and was
tying the cord around herself when the doorbell rang.
"I'll
get itea8Jack said.
She heard his footsteps, which already seemed part of the
house, tramp along the hall. She heard the
front door open, and Jack's surprised
voice, and then Ian's. "Don't let her
inea8he shouted.
SIXTEEN
Ian had almost finished cramming socks and shorts
into the top drawer when he heard Jack go
downstairs. He would have called out to him except for
not wanting to wake his mother. She must be the worst
upset of anyone about last night, and she was getting
old-she'd be forty in just a few years. He leaned
his weight on the staffed drawer to close it, then he
went down to find Jack.
He was in the kitchen doorway, gazing into the room.
He didn't notice when Ian paced along the
hall and stared past him. "What's wrong88Ian
said.
"God
damn."
That was all the surprise Jack betrayed as he
turned to grin.
"I
thought I'd fix breakfast for your mom after her evening
was ruined. Just trying to decide what to put together for
her."
"Oh, rightea8Ian said, though it was evident to him that
Jack's thoughts had been on more than breakfast-he
guessed, with some amusement he managed to keep
to him-
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
self, that they had been focused on his mother. "Want
some help?"
"How are you at scrambling eggs?"8Don't know."
"Better leave the little guys to me, then, and you can be
the toast and bacon chef."
"No problemoea8Ian said, which he thought was the kind of
thing Americans said or liked to hear.
As he laid rashers of bacon on the grill and
tried to judge how crisp they ought to be before they were
joined
by
slices of bread, he felt increasingly
American himself, a cook in a diner. He liked
having someone new in the house whom he could sense there
was plenty to learn about yet, unlike his father, who had
become less and less of himself in the months before he
and Ian's mother had split up, and whose efforts
to regain himself since he'd moved in with Hilene were
too obvious and strenuous. Ian no longer resented
him so much for having moved out-cd even be grateful
to him for taking the tension out of the house.
If
Ian's mother carried on growing happier, that was fine
too-would have been if last night hadn't been
wrecked. Was he alone in having identified the
culprit? Once he'd discharged his duties as
short order cook he meant to ask if Jack had
solved the case too. But he was standing guard over the
last slices of toast when the doorbell rang.
"I'll
get itea8Jack said, so swiftly that Ian
supposed he must be expecting some post-some mail,
as he determined to call it from now on. He watched
Jack transfer the scrambled eggs in a single
uninterrupted movement from the pan to the plate with a
spatula and slide the plate into the oven on the way
to consigning pan and spatula to the sink as a
preamble to striding down the hall to open the front
door. "Excuse me," he said, adding with a brightness
that seemed meant to apologise for his apology
"Hi. Are you looking for Mrs. Ames?"
"Whom else?"
Ian recognised both the voice and the grammar before
he saw the reporter from the
Advertiser
sitting in her wheel-
CHILDREN

chair on the path. "Don't let her inea8he
shouted, imagining how little his mother would want to find her
in the house.
The reporter scarcely even blinked at him on the
way to raising her appraisal to Jack's face.
"And you'll be
. .
"Jack Lamb. I'm the lodger. How about you?"
Ian heard his mother's footsteps, anything but
gentle, and the thud of her doorknob against the wall.
He grabbed a plate and loaded it with the contents of the
grill and shut the plate in the oven as his mother marched
rapidly downstairs to confront the reporter, who
said
"I
represent the press8and then "I understand you've had
some further trouble, Mrs. Ames."
"May
I
ask who told you that?"
"An anonymous call to the paper.
My
colleague who took it thought the voice was disguised
and couldn't tell the age or gender."
"When?"8Close to midnight,
I
believe. It was thought best not to trouble you that late."
"And what did your friend say?"
"My
colleague? The caller. Just that your house had been
broken into and vandalised as a result of its
reputation."
his
'The Ames house has been broken into and vandalised
as a result of its reputation."
his
"Words to that effectea8the reporter said blankly,
"yes."8Well, they were right, and you don't need me
to tell you it must have been one of your readers,
except of course it might have been more than one."
"Mrs. Amesea8the reporter said, though she was
looking at Jack, "I really don't think you can
blame
-"
"Can't
I?
Watch me.8Ian's mother darted into the front room
to fetch a copy of the
Advertiser.
"I
ought to introduce you, Jack. This is Verity
Drew, and here's the kind of thing she writes:
MOTHER
AND SON
TO STAY
IN
MURDER
HOUSE.
Mrs. Ames claimed she had overcome her
feelings about the house's history of horror, and her
thirteen-year-old son agreed with her. "It's my
favourite house" is something else it says
I
said."
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
"I
assure you I'm not given to misquotation, Mrs.
Ames, but if you have any specific complaints you'd
care to put in writing to my editor-was
"I'd
rather not join your happy band of letter-writers, thanks.
I'd
just like you to see what someone did, only you can't, can
you? It's upstairs."
She would never have made such a remark if she
wasn't almost uncontrollably furious. Whatever
reaction the journalist might have displayed was
precluded
by
the slam of a door of a car that had parked behind hers.
She peered around her chair as a man festooned with
camera equipment opened the gate. "Perhaps you'll
permit my photographer to view the scene instead."
"He won't be scared to come in? He won't be
tainted
by
his visit? He can wait until I'm
dressed.8Ian's mother held the lapels of her
shaggy white bathrobe together as she padded
upstairs, then she leaned over the banisters. "No,
someone bring him up if he wants a picture of the
doors. I've said enough."
"Let meea8Jack called, and climbed the stairs
ahead of the photographer. "No need to have me in
itea8he protested when the camera began to whir and
click, and Ian wished he'd gone up instead of
Jack, because he wouldn't have minded being shown as the
custodian of the graffiti. The photographer
scampered downstairs with a rattle of equipment and out
of the house, and Verity Drew gazed up at Ian and
Jack. "One further matter I'd like
to raiseea8she said.
"Would you care to come in and sit down88Jack
suggested.
"Sitting in the sunlight suits me, thank you.
I
understand some little girls have been terrorised here
recently.8Though she'd turned most of her attention
on Ian, it was
Jack who said "Did you get another anonymous
call?"8ally wouldn't expect us to dismiss
anybody's genuine concern just because of how it might be
expressedea8the reporter informed him, and stared wholly
at Ian. "What can you tell me about these
little girls?"
"Excuse me, I think at least you'd better
wait-was
CHILDREN

"It's okay, Jack, I don't mind telling,
One was my dad's girlfriend's who got scared when
he came in the house, and the other was my friend's little
sister. She did come in with me and our lot, then she
got scared and ran off."
"Scared of what exactly?"
"We were pretending there was a ghost or something.8He was
growing increasingly conscious of being heard
by
Jack. "We never thought there was really," he said,
struggling not to lie in case that made Jack more rather
than less dissatisfied with him, "and
I
dunno if she did either."
"You quite enjoyed the game, did you?"8Suppose."
"Frightening people younger than yourself."
"Hold on, ma'am, don't try to make him
into something he isn't. Didn't you ever throw a scare
into a younger kid? Sounds as if maybe it got a
tad out of hand, but he's sorry for it.
I
shouldn't think an incident as small as that is worth
reporting even in a local paper."
"May
I
ask why you would want it suppressed, Mr.
Lamb?"
"I
don't hold with censorship.
I
couldn't very well when I've written horror
books.
I
just think these guys have been harassed enough."
"Are you suggesting I'm harassing them?"
"If
he's notea8Ian's mother said,
"I
am."
She was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, and Ian had
to straighten a grin at Jack's admiring glance as
she moved between him and the reporter, saying
"I
apologise for what
I
said about not being able to handle the stairs."
"I
accept your apologyea8Verity Drew said
stiff-faced. "But now we've had enough of you.
I
don't think there's anything more to
be
said."
"Well, Mrs. Ames,
I
must say it's a change for you to want to keep me out
of your house. As
I
recall, last time you and your son did your best
to keep me in it."
"Then your memory wants fixing.
All
I did was try and help you down the step because you
seemed to need help."8ally'll forgive my wondering
what policy you have as
regards the alternatively able where you work."
"Anyone can come into the shop straight off the pavement,
can't they, Jack, only you'd call it the
sidewalk. As far as employment goes there's just
me and my partner Melinda, and we're
both, how can
I
put it, what you see."
"I've seen all
I
require, thank you," the reporter said, and performed
a rapid three-point turn on the path before
glancing back. Ian was tempted to run after her and
at least push her out of the gate, and he'd taken a
step when his mother planted a hand on his chest as she
closed the door. "We can't stop her saying whatever
she's going to say. Maybe her editor won't let
her indulge herself too much."
"She'll get round that. She knows how to say things so
you can't prove she did."
"Not like us straightforward Yanks.8Observing that his
remark made Ian no happier, Jack said
"There's one good thing about all this publicity."
"What?"8allyes, what's that88Ian's mother said.
"It-it finishes. It ends. Mine surely did for
my books. Say, am
I
the only one that's hungry here? That breakfast
smells like it wants to be eaten."
"I
think that's the best idea anybody's had this
morning." Ian thought he had a better one that it was
time to share. He waited until he and Jack had
served his mother breakfast and he was seated in front of
his own, his bare feet resting on concrete almost as
warm as sunlit earth, and then he said
"If
she's going to write stuff about us we should have told
her who messed up the place."
His mother opened her mouth before she'd quite finished her
mouthful.
"Why,
who do you think it was?"
"Mom,
I
mean mum, you saw him. You know who it's got to
be,
don't you, Jack?"
"You mean the guy we saw last night near the
restaurant?"
"That's him. Rupe Duke. Did you know it was before
I
said? You could have told the paper woman. She'd have
believed you more than me."
SILENT
CHILDREN
"I
only figured he was who you had to mean.
I
guess I'd need more evidence before
I
shot my mouth off."
"And there isn't any, is there, Ian? We can't go
accusing someone just because of how they looked at us. I'm
afraid on that basis it could have been a good few
people."
"We don't have any reason to assume that lady would
have bought it from an old storyteller like meea8Jack
said, and loaded his mouth.
"If you wanted to be really helpful, Ian, you could
go down to the shops after breakfast and buy something
to clean off the paint while
I
see who'll fix the window, and then
I'll
go to work."
He took this as a way of dismissing his
suspicions, though he thought Jack might have
believed him. Once he'd downed his breakfast and
offered to wash up, only to have Jack say
he would, he pocketed the money his mother gave him and
went upstairs to fish some footwear out of the disorder in
his room. From the hall he saw Jack and his mother at
the sink, standing so close to each other they were bound
to touch soon. He grinned and let himself out of the
house.
The Homeneeds store occupied most of a block of the
main road. An assistant in an overall red as
a brick and with bristling orange hair that stopped
short an inch above his outsize ears sold him a can
of paint remover and a brush. The lumpy plastic
carrier practiced bruising Ian's thigh as he
emerged into the sunlight, more of which the front of a bus
to Pinner threw at him. He closed his eyes
to clear them of blindness, and opened them to see Rupe
Duke swaggering toward him.
Though the pavement was crowded with shoppers, Ian saw
only him. He was wearing more leather than ever, much of
it displaying a rash of studs. He held his fists
at his sides and jerked his face higher and shaped his
mouth into an inverted grin, and stood in Ian's path.
"Fixing your house88he said, so monotonously it was
barely a question.
Ian didn't swing the heavy can at the other boy's
face or at his crotch, he simply
came to a halt. "What's it look like?"
"Something need doing?"
"You should know."8Who says?"
"I
do. You were there."8Who says I was?"
His eyes were flat, and their dullness hoped to be
kindled with violence, but it struck Ian that the question could
mean one or more of the neighbours had seen Rupe
breaking in.
If
they'd intended to tell Ian's mother they would have done so
by
now, and so they must think she wasn't worth telling.
"You and me knowea8he said into Rupe's face, "and
I'm going to make you know
I
do."
"Try it. Go ahead, try it now. Don't dare,
do you? I'm not some little girl you like scaring.8When
Ian walked past him, Rupe dodged around him and
backed ahead of him, butting his head at him as though
to invite the first punch. This wasn't the place, and so
Ian was glad to encounter Janet from next door,
wheeling a heaped Frugo trolley home and looking
to him for help. He saw Rupe fall
behind, sending a gob of spit down the side street
after him, but he was more aware of the crowd through which Rupe
had stayed with him-of all the faces that had seemed
to be expecting him to maim Rupe, to live up to the
reputation they were creating for him. He'd deal with
Rupe all right, but he'd choose the time and place.
Even Jack couldn't stop him from doing what so many people
expected of him.
SEVENTEEN
"Adele, don't scream or anything. It's me.
It's your dad."8Daddy, how can it be you? You're
dead. You've been dead for years."
"Not your real dad. Hush and look closer."
j
CHILDREN
"My
God, it's you, Hector. You poor thing, what have
they done to you?"
"Wipe your eyes now. No need to feel sorry for
me when I've come home. Nobody's had hold of
me, don't fret.
I
did this."
"How could you hurt yourself like that, Hector? How could
you bear it?"
"Because
I
knew
I
was only doing what I had to, just like always. It was
worth it to be safe. None of the neighbours know your
father's dead. Once they've got used to him living with
you, he'll be able to go out of the house when he wants and
lead a normal life."
"You make sure you're careful, Hector. I
thought
I'd
lost you when you fell out of that boat. I don't
want to be losing you again."
"I
won't be going that far again, promise. Maybe
you'll get tired of having me around the house."
"Not as long as
I
five. You've been too many surprises for me ever
to get tired of you."
"I hope this one wasn't too much of a shock, old
girl."8I couldn't ever be shocked
by
my old Hector."
"Not even when he's this old? An old rag with too
much hair and no teeth that nobody but you would want
to
look
at twice, no, make that once.
A
scarecrow that's got loose, that's prattling away
to itself and nobody wants to look it in the eye.
. ."
He was indeed talking to himself as he limped
into Cricklewood. Shoot
Up
Hill had turned into the Broadway, where a
pavementload of shoppers were doing their best to ignore
him while children giggled and pointed at him. "That's
all rightea8he cried, "let's have a laugh," too
late to prevent one woman from yanking at her
daughter's arm and cuffing her so violently about the
head that the little girl's pigtails began
to unravel. He jabbed his thinnest fingers deep
into his ears, but even when the ears began to blaze with
pain he couldn't quite shut out the child's howls, and so he
dodged faster through the crowd, his lowered forehead driving
at the heat and the wavering fumes of the traffic, his
unwashed hair snatching at his cheeks, the
rucksack jerking his undernourished shoulders at every
step. He had to slow down or he would be home too
soon-he would be home before he knew what to say
to Adele.
He couldn't believe she would refuse to take him
back, but he still owed her an explanation. He'd
never given her so much as a hint of the secret tasks
he'd had to perform; she'd had enough on her mind with
running the Haven. As he turned toward Childs
Hill he managed to check his momentum and unplug
his ears, whose throbbing had spread to his jaws. He
didn't want to feel closed in with his voice, which
had recommenced chattering to itself like a senile old
man's-it could, since he wasn't one. "Adele?"
"Hector?"8Don't look like that.
I
know it must have been a shock when you heard about the children,
but
I
only kept it from you to protect you."
"Like you were trying to protect them.""
That's
me.
I
knew you'd understand."
"I'm not sure
I
do, Hector. You'll have to help me."
"It started with Biff and how he suffered till he
died, and then there was your sister."
"Pamela? What's anything to do with her?"
"It was her got you into caring, for a kickoff, her being a
social worker and telling you how much was wrong."8She
affected me right enough, but-was
"You never realised how much she affected me, did
you? You had to cover your ears sometimes when she talked
about the little ones she saw, but
I
heard it all.
I
remember the first one
I
couldn't stand hearing about, the little boy with cigarette
burns all over-was
"Don't say it, Hector.
I
keep telling her
I
don't want to know when
I
can't do anything."
"You see how it still gets to you even though he's at
peace. He was my first, and I'm proud he was.
You know,
I
hoped he'd be the only one
I'd
have to help, but Pamela kept talking about others that
were as bad or sounded like they'd end up that way.
I
just wish the parents, not that
CHILDREN
most of them were even that, the bad lots that were arrested
on suspicion could have stayed locked up after the
police found out about me. That's the one thing
I
do regret."
"Those people should never have been in charge of children,
Hector."
"Maybe nobody should, not even people like us. We ended
up wishing we never had, didn't we? Think of all
the people you have to look after-they used to be children.
I'll
bet all our money in the bank the ones I took
care of would have grown up like them or worse.
Children suffer too much, only nobody wants to know,
and it takes a bit of courage to put a stop to it,
let me tell you."
"It must.
I
understand even if nobody else does, Hector.
You needn't talk about it any more unless you want
to. You're safe now. You're with me."
He wouldn't be quite yet, however. Adele mightn't
return from the Haven for hours. He could let himself
into the house and make himself presentable.
By
now he'd passed under the railway bridge, and
several men who'd alighted at the station were giving him
rear views of their suits and hostile backward
glances, obviously wondering what business anyone
who looked like him had in their suburb. He mumbled
incoherently at them and touched his forehead with two
long-nailed fingers, and dawdled so as to watch the men
out of sight before he dodged into the treelined street that
led home.
The links of an enormous chain clanked in the
skytrucks on the railway line-but otherwise there
was only a fluttering of wings and a shrill chattering from
the round leafy heads of the trees. In less
than two minutes he'd made his way down the
self-satisfied street to his gate, from which a
narrow path wound away from the concrete drive and between
tall thick rhododendrons to the wide pebble-dashed
house. Once he sidled between the bushes he was
hidden from the road and the neighbouring houses, but he
crouched low as he extracted his keys from the
rucksack. He limped into the spacious oak porch
he'd built and thrust the front door key into the
lock. It wouldn't turn.
He had been anticipating so vividly how he would
feel to be back in his own home that he almost twisted
the key out of shape before he managed to relax his
grip. He pulled the key out of the crooked slit and
eased it in again, and
jiggled
it with a gentleness meant to persuade it to work. It still
didn't, not even when he slid it out a fraction in
case that lined it up more precisely with the internal
mechanism. His grubby skin was beginning to prickle
and sweat, but he mustn't lose control-perhaps Adele
was home and had bolted the lock for some reason. He
was reaching for the bell push when his hand cramped itself into a
fist that clawed at its palm. There were voices beyond
the front door. There were children in his house.
He shoved the keys into a clammy pocket of his
trousers and backed away from the door. The voices
had halted near the stairs. "You tell me where you
put her right now, Baxterea8a girl was demanding, to which
a boy who could only be her brother said "Or what,
Philippa88Hector didn't want to listen-was
afraid that any moment the girl might start
to wail-but he had only just stumbled out of the porch when
he faltered, having caught sight of the front
room.
It was no longer his or Adele's. The antique
suite he'd bought from a customer at a fraction of
its value had been ousted
by
some modem chairs, starved almost down to the wood. The
reproductions of old ('London maps had gone,
replaced on the walls
by
pastel landscapes that looked as though they had been
left in the rain. The oak mantelpiece above the
glassed-in coke fire had been occupied
by
photographs of a brother and sister, babies
turning
by
stages into children as old as the scarcely teenage
voices in the hall. The lock had been not jammed
but changed. Adele had sold the house.
He was shuffling backward fast when a bush snagged his
rucksack. It felt as though he'd been arrested,
not
by
the law but
by
his own mind. However much Adele had taken with her,
there was no reason to assume she'd found his
photographs. They must still be hidden under the floor.
He couldn't leave them when he'd gone to so much trou-
CHILDREN

ble to produce them, fitting out a darkroom he'd
told Adele was for Before and After pictures of his
building work. There was no point in pretending that he
hadn't been looking forward to seeing them again, and besides,
suppose the children in the house found them? They might be
too young to appreciate the peace in them. The thought
awakened the skills he'd learned, and he freed
himself from the bush and limped swiftly to the corner of the
house.
The children were running upstairs, and arguing
harder than ever. Any adult in the building would have
intervened
by
now. On the back lawn a swing was swaying itself to a
halt, and Hector was sure that whichever child had just
left it for the house wouldn't have bothered to lock the
back door.
Hector made for it as fast as stealth would let him.
Nobody was watching from any of the windows above the
tenfoot hedge alongside the house. His kitchen was
deserted and almost familiar; only the pans resting
their mouths on the draining board weren't white but a
cartoonish red. He grasped the handle of the back
door and pushed it down just enough. The door yielded,
and the next moment he was in the house.
As he eased the door shut he heard the children chasing
from room to room upstairs, the boy taunting his
sister, who sounded dangerously close to tears. The
threat of her distress snagged deep inside
Hector, but he couldn't do anything about it except
clench his face. He added to his fingerprints on
several surfaces as he crossed the spacious
sunlit kitchen-he almost laughed aloud at leaving
traces of himself that nobody would ever know were there. He
tiptoed into the wide hall, so carefully
he didn't even
limp,
and used both hands to muffle the sly squeak of the knob
as he inched open the door in the side of the
staircase, then flattened one palm against the light
switch to hush its click.
The high broad space under the stairs was no longer
the darkroom. The shelves he'd built were full of
cloths and dusters and sprays, the scent of one of which
caught in his
throat. Coiled pythonlike on the lowest shelf was
the detachable tube of a vacuum cleaner that was lounging
in a comer along with two brushes and a mop, its grey
tendrils glistening in a bucket. The mop and its
companions were resting on the floorboard farthest from the
door-the board he had to raise. He sidled into the
room and coaxed the door after him, leaving it just
sufficiently ajar to let him hear the children. He
lifted a brush in each hand to move them to the corner
nearest the door, and the plug of the vacuum cleaner
toppled off one of them and struck the bucket with a
loud clank.
There was silence for an instant, and then a rush of
footsteps upstairs. He was going to have to deal with the
children-with both of them. It dismayed him to think that
one would have to wait until he finished with the other, but
he mustn't let that deter him. He'd taken a
breath and was about to dash to the foot of the stairs when he
realised that the voices had veered into a bedroom.
They had been too busy arguing to hear him.
He had to contort himself almost back to front to shift
the brushes out of his way, and then the bucket with the mop
lolling in it, and then the vacuum cleaner. The
maneuver
spread an ache from the base of his spine that made him
grind his gums together. As he lowered himself to his
knees, pain shot through his legs all the way to his
creaking hips. He inserted a finger in the
knotholes he'd enlarged at either end of the
floorboard. The board rose from its niche with the
faintest wooden groan, and he ducked forward, his
shadow plunging into the dark beneath the floor. The
treasure wrapped in cellophane was still there.
He propped the board against the wall and lay full
length on the floor, the toes of his shoes digging
into the angle of the underside of the staircase. He
stretched an arm down, the edge of the gap scraping his
armpit, and hooked his fingertips beneath the album not much
bigger than his hand. Soil gritted under his nails,
and the cellophane felt as cold as any
child's face he remembered touching. He was closing
SILENT
CHILDREN
his thumb over the package when he heard the voices
emerge from a bedroom. "Want a clue88the boy
said.
"You tell me where she is this instant, Baxter, or
when mum and dad come back I'm telling them."
"Think of a fairy story I used to read you."
Hector didn't know why he held his breath-held
it harder as the girl let out a wail. "You've never
put her in the oven. The timer's onea8she cried, and
bolted for the stairs.
Hector made himself breathe out and in again, smelling
earth. He lifted the album from the hole and dragged
himself into a crouch. His hand felt energised
by
the cold and stillness of all the children's faces in the
album; the energy was spreading through him like ice in his
blood.
A
sobbing wail and a clatter of childish footsteps
passed over his head and raced down past him to the
hall. He stowed the album on a shelf and took
hold of the edge of the door. She sounded as
if she might never stop crying, but in a very few
heartbeats she would. Once he had snatched her
into his hiding place, she would know nothing while he
went to find her brother, and Hector couldn't help
a toothless grin at the thought that the boy might
glimpse his sister vanishing under the stairs. He would
come down to find out why, and-
The boy raised his voice. "Don't be wet,
Philippa. Sleeping Beauty was the one you always
made me read. Your doll's in your bed.
I
can't believe you're such a prune you didn't
see."
The girl's footsteps left the stairs and took
two paces toward the kitchen. It was too late for
her, Hector thought: she must have seen his fingertips
on the door. He was tensing himself to leap the moment she
came abreast of him
His
when she sprinted back upstairs. "She was never there
beforeea8she cried. "You put her in just now."
Hector thrust the album into his trousers
pocket, which was clammier than ever. When he heard
the children race into the bedroom that used to be his son's,
he tiptoed into the hall and through the kitchen
onto the patio. He left the garden as speedily
as he could, and headed for the park,
eager to revisit the photographs that were rubbing against
his thigh. Looking at them ought to comfort and restrain him,
but he didn't know for how long. There were so many children in
the world.
EIGHTEEN
The photograph showed Jack waving at the lens and
grinning. He'd been trying to wave the camera away
until he was out of the shot, but it looked as though he
were happily indicating the graffiti on the doors.
It was a picture of "Horror writer in murder
houseea8andthe headline said
MURDER
SCENE DAUBED.
Less than half the text consisted of what seemed
to Leslie a grudging admission that her house, "a
site of terror for children of the neighbourhood," had
been vandalised, but then the reporter apparently thought
the writer of violent horror novels who'd moved
in was called Jack Lamp. "So may I know what
your objection is88Leslie's mother said.
It occurred to Leslie that the question could at least as
well have been addressed to Jack, who was perched
somewhat awkwardly on the edge of the sofa.
"Do you want this back88she countered.
"I've digested it, thank you."
"You must be better at swallowing than me. Where
did you find it? It doesn't cover your area."
"We took out a subscription after you told us how
unfairly you felt it was treating you.
I
hope that won't be another source of disagreement.
I
hope I'm allowed to care, since I can't stop being
your mother."
"I
don't want you to."
"Am I to get any help with understanding what's so
CHILDREN
wrong with the piece in the paper? Mr. Lamb, do you
think it's untrue?"
"Jack
by
all means, ma'am.
I'd
have to say it's kind of true, but it's like Ian said
when the lady who wrote that was here, it ain't the words
so much as what's behind them."
Leslie's mother frowned at Ian, who was
watching American wrestling with the sound turned low.
"Ain't?"
his
That's
my word, ma'am, not his.
I
don't really use it either. What he got hold of,
though, this lady has a talent for meaning more than you can
prove she said."
"You speak as a writer yourself.
I
would still like to know-"She shook her head in Ian's
direction and squeezed its features small. "Could
you be an awfully good boy for me and turn that down?
Or off, for preference. I should have thought there had been
quite enough mayhem in this house."
Leslie had to exert a good deal of restraint to say
only "Maybe you should get your things, Ian, so
you'll be ready."
"Why,
is it father's day? Away you scamper then, Ian, and
do turn that off."
He killed the television and sprawled out of his
chair, slinging the remote control on top of the
newspaper Leslie had dropped on the
floor. He hadn't reached the hall when her mother said
"I still don't understand why you think this journalist should
have taken a personal dislike to you."
"Because we won't let her say stuff just because she's
a wheelieea8Ian said.
"I
beg your pardon?
A
what?"
"A
wheelieea8he repeated, sitting on the air while
he spun imaginary wheels beside him.
"Well, I never would have dreamed my grandson would have
turned out such a nasty little boyea8Leslie's mother
announced, and even more to Leslie "Especially when
you were brought up to respect people no matter what their
race or other disadvantages."
Jack cleared his throat.
"I
think you'd need to meet the lady in the chair."
Leslie was about to speak when the doorbell intervened.
"I should answer that if
I
were youea8she told Ian, and gazed after him rather than
risk saying anything else.
"How's life, big feller? As bad as that?
I'll be socialising while you assemble your
overnight gear.8Having started heartily enough to be
addressing several people, Roger stuck out a hand as he
strode into the front room. "You'll be the famous
chapea8he either asked Jack or informed him.
"I
wasn't expecting to see you here, Ivy."
"I
rather think you weren't alone in that."
Jack used the handshake to pull himself to his feet,
and Leslie had the impression that he was testing
Roger's strength as he appraised him, the broad
square face Roger had passed on to his son, the
suede jacket and slyly expensive slacks and the
white silk polo neck Leslie knew had been
Hilene's first present to him. "Jack Lamb.
Don't know about famousea8Jack said. "You have to be
Roger."
"That's me, just the ex.8Roger let go of Jack's
hand but didn't otherwise move. "How's the room
for you? Made yourself comfortable?"
"At least that, thanks."
Roger swung his half-closed hands toward him.
"You sound like there's more."
"It's my workroom also. I'm hoping to start my
new book soon in it."
"You're for using a place for all it's worth, are
you?"8That's about the size of it, sure."
"Are you two going to sit down88Leslie said, and
watched the men lounge against opposite arms of the
sofa, planting a block of silence between themselves. She
was searching for some not too obviously neutral
remark to make when her mother picked up the paper.
"May
I
ask what you make of this, Roger? Don't be shy of
stating your opinion."
He spent less time on the text than on the
photograph, "Good publicity for you, is it,
Mr.-you said your name was Lamb?"
"I
don't need it right now, and more to the point, Leslie
and your son don't need that kind."
CHILDREN
"What kind are you saying it is88Leslie's mother
enquired.
"Gee,
I
may dig myself deeper into an argument here,
but from what
I
saw of the lady who wrote that and likely picked the
photograph, she trades on her condition just like
Ian said."
"Well, Ianea8Leslie's mother said as his
footsteps heavier with luggage reached the hall, "you
must be pleased, having a grown-up to encourage you."
"I'm glad he knows how that feelsea8Leslie
said.
Roger strewed the newspaper in the no man's land
on the sofa and slapped his thighs with some force to stand
himself up. "Time for the men to be moving, those of us
who've got somewhere else to go."
One of the first doubts she'd had about him concerned how
fast he absented himself whenever she and her mother seemed
likely to argue. She watched him stretch an arm
around Ian's shoulders to steer him out of the room. "Have
a good time, Ianea8she called along the path,
"we'll see you back here for dinner tomorrowea8and
returned to the front room, where Jack was tidying
the newspaper while her mother gazed at the air above
him.
"I
expect you'll want me out of the way
tooea8her mother immediately said.
"Why
should you expect that?"
The gaze found Leslie, but seemed unhappy that it
had.
"I
should like us to talk in the very near future."
"What's wrong with now?"
When her mother swung her face toward Jack while
holding Leslie with her gaze, he said
"If
I'm the
problem..."8I
don't think you're one at all, Jack."
Her mother's gaze acknowledged him at last. "How
would you say Ian and his father were getting on, Mr.
Lamb?"
"Pretty well,
I'd
say.
I'd
hope.
"I'm glad we have that in common.
A
child ought to be shaped
by
both its parents, would you agree?"
"Sounds ideal."
Leslie was reflecting that her father hadn't been
allowed
much influence, but said "Are you driving at anything,
mother?"
"Since you press me, just that it's a pity you
didn't feel able to continue living with Ian's father."
"I should have rolled over with my legs in the air when
I
found out about Hilene, you mean."
"I
shouldn't be surprised if he had a similar
impression.8She meant now and Jack. Leslie
might have laughed if she hadn't been furious. "You
make me wonder sometimes if there's anything you
wouldn't say to put me down."
"I
think that's most unfair, and may I remind you we
have an audience."
"All
right then, I wonder if you remember half of what
you say. You gave me a lecture about everything you
thought was wrong with Roger when you met him, and
you liked him even less once you found out Ian was
on the way when we got married, and when you heard about
Hilene you said
I
should have known, but now suddenly he's the prize
I
ought to have hung onto."
"I won't utter another word, since everything
I
say is mistaken.8Leslie's mother remained
seated, however, until it became evident that she
wasn't going to be contradicted, at which point she
dug her nails into the arms of the chair to raise herself
with such an apparent effort that Jack sprang up and
supported her
by
an elbow. his
Thank
youea8she said so crisply that the words were barely
distinguishable as separate, and no more as Leslie saw
her to her car, even when Leslie offered "Give my
best to dad and look after each other.8She doled
Leslie a dry pursed wrinkled kiss and readied
herself to drive, then she slitted her window.
"If
I'm permitted to say thisea8she said, "take care.
I
don't want you to feel betrayed again."
"Mother.. ."
Leslie wasn't sure what to add to that, and so she
only watched the Jaguar purr out of Jericho
Close. Her thoughts slowed her down as she
returned to the house, and Jack came to find her.
"Hey, I'm sorryea8he said.
"For what, Jack?"
"For getting you accused of all that stuff."
CHILDREN
"What are you assuming isn't true?"
"Well, gee, I-all of it,
I
should think. Aren't
I
right?"8Do you want to be?"
"Not necessarilyea8he said, matching her look.
Too much might be happening too fast.
"I'd
better see to dinnerea8Leslie said.
He gave her more than enough room to pass, then seemed
uncertain where to go. "Need help?"

Thanks
, but let me display my talents."8Just a fraction
of them, you mean."
"Better wait until you've tasted what I'm
offering."8Glad toea8he said, andwitha swiftness that
suggested he found the conversation as perilous as she
did,
"I'll
be upstairs working.
"Bring your work down here if you need more
space."8What you gave me is fine."
Maybe he preferred not to be too close to her just
now, she thought as she sprinkled coriander on the
ceviche, her best Mexican dish. She'd intended
a Mexican dinner to help him feel at home, but
now she wondered if her version might have the
opposite effect. She put a compact disc of
Purcell songs on the player in the dining room,
then switched it off before the countertenor's pure
sexless voice had sung a second bar, in case
the noise interfered with Jack's work. Now and then she
heard him pacing as if he were enacting her nervousness,
and each bout of pacing ended with a creak of his bed. She
set the dining table and thought of lighting a candle, but it
wasn't even dusk yet. When the spicy
odour of burritos reached her from the kitchen, she
went to the foot of the stairs. "It's ready,
Jack."
"Men
I
am," he responded, and ran down eagerly as a
boy years younger than Ian. He sat opposite
her as she pulled the cork out of a perspiring bottle
of Californian Chardonnay and poured him nearly a
glassful. She watched while he took a sip and
then a forkful of her marinated raw fish. "Any
good88she asked.
"A
whole lot better than that, and the wine too. I've
never had it before."
"I
hear they keep the best for export."
"Not including meea8he said, and looked abashed for
having invited a compliment until she gave him a
frown of amused reproof.
He insisted on clearing away the plates from the first
course and carrying the baking dish full of burritos
from the oven to the table, not allowing his face to show any
pain even when he'd set the dish on the
protective mat and snatched off her old
worn two-handed oven glove. Once he'd enthused
about the main course he set about recounting weekends
he'd spent in Ensenada: the pelicans that swooped
through the fish market, the hawkers who sold plaster
figures of Christ and Elvis at the border, the
children crowding around tourists to sell single sticks of
chewing gum for pesos and begging for food if you ate
at a sidewalk
cafe....
She could tell how much their plight affected him, and
she felt instantly closer to him, so that she reached for
his hand. The last thing she would have wanted to happen then
was that the phone should ring.
"Damn.8She'd caught Jack's glass with her
knuckles and spilled a half inch.
"I'll
mop up if you'll answer thatea8she said.
As she returned with a handful of paper towels from the
roller above the sink, he was saying "Hello?
Someone there?"
She slipped the fat paper under the wet tablecloth.
"What are you hearing?"
"Not sureea8Jack said, having covered the
mouthpiece. "Is he singing?"
"Is-"Jack began, then addressed the
receiver. "Say what?
I
don't think you want me, you want-Hey, same
to you, friend, and good-"With a look that suggested he
didn't expect such language from an English
phone, he hung up. "He wentea8he said.
"Any message?"
"He wished me on my way in not so many words. He
was just a kid."
"Could it have been a wrong number?"
CHILDREN
"I'd say notea8Jack said, and took a step toward
her. "What did you ask me about singing?"
"It was a call
I
had before
I
advertised your room. Whoever it was didn't speak,
they just sang. It sounded like a lullaby to me.
I
suppose it was meant to remind me of the little girl who
was murdered, you know, her going to sleep for ever."

"Jesus.
"I
didn't get much sleep myself that night,
I'll
admit."8Christ. How could
... My
God."
"It's a good
job
you didn't take that call if even hearing about it
makes you inarticulate for once. Don't let it
bother you too much, all right? I've survived."
"Okay. Okay,
I
will tooea8he said, and closed both hands around the one
she'd extended toward him.
They stood there, she in the doorway and Jack in the
hall, for longer than she would normally have held a
breath. She didn't want to make a
mistake-wanted to be certain whether he was holding
onto her for companionship or a need for
reassurance or more than either.
All
the same, she couldn't help being disappointed when he
glanced past her at the dining table, until he said
"Are we finished there?"8Would you like dessert?"
"You betea8he said, not
by
any means slackening his warm firm grasp.
"Are we talking about the same thing?"
"I
believe soea8he said, and leaned forward.
Their mouths met and simultaneously opened. Their
tongues found each other. She disengaged her hand and
gripped his shoulders and pressed herself against him,
feeling him swell. When after some time she opened her
eyes, she saw a bedroom light up beyond the back
fence, presumably signalling that someone was about
to appear. "I think we'd better continue
elsewhereea8she murmured.
"Sure enoughea8he said, but didn't presume
to admit knowing what she meant until she led him
upstairs.
The doors were pale where the graffiti had been
scrubbed off, but the irregular patches and what they
meant had lost
their power to anger her. She patted Jack's chest
to stay him on the landing while she drew her bedroom
curtains, then felt ashamed of having been
secretive about him. She atoned for it
by
pulling him into the room and undressing him
almost as swiftly as he undressed her. He was
impressively ready for her, and her body let her
know how delighted it was, so that she had to restrain
herself in order to take from the back of the drawer of the
table that had accompanied the bed from her previous
house the half-empty pocket of Roger's condoms
she'd kept meaning for months to throw out. "Marital
leftoversea8she explained.
Perhaps Jack thought that might include some disparaging
reference to herself, because he held her gaze with his and
stroked her face. She pushed him gently back and
sheathed him, then straddled him and lowered herself onto
him. The sensation of being entered streamed up her arched
spine and out of her uptilted face in a long soft
gasp. She felt as if the whole of her was being
renewed, forgotten aspects of herself revived. She
moved slowly and luxuriously around him until he
drew her to him and rolled her over in his embrace.
Then they were panting in the rhythm they'd discovered they
shared, and when it reached its peak the explosion of
pleasure spread to the roots of the nails she was
trying not to dig too hard into his shoulders.
"Well, geeea8he said when he'd regained his
breath, and settled his mouth over hers.
"Mmea8sd Leslie, agreeing withand
appreciating him. In time they would have to return to the
larger world, but she was in no hurry to leave the drowsy
contentment of their embrace. She felt grateful
to Melinda for having had the notice in their window,
to Ian for leaving her and Jack alone, even to Roger
for having taken Ian. She rested her cheek on
Jack's chest and listened to the calming of his
heartbeat, and enjoyed her growing sense of him. She
was sure that in some way-maybe it was part of his being a
writer who could no longer write what he liked-he
needed caring for.
"Daddy,
his
Jonquil sobbed, and two tears crimson with the
sunset streamed out of her eyes, but he saw that she
was giving him the best smile she could manage with her
fangs. He tried to raise himself to her, but the heads
of the nails her brother had driven through his hands felt
larger than his palms. As his feet shoved
helplessly at the oak table, his legs began to jerk
as if he was trying to sire an invisible child in the
air, a child that would be his salvation. He saw
Jonquil lift the lump hammer and the sharpened
"Ian, why are you looking like that?"8Because I'm
reading. I've nearly finished."
"Mummy wants you to take me down to the river
to see the boats."
"Let me finish this, then. I'm on the last
page."
a child that would be his salvation. He saw Jonquil
lift the lump hammer and the sharpened piece of wood.
Behind her the sunset was creeping out of the cellar
window, driven out
by
darkness. "Do it, for God's
"Is it
by
the man who's living in your house?"8What? Yeah,
him. Let me read the end."
"My
mummy says he writes nasty books. She
says-by "Sure. Okay. Tell me when I've
finished."
driven out
by
darkness. "Do it, for God's
sake,"
he moaned, arching his back to offer his chest to the stake.
He felt the point dig between his ribs and break the
skin. The pain was sharp and warm, as if the
wound was letting the last of the sunlight into him. He
saw Jonquil steadying the stake with one hand while
she struggled to hoist the hammer above her head. "You
can do
it,"
he cried through his clenched fangs, and saw the last thin
beam of sunlight
"My
mummy says if you read nasty things you'll end up
nasty too."
"She talks a lot of crap sometimes. Just shut up
and let me read."
"Mummy, mummyea8Charlotte cried and ran into the
house.
"Piss off and good riddanceea8Ian murmured to himself.
He sat forward, having heightened the recliner a
notch, away from all her things on the back lawn
of the house on Richmond Flill-her swing, her
climbing frame, her Wendy house, her swing-ball
dangling from its pole. He'd played with her on or
in them all that morning, and now he wanted to finish
Jack's book.
"You can do it,
his
he cried through his clenched
fangs, and saw the last thin beam of sunlight shrink
as it retreated up the wall. The darkness that was
filling his body with power was too much for the sun. In a
moment he would be able to tear the nails out of his hands and
thrust them deep into her eyes to put out the pity she'd
dared to feel for him. He'd almost let his love for
her overcome him, but he was still a creature of the
dark, and that was her destiny too.
Then
"Ian, may
I
have a word with you?"8Only got a paragraph, just a
paragraph."
"Very well, if it's so important to you,
I'll
wait here till you've finished."
CHILDREN
ill
Then
the weight of the hammer pulled Jonquil's arm
down. The metal head struck the stake full on,
splintering his ribs asunder. He felt it burst his
heart. Agony shuddered through every inch of his body and out
of him, and darkness rushed in to take its place,
darkness that had the greatest power of all, the
power of peace. In the moment before it took his sight
and the rest of him away, he saw her fangs begin
to turn back into the small neat teeth of his
beautiful daughter, hardly more than a child's. The
last thing he ever saw was her tearful smile.
"Is that a very long paragraph, Ian?"' "What?
No."
"I
ask because it's taking you such a long time to finish it.
Is it hard to read?"
"No.8Rather than dab at the moisture that had somehow
escaped from the corner of his right eye, Ian
scratched his cheek there. "I've read it nowea8he
said, and turned to Charlotte's mother.
She was sitting on an elaborately curly garden
chair beside the Wendy house, her thin ankle-length
white muslin dress not quite obscuring what she
called her body that Ian thought of, whenever he
couldn't help noticing it, as a basque. Her
upturned hands were folded loosely in the cleft of
her skirt, an area he could have done with ignoring, and
her head was slightly lowered as though to frame her
patience with the glossy blonde hair that curved
toward her chin. Her almost invisible eyebrows were
raised, enlarging her big blue eyes-he
suspected her brows had been raised ever since
she'd sat down-and her pink lips were pressed together
in a straight line, denying they were shaped like a sexy
kiss. "May we speak, then88she said.
She was doing her measured best to be reasonable, and
he might have been receptive if the question hadn't
included Charlotte, who'd perched on Hilene's
knee and was regarding him with at least a show of
nervousness. "Let's keep our heads and put them
togetherea8Hilene said, "and sort out
the squabble
I
hear you had. We don't like squabbles polluting the
air in our house, do we?"
"No, mummyea8Charlotte said, twisting around in her
white-frilled yellow dress. "Mummy-was
"Let Ian have his turn now. What do you say
happened, Ian?"
"She kept on at me to play when
I
was trying to read."8Did you do that, Charlotte?"
"Spose."8It's a bigger word than that, now,
isn't it? Words aren't insects, so we don't
squash them."
"Suppose. But mummy-was
"Give Ian his chance. We don't want him
to think he has to be polite to a rude little girl."
Charlotte sat resentfully straighter, looking not
unlike a ventriloquist's doll.
"I
played with her all morningea8Ian said.
"Nearly all, would that be closer to it?
A
couple of hours if we're going to be absolutely
fair. That was kind of Ian when he was wanting
to read, wasn't it, Charlotte? I hope you said
thank you. We shouldn't stop people reading, unless of
course what they're reading isn't good for them."
Charlotte glanced at her mother so as to copy the
expression that went with the remark, and Ian felt
outnumbered before Hilene said
"All
the same, Charlotte says you swore at her."
"Mat's crap.
I
never."
"Mummy, he did it again. Mummy-was
"All
right, Charlotte,
I
heard perfectly well. Even if that isn't
strictly swearing, Ian, it certainly isn't a
welcome guest in our house or in the garden either.
We don't want to be breathing blue air, do we,
Charlotte88When the little girl had finished shaking her
head so vigorously it loosened her yellow bow,
Hilene said "Is there that kind of language in your
book, Ian?"
There was spectacularly worse, just one of the many things
he was coming to think Americans did better than the
English. "Someea8he admitted.
CHILDREN
"May
I
see it?"
He didn't know whether she meant the book or just the
bits she was sure to object to, and he wasn't
about to care. As he passed her
Blood Count
she lifted Charlotte off her knee. The
eight-year-old shrank away from the cover with its
reddened eyes using part of the topmost embossed
silver word for sockets. "It's nastyea8she
complained.
"It's not just nastyea8Ian said, caring after
all.
"Go and play in your room now, Charlotte, or
watch television if you must.
I'll
call you when we've finished discussing the book."
"But
MUMMY-WAS
"let's see those little feet tripping inside or they
won't be going to dancing class."
Charlotte stamped once before flouncing in slow motion
into the house. Her mother gazed hard at the door
until it shut reluctantly, then she lowered her
attention to the book. She flicked the pages and
emitted sounds, not much more than short breaths and some
hardly even that, on her way to taking a few
seconds over the last page. She laid the book
on the threshold of the Wendy house and found Ian with
her frown. "What good are books like that meant
to do?"8What good is taking her down to the boats?"
"That's a question, not an answer."
"that's not a questionea8Ian said as Jonquil's brother
in the book would have.
"It isn't clever to be clever, Ian. Can't you
say how the book affected you?"
It had made him even happier that Jack
was living in his house-even more admiring of how real a
writer Jack was but those weren't things you said.
"I
liked it. It was good."
"Did it excite you? Frighten you? Improve your
vocabulary? Give you ideas?"
'Sure. "That's what
I'd
be afraid of.8She picked up the book, so
urgently that the breeze of it caused the Wendy
house to shrink away like Charlotte. "Aren't you old
enough to see it doesn't make sense?"
"It did to Jack, and you only read the last bit."
"Which is all
I
had to read-
A
good book ties up all the loose ends, Ian.
This has a brother who isn't even there, and the father
wanting to be killed one moment and the
next I'd
rather forget what it says he wants to do to his
daughter."
"that's because being a vampire takes over when it gets
dark. He tried not to turn her into one, but
then he couldn't stop. She didn't die of it, that's
why she can stand the sunlight, but she has to kill him
or she'll always be a vampire. Her mother sent
Jonquil's brother away to be adopted when he was
little, that's why he isn't one. He came back and
nailed their father down so he couldn't get away, then
their father's slave who wasn't a vampire and the
brother killed each other."
"Can't you hear how senseless all that is88When Ian
shrugged, meaning not that it didn't matter but that her
opinion didn't, she shook the paperback at him.
"Is this actually yours?"
"It's Jack's. Carefulea8he said, and grabbed the
book.
"I
must say if
I
were your mother you wouldn't have access to language or
violence like that. Isn't there enough nastiness already in your
life?"
He felt as though she were trying to replace on top
of his mind the slab Jack's presence in his life
had lifted. He repeated his shrug and met the eyes
on the cover until Hilene called Charlotte,
who came out of the house so promptly he
would have expected her mother to be suspicious.
"Correction overea8Hilene said. "Now if he's
kind Ian will take you down to the river."
"Don't want to go now. The boats have gone."
"This
ey haven't, Charlotte. Look, you can see
themea8her mother said, pointing to the multicoloured sails
on the glittering bend of the Thames half a mile
away below the sunlit roofs of Richmond Hill.
"They're going. They'll be gone if we go."
"I'm sure Ian didn't mean them to be, did
you, Ian88Ian almost let the slab on his mind
keep his answer un-
V-
CHILDREN
spoken, but she raised her eyebrows a notch, and
another. "Did you88he said.
"I
really don't think you can compare reading,
I
suppose the gentleman who wrote it would call it
schlock, compare reading an item like that with a grown-up
remedying a situation."
It wasn't just her patronising him that made him stand
up, it was how reasonable she expected him
to think she was being. "Okay, I'm going homeea8he
said.
"Charlotte won't look up to you if you go off in a
sulk whenever you're criticised."
"She can do what she likes. I want to talk
to Jack about his book."
"Your father said he'd take you and Charlotte
to McDonald's when he gets back from golf. You
don't want Ian to go yet, do you, Charlotte?"
Charlotte had flung herself on the recliner, both
to claim it and to remind them she'd been disappointed.
"If
he gives me a hundred, if he gives me two
hundred pushes on the swing."
"Half that, shall we say, Ian?"
Ian peered at Hilene to convince himself she wasn't
joking.
"Tell Roger
I
went homeea8he said.
"If
you're really determined to go early
I
should phone first."
"Why?"
He knew at once, which was all the more reason for
saying "What for?"
"I
just should.8Having observed that Charlotte was
listening
, she pushed herself out of her chair.
"I'll
do it myself."
Intrigued
by
the prospect of her speaking to his mother or Jack,
Ian followed her through the pale pine kitchen into the
hall that seemed to smell of the flowers of the
wallpaper. He watched her dial and then stroke
her cheek with that fingertip, and gaze
roofward
as though there might be something she would need to ignore,
and lean her head toward the wire in case that gave the
answer less of a distance to
travel, and very eventually replace the receiver. Before
it touched its cradle he was on his way upstairs
to throw his things into his overnight bag. As he
expected, Hilene waylaid him in the hall.
"I
really think you should wait for your fatherea8she
said.
Ian might have retorted that his father shouldn't have gone
off to play golf, though admittedly he'd invited
Ian to join him in however many hours of tedium would have
been involved.
"I'll
see him next timeea8Ian said, retreating down the
cobbled path under several trellises of roses and out
of the toothy white wooden gate.
He felt as if he were leaving the slab from his mind
on the hill. He was sure he would like whatever he
found at home, even if it was Jack and his mother
hurriedly emerging from some part of the house together or
pretending not to be. He didn't want to embarrass
them. What he mostly wanted was to write a story
Jack would like.
Church bells were competing across the width of the river as
he caught the train to Willesden. North of the
Thames the roofs of Acton swarmed
by
with churches sticking up among them.
By
the time he changed trains he'd thought up a little
girl called Carlotta whose father wasn't really
dead, he was a vampire that was hiding in the
cellar. When her mother came home one day to their
farmhouse near Los Angeles she scraped her
hand on a point of the gate in the white picket
fence, and when she went into the bedroom where Carlotta
had been sleeping all day and her mother had gone to the
chemist's, the pharmacy, the drugstore for medicine,
the little girl smelled the blood and
...
He didn't know what happened then. Perhaps he could
ask Jack's advice.
He didn't even consider turning toward Shaun's
when he emerged from the station at Stonebridge Park.
He was glad not to encounter anyone he knew as he
walked home, his head feeling like a writer's,
full of ideas that led in all directions to ends that
wouldn't come clear. Gardens whirred with mowers, cars
streamed with soapy water, but all that was irrelevant
to the ideas he wanted to share in case Jack
CHILDREN
could tell him where they should lead-except that Jack's
car wasn't outside the house.
Ian did his best not to feel disappointed as he let
himself in. Jack might be somewhere researching his book
or, since the house was empty, helping Ian's mother
shop. Ian paced toward the kitchen as if
he weren't certain what he would find there, and stood
on the secretive concrete in case that might put
him in more of a mood to write.
It didn't, but as he lingered, trying to bring some of his
thoughts to a conclusion, he knew what would. Jack
surely wouldn't mind if Ian borrowed his word
processor to write a story for him to read, not when
the machine helped Jack work.
Of
course Ian would have asked permission if Jack had
been there to ask. He ran upstairs and into Jack's
room.
Sunlight with a spicy tang of aftershave was reaching
for the small desk Jack had bought and assembled, on
which the word processor sat in the window. Ian left
the door open and, having plugged in the machine,
switched it on as he sat writerlike in Jack's
secondhand swivel chair. The screen welcomed
him and showed him its icons, from which he selected the
writer's friend. The screen filled with tiny sketches
of files bearing names, and he was trying to think of a
title for his when the name of a file caught his eye.
It was
PR
O
GR
ESS
.
He'd heard Jack refer to his book in
progress. The notion of reading a book that was still being
written seemed irresistible, and he clicked on the
file, which opened in front of him. It wasn't a
book, it was only the notes for one. He read the
first, and didn't know what shape his mouth had
taken-felt as if he had forgotten how to blink.
HW'S builder's yard on Blackbird Hill,
edge of WembleylKingsbury. Sign says
"Specialist in Property Renovation.
his
HW uses empty buildings for burials.
David Baxter
(7)
disappears March 1974 in Kingsbury. HW'S first
victim. Remains found underfloor of house

yards f
rom home.
Julie Oakley
(8),
November
1976,
Dollis Hill. Under new conservatory
by
Gladstone Park
Stephen Mullins
(6),
December
1977,
Hendon. Basement of house beside MI
motorway.
(some victims not yet identified?)
Vincent Wearing
(6),
June
1980,
Willesden. Extension, Kensal Rise
...
At that moment Ian heard his mother's voice. Much
of the rush of guilt he experienced was on Jack's
behalf. The swivel chair rumbled away from him on
its castors as he craned over the desk. His mother was
in Janet's garden next door. Before he could
move, she vanished into Janet's house.
He was pressing one ear against the party wall, straining
to hear whether she was staying at Janet's,
when he heard the front door open. The footsteps
it let in were Jack's. Ian might have had time
to unplug the word processor and dart into his room,
but he shrugged off the idea. He pulled the chair
to him and sat on it, resting his folded arms on the
back, and was facing the door when Jack strode
whistling into the room.
TWENTY
"Are you lost, you poor old thing? Where are you
looking for?"
"I
can't go home. They've stolen my home."
"Try not to distress yourself. Try and think where it
is."
"I
know where. Someone's living in it.
My
wife sold it while
I
was away and
I
don't even know where she's moved to.,,
"Poor thing, have you nobody at all to care for you?"
CHILDREN
119
"My
wife might if she knew
I
was alive, but they told her
I
was dead."
"Then you must stay here till you find her. We've
room. Some of our residents had to go back
to hospital because they weren't up to something my husband
got them involved in."
"Did he mean to harm them?"
"I
don't know if he meant to harm anyone. It
doesn't matter now. He isn't here, you are.
I
just need your details and then
I'll
show you your room and you can have a nice long peaceful
bath."
"Suppose
I
had to tell you something about me you mightn't like?"
"It wouldn't matter. I'm meant to care for people, not
judge them. Whatever it was, you'll get over it
if you stay here."
"Promise you won't slam the door in my face
if
I
tell you my secret."
"I
never slam doors, it upsets my residents.
You're dying to tell me. Go on."
"It's me, Adele.
I
had to let everyone think
I
was dead.
I
wanted to tell you, you don't know how much
I
did, and now
I
have."
He was nearly there. Walking from Cricklewood
to Sudbury had taken a couple of hours, hardly
worth mentioning compared to all the walking he'd done
since his death, but he'd had enough of trudging and aching and
starving with only the fruit and raw potatoes he'd
snatched from outside shops to eat. He'd had
to pull the potatoes to bits before his gums
could deal with them, and he could still taste the soil from their
skins, Eke the taste of a kiss he might have given
children before he covered up their faces. In fact he
couldn't kiss children, not since he'd been unable
to kiss Biff. Just now he couldn't stand their noises
either, couldn't distinguish cries of woe from those of
pleasure. He hadn't managed since he'd found
that his house was no longer his. Any high-pitched
childish sound sent him crouching away from it for fear that
he would be compelled to intervene. He didn't
know how much time that had added to his journey, but now
he was almost in sight of the single place where he could be
himself, the solitary person who would let him. He was
going to be calm, he told himself. Adele's
residents wouldn't miss a little of their medication
each, and he needed it as much as they did-he'd done
a lot more to deserve it, after all.
The Haven Care Home was a wide white
three-storey house beyond a curve in a side road
hushed
by
trees. Branches toyed with branches over the
solid eight-foot fence. He limped alongside
the fence and made to swing into the drive. Instead he
continued past, his legs trembling with the effort
not to run and attract attention to himself.
A
police car was parked on the expanse of concrete
outside the house.
It seemed more likely that one of her residents had
misbehaved than that Hector was the reason the
police were there. He swivelled, sending an ache
up his body from his bruised feet to his gums, and
crept into the drive. He assumed Adele and the
police would be in the office, their discussion veiled
by
net curtains nervous with a breeze, and if he
stood between the front door and the window he ought to be
able to hear. He'd sneaked to the corner of the building
so as to edge along the front when he heard the hall
door squeak open.
He darted around the corner and pressed his back against
the house. The rucksack hunched him forward as if the
warm bricks were fending him off. He heard the
front door and a voice that had to be a
policewoman's. "We may need to speak to you again,
particularly if any more of your husband's victims
come to fight."
"I
want you to find them if there are any, poor
little mites, but I hope to God I can be left
alone soon to try and forget about him."
As soon as the car door slammed the front door
shut too. When the police car backed into the road
he felt as if it were withdrawing the house from him.
Even more than her
words, Adele's tone had made it clear how
unwelcome he would be-so unwelcome she was bound
to call the police. His aching gaze found the waste
bin to the rear of the house, and he paced toward it in
case it contained anything he could bear to eat. He
only wished Adele could see the state to which she'd
reduced him.
He raised the plastic lid and rested it against the
house. Under a newspaper he found a mushy mass
of leftovers spilling out of an imperfectly sealed
bin-bag.
A
sick bitter taste filled his mouth, and he was about
to lurch away when he read two words of a headline in
the paper Adele must have brought from wherever she was living
now.
MURDER HOUSE,
they said.
The underside of the paper was sodden with rot.
He wiped his hand on the house and tore off the
front page.
A
photograph showed a man on the stairs of the house
where Hector had come closest to bringing a child peace.
Above the man doors were dripping with graffiti, and
perhaps he'd been chosen to point them out because he was a
horror writer as well as the new lodger.
Hector folded the page small and pressed it
against his heart until he was able to fit it into the
album, where it joined the other newspaper
photograph. He listened to be sure there were no
sounds from the front of the Haven, then he limped fast
and stealthily down the drive and went in search of a
phone booth.
He found one on Whitton Avenue. As he
looked up the address of the nearest overnight
refuge, a couple of pensioners taking their
extravagantly long-haired dog for a walk stared
at him and murmured and stared over their shoulders as
well. Apparently people who looked like him weren't
supposed to use phone directories, or perhaps the
couple thought he was planning to rob the coin box.
He shouldn't have to suffer their contempt or another
night in a refuge; he deserved
better-he'd earned a little of the peace he had brought
to all the children he'd taken responsibility for, the
kind of responsibility no one else dared take.
The word on
all the doors in the photograph was supposed
to mean him, and however unfair it was, it made him
part of the house. It made him feel as though the man
in the picture was trying to take his place.
TWENTY-ONE
Janet had just called her in from the back garden when
Leslie saw Jack's car in the road. She
made herself sip coffee that seemed unusually and
unhelpfully hot while she chatted to Janet about
how Ian was doing better at school, showing more
interest in studying English, not seeing so much of his
friends she disapproved of.
Of
course she was really talking about Jack, and hoping that
he didn't regret last night any more than she
did.
They'd slept in their own rooms overnight, and
confined themselves to smiles and pleasantries this morning,
and been wary of touching each other too much. Before
he'd gone out, supposedly to research his new
book, she had sensed there was something he
wanted to tell her. She sipped Janet's coffee
and eventually saw off enough to feel justified in
abandoning it. "Will you have another?" Janet immediately
said.
"Thanks, but
I'd
better start seeing to the things one does on
Sundays."
"I
understand. You've another hungry chap to take care
of"
As Leslie let herself out of Janet's house,
sunlight on the driver's window of Jack's
Nova caught her like a flashbulb, and she heard a
shiver pass through a series of trucks on the distant
railway; otherwise the suburb might have been
holding its breath on her behalf. She unlocked
her door, all her keys jangling, and stepped across
the threshold. "I'm-was
CHILDREN
It was the sight of Ian that caused her to falter.
Despite
all her problems with him she had never wished him
away, but at that moment she almost did. "Want some
coffee88he said along the hall.
Before she could wonder aloud if he shouldn't be somewhere
else, at least getting some fresh air, Jack
came out of his room. His face was so guarded that her
own stiffened in response. "Ian88she called.
"Want some?"
"Not right now.
I
forgot to get a Sunday paper. Could you run down
to the shops, no need to run, I shouldn't think?"
"Leslie?"8Just a second, Jackea8she said, but
his expression wouldn't let her wait that long.
"What is it?"
"Can we talk?"
"That's what I-if you can just let me-was
"I
should talk to both of you."
"Should you88The proposal seemed so unrelated
to anything she had tried to prepare herself for that she
didn't know how to feel. "Well, if you think.
. ."
As he left the stairs he stretched out a hand but
didn't quite touch her, instead indicating the front
room. "Care to join us, Ian?"
"Anybody having coffee?"
"Go on since you've made someea8Leslie
said, apparently the quickest way to move him.
"In that case I'll take some tooea8Jack said.
She could tell he wanted it no more than she did.
They both glanced at the couch before taking a chair
each. Having taken turns to risk a smile, they
concentrated on the doorway.
By
the time Ian appeared in it, bearing two mugs of
coffee and a glass of the cranberry juice he'd
taken to liking since Jack had arrived, she'd
begun to feel coated with static. She took yet
another sip of coffee, one that tasted like a preamble
to bitterness. "So, Jack."
"Sure.8The word seemed to imply anything but
certainty.
and he took a gulp of coffee that must have hurt.
"I
wish
I
knew how
bad..."
When he pressed his lips together hard enough to pull up
the flesh of his chin she said "However bad it is
we're used to coping, aren't we, Ian?"
Ian shrugged and thought better of it.
"Sure."
"So give us a chance, Jack.
If
we can help, tell us how."8ally already have. That's
kind of the problem. You've helped with my book."
"Which-"Leslie said, and realised aloud "Your next
one."
"You got it, the one I want to write next.
I
think-okay,
I
think it ought to be about this guy Hector
Woollie
and what he did."
"Including here."
"I
couldn't very well not deal with that,
I
guess. Tell me, or maybe you'll need time
to study it, would that be a problem?"
"I
imagine you'd get closer to the truth than the paper
bothered to."
"I
could include something about how the paper treated
you if you like."
"I
think we might, do you, Ian?"
"Reckon soea8he said as if he wanted to sound even
more American than Jack.
"Then if you've been waiting for permission you can
stop, Jack."
"Well, okay. Thanks.
Only..."
He raised the mug toward his face but lowered it,
refusing its concealment. "I have to say
I
didn't wait.
I
already started researching."
"We forgive you.8She gathered that was what he
wanted, so much that she had to say "When did you begin
to plan it?"
"Maybe the first time I saw your house."
So this was the secret that had been making him anxious,
or his fear that she would feel betrayed had.
"I
suppose that comes with what you areea8she said.
"You're
saying I'm..."
CHILDREN

"A
writer, what else? You have to take ideas where you
find them,
I
can understand that. You can't feel as guilty about that day as
I
do, or you shouldn't.
I
wouldn't expect you to have told me as soon as you got
the idea for a book, but
I
should have told you the kind of place I was bringing
you
to."
"The kind of place that may change my career, and
I never felt more at home."
If
Ian hadn't been present she would at the very least have
taken Jack's hands. Instead she ensured there
wasn't too awkward a pause
by
saying "What would you have written otherwise?"
"More horror,
I
guess. That's how
I
used to get the dark stuff out of me. True crime
is a whole different area. I don't know yet how
it's going to work."
"I'm just a reader, but if there's anything I can do
. .
"One thing maybe you both can. Did you ever meet the
guy?"
"Mr. Woollie, you mean."
"Hector Woollie, right. Did you meet him?"
"A
few times. Most of the time we were staying with my
parentsea8Leslie said, and was ambushed
by
a shiver. "Don't talk about it unless you want
to."
"I'm not sure I can tell you anything useful.
He seemed just like a builder. He took me in,
and
I
wouldn't say I'm stupid.
I
did think he was a bit too eager to make
you laugh."
"How about you, Ian? What did you make of
him?"8ationever met him.
I
was at mum's parents" or at school."8Hey,
no need to be disappointed.
I
guarantee you
wouldn't want to meet him. Listen, Leslie, if
you figure
I'll
be reviving anything
I
shouldn't,
I
can still back off."
"I
wouldn't want to be the girl who killed a
book.8Perhaps that was too coy for Ian, who grabbed
his glass and the empty mugs. Once he'd escaped
to the kitchen Leslie held Jack's gaze with
hers. "Was last night another kind of research?"
"Are you serious88he murmured, even quieter than
her.
I and
"Only the best kind. Only finding out how good we
were together."
"We were, weren't we.8She leaned forward and
squeezed his hands. "I'll try and remember more
to tell youea8she said.
"I'll
just have to keep reminding myself Woollie's dead and
can't touch us."
"I'll vote for thatea8sd Jack.
TWENTY-TWO
"It is you, isn't it, son? You've been so
quiet
I
thought you'd gone for good."
"It's me and nobody else, dad."8Where have you
been all this time?"
"Far away. Maybe
I
should take you there. Maybe that's where we both ought
to go."
"Me you content, son? Are you happy?"
"If I
was any happier
I'd
burst."
"We wouldn't want that, would we, son? Your mother
wouldn't like the mess. It'd be a laugh though, wouldn't
it?"
"There's nothing like a laugh to make things right, dad.
You taught me that and a lot more."
"So long as things are right for you, son. That's all
I
ever wanted.
I
always had you in mind."
"I
know, dad. You mightn't have been so bothered for those
children if you'd been happier with me."
"We shouldn't blame ourselves for the past. It's what you
are now that counts. You've been reborn, is that it?"
"You don't mind, do you?"
"How could
I
when you've come back to me?
I
feel born again myself.
I
did when
I
came out of the sea, and now here
I
am lying in the sand again."
CHILDREN
"You oughtn't to stay here much longer, dad. You don't
want people hearing you talking to me."
"Where am
I
supposed to go tonight?
I
can't sleep at the shelter again, not when that woman
left her handbag open with a bag of change in it.
She looked like she had plenty, and she's there for the
benefit of folk like I'm having to pretend I am,
but she mightn't see it that way."
"There must be other shelters you can walk to in a day,
aren't there? Now you've got some money you don't
even need to walk."
"They don't let anyone who looks like me on
public transport. Do you reckon they would if
I
told them I was an actor made up for a film?
I'm a celebrity right enough. Maybe
I
should tell them."
"That'd be a laugh, except remember you
don't want to draw attention to-was
A
sound like the whoosh of an arrow followed
by
an impact silenced him. He thought a child was playing
at archery somewhere nearby until he recalled where
he was. He squirmed his arms through the straps of the
rucksack and inched his head over the top of the bunker,
feeling as though the early sunlight were a lid he had
to raise. He was in time to see a second tweedy
female golfer take a stroke before they strolled
away from him across the grass. He scrambled out of the
bunker and limped as fast as his stiff aching legs would
carry him after his shrinking shadow across the deserted
greens to the road.
Last night he'd been unable to think of anywhere
else to sleep. He was sick of shelters full of
people he had to keep reminding himself he wasn't like, but
he'd allowed himself to be distracted
by
Adele's rejection of him.
If
it hadn't been for the miracle of their son's
rebirth, a miracle she deserved never to learn of,
Hector might have turned into the vagrant
he'd been forced to play. Now that he was no longer
alone-no longer the outcast his wife, his own wife,
had tried to make of him-he was going to be able
to restore himself.
He headed southwest into Bamet, keeping to the parks
and open spaces wherever he could, restraining himself from
baring his gums at the people he skirted, all of whom
clearly felt they had more of a right to be there than he
had. Dogs being taken for walks yapped at him, and
once he had to give a wide berth to a party of
schoolchildren led
by
a teacher: though not a wail or a complaint was to be
heard from them, he didn't want to risk imagining
there might be. He heard the children laugh at the
spectacle of him, of the shabby unshaven lank-maned
old man with his tortoise neck poking up beyond his
shell of a rucksack, and nearly spun around in
case a toothless grin might earn him more laughter.
Then he heard the teacher rebuking them, and did his
best to hasten out of sight before he could feel
responsible for having caused them any grief.
A
length of road posted with pensioners leaning on wheeled
baskets while they deplored the world,
including him, eventually let him into a park that
greeted him with an increasingly less muted roar-the
noise of the motorway that stood above the foot of
Mill Hill. As he plodded lopsidedly down a
slope patched with grass, past a selection of the
unemployed using cans of lager to ensure they
didn't grow dehydrated, he felt as if he were
descending into a medium that could drown any sound he
would rather not hear. He was beginning to trust the promise
of calm when he heard a child's wail behind him.
Pain flared from his left shoulder to his right ear as he
twisted his head around.
A
woman so obese he couldn't judge if she was
pregnant was dragging a boy about six years old
down the path. The large flowers printed on her
dress were half the size of her breasts, which were sagging
nearly to her stomach. "Right, that's done itea8she was
vowing. "No Burger King for you today, you little brat."
The boy's wail faltered while he took in her
words, then it doubled in volume and piteousness.
Hector fled toward the motorway, but its noise
couldn't blot out the child's woe, and Hector was unable
to outdistance him and his mother. Hector was yards short
of the foot of the slope, and maddened not just
by
the wailing but
by
the jerky dance of the
SILENT
CHILDREN

rucksack on his spine, when she shouted "You make
one more sound and I'm selling your bike."
Hector held his breath as if that might silence the
boy. When the cry renewed itself, more despairing than
ever, he raised his hands toward his ears, then swung
around in a crouch. The boy's face was red and
distorted and streaked with all its fluids. "That's the
finishea8the woman yelled. "You're not having your
mates round tomorrow."
Hector had made things worse
by
looking. His hands closed on the air and hauled him
upright. "Stop it now, sonea8he blurted. "She just
wants you not to cry. Give us a laugh instead.
See, here's a worm coming out of its hole, a big
worm, look."
He would have thought the boy incapable of producing a
worse or louder noise, but that was the child's
response to the sight of Hector's tongue
squeezing itself between his gums. The woman jerked the
boy's thin arm so hard he almost fell over. "Get
a move on, you. No cartoons for you today and no
MTV. The moment we get home you're going
to bed."
A
convulsion widened the boy's mouth, and Hector held
up his hands that wouldn't quite stop being claws. "Pardon
me, madam, but you're just upsetting him. He'll
never stop if you keep saying things like that."
The woman stared at him as though he had revealed
himself to be even worse than his appearance, then she
stumped at him, her flesh from her swollen ankles
to the pouches of her face wobbling at every step.
"Piss off out of it, you smelly old
tramp
. What do you think you are, a social worker88she
demanded, yanking the boy past him. "As for you, just
wait till I get you home.
I'll
teach you to make a show of me."
Hector limped after her, extending his crooked
fingers. "Madam, please don't take it out of him
because of me. Poor little soul, he hasn't
done anything to deserve-was
She turned on him, dragging the boy on the toes of
his sandals.
"If
you don't piss off right nowea8she warned, so loudly
that several of the drinkers on the grass laughed and
applauded,
"I'll
get the police to you and we'll see what you
deserve."
He'd already drawn too much attention, and he
didn't want to begin to imagine what he might have
brought upon the helpless miserable child. He watched the
woman march out of the park and turn the corner of a
narrow nondescript street, the boy at the end of
her flaccid balloon of an arm having to scamper and
stumble and scamper again to keep up, and then he lurched
under the motorway. Its roar trailed over him and
rose above him to wait on the far side of the
pedestrian tunnel, so that he felt as if he
couldn't shake it off-as if it were adding itself to the weight
of his rucksack, which might have been his guilt rendered
solid.
He'd
fled at least a mile through a tangle of
streets before he felt sufficiently unobserved
to give himself some reassurance. He limped under a
railway and heard the lines squeal at him, and
dodged into a park where he could sit on the banks of a
stream. Nobody was watching as he took out the
photograph album. The stream carried on its
introverted monologue while he gazed at the
picture until he was sure of it and himself. "I
know you're there, son," he murmured.
"I'll
be with you soon. I'm not mad. am
I?
I'm not going mad."
TWENTY-THREE
Wembley, England.
An
average day in an average suburb. Small neat
houses, small neat lives.
Bright summer sunlight. Children playing; children visiting
one another's homes.
But there's one house where a child came to visit and
CHILDREN

"Yeah, rightea8Jack muttered, and needed little more re-
flection to add "Crap.8Having deleted
the sentences, he raised his eyes so that his mind
wouldn't be deadened
by
the blank screen. Beyond the back gardens separated
by
a narrow alley, the roofs and their dormant
chimneys dovetailed with a sunned blue sky.
Miles above them the silver brooch of an airliner
slipped off the wadding of a cloud, and from the main road
he heard the rattle of the rear door of a truck.
Otherwise the streets outside his open window were as
silent as the airliner; there wasn't a child to be
heard-not because the children of the suburb were afraid to make
a sound within earshot of ('Leslie's house, but because
they were at school.
Wembley, England. An early afternoon in summer. The
small, neat suburban houses doze in the heat and
stillness. Soon the children will be home from school
to wake them up. But one child
"Uselessea8Jack told himself, and sent the fragment
of a paragraph back into the nothingness that had produced
it. He knew he didn't have to keep his opening
lines in the final version-they could just be his route to the
material he would keep-but these seemed less
meaningful than the hollow clatter of the
keyboard, they felt like an absolute failure
to grasp what he ought to be writing. Did he need
to rid himself of habits he'd learned from years of
writing fiction as distanced from reality as possible?
Or was his problem simply that there was no point in
struggling with the first lines when he'd yet to come up with a
title he liked?
At least selecting a title would let him feel
he was writing. He opened a file for titles and
gazed at the sky, which had taken its clouds off.
He managed to ignore the faint impatient hum
of the word processor until he had a thought worth
typing, and it was followed
by
another that brought its close relative along.
THE
HOUSE THAT
CAN'T
FORGET THE LEGA-UES OF MURDER
INHERITORS OF MURDER
They were pretty good titles, but not for this book. It
wasn't just about Leslie and her house, not even
mostly. No wonder he was having trouble with the book
if he couldn't keep his mind on its theme. Maybe
he needed a title to remind him:
CHILD
KILLER
THE
MAN
W
H
O BURIED CHILDREN
SILENCED CRIES
They were enough. Just because the book had to deal with the man
behind it all, Jack didn't have to start with him. He
still wanted to begin with Leslie and her house, with the way
she'd been identified with a history she had never
been part of, as if because the public needed somebody
alive to blame, she would have to do.
Once he'd written that chapter he could show it
to publishers while he continued his
search.
He wanted the chapter to represent his best work.
There were things he couldn't write. He would have to leave
out how Leslie felt in bed-her soft firm
breasts, her cool lips and inventively
responsive tongue that tasted faintly of
toothpaste, her long legs squeezing his waist and
he didn't think he would even be able to include how
she'd made him feel more accepted than he
would have dared hope. Nevertheless he had let her
believe he'd revealed his plans for the book without
being prompted, and he'd implicated Ian in the
deception as well. Perhaps he wouldn't be able
to write honestly until he was open with
Leslie-until he admitted that his visit to her
shop had been no coincidence.
He'd been in England for just a few days, a writer
abandoned
by
public taste and searching for a way of renewing himself,
when he'd learned about her house from a piece in
the Evening Standard
and known at once that it was where
CHILDREN
he had to go. He'd been studying it to form a first
impression before he ventured closer when Leslie and
Ian had come out together. When they'd separated at the
main road, Ian dodging a kiss, Jack had
followed her to work. Once she'd disappeared into the
staff room at the rear of the shop he'd strolled
past the window, only to be halted
by
her notice. He'd walked through the secretive
alleys of Soho while he came to terms
with his luck, and then he'd veered back to the shop.
How would she react when she discovered he'd been
scheming? Perhaps she might think it was only as odd as
writers were supposed to be, but she was entitled
to feel deceived, used, even betrayed. He ought
to meet her for lunch, if only so that Ian's
presence wouldn't inhibit him from saying too much, and
he was about to head for the phone when it rang.
He felt as though she'd sensed his need. He
swung himself out of the swivel chair and ran
downstairs. Whyever she was calling, he wouldn't let
her go until they had a date. He held onto the
banister and leaned off the stairs to snatch the receiver.
"Hiea8he said, followed
by
"Hello?"
This brought him no response either. "Helloea8he
repeated less invitingly. "This is-was
"I know."
The voice was a man's, and he had to be drunk; it
wasn't just blurred but inexplicably affectionate.
"Excuse me, what number do you think you
called88Jack said.
"Yours, son. Yours and the lady's with the teenage
boy."
"I
guess there are a whole lot of families like that.
Do you have a name?"
"For her88Jack was awaiting some insult to identify
the caller as deploring Leslie's presence in the
house when the man said "Leslie Ames."
"Okay, that's right, this is her place.8ationevertheless the
man's tone-fond or sympathetic or both-had
started to confuse Jack, who could only assume it was
meant to be ironic. "Did you want to talk
to her?"
"Just you, son. Couldn't be anyone else with her at
work and him at school."
"Sure, so excuse me, who are you and what do you
want?"
"Don't you know yet, son? Do you really not
know88When a dull ache spread up Jack's arm,
he realised his fist had clenched around the banister.
"I
don't, so if you'd like to cut the bullshit-was
"It's me, son. I'm alive. It's your father."
Jack's body was a burden he had to lower onto the
stairs. As it sank he heard himself protest
"I've no idea who you are.,,
"I
understand, son. Take your time. It must be a bit of a
surprise."
"Will you stop calling me son88Jack bowed forward
to prevent the taut cord from hauling the base of the
phone off the table.
"I
can't imagine who you think you're speaking to, so
maybe you should-was
"Don't be like that, John."
All
at once, despite the mushiness of some of its
consonants, the voice was sharper and firmer.
"I
know it's you.
I
saw your picture in the paper.
I
wasn't sure at first, but
I
am now. It's you all right. I'm not mad."
Jack straightened up, and the plastic base flew
off the table at him. He slammed the receiver into its
housing and crouched over it as if that might keep it
silent while he struggled to recover. "No. Come
on. Noea8he said, and even tried to laugh.
TWENTY-FOUR
"And now
I
expect you're all panting to hear what
I
thought of your storiesea8Mr. Cardigan announced,
loudly even for him. "I'd stake a month's
salary that there are a few boys in this classroom
wishing they'd sprayed their armpits a lot harder this
morning."
Ian joined in the chorus of dutiful laughter. He
wasn't sweating, but he was certainly eager. Mr.
Cardigan had told them to write a story about
anything they liked so long as it was told in the first
person, and Ian was sure the story was his best work,
good enough to show both his mother and Jack. He'd imagined
Carla's viewpoint so vividly that for whole
paragraphs he'd come close to feeling like her, lying
bound and gagged beneath the cellar floor that a psychotic
serial killer in a mask had nailed down, and
utterly unable to respond to her mother's calls in the
house overhead. He waited while Mr.
Cardigan prolonged the suspense, hooking his
thumbs under the gold chain of his steel-grey
waistcoat and drumming his fingertips on his
tautly buttoned stomach, before he began to fling
exercise books off the pile on his desk, and
comments after them.
"Very careless, Hobbs.8That didn't surprise
Ian, since Baz had boasted of smoking two
joints in the course of writing his story. "Too
slick to be convincing, Sheeney," the teacher declared,
presumably unaware that Stu had copied most of the
story out of a crime magazine, substituting
English names that didn't go with the Chicago location.
"Starts off well, Nolanea8Mr. Cardigan
told Shaun, "so what truncated your inspiration?
Was it a girlfriend or just a video?"
By
now practically the whole class had been dealt with,
and Ian couldn't help feeling the teacher was saving
the best until last. He was getting ready to allow
himself a grin when the lunchtime bell shrilled.
"Bayliss. Fong. Choudhury. Davison.
Davidson," Mr. Cardigan rattled off,
lobbing some of the books the length of the room, then
tucked his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets and
wagged his fingers upward to indicate the class should
rise. "Time for your airing, gentlemen. Do try not
to mangle the language too grievously
while you compete at being up to date."
A
solitary exercise book remained on his desk, and
Ian was hurrying forward when the teacher took him to be
trying to escape. "Linger, Ames, if you willea8he
bellowed.
Ian's friends glanced at him with as much sympathy as
their age and gender allowed, but he didn't feel in
need of it. Once he was the only boy in the room,
Mr. Cardigan marched to the door and shut it with almost
a slam, then he rubbed his neat moustache between finger and
thumb before transferring them to his chin-sized beard.
At last, having barely lowered his voice, he said
"Have we a touch of the
POST'
That was what Ian heard him say, at any rate,
and wondered if he was being asked about his intestinal
health. "Sorry, sir?"
"Edgar Allan Poe. Have you been reading that old
horror?"
"No, sir."
"Or watching a film of a premature burial,
perhaps."8Didn't know there was one."
Mr. Cardigan frowned at the answer or at the
lack of sirring. "Is this story all your
own work?"
"Sure is, sir."
"I'm not suggesting it was written
by
an adult, but
I
wonder if you were advised
by
one."
"Like who?"
"I
understand you have a writer boarding in your
house."8Jackea8Ian said to demonstrate how
close they were. "Jack Lamb. Have you heard of
him, sir?"
"I
should think his reputation is at least as widespread
CHILDREN

locally as he could wish. Did he have a hand in your
composition?"
"He doesn't even know about it yet."
"So I'm to understand this came out of your own
head.8Ian felt safe in sounding a little proud,
perhaps even a little like a writer. "It did,
sir."
The teacher glanced at the last page of the story, where
the cellar light became visible through the floorboards
only for Carla to see it go out because her eyes and her
brain had.
"I
think you should speak to someone else about this."8ally mean
try and get it published, sir?"
"I mean very much the opposite.
I
should hope your mother would prefer it to be kept as
quiet as possible."8ally said we could write anything
we liked."
"Within reason, Ames, reason, heaven preserve
us.
I
would never have expected you to exploit a tragedy
to prove how horrid you can be."
"It's not about my houseea8Ian protested,
perfectly sincerely. "It's just an idea I
got."
"Then
I
would strongly recommend your mother takes you to see
someone who can rid you of such ideas."
That was preceded
by
a disbelieving look, which was why Ian insisted
"I
wouldn't write about my house. lack is."8ation an
occasion to celebrate.8The teacher was shaking
the exercise book at him as if that might scatter
the words out of it. "Please show this to your mother and inform
her
I
should be happy to discuss it further."
Ian idled back to his desk, giving Mr.
Cardigan time to vanish in the direction of the staff
room, and then he read the comment that resembled
crimson scratches on the page.
Sufficiently well written that one hopes these
skills will be put to more wholesome use,
Mr. Cardigan had scribbled, followed
by
a
C
in the circle he always drew around his marks,
presumably not realising this one looked like the
symbol you saw in published books-Jack's, for
instance. Ian's resentment of the criticism
faded as he thought of Jack; his was the opinion that
counted, and Ian felt all the closer to him since
they'd let Ian's mother believe that telling her
about the book had been purely Jack's choice,
nothing to do with his having been found out. She might have
overreacted and asked him to leave, and Ian thought
Jack had been afraid she would. Jack owed him a
little secrecy, and part of that might cover the teacher's
comments.
He was opening his desk to put away the book when he
heard Shaun's voice under the open window. "Ian?
Has he gone?"
"You'd hear if he hadn't."8What was he bitching
about?"
"Just the stuff
I
wrote. He thought it was about, you know, Duke's
sister."
"Was it?"
"What do you think? I'm not that sick."8Bring it out
and let's have a look."
"See it laterea8Ian said, and sat down to open the
exercise book. He hadn't finished reading the first
page when Shaun called "Are you coming out?"
"In a bit.8Since not only the teacher but
also Shaun had assumed he could have been writing about
Harmony Duke, Ian wanted to reassure himself
they were wrong: he didn't think his mother would like the
story otherwise, and that might be true of Jack as
well. Ian hadn't had their house in mind while
he was writing; there had been nothing in his head
except the story itself. The house was nothing like theirs,
it was American and had a cellar, and if Carla was
anybody real she was Charlotte, though she used as
many American words as he'd been able to fit in.
Now that he'd reread the story he could see bits
he would like to improve, but he was certain nobody at
home would share the teacher's disapproval. He was
resolving to ask if he could borrow Jack's word
processor so that he would have a copy to be prouder of
when someone opened the classroom door.
"I
was just checking my homework," Ian began to say,
having guessed that the incomer was a teacher, all of
whom were devoted to chasing boys out of the school at
lunchtime. But the intruder, who came in fast and
heeled the door shut, was Rupe Duke.
CHILDREN
He took one heavy step forward, swinging his arms like
a boxer or a bouncer, and gave his head a
vicious jerk that might have been intended to shake some
of the dullness out of his eyes and his uncared-for face.
"What've you been writing about my sister?"
Ian leaned his fists on the book. "Nothing."8ation
what
I
heard."
"Shouldn't have been listening then, should you? Better
piss off
before a teacher comes. You're not allowed in this room."
Duke advanced two steps that Ian thought were even
stupider and less impressive than the first.
"I
want to see."8Like you wanted to see in my house,
right?"
"Maybe.

Ian gripped the sides of the desk. "Here's how it
goes, Duke. I'll let you read it if you say
you broke into my house."
"You know
I
did."
"And wrote all that shit on the doors."8ally know
it."
Since he'd overheard Ian in the classroom,
he must be audible to Ian's friends outside. Ian
had witnesses, and felt so pleased with himself that he
pushed the book across the desk. "Go on then, read
it. It's not about her."
Duke trudged forward and grabbed the book. As he
flipped the cover open his face closed around his
feelings to ensure not a hint of them escaped, and
Ian was taken off guard
by
a surge of unexpected sympathy. After all, how
was Duke supposed to feel when his little sister had
been murdered?
If
Charlotte had been the victim Ian could imagine
being more upset than he wanted to admit. His understanding
didn't change the fact that Duke had vandalised his
house, but at that moment he decided to let adults
deal with the other boy. He watched Duke turn the
page with a slowness that suggested respect and read to the
end. Duke glared at the teacher's comment, and then the
glare found Ian. "You cunt. You lousy
cuntea8Duke said.
"Yeah, well, that's your opinion. Give my
homework back."
"No fucking chanceea8Duke said, and retreated around
a desk.
"It's got nothing to do with you. Give it back."
"You're not doing that to my sister. You can have your book
all right."
Ian grasped the threat at once, too late.
Before he could retrieve the book, Duke had
flapped it open and torn out the story. He let the
book fall and ripped the pages swiftly in
half, in quarters, eighths, sixteenths. "There's
your book," he said, "and you can have this when I've
finished."
The slab was pressing Ian's mind small. He
felt as though everything he'd put into the story, his
hopes for it and his sense that he could be someone better
than he'd taken himself for, had raised the weight
high only to have it drop back into place. His story
was beyond rescuing, and what he saw himself doing seemed
pointless, but so did refraining from it-only the rage
that turned his mouth dry as paper seemed real. He
snatched up the book and used it to slash Duke across
the face.
The boy stumbled backward, scattering fragments of
paper as his hands leapt to his face and he collided
with a desk. Before Ian could see how badly
he was injured surely less than the muffled sound
behind his hands was claiming-an assortment of footsteps
in the corridor reached the classroom. Shaun was
first in, followed
by
Stu and Baz. "Did you hear him88Ian demanded.
"Did you all hear what he said?"
"Said when88Shaun asked as if he didn't want
to know, and stared at Duke. "Shit, what have you done
to him?"8Just hit him. He'll live.
But listen, you heard him say he broke into my
house, right?"
"No.

"You must have. You heard me and Cardy before."8We
heard it was Duke in here. That's why we came, in
case he needed sorting. Look at him, Ian, it
looks like you've-was
CHILDREN

Ian turned away from him, from the pointlessness he
seemed to be embodying. Could Ian really have handed
Duke his story to destroy and gained nothing
by
it? "You heard Duke say he was in my
house, didn't you, Baz88he pleaded. "Stu, you
did."
Both of them shook their heads. He couldn't
reassure himself they hadn't understood, even though they
were gazing in dismay at Duke. "We'd say if we
hadea8Stu said, and grimaced as if he found it hard
to swallow. "But Christ, look what you've done.
You've blinded him."
TWENTY-FIVE
When the phone rang Jack's hand clenched on the
coffee mug. He managed to relax his fingers, which
felt capable of shattering the stout baked clay. He
was sitting at the end of the back garden in the hope that
strong black coffee and the open air might help him
think. Neither had, and he'd barely sampled the
coffee, which had only intensified the ache that was his
absence of thoughts. It had taken him minutes of staring
at the phone to realise the call might be traceable,
but when he'd dialled 1471 a recorded voice
had told him with more cheerfulness than seemed
appropriate that the caller had withheld their number.
He'd retreated upstairs to switch off the word
processor, on whose screen the words
Child Killer and The Man Who Buried Children and
Silenced Cries
had appeared to brighten before they were extinguished, leaving
marks on his eyes. The words seemed both entirely
beside the point-at least the effort he'd put
into manufacturing the phrases did-and inescapably
relevant. He was trying to clear them out of his mind,
which was using them to fend off things he was afraid to think
or
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
feel or remember or admit were possible, when the
phone rang.
It repeated itself twice before he set down the mug
with a clunk that spilled tepid liquid over the
back of his hand. The sensation felt as if someone had
licked him. As the phone shrilled again he swung his
legs off the bench and sprinted up the garden, towards
pairs of sunlit facades that might have been standing
together to cast him and his secrets out. He had to deal
with the call, even if it was the one he was afraid
of-especially if it was that call.
The kitchen floor felt ominously harsh after the
softness of the lawn. He was halfway along the hall
before he ceased to feel he was still running over
concrete, as though his sense of what had been hidden
beneath that surface was pursuing him. The phone fell
silent, and he closed a fist around the
receiver, willing the bell just to have paused between rings.
"Hello88he gasped, andwiththe rest of the breath his
lungs could spare "Hello?"
"All
right, John, no need to panic. Only me. Had
time to think?"
Jack wasn't as prepared as he had convinced himself
he was. He sat quickly on the stairs and moved the
base of the phone to his lap, and felt as if he were
cradling a toy for comfort. "About what?"
"Nothing if you don't need to. I just reckoned you
might want time to get used to having your old dad
when you thought you'd lost him."
"I
still am getting used, if I've even started.8Part of
Jack's mind was desperate to hang on to the life
he'd invented for the biography on his book
jackets and had elaborated for the Ameses, but it was
deserting him like a series of ideas that failed to hold
up when he tried to write about them; no grandfather
who'd taken him fishing, no auto repair shop,
no midnight basketball, only the childhood
their departure was uncovering. "Never mind meea8he
said with all the conviction left to him. "We have
to talk-was
"I'll
vote for that. It's been too long. Only don't
ask me not to mind you when I'm your dad. You've
got on well,
haven't you? You've made a name for yourself."
"I
did my best."
"That's my boy. We brought you up right, didn't
we, me and her?"
Jack knew he had to sustain the conversation until his
father trusted him, but the only response he could
manufacture was a wordless mutter. Apparently it
was enough for his father, who chortled as though he had j
ust seen a joke. "Jack Lamb,
Woollie Lamb. That's a laugh. Shows you're a
joker like your dad. We had a few laughs when you were
living at home, didn't we?"
"Guess so."
"I
remember we did. Maybe my memory's better
than yours. You've never been far from my mind. Did
you think of me sometimes?"
"How couldn't
IT'
"Good thoughts, were they? Good
memories?"8Some.
"And the other sort too, is that what you're saying,
John?"8Dad.
. ."
Uttering the syllable disturbed him even more than being
addressed
by
his old first name. "What do you want?
Why
are you calling?"
"That hurts, that does, you asking that. It really
hurts.8Jack heard an indrawn breath so wet it
made the receiver against his face feel moist as his father
said "It makes no odds how long it's been, you're
still my lad. You know you are, or you'd have changed your
name more. Just because your mother did her best to part us
doesn't stop you being my son."
"I
don't think she was trying to separate us.
I
was allergic to some stuff you used at work you couldn't
help bringing home on your skin."
"That's what her and the doctor made out all right."
"I
had an allergy for sure."
"More like she got you thinking you were allergic to me so she
could send you to Pamela's."
"Say, dad.
. ."
Jack thought he glimpsed a chance. "I'm finding this
hard, you know."
"Fair enough, let's leave your mother out of it.
She's had her time. She saw a lot more of you when you
were at her sister's than
I
did."
"You don't blame me for that, do you?"
"Don't you reckon you were old enough to tell them what
you wanted? You were the same age as the lad where you're
living now."
Perhaps only Jack's nervousness made that sound like a
threat aimed at Ian, but it was another reason for
him to say "Look,
I
said this is hard. I've never been good on the
phone-was
"You sound as if you're doing pretty well to me."
'I'd
rather we were face to face though, wouldn't you?88ally
mightn't think much of my dial now, the
way it's ended up. It'd take even more
recognising than yours did."
"You don't think
I'd
let that matter, do you? As you say, you're still my
dad.8Jack managed to follow that with "You want us
to meet, don't you? Isn't that why you
rang?"8Maybe."
'We can't very well meet here. Even if the people
I'm living with didn't see you, the neighbours
might. I guess that's one thing you don't need."
"Why's that, John?"
Jack had a grotesque vision of his father, a
clownish
figure
with a grin as wide as a horse's and large hands
pale with concrete dust and boots thick with dried
mud, his elbows on the table as he dined with Leslie
and Ian and Jack. "I just thoughtea8he said
carefully, "you'd like to avoid it."
"You'd get embarrassed if your friends and neighbours
saw you with your old dad, eh?"
"Not that, no.
Why
would
I?
I thought you mightn't want to be seen around here in
case you were recognised, however you look."
his
Cheer up, son, or you'll have me crying. Don't
you know a joke when you hear one? Let's have a laugh
or I'll think I've lost my touch."
his
Got you.8Jack produced a stuttering series of
grunts he hoped could be taken as evidence of
mirth, and was re-
warded
by
a prolonged sound like the panting of a dog but moister.
"That's the spiritea8his father said. "It's laughing that
keeps us alive, am
I
right?"
Jack's innards shrank from a sudden memory.
"Something else must be."
"True enough, I'm having to fend for myself."
"Well, now you needn't. That's what this is about,
isn't it? Tell me where to come if you want looking
after."8ally'd like to find me, would you, John?"
"Meet you, sure.
I
figured that was the point. If you don't want me
to know where you've been hiding-I mean, there's no
reason you should be afraid of that, only-was
"Bit eager to track me down, aren't you? I'd
better give it a think."
"Go ahead.
I
can wait.
If
there's anything you need to ask-"Jack was anxious
to compensate for whatever he'd said that had roused his
father's distrust, but it seemed he shouldn't have tried.
A
click interrupted him, and then the line hummed
smugly to itself.
"Assholeea8he snarled, not at his father. "Stupid
ass.8He dialled 1471, but of course the other
number had been blocked. He brought the receiver and
its stand together and abandoned them to the table so as to crouch
over himself. He felt as though a knot at his
centre were pulling him smaller, reducing him to the child
he'd been-the child his father had recalled
by
speaking to Jack.
his('Let's have a laugh.8When had he first heard that?
The first time Jack had cried, perhaps, or complained,
or appeared to be ill or injured or miserable or
simply not happy enough? And his father had always
required a laugh of him immediately after finding any
kind of fault with him, after "Sit up straight at
the tab
le, nothing wrong with your back,"
or "No need to hold your knife and fork like that,
you've been shown how8or "Walk properly, be
glad you c8or "Hold your pen like your teachers told
you or they won't be able to read your writing"
. . .
Jack's mother had told him about his father's little brother
who'd died, and eventually that the brother had suffered
years of agony from having
been born with an exposed spinal cord, but the
explanation hadn't helped Jack-it had made him
feel that his father kept accusing him of imitating the
dead child, of poking fun at him. On top of that
pervasive guilt had been not only the exhortations
to laugh but how his father watched him while he did, a
scrutiny which had seemed to caution him not to laugh too
loud or long or high or wildly and which had
relented only when he'd produced as much
mirth as he'd thought safe.
Could all this have led his mother to concoct a reason to send
him to his aunt's in Ruislip? Could she have been
aware, at least instinctively, of worse? Jack
didn't know if he was only imagining he
remembered an impression that requiring him to laugh
had been his father's mode of restraining himself from some
other behavior. Just now his definite memories were
enough to cope with: the way Aunt Pamela had cared for
him as if he was another subject of her social
work; his Sunday visits home, which he'd grown
to dread, because his father's attitude to him had become
mechanical, a parody of itself, as though-or was
Jack inventing this in retrospect?-his mind had
been on somebody elsewhere. As Jack had struggled
through adolescence his aunt's solicitude had
oppressed him, so that his mother's sister who returned
to tour Britain with her American husband had
personified a promise of release from Jack's
father and Aunt Pamela as well. Jack had
befriended his
by
then American aunt, he'd got himself invited
to stay in San Francisco, and the second time
he'd stayed he had been old enough to apply
for papers to allow him to work.
A
variety of menial jobs had enabled him to move into a
small apartment, and it had been his mounting sense of
freedom that had impelled him to try writing the kind
of book for which he'd acquired a taste from the thousands
of dog-eared paperbacks his American aunt
hoarded. He'd sold the first novel within months of
stuffing the typescript in an envelope. John
Woollie had struck him as no byline for a
writer, and so-
His American memories were letting him feel more like
the person he wanted to be, and he had straightened
up when the phone rang. He lurched forward,
renewing his crouch, and fumbled the receiver toward him.
"Hello88he called as soon as it was close
enough.
"Waiting for me, were you? Hoping
I'd
ring back88Jack planted the base of the phone beside
him on the stair and forced his body upright to convince
himself he would do better this time. "Sureea8he said.
"Why?"
"I don't believe you mean that. You're the one who
keeps reminding me you're my father."
"Have a go at this, then. Shouldn't be too hard for you
at your age, seeing as how you're so clever with words."
"I'm
not trying to be."
"Not so sure about that, son. It's your
job,
isn't it?
I'll
tell you what I've been wondering.
Why
did you come back?"
"Because
I
heard you were dead and what you'd been doing, and
I
figured I'd write about it." Those were truths
Jack thought better of telling, but he couldn't
pause long. "To see how my mother was survivingea8he
blurted.
"You've been to visit her, have you?"
Suppose his father knew Jack hadn't-perhaps was even
hiding at her house? "Not yetea8Jack admitted.
"Shall I let you into a secret, son? That doesn't
surprise me at all."
"How come?"
"Because you'll be wondering how much she
knew."8ationothing,
I
should think.
I
can't imagine you'd have told her.,,
"More like you hope I never did.
All
right, John,
I
won't keep you in suspense. Your secret's
safe with me."
"My. . ."
Jack did his best to laugh, then had another try
at speaking. "What do you mean, my
- -- ."
"No need to pretend with me. Remember it's your
dad you're speaking to."
"That doesn't mean I've any idea what you're
talking about."
"Does it not, John88Underlying his father's apparent
disappointment was more than a hint of worse.
"Remember this88he said, and began to sing.
"Now
I
lay you down to sleep, Close your eyes good
night. Angels come your soul to keep, Close your
eyes good night.
.."
He was halfway through repeating the verse when he
broke off. "Remember when
I
used to sing that?"
"Yesea8Jack said, but that didn't get rid of the
question. "When
I
was small and you wanted me to go to sleep."8Like my
mother used to sing to me. It's a good
memory,
isn't it?"
"Sure.,, Perhaps Jack's answer was too quick or
too suspiciously unspecific, because his fath
er made a moist rude sound. "This
at isn't all you remember though, is it?
Remember where else
I'd
sing?"
Jack felt as though the personality he'd taken for
his adult self was about to disintegrate. "What if
I
do?"
"Just don't be so keen to find me if you're thinking of
telling anybody where
I
am. You wouldn't expect even your dad to protect
you if you shopped him.
If I
were you
I'd
be thinking how to look after my old dad and make
sure nobody else knew he was alive."
"Nobody does as far as
I
know,
I
can promise you that, but what are you saying
I
need protection from?"
"Oh, John.
I
just hope for your sake nobody's listening to us.
If I
got caught
I'd
have to say you helped me."
"Why
would you?"
"Because there'd be no reason for me not to ten the truth."
"What truth?"
"Do me a favour, son. You were never that thick.
Even if you'd forgotten about it, it must have come back
to you
now, helping me to flatten the earth down in those
houses. What did you think
I
was singing about then? You must have thought something."
"I
was youngea8Jack protested, almost pleading.
"You weren't that young. Or if you were to start with it must have
affected you more, mustn't it?
I
wonder how much like your dad you really are deep down.
I
reckon if anybody found out who you are they'd have
some ideas about why you're living in that house."
Jack's mouth worked, but all that emerged was a shaky
breath. "I'll leave you to have another thinkea8his father
said.
"I'll
be in touch."
When the phone reverted to humming, Jack found he
had to think which hand to use for replacing the receiver.
Sunlight was leaning through the glass above the front
door and wedging itself into the hall, but he felt as though
its brightness couldn't reach him; it was too dark inside
his head-dark as the underside of earth. He was
remembering how he'd helped his father.
Though he'd done it only twice-the properties
had needed to be close enough for him to visit on his way
to school-it felt far worse than twice too
often. In one case he'd been almost Ian's age,
but it was the other that was restaging itself in his mind. He'd
been no more than eight years old, yet he
remembered how the morning had tasted of fog, how a
spider's web that resembled spun glass had been
swaying in a breeze outside the kitchen window of the
vacated house, how the kitchen had smelled of the earth
where the floor should have been. "Make sure there's no
irregularities, son," he could hear his father saying
as he'd handed Jack-no, John-a brush. He
could feel the soil gritting beneath his feet, could hear
the repetitive scrape of the brush, but surely he
was only imagining in retrospect that he'd sensed
anything under the earth; he'd thought his father was behaving no
more oddly than grown-ups often did when
he'd started singing in little more than a whisper "Now
I
lay you down to sleep.
. ."
But he couldn't dismiss the memory, not when his
research had enabled him to put
a name and an age to the victims he'd helped
bury. Billie short for Wilhelmena Carter,
six years old, not much younger than Jack had been
at the time. Martin Hawthorn, also six.
What had his father been expecting of him on those
occasions? Some kind of unknowing encouragement, some
reassurance that he himself was acting properly, or could
he have hoped Jack would inherit his behaviour? The
question seemed to pervade everything Jack was and his
surroundings too, so that when the phone rang he
couldn't help wishing it had brought him his father again.
"Yesea8he said into the mouthpiece, so sharply his
breath chilled his teeth.
"May
I
speak to Mrs. Ames?"
It was a woman's voice, and he had to make an
effort to respond. "She's at work."
"I've been trying her there, but it's
engaged.
I'll
try again.8Instead of ringing off, however, the woman
paused. "Are you the writer?"
Jack had little sense of who he was any more.
"I
guess.8Perhaps that seemed unworthy of a reply, or
perhaps she felt she was responding to it when she
spoke. As if she thought he was accountable for the state
of affairs and unworthy to be told the details,
she cut him off once she'd finished saying
"If
you happen to speak to her, please ask her to contact
her son's school urgently. I'm afraid he's
in grave trouble."
TWENTY-SIX
"Fix Duke's eye for him."
Leslie swung round to stare at the group of boys
who were passing her and Ian. Any of them might have
been pretending not to have spoken. "There's been quite enough
CHILDREN

of thatea8she said in a voice that rang on the concrete
of the schoolyard, but as the boys vanished behind an
annexe that resembled a temporary office
on a building site, she heard them start to joke.
The brown bricks of the school, half a
two-storey H with its middle bar facing the
gates, looked sandy with midmorning light. Dozens
of windows leaned out as though to scoop heat into the
classrooms, which were emitting a selection of the
noises schools made. As Ian opened a side
door for Leslie, she said "Don't let anyone
start thinking you're a hero."
"I
didn't mean to get his eye."
"You've told me that and
I
believe you. You aren't a monster, but you aren't a
hero either. You're more or less who you've always been,
so try not to let what people say about you affect you.
Except what your headmaster says is going to have
to count, and we'd better hope it isn't too
bad."
The door closed behind her and her awkwardly
overgrown son with more of a slam than she could think was
encouraged.
A
classful of boys laughed and thought about whatever they were
laughing at and laughed again, a master's
voice echoed down the corridor whose walls looked
slippery with paint. She felt as though she'd been
sent back to school, and uneasier for knowing that some of the
pupils thought the Duke boy's injury was a joke.
How could they want him to be hurt when he'd lost his
little sister? Perhaps they disliked how that had changed him,
but why couldn't they see past their dislike? Now she was
at the doors that gave onto the corridor
inhabited
by
the headmaster, and when Ian pushed one open she saw
Mrs. Duke and her son.
Four straight chairs had been placed with their
backs to the headmaster's office, two on each
side of the door. The Dukes were sitting on the
farther pair, and turned just their heads toward the
newcomers. The boy's movement might have been
intended to reveal the right side of his face, the eye
covered with a wad of gauze held
by
a cross of adhesive plaster. His mother let her
dull gaze weigh on the Ameses
as they took the remaining chairs, and Leslie tried
not to imagine that she was comparing her grey suit and
white blouse with Leslie's more expensive
version of the outfit. When eventually she felt Mrs.
Duke's stare lift itself from her she glanced at her
wristwatch, and had another look a minute later.
It was past time for the appointment, and so she wondered
aloud "Should we tell anyone we're here?"
She had to turn and gaze at Mrs. Duke, then
cock her head and raise her eyebrows, before the
woman said tonelessly "He knows we are."
Either that or Leslie's question brought Mr. Brand
to his door. He was a tall chubby man who
smelled of sweetish shower gel and whose blond hair
persisted in flopping over his brow. He extended his
hands on either side of him, so slowly that he might have
been offering a dual handshake or advising the women
to remain seated or even inviting them to inspect his
small neatly manicured nails. "Is everyone
present88he said.
Since Mrs. Duke only shrugged, Leslie
risked trying to lighten the mood. "Looks like it,
or there wouldn't be enough seats."
"One or both of the gentlemen would have given theirs up,
I
trustea8the headmaster said, andwitha residue of
admonition "So it's just mothers and sons."
"Has beenea8Mrs. Duke declared,
"since they took my man in because they thought he'd
done something to Harmony."
"There's no chance of a reconciliation?"
"Not after what
I
said to him when
I
thought he had."8I'm certain everybody
sympathises with your tragic situation." Mr.
Brand held a respectful pause before saying "Shall
we continue in my room? The ladies will need
seats."
"I'll
bring themea8Ian said.
"Rupert can carry mineea8Mrs. Duke told
everyone.
The headmaster made a sound not unlike that of a
machine gun with his throat and led the way into his
office, a wide bright room slitting its blinds at
a view of the outstretched legs of the building. Ian
planted a chair well away
CHILDREN

from its twin before the broad oak desk, and
Leslie
sat while he stood beside her. She remembered when
she would have lifted him onto her lap; she sensed the
vulnerable little boy hiding inside him and imagined one
inside Rupert too, and willed Mr. Brand to be
quick with the interview. Instead he reached or at least
mimed reaching for the phone. "Will the ladies have a
coffee?"
"Not with my nervesea8Mrs. Duke said. "rea,
then."
"You won't want me gurgling when you're talking
to them."
The heat that the blinds were failing to exclude was parching
Leslie's mouth, but she shook her head at Mr.
Brand. "I'm fineea8she lied.
"In that event let me hear the accounts. Duke, you
may begin.,,
"Ames cut my eye with his book."
"I
think that's common knowledge. How is it presently
feeling?"
'Hurts.
"I
fancy it mustea8Mr. Brand said dabbing at both of his
own. "What word from the hospital, Mrs. Duke?"
"His corny whatever they call it is
ripped."
"The cornea. The horny membrane, from the
Latinea8Mr. Brand told Rupert in case the knowledge
came in useful. "How will it affect his sight, can that
be told yet?"
"He won't lose it, the doctor said."
"That's cheering. Meanwhile
I
understand it tends to aggravate Rupert's problems with
his schoolwork."
"It would, wouldn't it?"
"Anything else you would like to place on the record,
Duke? What do you say led to the incident?"
"Ames wrote a horror thing about putting a girl
under the floor."
"So Mr. Cardigan informs me, but I wonder
what it has to do with you."
"You're, joking. It's like using what that bastard did
to our Harmony."
"I
didn't mean her.
I
wasn't thinking of her."
"No polyphony, if you please. One voice at
a time. I must say, Ames, if you
weren't thinking about her then perhaps you should have been."
"He shouldn't have wrecked it. He won't be able
to wreck the book Jack's writing about all the
stuff Hector Woollie
(ed."
"He's what88Mrs. Duke demanded.
Mr. Brand showed her a palm. "Anything further,
Duke? Anything that doesn't involve language
we don't expect from our boys. Intemperateness
only leads to the sort of incident we're having
to discuss." When some or all of that left Rupert
speechless, Mr. Brand said "Ames's version, then.
Speak as freely as you wish within the limits of
politeness and accuracy."
"It's like
I
said, Duke heard Mr. Cardigan talking about my
story and he came and tore it up.
I
was going to show my mother and Jack. Duke made me
mad, that's all."
"Are you saying you were temporarily insane?"8Just
mad."
"Angry, you're trying to say. Furious."8Right."
"There's no merit in a usage that blurs
meaning.8Having led a silence to mourn the loss,
Mr. Brand said "The destruction of another boy's
schoolwork is a serious matter, but I think we
may accept that Duke has paid for the infraction. On
the other hand-was
"Sir.8Ian waited to be sure he would be heard,
and then he said "That isn't all he did."
"I
seeea8Mr. Brand said, though Leslie was certain
he had no more sense of what was coming than she had.
"Continue."
"He broke into our house and sprayed stuff on the
doors."8That's a rotten lieea8Mrs. Duke
cried, grabbing her knees with her silver-nailed
hands as if to launch herself at him, and Leslie was
readying herself to intervene, breathing as deliberately as
she could to slow her pulse that felt like the
CHILDREN
shakes, when the headmaster brandished a hand. "What
evidence have you of that, Ames?"
"Duke said."
"Is that true, Duke?"
Rupert dragged his glare, intensified
by
its confinement to one eye, away from Ian and
neutralised his look before it reached the headmaster.
"Can't remember what
I
said."8In other words, you might have."
"He got me so furious angry
I
could've said any-anything, sir."
"That would hardly have improved the situation, would it?
I
appreciate you must have felt aggrieved, Ames.
Nevertheless-was
"Hold on.8Leslie's throat was so dry she had
to clear it with a cough. "Can we stay with what we just
heard? Can we establish if he broke into my
house?"
"He just said he didea8Mrs. Duke informed her as
if addressing a backward child.
"No, he only admitted he said it Was it
true88Leslie asked him.
His tight lips twitched, and she saw Mrs.
Duke open her mouth to talk over anything he said,
but it was Mr. Brand who spoke. "Forgive my
interrupting, but I think we must confine ourselves
to school matters.
If
you've reason to believe Duke was responsible for
any damage to your property you should contact the
police."
"It's us that oughtea8Mrs. Duke protested.
"We'll be sending them after her boy for what he did
to mine if you don't give him what he deserves."
"I
assure you
I
shall be taking all the relevant factors
into consideration.8The headmaster raised his chin an inch as
if to render his unruly hair less prominent or his
solemn expression more so. "However provoked you
may have feltea8he told Ian, "you could very easily
have blinded him."
"I
know.8Ian grimaced with regret or to steel himself
to add "Sorry, sir."
"Easy said and not enoughea8Mrs. Duke objected.
I

RAMSEY CAMPBELL
"When it becomes necessary to expel a boy,"
Mr.
Brand said,
"I
feel the school has failed."
Leslie held her breath and found she couldn't look
at Ian.
By
the time Mr. Brand went on, her eyes had begun
to sting. "Given everything I've heard here today, and
bearing in mind the need to send a signal to the
students,
I
shall with immediate effect be excluding Ames for the remainder
of the term."
"That's not nearly enoughea8Mrs. Duke said at
once. "You heard what
I
said about the police."
"I
hope you wouldn't expect that to alter my decision,
Mrs. Duke.
If
your son weren't injured
I
should have to consider excluding him for destroying Ames's
work. As far as recourse to the police is concerned,
I
gathered that if either you or Mrs. Ames were to involve
them, the other would reciprocate."
Mrs. Duke gave him a long dull stare before
saying "Have you finished with us?"
"Unless there was anything further you wished to say.
Thank you for attending."
"Come on, Rupert. Can you see where you're going
all right88Mrs. Duke said, and as a parting shot
"Time you were in your class if it doesn't hurt
too much to work."
Leslie supposed the headmaster's decision was just,
but she wished he could have stopped short of making her
feel helpless over the break-in at her house. It
was like so much of life, she thought: a mess of
motives and emotions that couldn't be brought to a
satisfactory conclusion, that would simply linger
until the passage of time let the frustration of it
dissipate. "What will Ian do about his schoolwork88she
said.
"Arrangements will need to be made with his teachers.
Perhaps you could telephone the staff room at
lunchtime.8Mr. Brand stood up, and as a further
sign that the interview was over, used his fingertips
to clear his forehead of hair.
"I
hope to see a continuing improvement in your work,
Amesea8he said.
"I
hear your teachers had been happy with your
progress."
CHILDREN

Leslie tried not to feel ostracised as she left
the building for the deserted schoolyard. "It's good that
they're pleased with your work, isn't it?"
"Guess soea8he said, not much more than a shrug.
"It is, Ian. The bad stuff's been dealt with,
so let's concentrate on the good.
If
you have time and you want to, you could try writing your
story again for me and Jack to read."
He turned his back on the suggestion and walked
ahead, and she kept the rest of her thoughts to herself
along the North Circular Road. Most of the
journey across the recreation ground was accompanied
by
a terrier that was determined to see her and Ian off,
to the amusement of its slowly jogging rotund owner, and
some of the people in the streets nearer Jericho Close were
visibly of the opinion that Ian should be at
school. At least the sight of her house was
welcome, not least because the Nova in front of it
meant Jack was in.
She didn't call to him as she stepped into the hall.
He'd been preoccupied of late, no doubt with his
book. She filled the percolator in the kitchen and
sent Ian to fetch a mug from the garden table. When
she saw him wave at Jack's window and at
Janet's, she went out herself.
Jack was at his desk, and gazing either into the distance or
at the screen of his word processor. It took him
a few seconds to notice her, at which point he
raised a thumb and then its fist, though not far. Rather
than distract him further, she only smiled and
turned to Janet, who was leaning out of her bedroom
window. "Just finishing the packingea8Janet said, "and
then it's the time-share for three weeks. Do
I
see someone else on holiday?"
"Just studying until the end of term because of the fight he
was in."
"Boys.8Having summed up a great deal in the
syllable, Janet presented Ian with a grin as
compensation. "Stillea8she said,
"I'll
sleep better knowing there's two men at home
to keep an eye on the house."
A
HORROR
MAN
WRITES BOOK
ABOUT
MURDER
HOUSE
"Bitch."
"Now, Ian, there's no need for that."8Well, she
is. I bet Jack thinks she is."
"I'm sure Jack is too well brought up
to say so even if he thinks it. That's right, isn't
it, Jack?"
"I-I
didn't catch who we're talking about, to tell you the
truth."
"Rupe's mom. She must have told the paper you were
writing your book.
I
shouldn't have said at school you were.,,
"Hey, it's okay. No harm done that
I
know of."8ationo such thing as bad publicity,
don't they say?"
"I
guess."
Perhaps Leslie should have kept the observation to herself.
He was obviously more bothered than he wanted her and
Ian to know. She folded the newspaper on the
kitchen table to conceal the headline and the reappearance of the
picture of Jack on the stairs. "At least it
won't have spoiled your book, will it?"
"I figure it's still safe in hereea8he said,
knuckling his forehead so sharply that she winced. "That's
where
I
live."8With us too, I hope."
"See, Rupe's mother didn't care if she
wrecked your book. That makes her a bitch, and the
wheelie woman's one as well."
"Ian,
I
do think you could put away some of your vocabulary for a
while if not for good. It doesn't hurt to choose
CHILDREN

your words even if it takes more time, does it,
Jack? I'm sure that's part of being a
writer."
"It's helped me so far."
"There, Ian, advice from a professional."
"If
you can use a tad more, try writing that story you
wrote again before you forget it. It'll be a second
draft, and real writers do those. Want to promise
me you will?"
"I'll try.,,
"If
anyone's to blame for the lady in the wheelchair
keeping after us,
I
must be.
I
didn't handle her too well the time we met."
"Stop feeling guilty, Jack. You've no
reason
I
can see."8It's sweet of you to say so.8Looking as
though he might have reached for her if Ian hadn't
been there, Jack stood up. "Guess
I'll
take a shower and try to wash away my sins."
That was so deadpan it hardly sounded like a
joke. He'd already been preoccupied when he had
come downstairs in his dressing gown-his robe, she
supposed he would call it-for a cup of the English
breakfast tea he'd grown fond of, and she wished
she hadn't left the newspaper in sight, though he
would have had to deal with the report sooner or later.
She hoped he had now. She was clearing away her and
Ian's breakfast plates-Jack hadn't wanted
anything to eat-when the phone rang.
Ian sprinted to it, but his eagerness lasted only
until he'd answered it. "Some man for Jack."
"Run up and tell him."
She hadn't meant quite so immediately that he didn't
take time to ask the caller to hold on. She dumped
the plates and utensils in the sink and hurried
to pick up the receiver. "Hello?"
"You'll be what's your name again?"
It wasn't only how blurred the slow male
voice was that threw her, it was its resentment of having
to turn its answer into a question. "You tell meea8she
said.
"Doesn't matter. Is Jack Lamb there?"
"There's some man on the phoneea8Ian was shouting over
the cloudburst of the shower as Leslie made an effort
to
meet rudeness with politeness.
"My
son's just letting him know you're calling."
"Knows who
I
am then, does he?"
"My
son? He does if you told him.""
Then
he doesn't."
"Phoneea8Ian yelled, "some manea8and before
Leslie had time to word a retort to the person
referred to, the bathroom door flew open,
revealing Jack in the process of wrapping himself in
a towel. "Who is it88he demanded.
"No idea, and frankly
I
can do without knowing. He doesn't seem to want
anyone except maybe you to know. He's all yours,
or
I
can cut him off."
"Noea8Jack said, "no, don't do that.8Having
secured the towel around himself, he ran down to her,
leaving a moist footstep on each stair.
"Jack Lambea8he said, turning the receiver and his
head toward the wall.
Leslie returned to the kitchen while Ian took
the chance to brush his teeth. "What name is that88she
heard Jack say, and "Right8and "Not yet8and "Not
one of those ei8and "Working on x8and "Sure,
if
you want.8She saw him scribbling on the pad beside the
phone before he said
"I'll
be in touch."
"Anything good88she risked asking.
"Nothing bad, I guess.8He tore the page off
the pad and found nowhere to put it.
"I
wouldn't know how much to trust the guy, though, if he's
as drunk as he sounded this early."
"But it wasn't as bad as you thought it was going to be."
"I
don't-how do you mean?"
"He wasn't as bad as
I
made him sound."
"Got you. Maybe not. He was an agent wanting
to know if
I
had one in Britain and if
I
had a publisher yet. For, you know, the book he
heard I'm working on, though don't ask me where he
heard
I
was."
"It's got to be encouraging to find you're in demand,
hasn't it? It could be the start of a revival. We
can hope."8ally think88For a moment he seemed about
to say more,
and then a shiver brought his knees together. The hall
didn't
SILENT
CHILDREN
strike her as cold or draughty, though of course
she wasn't wearing only a towel.
"I'd
better get my showerea8he said.
"Tell Ian I'm just nipping next
doorea8Leslie called after him and, having watched
his increasingly-not to say enticingly-bare legs ascend
the stairs, let herself out of the house.
The Advertiser
was protruding from Janet's and Vern's letterbox.
She dragged the paper out and stooped to peer through the
slot. The hall and the stairs and the three closed
doors were as they should be. She released the metal
flap and heard an echo of its clank somewhere within.
As she straightened up she became aware that a
woman who'd parked a red Volkswagen halfway
along Jericho Close had halted at her gate.
She was wearing a long autumnally brown dress too
voluminous for her thin neck and thinner limbs. Beneath
sparse curls the colours of metal beginning to rust,
her small face looked drawn together
by
concern. She came to some decision and advanced,
sandals clacking beneath her heels, toward the door
Leslie had left open. "Excuse me, can
I
help88Leslie called over the fence.
"Don't trouble. I know where I'm going."
"So do Iea8Leslie said, mildly enough. "To my
house.8Even when Leslie strode down the path and
up her own, the woman seemed less than convinced.
"Tell me what you want
by
all means," Leslie said, "and who you are
would be nice."
"Are you sure you live here?"
"I'm sure of a few things, and that's one of
them.8Leslie was running out of patience, having
expended too much on the man who'd phoned Jack.
"Now it's my turn to get some answers, so if
you'd like-was
"You're Mrs. Ames."
"That's me, but
I
knew it already, believe it or not. What I'm
asking you-was
"You wouldn't say you were unless you really were.8The
woman held out her hands and then curled her fingers
toward herself, and Leslie couldn't tell if they were
recoiling
or indicating their owner until the woman said with no
more than a hint of defensiveness "I'm Adele
Woollie."
Leslie didn't quite gasp, but she had to press her
lips together. Harder to deal with than the revelation was the
way Mrs. Woollie seemed to be implying
Leslie would be sympathetic to her because they had something
in common. Even if that was only notoriety,
Leslie wasn't anxious to admit sharing
it with her. "So what do you want88she said.
Mrs. Woollie tried to square her thin shoulders,
a gesture that gave her the appearance of being
manipulated like a puppet.
"My
son."
For a headachy moment Leslie thought she was referring
to the child who'd been buried under the kitchen, and had
to remind herself that victim hadn't been a boy.
"Well, you aren't going to find-was
It wasn't Jack who cut her off, because he was
only calling to Ian "I'm through with the bathroom"; it
was how Mrs. Woollie's face changed as she
heard his voice. Don't say it, Leslie
willed her.
I
won't believe you if you do. It's ridiculous.
It's impossible. It's too much.
"That's himea8Mrs. Woollie said.
TWENTY-EIGHT
As Jack withdrew his face from the cone of hot water
his thoughts came clear. He had to tell Leslie
who he was. Even once he'd turned off the shower
and stepped out of the bath his skin was still crawling, not with
trickles of water but with the memory of his
dread that the man who'd phoned a few minutes ago
would prove to be his father. Any caller might be, and
suppose Leslie guessed? However she might
take the truth when Jack revealed it, having it
betrayed would be worse. He'd hidden it for fear of
harming their
CHILDREN

relationship, but he valued her so much that he wouldn't
feel deserving of her if he failed to tell.
His novels had been attempts to deal with his past,
though he hadn't known they were while writing them. The
book he planned to write could have been a bolder
step in the process or a way of persuading himself that
his father had nothing to do with him. Telling Leslie was the
key to admitting the truth to himself, and so inevitable it
calmed him.
"I'm through with the bathroomea8he called as he made
for his room, and wondered how Ian would react to his
confession. He heard the front door shut as
Leslie returned to the house. He dressed himself
quickly and lightly, and was halfway down the stairs
before his eagerness allowed him to hear another woman's
voice. As he hesitated, less than prepared
to chat to a stranger, Leslie looked out
of the front room. "Jack, can you come in here?"
"Sure.,, His response sounded more willing than
he was, particularly since her face was as good as
blank. He hadn't begun to interpret it when she
turned her back.
If
her visitor was unwelcome, perhaps Leslie
wanted help. He ran down and was nearly in the
room when he faltered, one foot in the hall.
A
thin woman in a large brown dress, her reddish
curls interwoven with grey and close to baring
glimpses of her scalp, was sitting in the farther
armchair. He almost knew her, and then he did, when
her small face seemed to expand with happiness as she
jumped up and held out her arms. "John, it
is
youea8she cried.
"I
should have known the first time you were in the paper."
He couldn't step forward, he couldn't retreat. His
hands rose as though they were being hauled toward her, then
found nothing to do while she rushed to him. He had
to put his arms around her and accept her protracted
wizened kiss as he saw how much care had
settled on her face and grasped how much weight
she'd lost. She hugged him as if she might never
let go, and eventually stood back so as to appraise
him. "Hiea8he said.
"Is that all you can say to your mother88She looked
ready to deal him at least a playful slap. "He
sounds just like an American, doesn't heea8she
declared instead, and held him at arm's length as a
preamble to an augmented hug and kiss. When those were
over she said
"All
done. They're all the same, boys, aren't they,
however old they are. Sit down before you fall down
if your mother's such a shock."
He hadn't sat when Leslie said in a voice as
expressionless as her face "Would you like me to leave you
alone?"8ationoea8Jack blurted. "No need."
"I
don't know if Mrs. Ames wanted me to see you.
I hope she doesn't think I'm the least bit like
you know who."
"I
shouldn't wonderea8Leslie said. "That's what you're
suggesting."
"Of
course you should, you wouldn't be human if you didn't,
but
I
hope you'll see I'm not. Do you know what
I'll
never forgive Woollie for? What he did to those
kiddies, obviously that, but on top of that the way
he used my residents, pretending he was helping
them when he was banking nobody'd believe them if
they saw anything. And when some of them did, it set
them right back after all the care I'd taken of them."
"So to sum up, you're glad he's gone."
"That's as true for me as I'm positive it is for
this big chap.,,
"In that case you really must sit down, both of
you.8Jack had to sit in the middle of the couch, feeling
isolated and scrutinised. He was trying to find words
for at least some of the explanation Leslie deserved
when his mother clapped her hands, either calling for attention
or applauding in advance. "Well, John, you've
certainly done all right for yourself."
Even if she didn't mean Leslie, Leslie
might assume she did. He attempted a
deprecating laugh as his mother said
"I
always knew he would. He's been good with words ever
since he was at school."
"I've noticedea8Leslie said. "Have you read
him?"
CHILDREN
"I've been doing that, oh yes."
When his apologetic look brought no response from
Leslie, he said to his mother "How about you? What
are you up to these days?"
"The same as
I'll
be till
I
have to be put in a home myself. Looking after people who
need it because they haven't got a hospital to go to.
You'd know that if you'd been to see me.
"I
would have soon."
"You didn't come to find me at home, then."
The question disguised as a statement sounded unsettlingly
like a trap his father might have set for him.
"Noea8Jack admitted.
"You wouldn't have found me, because I've only got a
flat now. More than enough for a widow living
by
herself.8Presumably her pause was intended as
another gentle re-
buke, but it reminded Jack that only he knew his
father was alive. The truth was searching for a way out of his
mouth when his mother said "I'm still running the same
place, though. They let me after all my
residents vouched for me."8ally'd expect them
toea8Leslie said.
"Nobody knows me better except Woollie and
maybe John, or he will if he wants to. You
haven't said how long you've been home, John."
"Not too long. Here, only a few weeks."
"I
got that from the paper. Where were you before Mrs. Ames
took you in?"
He'd done all the taking in, Jack thought, but said
"Staying with friends."
"For quite a while, was that?"8Couple of months."
"They must be good friends to have you that long. Should
I
know them?"
"Noea8Jack said, wishing he hadn't persisted with the
story. "Some guys
I
met stateside."
He sensed that Leslie realised how careful he was
being with his words. He felt as if both women were
interrogating him, and he couldn't help yearning for just
about anything
that would give him a break. "You could have stayed with me,
you knowea8his mother said. "There's room even for a big
lump like you."
"Rightea8Jack said, though not at once. He'd
heard Ian emerge from the bathroom. When his chest
began to ache, he became aware of holding his breath
while Ian let his weight drop from one stair to the
next all the way down. The boy wandered into the room
and halted with a quick shy grin. "No need to be
frightened, sonea8he was told. "I'm just his mother."
Ian stepped forward and held out his hand. "Pleased
to meet you, Mrs. Lamb."
"Mrs. Woollie."
"Mrs.-"Ian's mouth opened wide and seemed
unable to find itself a shape as he turned to stare at
Jack. "You're-by "That's who
I
am. I'm sorry. Yes, that's me."
"Oh, John, don't say I've-I have,
haven't
IT"
"No reason for you to apologiseea8Leslie said.
Ian was regarding Jack with something like awe. "You're
his son."
"And mineea8Jack's mother said. "Mrs. Ames, you
can understand why he mightn't have wanted to say who he
was."
"I
do indeed."
"He's always been a good boy, even if he
didn't come and see his mother. Even if he went off
without telling his family where and changed his nameea8she
said, having directed her voice at Jack. "He
mustn't have wanted Woollie to know where he was,
Mrs. Ames. He must have sensed there was something not
right about Woollie before the rest of us knew. He was
always a sensitive soul, our John.8As if some of
what she'd just said needed contradicting she added "They
never had anything but good to say about him at school."
"Mrs. Woollie, I'm a mother too."
"I
see you are. So you'll know us mothers know all about our
children."
CHILDREN

"We like to think we do."
"He's a credit to youea8Jack's mother said, and for a
moment that let him grasp how confused he was,
Jack thought she was referring to him. "We could do with a
few more as polite as your boy."
"As long as they're honest as well."
This time there was no question that Leslie meant Jack.
"I
think I've trespassed long enoughea8his mother said,
though she stood up so gradually she might have been
hoping to have it contested. "You'll be wanting my
address, will you, John?"
"Sure.,, "You must have something I can put it on, you
being a writer."
Even if he had, Jack would have taken the
opportunity to escape from the room. He fetched the
pad and pencil from beside the phone for his mother to write
down a Northolt address. She tore off the
page and clasped his hands as she returned everything
to him. "Just you remember how welcome you'll be.
I
hope
I
haven't made trouble for you with your landlady, but if
I
have..."
Jack felt his face stiffen. His mother's gaze
veered to Leslie and back to him. "Oh, I
seeea8she murmured. "Oh dear. Oh double dear."
"Let me walk you to your car."
"I'd
like thatea8his mother said, then stooped toward Leslie.
"If
I
can say one more thing-was
"Please don'tea8Leslie said, and raised herself from
the chair until the other woman had to move out of her
way.
"If
you'll excuse me,
I'd
like to get back to where
I
was before."
Jack let his mother out of the house and opened the gate for
her.
"I
know
I
should have been to visit you."
"I
shouldn't have come here, you mean. You'd have been better
off without me."
"I
didn't say that, and you shouldn't think
I
meant it either."
She bent her head toward him as though to peer behind
his words and said "I'll tell you this even if you
don't thank me.
If
she doesn't understand she can't be much good for you,
John. You've had to try and understand more than that, you
poor boy."
"I
have to ask you a question."8Let's be hearing it, then."
"Did you ever-"Jack had lowered his voice, which
made it seem to be shrinking back into his mouth.
"Did you have any idea, any at all, what my
father was doing?"
She walked rapidly to the Volkswagen, her
loose sandals scolding the pavement, and shoved the
key into the door with a loud rasp before she tamed her
saddened gaze on him. "How can you ask such a thing of
your own mother?"
"Because
I
need to be sure. You said I had to try to understand."
"Don't you think if
I'd
had the least suspicion he was up to something
I'd
have kept on at him till
I
thought
I'd
got the truth out of him?"
"I'd have figured you would."
"Don't you know if
I
had
I'd
have told even though he was the man I married?
There's too many people keeping quiet in the world."
"Okay."8ally don't have to keep sounding American.
I
know who you are." She gave him a hug and kiss not
quite so assured as their predecessors, then ducked
into the car. He watched her take time to settle herself
in the seat and draw the belt across herself, and perhaps he
appeared to be waiting for reassurance, because
she wound the window down. "Do you think
I'd
have let him anywhere near my residents if
I'd
had even a glimmer how he was using them?"
"I
guess-I don't suppose so."
"I should hope not.8She reached for him, but her hand
stopped short of emerging and his stayed outside. "Can
I
look forward to seeing you again soon88she said.
"I imagineea8Jack told her, the best he could
manage when she'd left him feeling more alone than
ever with aspects of his childhood he kept trying
to convince himself he'd faced.
CHILDREN

He waved as the car chugged away, and saw his mother
vanish round the corner with a smile that could, given more
time, have looked both encouraging and brave. Its
implications followed him back to the house.
Leslie was in the kitchen, and kept her back to him
as he ventured along the hall. "Do you think
I'd
better speak to Ian88he said.
"No.8Since she hadn't moved, Jack didn't
feel he could go closer. His heartbeat had begun
to grow uncomfortable when he heard Ian running
downstairs. Leslie turned and called past
Jack as if he wasn't there "Make sure you
get all the ingredients on my list or
I
won't be able to make your favourite."
"See you,
J."
"I
hopeea8Jack said.
As the front door slammed, she let her
determinedly neutral gaze find him. "Do me one
favour, and if you need to think about it, think after you've
done it."
"If
that's what you needea8Jack said, and heard his pulse.
his('Leave us alone. He's my son, he's all
that's left. Don't be here when he gets home."
Jack couldn't argue-he didn't feel entitled-but
when she held out a hand he thought she'd taken some
pity on him. He was imagining the softness and warmth of
her clasp as she said "You won't be wanting my
keys any more," and he could only fish them
out of his trousers pocket and drop them on her
outstretched palm. Until she said his
Thanks
"he had never realised how final the word could sound.
TWENTY-NINE
There was another way to tell the story, Ian thought.
Part of it could be about how Carla's mother felt. She
would have left Carla alone in the house for an hour
while she drove to the next farm to borrow some milk
because the contents of their own cows had run out, milk for
Carla who was ill in bed. On the way back the mother
would hear on the car radio, except she would be
driving a truck, that the maniac wearing a mark had
been sighted in their area, their state. She would send
the truck screeching into their yard and stamp on the
brakes and run through the cloud of dust into the
farmhouse. "Momma's homeea8she would call, and
maybe even think she heard a feeble answer from
upstairs, if farmhouses in California had one,
but when she hurried into Carla's room the bed would be
empty except for the patchwork quilt they'd made
together. She would run through the house in a panic,
crying for her daughter, and Carla would hear her from beneath
the cellar floor-she would hear her mother's frantic
footsteps on the boards that were nailed down
over her, would feel the vibrations and the dust sifting
down onto her face. And then-maybe then her father
would come home from the, from the slaughterhouse where he
worked, and Carla's mother would run to him for help, and
he would search for Carla everywhere-under the hay in the
barn, in the pigsty, in the wardrobes-and end up standing
right on top of where she was. Then-"Yes!" Ian
gasped-as he climbed the rickety steps his
pocket would catch on a nail, and out would fall the
mask.
The new version of the story had made itself up like a
dream, and now its aspiration to be written wakened
him. Should he try to scribble it all down while it
filled his head?
CHILDREN
He kicked the quilt aside and sat up, and as
sunlight hit him in the face, his sense of the story
began to retreat from him. Creating it had let him
feel like Jack, but had also caused him to forget
Jack was no longer there to tell him whether it was any
good.
Surely he ought to be able to contact Jack,
otherwise the slab might fall on his mind. He'd
had weeks of being rid of it nearly all the time, and
he didn't want it back. It had
threatened to return while the headmaster was judging
him, but being excluded from school had shown him he
worked better without the distractions of Stu and Baz and
Shaun. He'd vowed to show everyone what he was
capable of, only now he realised he'd wanted
mostly to show Jack.
He would. He had to. He grabbed his English
exercise book and turned to the middle, past the
pages he'd written on since Duke had torn
his story out.
Carla's momma drives for milk,
he wrote, and
Maniac on radio,
before he dropped the book on the introverted tangle
of the quilt. The notes seemed as good as meaningless;
they wouldn't come alive for him until he was sure of
contacting Jack. He hurried to the bathroom, then
he buttoned his shorts and padded downstairs to find
his mother.
She was in the front room with a piece of music for
company, either quiet in itself or turned down so as not
to waken him. The four bearded men on the compact
disc box were demonstrating a variety of ways
to hold stringed instruments and trying to outdo the music,
which Ian saw with no interest was
by
either Shostakovich or
Tchaikovsky
, in lugubriousness. Perhaps that was his mother's mood
too, because he thought she continued rubbing the window with a
dissonant wash-leather to give herself time to raise her
lips at least to horizontal before she faced him.
"Hungry88she said.
"Some."
"I
thought you might be when you hardly touched your dinner last
night.8She draped the leather over the rim of a
plastic bucket standing on a copy of the
Advertiser
and let the corners of her mouth stray up.
"I
know you miss him.
I
know it's hard for you. Try and make do with me again for a
while if you can."
"How much of a while?"
"I
meant until someone-Look,
I
just meant we're the whole of the team. You
shouldn't think I was talking about whatever he wants
to call himself."
"Jack.
"That's the name he made up, right enough."
"Lots of
writers do that, don't they? He couldn't help who
had him. His mother seemed okay."
"Oh, Ian
...
"Why
did you send him away?"8Because
I
couldn't trust him."
"He never did anything to hurt us. The Dukes and
Mr. Brand and the wheelie woman did, but Jack
wouldn't have."8I'm not saying he did you any harm.
Maybe he was even
good for you, and
I
hope you can hang on to the good." For the moment he was more
aware what she was leaving unsaid about herself and Jack,
which suggested that adult lives might be as messy and
as difficult to make sense of as his own. "Did you
get his address88he blurted.
"Why
would
I
have done that, Ian?"8For me.,,
"I'm afraid not. It didn't occur to me, and
I
have to say it
seems
not to have to him either."
"I
bet he'd have given it to me if you hadn't sent me
to the store."
"We'll never know. And please, Ian, you aren't
an American. There's no need to keep trying
to sound like one.8She was determined to erase every trace
of Jack, he
thought, but she wouldn't take Jack out of him. The
lugubrious quartet, having finished being slow,
struck up a dance so inappropriate to the situation
that he saw her think about switching it off. Instead she
retrieved the leather, only to say "Better get
dressed. We're about to be visited."
His father's Peugeot was drawing up at the gate.
A
trickle of water on the front room pane made
Charlotte appear to shiver and squirm in the
passenger seat. Anger and frustra-
CHILDREN
tion sent Ian up to his room, from which he heard
his mother keep his father waiting once the doorbell
rang, and eventually her voice. "Here's a
surprise."
"Not too bad a one,
I
hope."8Short of unbearable."
"Sorry, then.
I
should have rung. Call me impulsive."8We'll
see. What's the occasion?"
"Before we talk, can
I
ask who else is here?"
"Ian."
"Just Ian?"
"That's who I said."8Is he available?"
"He's meant to be getting dressed."
"You don't mind, do you88Apparently Ian's father
was asking for permission to enter the house, because his voice
advanced to the foot of the stairs. "Ian?"
Ian hesitated long enough not to seem to have been
eavesdropping when he emerged from his room.
"What?"8Hello, Dad, or hi, Dad would have
been nice, or even
what a great surprise on a sunny Sunday
morning. When you've a few more clothes on than that,
would you like to take Charlotte to the park?"
"Don't know. Would
IT'
"She asked to come and see you, which means quite a lot when
she's still
scared of this house. She thinks of you as a big
brother, you know. She was hoping she could have a walk
to make up for the one you didn't have last time you stayed
with us."
"Where is she?
Why
can't she come and ask?"
"She's
by
the car. I've persuaded her
I
won't come to harm in here, but that's as close as
she'll venture herself. Do us all a favour and
don't keep her waiting long. Nobody wants
another bout of hysterics."
Ian tried to tell himself he couldn't care
less, except if he were American he would say
he could and mean the same thing, but he knew he would be
blamed for any row Charlotte made. He picked
his way across the floor strewn with clothes and
schoolwork to the window. Charlotte was fin-
gering the bonnet of the car to judge whether the vehicle
was clean enough to perch on. She stepped away from it with a
jerk of the blue bows on either side of her head and a
flounce of her blue silk dress, and peered
nervously at the house. "Don't fret,
Charlotteea8Ian's father called. "Ian's just
making himself decent for you."
"When will he come? I don't like waiting
here."8He'll be there before you know it, sweet."
"Can't you tell him to hurry?
I
don't like seeing the nasty house.
I
won't be able to sleep tonight if we don't go soon.
I'll
have horrible dreams."
All
this and his father's shout for him to get a move on would have
caused Ian to dawdle if he hadn't already
determined to prevent her from making a scene.
He dressed in yesterday's clothes with a sloppiness
meant to display his anger and tramped downstairs, his
shoelaces snapping at the air. "Thanksea8his
father said. "Don't be less than an hour, will you?
Help her trot off some of her chub."
Whatever his father was here for, Ian suspected he was out
of luck-was pretty certain, though annoyingly not
quite, that he hoped it. He grinned to himself as he shut
the door behind him, and didn't bother to lose the grin
as he reached the gate. "What's
funny88Charlotte demanded as if it might be her.
"Lots of stuff."
"Didn't think you'd got much to laugh at."8ally
don't know dick about me."
She glanced at the house as though she might raise
a complaint about his language, then she took hold
of his hand. The unexpected gesture seemed so
trusting he felt bound to respond. Keeping hold
of her small plump sticky hand however much it
squirmed became rather a task, but he felt more like the
person Jack had shown him he could be. At least
he didn't need to talk as she tugged him in the
direction of the recreation ground, and he was trying
to remember all his ideas for the story so as to write
them down later when two women with small
dogs panting in their arms turned to observe him across
the road. He saw them recog-
SILENT
CHILDREN

nise him and begin to murmur about him above the yapping
of the flat-faced dogs. "What do you want to do in the
park88he said so loudly the dogs snarled at him.
"We can play if you aren't rough."8ally can choose."
By
the look of the women, that sounded sinister. Maybe that was
how people who wrote his kind of story ought to sound. The
yapping followed him, and he grinned at the notion that
the women were making the noise like a pair of
Pekingese werewolves. He would have to remember
to carry a notebook so that his ideas didn't
escape.
There wasn't much to the park. Some girls were dangling
their feet in the river that he would have called a stream,
and some boys were playing football using their wadded
shirts for goalposts. Down in Willesden, beneath a
sky that was nothing but blue, the bells of at least
two churches were toppling over one another. Ian
had more than finished noticing all this when Charlotte
touched his arm and immediately flinched away from
him. "What's up with you88he said, amused so far.
"You're it."
That was how he began to feel, especially once he
tired of letting her dodge him when he could have
caught her every time. No sooner had he made to tag
her than she released a squeal that carried across the
park to the women who had let their Pekingese loose
on the grass. Had they followed him to keep an
eye on him? He hoped they noted that Charlotte
also squealed whenever he dodged her, though before he'd
had much of a chance she slumped into a sulk. "Not
fair. You've got longer legs."
"Can't do much about that unless
I
chop them off."
The dogs yapped and the women stared as if they'd heard
the worst of his suggestion. "Let's sit
nowea8Charlotte pleaded.
"Thought
I
had to take you for a walk."
"We've had oneea8she said, then grew a scowl so
fierce it pulled her whole face out of shape.
"What do you mean had? Who said
I
need one?"
"It wouldn't have been my mother, would it? She's got
no reason to care about you."
He hadn't meant that as an insult, but Charlotte
looked vengeful. "Do you know why Roger wanted us
to go out really88she said.
"Looks like you're going to tell."
"You can't stop me. He's talking to your mummy and the
horror man about you."
"Dream about it when you dream about my house."8He
is.
I
heard him say to mummy he was going to."8Then
he's had a big surprise."
Her smugness wobbled. "What kind of surprise?"
The dogs yapped at her shrillness, and Ian said
"Let's go. I've had the park."
Charlotte plumped her bottom on the grass at
once. "Not going, not till you say what's happening
to Roger."
"Then you won't know till you get back to my
houseea8Ian said, pacing away from her. "He said
we had to be an hour."
He'd retreated perhaps a hundred yards before she
jumped up and bolted after him, crying
"I'll come. Tell me. You have to."
Ian said nothing until she was alongside, running
intermittently to keep up with him. "What do you
think's happening at my house right now?"
"Nothing. You're making it up like the horror man
does."8Keep telling yourself that till we get
back, or maybe you want to go on your own and
see."
"You said you'd tellea8Charlotte wailed, dragging
at his arm.
He hadn't, but he was bored with the game. "Do you know
where Jack is?"
"Yes.8More shrilly: "No.8More desperately:
"Where?"
"I
don't know either. Gone."
She hung onto his arm while smugness settled on
her face again. "Goodea8she said.
"Who says?"
"Roger and my mummy, and
I'll
bet yours does too. Did
CHILDREN

she tell him to go away? Roger and my
mummy say he's a bad influence."
"Yeah, like they'd know."
"See, he even made you talk like him.
My
mummy says he's as bad as the man who put the
little girl under the floor."
"That's what she says when she never met him, right?
More of her crap.8ationevertheless Ian was experiencing more
than anger-something akin to a secret delight waiting
to be discovered. "What's she think they've got in
common, Jack and old Hector?"
"She says the horror man's as bad if not
worse because he's"-Charlotte screwed up her
face until she managed to produce the
phrase-"exploiting the situation."
"Gee,
I
thought he just wanted to write a book because that's his
job."
"He must be as nasty as his books, my mummy
says, and that would be the nastiest."
Anger and imminent delight weren't just mixed up in
Ian's mind; they seemed to be pressing it
smaller, more intense. "It's a good
job
he isn't here or you'd be scared I'd do stuff you
think he'd make me do."
"What?"8ally tell me."
They were at the pinned-back gates onto the North
Circular Road. An open lorry piled with
bundles of rubbish roared
by,
trailing scraps of litter and fumes that made
Charlotte cough rather than answer. The women with the
dogs were watching him across the park. Maybe deep
down Charlotte felt like they did about him, and now
he saw that the back of her dress was damp where
she'd sat on the grass. The stain looked as though
it was betraying a fear of him she was doing her best not
to acknowledge. "Come on thenea8he said.
"Where?"
"Wait and seeea8Ian told her, and immediately
knew. Before the plan left no room for any other
notions in his mind, he tried to retrieve the ideas
he'd neglected to write down.
All
that was left was the image of Carla under the floor,
unable to cry out or move.
If
his father hadn't burdened him with Charlotte
he might have been writing the story at that very moment:
he would have been able to hold onto it except for her.
The idea seemed to feed his delight that was growing
darkly brighter for being hidden. He took
Charlotte's hand, which he was pleased to find didn't
resist his grasp, and led her out of the park. "We've
plenty of time before they start wanting you backea8he
said.
THIRTY
At least Roger had the grace to look
uncomfortable, Leslie saw. He must be assuming
or at any rate suspecting that he'd been
supplanted
by
Jack. She wasn't going to be the first to speak.
She rubbed the last pane so hard her fingertips
tingled and her forearm throbbed, then she turned to leave
the dining room. He stepped out of the doorway at
once, not just to ensure that she needn't come too
close to him but to pick up her bucket. "Where
to88he said.
His broad square face was almost neutral. Less
than an inch of the right side of his mouth was hinting at a
grin, perhaps a wry acknowledgement of his never having
helped like this while they'd been married.
"Kitchen, thank you," she told him and strode down
the hall, refusing to let the sound of his footsteps
behind her waken any memories of him or Jack.
She faced the window and drowned his reflection in
white froth, then rubbed the glass clean as if that
might erase his image. When it only grew
clearer she stooped to move the bucket. "Sorry,"
he said.
"For what?"
"I
should have put the paper under."
CHILDREN
Perhaps he hadn't brought the
Advertiser
through because
he resented carrying its picture of Jack. "It
doesn't matterea8Leslie said. The wet ring would
fade into the concrete, she thought, because she'd yet to have
the floor tiled. She had been leaving it bare as a
reminder of what the floor had concealed, but how did
that help anyone? Sometimes you had to stop remembering
so as to get on with your life. She straightened up,
feeling as though she'd dropped a burden she hadn't
realised she was bearing, and Roger said "Anything
else
I
can do for you?"
She'd delayed talking long enough. She draped the
leather over the side of the bucket and sat at the end
of a kitchen bench, and indicated that he should sit at the
far end of its twin. "We've got rid of the children, so
what's it about, Roger?"
He interlocked his fingers and rested his chin between two of
them, propping it with his elbows on the table to render his
gaze even steadier.
"I
should think you'd know."
"Let's see if
I
do."
"It's not like you to be defensive."
"It still isn't, believe me, so don't you be.
What's the problem?"
"What else do you think it could be except
Ian?"8Maybe
I
don't automatically think of him as a
problem."8Maybe you should a bit more than you do, and
then he
mightn't be in the situation he's in now."
"Playing the big brother, you mean. Trying to come up
with ways to keep her quiet,
I
shouldn't wonder."
"I'd
say having to look after someone younger ought to do him good,
especially when she cares as much about him as
Charlotte does. But no, that wasn't what
I
meant and you know it.
I
meant being chucked out of school."
"Why
do
I
get the feeling I'm expected to take all the
blame?"
"You aren't, not all of it.
I
think it's at least as much-by "Yours for making him
feel less wanted than the family you shacked up
with?"
"I've done my best to see he doesn't feel that
way.
I
suppose you could have too."
"Believe it or not,
I
tried to help him understand what you did. For his sake,
not yours."
"Thanks. Sorry if I'm not allowed to say that.
I
won't deny
I
must be responsible to some extent, but as well as
us-was
"There's the Duke boy."
"Hang on, Les. That's going too far, blaming
the victim."8One of the victims. I'm saying this
to you,
I
wouldn't say it to Ian however true
I
think it is, but don't you think he must have felt like
one when something he'd taken care withand was proud of was
destroyed before anybody he wanted to read it could
read it?"
"I
wonder if you're including me in that privileged
group.
"I'm not including you or leaving you out. That would have
been up to Ian, and
I
should imagine he'd have liked you to read it if you
weren't put off
by
the idea behind it."
"That's quite a big if
by
the sound of what you said the story was about, but I don't
take that to be the point. Whatever Ian may have
written isn't worth a boy's sight."
"I
told you on the phone the Duke boy hasn't lost
his. We've been through all this, and
I
can't see why you've come here if you're just going
to repeat-was
"There's more that needs saying. No piece of writing,
and you can include all your music in that, is worth
having if it harms even one person, and that needn't
mean physically, it could be psychologically."
"That's an argument
I
don't think we have to get into. Ian
didn't want anyone to be upset. It's not as if
he set out to show the Duke boy what he'd
written."
"Maybe not, but he'd been encouraged not to care."
At that moment the Tchaikovsky quartet in the
front room ended with a flourish, and there was silence
except for a whisper like the faintest breath from close
to the kitchen floor. Leslie glanced down
to identify the source of the noise-bubbles on the
surface of the liquid in the bucket
CHILDREN
giving up their air one
by
one-and then she met Roger's eyes as if she
hadn't looked away. "Who are you accusing?"
"Don't tell me you're going to defend him as we
ll
, your friend who seems to have made himself scarce. Did
he see me coming?"
"What difference do you think that should have made to him?"
"Doesn't anything? Not even the effect he might
have had on Ian?"
"You'd have to ask him that."
"You don't know him so well, then."8About as well

I
found out
I
knew you."8ation as well as you'd like."
Roger had to hesitate before he said that, and Leslie
almost laughed, though it wouldn't have involved much
humour. "Maybe
I
should have learned
by
now. One mistake ought to have been enough."
"That's a bit harsh, would you say? You don't think
everything we had was a mistake. You aren't suggesting
Ian was any kind of one."
"No, not Ian."
"And if we made any mistakes with him we want
to be careful not to make any more, don't we?"
"I'd
reached that conclusion all
by
myself."
"Well, good.
I
just wanted to be sure. You won't hold it against me

I
care as much about our son as you do, will you?" When
Leslie shook her head and closed her eyes
until she'd done so, Roger said "So is Mr.
Lamb likely to put in an appearance before the children
do?"
"What if he should?"
"You said before
I
ought to have a word with him."8ally and your tricks, Roger.
You could give him lessons on how to play with words.
No, he won't be here before the children are, so you've
sent them out for nothing."
"I'd
hardly call encouraging their relationship nothing, would
you88To break her silence he said "When are you
expecting Mr. Lamb?"
I'll
m not."
"Look, I'm not going to touch him.
I
hope at least you know I'm not that sort, so there's
no need for you to protect him.
"I
don't care what you do, or him either, but if
you ever talk to him again it won't be here."
"What's wrong with here?"
"Nothing at all. It's my home and Ian's and
nobody else's."
"You mean your Mr. Lamb-was
"Isn't mine and doesn't live here any more."
"I
follow.8Deciding that it was inadvisable to look
sympathetic, Roger restrained himself to pointing all
his interwoven fingers at her. "Do you mind if
I
ask where he's gone?"
"It doesn't matter if
I
mind, because I've no idea."8Well,
that's-"Whatever Roger might have said was overtaken
by
a thought. "Presumably Ian hasn't either."
"No, and he isn't thanking me for not getting an
address.8She was about to conclude she'd told Roger
enough when she realised he was likely to learn the rest from
Ian, or at least not so unlikely that she could be
sure she wouldn't be accused of keeping it from him.
"He might need a name as wellea8she said.
"A
name for what? Whose name?"8Whoever Jack Lamb's
calling himself now."
"Why
would he use a false name?"
For as long as it took her to answer she was tempted
to enjoy giving someone else the shock. "Because his real
name is John Woollie."
"You're saying he sounds-you're saying people would think
he must be-was
"I'm saying he's Hector Woollie's son."
"Good God. Christ.8Roger looked ready
to invoke the third person as well, but instead demanded
"When did you know?"
"Not long at all before
I
asked him to go away."
"I
should hope not.
I
always knew there was something about him
I
didn't like. How did you find out?"
CHILDREN
"His mother came looking for him."
"That's one solitary thing we can thank the
Woollies for, then. What did the swine want?
Him, not his mother, though personally
I'd
wonder about her too."
"Calm down, Roger. It's over. He's gone.
Maybe he wanted to come
to terms
with
whose son he
was.
You can't
blame him for not being anxious to advertise it.
Look how people have tried to make me and Ian feel just
for living here."
"Don't compare either of you with somebody like that. No
wonder he writes the kind of, Ian's word will do for
once, the kind of crap he writes.
I'll
tell you what he wanted-to make his fortune out of
what his father did, and he didn't care how much he
used you and Ian to do it. Ten to one when his book comes
out he'll say who he is to jack up the sales."
"We can't know that, Roger."
"My
God, as if writing about here wasn't bad
enough. That was what
I
was going to confront him over." Roger drew back
to focus on her or to put some extra distance between
them. "You seem rather eager to defend him."
"I
simply don't see the point of portraying him as
worse than he is."
"And how bad are you saying he is?"8He's the
son, not the father."
"Which just means you have to wonder how much he might have had
to do with what his father did."
"I've no reason to suppose he had anything to do
with it, and
I
should imagine you'd hope people survived their
childhoods."
"If
you still think so much of him, why did you get rid of
him?"
This no longer had enough to do with concern for Ian,
Leslie thought, and she wasn't letting Roger think
he was entitled to worry about her.
"I
don't want to talk about him any more."
"All
I hope is he didn't get too close to you or
Ian."8ally can ask Ian that yourself if you want
to upset him,"
she said, and pushed the bench away from the table, making the
concrete screech. "I'm going to have the bath
I
was meaning to have and then I won't feel so grubby. You
might ask Ian to come up and tell me he's home
when he brings Charlotte back."
THIRTY-ONE
The hotel where Jack had previously stayed was
full. He had to phone three others before he found
one with room for him.
A
Pimlico location sounded promising, especially
once he learned it was close to Buckingham
Palace Road, which made the room rate seem
all the more reasonable. The reddish four-storey
facade looked impressive enough, even if the
stained pavement beneath the awning lacked both a
doorman and a porter. The Iranian receptionist
was so effusively welcoming that he almost made up
for the sign requiring payment in advance. Not too
long after Jack had paid for a night to be
going on with, a porter in some of a uniform revealed his
presence
by
exhaling a last puff on a cigarette and loaded
Jack's bags into the solitary lift, leaving
barely enough space for himself and Jack. The scratched
grey box took its time about creaking to the top
floor, where the porter struggled with the luggage down a
narrow corridor not quite dim enough to hide how several
patches of the furry chocolate wallpaper were worn
down nearly to the plaster. He unlocked a door
whose pair of digits leaned away from each other and,
having manhandled the luggage into the room, loitered as
though waiting for Jack to share the joke of it.
"Everything all right88he eventually said.
Very little if anything was, but abruptly Jack
felt he deserved no better. He gave the man
a pound, which failed to convince him Jack was
satisfied, perhaps because he thought
CHILDREN
Jack was riding the lift down with him in order
to complain. "Everything fine88the receptionist not so much
asked as declared, and Jack felt compelled to assure
him it was.
Ten minutes' driving around the crowded
side streets brought him to a dauntingly expensive
car park, from which he walked through Westminster and
Belgravia, seeing nothing he wanted to see,
feeling far too much. When he found himself in
Pimlico he bought more of an Indian meal than his
stomach welcomed, and once he'd finished
reassuring the staff of the otherwise empty
restaurant that the food couldn't have been better he
retreated to the hotel.
Having confirmed that the armchair squeezed between the
wardrobe and the bed was quite as lumpily uncomfortable as
it looked, he lay on the bed that was barely wider
than himself to watch the dwarfish television. The
swarming pointillist pictures gave him no
reports of missing children; nor, when he managed
to reinsert its insecure knob, did the boxy
radio on the wall. His father had to realise that
abducting any children risked betraying he was alive.
That was clearly the last thing he wanted, Jack
told himself, and tried to sleep.
He'd had to force the token window open, since the
air-conditioning
only raised the temperature and emitted a
relentless rattle while it did. Now he had the
uproar of a riotous Saturday night for
company, and the sounds of both a coach station and a
railway terminus to go with them. The continuing
activities of his Indian dinner ensured he never
dozed for long. The night was far from over when he
started wishing he'd phoned Leslie before it was too
late to call.
He ought to tell her everything. Suppose his father
tried to contact Jack at her house or even went
to find him? He had to tell her that his father was alive
and that he himself had been an accomplice, however
inadvertent. Once he'd told her he would be able
to tell anyone, which meant the police, but he should
tell her first so that she would be forewarned in case the
media saw the truth about him as the basis of yet
another accusation to fling at her. He mustn't
care what she and Ian would think of the truth about
him he
had to protect them if he could.
The streets outside the window had settled into an
uneasy slumber broken
by
the occasional shout or scream and the whoops of police
cars giving chase. He dozed, only to be wakened
by
a succession of glimpses, increasingly
bright and detailed, of the unnecessarily elaborate
pattern of the wallpaper that was almost touching the end of his
nose. Then he was telling someone who'd knocked on
the door to go away, which despite how it felt must have
been hours later than his previous awakening, because the
knocker shouted in approximate English that unless
he planned to stay another night he would have
to vacate the room. When he succeeded in rolling his
almost immovably ponderous body over in far less
space than it wanted to use, he had to strive
to fumble his watch off the shelf that
by
no means compensated for the absence of a bedside table.
It was twenty-five to twelve, and checkout time was
noon.
He dragged himself to the edge of the bed to grab the phone
from a corner of the dressing table. The outer curve of the
flimsy receiver that had started its life white was
cracked, and the digits of the keypad were discolored with
portions of fingerprints. The

was the grubbiest, but he had to tap it to obtain an
outside line. As he dialed he had an
unpleasant sense that traces of someone else's
prints were adhering to his fingertips. He'd
hardly roused Leslie's phone when the ringing was
snatched away, and there was silence at his ear.
Someone was waiting for him to speak. For a moment that
proved he wasn't as awake as he presumed, he
wondered if it could somehow be his father. "Who's there88t
made him exclaim. "Hello?"
The silence seemed to intensify before it produced a
voice. "Do
I
know you?"
It was more an accusation than a question, and threw Jack
so badly that he had to speak while he tried to think.
"That's Roger, isn't it?"
I
SILENT
CHILDREN

"Nobody else but. And you'll have to be-what am
I
supposed to call you?"
"Jack.

"Of
course, Jack. We've been introduced. Pity
we didn't have time for more of a chat. How's
it looking for you now, Jack?"
"How's what looking?"
"Why,
the thing that means most to you,
I
should think. The book you said you were going to write here."
"Oh, that.
I-was
"You shouldn't make light of what you do, Jack. It
isn't just how you earn your living and your reputation,
is it? Haven't we got to assume it's what you
are?"
"I
guess. Not too much of a living in it right now.
Anyway, listen, could-was
"Not doing too well at what you chose to be? This
new book of yours is bound to change that, isn't
it?"
"I
don't know. It could if
I
write it. Anyway, could you let me-was
"You aren't having second thoughts, surely,
Jack. Wasn't it your reason for coming here?"
"Where?"8To th country. To a foreign land.
Didn't you hear about all the things Hector
Woollie had been found out for and decide what they
needed was an American to write the story?"
"I
see how it looks, but it wasn't as simple as that.
Now could-was
"I
appreciate that, Jack, of course I do.
I
know it's hard for an innocent like me to understand how a
writer works. You won't think less of me for
trying, will you?"
"Sure, go ahead, only maybe we could leave this
for another time.
I
wanted-was
"You won't think it odd of me to be concerned.
Once upon a time this was my family."
"Are they there?"
"Forgive me. We've been having such a
fascinating conversation
I
forgot you wouldn't have rung to speak to me.
I
expect you were quite taken aback to find me
picking you
UP.
"You bet. I thought you'd moved out."8That makes
two of us, doesn't it, Jack?"8I'm gone.
I
just want-was
This time it wasn't Roger who interrupted, it was a
repetition of the knocking at the door. "How long
are you now, please88the chambermaid called.
"I'll
be out
by
twelveea8Jack shouted away from the mouthpiece, and
was making to speak into it when Roger said
"Why
did you leave, Jack? Did you find something not to your
taste?"
"Ask Leslie whyea8Jack was desperate enough
to say. "Look,
I
haven't much time, and I need to speak to her. Is she
there?"
"I'll
take a message."
"No,
I
have to speak to her personally. It's something I ought to have
told her while
I
had the chance."
"Tell me and
I'll
let you know if you should."
"I
don't believe she'd want you to ask that or me
to tell
you.
"Then let me guess."
"I can't stop you doing that, but while you are can you
bring-was
"You're going to say you're nothing like your father.8For
several seconds Jack's pulse was as loud in his
ears as the chambermaid's knock had been. "She
told youea8he said, not quite inaudibly enough.
"Better goddamn well believe it, as you might
say if you were pretending to be American. Les and
I are still closer than you hoped."
"I
don't care about that right now. It isn't about me,
what
I
have to say to her. Just tell her I'm on the phone, will
you? You have to respect her enough to let her decide if
she wants to talk to me."
"I
said
I'd
take a message, Mr. Woollie. That's the
best
I
can do for you, John. She's gone for a walk with
Ian.
CHILDREN
Maybe you should wonder what she's having to explain
to him about you."
"I'm sorry.
I
wish-"Jack wished he'd had a chance to speak
to Ian before leaving, but it seemed inadvisable to tell
Roger so. "Do you know how long they're likely
to be?" he said.
"Hours, the way Ian's been made
to feel.8Roger sounded resigned as he added
"I'll
do this much.
I'll
take your number."
"And give it to Leslie when she comes back?"8That
would seem to be the idea, wouldn't it?"
"I'm out of here in a few minutes.
I'll
give you two numbers, and
I'll
be at one or the other this afternoon, say in a couple of
hours."
"Sounds as if you're in demand."
Jack let that pass and read out the numbers from his
notebook.
"I
can trust you, right?" he said.
"As much as she can you."8Then
I
can."
"If
you don't hear from her that means she wants nothing to do
with you. Got that?"
"So long as you tell her it's very urgent. It's
something she'll want to know, and it's not about me."
"I've no excuse not to tell her then, have
IT'
Jack could think of nothing else to say that mightn't
undermine the hold he appeared to have established.
"Thanksea8he said. The receiver was scarcely back
on its stand when he was struggling past the chair toward
the cupboard the hotel called a bathroom. He
had to be swift, not just to check out. He needed to be
at one of the numbers
by
the time Leslie tried to contact him.
As Leslie raised her face into a shower so fierce
it drove away all thoughts, the phone rang
downstairs. She was fumbling to turn off the taps
when she heard the back door slam and Roger
sprint into the hall. She twisted the taps hard and,
having practically vaulted out of the bath, padded
wetly to unbolt the door. "Who is it88she shouted
through a gap of no more than an inch.
"Wrong number."
Presumably having to pick up a call that
wasn't even for her or Ian made him feel more out
of place than ever. She bolted the door and treated
herself to a shower that came close to overwhelming all her
senses. When at last she emerged into the
foggy
bathroom, she had to extract water from her
ears with a corner of the towel before she was able to hear.
She rubbed herself pinker and wrapped herself in the towel,
and opened the door just far enough to can "Where are you?"
"Where you left me. Can
I
do anything?"
"Nothing
I
can think of, thank youea8she told him, and dodged
into her room.
Once she'd covered up her crucial bits with
underwear, she was frustrated to discover that she wasn't
sure how else to dress. She was inclined to put on
something shabby and shapeless to demonstrate how comfortable
she felt in her own house, or how uncompelled
to impress Roger she was, but since all her old
clothes dated from their marriage, wouldn't they suggest
an attempt to revive memories she had no
desire to share? She slid back one of the mirrors
that were doors, slimming her reflection in the
process, then immediately closed the wardrobe, shutting
up the sight of the
CHILDREN

elegant black number she'd bought to wear
next time she went out for dinner with Jack. She was
going to dress for herself, and if Roger dared so much as
hint he wondered whether she'd done so for him
...
She pulled on a baggy T-shirt and tighter
denim shorts, and when she caught herself reconsidering
the latter she grabbed the towel that was looking
woebegone on the double bed and stormed onto the landing
to fling it into the laundry bin. She was trying
to prepare to pick her way through another dialogue with
Roger when she heard the scrape of a key in the
front door lock.
Some seconds passed before Ian eased the door
open and stepped into the hall, pushing his face forward and
turning it from side to side. His expression looked
uncertain what to be. Leslie was waiting for
Charlotte to make her appearance as part of the game the
youngsters were playing when Ian began to inch the door
shut. "Don't do thatea8she said.
His arm jerked, the door slammed, and she saw he
had been too preoccupied to notice her. As he
raised his face, his eyelids drooped. "What?"
"Don't snarl at me like that, and don't shut poor
Charlotte out if she wants to come in."
That was something of an if, she realised, and so
she was confused when Ian said "Hasn't she?"
"What's wrong88Roger said from the kitchen, and from the
hall "Where's Charlotte?"
"Isn't she here?"
Leslie had forgotten how much longer family
conversations took than any other kind, how much more
strewn with repetitions they were. "What would she be
doing here the way she feels about it88Roger said not
far short of Ian's face.
"Why
isn't she with you?"
"She was. She ran off.
I
thought she'd have come back."8ally were meant to be taking
care of her, Ianea8Leslie said, and before she'd
finished Roger was demanding
"Why
did she-was
"Maybe she hid in the car.
I'll
look."
Ian was turning his back with, Leslie sensed, a
good deal
of relief when his father said "She can't be there, it's
locked. You haven't told us why she ran
away. Open the door while you're at it, will you."
Ian pulled the door wide. From the third stair
up Leslie could see all the way along Jericho
Close, which the sunlight emphasised was deserted.
Either this or the continuing spectacle of Ian's back
put an edge on Roger's voice. "You're
supposed to be answering my question."
Ian's shoulders moved as if considering a shrug, but
he said "We got bored in the park.
I
was taking her to see someone, only she made a
scene. You know how she goes."
"Talk to our faces, Ian. Nobody out there
wants to hear you.8Before Ian had progressed much
further than starting to obey, his father snapped "Who?"
"Who what?"
"I
don't know whose time you think you're wasting or why.
Who were you trying to make her see?"
"I
didn't think
I'd
have to make her.
I
thought she'd want to."
Leslie wondered if he might be more responsive
to a hint of gentleness, and so that was how she said "Who
would it have been?"
"Crys Nolan."
"Shaun Nolan's sister88Roger said in a tone that
was determined to be answered. When it failed he
tried "What was the idea of getting Charlotte
mixed up with your gang?"
"She's the only girl
I
knew for Charlotte to play with."8So what was the
problem88Leslie felt the need to learn. "Her.
Charlotte. Her not thinking I could know any
girls."
"I
can imagineea8Roger said. "Thank God at least you
didn't involve her with Shaun and the rest of that
bunch.
I'd
have had some explaining to do to Hilene.8His voice
hadn't softened much, and now it sharpened. "How long
is it since you let Charlotte run away?"
"Don't know what you mean
by
let."
"I'm wondering, believe meea8Roger said, and with
all the fury he'd been withholding "Never mind
playing word games with me, Ian. That's one of the
things you can do
CHILDREN
without having picked up from your friend who was no kind of a
friend. How long has it been since you last saw
Charlotte?"
"However long it takes to come through the park."8Were you
running? were you anxious for her?"
Ian's response might as well have been a
shrug. "What do you think?"
Leslie was afraid his father might lash out at him
for the first time in their lives, but as she moved close in
case she had to intervene, Roger only said "Where
did you lose sight of her?"
"On the North Circular
by
Shaun's."8Which way was she going?"8Didn't see.
She ran into the traffic."
"Well, I hope you're happy with yourself. You're
asked to take care of a child for an hour and you're
incapable of even doing that. Try looking at me now
and then when you're being spoken to. You can't make a
situation go away
by
pretending you're somewhere else."
"Roger.

"All
right,
I
know this isn't bringing Charlotte back any sooner.
Tell me what will if you can."
I
was just going to ask you if you thought that call could have been
her."
"Which?"8The one you said was a wrong number."8That's
what it was, a wrong number."8Who was it?"
"How should I know? It was a wrong number."
"It couldn't have been Charlotte trying to get
through?"8How, when she's got no money on her?"
"Then you wouldn't have heard her and known it was her.,,
"It wasn't."
"You're sure. You heard someone that wasn't
Charlotte."8Obviouslyea8Roger said with a stare of
disbelief that she'd pursued the subject this far.
"So there won't be any point in seeing if the phone
can tell us where the call came from."
"If you think there's a reason to do that
despite everything I've said
I
can't stop you, can
I?
It's your phone in your house."
Leslie rested her fingertips on the phone and knew
at once there was a better reason to use it. "We
aren't thinking, are we? There's only one place
she'll be."
"Where88Roger said, and she saw Ian swallow the
same question.
"On her way to her mother's, of course."
"Didn't
I
just tell you she hasn't got a penny on her?
What are you saying would make her try to go all that
way on foot?"
"She might have called Hilene to pick her up, do
you think? Called her and reversed the charges. Should you
check?"
"If there's any needea8Roger said, and strode to the
gate and then to the end of Jericho Close. Having
stood in the middle of the junction and
used
one hand as an eyeshade, he set off in the
direction of the park. He was out of sight for so long that
dismay tugged at Leslie's mouth when he
reappeared without Charlotte. He trudged back
along Jericho Close, rubbing his forehead with his
knuckles and glancing over his shoulder more than
once, to halt
by
his car. "Do you want to drive and see if you can find
her88Leslie suggested.
"And what would the rest of us be doing?"
"Someone could walk and look for her while the other
stays here in case she comes back."
Roger pushed himself away from the car and tramped up the
path. "Hilene was going to do the garden. That's how she
calms herself downea8he said, and less dolefully
"If she's out that'll mean Charlotte called."
"If
you say so."
"You're right, she'll be fetching Charlotteea8he
said, though Leslie was unaware of having made any
such claim.
CHILDREN
"I
remember now, she told her once how to reverse the
charges if she ever needed to."
He used three fingers on the keypad
to demonstrate his skill or to get the task
finished. His head began to tilt to one side as though
the receiver were weighing it down, but when enough time had passed
he raised both. He was allowing a look of
relief to emerge onto his face when his eyes
switched toward the receiver. "Oh, hello," he said.
Leslie experienced a wrench of the disappointment he
hadn't managed to keep out of his voice. She
glanced along the hall at Ian, who was concentrating
on his feet or on the kitchen floor. "Sorry
if I brought you inea8Roger murmured. "Having a
productive time? We'll be seeing more flowers
soon, will we?"
All
this said, and Hilene's answer listened to, it was
clear he wished he could say something other than "You
won't,
I
don't suppose you'll have heard from Charlotte?"
Leslie saw expressions she remembered from the
beginning of the end of their marriage accompany his words
and the pauses when his mouth got ready for another try.
"I'm afraid she seems to have toddled off on her
own
... A
bit of a tiff with Ian
...
No more than, not much more than half an hour
...
The park, and
I
shouldn't be at all surprised if that's where she is
now on a day like this
... I
only thought she might have rung you. She isn't
likely to ring here the way she feels
... I
will.
Of
course I will
... I
will, of course
...
That's what
I'll
do now, and you could keep an ear out just in case."
He planted the receiver on its stand and sent a look
of disfavour along the hall.
"I
don't know when you'll be coming to visit again, Ian,"
he said, and to Leslie without bothering to change his tone
"I'm going to drive and look for her. You'd better
both stay here in case she comes looking for me."
Did he think Charlotte would bolt if she saw
Ian
by
himself? Would she have any reason? Leslie tried
to think not, but found she didn't want to speak
to Ian. She sat on the front doorstep and leafed
through her Sunday paper, which
contained too much about children in peril all over the world.
Dozens if not hundreds of glances away from it
kept showing her how deserted the road was. Far
too eventually the Peugeot reappeared, containing
only Roger, who gave her an interrogative
stare that didn't want to own up to being a plea. She
was wondering what she could offer him except her
empty hands when the phone shrilled.
He was even faster than she was.
By
the time she lifted the receiver he was almost in the house.
Before she could speak she heard "Is Roger there?"
"He is, Hilene, but I'm afraid-by "May
I
have him, please."
"All
yoursea8Leslie said briskly as he stepped over the
strewn newspaper.
"She hasn't turned up here, Hilene. I've
been-"Though the blood didn't drain from his face,
the expression did. "Are you sure? You don't
think-No, of course
I
wouldn't want-All right, please go ahead
... I
appreciate you don't need my permission
... I'll
wait, shall
I? . . . I'll
wait, then."
His fingers appeared not to be working too well as he
fumbled the receiver into place.
"I'll
stay for a little longer if you don't mind," he said, so
unsurely and apologetically that Leslie might have
thought he was asking for refuge.
"I
think she's being premature, but if it puts her
mind at rest.
. ."
He raised his voice for Ian to hear, and Leslie
wished it didn't sound so much like an accusation.
"Hilene is calling the police."
"Are you looking for someone88Melinda said.
Leslie turned from watching a man in an elegant
summer suit walk past all the offices of film
companies he might have dressed up for and vanish
along Wardour Street into Soho, perhaps for another
kind of meeting.
"I
was just rememberingea8she said.
"Poor Leslie."
"Not so poor.
I
was only thinking about the day Jack Lamb appeared."
"That's what
I
said, poor Leslie."
"Well, don't keep saying it.
I
don't feel anything like you think I'm feeling.
It's gone. Deleted. No longer in demand.
All
I'm remembering is how
I
had the notion somebody had followed me from the house."
"You told me. So now you think..."
"It was him. He already knew about the house. He was
pretending he didn't when he saw my notice about
the room. That was something else he managed to fool
me about for as long as I had him on the premises."
"You wonder how it's possible to be so wrong about
somebody you're close to.
I
don't mean just you, Leslie. Everyone is
sometimes."
"Thanks, Mel, but
I
think
I
wish you hadn't said that. Maybe
I
shouldn't have come into work today. It isn't taking my mind
off much."
"Leslie, I'm sorry. Come here."
Despite the invitation, Melinda didn't wait for
her, instead bustling along the space behind the counter and
taking Leslie in her arms. She pressed her
cheek against Leslie's and stroked her
back just below her shoulders. Leslie felt sur-
rounded
by
perfume and warmth, and though she was a little uncomfortable
with the closeness of both, she returned the hug. She
was wondering how long she ought to keep it up when she and
Melinda grew aware of being ogled through the window
by
three wiry youths dressed in singlets and
football shorts, who were making sounds and gestures
they might have used to encourage a live sex show.
"Piss off," the women chorused, and held each
other until the youths wandered off, at which point
Leslie intensified her hug before letting go.
"I
feel better for thatea8she was able to say without lying.
"I'm gladea8Melinda said, but held her at
arm's length to read her eyes. "Don't you dare
start feeling guilty when you've done everything you
could."
"Which wasn't much."
"You'd have told the police more if you could."8More than
just about nothing, you mean."
"It wasn't your fault if that was all you knew.
I'm sure Ian did his best to help
them."
"He told them more of the truth than he'd told
me.8Melinda took time to peel the adhesive
tape off a carton of compact discs with as little
noise as possible, and then she said "What did he
say?"
"Apparently after he'd had enough of her, not that he
told the police he had but he didn't need
to tell me, he was taking her to play with one of his
friends' sisters, one of the friends
I
was hoping he'd grown out of, and Charlotte started
prattling on about how bad, let's call him
Jack because that's the way I can't stop thinking of him,
how bad Jack must be to write his books, so Ian
told her who he was."
"You would though, wouldn't you? So..."
"According to Ian she refused to believe him at first, and
when he made her she panicked and ran off."
"Made her how?"
"Told her. What else could it have been? They were
on a street full of people."
"That has to be right, that's right.
If
it had been anything
SILENT
CHILDREN
else someone would have remembered and come forward
by
now."
"Why
can't we notice things when it's important to?
Two of the neighbours say they heard Ian and
Charlotte arguing in the park, and another one saw him
coming back
by
himself. For once
I
wish she'd made a bit more noise, drawn more
attention to herself. She's not the kind to go unnoticed
when she's upset, and if nobody's seen she is
by
now, what's keeping her quiet?"
"Maybe nothing you have to worry about."
"You mustn't think that, Mel. It doesn't matter
whose child she is, she's a child and
I
care what happens to her."8ally wouldn't be you if you
didn't.
I
just meant she
might be feeling guilty about running off when she was
meant to stay with Ian, so guilty she's afraid
to go home."8So afraid she'd stay out overnight?"
"It was pretty sultry, wasn't it?
A
good night for sleeping in the open if she found somewhere.
Kids have done stranger things, I believe. Or
couldn't she have stayed with a friend?"
"Not without Roger and Hilene hearing."
"And he'd have called you if she'd turned
up."8Even Hilene would."
"At least there's one thing to be thankful for."
Leslie could only hope not to be able to see through this
latest reason for optimism. "What's that?"
"You don't need to worry about the Woollie man."
Apparently
feeling this might be ambiguous, Melinda added "The
father."
"No, but we don't know how many others there may be
like him."
"None that bad, surely."
I
wish I could think so."
"Then think about her probably making her
way home right now if she isn't already there and they
haven't got round to phoning you. And remember the
police are looking for her. They'll have ways
to trace people we wouldn't think
Of."
"Thanks, Mel. Don't say any more, thanks."
Just then a businessman came in, loosening his tie
as a preamble to deploring the existence of
Birtwistle and Maxwell Davies and seeking
tuneful British composers he hadn't heard of.
Leslie played him examples of Finzi and
Dyson and was able to sell him discs
by
both, after which the task of locating distributors for a
pageful of obscure Eastern European
symphonies listed
by
a customer helped her get through the rest of the afternoon.
"You head off home to Ianea8Melinda said as the
hands of the clock met on the way to closing time.
"I'll
lock up."
"See you tomorrow, unless-I can't think why
I
wouldn't see you tomorrow."
"And you know I'm as close. as the end of your phone
if you need to talk."
Leslie gave her a smile she hoped was only
grateful, not expressive of the doubts their conversation
had raised, and struggled through the crowds to Oxford
Circus. She had to stand and sway and be bumped
into nearly all the way to Stonebridge Park, and when
she escaped the heat that was coagulating on the train
the spacious suburban evening offered little relief.
She kept hearing cries of children in the streets-children
at play-but that didn't render the sounds less
capable of troubling her; they made her retreat from
imagining what kind of cry Charlotte might have, or
want, to utter.
As soon as she opened the front door she saw
Ian beyond the house. The sight of him behind the table at
the end of the garden seemed to transform the hall into an
optical instrument with the kitchen window for a lens. The
unreality passed as she strode toward him. She was
at the back door when he looked up from writing.
He screwed up his face and shook his head to tell
her there was no news of Charlotte, and Leslie
wished his wordless answer had been intended for the other question
she had to ask. She felt as if the question were driving
her forward, off the unyielding concrete
onto the soft springy grass. She was halfway
along
the lawn when his face began to dull in readiness for the
interrogation he must have seen bearing down on him, but
she didn't speak until she was seated opposite
him. "Is there anything else you haven't told
me88she said.
THIRTY-FOUR
"Hush now, Charlotteea8Hector said, and began
to sing under his breath.
THIRTY-FIVE
"Mr. Woollie?"
"He wants you, Mr. Woollie."
"Mr. Woollie, I'm Terence, remember."8And
I'm Hughie, remember too."
"Are you here to get some help, Mr. Woollie?"
Each of them paused before speaking, and left quite a few
gaps between words too, presumably as a result
of the medication they were on. Their intent faces were
waiting for Jack's answer, Terence repeating a
smile of encouragement that jerked his oval face and
pressed lips high, Hughie maintaining a
wide-eyed frown that sent its ridges up his broad
balding pinkish skull. Jack glanced around the
lounge of the Haven Care Home, but there was
little hope of an interruption: several of the residents
sitting in assorted chairs around the room bright with
nursery colors seemed to want him to respond, and
his mother was conversing with a small inac-
curately dressed old woman in a voice whose
increasing quietness was meant to persuade the listener
to reduce her volume to an indoor level. "What
kind of help88Jack said.
"With your book? Mr. Woollieea8Terence told
him. "Aren't you writing a book?"
"I
may be.
I
may have to."8About Mr. Woollie?"
"I
wish
I
couldea8Hughie said. "Write a book. I wish I
could put things out of my head like that."
"About Mr. Woollie?"
"That's what I figured. Seemed like
I
might know stuff about him other writers wouldn't know."
"We do too. That's how we'll help."8I'm
Terence, remember."
"and I'm."
"I
got that. You introduced yourselves when
I
came in."8ationo, what he means is, and me too,
what we both mean is he's Terence and I'm
Hughie that used to help Mr. Woollie. And
Vern did, and Chas, and Arthur and the other Arthur,
but what we mean is we saw the little finger, didn't
we, Terence."
"And then
Mr.
Woollie took me to the sea because he saw
I'd
seen. He made out it was a treat for being his best
worker, but really and truly he wanted to drown me,
only he got drowned himself instead."
"Don't upset Mr. Woollie telling him about
Mr. Woollie. Are you upset, Mr.
Woollie?"
"I
guess so if that's how I look. Just let me say
you don't need to call-was
"I've finished about how he got drowned, except
how the police asked me about it and when
I
was telling them about him
I
said about the finger. Then
I
had to take them where it was, the house some man gave
to a woman and a boy. I don't suppose they
liked it so much when they knew he'd
given them a little girl under the floor, what do
you think, Mr. Woollie?"
"Watch, Terence. Watch out,
I
mean. Mr. Woollie looks upset again."
CHILDREN
"I'm not saying about Mr. Woollie being drowned
any more, Mr. Woollie."
"That's okay. No need to watch out for me,
I
can take the truth. Only if you could stop-was
"Everyone shipshape here? Having a nice chat?"
Jack's mother had succeeded in toning down the rowdy
oldster and was standing behind him. The way he felt, he
thought at first her concern was all for him. "Sureea8he
said, mostly to get rid of the questions.
"It's good to chatea8sd Terence. "Best
to laughea8Hughie said. "And if you can't laugh-was
Either Terence forgot the rest or Jack's panic at
the echo of his father's catchphruse communicated itself
to him. He looked confused until Jack's mother said
"It's kind of John to come and see us, isn't it?"
"Has he come a the way from America?"8He's
living here now, Terence."
"Here like us?"
"Not here in the Haven. He's staying at my flat
till he finds somewhere else if that's what he
insists on doing, though he knows he's welcome
to stay with me as long as he wants."
"Did you go away to get away from Mr.
Woollie, Mr. Woollie88Hughie said.
"You went to make something of yourself, didn't you,
John?"
Jack sensed his mother craved more reassurance than she
was admitting. "That's meea8he said.
"I'll
leave you three to get on, then, while
I
see that everybody is fit. Just shout me or one of
my carers, John, if there's anything you need."
There was plenty, but Jack was growing less and less
convinced that he would find it at the Haven.
His mother moved away to talk to a crouched man whose
face was turning purple over the task of inverting every
second page
of
a large newspaper, and as Jack struggled to dredge
more conversation out of himself, Terence said "Did Mr.
Woollie
ever try to bury you when you were little, Mr.
Woollie?"8Christ, no. Don't you think
Mrs., my mother would have gone to the police? And
listen, can you call me Jack."
"Mrs. Woollie says you're John."
"Yes, well,
I
was when
I
was living with her and my father. Now it's Jack."
"You're living with her againea8Hughie objected, "so
you ought to be John."
"My
father called me that. It was the name of his brother that died
when he was little, only my father had a nickname for him.
I'd
have thought she'd want me to be Jack."
"Maybe she wants you to be you
againea8Terence said. "That me is gone. Gone like my
father."
"Don't you want to keep any of him,
Mr....
?"
The way Hughie's question trailed off, he might have
been asking all over again what Jack's real name
was. "Keep what88Jack said, he hoped not too
harshly. "Keep it how?"8In
Y."
"That's where it's got to beea8Terence assured him.
Jack shoved himself out of the armchair so violently that
both men flinched away from him, a reaction that dismayed
him. "Good talking to youea8he made himself say.
"We can tell you more about him if you likeea8Hughie said.
"Maybe another time."
"He gave us work when nobody else would."
"And he gave us treats except the time he wanted
to drown me."
It was the way Terence said that, as if it weren't
worthy of more than a casual remark, that troubled
Jack most of all. He crossed the large room,
gaining himself a loose askew smile from one woman
and an obscure body movement from another, then
stooped to his mother, who was on one knee beside
the rearranger of the newspaper, retrieving pages
he'd decided were best on the linoleum. "Can
I
use the phone in the office88Jack said.
"Anyone special?"
"An agent who was interested in my stuff."
CHILDREN
In fact Jack had no intention of contacting the
agent, who
had sounded likely to forget his enthusiasm as soon as
he'd sobered up. Jack withdrew into the hall, which
had been more spacious before his father had built an
enclosed staircase for the safety of the residents and
an office just inside the entrance. His father, his father
...
Jack hardly knew why he'd come to the Haven
today-perhaps to judge how the men employed
by
his father had survived the experience, perhaps to discover
what they thought of Jack-but it was one more failure
to take action. He closed himself in the boxy office
twice the size of the cloakroom it had once been
and sat behind the desk.
He had to warn Leslie about his father, no matter
whether it was an excuse to delay informing the
police or a step in that direction. He hoisted a
directory off the pile
by
the desk and leafed through the pages, which smelled hot
with the sunlight through the netted window, until he found
the number of Classical Discount. It was busy.
It was engaged.
It was again after he'd given it most of a minute not
to be, and after more than another minute's wait too.
He cut
off
the rapid high-pitched nervous tone and dialed
Leslie's home number. Ian ought to make
certain she called back. This time the phone did
ring: it rang and rang until a woman's
officious voice told him to try later and immediately
repeated itself. Jack quelled the repetition and was
waiting to redial when his mother stepped into the office
to hang a clipboard on a hook. "In
business88she said.
Jack let the receiver slump into place. "No.
No luck."8ally'll have some soon,
I
can feel it.
I
expect these agents are out most of the time seeing
editors and publishers and whatever else they do."
"I
guess some are."
"Try not to worry. Worry never made anything
come.8She Pushed a scattering of official forms
together on the desk and perched in the space she'd
cleared. "Do what you can and be patient and the best that can
happen will happen," she said.
I

RAMSEY CAMPBELL
"So
I
remember you saying when
I
was a kid. Mom,
I
mean mother..."
"I
used to be mummy. Some of the people
I
care for think
I
still am."
"I
figured that. Listen,
I
was going to say
. .
"Say it then, John. Mother's listening."
He'd tried to leave himself no choice, but he still had
to force it. "That wasn't an agent
I
was trying to call just now."8ationever mind, John.
I
know you'll have one soon if you
need one.8Even more forgivingly, she said
"I
knew it wasn't when you told me.
I
haven't stopped knowing you just because you went away.
Parents don't, you see."
That ought to be his cue, but instead it silenced him as she
said "You were always making up stories, pretty well
as soon as you could talk.
I'd
have been surprised if you'd stopped.

"What kind of stories?"
"All
kinds about who you were or who you were going to be. I
remember you went to see a Roy Rogers once and
you were a cowboy for weeks. Lawman John, you
were, and me and you know who were supposed to own a
ranch. What was the name if it? Hush while
I
think. The Crazy, the Crazy-I've got it, the
Crazy Bull."
Jack had opened his mouth more than once during all
this. The further the conversation strayed from the subject
he was determined to leave himself no chance to avoid, the
harder it would be to broach. "Could have been. Must have
been if you say so," he gabbled. "Anyway, about
the call
I
tried to make..."
"Don't tell me if you didn't want me
to know."
"I do.
I
need you to.8He took a breath that sounded too loud
between the close walls, and said "It was about my father."
"What about him, John?"8He isn't dead."
The breath Jack held while he awaited
her reaction emphasised how dry his mouth had
grown. He wasn't prepared to have her frown
reprovingly and say "That's cruel."
CHILDREN
"Cruel. You mean.
. ."
"Maybe
I
don't know you as well as
I
wanted to think."8I'm still not clear.
. ."
"That's not the kind of story
I
was saying you used to tell. You made up things
I
liked to hear. Save it for your
book
if you really have to, though
I
hope you won't, but
I'd
have expected you to have enough tact not to try it out on your
own mother."
"I'm sorry if you're upset. I
mean, of course you'd have to be, but-was
"I'm not upset, I'm disappointed. I'd convinced
myself
I'd
brought you up better than that."
"To tell the truth."
"You always did except when you were telling stories
we knew were stories."
"I
still am."
"All
right if that's how you meant it, but can we be done with it?
You were right, it does upset me. It isn't necessary,
and it brings back too much I'm having to live with."
"Okay,
I
shouldn't have bothered you with it.
I
didn't think enough."
"So long as you're doing that now, John. Would you
say I might be able to look forward to not hearing any
more about it ever again?"
"I
don't know if
I
can promise that."
"And who do you think is going to believe you if your own
mother doesn't88She swung herself heavily off the
desk and stood in front of it, fists on hips,
elbows straining to point at him. "Go on then,
convince me. Where is he supposed to be?"
"I
don't know.
I-was
"How's he managing to hide when his face was in
half the papers?"
"I
didn't know it had been.
I
guess-was
"How come, that's what you Americans say, isn't
it, how come nobody's recognised him? What's
he made himself look like?"
"I
haven't seen him."
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
"Oh, you haven't. You're going to though, are you?
Is he coming to show you his face so you can describe
him?"
"I
can't say. That would be-was
"I won't say what I think it would be, I'm not
that rude. Is he invisible? Ghosts are meant
to be, aren't they?"8He's no ghost. He-was
"I'm glad you've admitted that at least. That's the
kind of story you've been selling though, isn't it?
It's how you made your name."
"Not as much of one as maybe you believe. But this
isn't-was
"So you're trying to make yourself more of one with a new
kind of story. John,
I
don't blame you for that. Just think a bit more about how
it will affect me if you carry on with that part of it.
I'll
be able to stand the rest of it because it'll be true, but not you
saying he's alive."
"Suppose he is, mother. Suppose for someone
else's sake.
Her eyes hardened, and Jack saw she'd already had
to admit too much about his father.
"All
rightea8she said, "you tell me how he managed not to be
drowned."
"I
don't know that yet."
"You haven't made it up yet, you mean."8They
haven't found the body, have they?"
She looked ready to grab Jack and shake him.
"So that's where you got your idea, is it?
I
hope they do before your book comes out if you dare to say
he's alive in it. Serve you right if your book's
a flop."
He was in the path of all the grief and rage that
made her say so. He felt like the child he'd been.
"It isn't for the bookea8he said.
Either his words enraged her further or she hadn't time
to listen to them. "You'd better have more to show or everyone
will see through you. And I'll tell you what, if they
find out you were calling from here they'll think I've had
to take you in. Yes, Karen."
The greeting was addressed more gently to an overalled
young woman who had ventured to knock on the open
door.
CHILDREN
"Big Arthur doesn't want to take his
medicineea8Karen said.
"You'll excuse me, John, won't you? I've
got to attend to somebody less fortunate
than you.8Her tone denied that anyone had heard her
lose her temper. "Will you have finished in here88she
said, but it wasn't a question.
Jack followed her out of the office. When she glanced
at him, her expression poised to forgive, he
responded
"I
guess
I
can use a stroll round the block."
"That never does any harm.8Her expression hadn't
declared more of itself when she said "Don't do anything that
would make me not want to have you stay with me."
He had to, despite any consequences of that kind.
It was some help that the nearest public phone was out of
sight of the Haven. Nevertheless, when the Classical
Discount number proved to be engaged and Leslie's
home number only rang, he had to own up to some
relief. The task of convincing anyone his father was
alive seemed not just wellnigh impossible until
he had some evidence but also less urgent when he
recalled how
unmenacing
his father had rendered himself. The man no longer had his
business to conceal him or his activities,
and it was clear that he knew he wouldn't be safe
unless he continued to hide.
If
he tried to return to his old ways he would only
betray his existence. He couldn't be that mad.
THIRTY-SIX
"Do you want your mouth undone, Charlotte? Will you
keep quiet if it is?"
Eyes. "See yourself in the mirror there. You
look
like a doll, don't you?
A
big doll they forgot to put the mouth on. See the
funny doll that looks just like you."
Big eyes.
"All
right, maybe you're not funny. Even if you are you
can't laugh. That's no good, is it? You should always be
able to laugh. Do you know what makes the world go round?
Of
course you do. It's laughter."
Eyes blinking.
"Careful now. You're not scared, are you? You don't
want to be scared. You know you needn't be scared of
me. There's no call for it. It only
makes trouble."
Eyes and lids trying to keep still.
"That's the style. No, it's not.
I
don't like that. Maybe it's not having any mouth that's
making you look scared. See? Am
I
right?"
Eyes blinking at the mirror.
"You want to say yes, don't you? You want
to talk. If
I
let you undo your mouth you mustn't speak any louder
than I'm speaking. Can you promise that?
If
you're sure you can, just nod."
Head moving stiffly up and down twice, eyes
watching Hector.
"Go on then, you undo it. It might hurt if
I
pull it. You'll know how hard to pull."
Hands trembling toward mouth, flinching away.
"It won't hurt much. You won't have to scream.
You're not a baby. You don't scream at your age
unless you're like Biff. You'd better pinch
your lips together if you think you're going to, mm mm,
like that. You can do it better than me, you've got
teeth. Never mind, when you haven't got any you can
make funny faces like this.
I
expect you'd laugh at it if you could.
I'll
show you again if you undo your mouth."
Hands lifting, eyes wanting to retreat from them.
"Go on. Don't think about it, do it. Give a
big pull and don't stop till it's off. Right this
minute or
I'll
have to do it for you."
Hands flying to corners of mouth. Eyes widening.
Fingers and thumbs closing, tugging, tearing mouth
free. Exposed lips quivering, raw as new
flesh.
"There, it's over. You'll be fine. Just quieten
yourself.
Don't even think about making a row or I'll have
to do you up again. You wouldn't like that, would you?"
Head shaking, eyes wobbling.
"Let's see a bit of a smile, then, now you've
got a mouth. Oh, more than that, come on.
A
corpse could do better than that. Let the ends go up
and the rest will have to follow. Is it stiff from being done
up? Give it a try, then it won't be so stiff.
Lift the ends like this, look.
Up,
up, up."
Corners of mouth twitching, trying to twitch higher.
"That's the way. Bit more. Bit more. Bit more even
than that. There's nothing in your eyes, is there?
I
say, you haven't got anything in your eyes. Give
them a dab if you want.
If
they carry on looking like that you'll have me thinking you're
going to make a row, and you wouldn't want that, would you?"
Head shaking, hands jerking up to eyes as though to hold
them still.
his
That's
better. You can talk, you know,
I
told you. Just make sure it's no louder than this,
in fact even a bit quieter to be safe. Have a
try so
I
can hear you can. You aren't scared, are you?
I
say you aren't scared."
Head shaking as though moved back and forth
by
the hands on the cheeks.
"Speak up for yourself, then. Smile when you do it,
that'll make it easier. Is there anything you want
that'll let you give me a real smile instead of that
shaky item? Look in the mirror and see if it
doesn't make you laugh. Don't start that with your
eyes again. What are you going to say that'll make you
smile? What do you want? Anything within reason.
Just don't go mad."
"I w ... I Will..."
"Take your time. Don't force it if that's going
to make it come out too loud.
A
little bit quieter than that, all right? And remember
it's got to be something that'll make you smile. Get
the smile going first and that'll help you say it.
Off
you go. You want..."
"I
want to go home."
"You don't really. Give it a bit of a think. You
can't want to go back to those people. You sounded more scared
when they were about than you're sounding now. You said you were
going to have nightmares. You wouldn't want to have them and be
screaming half the night like Biff."
"I
won't.
I
promise."
"Aren't you listening?
I
didn't say you'd do it here.
I'll
be making sure of that.
I
said you would if you went back to those people."
"I want to go home to my mummy."
"She can't be much of one or you wouldn't be here, would
you? Better give those eyes another dab. We
don't want them spoiling that smile. You're not
having such a bad time with me, are you? Just don't
think about going home and then you won't mind being here."
"I
want to.
I
want to see her."
"Then you shouldn't have made me care about you, should you?
You were glad enough to come to me when you didn't know what
to do with yourself because you were scared to go near that house. You
oughtn't to have been so anxious to hide in here with me if
you didn't want to stay."
"I
want to go now.
I
want mummy."
"That's dealt with. Finished. We're not talking about
it any more. You sound as if you've used all your
voice up saying that so much. What do you want
instead?
I
know, you want a laugh. Here's a face to make you
laugh."
Hector sucked in his lips, then turned them
inside out as far as they would go and let his tongue steal
between them. It ought to amuse her-it was painful enough
to produce but when he looked in the mirror
to examine his face before presenting it to the little girl,
he saw her pushing herself away up the bed, leaving
ripples in the quilt, and when he turned
to her she shrank against the padded headboard. He
tried lolling his head from side to side and bulging his
eyes while his tongue appeared and disappeared between his
exposed gums, but that didn't earn him a smile
either, never mind a laugh. "You've got to have no
teeth to make that faceea8he whispered,
"I
pulled all my teeth out myself for
CHILDREN
itea8b that didn't improve her response; nor
did his crouching at the foot of the bed and ducking out of
sight before poking his head over the edge of the mattress
and doing his best to grimace even more comically as a
preamble to saying "Peep.8When two more performances of
this routine went down as badly, he desisted.
"You're no funea8he muttered.
"All
right, you tell me what'll make you laugh."
It seemed to Hector that he couldn't be more
reasonable, and the girl could surely do better in the
way of an answer than moving her lips from side
to side, as though whatever expression they were struggling
to form kept slipping off. He stared around the room in
growing desperation. What was there to amuse her? He
could borrow a comb from the dressing table and
stick out his upper lip to prop it up-if the comb
fell off while he was talking in a Hitler
voice, that might be even funnier-but she might be
too young to know who Hitler was and besides, a Hitler
voice would have to be louder than he ought to risk. He
didn't think a Hitler whisper would be funny
enough, though he wasn't sure that he needed
to whisper, having heard the phone next door stay
lengthily unanswered a few minutes ago. He
turned to the chest of drawers and exposed the contents:
a few pairs of socks and tights left at home
by
their owners, two drawerfuls
of
fat squashed sweaters awaiting winter, a scattering
of male and female underwear. He supposed he could
wear some knickers on his head and be
Old
Nick-he could pant at her, and she might laugh
if she understood the joke-and then he knew what she
ought to enjoy as much as he'd enjoyed it at her age.
"Have you been to any shows?" he whispered eagerly.
"Does your dad take you to the theatre?"
He would have grown frustrated with the wordless shaking of her
head if he hadn't realised the sound she'd
released was a word. "Mum."
"Which show did she take you to?"
"A
pantomime."
"I
never know why they call them that, do you? Pantomime
means when you act without any voice. It's not
supposed
to mean a fairy tale show with all that song and dance
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
and laughs and the rest of it put in. So which one did you
get taken to?"
"Riding Hood."
"The little red one, eh88There must be a joke for
Hector to make about that, and he was annoyed not to be
able to think of it. "Her and her old wolfea8he said.
"Did you like him?"
If
she hadn't she must think it would please Hector if
she pretended she had. She nodded and almost managed
to smile at the memory of the wolf. The hint of a
smile came apart, however, when Hector strained his
head up and thrust out his lower lip as far as it would go
and uttered a muted howl. He was beginning to resent
how hard she was to amuse. "What else
did you like?"
"Snow White."
She was barely able to speak for apprehensiveness.
She must be afraid he would show her the wicked
queen, Hector thought. Even though his face was
perfect for the old crone the queen became, he
resolved to be the dwarfs instead. He lowered himself
into an aching crouch and trotted back and forth, holding
his upper third visible over the end of the bed. "See
if you can guess which dwarf
I
am. See which you think is funniestea8he said.
He was baffled to find that the answer was none of them.
Each character he laboured to produce only caused her
face to tighten-he might as well not have allowed her
to undo her mouth. The one with his squashed-together lips
stuck out and his frown so exaggerated that it nearly shut
Hector's eyes proved unpopular, and it
occurred to Hector that he looked too fierce, but
what was her objection to the daft one with his wagging head
and his tongue groping for the corner of his mouth, and the other
little fellow with his rolling eyes and his hopeful grin that
kept collapsing whenever he met her gaze? Had
she no sense of humour? It wouldn't do her any
harm to make a little effort to be
appreciative; Hector was certainly making an
effort himself, enough of one that he was determined to see more
of a reaction than he was earning so far. How could she
fail to like the
jolly
dwarf,
CHILDREN
his eyes stinging with enormousness, his smile so wide that
Hector's bared gums tingled? At least the fifth
midget brought a response-a jerk of the little
girl's body and a creak of the headboard against which it
pressed harder each time he let
fly
another sneeze he'd screwed his face up for.
Having to sneeze in a whisper was aggravating his
frustration, and so was his inability to think how
to portray the one with spectacles. He was stumbling
back and forth in his crouch while he prepared to play
the dozy dwarf, and reflecting that he would settle for
her being asleep, when he had an idea that jerked him
to his feet. Her eyes seemed to tug her head up
as she watched him dance away the pain of having left
his crouch. He wondered if she thought he was still
performing, and told himself to keep his temper if she
laughed. When the agony in his legs
subsided enough for him to stand still he said "Did she ever
take you to
Hansel and Gretel,
no, what did they call it,
Babes in the Wood?"
Charlotte's head shook, or she shook her head.
"Do you want to see it now88he urged. "Do you
want to see the dame?"
"Where?"8Where do you think?"8In a theatre?"
"If
you call this a theatre. We aren't going anywhere if
that's what you were hoping. Don't try to be funny,
that's my job. The dame's already here. You watch."
He was pleased to find she couldn't take her eyes
off him. He opened the wardrobe and glanced away from
her just long enough to select a voluminous bright yellow
dress with Pink cartoon fish grinning all over it,
which told him that it was meant for the beach. He thought of
pointing out that the fish were laughing, but it was no longer his
ambition to Make her laugh. He unbuttoned the
top of the dress and Pulled it over his head, to see
Charlotte hadn't dared move while he couldn't
see her. He needed a hat to help him be the
dame, and there was a black straw one on a shelf
above the hangers in the wardrobe. Wasn't
it judges who used to
a

RAMSEY CAMPBELL
wear black hats? She wouldn't know that, and he
needn't dwell on it himself. He buttoned the
dress and forced the hat onto his head with a creak of
straw, then bowed to his audience. "Do you know what
happened to the babes88he said.
He couldn't see why she should be afraid to answer
that, but it took some time for her eyes, which were fixed on
him, to let her head deliver a reluctant nod.
"They got lost, didn't they88he said. "Got
lost in the woods and went on walking till they were so
tired they lay down under a tree. And then the
dame-no, it wasn't the dame, come to think. It was
the good fairy. You'll like her."
He needed a wand. He'd glimpsed something
glittering on the floor of the wardrobe-a pair of
mauve shoes with sparkles on them. He picked one
up and shut the wardrobe to give himself more room
to perform. He pirouetted on his aching legs and waved
the twinkling shoe at Charlotte, and was less than
pleased when she flinched against the headboard. "See,
it's magicea8he said-might have said through his
teeth if he'd had any, she was starting to perplex
him so much. "It's got magic in it to help you
sleep. Settle down now like a babe in the wood.
Close your eyes and the good fairy will sing you
to sleep."
He waltzed slowly back and forth and waved the shoe
and beckoned to her with his other hand until she slid
down the quilt as though dragged
by
a magnet, her head ending up on the pillow.
"Close them nowea8he said, not least because the way her
eyes protruded so as to watch him over her face was
making his own eyes smart. "You haven't slept
since you came. You must be sleepy. Your eyes must
be heavy. Close them and
I'll
sing."
Fairies mightn't talk like that, but hypnotists
did, and whenever you saw them on television it worked.
She had to go to sleep so that Hector could think what
to do with her. He'd taken her in because she'd seemed so
lonely and frightened, he'd been unable to resist when
she had strayed so near his hiding place, but he'd
forgotten until it was too late that he would have
to prevent her from betraying he
CHILDREN

was still alive. "Time to sleep now. Time to go
to sleep. Close your eyes now. They're so
heavy. Let them closeea8he droned, none of which
earned him even a blink. Maybe she was waiting for the
song he'd promised her, and so he began to sing in a
whisper, beating time with the shoe.
"Now
I
lay you down to sleep, Close your eyes good
night. Angels come your soul to keep, Close your
eyes good
night.. ."
What was the matter with her? She was going to have to sleep
sooner or later-why couldn't it be now? It looked
as though she was determined to defy him, refusing to be
anything but scared after he'd expended so much energy on
finding ways that ought to have amused her. What did he
have to do in order to make the lullaby work? Adele
and the police had cut off his access to pills.
"Now I lay you down to sleep..."
Whatever happened ought to be as swift and gentle as
he could manage.
If
instead of her face being on the pillow their positions
were reversed-
"Close your eyes good
night. .
If
that was the only action he could take, there was no
Point in delaying. He wouldn't need pills, he
reassured himself. She must be so exhausted that once
she was unable to resist falling asleep she wouldn't
even notice what was happening.
"Angels come your soul to
keep..."
They would take her away from whatever was making her so
afraid. That wasn't only him-not even mainly
him.
If
she hadn't already been afraid she wouldn't have needed
I

RAMSEY CAMPBELL
him to give her a refuge. Even if he never
learned what he was saving her from, it would be enough for him
to know he'd brought it to an end.
"Close your-was
As though to demonstrate how completely he
was wasting his breath, her eyes widened. At once
they tried to pretend they hadn't, but they couldn't
fool him. He'd heard the same noise she had
heard. He was beside her in a second, and as she
tried to sidle out of reach he snatched the pillow from
beneath her head and pressed it over her mouth-just her
mouth. For the moment holding her quiet and still was
sufficient. Downstairs the front door had opened
and shut, and somebody else was in the house.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Ian was returning across the park when he caught
sight of a blue ribbon peeking over the bank of the
river. He felt worthwhile at once, and glad
he'd gone out to look for Charlotte.
If
she wasn't hiding down the bank, afraid to be
found after having worried everybody overnight, at
least the ribbon was a clue for him to show the police.
That ought to prove they had no reason to suspect him,
but more important though he would never admit it to her,
and probably not to anyone else either-was finding
Charlotte safe. He ran across the patchy turf
as quietly as he could, hoping that the scrap of blue
material would be snatched into hiding as Charlotte
attempted to take cover. It didn't
stir, although something appeared to be moving on it-not
only crawling but also growing bigger. He was nearly
on top of it before he saw that the object he'd
assumed to be a ribbon was the
CHILDREN
largest fragment of a pocket mirror, the rest of which
was scattered down the bank, one shard winking at him
as it snagged the river. The blue had been the colour
of the bright sky, and the creature he'd taken for an
insect was himself.
He wouldn't have believed he could be so disappointed not
to find Charlotte. He felt as small and useless
as the bit of mirror, and guilty all over again.
Maybe she would have bolted if he'd introduced her
to Shaun's little sister-if she'd heard about
Crystal's experience at Ian's house-but they
hadn't got as far as Shaun's. However often Ian
told himself that Charlotte shouldn't have run away, that
it was her fault for provoking him
by
going on about Jack until he'd told her who
Jack was, it didn't make him feel any
less responsible. He should at least have run after
her, and then he would have seen where she went. Now he
felt as though he'd wished worse to happen
to her than he wanted to imagine-felt almost as bad
as he might have if he'd done it to her himself-and so
guilty that when he glanced across the park from the gate
nearest home, pathetically hoping to find Charlotte
sneaking after him, and saw that a police car had
halted at the far entrance, he dodged out of sight
at once.
He wouldn't have if his mother hadn't suspected him.
Anyone else could-even his father since he'd left
them for Hilene and Charlotte-and Ian would have
managed not to care, but being distrusted
by
his mother was too much. Even if he'd succeeded in
convincing her that he'd told her everything he knew about
Charlotte's disappearance, she shouldn't have had to ask.
He'd thought at least she would never wonder if he was
the kind of person the Dukes and the wheelie woman and
half of Wembley seemed to want him to be.
He had no idea how to spend the rest of the day now that
he'd searched. He hadn't much enthusiasm for
schoolwork just now, or trying to write another story
or rewriting the same one, or even rereading
Jack's book uninterrupted, since that would only
remind him of having wished Charlotte away so that
he could finish it. He unlocked the front
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
door and stepped into less sunlight, and was about
to give the door his habitual slam when he grew
aware of the phone in the hall.
Suppose someone had called about Charlotte while
he was out-perh even Charlotte herself? He eased the
door shut with a gentleness that felt like an unspoken
wish, one that stayed with him as he dialled 147
1.
Samples of a female voice informed him that an
outer London number he didn't recognise had
called less than twenty minutes ago.
"To return the call press
3,"
the voice advised him as he did.
The distant phone had barely had a chance to ring when a
man interrupted. "Havenea8he said, sounding proud of
it and of himself.
"What88In an attempt to be more polite and perhaps
more accurate, Ian added "Who?"
"Haven Home.8After a pause that might have
implied he was having to remember his own name the man
said "Arthur."
11Peaight. What..."
"Don't tell me you don't know what a
home is, and I expect you know what a haven is,
what is it, one of them, like a place to hide, a
refuge, so is it me you want to know about?"
As if all this wasn't sufficiently distracting,
Ian could hear sounds that suggested the man was dancing
as he talked. He had to hold the receiver away from his
face before he grasped that the thudding of feet was somewhere
near the house. "Sure, if you called hereea8he
said. "Did you call?"8Me call?"
"You, right. Was it you calling before?"
"Me calling88the man said, and in case that was
insufficiently frustrating, expended several
seconds on a laugh. "I never called. You're
worse than me. You did."
"Not just now. Twenty minutes back. Someone
called from your number."
"Wasn't meea8the man declared with a finality that
threatened to end the conversation, then only took his
voice some way off. "Someone says
I
called when
I
never."
"Thanks, Arthur,
I'll
have it now. Arthur, could you take
Arthur back to the lounge? Thanks. Thanks for
answering the phone, Arthur.8Throughout this the woman's
voice had been approaching Ian, and now it
addressed him. "Who do you want, please?"
"I
don't know. Somebody called from there before."8Who am
I
speaking to?"
"Can't you tell me that? The phone says you called
us."8This is the Haven Care Home and I'm
Adele Woollie the proprietor. Do you know enough
now?"
He wasn't sure how much he knew. "It's
Ian, Mrs. Woollie."
"Ian who?"
"Ian Ames. You came to our house."
"Oh, the young boy.
I
remember. How are you now?"8I'm okay. But
listen, did you try and call my mother?"8ation this
lady, I'm afraid.
If
any of my residents have
been bothering you
I
can assure you they don't mean any harm, but
I'll
see they don't trouble you again."
He had to ask the question, however impolite it seemed.
"Was it Jack?"
"Didn't you understand me?
I
was talking about my residents. He's not one."
"I
guess not, but was it him that phoned?"
"Why
should you think that? You'll have to let me go now. Someone
needs me."
"Waitea8Ian said, feeling uncomfortable and rude
but determined. "Will you tell him to phone again now
I'm home?,,
"How can
I
do that if it wasn't him?"
"If
it was, will you tell him?"
his
I'm coming now, Arthurea8Mrs. Woollie said, to which
there was such a lack of response that Ian
deduced she was speaking to nobody. Nevertheless her
voice moved closer to the phone before she said
"I
shouldn't think your mother
Would
want you having anything to do with John."
"Why,
what's wrong with him?"
"Not as much as some people have tried to make out. Not
as much as he'd be entitled to have wrong, in fact not
much at all
his
Mrs. Woollie said, and with anger Ian thought was
directed
at least partly at herself, "That's not the point.
I
can't be going against your mother, and she wanted him out of
your lives."
"She won't want me getting depressed like
I
get.
I
never had a chance to say good-bye to him."
Mrs. Woollie released a long unsteady breath.
"If I
happen to see him
I'll
think about saying you called."
Though that didn't seem much of an undertaking,
persistence was liable to turn it into less of one.
"I
need to talk to himea8Ian risked saying, only
to discover that he wouldn't have been able to provide a
reason, so that he was glad when Mrs. Woollie's
silence let him hang up. He might have wondered
why Jack had called if there hadn't been a more
immediate problem. Had the thump of feet he'd heard
while he was on the phone come from the house next
door?
He ought to check the house in any case-it was more than
a day since he had. He scribbled Mrs.
Woollie's number on the top leaf of the pad and
Wrote
JACK
even larger than the digits as if that could
repudiate the name Jack's mother insisted on calling
him, then he slipped the page into his shirt
pocket and took Janet's spare keys from the
drawer of the hall table. Even if nothing was amiss,
it was more diverting to pretend something was, and
so he slid a kitchen knife into his hip pocket
once he'd caught the sunlight on the blade all
the way to the front door.
He needn't have bothered concealing the knife unless
any of the netted windows of Jericho Close weren't
as blind as they feigned to be. The suburb appeared
to be enjoying a siesta while using an unseen
lawnmower
to keep up a gentle snore. He opened the gate
and its neighbour without making any noise he could
hear, and hurried not much less quietly than a
dream along the path parallel to his. He inched the
key into the lock and turned it almost as slowly as the
ticking of the seconds on his wristwatch, and set about
creeping the door inward. It had moved nearly a
foot when the phone rang in his house.
CHILDREN
His reaction jerked the key out of the lock. The door
swung toward him, and he had to block it with the toe of
his shoe. He fumbled the keys into the hip pocket that
wasn't heavy with the knife. The phone was still ringing,
robbing him of thoughts while it demanded he think what
to do. It surely couldn't be Jack so soon, and if
by
any chance it was he would certainly call
back.
If
it was anyone else they would have to do that too, besides which
Ian would be able to find out their number unless they
withheld it, in which case it wouldn't be worth having.
He edged the door open and sidled through the gap. He
was releasing the latch when the phone, almost inaudible now
through the wall, gave up.
Perhaps it was the intensified silence that made the house
seem abruptly unreal, as though it had become more
of a mirror image of his than it was affecting to be.
The hall was pale blue with large vague pinkish
flowers, suggesting to him that the wallpaper was betraying
the presence of a hidden chemical. Some of the flowers were
partly concealed
by
framed photographs, a bobby of Janet's
husband Vern: photographs of sunsets with
silhouettes against them, an Indian palace with its
colors reduced to black, a Chinese pagoda that
might have been carved out of ebony, a castle like the
outline of a fairy-tale illustration waiting to be
coloured.
All of
this was diverting his attention from the very element that
rendered it so vivid. Was that the silence, which felt like
a breath held for too long? He was starting to think
he might be imagining most if not all of this, fun
though it was Perhaps the feet he'd heard had belonged
to a bird on the roof. He paced forward, letting
himself feel like the daughter in Jack's book as she
searched for her father, and pushed open the door to the
front room.
As far as he could tell, the room was as it ought to be.
The chairs and sofa draped with white lace were keeping
the television company, and the only movement was the
Palpitation of the colon between the digits of the clock
beneath the screen. He had to remind himself not to play
xyl0phone with the banisters as he passed them on his
way to
the dining room, where six chairs faced one another
across a walnut table glossy as a windless pond.
A
blanket that made him think of Westerns in which
gunfighters had stubble and no names was nailed to the far
wall. Nothing owned up to being wrong here either, and he
advanced to the kitchen.
Apart from a hint of imported spice in the
unventilated air, and the view of the garden leading to the
fence and its bolted gate, the fitted
kitchen might still have been on display in the showroom.
Ian shook the back door to confirm it was locked,
not bothering about the noise now he'd abandoned the idea
that there was an intruder in the house. He was heading for the
stairs when he swivelled round. What had he almost
noticed?
The tall refrigerator emitted a loud click that
gave way to a muted hum like an apology for having
distracted him. The digits of the microwave
announced a new minute, and less than a second
later the digits on the hood of the oven did. The
wall-cupboard to the immediate left of the window was
slightly ajar, but it wasn't big enough to contain even
a tiny child. The door to the garden: the rectangle of
glass didn't look quite straight, because the putty that
framed it wasn't. He crossed the room and touched
the putty, and his nail sank in. The substance was very
new.
He was gazing at the bits of fingerprints in the
putty all around the new pane when a glint on the
floor caught his eye.
A
solitary fragment of glass had lodged against the
table, and he felt stupid for not having noticed it
sooner. He went to the kitchen bin, which was
drooping a lip of white plastic finer, and trod
on the pedal. The bin was indeed full of broken
glass, and he was lowering the lid very gradually when he
heard a faint creak.
It was overhead in the back bedroom-the creaking of a
bed, immediately suppressed. He pulled out the knife
as he lowered the
lid
into place with a rustle of plastic. The kitchen
seemed twice as bright and several degrees hotter,
and he wiped his forehead with the fist that held the knife
while he made for the stairs as swiftly as stealth
would al-
SILENT
CHILDREN
low. The blade flared like a flashbulb, then dulled
as he tiptoed upstairs, leaving much of the sunlight
in the hall. As he stepped off the stairs, resting
some of his weight on the ball of his foot and then more
on his heel before relinquishing the banister, he felt
as though the knife were guiding him toward the back
bedroom.
Two careful breathless paces brought him close enough
to grasp the doorknob. At once it was slippery
with sweat, and increasingly difficult to hold
while he turned it fraction after fraction of an
inch. Suppose the door was snatched out of his hand?
He raised the knife above his head and kept it there,
even when his arm began to ache. Nobody pulled the
door away from him, and he had to advance it several
fragmented inches before he could peer into the room.
It was darker than the rest he'd seen of the house, because
the curtains were drawn. You weren't meant to leave
curtains shut when you were away-it only gave the
hint to burglars-and he knew Janet and her husband
never would have. Besides, he could see what the curtains
were intended to hide. Someone was lying under the quilt on
the double bed.
He'd lowered the knife, but he lifted it again as he
approached
the bed, his feet barely advancing in front of each
other with each measured step. He was almost close enough
to grab the quilt when he heard a muffled whimper.
It was a girl's voice-it was Charlotte's. He
felt as if he'd tracked her down in the longest
game of hide-and-seek he'd ever had to play. How
she would scream if she saw him brandishing the knife!
He was slipping the knife into his pocket as he
took hold of a corner of the quilt and threw it
back.
The head it revealed wasn't Charlotte's. It was
an old woman's, lying on a ragged wad of long
grey hair. It greeted him with a wide grin,
exposing toothless gums notched with Purple and red.
A
large hand with grimy unpared nails
appeared
beside it and reached out to fold back more of the quilt,
revealing the other arm in a yellow sleeve
decorated With Pink fish and what was at the end of
it-the hand tightening over the little girl's face.
"Shut the door and give
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
us the knife and don't even think of making a
soundea8the man whispered, still grinning with some kind of
delight "Here's company for you, Charlotte,
lookea8he said, and pulled her eyes wider with two
fingers. "It's the other babe in the wood."
THIRTY-EIGHT
As soon as Jack reached a decision he went
back to the Haven. He wouldn't try to call
Leslie again, he would go to the shop. At least then
she ought to be able to see truth in his eyes.
If
Melinda heard him-he could hardly
expect her to leave them alone unless Leslie
asked her to-he would just have to be persuasive enough
to convince both of them, after which they would be certain
to insist he contact the police. As if
to demonstrate that his mind had focused itself, a
limerick he'd tried to invent for Leslie's
entertainment while he was living at her house put
itself together in his head.
While composing his music, Ry Cooder Utters
curses progressively ruder. Should a phrase
fail to fit,
He'll be heard to shout 'Shit!"
Like (in German, of course) Buxtehude.
He mustn't expect to be given a chance to regale
her with that, but surely there was no harm in imagining her
reaction-maybe a laugh, maybe the kind of gasp
that sounded like one, maybe a comically pained look that
couldn't quite and wasn't intended to conceal how pleased she
was, would have been, to have even such a piece of
ramshackle doggerel invented for her. He hid his
smile inside himself as he strode
SILENT
CHILDREN
into the driveway of the Haven, not wanting his mother to ask
his thoughts. He planned to tell her enough of the
truth, that he was going to the West End, and he continued
to resolve that when he saw her watching for him from the
office window as though he had yet to grow up.
He hadn't reached the front door when she opened
it. "Come in," she said, so urgently that she might
have been anxious to hide him. She repeated the words
and the urgency once he was inside, and only her
retreating into the office showed what she meant. He'd
hardly followed her in when she said "Shut the door,
for heaven's sakeea8and was seated behind the desk
by
the time he had. "What did you want with that young
boy88she demanded.
"Which young boy?"
"Which do you think? How many of them are there,
John?"
She was making Jack feel as if he deserved to be
accused
of
somehow resembling his father.
"I
can't understand you," he said.
"You're saying that to me? It should be me that's saying it
to you.
I
thought if you respected someone you were supposed
to respect their wishes."
"I'm
still lost.-
"That's what I'm afraid of, Johnea8she said,
rubbing her forehead with three fingers that failed to erase
her frown. "Don't parents have rights where you've
been? Aren't they allowed to decide what's best for
their children even if you wish they weren't?"
"Which parent?"
"Oh, John, don't try and make out I'm
talking like one
Of
MY residents. You know who you had a go at
calling before You went out for your walk."
"How do you know?"8How would you think?"
"Are you saying he called back?"
"Somebody
did, and
I
hope now you'll leave him alone. His mother doesn't
want you bothering him worse than he
Is
already."
"Leslie called? How long ago?"
"Don't torture yourself about that. I'm sorry, she
wouldn't have wanted to speak to you even if
I'd
caught you, John."8But she called. You're
telling me she called."
"You said it, as you'd sayea8Jack's mother told him,
and rammed her fingers between one another before planting her
elbows on the desk with an angry thump that made
her wince. "That's what I'm trying to get you
to understand."8And said
...
She said.
. ."
"Have I got to spell that out for you? She thought she'd
heard the last of you. Maybe not of you but from you. She
hoped she had."
"Did she ask why
I'd
tried to contact her?"
"She didn't, no.8His mother seemed relieved the
question had come up. "But
I'll
guarantee you this, John, she'd have been even less
happy if
I'd
mentioned what you'd have told her, never mind her
son."
"You can't know that."
"Oh, but
I
can. For all sorts of reasons
I
can. Now if you won't leave them alone because
I
ask, will you for her? You would if you still cared about her, and
if you don't there's no excuse at all for you
to pester her."
"It isn't an excuse.
I
tried to tell you-was
"John.8His mother was rubbing her elbows as if
she'd only just noticed they were hurting. "She
wants to forget you, and the last thing she'd want to hear
from you is that tale you told me."
It wasn't only his mother's words that swayed him at
last, it was the sight of her having needed to injure
herself in the heat of her determination to persuade him, as
though her work weren't taxing enough. He stepped back
and opened the door for both of them.
"I'll
see you at the apartmentea8he said.
"Are you going there now?"
"I
guess."
He saw her consider asking him to promise not
to phone from there. She knew he'd seen, and must have
decided her
CHILDREN
insistence would be more powerful if unspoken. She
watched him from the front porch as he crossed the
parking area, and he felt as if her notion of the right
course for him to take was gripping the nape of his
neck.
Nevertheless he wasn't sure what he was going to do as
he drove out of the streets hushed
by
trees. He would have to pass the station on the way to the
apartment, and he couldn't help feeling that would give
him one last chance.
If
Leslie
turned out to believe his story despite all the
doubts his mother had loaded onto him, he would feel
confident in telling the police, but otherwise how could
he expect them to credit him if even
Leslie didn't? It didn't help to realise
he was trying to project the responsibility for his
indecision onto her; the sort of insight that would have
been crucial to writing about a character was far harder and
apparently far less useful to apply to himself.
Maybe, he thought, writing was a substitute for
changing himself, but knowing that didn't help either. Perhaps
the compulsion to write rendered you even less capable
than other people of changing. Perhaps you couldn't both
change and write.
He was in the midst of these reflections as the bridge
over the main road beside the station came into view. Beyond
the bridge the reversing lights of a parked car brightened
the shadow of the arch, and then the brake lights flared.
The car was backing out of a bay, and the traffic would
halt it until Jack was close enough to occupy the
space. He felt as if he wasn't merely being
offered an opportunity, he was being exhorted to use
it, and he would.
He was nearly at the bridge, and two vehicles
short of the parking space, when a small dusty bus
flashed its headlamps at the car, which backed
halfway out and then swung resolutely in. It
hadn't been leaving, only lining itself up with the kerb.
How could Leslie believe him when he'd
already caused her not to trust him? What would she think
his motives were? He almost laughed-there seemed
nothing else for him to do-as he drove out from under the
bridge, away from the line that would have carried him to the
West End.
"Ian
..."
"Is that his name, Charlotte? Tell me all about
him. Whisper it to me."
"He's Ian."
"I
worked that bit out for myself, love. were you trying to make
me laugh? Let's have the rest of it. Where does he
live?"
"Next door."
"Just checking you're a good girl that tells the truth.
Good girls haven't got anything to be frightened of,
have they? Who is he then, your Ian from next
door?"
"Roger's son."
"Is he that very thing? You'll have to say who Roger
is, won't you?"
"My
new dad."
"Did a swap, did you? Bet you think
you're the lucky girl. This new dad Roger of
yours, does he live next door too?"
"At home with me and mummy."
"Ian's too young to live all
by
himself though, isn't he? Who's he got?"
"Just his mummy."
"That's like the boy with the beanstalk, isn't it?
Maybe we can play that later.
I'll
give you a bit of wisdom to be going on with, there'd
be less trouble in the world if families stuck together
like they used to. Do you think that's why Ian's bad,
because he's given you his father and got none of his own?
Don't let him scare you. Does he scare
you?"8Sometimes."
"He did with that knife, didn't he, waving it about
like
CHILDREN

that. Don't worry, I've got it safe.
Nobody's going to be using it for anything,
I
hope. It was bad of him to scare you with it, but shall we
let him play all the same?"
"What?"8We'll have to think of a game that ought to be
fun for everyone, won't we? You want him to stay,
that's what I'm getting at. You'd be upset if
he left you with nobody except your new grandad
who's forgotten how to make you laugh. you tell him."
"Ian .
. ."
"See, that's what she was asking you in the first place,
son. Look how upset she's getting just to think you
might go off and leave her like your dad left you. She
wants you to stay and not make any row, and then we'll
find a nice quiet game we can all play
to take her mind off things. You can see that's what
she's crying out for, can't you?"
Ian saw. From the stool on which he'd been
directed to sit in front of the dressing table he
saw both Charlotte and her captor. She was seated
on the quilt and leaning against the headboard of the double
bed: she was propped up immobile as a doll
except for her mouth, which kept not quite opening and then
pinching its lips together for fear that too much of a noise
might escape, and her eyes, which kept straining
leftward before renewing their plea to Ian. She
mustn't be able to see much of the old tramp, who was
resting his shoulders against the closed door, the
fingers of his large hands splayed on his thighs and
covering two of the jovial pink fish on the yellow
dress that reached halfway down his baggy trousers,
his gums baring themselves in a raw moist smile that was
impatient at being alone with itself, his face a
caricature of how Jack might look when he was
old. The stale heat of the room, the smell of the
man's sweat and shabby clothes, the faint trace of
Janet's scents, all seemed to gather in Ian's
throat and drive out words like spit. "You're him.
You're alive."
"Careful. Don't scare your playmate."
"You-"Ian almost blabbed what the man had done, but
no longer wanted to frighten Charlotte. Instead he
thought
of another offence the man was responsible for. "You
made people think
I'd
done something to her."
"That's people for you, son. They've always got to have someone
to blame. Who thought that, then?"
"My
mother."
"Don't go raising your voice round here. Keep
your temper. Think of your
playmateea8Woollie said with a smile at her that
made h
er mouth wince like a wound. "This
ere's no accounting for women, son, no
joy
in trying to predict them. You'll find that out when
you're a bit older.8He ran his tongue around his
lips as though to check their shape before murmuring "Will
she wonder where you've got to?"
"Better believe it. I'm supposed to be home
since they chucked me out of school because they thought
I
was like
Y.
"Then you'd best tell her where you've gone."
"Sure enough. She won't have left work yet.
I'll
give her a phone from downstairs."
"And tell her what?
Tell her you've got your playmate?" "Sure,
if that's what you want her to think, only she won't
if she doesn't hear Charlotte.
I'll
have to take her down with me.
19
"You reckon that'll solve things, do you?"8Should."
"He's a laugh, isn't he, Charlotte?
Wants to start you chattering to people and making all sorts
of a racket,
I
shouldn't wonder, after all the trouble I've been
taking to get you to hush."
Ian had been hoping
Woollie
was as mad as his appearance suggested-mad enough to be
persuaded
by
the first trick Ian could think of. His own aching
disappointment was bad enough, but the way a version of it
flickered over Charlotte's face was close
to unbearable. "Don't expect my mother to believe
me, then," he protested in a whisper that was growing
intolerable too. "She knows
I
didn't know where Charlotte was."
"He must think I'm as senile as
I
look, mustn't he, Char-
CHILDREN
233
lotte? He must reckon I've forgotten he just
said she thought he'd made you vanish."
"She did till
I
showed her different."
"Better start thinking what to say to change her mind,
then. And don't bother getting any more ideas about the
phone. You'll be writing her a note."
"What with?"
"Try that bit of paper in your pocket there."
Ian grabbed his shirt pocket as he tried to think
whether it was best to keep Jack's number or give
it to his mother on whatever note he might be forced
to send her. "I've got nothing to write withea8he
said.
"Better find something."
"I saw a pencil
by
the phone."
"He's eager to get there, isn't he, Charlotte?
What do you reckon he's thinking? We'll go down
with him so he doesn't forget he's meant to be
helping look after you. Are you going to be able to stay
quiet or will
I
need to do up your mouth?"
Charlotte's hands flew to her lips but shrank from
touching them. Her teary gaze lurched toward the
floor between the bed and the window, and Ian noticed for the
first time what was there-a roll of insulating tape.
Even if he'd imagined worse treatment for
Charlotte in the months his father had lived with her, the
reality was another matter. Woollie must have seen his
fury
At it, because he sat on the edge of the bed and hugged
Charlotte to him. "You know how to hush, don't you?
You were being nice and quiet before he came and spoiled
things," he whispered in her ear, and rubbed his stubbly
chin over her tangled hair as he turned his face
to Ian. "Concentrate on what you have to write,
son. Never mind anything else."
Ian struggled to produce a voice that wouldn't
rise out of control. "Let me go and write it,
then."
"We'll be quick all right, but don't you try being
too quick. You haven't said yet what you're going
to write."8ally tell me."
"Surprised you need to ask when you were wanting to
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
say it on the phone before. Just tell your mother
you've taken your playmate away for some fun.
There's enough boys who do that these daysea8Woollie said,
and rubbed his lips together in disgust.
"I'm not saying that."
"Don't start being difficult, you're worrying your
playmate. You ought to feel how tense she's
getting. We don't want her being nervy. Never
know what might happen then and be your fault."
"Maybe you can make me say it, but you can't make
my mother think it. She'd never believe I'd do that
kind of stuff to you, would she, Charlotte?"
Charlotte's name was hardly beyond taking back when he
wished he hadn't brought her into it-hadn't made
Woollie even more aware of her while she was
afraid to speak, afraid once she'd done it of
having given her head a solitary shake. He saw
Woollie's free hand finish digging its knuckles
into the pillow and reach for her. He was preparing to
fly
at Woollie, to save her however he had to, when
the hand set about stroking her hair. "Good enough,
sonea8Woollie muttered. "You've changed my
mind."
Ian couldn't take much pride in that as he saw
Charlotte stiffen so as not to flinch away from
the soft slow prolonged movements of the hand the size of
her face. The heat was parching his throat, the smells
of the room were massing like nausea,
by
the time Woollie let his hand drop to the pillow and
murmured
"I
know what you want to write."
Ian had to swallow hard. "What88he said, almost
too low to be heard.
"You can tell your mother you've gone off
by
yourself because she thought you were up to something with your
playmate."
She oughtn't to believe that either, which surely meant she
would have to do her best to figure out where he really was,
if he hadn't succeeded in rescuing Charlotte
by
then. "I could have tooea8he said.
"Time to play follow the leader, Charlotte. We
don't want him writing anything that might cause
an upset, do we?
I
CHILDREN
expect he knows to be a good boy now, but
no harm in making sure.8Woollie patted her
head and rested his hand there while he reached for the
doorknob. "You lead, son. We'll follow,"
he said with none of the archness he was using on
Charlotte.
Ian was furious with his legs for developing an
intermittent tremor as he crossed the room. He
was nearly at the stairs, and struggling to devise a
plan, when he heard Woollie and his captive behind
him. "Walk soft, sonea8Woollie murmured.
"I
know there's nobody in your house, but it'll do you no
harm to practice not being heard."
Ian felt as though the man had seized him
by
the ankles, hindering his steps. The empty hall and the
sunlight it led to looked like a joke at the expense
of his inability to escape with Charlotte. The way the
banister filled his grasp made him wish he were
holding a weapon.
If
only he hadn't been so anxious for Charlotte that
he'd given up the knife! Now it was the reason why
he had to pretend to be doing as he was told. He
placed one foot on the top stair, then
lowered his weight gradually onto the next. He was
repeating the performance from there when Woollie muttered
"No need to take all day, son.
I
hope you aren't trying to be funny. That's not the
sort of laugh we're after."
Ian hadn't just been following instructions-he was
attempting to buy himself time to think. Each step brought
him closer to the table with the phone on it, the message
pad with its stubby pencil, and the problem of his having
failed to memorise Jack's number. He ought
to give it to his mother-at least it would be truer than the
lie he was being forced to tell-but he mustn't write
on the same side of the paper when Woollie was bound
to examine the message. He descended a step and
sneaked his free hand across his body, stepped down again
and pressed his elbow against his side in case that
helped conceal how his hand was creeping to his pocket.
Another step, and two fingers nipped the edge of the
paper, and Woollie said "What are you after, son?
Everything you want is down there."
"I
see itea8Ian said, gripping the banister so hard his
whole
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
hand ached, and eased the page out of his pocket. He
was straining his eyes downward and glimpsing a hint of the
digits when Woollie said "What do we reckon
he's hiding, Charlotte? Do we think it's something
he oughtn't to have?"
Another inch would show Ian enough for him to identify the
digits, but the high muffled sound Charlotte
emitted made him screw his head round. She and
Woollie were three steps above him, Woollie's
left hand enclosing her right and her wrist. She had
let go of the banister so as to cover her mouth. "It's
nothingea8Ian said, groping with his foot for the next
stair down.
"Must be a
job
to take nothing out of your pocket, mustn't it,
Charlotte? What you call a fuss about nothing.
That's a joke.8ationo louder but more harshly Woollie
said "Give us a gander, son. Think of your
playmate."
Ian snatched out the page and swung toward him,
brandishing it upside down, the used side facing
himself. "It's a bit of paper. Satisfied?"
"It nearly looks like nothing, doesn't it,
Charlotte? Except what's that name I'm
seeing through it? Something something cee kay. Blimey,
it's Jack that's really John, and half of him the
wrong way up. Give it here so we can see how you
do that trick."
Ian felt his hand begin to clench. He could crumple
the page and swallow it, but what might Woollie do
to Charlotte then? Besides, if Woollie rang
Jack he would be revealing he wasn't dead after
all. Ian sent himself far enough up the stairs to drop
the page into the outthrust hand, and memorised the
digits as Woollie stared at them, his lips and then
his gums parting.
"I
know this numberea8he whispered. "So that's where he's
hiding from his dad now."
His stare rose like two drowned objects breaking the
surface and settled on Ian, who didn't think
he was being seen.
"I
should have known, shouldn't
IT"
Woollie muttered, though not to him.
"I'd
like to know what stopped me thinking.,,
The possibility that he meant or was on the
way to meaning Charlotte rendered Ian as incapable of
action as he saw
CHILDREN
she was. He had to fight not to look directly at
her while Woollie folded the page and slipped it
into the pink and yellow pocket that contained the knife,
where his hand lingered as he focused on Ian.
"Write to your mother," he said with what sounded like the end
of any patience. "We're watching."
Ian went quickly down to the hall, forgetting to be
quiet about it, and took hold of the pencil. He was
thinking of moving to block Woollie's view when the
man said in a whisper that seemed to
fill
the hall "let's see what you're doing, son."
Ian paced around the table and was almost within reach
of
the front door. He could be out of the house in
seconds and yelling for help-but a glance showed him
Charlotte in the man's grasp and her captor's
other hand bulging the pocket in which he was holding the
knife. Ian gripped the pencil so hard it started
to bend, and dragged the pad toward him, and tried
to keep his mind on words he would be allowed to write.
He imagined scribbling draft after draft
and never managing to satisfy the smelly old tramp
who hid children under floors.
A
sentence that might have been his desperation speaking formed in
his head, and he wrote it. "Fast as a rabbit,
wasn't he, Charlotte88Woollie said. "Hold
it
UP.
Ian forced his fingers to relinquish the pencil so that he
could display the pad. He saw Charlotte read the
message and not dare to react-he felt as if she were
showing him how obvious a trick it was. Then
Woollie said "It'll do. You can take it home."
Ian nearly peered at the message to confirm he'd
written what he'd intended to write.
I'VE
GONE BECAUSE YOU SAY I
TOOK
Charlotte
.
His mother had said no such thing, and surely she would know
that he meant her to realise. He tore off the page
and dropped the pad on the table, and had taken a step
toward the front door when Woollie said "Not quite so
hasty, son. What are you planning on
doing?"
"Sticking this through my door."
"And then you'll be straight back to see nothing's
happened to your playmate, will you?"
Ian found himself hoping Charlotte didn't understand the
threat and unable to look at her in case she did.
"Rightea8he said.
"That'll take care of everything, do you reckon,
Charlotte?"
When she didn't speak Ian had to look as she
realised more than a nod was required for an answer.
"Yesea8she said like a plea.
"What's it going to take care of? Don't be scared
to tell the truth. Good girls sleep best, and
I
know you'd give all your teeth for a sleep."
Her face worked as though it was afraid even to appear
afraid, and that was too much for Ian. "Lay off
herea8he blurted, "or I'm not going."
"Why
are you trying to shut her up, son? What don't you
want her to say?"
Ian could think of no reply that mightn't put her
more at risk including the truth that he hadn't been
aiming to hush her at all. He saw
Woollie lose patience again, and was tensing himself
to dash up the stairs before the knife could emerge from the
pocket when Woollie said "Did you think she'd
spotted you weren't going to put your keys to here back
next door?"
Charlotte frowned, then understanding smoothed her forehead
and her eyes gleamed with dismay. She might have been
enacting Ian's realisation that the absence of the keys
could have told his mother where he was. He felt his
ability to think begin to dwindle under the weight that was
lowering itself onto his mind. "Where d'you keep
them88Woollie said.
Lying seemed both dangerous and pointless, as everything
did now. "Same place as they keep oursea8Ian
said, pointing at the drawer of the hall table.
"That's lucky, isn't it, Charlotte? He'll just
be on the other side of this wall, and we'll know
exactly how long it should take him. We'll play
a game till he gets back, shall
CHILDREN
we? Shall we play one that'll bring him back? Say
yes for him to hear."
"Yes."8That's a good girl. You keep your voice
like that. You nearly had me thinking you didn't want
him to come back when you didn't answer.
You're not that scared of him, are
you?"
"No.
"Why
are you talking like that, then? You'll be fine once we
play our game so long as your playmate joins
in. You'll play for her sake, won't you, son?"
"What?"8Keep your temper.
I
told you that before. You can make a bit of noise in a
minute. That'll be part of the game. Boys make more
noise than girls, don't they? Don't they,
Charlotte?"
"Yes.," "We'll listen for the noises he
makes, shall we? We'll hear him with the gate and his
one, and if we listen hard we'll hear him opening his
door. But you know what we'll want to hear most of
all, don't you?"
"No?"8Don't sound like that, I'm going to tell you.
Him throwing the keys in the drawer and coming straight
back. You'll remember to play
by
the rules, won't you, son? When the keys drop
that's the halfway mark."
"Halfway to what?"
"Your playmate knows, don't you, Charlotte?
I
hope he's not trying to be the wrong kind of funny.
I
hope he's not thinking of playing a game we wouldn't
like. You're going to help him play, aren't you?"
"Yes?"
"See how good she is, saying that when she doesn't
know what she'll have to do. The moment he opens that
door, Charlotte, you start counting. No, hang
on-the moment he walks away from that table, then
we'll know how long it has to take him to get to the
one next door."
At that moment a plan Ian had begun to conceive was
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
crushed
by
the slab in his mind. "Don't worry,
Charlotteea8he nevertheless said, and for the first time in his
life gave her an affectionate look, not even
having to pretend much.
"I'll
come back."
"Of
course he will. He knows he has to.
He's off, look. Start counting. Count his steps."
Ian heard her as he took his second step. Her
voice was small and tight and even higher than
usual. Each number sounded like a hint of the panic
she was doing her best to suppress. That dismayed him and
confused him, so that he wasn't sure if he was
walking fast to be out of earshot or to convince
Woollie that he wouldn't try to trick him or
simply because he couldn't stop himself. Three paces
brought him to the front door. "Close it and carry
on like that," Woollie said, and then Ian was out of the
house.
The sight of the quiet street beneath the overexposed
sky propped up
by
wattled red roofs beyond roofs came as little less
than a shock. He felt as though he'd forgotten
anything was real outside the house, not that anything
appeared usefully to be. The street was empty of
people, even of parked cars, though what would he have done
if he'd seen anyone? The murmur of the suburb was
keeping its distance; the loudest sound in his ears was
Charlotte's clenched voice. "Fiveea8x wailed
urgently, "sixea8growing fainter as it forced him
to keep pace with its counting.
By
the time he reached the gate he couldn't hear it. It
began to grow audible again as he tramped rapidly
along his path, having clanged both gates, but he
could hear only its pleading tone, not its words. He
shoved the key into the lock and dodged inside his
house.
The safety of the place felt like an exhortation
to rescue Charlotte someho
w while Woollie couldn't see him
. The phone was demanding to be used to call Ian's
mother or Jack, and the pad and pencil beside it were at
least as anxious for him to scribble a note. He
hadn't reached the table, however, when he heard a sharp
knock through the wall beside it, and Charlotte's
trapped voice rose in pitch. "You
should be there now, sonea8Woollie said. "Let's
hear those keys drop."
He sounded as though he were muttering inside the walls
though his influence had invaded the whole house, not just the
earth under the kitchen. An impatient repetition of the
knocking demonstrated that he was using the handle of the
knife. The thought closed over Ian's mind. He
hauled the table drawer open and placed the note
to his mother in it, then threw next door's
keys on top with a clatter. He was about to close the
drawer when he managed to think. At once he was
heading for the front door.
By
trying to ensure Ian had no time to trick him,
hadn't Woollie tricked himself.
Ian's gate clanged, and one hasty step later the
gate next to it echoed the sound slightly higher.
Charlotte's counting, audible once more as the only
other individual sound in the suburb besides his tread,
was tagging him
by
his legs along the path, but he'd done something
Woollie didn't know about, and it had to work. He was
a single pace from Janet's door when it was
snatched open, showing him Charlotte where he'd
abandoned her on the stairs. "Thirty-oneea8she
seemed compelled to wail, "thirty-was
"Game's over, love. You can stop
nowea8Woollie said, his dress flapping as he
closed the door and showed Ian the knife in his hand.
"He was a good boy this time, wasn't he? We'll
all be fine so long as you're both good."
Ian glimpsed uncertainty in the eyes that were red and
bright with sleeplessness. Deep in himself
Woollie must know his optimism wasn't
genuine-couldn't be. It took far too long-almost
longer than Ian was able to hold the breath he'd
sucked stealthily in-for Woollie to finish
scrutinising him and transfer his attention
to Charlotte. "Take her up then, sonea8he
muttered.
"I'll
be right behind you with the jabber."
Ian risked a smile at Charlotte that was
supposed to reassure her all would be well-would
soon start to be. Her face only began
to crumple before she remembered not to
look
upset and turned unsteadily to climb the stairs.
He caught up with her and gave her small clammy
hand a
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
squeeze, and it closed trustfully on his. He
was leading her to the cell of a bedroom, but he had
to believe it wouldn't be for long. Surely when his mother
saw he'd left the drawer open, displaying the keys
as well as the message, she would figure out where he
was. In a couple of hours-as unbearably long as
that-she would be home.
FORTY
Though Leslie had never allowed herself to believe that
Ian could have done Charlotte any real harm, she'd
let him feel she might consider the possibility,
and that was almost as bad. It was nearly as insistent in
its nagging at her mind as Charlotte's disappearance.
The more she thought of having left him alone at home
to brood over her suspicions of him, the more she
blamed herself. She would have phoned him if she hadn't
thought the matter was best discussed face to face. When
there was a lull in the gratifyingly busy afternoon, she
left Melinda womanning the shop while she
hurried along Oxford Street to the HMV store and
bought a tape of Persistent Vegetables, one of
Ian's favourite bands and one she disliked so much that
hearing them anywhere in the house would be a penance. The
floor devoted to pop music was loud as a disco, and
she had to conduct the transaction at the counter in
sign language. She ventured upstairs to the
video section, knowing Hilene hadn't worked since the
Ameses had sold their house, but Roger was off
too, and so she couldn't ask if there was any news of
Charlotte.
"Hope everything's all right soonea8Melinda said as
they locked up, and Leslie wasn't
sure if she was expressing a wish or advising her
to hope. On the train home she was provided with a
seat
by
a little girl of about Charlotte's age who perched on
her mother's knee, and she found herself
close to praying that
Hilene's
daughter would be returned safely to her. Maybe
Leslie and her son could figure out together where
Charlotte might have gone: maybe there was
some
insight he didn't realise he had, if Leslie
could approach it in a way that showed she trusted him.
By
now she understood one reason for his secretiveness was
that he was more worried about Charlotte than he wanted
anyone to see, but surely she could let him realise
she knew.
She took her keys and the tape out of her bag as she
reached her gate. At least there was nobody at
Janet's to suffer Ian's musical taste, though
in any case few sounds penetrated the shared wall.
Not for the first time she found herself wishing it hadn't
afforded Woollie so much cover when he'd
been working in the house. She unlocked the front
door and stepped into the hall. "Ianea8she called.
"Come and see what-was
A
resigned grimace cut her voice off. He'd
found yet another way to be an untidy teenager:
he'd left the drawer of the telephone table
protruding like a tongue. "Ian, can you hear me?
The least you could do..
."
Was answer so that she didn't feel she'd driven
him out of the house, and maybe leave fewer things for her
to clear away or otherwise deal with on his behalf.
She retrieved her key and gave the door an
elbow, and
by
the time it slammed she was pushing the drawer shut.
"Ian, would you like to answer? Just a syllable would-was
She stopped to listen, because she thought she heard him
somewhere-a rustle of movement apart from the shifting of
keys. The sound came from the drawer, however. She
tugged at it, having to
jiggle
it when it stuck, and blinked at the square of paper
she had belatedly realised she'd
glimpsed. Most of the words on it were hidden
by
the keys. You, she saw, and
CHARL,
and almost tore it on the keys as she snatched it out
to read.
It glared whiter in the sunlight through the kitchen, and the
pencilled writing seemed to wobble like a cheap
superimposition in a film.
I'VE
GONE BECAUSE YOU SAY I
TOOK CHARLOTTE.
"Oh, Ianea8she said helplessly,
"I
didn'tea8b
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
she was in no doubt that as far as he was concerned she
might as well have done so. She stood the Persistent
Vegetables tape
by
the phone and stalked to the front door, only to feel
she was both blaming the suburb and displaying her own
guilty self. She heard footsteps taking their
time on the cross street and eventually demonstrating
that they hadn't been worth waiting for, since
they belonged to a boy she'd never seen before, however much
like Ian's his teenage emblems were.
Of
course, Ian would be with his friends-the ones she
disapproved of
She left the door open as she stooped to the
directory on the shelf under the table and saw that
she'd left his tape where magnetism from the phone
might spoil it. That would serve him right, she thought,
but moved it to the stairs before her failure to take
care of it could seem ominous. Nolan,
Nolan-what looked to her like a whole clan staking
out its territory in the middle of a page. There was just
one address on the North Circular Road,
printed in thinner type as though it were trying to hide from
her. "Be thereea8she said.
The phone seemed to have given anyone who might be at
Shaun's quite enough time to answer it when the ringing relented,
to be succeeded
by
a burst of mirthful coughing. This withdrew into the
background, having turned most of itself into laughter,
as a voice not unlike Ian's but not his said "Shut
up a minute. Hello? Shut up, you'll make
me start. Hello?"
"Is that Shaun?"
"Hang on,
I'll
look.8The boy aimed an explosion of merriment
away from the phone and said "She wants to know
if
I'm you." To a question that must have been mouthed he
replied "She didn't say8and brought his amusement
back to the mouthpiece. "He wants to know-was
'This is Ian Ames's mother. Is Ian
there?88It's Ian's mother asking if he's here."
"Helloea8Leslie said in a tone that made clear
how much more than enough she'd had. "Will you tell me if
he's with you or
I'll
come and find out for myself."
There was sudden consternation, which she thought she'd
caused until she heard what Shaun was shouting.
"Shit, it's
my
mother and Crys. They weren't supposed to come back
yet. open the window and get rid of that and give us
something to-was and presumably more that the phone cut
off.
Leslie released a gasp as loud and
short and almost as coarse as the word she would otherwise
have uttered, and jabbed the redial key. The phone
rang longer than it had the first time, and she imagined
the boys willing her and perhaps yelling at her to go
away or words to that effect.
All
at once the receiver emitted a violent clatter and
Mrs. Nolan's voice. comj what have you three
been smoking? Go up, Crys, keep out of the way,"
she cried, and not much more
softly
to the phone, "Yes? Who is it?"
"it's Ian's mother, Mrs. Nolan. Is-was
"I'm dealing with something. What do you want?"
"I
was going to ask if Ian was there."
"Not that I've noticed. Just the usual
hooligans. Have you had Ian Ames round,
Shaun, on top of everything else88After no answer
that Leslie could hear, and barely sufficient pause
for one, Mrs. Nolan said "He's not been, no."
"You're sure."
"Shaun won't do what he's been told not to.
Finds other things as bad to do instead, that's his
trick.8Having turned on him, Ms.
Nolan's voice found the phone again. "And he's
been told not to have your Ian round after that business with
Crys and then nearly blinding a boy at school."
Leslie restrained herself. "Did Ian know?"
"You do now, so you can tell him. Anyway, I've
got to deal with some delinquents.
I
expect you know what that's like."
"I
should think you've had more experienceea8Leslie
retorted, but she was talking to an empty line. At
least Ian wasn't with Shaun and his cronies;
Jack had helped divert him away from them-and at-
once she knew where Ian might be.
Except that she didn't know where Jack was. If
anyone could tell her, it was his mother. There was no
Adele Woollie in the directory, not even an
initial
A,
but the Haven
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
Care Home in Sudbury was listed. Two and a
half pairs of ring
s caught her a woman's voice. "W
hich Arthur is it? Tell him
I'll
be two shakesea8x said, and in much the same maternal
manner "Haven Home."
"Am
I
speaking to Mrs. Woollie88Leslie thought it best
to ask.
"You
are.,,
"Would John be there?"8Which John?"
"Jack.8When Leslie heard no response to that
she said "Your son."
"I'm sorry, who is this?"
"Leslie Ames, Mrs. Woollie. You came
to see Jack at my house."
"So I did.
I
can't remember if
I
complimented you on how much you'd made of it. That must have
taken some strength."
"Thanks. So is Jack.
"Why
should he be here?
Why
do you want to know?"8Because Ian, you met Ian, my
son, he's gone missing."
"Why
should that have anything to do with John? What are you trying
to make out?"
"Just that they were friends and Ian might have gone to him if
he wanted someone to talk to."
"About what?"
"Being blamed too much."
"I
can't imagine what you think John would know about
that.8Before Leslie could decide whether that was meant as
an accusation or a denial, Mrs. Woollie said
"How do you think he would have got in touch with him?"
"I
suppose he would have had to call you to ask where Jack
was."
"I
hope you don't think
I'd
have told him.
I
got the impression you wanted rid of John, and
I
presume that includes your son."
Leslie had to reassure herself that Mrs.
Woollie
meant she wanted to keep Ian away from Jack, not
get rid of him. "And if he calls to ask where he
can find Johnea8Mrs. Wool-
lie said, "you've my word as a mother
I
won't tell him."
"If he does, could you tell him to call me
instead?
I
just want him back."
"I understand. As long as I'm respecting your
wishes, can
I
ask you to respect ours?"
Leslie couldn't help growing waxy.
"Witch are
... ?"
"just that John would like to choose his own time to let the world
know who he is.
They know here because one of them recognised he was my
son, they can be sharp like that sometimes, but you and of course
your boy are the only others who do."
"I've no reason to tell anyone.
Jack's been there, then."8He couldn't stay away
from his mother. I'm sure your boy won't be able to either.
Things are never as bad as they seem, that's my
experience."
Leslie had to assume Mrs. Woollie was
putting her husband out of her mind. "Jack isn't
there,
I
don't supposeea8she heard herself admit to wanting
to know.
"He's not. Now
I
must go and see what one of my residents needs.
If
you're worried about your boy,
I
should call the police."
"Thanksea8Leslie said, even less sure than
before why she was saying so, especially since Mrs.
Woollie hadn't hung on long enough to hear. She
wasn't ready to contact the police-she had to make
another call that would be at least as fraught. Beyond the
front door the houses were losing some of their colour,
and three parked cars had taken their places along
Jericho Close, but otherwise nothing had
changed. The evening hush made her feel overheard
as she took a deep breath before hefting the receiver.
The phone had hardly rang when it was answered.
"Yes?"8Hilene?"
"Yes, who is it?"8Leslie Ames."
"I
thought so."
This was so toneless that the only rejoinder Leslie could
think
of
was "How are you?"
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
"Feeling like I'd never want anybody in the world
to feel."
"I'm really sorry. There's been no news,
then."8ationo."
Leslie had the grotesque notion that one of them was
about to be compelled to quote the old saying about no
news. Instead Hilene demanded "Have you got something
to tell me?"
"What do you mean? What could I have?"8Anything that
would help."
Leslie experienced a rush of sympathy for the other
woman. She'd let herself speak sharply because she'd
been too quick to feel Hilene was accusing
her on Ian's behalf.
"I
wish
I
had, honestly
I
doea8she said.
"I
just called-was
"I'll
give you Roger."
"I
only-"But Leslie was talking only to herself She
had plenty of time to reflect how distressed Hilene
must be to have used the words she just had while a muttered
conversation, mostly in Roger's voice, eventually
delivered him to the phone. his('Leslieea8he said.
"Is-,,
"What did you say to Hilene88he said, more
reproachfully still.
"Just asked her how she was."
"That would do it.
I'd
have thought you would have known.
"How could I when
I
didn't know if you'd heard anything?"
"I'd
have called you."
"You
might have been trying to get through.8Feeling encumbered
by
too much needless argument, Leslie said "I'm
sorry if
I
upset her. Tell her if you like I'm a bit
upset myself."
"Oh.8That was close to a rebuke, and so was the
pause before he said
"By
whom?"
"Not
by
Hilene, if that's what you think
I
meant.
By
Ian. He's run off and
I
don't know where."
"You
surely weren't thinking he'd come here."
"I had to check.
Why,
are you saying he couldn't have?"eaeaI shouldn't
think-"Roger lowered his voice, presum-
ably below Hilene's hearing. "He'd hardly want
to be around us when we can do nothing but worry."
"I do see that. Sorryea8Leslie said, this time for
having heard another accusation aimed at Ian where
there had been none.
"I'll
have to try and think straighter, won't
I? All
I've got to go on is a note."
,eaFrom Ian, you mean."
,eaThere's nobody else to leave me one, is
there88Angry with herself for having said that, Leslie
blurted "Do you want to hear what it says?"
"I
should."
Leslie knew it
by
heart, but blinked at it anyway. It must be the
withdrawal of the sunlight that made the large
untidy capitals look already faded, writing from the
past. "It says 'I've gone because you said
I
took Charlotte."
his
"When did
I
ever say that to him? You were there.
I
didn't and
I
wouldn't have."
"Not you. He means meea8Leslie said, and with rather
less conviction
"I
didn't either."
"I'm sure you never would. He'll be feeling
guilty for what he did do, that's all, and trying
to load some of the guilt onto you. How long has he
been gone?"
his
There's
no time on the note, Roger. Maybe as long as
I've been out at work."
"Very likely not that long then, would you say?
Just long enough to make sure you feel as bad as he
thinks you ought to feel, or maybe now he's staying
away because he feels guilty about that."
"You don't think
I
should call the police yet."
Roger was silent, and she had time to wonder if he
thought she was trying to compete with Hilene. At last
he said
"I
think you should call them when you feel you have to.,,
If
she let herself, she already did. Roger promised
to contact her if he should hear from Ian, and then he
said goodbye with an abruptness that might mean Hilene
was wanting him
to finish, unless he was giving Ian a chance to call.
The receiver had no more to say to her, however. When she
found herself wondering if she should ring her parents, she
knew whom she indeed ought to call. Nevertheless it was
dark, and she'd found several ways of pretending
to use her time-making dinner for herself and Ian and even
managing to eat a mouthful, tidying his room so that she
could confront him with having failed to do so, sitting on
his bed and leafing slowly through Jack's
novel, staring out of Ian's window as the twilight
drained colour from the streetlamps and blurred their
outlines until they resembled sculptures
constructed of fog and finally touched their lights off-before
she called the police for advice.
FORTY-ONE
"They're noisy, aren't they, Charlotte? Noisy
neighbours; that don't care about a little girl who
wants to go to sleep. You try anyway. Look,
he's trying, the other babe in the wood, the big
babe. You try as well and when they stop their row
next door
I'll
sing to you.
I'll
sing you my song for babes that are going to sleep."
Woollie pushed himself up on the bed, resting his
back against the headboard, and laid his pink and yellow
left arm across Ian's chest, his right across
Charlotte's. The shaggy head loomed, not much less
blurred than a chunk of dust, above Ian in the
dimness that was almost dark, and a smell of stale cloth
and sour sweat descended on him. He willed
Charlotte to give in to her exhaustion so that she would
be less of a problem and less at risk.
He tried to quell his awareness of the arms that were pinning
him and Charlotte down, and strove to lie
absolutely still, hardly even moving his chest when he
breathed, in the hope that Woollie would
CHILDREN
conclude he had no need to wonder what Ian was
thinking or planning. The trouble was that while
Woollie kept hold of Charlotte, Ian was
unable to plan and not much more able to think. For the moment he
was reduced to listening, and as close as he had ever come
to praying-wishing fervently that whatever happened next
door would do him and Charlotte some good.
The noisy neighbours Woollie was deploring were
Ian's mother and someone who had come to visit
her-surely the police. Ian had heard the slam
of a car door and a louder slam from his front door,
which his mother must have opened before her visitor had had time
to ring the bell. Then, so faint it had almost been
destroyed
by
the throbbing of his pulse as he'd strained his ears,
Ian had made out the sound, agonisingly close
yet impossible to reach, of his mother's voice.
Almost at once it moved out of earshot, taking a
male voice with it, presumably into the
front room. There was silence except for
Woollie's breaths, each of which caught in his
throat with a sound like the start of a snore, so that Ian
wondered if the man might be the first of them to fall
asleep. He tried to send the thought across
to Charlotte that both
of
them should keep still to lull Woollie to sleep, an
attempt at telepathy that showed him how desperate
he was. Woollie's breaths were growing slower and
deeper, and Ian found himself counting them mentally in the
yet more absurd hope that he might be exerting some
kind of mute hypnosis over the man. He was in the
thousands when he heard his mother's voice again-not her
words, not even her tone. Her visitor said something
Ian guessed was meant as reassurance, followed
by
an elongated silence that was brought to an end
by
the microscopic clang of Ian's gate and two
slams, one of metal, one of wood. "And don't
come backea8Woollie muttered.
Ian tried to relax so as not to betray his panic at
discovering the man was awake. Through his slitted
eyelids he saw the blur of a head turn
to him. "One of you's off,
anyway
," it said in its throat. "Time the other one was."
Ian couldn't tell which of them Woollie was
addressing, nor which he took to be asleep. The
gaping smile lowered itself toward him, and its smell
found him, a reek like old raw meat. He did his
best to close his nostrils and keep a shudder to himself,
but his shoulders writhed. "Thought as much. Just playing,
eh88Woollie whispered into his face. "Stay
shut up, son. She's gone at last."
Far too much time passed before he raised his head,
grasping the quilt beside Ian and not letting go, and
Ian had to take a breath while the smell of the mouth
hovered over him. "You're a bit old to be sung
to sleep," Woollie said, quieter than ever.
"I
should try and get some all the same."
Ian's body yearned to do so but felt as though it
might never be able to rest again. "What'll you be
doing88he had to ask.
"Don't you fret about me.
I'll
be seeing you don't get any ideas."
Though sleep had to overpower him at some
point-it struck Ian as unlikely that he'd
slept since he'd trapped Charlotte-keeping
watch on two captives might render him more
sleepless in the meantime, hence more dangerous. "But
what are you going to do88Ian whispered. "We can't
stay here."
"Can we not, son? Who'll be chucking us out,
you?"8The people who live here. They're nearly
back."8Are they now? When are we expecting them?"
Ian almost said the next day, but then Woollie
might decide to take. Charlotte out at once,
giving her no chance to rest and so making her more of an
unpredictable threat to him. "The day after tomorrowea8Ian
said.
"Cut their holiday short, did they? Got too
much sun?"8Don't know what you mean. They were always
coming back then."
"Well, there's a laugh.
I'd
have sworn the woman said they wouldn't be back for
three weeks. What a joke, eh?" Woollie
said, and emitted a satisfied grunt that perhaps was
intended as mirth. "Any more tricks88he enquired,
aiming a raw breath at Ian's face.
CHILDREN

"Don't suppose."
"Better be surer than that, son. Think of your
playmate. You don't want her upset, do you?"
-Noea8Ian said, and nothing more until the head, whose
presence felt like the slab in his mind, raised itself.
He had to talk to Woollie-had to find a way of
reaching him. "What are you going to do with her88he dared
to ask.
"I've done it. I've put her down."8What about
when she wakes up?"
"Let's hope that's none too soon. We can all
do with a bit of peace."
"But when she does.
.
"You've known her longer than me. You'd better come
up with some games to take her mind off things."
"What things88Ian almost demanded. Was Woollie
determined to pretend there was nothing wrong or odd about
his having captured Charlotte, or did he
believe it? "Suppose
I
can't88Ian said.
"Then nobody's going to be very happy, are they,
son88The fist at the end of the arm that was
pinning Ian down took a firmer grip on the
quilt, and Ian guessed the other hand was doing so beside
Charlotte, or was it grasping the knife? "How
long do you think you can keep her88he whispered.
"As long as it takes. Her and you both, mind.
Don't leave Yourself out.-
As long as what took? Ian swallowed the question and a
stale taste of panic, and thought of an approach that
seemed worth trying-had to be,
"Why
don't you just keep me?"8How's that again?"
"When she wakes up let her go and
I'll
stay, all right? It's her you're afraid will make
a fuss.
I
won't, and she Won't dare to say you're here when
you've got me. Then
I'll
come with you and help you hide somewhere else she Won't
even know about. That's what you want, isn't it?
That's what you'll have to do."
The lump of dimness leaned down to peer at him in the
9100M
that was all of the glow of the suburb the
curtains
admitted. The impression of a mouth widened and
hitched up its corners before it spoke. "Good try,
son, but you're not on."
"Why
not?"
"I
told you before about how loud to talk. We don't
want her back with us yet, do we?"
"Okayea8Ian said urgently in a voice that was little
more than a breath with syllables in it, "but why not?
I
can make her promise not to tell."
"Oh, she'd do that for you. There's not much doubt of that,
I
reckon."
"She'd mean it.
I'd
make her. She would."8Maybe so."
"And then you could get out of here before anyone finds
Y."
"We'll all be doing that, so you may as well get
used to it."
"Why?"
Ian pleaded.
"Why
all of us?"
"Because
I
don't care what you try and say, she wouldn't be able
to keep her trap shut once she went. I've
heard the kind of fuss she makes."
Ian saw the truth of that, but would have done his utmost
to persuade Woollie otherwise if the man hadn't
said "That's it now. Do her and you a favour and stay
quiet like she is.
I
want a chance to think."
He snapped the last word so harshly it was clear he
was close to some edge. His agitation might be capable
of wakening Charlotte, and Ian saw it was best not
to aggravate it-not to seem to be there at all. He
closed his eyes and tried to do without all his senses
except for hearing. It took some time for his awareness
of the head looming above him to fade, but eventually his
awareness of the arm that was pinning him down relented too:
it was just a weight he mustn't disturb or think about.
Listening for his mother was more important, although knowing she
was nearby gave him strength only if he focused
on that, otherwise it kept reminding him of
his inability to reach her or to rescue Charlotte.
The trouble was that he couldn't hear his mother for
CHILDREN

the pounding of his blood-hadn't heard her since the
visitor had left, and might have thought she'd left
the house if the sound of the gate hadn't preceded that
of the front door. Any noises she was making must
be inaudible through the wall, which suggested that for her
to overhear anything from Janet's house, it would need
to be louder than Woollie imagined, but Ian
didn't know if that was reassuring or the opposite.
Was she downstairs or had she gone up to her room?
She couldn't have guessed why he'd left the keys
on display in the drawer, but suppose she belatedly
understood? The prospect of her entering the house
to check if Ian was there no longer seemed
desirable, given how near Charlotte was to the
knife. He found himself willing nothing to happen
until daylight, when Charlotte would at least have
slept and he would be able to plan or see a chance.
Then, in the darkness that was far short of dawn, he
heard her whimper, and her side of the mattress
creaked.
She was only dreaming, Ian thought so
fiercely his head throbbed. The dream must go away
before it wakened her, so that there was no need for
Woollie's hands to drag at the quilt, scraping
it over the mattress. But she whimpered again, and as
Ian's eyes sneaked open he glimpsed the
blurred head ducking toward her. "What's the
squeaking for88Woollie said with a heartiness all the more
menacing for being restrained to a murmur. "Think you're
a mouse?"8Want to go."
Charlotte sounded
by
no means fully awake or in control
of
her voice, and Ian was suddenly very afraid for her.
"We're going nowhere till I've
thoughtea8Woollie muttered,
SO
stop making a row about it."
"I've got to.
I
need to."
At least her words were growing clearer, and Ian had
to hope her sense of the situation was. "Plumbing
problem, is it88Woollie said. "Then we'll have
to come with you. You're still awake, aren't you,
son? Stop pretending."
Had he known all the time or was he trying to convince
Ian he had? Ian thought of attempting to persuade
him he'd
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
been wrong and still was, but that wouldn't help
Charlotte. "Now I'm awakeea8he mumbled.
"He's a laugh, isn't he88Woollie said,
hitching himself down the bed, his knuckles bumping
along Ian's side and presumably along
Charlotte's. The movements of his indistinct bulk
grew less jerky as it left the bed and moved to the
doorway, where its face was no more discernible in a
faint glow. "Come on if you're desperateea8x
said. "You know the drill. Walk quiet and don't
touch anything. This way, straight across the bed.
Make yourself useful, son, and get her hand."
Ian found one of Charlotte's hands. It was limp
with disuse and clammy as fever, but responded
by
clutching his so gratefully he felt like an older
brother. He helped her off the bed and escorted her
toward the doorway, and was almost close enough to touch the
hulking silhouette when it retreated. In the glow that
the glass above the front door admitted
to the hall, features appeared to float up from the
murk within the outline of Woollie's face: a
glint of watchful eyes, a glistening crescent of
mouth. "You know what you have to do if you want to go,
don't you88the mouth muttered.
Charlotte took a firmer hold of Ian's hand.
Perhaps that was intended to signify assent as well as
distress, because she was silent until the mouth insisted
"Say it then, love. Let's be sure."
"Leave the door open and don't pull the
chainea8Charlotte said, barely audibly.
"That's the routine. We want to see you aren't
tempted to get up to any kind of mischief in there,
don't we? And we can't have you making a noise for the
neighbours to hear." The silhouette moved to block
the stairs, resting one hand on the top of the banister,
the other on the pocket containing the knife.
"Tiptoe in, then. Get it doneea8the mouth urged.
If
Ian shoved their captor hard and unexpectedly,
might he lose his balance? Falling had to injure
him-but that would leave him in the way, either on the stairs
or at the
CHILDREN
foot of them, and probably not
unconscious. Ian let go of Charlotte and was
trying to know what to do
by
the time she opened the bathroom door when the mouth
renewed its moist grin. "Go with her, son, so
I
can see you both."
"You dirty shit.8Ian was so furious he could
hardly force his voice out. "I'm not doing that," he
said, and tensed himself to throw all his weight at their
captor-even if they both fell downstairs, that would
give Charlotte a chance to escape. Then her hand
fumbled into his and squeezed it clumsily. "It's
all rightea8she whispered.
"I
don't mind."
At that moment he admired her courage as much as he
hated their captor. He couldn't exert any less
control than she was having to use, and the sight of
Woollie's fist clenching around the banister showed how
useless an attempt to dislodge him would be. Ian
had to bide his time, and so he allowed Charlotte
to lead him to the bathroom.
The snout of the bath taps announced itself with a hollow
drip as she pushed open the door.
A
crumpled shower curtain dangled inside the bath and
glimmered in the mirror.
A
scent of soap and talcum powder tried to disguise
another smell. Ian turned his back as
Charlotte reached the unlidded toilet, and then he
stood between her and the watchful silhouette. He
didn't care what the man said, he wasn't giving
him a view of Charlotte. He stared fiercely at
the silhouette as if that might stop his own face
growing hotter at the various sounds she made.
Eventually the final trickle trailed away, but
he didn't move his eyes until she touched his
arm. "Are you going as well88she murmured.
"Better do what she says, son."
He meant so that he wouldn't be disturbed again, Ian
deduced.
All
at once Ian's bladder was urging him. As he
ventured into the bathroom he cupped a hand over his
mouth and nose, and tried to hold his breath until
he'd finished jetting into the mercifully invisible
pool urned
by
the porcelain. He didn't quite succeed, and had
to press the hand to the lower half of his face while he
zipped himself up before turning to find Charlotte with her
back to him. The spectacle of her braving their
captor so as to spare Ian em-
barrassment made him all the more determined to prevent
her from being harmed. "I'm coming now, Charlotteea8he
told her.
"It's back to the woods for the babes."
Charlotte raised a hand as if she were at school,
then shook it and her head. "Thirsty."
"That's a bit of a laugh, isn't it? You've just
let it out and now you want to put more in."
"I'm thirsty. It hurts."
"Oh, for God's sake let her past if it'll
keep her quiet, son."
"Not water.
A
proper drink."
She wasn't wailing as Ian would have feared-she
sounded more in control of herself than he would have dared
hope. Could she have figured out a way for them
to escape? At least her insistence would take them
downstairs, closer to freedom. "There's stuff in
the fridgeea8he said.
"How would you know that, son? This isn't your
house."8More mine than yoursea8Ian had to struggle not
to retort. "I got a drink when
I
came inea8he lied. "There's some juice."
"What kind88Charlotte said eagerly.
Though she was trying to be positive, her question seemed
to have ruined everything until, surely in time for his
silence not to have exposed his lie, he thought of an
answer. "The kind you like."
Woollie didn't move. Only his eyes did,
dark wet bulges whose gleam flickered toward Ian
and then back to Charlotte. When Woollie leaned
at her to scrutinise her face she didn't flinch.
"It'll be a chance,
I
reckonea8he said.
That sounded as if it might be supposed to lead to a
joke, but Ian couldn't ask the question either he or
Charlotte was obviously meant to ask. When she
stayed mute too Woollie said in a tiny shrill
voice "Chance for what?"
His eyes searched for an audience reaction, then his
mouth drooped like a clown's.
"A
chance to stretch our legsea8he said in his ordinary
mutter. "You follow me, love, quiet as that
mouse you were making a noise like before,
CHILDREN
quieter than that, and the big babe can be right behind you."
He hadn't let go of the banister. His fist slithered
down the curve of it as he edged backward. His
foot wavered in the air, feeling for the top step, and
that was when Ian should have pushed him, but Charlotte was in
the way. Then the silhouette jerked several inches
lower, and again, and no more until Charlotte followed
it onto the stairs with Ian at her heels. "This
is a funny way for me to go, isn't
it88Woollie said. "Worth a grin at least.
Save your laughs for when we're back upstairs."
His face was gathering more detail at each step, and
Ian realised the same must
be
true of his and Charlotte's. The eyes within the
silhouette were intent on their reactions, the mouth
kept closing only to reopen in another expectant
smirk. Woollie's hand slipped down the banister
with a series of squeaks like the cries of a small
terrified animal, and Ian heard the man's feet
brush the carpet each time they groped for a
foothold. Every one of the sounds made him wish he'd
gone for Woollie at the top of the stairs. But the
man was at the bottom now, retreating just enough to give
his captives space to pass.
"All
the way alongea8he whispered, "and sit yourselves down for
your midnight treat."
Charlotte sidled hastily past him and fled down the
hall. She was out of his reach, and Ian was close enough
to go for him. He tried to appear to be thinking of nothing
whatsoever, which might have been why Woollie's hand
darted to the knife and slid it out just far enough to produce
a glint. "Keep up with your playmateea8he
murmured. "There's been enough fuss."
That couldn't stop Ian, not while Charlotte was out of
danger, even if he got hurt himself. He was
taking a breath that would help launch him at
Woollie as he shouted at Charlotte to escape
past them, when Woollie strode swiftly Yet
noiselessly after her. In a second he was patting
her on the head while his other hand stroked the outlive
of the knife. "Come and join us, son. They're
slowcoaches, these teenage boys, aren't they,
Charlotte?"
He continued to Pat her as far as the
kitchen, a perfor-
mance that dragged Ian's arms down stiffly at his
sides and drew his hands into claws, their fingers aching,
the nails tingling. Woollie reached past her and
nudged the kitchen door wide, releasing the token
glow of the room. He took hold of Charlotte's
shoulders to place her on the low bench closer to the
hall. "Sit the other side, son, and we'll see
what you were talking about."
"We weren't talkingea8Charlotte blurted rather too
loud. Ian heard his heart thump several times before
Woollie finished staring at her and said "What he was
saying was in the fridge."
"She knew you meant that. She was just trying to make you
laugh."
"I
told you we don't want to be laughing down
here."8We promise," Ian said, and would have said
anything necessary to prevent Woollie from deciding against
opening the refrigerator. That would be Charlotte's
solitary chance-she would have a clear run to the front
door, and Ian would ensure she wasn't chased,
whatever that took. He willed her not to speak
except to promise too. When she didn't even do
that, Woollie paced to the refrigerator as
tall as himself and opened the upper door.
"Surpriseea8he muttered.
"What is88Charlotte pleaded.
"Your playmate hasn't let you down."
The light from the refrigerator spilled into the
kitchen, turning her face pate. It couldn't be
long before Woollie noticed that the light was rendering
the three of them more visible than he wanted. Ian
touched Charlotte's foot with his under the table and nodded
at the hall. "G. Goea8he mouthed, and saw her
shake her head.
"I'll
fix him.8He was grimacing now, and mouthing so
violently he heard the movement of his lips. She
had to shift at once or it would be too late. He
jammed a fist against his chest and jerked its forefinger
to point behind her. "G. You've got toea8he said,
nearly audibly.
"What kind of a drink are you after,
love88Woollie said, and leaned into the
refrigerator. "There's orange and there's time."
CHILDREN

if
Ian jumped up he was almost certain that he
could trap
the man with the refrigerator door. "Charlotteea8he
said, desperately, aloud.
"You as wellea8she told him, and pinched her lips
together.
She meant she wouldn't flee without him. He'd
made her run away when he didn't want her
to, and now he couldn't make her when he did. He
was trying to think past the tangle of his admiration and
frustration when Woollie swung toward her.
"Let's be hearing from you, love. It's not much of a
choice."
"Orangeea8she said, andwitha politeness Ian found
dismayingly grotesque, "please."
"That's what
I'd
have given youea8Woollie said, and stood the carton with
its gaping beak in front of her. "We don't
want you crying the other stuff's too sour."
"Please may
I
have a glass?"
"Better do without. Could be dangerous.8He shut the
refrigerator and paced to stand between her and the hall.
"Get it down you, only not so fast you start
coughing. Remember we don't want a row."
He was staring a warning at Ian, who could only
watch as Charlotte raised the carton to her lips and
swallowed twice, and once more. She released a
small terse gasp before Planting the carton on the
table with a thud. Though it wasn't
loud,
it was why Woollie's voice grew harsh. "Take
Your turn, son. Nobody wants you deciding
you'd like a drink after we're back upstairs."
Ian took hold of the frigid carton.
A
glass would have been a weapon, but so was the juice-it
could sting Woollie's eyes, it might even blind him
long enough for both his captives to escape. As if
sensing Ian's thought, Woollie stepped close behind
Charlotte and began to run his fingertips UP and
down the outline of the knife. "Knock it back,
son. Can't be much for you to finish."
There was little more than a mouthful, but Ian took less
than that while be strained to think.
If
he opened the refrigerator and left it open, might
Woollie head for it? He was


RAMSEY CAMPBELL
halfway to standing up when Woollie said "What do you
reckon he's thinking of doing, Charlotte?"
"Putting this awayea8Ian told him.
"Nothing to put, we both know that. There's been too
much light around here as it is. Chuck it in the bin."
The bin was full of glass. Ian didn't know how
he would use it, he didn't want to think about it
yet-he had to ensure Woollie neither saw nor
heard him conceal a piece in his fist. He moved in
front of the bin and was resting his toe on the
pedal-holding his breath as if to show the contents of the bin
how silent they must be-when Woollie said in a
voice like a protracted mirthless laugh "Just stick
it on top of the lid, son. Bin's full, and we
don't want anybody getting hurt on all that
glass."
Ian let the lid drop, jarring a muffled tinkle
out of the bin. He dumped the carton on the lid and
turned on Woollie with no kind of plan, only
rage that felt as though it might somehow be enough. The
man was already in the hall, and leading Charlotte
backward with one hand on her shoulder, the other tracing
the shape of the knife. "Get a move on,
sonea8he murmured. "Your playmate doesn't like
you being all that way away."
The sight of Charlotte being led into the dimness that
closed around her face and wiped it out returned the
stab to Ian's mind. Woollie held onto her as
he retreated beyond the stairs. "You go first, son.
Back to the woods."
If
there was anything Ian could do except obey, his mind
was unable to grasp it. He felt chances falling out of
reach behind him-the front door, the telephone, the
weapons he'd failed to use-as he trudged
upstairs. He sensed rather than heard Charlotte
start after him: all he could hear was Woollie's
mutter that sounded as though he were thinking aloud. "You
won't be here much longer. Thanks for helping me
see that, son."
Ian: I've gone to work.
PLEASE
RING to let me know you're back.
Leslie stared at that and saw it was no good. What was
it supposed to be expressing? Impatience, anger,
self-righteousness
his Certainly none of the feelings she wanted him to know
she had-none of the love that, however much he
worried her, made her want him back. She had
plenty of time to write before she had to go out; the dawn
was only starting to renew the colours of the roofs beyond
Jericho Close. Soon the streetlamps would
acknowledge that one more night was dealt with, and the street
would brighten like a stage awaiting an entrance-a stage
as empty as the street was now. She took a harsh
gulp of coffee in case that reduced her need for the
most of a night's worth of sleep she'd missed, and
retrieved the message pad from the low table in
front of the sofa. She crumpled the top sheet and
stared at the blank page, and thought of putting on some
music to help her think or rather find words for her
state. It was too early, even though there was nobody
next door to be disturbed, and besides, it would seem
too much like taking advantage of Ian's absence
to listen without having her Pleasure impaired
by
her sense of his dislike of the music.
She
gave the deserted street another imploring glance and
crouched over the pad.
Dear Ian,
Please read all of this.
I'm sorry for letting you think
I
could say what you
264 RAMSEY CAMPBELL
thought
I
did.
I
never would have, but maybe
I
almost considered it, and
I
know that's bad enough. Try and understand it wasn't because
I
was suspicious of you-it was me being so anxious to know
what's happened to Charlotte
I
couldn't think. She's still gone.
I
know you care about her however much of a pain she can be, so
do you blame me for tying every way I could to figure out
what's happened to her? Maybe you have too-maybe
you've been looking for her, that's what I hope.
When I asked you if there was anything you hadn't
mentioned
I
ought to have said anything you might have forgotten that could help
the police.
The police had questioned her last night, less than
an hour after she'd called them. They'd been
represented
by
one stout red-faced avuncular constable with hair only
below the rim of his monochrome helmet. Perhaps his
age and slowness were supposed to be reassuring, but
she'd wondered how skilled he could be at his
job
not to have risen to a higher rank. He'd asked her
questions she had already asked herself-whom Ian could spend
the night with, whether he had friends she wasn't aware
of, as though the raising of that possibility would somehow
furnish her with their names-and one she hadn't
entertained: whether he might have taken refuge with her
parents. The policeman had needed almost more convincing
than she had energy for that Ian never would have-that if,
incredibly, he had, her mother would have let her know at
once. Perhaps the constable had allowed himself to be
persuaded there was no point in troubling Leslie's
parents only once he'd grasped how reluctant
she was to phone them. He'd borrowed last year's
school photograph of Ian and promised
to circulate a description, and had taken some time
to assure her that in his experience most children who ran
away from home after an argument showed up shamefaced
or defensive or determined to swagger the next day.
That meant there were some who didn't, Leslie had
reflected as she'd watched him drive
CHILDREN
away, and that was the start of the rest of the night-of
Ian's night somewhere.
Now it was over, and soon, if not sooner, it would be
time for him to come back. Maybe the thought of breakfast
would tempt him. If it did, he'd better be
quick-she hoped he wasn't assuming she would stay
home for him. She'd had a shower and was dressed, and
once she'd finished writing to him she would head for
work, She aimed her ballpoint at her last words,
and enlarged the bulb of the
p
of "help" to engulf the full stop, and coaxed the t
of "the8n to be a capital, and leaned on a dot after
"police.8Doing all that helped her think of more
to write.
But
I
care about you more than
I
care about her, just in case you were wondering.
If
you've stayed away to make me see that, you didn't
need to. Just so long as you've come back, and
obviously you have since you're reading this, that's all
I
care about. Better be ready for me to raise my
voice a bit when
I
see you, though.
PLEASE
STAY, THAT'S
ALL.
Don't go away again. Phone me at the shop to let
me know you're there, then I can tell your father we know
where you are so he can stop worrying about you when he's
already got someone to worry about. You've made your
point, all right? If you love us, and
I
know you
do,
you'll put us out of our misery.
Lots

love, you know how much if you let yourself,
Mum
She considered adding kisses, but her message might
embarrass him more than enough without them. When she read it
through she found it almost too much herself. She could
rewrite it if she was quick, she thought, and then she
clicked the nib into the pen and stood up. She'd
written what she felt- She pinned the three
small square pages down with the Phone on the hall
table and made for the kitchen to wash her coffee mug.
When she became aware of gazing through the window above the
sink in search of anything she could

RAMSEY CAMPBELL
watch to keep her at home at least a few moments
longer, she took herself out of the house.
Car alarms were greeting their owners as the houses sent
forth a selection of the people weekday mornings sent forth.
In the park, beneath an increasingly translucent blue
sky, boys of about Ian's age were demonstrating
ways they behaved: smoking, arguing, walking with
girls and perhaps even holding their hands, laughing as
loud as they could. They made her want to hurry
home to see if Ian was back. Once she was on
the train, trapped on a seat
by
more and more people who also had to go to work whatever else might
be happening in their lives, she wanted to be already at
the shop, to be close to the phone if it rang-when it
did.
Under Oxford Circus a violinist was performing a
jaunty piece
by
Saint-Sadns, which might have cheered her if it
hadn't been so distant it sounded deep in the earth.
It sank away, and before she stepped off the highest
escalator she couldn't hear it. She let herself be
crowded up into the sunlight, where she felt as though
she were leading half the crowd to the shop, outside which
she halted and sucked in a breath that was bitter with a
stench of petrol. Melinda was replacing the phone
on the counter, and whatever she'd just heard had left
her close to tears.
Leslie managed not to speak until she'd shut the
door behind her. "What is it? Is it Ian88she
heard herself demanding, and perhaps worse still "Is it about
him?"
"Why
should it be?"
That was too harsh to be anything but a denial.
"I'm sorryea8Leslie said, rediscovering some
gentleness. "What, then?"
"Sally's leaving me.
I
think there's someone else."
"Oh, Melinda. You too? Us and our
partners.8Leslie gave her an awkward hug that
came near to squeezing out Melinda's tears, and
dared to say
"I'd
move in with you to help you get over her if
I
was at all that way inclined."
"You stay how you are.
I
don't want to be one of the people who tried to screw up
your life.
I'd
rather have you straight as you are. Take that how you
like.8Melinda raised
CHILDREN
a smile that left her eyes moist, and blinked.
"Why
were you looking like that about Ian? What's he been up
to now?"
"Stayed out overnight because
I
made him feel
I
thought he might have done something to Charlotte."
"Anyone would have wondered that if they were you. It's the
kind of thing we think even if we don't want
toea8Melinda said, and renewed her brave smile.
"I shouldn't have bothered you with my love life when
you've got your own worries."
"Don't fart at the mouth, Mel.
I
know we'll be hearing from him any time now.
I
left a note saying he had to call."8I'm sure
you'll see him before
I
see Sallyea8Melinda said,
which dislodged two large slow tears. Leslie gave
her another hug and had to dab at her own eyes, and
then she and Melinda stared at passers-by to make
them stop spectating. Leslie's tears were mostly
at the realisation that secretly she hoped Melinda
had spoken the truth. There would he plenty

time for the women to share a real weep once they knew
Ian was safe.
FORTY-THREE
""is is Haven Home. Helao? Haven
Home here. It's the Haven Home."
"Say, boy, who's this I'm talking to?"8It's
Terence."
"You the head honcho there, Teerence? You in charge?"
"I
just live here. It's Mrs. Woollie's, but she
never comes till ten. Mark's in charge till she
comes. He's looking at something in the kitchen. Shall
I get him?"
"Tell you who you get for me, Teerence. You know
John?"
"Which John?"
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
"Hey, you said a mouthful. He ain't called
John no more, right? Rub that out. The guy I need
is calling himself Jack."8Mr. Woollie?"
"What's that, boy? What the-what you saying?"
"You mean Mr. Woollie? That Jack. Mrs.
Woollie's son."8That's the guy, sure enough.
Hold a moment. Hush now, little lady. Save it,
okay?"
Hector accompanied the latter part of this with a
smile wide enough to expose his gums and a stare that
peeled the skin back from his eyes, but Charlotte
carried on emitting sounds not far short of mirth at
the voice he was having to use. Any other time he
would be happy to make her laugh; why had she withheld
it until she might be overheard? Didn't she
understand how she was endangering herself, or did she
expect to be saved if she revealed she was there?
She was sitting on the fourth stair up, more than
close enough for him to grab, but he didn't want any
upset when he had another way of solving the problem
of her, or at least of postponing the solution. He
let the fingertips of the hand that wasn't holding the
receiver outline the knife for her playmate, who was
sitting as he'd been told to sit with his legs on
either side of her, to see. "Quieten her down,
sonea8Hector whispered, pressing the mouthpiece
against his heart. "You know there's nothing to laugh at right
now."
Ian leaned forward and clasped the girl's shoulders.
"No point in pissing him offea8he murmured.
Her face convulsed at the bad word, and then appeared
to begin to relax. Either he'd impressed her
by
wording it like that or the message conveyed more to her than it
had to Hector. For the moment Hector couldn't
ponder that, not when he'd come near to betraying himself on
thinking Terence had identified him. He stared at
Charlotte until her mouth sank inward, and then he
raised the phone. "You still there, Teerence?"
"I've been here all the time. What was
I
hearing?"
He'd overheard Charlotte's stutters of hilarity
or Ian's voice, Hector thought, glaring at his
charges. "I dunno, boy. What you reckon you
heard?"
CHILDREN
-Some machine going bumper bumper bump."
,eaMust have been in your own head.
I
guess you need to see the doc to check you ain't got
too much blood pressure.88Is that what it was?
Thanks.
I
will."
Terence was as suggestible as ever, Hector saw. He
might have enjoyed amusing himself at Terence's
expense, but Charlotte looked in danger
of another fit of mirth. "So you got Jack
Woollie there88he said.
"He doesn't live here."
"Guess I never said he did. Hangs out there,
though, ain't that the truth?"
"Sometimes."8Like right now, boy?"
"Not yet.
I
expect he's still at Mrs. Woollie's, being a
writer and not having to get up."
"When you looking to see him?"
"Not today. He said he was going to try and do a bit
of a book."
"Gonna stay at his momma's, is he?
Why
don't you give me her number."
"It's up here on the board."
It sounded as if Terence assumed that was all he
needed to say, and Hector felt his limbs growing
stiff with frustration, not least because Charlotte was
clutching her mouth with a hand that looked less than
capable of restraining whatever it was doing its best
to hold in. He was reminding himself not to raise his
voice
by
the time Terence read him the number. He was in the
midst of scribbling it on the pad with the pencil when
Terence said "Who do you want me to say you were if he
comes?"
"Hold everything while
I
get this written down. Matter of fact, why
don't you tell me again to make sure." While
Terence repeated the number Hector finished
transcribing it and thought of a name for himself. "Tell
him Mr. Dadd was asking for him."
"Dadd."8That's the tag, sure enough. Hush her
up now, boy. Give her a hand if hers ain't
enough."
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
"I
didn't catch that."
"Be glad you didn't, Teerence. Just tell
Jack Woollie Mr. Dadd that he's been
speaking to is gonna be in touch. Tell him it's a
proposition we gotta keep between ourselves."8Is it
about his book?"
"Mebbe so, Hey, Teerence, didn't
I
just get through saying it's between me and him?
Tell you what, you give him the message if you
see him and we won't stop you thinking you helped with the
book. Mebbe you'll see your name in print if you do
like
I
say."
"I've been in the paperea8Terence said, with some
pride but also a hint of unease that showed Hector
it was time to end the conversation. He put an end
to Terence without moving his gaze from the pair on the
stairs. Ian hadn't helped Charlotte cover up
her mouth, but if Jack should hear her, surely that
would impress on him the importance of obeying his
father. Hector dialled the digits that masked his
number and then rang the one Terence had given him.
"That ole magic coach is gonna be here 'fore you
know it to carry you away," he told Charlotte in the
voice he seemed unable for the moment to abandon. He
stared at her to warn her not to laugh so loudly she would
be audible outside the house, but she took her hands
away from her mouth without releasing a sound. Perhaps his
words had silenced her. Only the ringing of Adele's
phone was to be heard: no voice, neither the one he
wanted nor the one he was glad not to hear.
"Guess that ole coachman jest stepped
out. Guess mebbe he's watering them hosses.8He
saw Charlotte's face writhe, trying to fix on the
reaction she thought he wanted, and above it the boy
gazing so blankly at him that Hector came
close to fearing he'd lost the power to make anyone
laugh. The boy was attempting to undermine his confidence,
that was
0.
Everything had been going right for Hector until the
children had turned up. He'd been watching for John
from the alley behind the houses when he'd heard the
woman calling,, from her window that she and her husband
would be away)
CHILDREN
for weeks. Hector's keys had still fitted the
locks at Woollie's yard, and better yet,
he'd found a pane of glass already cut to the size
the woman's kitchen door took, standard as it was.
He'd had to hide just twice from nocturnal
strollers on his way with the pane from the yard to the
house, but it seemed he'd hardly secured his
refuge when he'd heard Charlotte crying out for
peace.
He leaned against the wall beside the phone, wishing he'd
thought to bring a chair while
it had been dark enough for him
to risk fetching it. He would have if the boy's
presence hadn't given him too much to be aware of.
He stared at the children until the boy's
expressionlessness spread to the girl's face, and then
he picked up the receiver and poked the redial key.
The bell was waiting all
by
itself.
He let it ring until a robot woman cut it
off and told him to try later. She was there next time
he rang too. He was giving John a chance
to return from wherever he'd gone and get rid of her
when he saw Charlotte's mouth begin to work. "You
itching to whisper something to me, babe88he said.
Her mouth wavered open, and the tip of her tongue
risked venturing around it as though seeking the shape of a
word. Perhaps it was remembering a taste, because she
admitted "I'm hungry."
"No remedy for that right now, babe. Gonna have
to wait just like the rest of us."
"There's stuff in the fridgeea8Ian said, not nearly
quietly enough.
"You already told me that once, boy. Guess you
better make sure
I
hear less of you.
I
saw in there, babe, and it ain't much. Anyway, you
should have asked when we were there."
"But I'm hungry now."
"Can't do anything about that now it's light. Reckon
you'll survive. I've gone longer without rations, and
look at meea8Hector told her, cocking his head
and giving her a wide-eyed smile. Despite his
efforts she seemed determined not to cheer up-he thought
the boy wasn't letting her and so he said "Wait
till the coach comes to take you out
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
of the woods. You won't be hungry once you get
where you're going."
In fact he had no idea where he would have John
take them-time enough to decide that once he made sure
John would come when he was called. He watched
Charlotte's face sink into a resignation unsteadier
than he would have preferred, and then he redialled.
The bell
...
the robot woman. He slammed the receiver down and
saw Charlotte think better of pleading.
Maybe it was the toilet this time, but could she really
want to go again or was the boy causing her to think she
did? She'd become far more trouble since the boy had
intruded-Hector had been on the very edge of singing
her to sleep when the boy had disturbed her, and because of the
boy he'd had no sleep himself. Could the boy have
devised a means of communicating silently with her?
Was that why she was threatening to grow restless? Maybe his
legs were exerting pressure on her sides, conveying
a coded message to her or just ensuring she didn't
nod off. Hector took hold of the receiver and jabbed
the button, pretending to be intent on the phone
while he watched for the slightest secret movement
of the boy's legs. The intolerably familiar bell
rang twice, twice more, and Hector's prickly
eyes had just glimpsed a minute shifting of the boy's
left leg when John's voice said "Hello?"
"John Woollie."
"Excuse me, who is this?"
Hector had failed to relinquish his American
accent, to his own amusement now. "You mean you or
me, boy? Who you figure you're talking to?"
"That's what I asked."
"Try Mr. Dadd. Know me now?"
"Mr....
"Your dadea8Hector would have said through his teeth if
he'd had any, his lack of all the sleep
Charlotte's playmate had stolen from him leaving him
very little patience. "What's wrong, boy? Forget I
was alive?"
"I
was wondering where you'd got to. Are you going to want
to speak to my mother?"
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"No way. You and me, that's the whole team."
"Are you saying you don't want her to know about
you?"8She ain't gonna be no help to us. Got her
hands full with folks that are mad enough to need her."
"Then you'd better give me your number. She could
be
back any minute and
I'll
have to ring off."
"Cute, boy. Very cute. Don't try to be no
cuterea8Hector said, glaring at the children.
"If
you have to cut me off you wait there till
I
call back."
"Suppose she answers?"
"Then she ain't got no reason to think she's
stopped being a widow, right? Nobody knows except
you, ain't that the truth?"
"Sure.,, The word was heavy with resignation, and at
once Hector knew why. "You been trying to tell
folks about me, ain't you, boy."
"After you said
I
hadn't to?"
"Guess you figured you didn't have to do what your
dad says since you left home and tried to kid
everyone you weren't my son. Only you found out
nobody believed you, right? Nobody believes
I
ain't dead, and
I
reckon if you tried to tell anyone they thought it was
one of your stories. Thought you'd run out of bogeymen
to make up."
"You're your own invention, sure enough-was
"Didn't I just say not to be cute88Hector
found himself as unable to stop glaring at the children as he was
to abandon the accent, but they deserved to feel he was
warning them-the boy especially did. "Best keep
me to yourself from now on inea8Hector said.
"You've a good reason, better believe it."
John wasn't so quick with an answer this time. After quite
a pause he said "What's that?"
"You'll see when you get here."8ally want me to come
to you."8Sounded like
I
said that to me."8Sure
I
will. Just tell me where."
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
"Not right now, boy. Not till
I
need you to pick me up and a couple of babes."
"Babesea8John said, and even more incredulously
"Women, you mean."
"Ain't none of them things here, no. Not that kind of
babe."
John was silent long enough for his voice to
fill
with dread. "What in Christ do you mean, then?"
"Hey, boy, no need for that talk. Never raised
you to make free with the Lord's name. Mebbe writing them
books of yours got you too fond of the devil.
I'll
let you hear what kind of babeea8Hector
said, and pointed at Charlotte. "Seeing as how
you're itching to talk, say a word for John. Just one
word."
Her teeth squashed her lips together, and he thought she
was so confused she would only cry, which would do fine as
long as she stopped when she was told. This time there was
no doubt, however, that he saw the boy send her a
message, pressing his legs against her sides as if
to squeeze out the word she released. "We-was
'That's perfect. Hush nowea8Hector said,
covering the mouthpiece and scowling at the boy to ensure
he helped to quieten her. Only when she pinched her
mouth shut with a finger and thumb did he speak into the
receiver. "Hear that, did you, boy? Hear the little
pig
going wee? She'd like to go wee, wee, wee all the
way home."
"I
don't know if
I
heard anyone. Let me again."
"Not so cute as you think you are. You heard sure
enough. Don't want her upset, do you? You know how
that upsets me."
"Don't harm her. Give me your word you
won't and
I'll
do whatever you ask."
"Just remind me, boy. You ever give me your word
when you were younger you wouldn't leave me and your momma?"
"I never said that.
I
know
I
never did."
Hector didn't think he had, but was simply
guaranteeing that John would be desperate to please
him, a prospect so
CHILDREN
appealing it bared his gums. "How you gonna make
me believe that88he said.
"Any way
I
can.
By
doing what you want. How couldn't
I?
Who is she?"
"Nobody that means anything to you, boy."8She
does. That's why you've got my word."8ally
sure you ain't trying to be cute again?"
"Christ no. Sorry, but
I
mean, how can you think that? Do
I
sound as if
I
am?"
Hector had to trust him: there was nobody else.
"Mebbe not. You got a coach there, right?"
"A
what?"
"A
coach.
A
car.8Sleeplessness, aggravated
by
his difficulty in choosing his words or his voice, was
crawling beneath Hector's scalp. "You got one of
those to bring."
"As soon as you like. You said you want to take her
home."
"You hear me say that, boy? Better listen
closer. Wouldn't want you getting your instructions
wrong. That wouldn't do her no good at
all."
"I'm listening, but wait. You said a couple, not just
one. Who-was
"You'll see soon enough. Keep that on your mind
while you're waiting for me to call. You got no
reason to go out till
I
do, that a fact? Somebody's hoping you ain't."
"I'll
wait here for you, that's a promise, but how
long-by "You'll find out when it happens, and where to come
too. Just be ready. When
I
want you
I'll
want you fast."
"You've got me. Only
I
could use some idea how far--2" Hector burst
out laughing. Not only could he hear John
attempting yet another ruse, he could see
Charlotte's playmate opening his mouth.
"Jackea8the boy called, his voice so high it must
have embarrassed him, as Hector slammed the receiver
down and Charlotte shrank into the refuge
of the boy's legs. "Don't bother trying, son,"
Hector whispered, his false accent deserting him
at last. "He'll know where we are when
I
want him to know."
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
"Where's he going to take us?"8Where he's told."
"Where?"8That's enough row, son. You're upsetting your
playmate."
"No he isn'tea8Charlotte said.
It was the boy's fault, Hector thought in a rage
that made his scalp feel as raw as his gums. The
boy was encouraging her to rebel. When Hector
took a step toward him the boy crouched
protectively over her, more like the babes in the
wood than Hector welcomed. "You don't know,
do you88Charlotte said.
"I
know everything worth knowing, love. Grown-ups
do.""You don't know where you want him to take us."
She wasn't far from laughing at him. She wouldn't
laugh or even smile when he wanted her to,
only when it would confuse him. Didn't she and her
accomplice realise they were simply enraging him?
"You'll find out
I
do when John doesea8Hector muttered, and wiped
his chin with the hand that wasn't reminding him of the knife.
"Go on now. Back up to the woods to wait for the
coach."
Her face dared to turn pitying. "There aren't any
woods and there isn't a coach."
"A
car, then. Settle down. Better get used
to waiting till
I
say it's time. Let her up, son. She knows where
to go." Neither child moved. Hector planted a foot
on the bottom
stair with more of a thud than made sense, another
indication of how they were blurring his concentration. He was
clutching the knife in his pocket when Charlotte
blurted
"I
will if you promise he'll take me home like you
said."
John had accused him of saying that too. For a moment
Hector thought the children were somehow managing to conspire with
his son, and then he grasped that the girl's
assumption should help him quieten her.
"I'll
do what you heard me say."
"And you have to let Ian go too."
"Don't worry,
I'll
have no use for him once you're gone.8She rested her
hands on Ian's knees and rose unsteadily,
CHILDREN
and was sidling past him when she halted and peered over
her shoulder at Hector. "You haven't
promised."
"Thought you said you heard me.
All
right, don't start creating.
I
promise."
"You have to say what."
Beside her the boy was staring as if he had the right
to judge someone of Hector's age, and Hector
had to restrain himself: it was best to keep them as calm
as he could while he thought how to deal with them.
"I
promise you'll be going homeea8he muttered.
"Why can't we now?"
"Not till I'm going somewhere too."
That appeared to satisfy her. She turned and had
climbed three stairs not too intolerably slowly
when the boy, who'd remained seated, said "Where?"
"Never you mind. You've got what you wanted.
You've got my promise."
The boy gripped the stair he was sitting on,
rendering himself more of a barrier between Hector and the girl.
His face was dull with stubbornness and incredulity,
though Hector wasn't sure what he
disbelieved-the promise or that Hector had a
plan. Hector saw him opening his mouth to make
even more of a nuisance of himself, and interrupted before the
boy could speak. "Let's have a bit of quiet now.
Your playmate wants you to follow her so she can have
a rest."
It was clear that not much would be needed to bring her down the
stairs, encouraged
by
the boy's refusal to move. The sense that the
situation was turning against him flared like a short
circuit under Hector's scalp, and he snatched
the knife out of the pocket of the beach dress he was
hardly conscious of wearing. The boy's face
hardened, doing its best to pretend not to care, but the
girl's rebelliousness collapsed at
once. "Don't hurt himea8she wailed. "I'm
going up, look. Come on, Ian, you come too."
With that she bolted, almost tripping over the top
stair, and vanished into the back bedroom.
The boy grimaced after her as though she'd failed
to carry
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
out a plan they'd concocted together. He stared at the
knife in an attempt to appear unimpressed before
he retreated upstairs, Hector close behind him,
sliding the flat of the blade over the banister.
"Look what you've done now," Hector whispered.
"Upset your playmate for no reason. Better
find a way to take her mind off things.8Once that was
achieved he would be able to determine how to bring John
without revealing their whereabouts. Just now he was unsure of
far too much. Having given a promise he had no
intention of keeping, how could he know John would keep
his? Doubts swarmed beneath his scalp, and he needed
peace so as to think-needed the boy to calm his
playmate down and cease being any kind of a
distraction himself. That struck Hector as increasingly
unlikely, but if he wasn't able to think because of the
children and his own sleeplessness, he didn't like to imagine
what he might do instead.
FORTY-FOUR
Each time Jack compelled himself to wait he became
convinced all over again that there was more he could do. He'd
heard a child's voice, for Christ's sake. His father
had a child with him. She hadn't sounded frightened or
aware of any danger, as far as Jack had been able
to tell before his father had blocked the mouthpiece, but
what could he allow that to prove? His father had seemed
to imply that she wasn't alone with him, but Jack
didn't see how that could be reassuring either. Call
the police, his mind urged yet again, do it now. That
was what people did in situations such as this-call the
police.
Except that he was more convinced than ever they wouldn't
believe his father was alive, and even if Jack
succeeded in persuading them, what then? He had no
idea
CHILDREN
where his father was, and any search might send the man
deeper into hiding-might mean he wouldn't contact
Jack. While Jack was trying to win over the
police, suppose his father attempted to get through and
realised why the line was busy? Any approach
Jack made to the police might very well put the child
or children at greater risk.
His thoughts did their best to settle on that before
renewing their chase around the hollow brittle inside
of his head. They sent him roaming the apartment, the very
little of it there was to roam. In the perfumed pink
bathroom with its frilly toilet seat and a joke
on a wall plaque waiting to be re-encountered
by
anyone who sat down, he flung cold water in his
eyes and let it drip into the sink the colour of healing
flesh. In the kitchen overlooking a schoolyard for the
moment empty of children, a coffee jar turned out
to contain only a coating of brown dust, and he had
to make do with tea out of a bag. He tried switching
on the radio to help him wait, and found it was tuned
to a wartime comedy show, the laughter of voices that might
well be dead
by
now, laughter determined to fend off the state of the world.
Even news seemed preferable, but tuning across the
dial found none, and so he took his untouched mug of
tea into the only other room besides his mother's bedroom,
the large space that functioned as a dining room and
television lounge and, when the sofa was unfolded, his
temporary bedroom. The tea grew cold and
stagnant as he sat on the sofa
by
the phone and fished for cable channels with the remote
control, which brought him a good deal of dismaying news but
none about a missing little girl. The lack wasn't
reassuring: it simply reminded him how he'd
failed to do even the least he could have. He ought to have
made his father promise not to harm the child.
It wouldn't make any sense for him to hurt her, not
when he wanted Jack to side with him, but that was
assuming his father made sense. As soon as he
called again Jack was going to extract the promise,
and he'd insist on hearing the little girl speak. Those
resolutions involved waiting, and pacing through the
apartment that felt as though it shrank
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
with each wander he took, and having his thoughts repeat
themselves over and over and drag him through all the emotions
attached to them, and worse still, hearing the children in the
schoolyard at lunchtime. Their cries and laughter
drove him back into the main room, but even with all
the doors and windows shut tight they were audible. He
was staring at the phone, willing it to ring or himself either
to act or to resist acting, when he wondered how his
father had known where to reach him.
Perhaps he hadn't known: perhaps he had only
guessed, but he'd seemed not at all surprised
to hear Jack answer the phone-he'd sounded
absolutely sure of finding him. Did he still know
Jack well enough to realise he would have to take
refuge with his mother? The notion that his father could predict
his behaviour made Jack feel not just too close
to his own childhood but in danger of being controlled,
reached deeper into than he himself could reach and
influenced. His father must have looked up the number of the
woman who believed she was his widow, and Jack found
himself consulting the directory as if confirming his
suspicion could be any possible use. Wi, Wo,
Woo, and here was a block of Woollies. The name
dragged him down into his old buried self, but
only until he saw his mother's number was unlisted.
It had to be too new. Just to check, and willing his
father not to call while he did, Jack phoned
Directory Enquiries. But the operator
refused to give the number even when Jack assured
her he was calling from it, and he had to restrain himself from
starting an argument while his thoughts began to chatter.
Had his mother lied to him when he'd attempted to convince
her that his father was alive? Had she known then, or
only when his father had managed to learn Jack's
whereabouts from her? What could have persuaded her
to tell? Far more important, might she have some
idea where his father was?
Jack forced himself to wait some minutes in case his
father had decided on whatever basis he might have that
it was time to call, and then he dialled the Haven,
hoping to
CHILDREN
speak only to his mother. It was indeed her breathless
voice that eventually said "Haven Care Home."
"it's me. It's Jack."
"Is it very urgent? Only I'm in the middle of
trying to be tactful about telling people not to just wander into the
office when there aren't staff in it."
"It's pretty urgent, yes."
"Tell me then, but quickly if you can."
it wasn't only his sense of interrupting her work that
made it impossible for Jack to accuse her of having
lied to him. "Did you let someone know where to find
me88he said.
"Who, John?"8Anyone."8I wouldn't, not without
asking you first, not unless you said
I
could.
All
right?"
"Not even someone we know?"
"Particularly not anyone like that,
I
should think. They'd know who you were, and
I
thought you didn't want people knowing till you said."
"But who knows where I am besides you?"8Some of them here
do, don't they?"
His thoughts had been so narrowed he'd forgotten that.
He'd heard nothing other than honesty in her
voice, and had to accept she hadn't spoken to his
father. "Would any of them have given out your number, do you
think88he said.
his
They
might have, the way some of them are in and out of this
office. Do you want me to ask?"
Jack wasn't sure what use he could make of the
information, but said
"If
you wouldn't mind."
"Hold on then."
"Why
don't I-was
Before he could propose to call her back,
the phone clattered on her desk. She was gone for so
long that he was about to break the connection when he heard
the squeak of the office door and, after more of a pause
than struck him as warranted, her voice.
"Nobody who's here knows anything about a call for
you, but Terence and the Arthurs have
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
gone out for a walk.
If
it was any of them I'll get him to ring you."
"Any idea when?"
"Late this afternoon. Should be before
I
start back.8There was another problem to join the chase
inside Jack's head: that his father mightn't call
until his mother was home. Even more than previously,
he could find nothing to do except prowl the apartment and
keep returning to the news channels, none of which had
any news for him, and repeat thoughts that felt like being
unable to think, and wait for the phone to ring. He had
to listen to the children in the schoolyard twice, during their
afternoon break and at the end of the day, before it did.
"Hello?"8Hey there, Mr. Woollie."
Someone was trying to sound American.
All
that Jack could risk in the way of an answer was
"Yes?"
"How ya doin"? What's goin' on?"8I'm not
sure. What is?"
"You sayin' you don't know who you's a-talkin'
to?"8Put me out of my miseryea8Jack said through
what felt like a grin only in terms of the shape of his
mouth.
"It's Terence, Mr. Woollie. Terence from the
Haven, the Haven Home. Terence that you were talking
to the other day.,,
"I got you, Terence.
Why
were you speaking like that?"8Like what?
I
can't remember how
I
did."
"Just now, I mean. were you trying to sound like someone?"
"Lak theeyuss, you sayin'? That was just meant for a
laugh."
"You weren't imitating anyone."8Sorry, Mr.
Woollie."
Jack was beginning to feel the conversation would never get
started, never mind come to an end. "Sorry,
for what? Sorry for what?"
"I
wouldn't imitate you ever. Sorry if you thought
I
was.
CHILDREN

"I was only trying to be like the man who was going
to help
you
with your book."
"Which man?"
"What was his name?
A
funny name, it was. Made me laugh. What was
it88Terence said, not far short of demanding the answer of
Jack, and then preceded it with a giggle. "Mr.
Dadd."
Jack felt his mouth wrench itself out of shape.
"What's funny about that?"
"Sorry, is he a mate of yours? He must be if
he's helping you, mustn't he. Sorry.8Terence
sounded close to retreating inside himself to avoid
giving any further offence, but dared to add "It was a
bit funny how he talked."
"How was that?"
"More American than you, even more than, but you're not
a real one.8Some or all of that seemed meant as an
apology, though not one Jack grasped. "Did he
catch you, then? Did he track you down all right?"
Terence said, and allowed himself another giggle.
"I
thought he thought you were one of us."
"How come88Jack said, harshly enough for his breath
to rebound from the mouthpiece.
"He must have thought you were working here really. He took
a lot of telling you weren't here."
"You're saying he expected me to be."
"I
thought he thought
I
was trying to hide you at first, only why would you want
to hide from him? How's he going to help you with your
book?"
"Is that what he said he wanted?"
"I
thought he did.8Terence's enthusiasm slumped while
he said that, then roused itself. "Does he make
films? Is there going to be one of your book?"
"Right now I don't know what there's going
to be.8That was all their conversation seemed to have told
Jack, and it might be getting in the way of a call
his father was trying to make. "Thanks for phoning,
Terenceea8he said,
"I
have to go nowea8and kept his hand on the receiver in case it
was about to spring his father on him-in the hope that it would.
Irl
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
He listened to the silence that was the absence of children and
felt his thoughts preparing to swarm around the inside of his
skull. He needed to catch hold of one before they
did-whichever of them would explain his sense of having
learned more from Terence than he understood. The
impression made him feel as though he had heard a
sound he had yet to realise he'd heard.
FORTY-FIVE
"I
know a game that'll be fun for you both. It used
to make John laugh when he was your age,
Charlotte. Laugh till he cried, he would.
He'd laugh till he tired himself out with it and had
to go to bed. That's what you both want, a bit of a
giggle. It's easier to rest when you've had a
laugh."
It might work for Woollie, Ian thought.
If
they were lucky it might put him to sleep. Then-if
Woollie didn't wake himself up
by
falling off the stool on which he was sitting against the
door-Ian would be able to creep around the bed and
retrieve the knife. "What game88he murmured
across Charlotte next to him on the bed.
"I
never thought of a name for it, son.
I
made it up once when he wouldn't stop creating over
some toy that got broken or wore out,
I
forget which. Tell you what, that can be part of the game,
thinking what to call it. You see if you can think of a
better name than your playmate, Charlotte, will
you?"
He seemed placid, close to sleepy, but anything
unwelcome was bound to jar him out of that state, not least
having to wait too long for an answer.
All
the games he'd insisted on playing in a whisper-I
Spy
and Twenty Questions and Who Am P-had visibly
aggravated Charlotte's exhaustion, and it was clear
to Ian that she was too tired to fall asleep,
CHILDREN
perhaps even to respond with any enthusiasm. He was
about to answer for her in the hope of rousing her when she
mumbled "What for?"
"For a bit of extra fun."
She shook her head impatiently, tapping the
headboard against the wall. "What's the name for?"
"Keep that still. Get your head on the pillow. You
too, son. Right on it so you're not tempted to try
and send messages next door when there's somebody
to hear. And
I
told you what for once, love. It's an extra
part of our game."
He was wide awake now, and closer than ever
to losing control. Ian had to be on one side and
watch him over the back of Charlotte's
untypically tousled head. With an effort that sent a
brittle shudder through him he contained his frustration at
the way Charlotte and their captor were scraping each
other's nerves. "She means what game is it going
to beea8he intervened.
"That's what I've been trying to tell you if I'm
given the chance. Somebody says a word and the next one
has to rhyme with it, and the winner is the one that makes
someone else laugh. Sound good? Sound like fun?"
"I
guessea8Ian said with all the conviction he could
fake. "I'm asking your playmate."
Ian was having to restrain himself from nudging an answer
out of her
by
the time she whispered "Yes."
"That's the girl. Cheering up already, are you? You
start, then. Ladies first as usual."
She was silent even longer, and Ian was beginning
to hope she'd fallen asleep so that Woollie
might too when she thumped the bed with a fist. He
thought she was overcome
by
frustration, and would have started the game himself if she
hadn't muttered "Bed."
"That's a good oneea8Woollie said as if he were
greeting a joke. "Your turn, son. That's the
order."
"Bread."8Carefulea8Woollie warned,
presumably because Ian had referred
to food, and gaped with inspiration. "Fed."
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
"Ledea8Charlotte made herself say, or a word that
sounded like it.
"Zed."8ally'd say zee if you were an American,
wouldn't you? Or pretending like some people try.
Nedea8Woollie offered, and flapped his hands behind his
ears. "That's what they call donkeys, did you
know? F-
his
eyore. Eeyoreea8he brayed in a murmur,
punctuating the noises with a wide slack grin.
He was expecting a laugh, but Ian could tell that
Charlotte managed not to shrink back from the
spectacle only
by
tensing herself. "Fredea8he blurted to bring it to an
end.
Woollie's mouth drooped as his hands sank, the right
one settling on a pink fish that hid the knife.
"People used to laugh at that name. Can't think whyea8he
said peevishly. "Go on, love, you have another go."
"I
don't knowea8Charlotte complained until his raw
stare told her she better had.
"Deadea8she gave him with almost no breath.
"Not much fun in that, is there? It's nice and
quiet, though. Just like going off to sleep, really.
You'd be surprised.8Woollie's gaze withdrew
into his eyes, taking their expression with it, and Ian
willed Charlotte to make herself as unnoticeable as
he was trying to be in case the man reminisced himself
to sleep. Then the eyes bulged at him as though
Woollie had guessed or even overheard his
thoughts. "Speak up, son. Just remember you're
meant to be trying to make us laugh."
"Ted.,, "That's not even as funny as Fred, that.
I
reckon you're not trying. Head," Woollie
muttered, planting the tips of his forefingers on his
temples and poking his thumbs under his flabby jaw so
as to wag his head back and forth like a widemouthed
big-eyed mask. "I've seen a few of them gone
to sleep," he said, and returned his hand to the knife.
"Your go, love."
Charlotte must have been preparing her turn.
"Saidea8she hissed at once.
"That's cute. That's quite witty. Said's what you
said, eh?
SILENT
CHILDREN
you said said.
I'd
call that a laugh.8Apparently content to say so rather
than utter one, he directed an upturned
grimace at Ian. "That makes her the winner,
don't you reckon, son?"8Sure."
"He sounds a bit jealous to me, love. It's you
to go for winning. See if you can think of one that'll start
off a few laughs."
Charlotte lifted a fist as if to punch the bed but
clenched it on the quilt. "Don't want to."
"I
know what you'd rather do. Think of a name for our game.
"Can't."8Try or you won't be able to stop trying
when you want to sleep. How about Riotous
Rhymes? Or Pitiful Poetry, that's not bad,
is it? Here's a good one, Wormy Words,"
Woollie said, his voice growing lower and more intense
with each suggestion, and leaned forward in a crouch that
might have been about to launch him at the bed. "You say
one now as long as mine don't make you laugh."
"Don't know any."
"I
didn't either till
I
thought of them, and I've been up longer than you.8They
were competing at peevishness again, and Ian was searching
under the slab in his brain for a way to intervene when
Woollie appeared to recall what he was meant
to be doing. "Right enough, you need your beauty sleep
at your age. Get your head down and shut those
eyes, then, and you'll be gone in no time."
"Can't.,,
"Of
course you can, love. Just shut them. Just let them
shut like they want to."
"Can'tea8Charlotte wailed. "I'm too tired."
"That doesn't make sense, love. Think about it and
you'll see it doesn't. When you're tired you
sleep, don't you? That's what children do."
"Can't.,, "Calm it down. Don't go upsetting
yourself or you'll have the rest of us in a state. Your
nerves are all itchy because You want to go to sleep,
see? Do you want me to sing you
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
A
to sleep like
I
nearly did when we were on our
own?"8ationo."
Woollie's gaze submerged as his mouth tried out a
series of increasingly less reassuring grimaces,
and Ian saw he had to save the situation while it was
only dangerous. He couldn't just ask Woollie
to sing-he didn't know how Charlotte might react
to his request-but if she looked at him, surely
he could make her understand that they had to put up with the
ordeal. He reached out to finger her tense back,
hoping she wouldn't flinch or cry out, and Woollie
said
"I
know what you can see to help you go off."
Not much expression had resurfaced in his eyes, and
it was clear to Ian that Charlotte would have preferred not
to respond. Somebody had to. He was parting his dry
lips with his dry tongue when a word that sounded as though
it had had to struggle for release escaped her.
"What?"
"I'll
show you someone else asleep."
His gaze remained somewhere behind his eyes as he raised
himself an inch from the stool to haul up his pink and
yellow dress. He reached in his trousers pocket,
and the top of an object like a wallet
crept into view. Ian imagined Woollie carrying
photographs of his victims in his wallet
to display to strangers, the way parents showed
pictures of their children. The object-a photograph
album the size of Woollie's hand-emerged from the
pocket, and
Woollie
settled himself, tugging his dress down. "Here you are,
loveea8he murmured, and laid the album next
to her clenched fist. "Take a glance at these.
They're restful, you'll see."
His gaze was ready to come out of hiding if she didn't
do as she was told, and Ian was afraid of how it
might look. He watched her hand very gradually
relinquish its grip on the quilt and stray toward
the album. Barely in time to delay her, he touched
her shoulder. "Let me look tooea8he said.
At least that made her turn toward him. She was
fighting to keep her eyes and mouth steady, and he
focused all his energy in projecting reassurance
at her while she groped behind her for the album. He
saw Woollie lean over to place the album in her
hand, a contact Ian could imagine sending
CHILDREN
289
her Panic out of control and then Woollie too.
But her hand found the album before the man's reached it.
She lifted it over herself and dropped it between herself and
Ian.
it was fattened with at least a dozen photographs.
It smelled of stale leather and, unless Ian was as
mistaken as he hoped he was, of earth. He
inserted a fingertip under the cover, which felt
damp
and chill as the earth under a house must feel. He
did his best to smile at Charlotte as Woollie
crouched closer to watch-close enough to touch her. With a
nonchalance that failed even before the gesture was
completed, Ian flipped the album open.
His nail caught a plastic sheath, and the album
opened at two photographs. He heard
Charlotte's teeth click as she trapped a cry,
and his own body turned cold as the leather. The children in
the photographs-a boy in the left-hand picture,
a girl opposite him, both of them about
Charlotte's age-might almost have been nothing but
asleep. Though each photograph was framed
to contain the child's whole body, only the face was
visible; the earth in which they lay was drawn up to their
chins like sheets. Each face was pale with a
flashbulb glare that glistened on the moist black
soil.
A
sprinkling of earth on the boy's eyelids helped
them resemble the blank eyes of a stone statue, and
there was a trickle of mud at one corner of the
girl's slack mouth that suggested to Ian she might
be stuffed with earth. He was trying to crush the notion when
Woollie whispered eagerly "They're peaceful,
aren't they? Don't they make you feel like them?"
In that moment he grasped how much worse the man
might be capable of where Charlotte was concerned than
Ian had let himself think. Her lips trembled, and
he was so afraid of her being unable to restrain a cry
that he answered for her. "No," he blurted.
"Studying to be a ventriloquist, are you, son?
I
was asking your playmate."
"She doesn't either. You're upsetting her and you
keep saying not to."
"She wasn't upset
till
you wandered in.8Woollie seemed
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
undecided whether to glare at him or search
for something inside himself
"All
right, love, if you can't go to sleep just looking at
them you can play with them for a bit till you do."
Ian saw Charlotte shrink back from the
proposal. "Play what88he demanded.
"Anything that doesn't spoil them. Use your
imaginations for a change. You could cut out some paper
clothes to put on them, love. Girls your age like
dressing things, don't they? Only we can't have you
playing with scissors." His eyes fixed on Ian
and grew larger and redder. "Tell you what, son,
why don't you make an effort for a change and think of
something you can do instead of leaving it all to me.,,
The slab closed down on Ian's mind so heavily
it seemed to darken the room. "Like what?" he could
hear himself demanding, except that might push
Woollie over whatever edge he was swaying on.
He was struggling to think of at least a temporary
answer when Woollie said "Here's what you do. You
tell us a bedtime story about the girl in the
picture."
"She's
. . ."
It was like being asked a question in class but far
worse, because he couldn't just stay silent or say he
didn't know: he had to produce something Woollie
wanted to hear that wouldn't distress Charlotte too
much. "She looks happy, doesn't she88he said
desperately.
He was afraid that Charlotte would be unable to keep
her disagreement to herself, but she only bit her lip.
"She is happyea8he risked saying. "She's
happy because
...
Because she's where she wants to be."
That was in the earth under a house, he thought, and waiting
for more earth to be thrown on her face. Even
Woollie looked less than convinced
by
Ian's assertion. The slab on Ian's mind let
another lie crawl out, all he could find to say.
"She's with someone she wants to be withea8he muttered.
Woollie leaned his shoulders against the door and gave
a
CHILDREN

slow nod that might have been hinged on his unwavering
stare. "That's more like it. Carry on."
"Her name, her name's Carla."
All
at once Ian knew a story, and if he took
long enough to tell it, perhaps it could even put Woollie
to sleep. "And she had a grandmother who was the person
she was fondest of in the world, even fonder
of
than she was fond of her mother and father. Then one day the
grandmother had to go into hospital because she, because she had
something wrong with her the doctors had to look at. And
Carla went to see her every day and took her flowers and
candy, sweets, and read stories to her like her grandmother
used to read to her. Only one day she went in and her
grandmother wasn't there, and when she asked her mother and father
where her grandmother had gone they said she'd see her again
after she'd grown up.
. ."
Woollie was nodding; his eyes appeared to have
relaxed. Could Ian's tale be soothing him
to sleep? "Only Carla knew she wasn't going
to be able to wait that long to see her grandmother when she'd
been so fond of herea8Ian murmured, "they'd been
so fond of each other. And just when she thought she was
going to start being so sad she'd never stop being it she
remembered something her grandmother had told her once
when she was sad about something else. Her
grandmother used to say if there was a dream you wanted to have
you had to think about it as hard as you could while you were going
to sleep, only not so hard it woke you up..."
Woollie's eyes were vanishing. The upper lids
settled toward the lower and fluttered apart, but
nobody was looking out between them. "So when Carla went
to bed that nightea8Ian murmured just loud enough for
Woollie to hear, "she thought of the best time she'd ever
had with her grandmother, and she kept thinking of it as she
went to sleep, the best time she'd ever had in her
life.
. ."
The lids tried to part again, but gave up, and he was
almost certain it wasn't a trick-certain enough
to close the album and push it toward the foot of the
bed, away from Charlotte. "And the moment she fell
asleep she saw her grandmother coming to
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
her with her arms held out, and they just stood and hugged,
and Carla never wanted to wake up..
."
He paused for a breath, then dared to pause longer, but
the lids didn't stir. "Never wanted to wake
upea8he repeated.
If
Woollie had been less than thoroughly asleep,
surely the repetition would have roused him. In the
twilight that was all of the late afternoon light the
curtains admitted to the room, the man looked
dwindled, fallen inward now that his vigilance and the
effort it required had collapsed-he would have looked
like an old woman sleeping in a cardboard box
except for the beard. "And so she never did," he
whispered in case Charlotte wanted to know, and put
a finger to his lips. He rolled gradually onto
his back and was easing himself toward the far side of the
bed, resting his fingertips on the quilt at the edge
of the mattress, when she grabbed his free arm, shaking
her head so hard the pillow flapped.
He let go of the mattress and placed his hand over
hers, which felt smaller and clammier than ever.
"Don't wake himea8he mouthed. "I'm getting the
knife."
Fear glistened in her eyes. Her fingers squirmed
under his palm, and he was afraid she might pull
away before she realised how much noise that would make.
He pressed her hand against his arm and mouthed "I have
to. It's our only chance."
He felt as though he were telling her another story,
but he was going to have to enact this one. When he
risked letting go of her hand it jerked away from him,
but only to jam its knuckles into her mouth. She
kept it there, and he saw she was using it to cover any
sounds of panic. He flashed her a smile that almost
made him feel courageous and resumed crawling on
his back toward the edge of the bed. His feet reached off
it, and too many seconds later his legs up to the
knees did. He raised himself onto his elbow
to push himself up from the mattress, and the bed gave a
loud creak.
He froze in that position, his body aching and shivering
with strain. It took him the duration of several short
harsh breaths to twist his head round far enough to see
Woollie
CHILDREN
clear. Charlotte had the knuckles of both hands
against her mouth, but the man hadn't wakened. His chin was
resting on his chest, his back against the door.
"All
right," Ian mouthed, nodding hard at Woollie
until Charlotte ventured to turn her shaky eyes
in that direction, and eased himself
off
the bed.
This time it didn't make a noise, but at
least one floorboard had creaked when Woollie had
sent him to lie on the bed. Even if that didn't
rouse the man, the sound might aggravate
Charlotte's fears beyond bearing. Ian mimed
dropping to all fours so as to creep past the end of the
bed. once he saw that she understood and was controlling
her apprehension, he lowered himself onto his hands and
knees.
A
smell of carpet shampoo caught the back of his
throat. He had to swallow fast and hard and dryly
before the sensation could provoke a cough. Worse still was
his inability to see what Charlotte and their captor
were doing. He lumbered forward a pace, then another,
and felt a board start to bend under his clenched fists.
He shifted his weight to the board ahead of it, which
contented itself with a squeak surely too muffled for
Woollie to hear, though sufficiently loud to drive
out sweat from the bends of Ian's elbows and behind his
knees. Another stumbling pace that nearly planted
his knees on the loose board, and he had a view
along the side of the bed.
Woollie hadn't moved. Yes, he had: the hand that
had been fingering the knife was resting palm upward on
the stool. Charlotte was craning over the
edge of the bed to watch for Ian. As he came in
sight her grimace of concern began to slacken, then
intensified at the thought of his aim. "Okayea8he
mouthed. "Nearly there."
Almost an inch of the handle of the knife was protruding from
the pocket, which the hand must have dragged down as it
slipped onto the stool. Ian drew as much of a
breath as he dared, anxious for the smell of shampoo
not to lodge in his throat again, and shuffled forward on his
knees. He stretched out a hand above Woollie's
on the stool, toward
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
the grinning fish on their sunny background. At that
moment a phone began to ring.
It wasn't downstairs, it was in Ian's house, and
further muffled
by
the bedroom door. Nevertheless Woollie opened his
eyes and saw him.
FORTY-SIX
He shouldn't have known, Jack thought. His father oughtn't
to have had any idea where to find him. The last time his
father had spoken to him at Leslie's he'd said that
he wasn't surprised Jack hadn't visited his
mother, but Terence had insisted that the man who'd
phoned the Haven hadn't just expected Jack to be
there, he'd had to be convinced he wasn't. It made
no sense unless Jack's father had spoken to someone
else between the two calls. The innocent source had
to be Leslie, since she'd picked up on the
fact that Jack had phoned her from the Haven. That
much he was sure of, because his mother had told him
Leslie had called back to warn him to leave Ian
alone. Might Leslie have some insight that might
lead him to his father even if she didn't realise
she had?
It seemed unlikely. It reminded him of the sort
of plot development he would find himself considering when
a book was going badly-the kind of desperate
contrivance he would struggle to elaborate in the hope
that a better idea would suggest itself-but as long as it was
his only lead, surely he ought to follow it up.
Letting himself grow apprehensive that his father might
try to call while the line was busy was just a way of
putting off the task: it was clear to Jack
by
now that his father didn't plan to summon him before dark.
He grabbed the phone and dialled Leslie's
number.
CHILDREN
It rang at once, but that was all it did, and the
same
proved
true
of the phone at her store. When he'd had enough
of
the relentless trilling of the bell he reverted to what
he did best: pacing the apartment at the end of a tether
that was the sound of the twenty-four-hour television
news. He let half an hour plod
by
before he tried Leslie's home number again, but it
had the same answer for him. Soon his mother would be
home, and the thought of this additional complication made him
dial Leslie's number one last time as the hem
of the sky began to blacken.
He was pacing back and forth as far as the cord of the
phone would stretch when the bell was interrupted
halfway through its third pair of rings.
"Yes88Leslie said breathlessly.
She sounded so eager that for an instant he gave into the
wish that she could have been expecting him. "Hiea8he
said. "Yes, who is it?"
"Sorry. Just Jack Woollie."
"Yes, Jack.
Why
are you calling?"
He'd assumed her enthusiasm would vanish once
she recognised him, but it hadn't flagged yet.
"I guess first I want to tell you I haven't
been in touch with Ianea8he said. "Oh."
The syllable appeared to mean so much yet conveyed so
little to him that he felt bound to add "Because you told me
twice not to."
"Did
I?
Right now I wish you were calling to tell me you had."
He would have been encouraged to hear that if the animation
hadn't deserted her voice.
"Why,"
he said,
what.. ."
"He stayed out overnight and
I
don't know where he is."
"I
guess people do that kind of stuff at his age."
"Did you?"
"You could say I did worse when
I
wasn't much older. I went to the States and
figured out that was where
I
ought to be. Hey, but I'm sure Ian wouldn't do
that."
"You don't think so."
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
"I
don't see how he could have got the idea from me.
I
never talked to him about it.
If I
had
I'd
have done my best to put him off.
I
know you need each other."
"Jack. . ."
"I
haven't gone anywhere."
"This is hard for me to say, especially just now, but
I
think
I
was wrong about you."
"Well, okay.
I
mean,
that's...
Wrong how?"
"Ian trusted you, I'm sure he still does, and that
should have meant more to me. And
I
know you never tried to do him anything but good. I'm the
one who screwed him up."
"I
can't let you say that if you're counting me as a friend
or even if you aren't.
I
saw you doing your best to keep him together."
"And failing. Once is enough if it's bad enough."
"Tell me what's so bad it could cancel all the
rest you've done for him."
"I
made him feel suspected. That's what his note
says."8Suspected of what?"
"Of
doing something to Charlotte, but
I
know he didn't now it's too-was She found
an excuse to interrupt herself that came as an audible
relief. "Charlotte, she's Hilene's daughter,
that's the woman Roger moved in with. She ran off,
Charlotte, the day before yesterday while Ian was
meant to be taking her in the park, and she hasn't
been seen since."
The cause of the shiver that passed through Jack was
surely nothing, he thought, but evidence of the way a
writer's mind worked, trying to tidy up reality and
force it to make more sense than it did. "How far from
your place was she when she took off88he hardly
knew why he asked. "The far side of the park."
"That's the one with the river in it."
"If
you can call it a river. Too shallow to be much of a
danger if that's what you had in mind. Anywayea8she
said, having regained some vigour
by
the sound of it, "this can't be why you called."
"Well-was
CHILDREN
"Before you tell me, let me tell you
I
wish now
I
hadn't shown you the door."
"I wish that too."
"If
you were phoning to talk about
that. . ,11
wouldn't have presumed to."
"Still, you see you can.
If
it's something you'd rather not talk about over the
phone. . ."
"I'd
love to see you.
I
hope
I
can soon. Only right now
I need to stay here and wait for a call."
"You should have told me to stop interrupting."
"You aren't, and
I
called you, remember. This other business isn't
due for hours yetea8Jack said, because the sky
appeared to be renewing its multicoloured glow.
"Keep talking. Sounds like you can use it as much as
I
can."
"Where have you ended up, Jack?"
"At my mother's. Do you want the number? It
isn't in the
book."
"I'd
like it."
She asked him to repeat it, she read it back to him,
and then she said "There's something I don't
understand."8Tell me."
"You said
I
asked you twice not to contact Ian. When did
IT"
"Once when, you know, when I was having to leave, and
then you gave my mother the message."
"When
I
rang last night, you mean?"
"Last night? Is that the only time you spoke with
her?"8Except when she came to find you at my
house.
I
rang in case you'd heard from Ian."
"Jesus."
"Why,
what did she say
I'd
said?"
"This
at
I
shouldn't try to reach either of you."
"It was more her assuming that was what
I
wanted, Jack. She oughtn't to have told you
I
said it."
"So long as
I
know the truth nowea8Jack said, and tried to disentangle
one more thread of the confusion that had begun to reveal itself.
"I
don't suppose anyone tried to call me at your
number that you're aware of."
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
"That's so. Was that why you rang?"
"Originally, but I'm glad we had this chance
to talk."8Me too.
I
feel as much better as I can just now."8Shall
I
get out of the way in case someone else is trying
to reach you? You could give me a quick call if you hear
any news of Ian, if it's not too late."
"Poor Jack, I've given you my worries.
I'll
say good-bye, then.8In a moment her voice
returned, closer to the mouthpiece. "For nowea8she
said.
"You betea8Jack responded, but his thoughts were already
elsewhere. He had to put aside whatever he and
Leslie might have regained, so that he could attempt
to work out the other implications of their talk. He
laid down the receiver and kept his hand on the phone in
case it was about to ring, but that didn't help him think.
He had just let go of it when the street door
slammed.
It was his mother. He heard her tramping up the hollow
stairs and her weary key scratching at the lock.
She leaned against the door to shut it, deflating her
cheeks with a long loud puff, before trudging to dump
herself and her bag on the sofa as though she was too
fatigued to locate her own chair. Nevertheless she
said "Have you had something to eat?"
"Not yet."
"We'll have something brought in, shall we? The Chinky
by
the station does if you ask. Are you feeling like a
dear?"8What kind?"
"The kind who'd bring his poor old fagged-out mum a
cup of tea."
Jack paced into the kitchen yet again and dangled tea
bags in two mugs. He was resting his hand on the
electric kettle while it lost its chill, and
watching colours withdraw almost imperceptibly from the
sky, when his mother called "What have you been doing
today?"
"I'll
tell you when I'm there."
He felt the metal achieve body temperature
like someone assumed to be dead who was reviving. Soon
it was nearly unbearable to touch, then more than nearly,
and then it lost
ati
CHILDREN
itself in contemplation for minutes before emitting a
sneeze
of
steam.
Jack splashed the water into the mugs and arranged them
together with a half-full carton of milk on a tray
like a framed photograph of children at play in a
fifties schoolyard, a photograph tipped
onto its back to turn their faces upward. "What
did you say you'd been up to?" his mother said as he
bore it into the main room.
He watched her add milk to her tea and fish the
bag almost to the surface only to return it
to drowning. When she looked inquisitively at him
he said
"I
just got through speaking to Leslie Ames."
His mother's face stiffened and squeezed its lips
outward, rather as they used to invite a kiss when he'd
been a child. She stared at her mug and began to jerk the
string of the tea bag as though teasing it with the notion of
rescue. "Are you going to tell me what Mrs.
Ames said?"
She was trying so hard to make him feel guilty he
almost laughed. "She says she didn't speak to you
yesterday when you said she did."
"Who are you going to believe, a woman you hardly
know or your own mother?"
"Whoever's telling the truth."
She hauled the bag out of the muddy liquid and
dropped it on the tray, where it lost shape in the
midst of an expanding stain, then fed herself a sip from the
mug. "That's made too strong," she said, and as if
this were part of the same complaint "Perhaps someday you'll know
what it's like to have a child turn on you after you've done
your best for them."
"You aren't saying you were lying on my behalf."
"I
won't, then."
"How were you? How was it supposed to help me?"8Do
you want more of the kind of publicity you got while you
were, while you were staying with her? That won't do your
career any good, John."
his
That's
-Hold on. It was Ian you'd spoken to when you
told me Leslie called, wasn't it?"
"And if it was?"
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
"Let's stop fencing. What did he want, did
he say?"8I've absolutely no idea.
Presumably to speak to you. Per-
haps he missed having a man about the house.
I
know how that feels myself."
"So what did you tell him?"
"I
said
I
didn't think his mother would want him speaking to you after
she'd turned you out. And as long as what she says
is so important to you
I
may tell you she didn't contradict me when
I
spoke to her last night."
"You won't like me asking this, but what did it have to do
with you whether
I
talked to him?"
"Oh, John, for heaven's sake, Try and think
straight. You've the intelligence. He's just a
boy.
If
you'd spun him that tale about your father not being dead
there's no knowing who he might have told, and you just
tell me if you can what good that could have done you."
Jack wished he'd never tried to persuade her that his
father was alive, not
by
any means the only thing he'd said or done
recently that he yearned to take back. His defeat
must have looked like the end of the conversation, because his mother
stood up. "I'm going to make a fresh oneea8she
announced, picking up her mug, "and while
I
am perhaps you can get some use out of the phone."
"How do you mean?"
"Call the Chinkyea8she said with an incredulous glance
at him. "The menu's in the drawer of the phone table.
I
hope you're starving.
I
am."
It showed how trapped
by
pressure his thoughts were when for as long as he'd taken
to ask the question he'd been unable to think what the answer
could be. He seemed to have spent the last half hour
in learning nothing useful, in confusing himself further and
worsening the prospect of speaking to his father while his
mother was in earshot. Surely now she couldn't
suspect his father wasn't dead. One wrong word from
her for his father to overhear-one hint that she
knew about him, even if she
didn't. . .
Jack's imagination was so eager to foresee the worst that
he found himself wishing he'd never inflamed it
by
writing books.
"What are you playing at now, son? What's the
game88Ian felt as if he'd left his breath
somewhere in front of
him. The hand that had been reaching for the knife had darted
to the floor and helped push him backward a stumbling
pace, but he didn't know if he'd been swift enough
for Woollie not to have glimpsed his intention, and
Woollie's expression wasn't telling. The
toothless mouth lolled in a grin that looked near
to idiotic, the eyes might have been watching a
dream. Next door the phone continued to ring,
interrupting Ian's thoughts as they struggled to put
themselves together. He could find nothing to say except the
truth, and suddenly he didn't care-but Charlotte,
who was gazing in paralysed dismay at him over the edge
of the bed, opened her mouth with such an effort he heard
her lips part. "He's being a horse."
As Woollie's head jerked sideways his gaze
stuck to Ian. "What's that, love?"
"He was being a horse pulling the coach."
"What are you babbling on about? Not talking in your
sleep, are you?
My
eyes aren't past it yet, and
I
can't see any coach."
"The one you said was coming to get us."
"That'll be coming all right. It better had for
everyone's sake.8Woollie's gaze twitched
closer to the surface and turned to her. "He was
trying to entertain you, are you saying?"
"He was funny."
"That so, son? were you putting on a show?"
Ian didn't respond until Woollie's raw
gaze swam round to him, and then he made himself nod.
As the phone in his
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
house fell silent he realized he was moving his
head not unlike a horse's, and succeeded in
producing a whispered neigh followed
by
one somewhat louder.
"All
right, no need to carry onea8Woollie said,
and slid his hand off the stool to pat the knife as if
he'd only now remembered it was there. "What are
we going to do with him, love?"
"Don't knowea8Charlotte mumbled, and her arms
shrank against her sides. "Nothingea8she begged.
"Can't do that, can we? W
e'll have to do something with
a horse that's got itself into a bedroom."
Both the mattress and the loose board emitted
creaks as Ian rested his hands on the end of the bed and
shoved himself to his feet. "Too lateea8Woollie
muttered. "He doesn't want anyone thinking
he's a horse any more."
He might have been addressing the room rather than his
captives. When his gaze acknowledged them it
alighted none too favourably on Charlotte.
"Have you finished, love?"
"What88she hardly more than mouthed.
"The sleepy childrenea8Woollie said with little patience,
jabbing a finger at the album on the bed. "Have you done
with them?"
"Yes.,, Ian understood why that sounded so much like a
prayer, and could only hope Woollie hadn't
noticed. The man thrust out a hand for the album, but
Charlotte pressed her arms harder against
her sides. As Woollie's mouth began to droop
into a clown's exaggerated grimace, Ian grabbed
the album and paced around the bed to plant it in the
outstretched hand. He was on the point of doing so when
he grew intensely aware of being close enough
to struggle with their captor to launch all his weight
at Woollie and knock him off the stool before he
could pull out the knife, and keep him clear of
Charlotte long enough for her to escape. But the stool
would be in the way of the door, and probably their
struggle would be too, and all he would achieve would be
to infuriate Woollie and terrify Charlotte.
Or was he simply finding excuses not to take the
risk, not to put himself in danger of
SILENT
CHILDREN
being cut or stabbed? As he tried to draw enough of a
stealthy breath to lend his bravery some oxygen,
Woollie stretched his forefinger along the blade and
raised the handle far enough to grasp. Ian had lost
any chance to surprise him. He dropped the album
on the man's intimidating palm with a slap that
smelled of earthy leather, and backed away feeling
hopelessly useless, trapped under the slab in his
mind. "That didn't work, did it,
son88Woollie said.
Ian had a nightmarish sense of being unable to conceal
any of his thoughts. "What88he tried to say as if
he didn't know.
"What do you reckon we're talking about? Your
story and nothing else."
"Which story88Ian had to ask.
"The one that was going to put your playmate
to sleep.8The realisation that he'd strayed close
to betraying himself even though Woollie hadn't been
suspicious of him caused Ian to sway against the
bedroom wall. Sleeplessness was catching up with him,
sneaking nightmares in among his thoughts. He watched
uneasily as Woollie laid the album in his lap
beside the eager knife and gazed at one or the other of
them. "So what's the plan now88Woollie said.
It was only to save Charlotte from feeling expected
to respond that Ian mumbled "Don't have one."
"Not good for much but telling stories, are you? You
take after someone else we know.8Woollie
squeezed his eyes and mouth shut, possibly intending
to mime slumber but looking more like a displeased
corpse, then his eyes came out of hiding to check that
Ian hadn't dared to move. "Tell you what you do.
Give your playmate a cuddle and see
if that helps her go off."
Charlotte's unhappy gaze followed Ian as he
retreated to the far side of the bed. He guessed she
would rather he placed himself between her and their captor, but
he wanted to be able to watch the man. He swung his
legs onto the rumpled quilt and lowered his head to the
misshapen wrinkled pillow, his skin crawling with the
stifled heat of the unventilated room. He stretched
one tentative embarrassed
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
hand toward Charlotte, and she turned to face him,
hunching up her shoulders at Woollie's presence
behind her. As Ian's hand settled over the small of
her back, Woollie said "That's more like it. That's
how the babes should be. Shut those eyes now and
I'll
sing you to sleep."
A
shudder passed through Charlotte, then her body grew
so stiff that Ian found himself stroking her back.
"Don't worryea8he murmured, all that he could
think of to risk saying,
by
no means enough in itself.
"You can listen to him for once, love. Those
eyes aren't shut, are they?
I'll
know if they're not. Yours as well, son. Set your
playmate a good example for once."
"We'll be okayea8Ian whispered, and rubbed her
spine harder. Her thin dress began to ride up, and
she tugged it down furiously and sent him a scowl
he might have expected from someone his age or even
older. When he moderated his touch she let down her
eyelids as though acknowledging his thoughtfulness and, with a
final nervous blink at him, squashed them shut. That
was Ian's cue to close his own until her face was
no more than a glimmer and their captor's shape a
flickery silhouette. He continued to massage the
taut ridged wire of her spine, which felt in
danger of snapping with tension, as Woollie began
to sing.
"Now
I
lay you down to sleep,
Close your eyes good night. Angels come your
soul to keep, Close your eyes good
night..."
Ian wasn't confident of being able to stand much of this
himself, especially while he was aware how it
appalled Charlotte.
No
sooner had Woollie croaked the lullaby in an
almost tuneless murmur than he recommenced, and
Ian grew desperate for a way to soothe her. As
her eyelids shivered, unwilling to imprison her with
whatever she might be seeing in her own dark, his hand
found the nape of her neck and began to manipulate
it gently as he remembered his mother-
CHILDREN
once treating his when he'd been nightmarish with a
fever. Her shoulders worked, suggesting that they wanted
to dislodge his clasp, and then, despite the drone of
yet another repetition of the lullaby, they started
to relax. Her eyelids slackened into restfulness,
her forehead became smooth, her breathing adopted the
rhythm of his fingers on her neck. When her body
curled toward him he knew she was asleep.
Woollie knew as well, He had been leaning
sideways off
the stool
to observe her, but subsided against the
door,
letting Ian glimpse the movements of the hand in the
man's lap, a regular movement that kept
pace with his song. The notion of what he might be
doing now that he was unaware of being watched came
close to making Ian laugh, although there would have been
no humour in it. Instead he widened the slit between his
eyelids.
The album was spread open, and Woollie was running
his fingers over and over a photograph as he might
have stroked a child's head. It wasn't just this
spectacle that horrified Ian-it was the
recognition that his own hand on Charlotte's neck was
following the rhythm of the lullaby. He felt
implicated with their captor. He ran his hand down
to the small of Charlotte's back and rested it there and
closed his eyes to keep out the sight of the fingers
caressing the dead picture. As long as the man
kept repeating the song Ian would know where he was.
The lullaby blurred into little more than a monotonous
sound. When Charlotte snuggled against him, the rise
and fall of her chest was unexpectedly calming. He
stroked her upper back to keep her breaths steady,
then remembered he shouldn't be taking his pace from the
lullaby but carried on stroking until he had to be
reminded to continue
by

song
he'd grown unaware of hearing.
If
he breathed in time with Charlotte that would show him
exactly how fast to rub her back, which he thought he
was still doing somewhere in the distance near the song. Much
further away a phone was ringing, but it seemed to have
nothing to do with him, not while he felt as safe in her
arms as she was in his, at the
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
end of some old story he used to know. His breathing
settled into her slow placid rhythm, and then he
couldn't hear the song or the phone or feel his hand
or any other part of himself.
FORTY-EIGHT
"Are you asleep, love?"8She isn't really."
"He isn't either."
"Never mind trying to have a laugh with me. We
haven't got time for that now."
"He's not."8ationor's she."
"Trying another of your games, are you? Having one
more go at confusing me?"
"You won't know he has till he's done
it."8ationor her, "cos she's as sly as me."
"Only because you're making her like
youea8Hector snarled, lurching off the stool that was
wedged between the half-open door and its frame. For a
second, perhaps quite a few of them, he couldn't shake
off the conviction that he had indeed heard the children
talking-if not their actual voices, at least their
thoughts-and he didn't know what he was about to do with the
knife that had found its way into his hand. Just in time
he recognised that he'd been voicing his
suspicions of the children: as yet he hadn't any
evidence that they were pretending to be asleep. He
mustn't let himself be rushed into causing any unnecessary
upset or mess, not when he was so close
to summoning John's help. Though his legs felt
as brittle with insomnia as the rest of him, he
managed not to make a noise as he approached the
bed. Flattening his free hand against the wall above the
CHILDREN
headboard, he leaned down to peer at the dim faces
that were turned to each other on the pillows.
They might be asleep. When he aimed a long slow
hot breath at each of them, they didn't stir. He
lowered the blade toward the boy's face and twisted the
point no more than half an inch from the entrance to the
ear. That failed to provoke a response, although
surely the girl would have been unable
to restrain herself if she were able to see him apparently
torturing her playmate. He repeated the trick
on her ear with as little effect, then drew the duller
edge of the knife across her throat and did so rather less
gently to the boy. He watched the dark lines fade
from both throats, then pushed himself away from the bed.
A
growl at the medley of aches the movement brought with it
escaped through the gap where his teeth should have been, but the
children didn't stir. For the moment they were thoroughly
asleep, and he needn't waste time wondering if they
were about to have another try at tricking him.
They thought they'd persuaded him that the boy had been
imitating a horse.
If
they believed
he'd
been too quick for Hector to have seen him reaching for the
knife they must be desperate, which meant they were
dangerous. That was how the boy was affecting his
playmate, him being too old and too spoiled
by
his life to value the peace she
deserved too
narrowed
by
his own self-centred adolescence to let her enjoy a
stillness he couldn't understand. Soon Hector was
going to have to deal with him, but first he had to phone
John. He eased the door wider and propped it
with the stool and padded softly out of the room.
He'd spent hours listening for sounds of the boy's
mother.
He'd
heard her come home just in time to answer the phone as the
boy had followed his playmate to sleep. Her
voice had been barely audible enough for him to tell she
was having a long conversation, undoubtedly about her
son. Once it was over he'd heard so little for so
long that he'd begun to wonder if she could have sneaked
out of the house, but the night that had darkened the room before
it was dark Outside had emphasised sounds her
house wasn't quite able
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
to contain. At last he'd succeeded in hearing her slow
ascent of the stairs and a selection of bathroom
noises followed
by
three muffled clicks, the latter pair in the same
location toward the front of the house-her
bedroom light being switched on and eventually, no
doubt reluctantly, off. Since then he'd
waited until the children had begun speaking in his head,
unless he'd been speaking aloud on their behalf, and
surely that was more than long enough for her to have fallen
asleep. He slid the knife into his pocket and
placed one foot on the dimmest of the stairs, and
heard a stealthy movement in the room behind him.
"I
hear you, sonea8he muttered. It occurred to him
to put some kind of face around the door on the chance that
the girl was awake too, but she never seemed
to appreciate Hector's efforts to amuse her, and
in any case he was tired of playing games.
Instead he sidled noiselessly into the room.
His eyes had to adjust to the dimness again. Though they
took only a couple of seconds, that was longer
than he ought to have to wait. His gums clamped his
tongue, his hand groped for the knife, which was ready in his
grasp
by
the time he distinguished the figures on the bed. He
thought they were pretending not to have moved until he saw
that the boy's hand had slid off the girl's back and
was lying on the quilt between them.
Perhaps he was indeed as asleep as he must want
Hector to think, but he was less so than the girl,
who hadn't shifted at all. He was the threat, not
her. Things had started to go wrong once he'd
intruded.
If
he wakened while Hector was on the phone, there was
no telling what tricks he might play.
Hector dodged around the bed and in one swift
movement returned the knife to his pocket, sat
on the boy's legs, gathered his wrists in one hand and
used the other to press the boy's mouth shut, his thumb
and fingers digging into the bony cheeks, as he turned the
boy's head to face him.
The boy emitted a snore that in less fraught
circumstances Hector would have made the basis of a
joke, and his eyes stuttered open. In a wink they were
as wide and protruding as they could go. "Keep very still,
sonea8Hector said, grip-
CHILDREN
ping the wrists harder and leaning more of his weight on the
legs as his captive's struggles began to shake the
bed. "Wake your playmate and it's all over.
Settle down or there'll be no coach."
At first the boy seemed not to understand.
If
he carried on struggling, Hector might as well
finish him off. He would struggle just as much, but not for
long. When all at once the boy went limp
Hector grew hot with frustration. He could still rid
himself of the trouble, he didn't need an excuse-but
if the boy created too much trouble while he was being
put to sleep for good he was bound to awaken the girl.
"You and me are going down to the phoneea8Hector
muttered instead. "Don't make a sound when I
let go of your face."
The boy's lips moved under his palm as if they were
preparing to cry out, and Hector only had to bring his
thumb and forefinger together to pinch the boy's nose shut for
as long as it took. He wouldn't have known what else
to do if he hadn't remembered the knife. No
sooner had he released the boy's mouth than he
snatched out the knife and jabbed it at his captive's
face, so fast that he managed to halt it scarcely
a couple of inches short of the rapidly blinking right
eye. "Just seeing you keep quietea8he murmured.
"I'm going to get up off you now. Don't you move
a muscle till you're told."
He freed the boy's wrists and planted his hand between
the children, and waited. Even when Hector
raised the knife an inch, then several, the boy's
wrists stayed crossed on his chest.
All
the children Hector had brought peace had lain that way as
he'd covered them up for the night, and he couldn't
help feeling that the boy yearned for the same peace
even if he didn't know he did. The impression
was so powerful he had to remind himself that he was
supposed to be phoning John. He lifted himself from
the bed, and as Hector's weight left him the boy
uttered a grunt of pain, but nothing more. "I'll
let you have thatea8Hector whispered. "It's all the
noise you're going to make. Worm yourself over here,
slow as you like."
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
The boy took him at his word. He spent so long
over inching himself down the bed that Hector began
to suspect him of stalling.
By
the time the boy eased himself off the corner of the
mattress Hector was having difficulty in
keeping the knife to himself. "Quiet out of the room,"
he muttered, and saw the boy step over the board that
would have creaked. Though it looked like obedience, it could
be the start of some trick, and so Hector
followed close enough to find the
boy's face
with the knife the
instant there
was any need. As the boy sidled past the stool,
however, Hector thought of another way to deal with him.
"Wait out there," he whispered, and groped under the
stool.
He'd straightened up before the boy peered warily at
him. Perhaps he suspected Hector of being about
to harm the girl, which showed how little he knew about
Hector. "Turn yourself round, son. Never mind
looking at meea8Hector said. "Let's have your
hands behind your back. Let's see you cross your
wrists since you're so good at it."
The boy didn't move except for clenching his fists
at his sides. "What for?"
He'd spoken far too loud. For a moment Hector
didn't know which hand he was about to use on him. He
glanced back to see the girl hadn't been disturbed,
then he poked at the air immediately in front of the
boy's face with the knife in his left hand, holding the
other and its contents out
of
sight behind the door. "Can't have you trying
to run out of the house, can we88he whispered. "Can't have
you getting hold of the phone either. Your playmate
doesn't want you spoiling things for her now, so
better do as you're told."8Come away from her,
then."
"I
will as soon as you turn round, that's a promise.
Keep
me waiting any longer and maybe she'll wake up
and start making a fuss, and then
I
won't be able to call John, so you figure out for
yourself what
I'll
have to do."
The trouble was that the threat made Hector feel
threatened himself, less in control of the situation than
he ought to be, in danger of having to finish things off
because his
CHILDREN
plans weren't as complete as he should have ensured they
were. The boy's eyes glinted in the dimness as if
he realised
some
or all of this, and insomnia surged through
Hector's hot raw grimy brittle skull,
urging him to give up his efforts to think ahead, just
to act and assuage his frustration. Then the boy's
shoulders drooped, and his fists opened as he turned,
crossing his wrists behind his back.
Hector was on him at once, using a fingernail
to scratch
the end
of the insulating tape loose from the roll. In a
second he'd wrapped it tight around the boy's
wrists. He bound them again and a third time for luck
before cutting the tape off the roll. ?"'
That's
the wayea8he murmured, watching the fingers wriggle in
the murk like undersea creatures eager for food.
"No point struggling, that won't help your
playmate. Don't struggle now either."
The boy's head swung toward him, just what
Hector wanted. It was still turning when he stretched
the tape across the mouth. The boy jerked his head
away, which only stuck the tape to his right cheek.
He tried to retreat, giving Hector space
to dance around him thrice on tiptoe, unspooling the
tape around the parcel of a head, over and over the
mouth. "Done up properly now, aren't
you88he muttered, slashing at the end of the gag with the
knife. "No need to flinch. I've done what
I'm doing for now. Careful as you go down. We
don't want you breaking your neck."
Or did he? The boy would be able to make even
less noise if that happened, and not much while it
did-but there would have to be the sound of his fall, which was more
than Hector needed to risk. Silencing the boy had
revived Hector's ability to think. As he
followed one step behind his captive, who swayed like a
drunk as he lowered his weight onto each stair so
gingerly it was comical, Hector's plan completed
itself in his head. He restrained himself from laughing
aloud, but he stretched his mouth wide in a grin that
felt like a wound, nearly healed. He knew how
to bring John to them without revealing their whereabouts, and
once the call was finished he knew what the boy's
fate would be.
W
Just when Jack thought his mother had finally left him
alone she reappeared in her pink dressing gown.
"Let me make up the couch for you at least. You
look as if you're never going to bed."
"Don't worry,
I'll
do it. You need your sleep."
"So do you, John. We've both got jobs that
take a lot out of us.8She tramped to the sofa, her
footfalls and indeed her whole body expressing
dissatisfaction, and yanked at the cushions until
they unfolded into a segmented mattress. She
stooped to lift the heap of bedclothes from beside the sofa and
rose red-faced with sudden anger. "It's
ridiculous, these people expecting you to wait up all
hours tin they get around to phoning. Who do they think
they are? You're important too. More
important, because you're the one that writes the
books."
"You wouldn't expect publishers to see it that
way.""Then they should. You tell them your mother said
so.8She shook a pillow hard as if to make it see
sense and flung it on the couch. "What time is it
supposed to be where they are?"
"It's eight hours earlier in California."
"So they should be well back from their lunch even if
it's on expenses, shouldn't they? What are they
making you wait for?"
"I
won't be the only-was
"They won't have many writers over here, will
they? They ought to deal with you first. I knowea8she declared,
and let go of the sheet he was helping her to spread.
"Why
don't
you call them?"
Jack was well into wishing he hadn't told her the
story,
CHILDREN

but it had been the only explanation he could invent for
staying up. "It isn't doneea8he had to tell her
now.
"Who says so?"
"You don't ever pester a publisher. It can turn
them right
off
you and your work. And it makes you look desperate,
so
you can't negotiate when they come up with an offer."
"That isn't pestering, ringing them so you can get to bed. you
tell them your mother's seen how not sleeping can affect
people. You say she knows what she's talking about because she
has to look after people with that kind of problem.
Jack took the quilt from her and flapped it across the
sheeted mattress. Now he wasn't
only worried that his father might call before she was out of
earshot, he was
afraid
how much more dangerous his father might have grown for lack
of
sleep.
"I
don't think that's going to helpea8he said.
"Well, I'm sure I'm not qualified
to advise you about your business. I'm just your
mother.8She pulled the quilt straight and stalked out
of the room. She had one foot in the hallway when
she glanced forgivingly at him. "Shall
I
make you a bedtime drink?"
"I never use them, thanks."8ally did when you were
little."
"Yeah, well,
I
grew up.
I
know more about myself."
To his dismay, she turned back to him, looking no
more persuaded
by
his claim than he was.
"I
don't like to think of you sitting up all
by
yourselfea8she said.
"I
won't be able to sleep."
"Sure you will."
"You may know a lot, John, but there are things you
don't know about me." She paused long enough for him
to grow nervous of what revelation she might have
decided to share with him at last, and of how she could
hardly have chosen a worse time for it, before she said
"Most likely you've forgotten, but there was one night
when you were twelve and the trains were stopped so you were
hours late home from going to the West End for some
silly thing or other, and even after you got in
I
didn't sleep a wink all night."
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
"Why,
what did you figure I'd been doing?"
"Just what you said you had. You never gave me any
reason to doubt anything you said.8That felt to Jack
uncomfortably like an accusation, especially
when she paused before saying "It was what could have been
done to you
I
was afraid of"
"Well, you don't have to worry any moreea8he said, his
thoughts chasing one another around the dark hollow inside
his skull as he tried to find a way to bring the
conversation to an end.
"I
can handle myself."
"I'll have to keep remembering that then, won't
IT"
The look she sent him was as heavy as her words. It
might have been her silence that was weighing her down,
trapping her in the doorway, and he was searching
desperately for another parting shot when she shook her
head. "Good night," she sighed and turned away
slowly, letting him see a few more dissatisfied
headshakes. He heard her plod to her bedroom and
close the door, and the creak of her bed, and the sound of a
cord snapping the light off. "Good night," he
called, but there was no response.
He mustn't assume she was unable to hear. He
hurried to the door and shut it as fast as he could without
making a noise, then he sat
by
the phone. He was reaching for the remote control, to put
the television news on low, when the phone rang.
He couldn't help feeling that his father had been
awaiting the exact moment-that he'd been watching every
move Jack made. Jack dislodged the receiver with a
clatter before he managed to capture it and raise it
to his face. "Yes," he whispered.
The only answer was a crackle of static, and he
wondered if his whisper might not be identifiable
enough. "Yesea8he said more urgently and louder.
"You're sounding very positive, John. Hope that's
how you're feeling."
The whisper was so close and so like his it might almost have
been his own.
"If
I canea8he said, turning away from
CHILDREN
the door and crouching over the receiver as he lowered his
voice.
"Keeping a secret, John?"
"Not that I'm aware of. How do you mean?"
-You'd think you were, talking like that. Or are you
trying to sound like me for a laugh?"
"I shouldn't
think we've any time for that. I'm
just-was
"You haven't got much time, you're right there, and you're
not the only one that hasn't.8ationevertheless his father added
"Feeling like me, is that why you're sounding like me?
Having to admit you're my son?"
"I'm just
keeping it quiet because my mother's in the next room.
She'd hardly gone to bed when you rang."
"What have you told her?"
The question felt like chill spit in Jack's ear.
"Nothingea8he said with all the conviction he could put
into a whisper. "Then who's she going to think is ringing
this late if she's
still awake? You're meant to be intelligent, aren't
you?"
"I mean
I
didn't tell her anything about you.
I
said a publisher was calling from the States."
"I'm your publisher now, eh?
I'll
be helping you with a book."
The short laugh his father released seemed
less amused than bitter, and Jack felt it best
to move them on. "You said we didn't have much time.
Where do you want-was
"Stay right where you are, son."
"I
don't understand.
If
you don't want me to-was
The laugh that greeted this was wilder-dangerously so,
since Jack couldn't imagine what had provoked
it. "Only till
I
say where to comeea8his father said.
"I'll
tell you this, though. You can be here in ten minutes from
when you hang up, and if you aren't
I'd
start getting nervous."
"I'll
be out of here as soon as you say, but
I
want something in return."
"Think you're haggling with that publisher, do you?
Let's have it, then. Maybe it'll be a laugh."
"I want to know the little girl's all
right."8ationever better. I've been taking care of
her."
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
"No,
I
mean I want to hear."
"You
just did. I'm not talking that soft."
"I
want to hear her speak."
"Not asking me to wake her and upset her, are you?
She's asleep. She's a sleepy child. That ought
to show you how happy she's been to have me looking after
her."
Jack could scarcely bear to consider the
alternatives, but he was about to repeat his insistence
when his father whispered
"If
you got here and she'd come to any harm you wouldn't help
me, would you?"
That had to make sense-Jack prayed it did.
"Okay, let me hear the other one."
"Which?"8Whoever else you've got thereea8Jack said,
his whisper cramping his parched mouth. "Last time you said
there were two.,,
"I
never said that."
"You said there was more than one babe."
"I
did, right enough."
"So where-"Jack tried to find some moisture in his
mouth to let him speak again. "What-was
"Just a doll. Girls have them, you know. Nothing for you
to worry about at all."
Jack yearned to believe that but wasn't sure he
could. He was searching his mind for a way to proceed when
he heard footsteps in the hall. As he twisted in
the chair, chafing his neck with the cord of the phone, the
door swung wide. "For heaven's sake stop
whispering, Johnea8his mother protested. "You don't
need to for my sake. You're only making it harder for
them to hear you all that way away."
"Who's speaking88Jack's father hissed with something like
savage delight. "Is it who
I
think?"
"Yesea8Jack admitted, and had to remind himself how
to talk above a whisper.
"All
right, motherea8he said too loud. "I'm
nearly through here. You can go back to bed."
When she only folded her arms he was afraid she
might be capable of stalking across the room
to remonstrate with the caller. "Can she hear me88his
father muttered in his ear.
CHILDREN
"Not yet."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Jack saw his mother shift her weight in his
direction, and pressed the receiver against his face with
both hands. "Maybe if you wait much longer."
"I
won't be waiting long.
I
told you that."
"So, so give me the details while you can, for
Christ's sake."
"You sure it's only you that's listening?"
"Yesea8Jack pleaded, then reverted to a whisper in
case that somehow helped convince his father. "Yes."
"Better be telling the truth for the sake of you know
who. Except I forgot, you don't know who yet,
do you? Shall
I
tell you her name?"
"No need nowea8Jack said, only to fear he'd
antagonised his father. "Sure, if you want."
"It's Charlotte. That's a good name for a babe in the
wood, don't you reckon?
A
good old-fashioned name."8Sure.8Jack's head was
throbbing with his sense of who
the girl might be, and with seeing his mother take a
purposeful step into the room. He would have said almost
anything to urge his father out of whatever perversity was
making him delay. "So where-was
"You'll laugh. At your lady friend's house."
Jack's gasp might have sounded like a laugh for all
he knew.
"My-was
"The woman you moved in with in Wembley. Don't
say you've forgotten her already. You're good at that,
aren't you, leaving people and forgetting them."
Jack could hardly think for wondering where and how
Leslie was, and watching his mother halt too close
to him, and realising his father was so out of control he was either
not aware of squandering time or indifferent whether he
did. "No," Jack blurted.
"Glad you remember. Better get going, then.
I'll
see you in ten minutes or less. Have a guess
what'll be happening if you're late. Hope your
car startsea8his father whispered, and was gone.
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
Jack's fingers were so stiff with tension he almost
couldn't find the cradle with the receiver. He used the
phone to shove himself to his feet and dodged around his
mother. "I'm just going outea8he said, which wasn't enough.
"For a driveea8he added, but that was too much.
"To think."
"John."
She must have thought her tone would stop him; he was
nearly in the hall before she caught his arm. "Not
nowea8he managed to resist exclaiming, and said
"I
need to go."
She didn't say a word until he had to look and
see her reproachfulness.
"I
thought there was one man in the family
I
could trustea8she said.
"You can.8Rather than wrench his arm out of her grasp he
murmured "Sorry, okay?"
Her fingers moved, but they were only taking a
firmer grip on him. "So where are you really going?"
"I
can't say now. When
I
get back."
"It won't take long just to put your mother's mind at
rest and let me know where you're going and who you're
going to see, will it?"
"Too long, Too complicated.
I'll
give you the whole story soon as
I
can, promise."
"What sort of person can you be going to at this time of
night, John? Call me out of date, but
I
don't believe it can be anyone decent, not when you
won't even say who they
are. "Mother, let go.
I
don't have the time.
If
you knew what you were doing-was
"I've still got all my wits, and don't you dare
suggest otherwise. It's my
job
to care for those who aren't so capable in case that had
slipped your mind.8She'd snatched her hand away from
him, but as he retreated toward the hall she
upturned her fingers and flattened them at him.
"If
you want me lying awake half out of my wits with
worry because you've lied to me and made me feel
I
can't rely on you for anything, then off you go and good
riddance."
"I'm sorry, honestly.8He was in the hall at
last. "As soon as I come home-was
CHILDREN
"If
you
go
out now after everything I've said this won't
be your home any more, so don't bother coming
back.8She surely couldn't believe that would hold
him. It must
be
her way of relinquishing power over him while making
him feel as guilty as possible about the loss. As
he jerked the chain of the apartment door out of
its socket he glanced along the hall, halfway
down which she was clutching her shoulders with her crossed
hands, but she turned her back on him. "Nothing
bad is going to happenea8he called, at least
as much
for his own reassurance as hers.
He missed every second stair, and nearly a third
one too, as he sprinted down without using the
reluctant timeswitch. Beyond the stone steps that led from
the house to the sidewalk, his car looked iced
by
the white glare of a streetlamp. He thought he
felt a premonition of chill in the air, though perhaps
it was only in him. His argument with his mother couldn't have
lasted more than a minute, two at the outside, and
surely he could make up that time on the road. He
unlocked the car and slammed the door and twisted the
key in the ignition as he threw himself into the driver's
seat. The engine gave no more than an irritable
cough.
He'd begun to fear that his father's last words to him had
been disastrously prophetic when he thought to tread
on the accelerator while he turned the
key
again. This time the engine snarled, then roared,
and he sent the car forward as fast as the street halved
by
parked vehicles would allow. Surely the police
car that turned on its siren somewhere close had nothing
to do with him.
FIFTY
"Hope your car starts.
I
should have said his coach, shouldn't
I?
Should have told him to crack the whip and get the
horses going."
"Neigh.,, "They say cars have horsepower, did you
know that?
I
remember when I heard my dad say his did and
I
thought there'd be horses pulling it. We were innocent
back then, us children. People let us be. Maybe
John's wishing he had you to pull his car, do you
reckon?
If
he had an extra horse he'd be quicker."
"Neigh. nei-ei-eigh."
"Is that all you can say, son? It's not
much of a
laugh. It's
not doing much for my nerves, to tell you the
truth."8What do you want me to say?"
"Not a lot, now you ask. Don't worry, you
won't need to be quiet for very much longer. John's
already had a minute. He'd better be on his way.
Do you know how
I
can tell how long he's had?"
"Neigh."8That means no, does it? Should have known.
You're never happy unless you're disagreeing, are you,
son? Disagreeing or being disagreeable or trying
to make your playmate act like you."
"Neigh.,, "Never mind arguing when we all know the
truth. You'd try anything and hope
I
wouldn't notice, wouldn't you? You've made me
forget what
I
was telling you. Hang on,
I
remember-how
I
know how long he's had. See through there, in
the front room? The telly's got a clock on
it, about
CHILDREN

all a
telly's
good for. So can you guess where we're going
now?"
Ian didn't say a word, not that he had so far.
Having
Woollie
answer for him and utter noises on his behalf was
almost worse than being gagged. The tape was wound so
tightly that the flesh beneath it felt like a single ache that
encircled his head, starting at his squashed lips. The
palms
of
his hands were trapped against a stair, his bound wrists were
caught in the small of his back. His ankles
pressed against a lower stair while one midway dug
into his buttocks, but none of that prevented him from
swaying every few seconds as if he was about to lose his
balance. Apart from that, he hadn't moved since he'd
shifted his feet apart halfway through the phone call,
when Woollie had told him to stay right where
he was-he'd hoped Jack might realise whom his
father was addressing then, but he hadn't dared make a
noise. Now he forced a grunt past the tape under
his nostrils and shook his head from side to side
twice.
"You can answer when you want to after all, can you, son?
Had me thinking you were too scared for a moment there.
Heave yourself up, then. Hang on, here comes some
help."
It was too soon for that to be Jack, and whatever
else Woollie might mean
by
it seemed more ominous than reassuring, especially
when he lurched at Ian, his pink and yellow dress
flapping, his face a featureless blur against the
light from Jericho Close. As he rested one hand
on the banister, metal rapped wood as a reminder
that he was holding the knife. He closed a fist on
the front of Ian's T-shirt to haul him to his
feet and walk him down to the hall, his knuckles
bruising Ian's chest at each step. "Can't have a
horse trying to walk upstairs, can we? That'd be a
laugh," Woollie muttered, sliding the knife
along the banister as he released him. "We're
staying down and going in the front. Less
chance of your playmate being woken up that way, and we
can watch the clock and keep a look out for your
coachMeaM$11
At least that would place Charlotte out of immediate dan-
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
ger, and perhaps his not having to worry quite so much about her
might let some plan lift the slab from Ian's
mind. He walked into the front room as fast as his
awkwardness allowed: he didn't want
to antagonise Woollie if he didn't have to,
not when the man was clearly on the brink of losing
control. Though the room wasn't even half as bright
as the street outside, which in any case was deserted,
Woollie flew after him and clamped his fingers on
Ian's scalp to force him into a painful crouch.
"Sit down quick, out of sight. Sit where you can see
the time."
Ian landed on the sofa that faced the television and the,
street. Most of his weight was thrown on his left
elbow, discovering extra pain in his bound wrists.
Worse than feeling crippled was the possibility
that Woollie might sit next to him, and so he
dragged his legs onto the sofa and pressed his left
shoulder against its back. "Hard to get comfortable, is
it88Woollie enquired, leaving his grin
open as if that might elicit a response.
"Shouldn't be for long. He's already had more than two
minutes."
In a moment he seemed to forget he was supposed
to be grinning. There wasn't much sign of him in his
eyes or the shape of his mouth as he swung, bent
almost double, toward the window.
When he planted his clawed fingers on the sill and
sank to his knees so that only his head was visible from
outside through the lower left-hand corner of the pane-he
must resemble an ornament if he resembled anything
at all Ian risked turning his back to the sofa and
planting his feet wide apart on the floor.
"Sit still now, sonea8Woollie muttered at his
breath on the glass. "You don't want to get me
more on edge. John's doing that without you joining in."
Ian's lips fought to wrench themselves apart behind the
tape. The powerful adhesive clung to his skin,
stretching it raw, but he succeeded in thrusting his
tongue just far enough for its tip to recoil from a taste that
nobody was ever intended to have in their mouth. It made
all the trapped heat of the room rush at him and
swim up through him to the top of his head as he tried
to scrape his tongue clean against his teeth.
If
he'd been able to speak he would have said
CHILDREN

almost anything to persuade Woollie to calm down, but
he could only listen while the man started mumbling as
if
wholly
unaware of being overheard.
"Can't do much he's meant to, can he? Couldn't
even keep Adele away while he was talking
to me.
I'd
like to
know
what he said to her after
I
got off. Better have told her he was talking to the
feller who was going to do his book for him. Hang on
though, did it sound like he was?" His voice sank
lower as if he were talking in his sleep while he
dreamed of being American, to judge
by
the accent he more or less adopted. "Maybe if you
wait much longer
...
Give me the details while you can, for Christ's
sake
. -- ."
Then his voice was his own once more, a whisper as sharp
as the knife beneath his fingertips on the windowsill.
"You don't talk like that to a publisher,
I
don't care who you are, and
I
reckon even Adele would have to notice. How long
has he got left, son?"
it took Ian more than a moment to grasp that
Woollie couldn't see the luminous red digits in
the rectangle under the screen. They'd shown
twenty-eight past midnight when Woollie had
declared that Jack had had a minute, and now the zero
of the thirty shrank into a one. The red flare swelled
into Ian's eyes, stinging them, and he was trying
desperately to think how he could answer-how he could
persuade
Woollie
that less time had passed than he saw-when the man
released a laugh so fierce the window blanched.
"That's a joke, isn't it? I forgot horses
can't talk. Must have been dreaming I was in
that fairy tale with the babes in the wood. The things you
imagine when you're her age upstairs, eh? The
things you can take for granted.8His voice was
drifting inward, but it roused itself. "Wait, though,
I
remember something. When
I
was her age my dad was going to take me to see a
horse that could count. You asked it a sum and it
stamped its hoof to tell you the answer. Want
to try, son? Want to be the horse that knows all the
answers?"
How could Ian respond if the man wasn't
looking at him? When Woollie turned it was with such
impatience that he
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
almost lost his grip on the sill. As Ian nodded
fast and hard, the knife fell to the carpet with a
muffled thud. Woollie groped in search of it,
keeping his eyes on Ian. "Go on then,
horseyea8he muttered. "Let's see your
trick."
Ian lifted his right foot an inch or so-far enough for his
leg to reveal how shivery it was-and let it drop.
When his captor only stared Ian repeated
the action and tramped on the carpet a third time before
pressing his heels against it. Woollie kept up his
unblinking stare, his eyes glinting like lumps of
coal, as he found the knife and raised it, and
Ian's legs began to tremble with resisting the
temptation to count the fourth minute. Then Woollie
murmured "Not so loud next time
I
ask you" and faced the street again.
It was still deserted. Far too soon Ian saw the
clock display a two. His legs were uncertain
whether to grow stiff or to shiver with anticipation of his
being asked to count, but seconds pulsed
by,
the colons between the digits throbbing like holes in an
artery, and Woollie didn't speak.
If
his sense of time was slowing down, perhaps Ian could double
or more than double the extra he was claiming on
Jack's behalf.
If
the man was as intent on watching for Jack as he
appeared to be, Ian could risk trying to free his
wrists. He inched forward so that his hands weren't
trapped against the sofa. Then a police car
made itself heard in the distance, and Woollie's
forehead nudged the window.
"He's never got himself arrested, has he? He's
supposed not to be attracting attention. Too fond
of publicity for his own good or anyone else's.
It's not as if nobody ever showed him how to keep
things quiet. That's the way, carry on, you'll have
her upstairs awake in a minute."
The exhortation was pronounced in such a vicious
whisper that his spittle glistened on the pane, but
Ian thought his savageness might be an attempt
to keep him awake, because his mutter sank into itself as the
siren sped closer. "Meant to keep the peace,
aren't they, the law? Not doing much of a
job.
Maybe he's had to tell them where he's coming and
they're so excited they've forgotten to switch their row
off. Maybe he called them or his mother did."
CHILDREN
He must be talking in his sleep or close to it,
otherwise
surely the ideas he was considering would have infuriated
him more than they seemed to be doing. The police car
sounded as though it was at least as close as the park.
Ian was willing it not to disturb Woollie
further when the siren began to dwindle, and shortly
there was no question that it was speeding out of earshot. "That's
more like. Leave us alone. Let her have some
peaceea8Woollie murmured, and then his head wobbled
round. "How long's it been now?"
His voice was blurred, his eyes were losing the energy
to keep their lids up.
If
Ian could avoid rousing him, he might nod off.
Ian drummed a heel on the carpet, exerting all
the control he could find in himself not to make more noise
than Woollie wanted nor so little that the man would have
to strain to hear. One muted thump, two, three, and
as he performed the fourth the final digit of the clock
increased. It might be safe to ignore the latest
minute, but suppose Woollie had noticed that
Ian's foot was hesitating in the air? He dealt
the floor a last dull reluctant blow and took
the opportunity to sit forward another inch. "He's
had half his allowance then, hasn't he? He'd
better
be
halfway hereea8Woollie mumbled, and leaned his
forehead against the glass.
His voice was nearly gone. His face was so
close to the pane that each breath swelled up before his
eyes like fog. Surely he couldn't have borne that
if he were awake. Ian bowed forward and dug the
knuckles of his left hand into the side of his right
forearm and levered at his wrists with all his strength.
The tape didn't give even a fraction. When he
succeeded in jamming both hands against each other's
forearms, all his efforts achieved was to pierce his arms
and shoulders with an ache. He barely managed
to swallow a gasp of frustration that might have roused
Woollie. As the inflamed three transformed itself
into a four, he tried to screw his wrists free of the
adhesive, but they were bound too tight for that-only the
bones ground back and forth inside the flesh. In
films whenever captives had to release themselves from their
bonds there was always a sharp object somewhere within
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
reach, but the sole item of that kind in sight was the
knife under Woollie's fingers on the windowsill.
Ian couldn't use that, and the knowledge lent the slab in his
mind more weight and substance. Woollie might as
well not be asleep for all the advantage it gave
Ian-and then Ian saw it had. He could sneak out
of the open door and upstairs to waken Charlotte, and,
if they were swift and silent enough, they could
steal out of the house. He only had to get off the
couch.
He pressed the hot prickly backs of his knees
against the edge of it and tried to ease himself to his
feet. He hadn't begun to imagine how painful this
would be.
All
his weight was dragging at the muscles of his calves,
and he'd risen no more than a few inches from the sofa
when the awkward posture gave way. The pain in his
calves brought tears to his eyes as he managed
to lower himself rather than sprawl on the couch.
He took several deep breaths while the pain
subsided and his vision grew less moist and
blurred, then inched himself forward until he was perched
on the edge of the sofa. He had to stand up this time or
he never would. The heat surged through him, locating
all the places it could make him sweat, and his arms
began to ache and shiver like his legs. The red
scratches that composed the four rearranged themselves into a
five, putting him in mind of the count at the beginning
of a race. He threw his weight onto his calves
in a last effort, and the knife slipped from
Woollie's fingers. It skittered down the wall and
clanged against the skirting-board and stood
on the end of its handle for at least a second before
toppling over with a thud.
When none of this appeared to have roused Woollie,
Ian let out an unsteady breath. He'd frozen in
mid-air, supported only
by
his shaking calves which, having suffered as much as they could
bear, deposited him on the couch.
A
cushion muffled his fall, and he was gathering himself for a
renewed bid for freedom when Woollie's fingers
that had been resting on the knife began to slide off
the sill.
They did their best to retain their hold. The
fingertips
CHILDREN

scrabbled back onto their resting place twice,
nails scratching at the wood. Then they strayed off
it and down the wall, and the knuckles grazed the
skirting-board before the hand slumped on its side.
Even this failed to disturb Woollie, but the fingers and
thumb opened and closed in search of the knife. They
had no success until his head wobbled round to peer
at them. They closed on the handle as he
twisted away from the window. "How'd that happen88he
demanded. "Was it you?"
Ian could barely find the energy to shake his head.
Beyond Woollie's silhouette the street
exhibited Jack's nonappearance while the silent
pounding of the colon of the clock urged the final digit
to increase. It was
by
no means reassuring that Woollie seemed not to know
what to do with the knife or with himself. Ian felt as if
the throbbing of the colon was his pulse rendered visible
by
the time Woollie decided to return the knife and his
hand to the windowsill. "Is he coming88he muttered.
"Is that him?"
At first Ian couldn't hear anything. He'd begun
to suspect Woollie's mind was having fun with its
owner when he heard a car, so distant that the sound
might have been a breath. It wasn't fading, it was
staying constant: perhaps it was even approaching, if that
wasn't just the effect of his straining his ears. Then the
noise sank into the night, and in a few throbs of the
colon it was gone.
"It wasn't him. What's keeping him? Does he
think I'm just having a laugh88Woollie
rubbed his forehead against the pane as if that would enliven
his mind, and apparently thought it did.
"By
God, I know what's keeping him. It's her.
It's his mother, the interfering cow."
As he clenched his fists on the sill the knife
jerked in his right hand, its point inscribing a scribble
like a secret message in his fog on the glass with a
small excruciating screech. "She wouldn't let
him come alone. She'd want to know where he was off to so
lateea8he snarled, no longer in a whisper.
"She'll give us no peace.
I
wouldn't care, she was never much good with children. She'll be
telling him to slow down, don't drive so fast or
someone's going to be
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
killed. She won't know she's got that the wrong
way round, will she? What a laugh. How long have they
had?"
He hadn't finished speaking when the five on the
clock added a line to itself. That wasn't the only
reason why Ian hesitated: he was trying
to decide how much better or worse things would be if
Jack's mother had indeed accompanied him.
"It doesn't need any thinking aboutea8Woollie
whispered, turning an impatient ear to him. "How
long?"
Ian hitched himself forward before starting to count. Even
now Woollie was awake, there was still a way for Ian
to intervene between him and Charlotte while he had the
chance. The imminence of it drew his stomach into itself.
He had to delay Woollie until Jack came,
alone or otherwise. He began to drum his heel
on the carpet as slowly as he dared. Seven
thumps, and he thought of stopping-one more, and he did.
Woollie was silent for two beats of the clock, and
then he let a moist disgusted noise trail out of the
side of his mouth toward Ian. "And the restea8he
muttered. "They've had it, haven't they?"
Ian pressed his feet against the floor so hard he
was afraid it might creak and betray him. He'd
regained enough strength to launch himself off the sofa, he was
sure he must have, and he had to bear however much pain the
effort took. He could reach the door ahead of
Woollie and kick it shut and hold it closed:
Woollie wouldn't dare injure him too badly when
Jack would be here any moment. Ian leaned his
torso backward, preparing to throw himself forward so
hard it would carry him all the way to the
door. Then Woollie crouched away from the window and
came at him, licking his lips as though shaping his
wet grin. "Let's see how clever the horse
was."
He ducked his head toward the clock and then at
Ian, and pointed at him with the knife. "Not such a
good horse after all, eh? Not so well trained.
Can't even count. I've still got all my wits.
You've been having a laugh, haven't you, son?"
Ian wouldn't have known how to answer. He might be
able to knock the man off balance if he flung himself
at
CHILDREN
him,
but what would that achieve? He was certain to be brought
down before he succ
eeded in crossing the room. "We
both haveea8Woollie murmured. "You didn't know
that, did You? You thought you'd made me think you were being
horse."
His eyes and his loose smile glistened as he spun
round in his crouch to survey the deserted road.
"You've had long enoughea8he whispered to Jack or
to Ian. "Time
I-was
His movement had taken him almost out of Ian's way.
Ian hurled himself forward onto his calves and
staggered to his feet, and swung himself away from
Woollie, toward the door. Woollie grabbed at
his legs and missed. He sprawled on the carpet,
and the knife flew out of his grasp, clattering against
an angle of the skirting-board. Ian was already
close enough to the door to hook it with one foot and slam
it. He fell against it and fumbled for the doorknob.
He had to squat awkwardly before his right hand found it
and clenched on it. Pain reawakened in his calves,
and then his shoulders set about aching, and his wrists that were
pinned against the door. He mustn't let any of that
distract him when there was more he could do. He clung
to the doorknob and began to kick it with his right heel.
The noise had to awaken Charlotte, and it might
bring his mother too.
He'd accomplished two loud kicks when
Woollie sprang at him amid a flapping of
jolly
pink fish and pried at his grip on the doorknob,
but Ian held on until fingertips began to peel
his nails away from the flesh. He aimed another
kick at the door and missed as his captor whirled
him round and threw him on the sofa. The
backs of Ian's knees struck the upholstered
arm. The cushions softened his fall, but his fingers
blazed with pain as they took most of his weight before
they could flatten themselves against him.
He saw Woollie glance toward the knife as he
came after him. "No need for mess,"
Woollie
muttered, "let's have all the peace we can have," and
snatched a cushion from a chair. Before Ian could
squirm off the couch or even suck in a breath, the
cushion was over his face. In a moment Woollie
was sitting on it and had wrapped his arms around
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
the backs of Ian's calves to haul them toward
him.
Ian couldn't move or breathe. His legs were pinned
together above his stomach, and the agony in them seemed to have
cut their muscles off from his brain. His hands were
trapped beneath him, his head was sandwiched in a soft
place in which there was no air, only a choking smell
of faintly scented cloth. Above him he could just hear
Woollie singing "Now
I
lay you down to
sleep..."
His thighs struggled to jerk him free, but the grip on
his legs increased, grinding them together. For a moment the
weight on his face lessened as though Woollie had
raised himself to watch something, and then the cushion
refitted itself to Ian's face without having allowed
him to find any breath, and there was only the agony of
waiting for the pounding blackness inside his head to burst
its shell. At last it did, flooding his eyes with a
blindness so solid it swept away everything he was or
had ever been.
FIFTY-ONE
Leslie didn't know what wakened her. Until it
did she hadn't realized she was asleep. She was
lying on top of the quilt because of the heat that was stuffing
itself under the raised sash of the window, but the shock of
remembering that she had no idea of Ian's whereabouts
sent a chill through her from her brain, that was crawling with
half formed
thoughts, all the way down to her clammy feet. Could
she have heard him sneaking into the house, too ashamed of
having worried her to want her to know he was there? She
pushed herself up on her elbows and lifted her head and
held her breath.
The house was as quiet as a sleeping child. The silence
made her ears feel exposed and empty and
cold. She was
CHILDREN
beginning to think she remembered what she'd heard as
she'd wakened-a knocking somewhere near the house. perhaps
she'd dreamed it, and in any case it had stopped.
The only sound outside was the speeding of a car, and that
wasn't in Jericho Close. She was lowering her
head to the pillow, though she'd little chance of resting now
that all her fears were jostling to be first to take shape
in her head, when she wondered if it could have been the
phone she'd almost heard.
Surely it would still have been ringing when she awoke-the
way she was feeling she would have almost at once unless
it had been Ian and he'd panicked at the
prospect of having to speak to her, He ought to know she
couldn't be anything except relieved, but the idea
wasn't going to leave her alone until she checked
when she had last been called. She snatched at the
light with the dangling cord and swung her legs off the
bed, and came face to face with Ian's note she'd
pinned down with the bedside clock.
Twenty-three minutes to one in the morning.
I've
GONE
BECAUSE YOU SAID I
TOOK CHARLOTTE.
The time and the note seemed as unreasonable as each
other-indeed, she felt as if they were encouraging each
other to aggravate her frustration at not having a
phone she could keep
by
the bed at night-but there seemed to be some insight
buried in the midst of her feelings, some perception that
her half-awake state might be capable of allowing
her to reach. She dug her feet into her slippers and
retrieved her dressing gown from the hook on the
door, and turned back to the room as she tied the
cord about her waist. Neither the clock nor the
piece of paper seemed to have anything fresh to tell
her, except perhaps that she ought to know better than
to trust hunches she had when she wasn't fully
awake. Nevertheless the impression was as reluctant
to vanish as it was to make itself clear, and so she gazed
at the note in her hand all the way down to the phone,
where she dropped it on the pad as she picked up the
receiver.
A
pieced-together female voice reminded her of the call
she'd taken far too many hours ago. She was
silencing the unhelpful machine when the receiver
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
and everything around her took on weight and substance in
an instant. She'd seen what she'd missed seeing.
She used a forefinger that was all at once steady as a
ruler to slide the note off the pad. The sheets of
paper were almost the same: the pad was square, the
loose page was
more
rectangular
by
less than half an inch, yet that made all the
difference. Ian had brought the note into the house from
somewhere else, but why? She remembered finding it in the
open drawer with next door's keys on top. The
sounds she'd seemed to hear as she awoke could have been
in Janet's house.
She pulled the drawer out and grabbed the keys and
strode to the front door. It was less than half
open when she halted it and the spread of the light from the
hall onto the path.
A
car was switching off its headlamps as it coasted to a
hushed stop outside her gate. It was Jack's.
He caught sight of her as he eased the door
shut. He looked as taken aback
by
her advancing down the path as she was bewildered to see
him. "I'm coming," he said, so quietly that she had
to tell herself he could only be speaking to her.
She had an abrupt sense of knowing less than she
thought she did. As she unlatched the gate he
frowned past her at the lit hall. "What are
you-"he murmured with an urgency she understood no more
than his next question.
"Why
have you come out?"
"I was going to ask you something rather like that myself."
"Y.
.."
His frown dug itself deeper, and turned from her to the
house, and pulled his eyes wide. "Isn't there
anyone.
. ."
"You're going to have to finish a few more of your sentences
if I'm expected to understand what you want."
He stepped onto the path and ducked toward her as
if the frown was tugging his head lower. "Are we
alone?"
"I
can't see anyone but us, can you? That isn't
to say we aren't being watched, meeting in the middle
of the night like this and me not dressed for it."
CHILDREN
"Watched from your house, you mean."
"I wish I did."
His gaze flickered toward it, and his frown seemed not
to know what to do with itself. "You aren't just having to say
that."
"Why
on earth would
I,
Jack? What's all this about?"8Christ.8Louder, but
still not to her, he said "Christ, it was a trick."
"I'm glad you told me that or
I'd
have no idea what's going on."
"Leslie, I've none either.8He met her eyes,
and his frown cleared. "Wait though, maybe
I
have. Did someone phone you? Is that why you're up?"
"Nobody's called me since yesterday."
"He will, though. That has to be it. He's going
to call me at your house."
"Is everything meant to be obvious to me now?"
"Sorry. It's only just getting that way
for me.8He held out his hands and risked touching hers.
"Do you mind if we do this inside? There may be a
call any second."
"Do what, Jack?"
"I'll try to tell you the truth."
"What sort of problem are you saying that will be?"8For
you to believe it, mostly,
I
guess."
"Another
installment
, you mean88She was having to deal with too much all at
once, not least with her uncertainty how she felt about
his reappearance, when she was supposed to be finding
Ian. "I've got to go next door firstea8she said,
and stepped around Jack. "Just tell me who'll
be
calling you on my phone."
He was already making for it, and she was about to enquire
what was so important that he'd neglected to ask
her permission when he stopped and waited for her
to lock gazes with him. "The truth88he said.
"What else, and nothing but."
"my
father."
It was his expression-hoping much more than expecting she
would believe him, but resigned to either-that made
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
q
her unable to laugh at his words. The night grew
intensely present around her-the dark and all it might
hide. Jack saw her fail to dismiss what he'd
said, and backed toward her hall. "Do you mind if
I
. . ."
Though his belated politeness was almost comical, it still
wasn't in her to laugh. She had to go after him, not just
to learn everything but to hear it before Ian could. "We
both will. Next door can wait. Hurry," she
said.
She didn't know whose urgency she was expressing, his
or her own. She was at his heels
by
the time he reached the threshold. She held onto the
latch so as not to slam the door behind them in her haste.
As Jack stood
by
the phone she dropped Janet's keys in her
pocket and leaned against the door, though her
wakefulness and the situation were reluctant
to let her stay in one place. "Your fatherea8she
urged.
"He isn't dead. He faked it when he knew he
was going to be found out,
I
figure. He must have thought one of my mother's
residents would make a great witness to persuade
everyone he was dead because he'd be taken in himself."8But
you've been in touch with your father."
"He called me, that's right.
If
you were going to say it could have been some joker pretending
to be him,
I
wish-was
"I
wasn't.
I
was wondering why he would contact you if he wanted
everyone believing he was dead."
"Seems like he read
I
would be writing about him. Maybe he wanted to make
sure I got it right. Only now he-by "Tell me
something. Did he get in touch with you while
you were living here?"
"He called me a couple of times. That was the first
I
heard from him after he was meant to have drowned. It was before
you knew who
I
was."
"Which was why you didn't bother telling anyone a
killer was still alive, you mean."
"I
know. I'm sorry, believe me. I've no
excuse.
I just
didn't think he would be dangerous any longer, not
when he was having to hide and he'd let me know he
was.8Jack dragged at his frown with his fingertips.
"Why
doesn't he call? He said
I
had to be here
by
now. He must have been
CHILDREN
meaning to contact me here, and he'd only do that
by
phone, wouldn't he? It doesn't make any other
kind of sense."
"Look, let's say I believe he's alive.
What sense can you see that
I
can't in him calling you at my house when he's
supposed to be pretending he's dead?"
"Maybe this is the only place he could think of
to phone
me
except at my mother's. That's where he sent me here
from, but he said he was here. I'm certain that's what
he told meea8Jack insisted, and she saw him
shake off the notion that she might have been forced to conceal
his father. "Unless he doesn't know where he is any
more. Christ,
I
hope that's not it, that his mind--2'
"Slow down. There's another question to sort out.
Why
is he calling you at all?"
"He needs me to drive him somewhere. He mustn't
feel safe wherever he's hiding. That's some of it,
but.

"Go on, Jack. Nothing but the truth,
remember."8It won't just be him I'm driving."
That was more than Leslie's nerves would let her stay
still for. She darted forward and made her hands drop for
fear of how painfully she would have grabbed Jack.
"What are you saying?"
"He's got a child with him. I'm sure he took
her so
I
wouldn't be able to give him away, and that has to mean
he won't harm her. Only..."
"Finish it. Don't do that, don't keep stopping."
"I
guess it isn't so uncommon a name, is it, but
he said she's called Charlotte."
"How long have you known that88Leslie said once she was
able to move her stiff lips.
"Since maybe ten minutes ago. Since I last
spoke to him. It's been longer than that now, it's
been too-"Jack's eyes widened, and then the gap
between his lips did. "Hold itea8he gasped.
"What, Jack? What?"
"He said he'd see me in ten minutes.
I
don't believe his mind's that far gone
yet. When he said see he meant it. He's somewhere
close
by.
Where?"
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
Leslie pulled out the keys as she spoke.
"They're away on holiday next door, but I'm
sure
I
heard someone in there just before.
I
thought it was Ian. He could have used these to get in."
"Suppose it was Ian as well?"
Leslie took a breath to retort, only to discover
she wasn't sure what to say. "That's itea8Jack
declared.
"I
couldn't
figure
how my father knew where to call me, but if Ian found
out and then-was
He sucked in whatever his next word might have been and
twisted round to glare at the wall the houses had in
common. Leslie clutched at the keys with her free
hand, because otherwise they would have fallen from her
shocked grasp. The next moment she and Jack were
sprinting for the front door. They'd heard a man's
shout through the wall-a shout of triumph. Though it had
done without words, there was no mistaking its
significance. It was the cry of the victor in a
game of hide-and-seek.
FIFTY-TWO
It was the boy's fault as usual, Hector thought,
but all the same he sang to him. He used his hands
that were locked behind the boy's knees to bend his
captive's body almost double, and leaned his weight
on the cushion that covered the boy's face. He
resisted an urge to sing louder as if that might help
him overcome the struggles the boy was straining
to perform, because the point was to stifle any row that might
waken the boy's playmate upstairs. Perhaps he was
singing to give himself some peace, some patience that would
help him wait for the boy to give up attempting
to resist the inevitable. But the stubborn body was still
sweat-
CHILDREN
ing to unbend itself when a car appeared at the end of the
road.
Hector craned to peer over the net curtain that
obscured the lower half of the window. The
headlamps died as the car halted outside the house
next door, and John climbed out to gaze toward that
house. Though he was late, Hector no longer
resented that: it had given him time to deal with the boy,
after all-but the trouble was that he hadn't finished. As
he sat harder on the cushion over the boy's face
he saw John open the neighbouring gate.
Hector could catch his attention, he only had
to find something within reach that he could throw at the window-and
then the boy's mother appeared on her path.
So the boy had managed to ruin Hector's plan.
Hector hauled the legs toward himself in a rage and
pressed all his weight down on the boy's face
while he sang the lullaby softer and sweeter than
ever. He saw John and the woman walk around each
other on the path, exchanging words he couldn't hear.
The woman glanced towards Hector more than once,
but he had to believe she couldn't see him for the net
curtains and the dimness. Then John vanished in the
direction of her house, followed
by
the woman, and the boy's legs jerked and went limp.
Hector wasn't to be fooled. He held onto
the boy's legs while he raised himself very
tentatively from the cushion. When the body
under him didn't betray any movement, he crooked
one arm behind the knees and snatched the cushion off the
face. The eyes were closed, but there was no telling
what the mouth might be up to behind the gag: suppose the
tape was hiding a grin at Hector's
credulousness? He found the end of the tape to unwrap
the head-he almost fell for that temptation. Instead he
pinched the lashes of the right eye between fingers and thumbs and
leaned close.
He saw the lower
lid
twitch as his grip plucked out a hair. Surely
the boy couldn't stand that without flinching unless he was at
peace, but Hector continued tugging until the upper
lid peeled back. The eye was blank white, more like
a marble that had been inserted in the socket. He found
the
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
spectacle unexpectedly dismaying. "Close your
eyes good nightea8he murmured, releasing the
eyelid, which stayed ajar over a glistening crescent
of white until he pulled it down. He tiptoed
in a crouch across the room to retrieve the knife before
heading swiftly for the hall. He wanted to hear what
was being said next door-not, if John had
any sense, about him.
He'd stepped into the hall and was lifting his smile
toward the silence upstairs-at least there was one babe
in the wood that knew she was meant to stay asleep-when
the woman's voice beyond the wall grew clear as a
radio that had just been tuned in. "He's supposed
to be pretending he's dead."
For a moment Hector was so thrown he thought she was
referring to her son, and peered at the body on the
sofa to reassure himself it hadn't moved-and then he
heard John say "Maybe this is the only place
he could think of to phone me except at my mother's."
He'd betrayed Hector. He wasn't able
to keep quiet about him, which showed he couldn't
be
trusted at all. The knife in Hector's fist
swung to point toward his betrayer, but as he
restrained himself from jabbing at the wall with it,
John's next words reached him. "That's where he
sent me here from, but he said he was here. I'm certain
that's what he told me."
Hector covered his mouth to suppress a laugh. The
knife touched his lips and his delighted outthrust
tongue like a kiss that tasted metallic as blood.
John was having to explain his presence to the
woman, and he was at such a dead loss he could think
of nothing to tell her except the truth. They
didn't know where Hector was, and he wouldn't be
there much longer. He only had to ensure that he
wouldn't be leaving anyone capable of raising the alarm
while he made himself scarce. He couldn't risk
staying or even just stealing away when at any moment the
girl might waken and find she was alone and start a
fuss that might be heard next door. He felt as
if the boy's body were urging him to be far away before
it was found-as if the boy were having a last try at
making it harder for him to think-
CHILDREN
He didn't want to use the knife. It might be
quick, but he
was afraid that its effect wouldn't be peaceful-wouldn't
look that way to him, at any rate. He slipped
it into his pocket and ran on tiptoe into the front
room to snatch the cushion from beside the couch. It was
wet with the boy's saliva, which seemed to promise that
the babes would be going to sleep together as they should.
He'd nothing against the girl, after all-he just wanted
her to be peaceful, and
if
having a companion with her would help, that was
her choice to make. "He needs me to drive him
somewhereea8John was saying through the wall, and Hector
was able to grin at him. He didn't need John's
help any longer, he was safest
by
himself, as he always had been. He hugged the cushion
and stroked it as he ran upstairs on his toes,
singing under his breath.
"Now I lay you down to sleep, Close your eyes
good night. Angels come your soul to keep, Close
your eyes good night
- -- ."
It had often occurred to him at these moments, but never
so intensely as now: he was one of the angels himself-the
angel that brought peace into the lives of children who were
crying out for it. What he was about to do was inevitable, not
to mention desirable, and he found himself wondering why it
had taken him so long until he recalled how the
boy had interrupted him. The interruption was done with,
and even the boy turned out to have his uses. "Your
playmate's waiting for youea8he murmured at the
door propped open with the stool. "Him and the other
sleepy children."
He hugged the cushion harder as he left the stairs
and felt he was hugging the peace he'd given
to the boy. John's voice and the woman's had stayed
downstairs, incomprehensible now. Closer to him,
beyond the open door, was a silence that embodied a
peace he only had to prolong to make it perfect.
He held the cushion in front of him and sidled
into the room, reserving a deep breath for a lullaby
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
once the cushion was in place. Then he closed his
eyes to do away with the trick the dimness was playing, and
opened them at once, and grimaced so hard that a
trickle of saliva ran down his chin. His eyes
hadn't been mistaken. There was nobody on the bed.
His mind went out like a television whose power had been
cut, and then it came back. He would have seen her
through the doorway of the front room if she had
sneaked downstairs while he was busy with her
playmate. Even if she'd realised there were people
next door all too ready to run to her aid, she
hadn't called out-perh she didn't dare. He
mustn't lose patience with her when that might give him
away to John and the boy's mother. "Where are you,
love88he murmured. "You ought to be in bed. It's
past your bedtime. Just tell me where you are and
I'll
put you where you ought to be."
There was no reply, but he sensed he wasn't alone
in holding his breath. "Whisper to me where you are or you
won't see your playmate. He's waiting for the
coach to come and take you both away. You don't
want to bother him, do you? He'd want you to know you
needn't hide from me. Just think about it, love. He
wouldn't have left you
by
yourself otherwise, would he?"
Surely that was a question she would feel bound to answer,
even if to disagree, but she must be doing so in her
willful
little head. She hadn't been like that until the boy
came. Downstairs the muffled voices were carrying
on at each other, and the threat of discovery they
represented made the inside of Hector's skull
feel scraped. "Come on, love, you've had your
bit of a laugh with meea8he coaxed. "Stop your
game now or you'll miss the coach. We've got
to get you ready for it like your playmate is."
She was either on the floor beyond the bed, he thought, or
in the wardrobe. Without warning, but silently, he
lurched around the bed. The carpet was bare apart from the
black straw hat he'd discarded after his first efforts
to amuse the girl. He dropped the
cushion on the bed and slid the wardrobe door
back, just slowly enough not to make a sound.
"Who's in here88he whispered, leaning into the cell that
wasn't so dark his eyes couldn't deal with it, and saw
a long black dress flinch in front of him.
"Who's hiding in the house where the flat people live?
All
of them flat as pancakes except the one who's
called Charlotte."
He didn't grab her. He only closed his hands
around the flat breasts of the dress, just about where her
neck ought to be. When his hands met on nothing
except the slippery material he thought she'd
contrived to slide out from under the dress. He clawed
at it before realising she had never been there: only his
whisper had stiffed the dress. He stretched his arms
wide and planted a hand on the clothes at either end
of the rack, and heard a frightened squeak as he brought
them together-the squeak of the hooks on the runner. The
clothes were empty, and so was the rest of the wardrobe
except for the shoes on its floor. He ducked out
of the enclosure before he could give in to the rage that
tasted hot and raw in his mouth, then retreated to the
corner furthest from the door so as to survey the room.
At once he saw what he'd
overlooked. Under the window the quilt hung off the
bed almost to the carpet, except for an indentation like a
rumpled archway where someone had crawled underneath.
"Whose burrow's this88He only mouthed that as he
dodged on tiptoe around the bed so that he was between it
and the door, then he dived onto all fours. "Which
little animal's made its nest under-was
His voice was rising when it failed. There wasn't
space for anyone under the bed: hardly even room for
him to shove his hand beneath. The shape of the quilt must have
been meant as a trick. He reared up in a fury
that turned his surroundings black as buried earth, and
groped almost blindly for the cushion, but then gathered up
the pillows instead. They were softer, and nobody could
say he was cruel, no more so than he ever had to be.
He padded onto the landing only just audibly and
heard a dro
p
of liquid strike the bath. ol yourself, "That's where you
are, is it, love? Can't c0ntr
keep telling you there's nothing to be scared of-"His
words of reassurance took his head around the door, but
he thought they'd had the opposite effect to the one
he'd intended when a gush of liquid spattered the
bath. Then he saw that the solitary spout
of the taps had released it into the dim trough. He could
see nowhere else in the room for the girl to hide, and
he was backing out past the ajar door when he
glimpsed her shoes in the mirror.
They were behind the door-she was. "Now I lay you
downea8he mouthed, and sprang around the door, a
pillow poised in each hand. They met with a soft
thump where her head ought to have been. Only her shoes
were hiding behind the door. Had they been meant to delay
him? She'd tricked him twice: how far had that
got her? His gums ground each other raw at the
thought of her having slipped out of the house-and then,
closer than the maddeningly incomprehensible
bricked-up voices, he heard her sob. She was
in the front room.
She must have found her playmate. He'd been some
use after all. Hector tiptoed down so quickly and
deftly he was scarcely aware of touching the stairs.
She didn't notice him as he reached the hall and
saw her kneeling
by
the sofa, trying to locate the end of the tape around the
boy's head with the fingernails of one hand while she
lifted his head with the other. "Wake up, Ianea8she
pleaded. "You can. Just wake up."
She either heard or glimpsed Hector scampering
across the room and turned as though to offer him her
face. In a moment it and the rest of her head were
sandwiched between the pillows, and he had no idea how
loud his cry of triumph might be. At once his
voice was under control and he was. The nails
clawing at his hand on the pillow over the girl's
face, the small shoeless feet drumming on his
shins, were no more than minor irritations of which he was
hardly even conscious as he began to sing.
FIFTY-THREE
Jack felt as though his father's shout were directed at
him-as though it were saying that he hadn't needed Jack
or, far worse, that he'd done what he wanted
despite him. Jack almost pushed past Leslie as
she threw her front door open, and he groaned
when he saw that the fence between the gardens was too high
to vault. She had the keys to the next house, and so
he could only sprint after her down the path, through the
gate and U-turning through its neighbour, up the path
that felt like retracing the steps he'd just taken while
he sucked in altogether too many harsh short deskbound
breaths. Now Leslie was at the door, surely
only a few seconds after they'd heard the shout, and
driving a key into the lock. She was twisting
it when he saw movement in the room beside it and peered
through the curtains that netted much of the light from the
street. The material seemed to grow less
substantial-everything around him did-as he saw what
was happening in the room.
A
figure had swung round to stare toward the hall.
Though it had an old man's shrunken face, its
grey hair straggled over its shoulders, and it wore
a pink and yellow dress as though it were trying to be more
than one parent or to portray some childhood
nightmare. For a moment Jack thought, or perhaps only
yearned to think, that it was playing with a blue doll the
size of a child, holding it
by
the pale featureless head that was much too large for the
body. But the caved-in lips were moving, pronouncing
a message to the toy that had been lifted high off the
floor, and Jack heard the song as though it were being
murmured in his ear.
If
that hadn't sent him dashing after Leslie as she
flung the
door wide, the victim's struggles would have.
"Let her goea8he roared.
He was nearly in the room when Leslie halted in
the doorway. "Ohea8she said, so quietly that it
sounded as though all emotion had been shocked out of
her.
Ian was sprawled on a sofa facing the television.
His legs hung limply over the end of the sofa
nearest the door, his arms were pinned beneath him. His
face was turned up to the ceiling, but whatever
expression it might bear was wrapped around with tape.
Jack was aware that grief at the sight had
paralysed Leslie, and he was about to move her
aside as gently as swiftness permitted when she
slapped the fight-switch with a force that propelled her
into the room. "Put her downea8she said.
The hulking toothless stooped old man in the yellow
dress strewn with pink fish recoiled a step,
squeezing his eyes shut so furiously that they leaked
and pressing the pillows together harder to compensate. The
next moment his eyes opened with a flutter of their
lashes that looked as if it were meant to go with the dress,
but he didn't relax his grip on the pillows.
"I'll
deal with himea8Jack said, knowing Leslie would understand
whom he meant, since she couldn't feel he was
entitled to do anything for Ian after all
he'd been responsible for. He was dodging around her
when he heard a snort and a choke and as much of a cough
as the gag would allow.
It was Ian. His legs moved vaguely, trying
to discover where they were, only to drop against the end of the
sofa with a feeble thump as he fought to breathe. "There you
are, missusea8the old derelict croaked. "He
isn't even dead. The girl's not your concern, fair
enough? See to your lad."
That was when Jack realised how far beyond anything he
could imagine his father's mind had gone. He sent himself
toward that unknown as Leslie fell on her knees
by
the sofa and lifted Ian's head with one hand while she
searched for the end of the tape with the other. In a second
she had it and was peeling it round and round his head.
Jack saw his father's gaze flicker, considering
whether he could reach the
door, and grasp that there were too many
obstacles-furniture and Jack. "Give her
to meea8Jack said.
"Don't interfere, John. That's what he did,
and look what happened to him. Promise you'll do
what you said you'd do, take me somewhere
I
won't be bothered any more."
The little girl's feet began to kick more
desperately as her nails scraped skin off the
bulging veins on the back of the hand on the pillow.
Jack's father seemed to find none of this worth
noticing as he pressed the back of her head against
him with the pillow and snatched a knife out of his pink and
yellow pocket. "Stay back. We don't want
a messea8he said.
"Let her go and we'll talk about where
I
can take you. Let her go now."
His father gave him a smile whose ends drooped as
soon as they'd twitched up, and felt around his lips
with his tongue while the knife probed under the foremost
pillow. "You aren't expecting me to fall for that, are
you?
I'd
have nothing to bargain with then. Just get yourself out to your car
and I'll bring her. The quicker you are the happier
she'll be."
A
ripping sound made Jack wince as Leslie
yanked the last of the tape off Ian's mouth. The
boy coughed and almost rolled off the sofa as
he struggled to push himself to his feet, desperate
to be outside before he vomited. He was too weakened
and too late. "Good Godea8Jack's father
protested, can't he keep that to himself?
I
hope he'll be cleaning it
UP.
That overcame whatever reservations Jack had, too
deep in him for definition, about grappling with his father-but
before Jack could make a move his father rested the point
of the knife against the inch of the little girl's throat that was
visible below the pillow. "You aren't going to touch me,
Johnea8he wheedled. "I'm your-was
Jack grabbed the wrist of the hand that held the knife
and wrenched it higher than his father's head, and was
rewarded
by
kicks on his shins from the girl. He took hold
of the fingers that were digging into the pillow and bent them
back,
feeling as though he were fighting dirty in a
schoolyard. He felt the knuckles start to crack
before his father released the pillows, his raw eyes
watering. "That's not the way to treat your dad," he
complained as the little girl dropped to the
floor, crying out as her feet struck it, and wobbled
across the room like someone barely able to see or walk.
Leslie saved her from falling, and she gave another
kind of cry. "Ian's all right. He's all right,
isn't he?"
"He will beea8Leslie said fiercely. "Both of
you."
Jack took that as partly a plea addressed to him,
He let go of his father's fingers so as to pry the knife
loose from the other hand, and gave his father a shove that
dumped him in the chair furthest from the hall.
"Don't move," he warned. "Leslie, can you
take them next door? I'll keep him here for the
police. Call them and whoever else you need."
"Can you stand up, Ian?
I'll
get your hands free as soon as we're home."
Leslie helped him up while supporting
Charlotte, who did her best to help him too.
They were progressing toward the hall, avoiding
Ian's accident and Jack's father as if these were much
the same sort of thing, when Leslie said "Shall
I
take that with me?"
She meant the knife Jack was holding.
"Noea8he said. Whatever she took that to mean
didn't detain her. Jack listened as she led the
children out of the house. When he heard the door of her
house shut he moved a chair between his father and the hall
and sat in it, holding the knife in his lap. His father
was rubbing his injured fingers and flexing them, and only
when he'd finished inspecting them for damage did he
lift his gaze to Jack. Having produced a
reproachful look that his toothlessness helped appear
pathetic, he turned it to the knife. "What's the
plan, John?" he said in a tone of being nearly
ready to forgive him.
"You heard it."
"I heard what you told her to get rid of them, but
you're talking to your family now."
Jack was trying not to feel he was. Despite the
grotesque dress, the long-haired unshaven man
wasn't quite unrecognisable, though he would have been
if Jack had passed him
in the street, but the only memories Jack had just
now of times they'd spent together were the ones he'd done
his best to bury. He closed both hands around the
handle of the knife as his father adjusted a tentative
grin with his tongue. "Have a heart, John. Those
kids are going to be all right, she said so.
She won't notice if we slip off while she's
busy with them.
I
reckon she's so happy for them she won't care
what we do."
Jack was unable to silence his response. "She
won't care if she never sees me again, sure
enough."
"Couldn't have been worth having then, could she?
I
expect she's only interested in people she can look
after, like your mother is. Anyway, let's talk when
we're on our way, shall we? We'll have lots of
news to tell each otherea8Jack's father said, and
took hold of the arms of the chair.
"Don't try it.
I
told you, don't move."
"Who do you think you are, speaking like that to your father?
You've read too many of the kind of books you
write.8When that had no effect he pulled his lower
lip down with a forefinger and gave Jack a knowing
look.
"If
you hang on much longer the police are going
to be here and then
I'll
have to tell them what you used to do."
Jack's memory sharpened and came absolutely
clear. "I hope you willea8he said.
"You're admitting it at last, are you?"
"I'm seeing the truth if that's what you mean. You
know never realised what you were making me do. You'd
never have been able to make me if I had,"
"That's what You'd love to believe, you mean.8He
searched Jack's eyes as if to convince them or himself
that they were hiding some unsureness, and then his mouth
drooped further open as he scowled at the knife-
"I notice You didn't tell your lady friend what
you want that for."
"Whatever has to be done."
"You're no different from me then, are you?
You
just wish you were. What are you going to tell everyone
about me? Going to try and turn me into one of your
horrors? Maybe you think I'm something you made
up."
"I
know you aren't.8It was as much as Jack could produce
in the way of sympathy to add
"I
know some of why you're how you are."
"You don't know the half of it.
If
you knew everything you'd save me if you care at all
for your own flesh and blood."
"I'll
say what
I
can when I'm asked to."
"It won't be enough. Listen,
I
know what we can do. Let's go for a drive while
I
tell you the rest of it and if it doesn't change your
mind you can bring me straight back."
"No need. We're here. You can tell them yourself
whatever you want them to know."
"They won't understand, can't you see that? They won't
like you ought to, and it won't be only them. Don't you
know how the villains would be after me in prison if
they heard
I'd
done something to kids? They have to find someone they can
reckon is lower than them. You wouldn't
want to think of that happening to your own father, John."
That was true, especially given how aged and
exhausted he looked. Jack's grasp slackened
on the knife until he saw his father pretending not
to notice. "There's a lot
I
don't want to think of about youea8he said.
"If
you manage to persuade them you had enough excuses
maybe they'll just put you away somewhere you can't harm
anyone else."
"I can't now, John. Take a good look at me
and tell me if you think
I
could."
"That's why you're dangerous, because someone might think
you aren't."
"Are you still fretting about those kids next door even
though they're going to be fine? They're the last.
I'd
have no more opportunities.
I'd
just want to keep myself to myself.8He risked letting
Jack see his hopefulness, and when all this failed
to make a difference he said resentfully
"I
wouldn't have bothered with her except she was upset, and
then he wandered in and got me all confused."
"Are you through yet? You've said a lot more than too
much, and it's making me feel kind of sick."
"Won't it be good for your book, me talking to you?
I'd
like to think
I
helped.8He started a laugh that didn't get far,
then attempted a grin that sagged with disgust. "I know
why you feel sick, it's the stink in here. You get that
round kids. You wouldn't know, never having had to deal
with them. Let's go and sit somewhere you'll feel
better."
"I
can put up with it where
I
am."
"Is there nothing that'll move you, John88his father
complained, glaring at him with eyes that looked ready
to weep. That wasn't about to affect Jack, who met
his gaze, vowing not to blink before his father did. His eyes
were beginning to sting, and he was gripping the knife harder
and telling himself it couldn't matter less who
blinked first-he would rather lose the contest than appear
close to tears-when he heard the whoop of a siren behind
him.
It sounded near-perhaps at the end of the street. When he
glanced over his shoulder, however, Jericho Close was
deserted. He turned back to the room and found his
father standing over him. "Last laugh, Johnea8his father
said.
He closed his clammy hands around Jack's on the
knife and leaned his face toward him, grinning so
gleefully his gums dripped. Jack's nostrils
filled with smells of cloth and breath and unwashed
flesh that merged into a choking staleness. As he tried
to heave himself out of the trap of the chair and drag his hands
free, his father's grin collapsed into a grimace at
Jack's attempts to escape him, or at the
situation where they'd ended up, or at himself. "Like
horror, do you?
I'll
show you some horrorea8he muttered into Jack's
face, and jerked the knife upward as he ducked and
brought the underside of his chin down hard.
Jack felt the knife snag and cut through the
obstruction. He saw his father's tongue flinch as the
point of the blade found it from beneath. His father's
mouth gaped in a silent cry and fought to raise its
shaky ends into a smile as he reared up so
violently the handle was wrenched from Jack's grasp.
"Tell me to shut upea8his father mumbled, his eyes
wincing as his tongue caught on the knife. "Let's
have some peace at last.8He fell back with a
flurry of pink fish into the chair he'd vacated,
and the impact drove the blade
through his tongue, which turned crimson in his gaping
mouth. His eyes clouded, but he peered past Jack
through the window. An ambulance had swung into Jericho
Close.
He stared at Jack and managed to shake his head an
inch from side to side, and again. In case that failed
to make his wishes sufficiently clear, he used his
reddened hands to haul at the knife, almost splitting
his tongue in half. Jack had to turn away from the
spectacle of the blade wagging like some kind of silent
joke in the wound of a mouth. Leslie was helping
Ian and Charlotte down her path as the attendants
came to meet them.
The children were in the ambulance, and she was about to climb
into it, when she glanced in Jack's direction. His
hand lifted itself before he knew what it meant
to communicate, and then he did. He
mustn't delay any treatment the children might need, and
he needn't imagine how the sight of his father's
condition could affect them in their present state, but
perhaps these were reasons he was giving himself not
to acknowledge how he didn't want to be
responsible for prolonging his father's life. How would
that benefit anyone? He showed Leslie his open
palm and waved her away, and glimpsed the beginning
of a puzzled frown as she followed the children into the
ambulance. He watched the vehicle leave Jericho
Close before he turned to face his father.
He wasn't quite dead. His chin was leaning on the handle
that was propped against his collarbone while he gazed
at a photograph album in his lap. Jack
couldn't distinguish the photographs for the red
fingerprints on them, but he guessed what they were,
and when he heard the sounds his father's mouth was producing
along with a great deal of blood-a bubbling murmur that
Jack was just able to hear had the tune of a
lullaby-he wanted to snatch the album out of his
father's clutches. Instead he sat back with some
weariness and waited. Soon the vague humming lost
its hold on the melody and subsided into a
gurgle, and the album slipped from the limp fingers,
and the eyes grew dull as pebbles above the
slack raw disappointed grimace that had helped the
pink and yellow dress acquire a crimson bib.
SILENT
CHILDREN

Jack leaned forward to close the eyes. Apart from a
shudder when the lids proved reluctant to descend
over the swollen eyeballs, which felt rather too firm
to be lifeless, he experienced only relief Before
long even that gave way to a crushing sense that he had
nothing left to do, since the police would want him
to leave the scene untouched. The few minutes it
took them to arrive felt to him more like an entire
sleepless night. He went to the front door as
two uniformed officers strode up the path.
Curtains were stirring at several bedroom windows in
Jericho Close. "He's in here," Jack said,
loud enough for whoever was watching to hear. "Hector
Woollie. I'm his son."
EPILOGUE
Ian had never met anyone at a restaurant before,
but since the girl who showed him to a table seemed not
much older than him and less dressed he didn't
mind. She handed him a menu bigger than the table and
shouted
"I'll
be
back"
as though she were quoting one of the films for which there were
posters all over the walls and pillars of the huge
crowded high-ceilinged room. She hadn't returned
when a neighbouring foursome-noisy even
by
the standards of the restaurant, presumably as a
result of all the bottles of beer they'd lined up
like trophies-was joined
by
a friend. Like them, he was in his twenties and in
black-boots, jeans,
shirt
, cap on backwards-though their resemblance to an
American street gang stopped short of their
accents. He slouched over and took hold of the chair
opposite Ian with the hand that was empty of a
Budweiser. "Anyone using this, mate?"
"They will be in a minute."
It seemed that mightn't be enough to dissuade the thinfaced
customer, who wore a grin meant to announce that
nothing had better upset him, from commandeering the chair,
but then the waitress came swiftly
back. "Get us a chair over here, loveea8the man
said.
"I'll be with you when I've looked after
him.8To Ian she said "Can I bring you anything till
your friend comes? Something to drink?"
Ian was tempted to try for a beer or to call her
Sophie after her name-tag, not least since the
black-capped five were watching. Instead he asked
and felt childish for asking "Can
I
have a Zingo?"
"Course you can.8She flashed him a smile that could
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
have advertised toothpaste and was on her way again before
the standing man had a chance to yell "What happened
to my chair, love?"
"I'll
see what we can fix you up withea8she called, not as
loud but more distinctly, and consulted with a waiter as she
dodged around him.
The man returned to his friends and made a comment with
her name in it that raised a raucous laugh. They
better hadn't give her a hard time when she'd been
so friendly with Ian-he'd faced worse than them.
They hadn't noticed his disapproval
by
the time their mirth subsided, and he began to feel rather
at a loss, even in danger of learning that he'd
been the victim of a change of mind. The only
person to approach him in the next five minutes was
Sophie, bearing his Zingo in a tall glass on a
tray. "Want to order now, or are you saving
yourself88she said.
"Okay if
I
wait another five?"
"Just call me when you want me. Your date won't
stand you up if they've any sense."
The compliment turned his face not entirely
unpleasantly hot, and he was trying to think of a
suitable response, too late for this time but
designed to greet her next appearance, when the man
with no chair shouted "Where's my seat, love?"
"Somebody's working on it."8Fucking building it, more
like."
Either she didn't hear or objected to his
language or decided nobody else would for the
uproar. As she headed for the kitchen yet again he
stalked across to Ian's table and seized the unoccupied
chair. "I'm having this, all rightea8he
declared.
"You can't. I'm keeping it for someone."
"So you can tell them
I
got to it first, can't you, mate.8Ian was about to argue
when a voice cut through the hubbub. "That'll be
mine, I guess."
"Hey, Jack."
The man in the cap didn't move as Jack gave
Ian a quick handshake and stretched out a hand for the
chair, but then
OP
SILENT
CHILDREN

the waiter Sophie had approached brought a stool
from the bar. "Can you make do with this, sir, till you and
your party are ready to eat?"
The man took the stool and pointed at Jack with its
legs. "You look like you think you're somebody-was
"I've tried to be."
The man perched above his cronies and drew sniggers
from them with a comment, while Jack ordered a Miller
and a burger and Ian made his twice the burger.
"So," Jack said to him with a tentativeness
that went with his expression, then raised his eyebrows
and the corners of his mouth. "How's everyone?"
"Who?"
"You,
for instance."8Okay.,,
"Back at school, yes? How's that now?"8It's
school."
"But you're doing how well at it? Well?"
"I
guess. They like some of the stuff I've written.
Shit,
I
was going to show you a story
I
wrote, but I've left it at home."
"What was it about?"
"Mostly Charlotte. How she is really, not like the
story
I
had the fight over. That was crap. Maybe this one's
a bit less crap."
"You're starting to sound like a writer, so keep
writing. How is Charlotte?"
"She isn't such a pain now she's older. I go
there every week.
My
dad likes me to since she said it wasn't my
fault she ran away, only
I
don't think Hilene likes me there too much. She
puts up with it because she doesn't want to upset
Charlotte. Christ, you know what my dad told me
Charlotte said? She wants to marry me when she
grows up-was
"She'll be someone else
by
then. Anyway, there are worse things than being
wanted.8Jack seemed to welcome Sophie's
reappearance, either just the interruption or his drink as
well. He took a swig before saying "She's over
the worst, then."

RAMSEY CAMPBELL
"She had to take stuff to help her sleep. I
think maybe she still does.8Ian felt suddenly
restless with guilt, not least because he'd brought away
no nightmares from being trapped
by
Jack's father, only dreams every night as he was
falling asleep of all the chances he ought
to have taken to save Charlotte. "Did you see what
the wheelie woman put about us in the paper88he said.
"I saw a lot of papers. Saw a bunch of
reporters first, same as
I
expect you did. What did that one say?"
"Said we were all
HEROES OF TWIN
HOUSES
OF HORROR,"
Ian told him, mocking the headline as much as he
could.
"I
did see that. It ought to have meant you and Charlotte.
I
hope it impressed your neighbours at least."
"They've been okay with us, most of them have. I think
some of them don't know what's true, or maybe they
don't want to know. Tell you who thinks now she was
wrong about me-my gran. You know, my mum's mother."
"But just when you've got all these people on your side you
were saying on the phone you're going to move."
"I don't mind now. Mum wants to, and
Janet and Vern can't stand it at theirs. Some
company's buying the houses and leaving just the
outsides and turning them into flats.
Anywayea8Ian said to rid himself of a sense of being
obscurely accused, "you've moved."
"Had enough of the spotlight for a while. That's great,
thanks."
His enthusiasm was aimed at Sophie and their lunch.
She gave them a smile and turned a version of it
on the five at the nearby table. "Are you guys
planning to order some food soon? You can't really
sit there if you're only drinking."
The man on the stool jumped up, knocking it over
with a clatter, and threw back his head to drain the
bottle as a preamble to gasping "Then let's
fuck
off somewhere we can.
Until the rest of the party stood up, Jack
didn't even glance in his direction, but that was
apparently sufficient excuse for the man to take more
of a dislike to him. "You still look like you want us to think
you're someone."
CHILDREN
Jack shrugged, which was no longer enough of a response for
Ian. "He's Jack Lamb."
"Never heard of him."
"He's a writer. He writes
books."
"Don't read themea8the man said with some pride.
"I'll
tell you something else he is. Hector Woollie
was his dad."
"Don't know him either."
"That's how
I'd
like it to beea8Jack said.
The man looked primed to take his bafflement out on
someone when his friends yelled they were off for that drink.
He swaggered after them, and then the only confusion was
Ian's. "Aren't you going to write your book?"
"It wasn't such a good idea."
"But if you don't write about your dad someone else
will."
"That's okay. I don't mind. Maybe you should
try and write something if it bothers you that much."
"How about you? How are you going to make a living?"
"I'll
have to do what I'm good at, won't
I?
Thought
I'd
have a go at a crime novel while I
wait for the stuff
I
really like to write to come back. It always does, you
know."
Ian had no sense of whether that was true--couldn't
tell if Jack was simply trying to be positive
to cheer them both up. Like the encounter with the gang in
black, his meeting with Jack seemed to be ending up
nowhere in particular. The venue had been Ian's
choice, but now it was proving too noisy to let him
think, and the things he still wanted to say struck him as
hardly for shouting.
He busied himself with his burger instead, and had finished
it and its accompaniments
by
the time Jack abandoned the remains of his-Jack
insisted on paying for him, which was the last he saw of
Sophie, and it felt as if that might be the case with
Jack too as Ian followed him into Leicester
Square.
Out here the noise was less enclosed, but that didn't
help Ian much. He was gazing about at the cinema
hoardings and a couple of trees that appeared to be
intended to remind the
RAMSEY CAMPBELL
crowds it was autumn when Jack said "What's your
plan for the rest of the day?"
"I
was going to my mum's and Melinda's shop. Walk
along with me if you want."
"How far did you have in mind?"
"All
the way if you like."
"Nice try, Ian, but
I
guess not.
I
don't think
I'd
be.
.
Jack took the opportunity to fall silent while
he moved out of the way of a troop of American
tourists, and then he said "Tell me the truth here.
Did your mom know we were meeting?"
"Sure.,, "And her attitude was.
"She said
I
had to make, my own choices."

That
sounds like her, sure enough.8Jack suppressed a
reminiscent smile before it could become too
public. "Tell her hello from me if you think you
should.
I'll
say goodbye to you now, okay? Going to head back and
try to work up some notes for a novel."
"Good luckea8Ian said, all he could think of
to say. "Double that to you and your mom." Jack gave
him a protracted handshake and appeared to think of
hugging him, but let go instead, He was stepping into the
entrance to the underground when he looked back at
Ian.
"If
you write anything you'd like me to read you can always call
my mother again to find out where I've ended up."
Ian watched him vanish down the white steps, and
then he made his way into Soho, through the narrow
streets and narrower alleys that looked determined
to be brighter than the afternoon light. He'd grown used
to being propositioned
by
girls in the area, in fact quite enjoyed it, but just now
he had to remind himself to be polite in his
refusals, because he was trying to ensure the slab
didn't settle on his mind.
Why
wasn't he as disappointed
by
his meeting with Jack as it seemed he should have been?
Why
did he have the impression it had given him a reason
to feel good? He was close to figuring it out as he
reached the end
of
Wardour
CHILDREN

Street and saw, beyond a slow parade of buses, his
mother's and Melinda's shop.
They were behind the counter, facing the street, smiling
sidelong at each other with their arms around each
other's shoulders. His mother had been out at night a
few times with Melinda since Jack had left the
Ames house. Ian wasn't sure what this
implied, but it was his mother's choice and he could live
with it. That thought and his meeting with Jack came together in
his head, and the threat of the slab withdrew.
He'd been looking for endings where there
weren't any. Life wasn't a story unless you
made it into one. Jack's father had come to an end, but
nobody else whom Ian knew had. His mother might
be on the way to becoming someone else-no, someone more-and
so was he, and he hoped the same for Jack. He
looked over his shoulder, suddenly wondering if
Jack might have decided to follow him after all. But
there were no faces he recognised behind him, only
ahead.
The women saw him as the traffic let him cross
Oxford Street. They didn't move apart or
release each other, and kept their smiles as they
turned toward him. Rapid highpitched music
wove patterns above him as he closed the door, and
he was surprised to realise he didn't mind it
too much. "You look pleased with things," said his mother.
"Been somewhere special88Melinda asked him.
"Yesea8Ian said.
Here is a sneak peek at:
PACT
OF THEFATHERS,
  due from Ramsey Campbell and Forge Books
in the fall of 2001.
This contemporary gothic novel features young
Daniella Logan, who stumbles onto a
breathtaking conspiracy involving power, murder, and
money. To expose the conspirators, she Will have
to avoid the grasp of some of the most powerftd men in the
country.
Readers can always count on Campbell for gripping
plots and strong emotions, and Pact of the Fathers is
no exception.
The doorbell rang. Maeve opened a finger and
thumb between two slats of the blind, then pressed her
cheek against it, scraping plastic on the glass.
After a pause she said "It's the police."
The others laughed.
"Noea8Maeve said, not loud but so clearly it cut
through the laughter.
"I
mean it. It's the police."
"You aren't joking. Helpea8Duncan muttered,
sticking out his tongue to extinguish the joint with a hiss
and dropping the bent bedraggled stub in his pocket before
devoting himself to waving off the spicy smoke.
"Everyone stay in hereea8Daniella said.
"I'll
see what they want."
It was her house, after all, though she had time
to reflect as she ventured along the hall
that ownership made her more responsible in the eyes of the
law. Her fingers needed some persuading to turn the
latch. The door gave a nervous sound on her
behalf as she pulled it open.
The solitary officer on the path lifted his peaked
helmet to display more of his worn middle-aged face,
the nose so broad it might have been flattened to conform
with the rest of the features, whose plainness was only
underlined
by
a thin rigid black moustache.
If
he'd allowed himself any expression while he was
waiting, he had dispensed with it now. "Is Nfiss
Logan here88he said.
"Daniella Logan, right, that's me. What-was
It wasn't just the unmistakable herbal smell
straying through some chink in the kitchen window-frame that
caused her to falter; it was that, having raised his head
to acknowledge the smell, the policeman ignored it,
so that she
understood how much graver the reason for his visit had
to be.
A
surge of guilt made her blurt into the
silence that had spread from the deserted park to the house
"Is it Blake?"
A
frown too faint to trap a shadow vanished as she
glimpsed it. "Can you say that for me again, Miss
Logan?"8Blake Wainwright. He's a student.
Has something happened to him?"
"We haven't heard so.8The policeman held his
hands
by
his sides and levelled his unexpectedly deep
brown eyes at her. "Not to himea8he said.
The motorway from London
fell
miles short of York. Daniella had never
driven it nearly as fast as she was being driven now.
Even when the road ceased to be a dual
carriageway the policeman didn't slow down.
Cars flinched to the side of the road, away from the
pulsing lights and the siren, and a van that was venturing out
of the car park of a pub retreated like a snail into a
shell. Once she sucked in her breath as a rabbit
froze in the road, its black eyes huge and
gleaming, but when she felt a soft thud beneath one wheel
and then another she made no further sound.
She knew there was worse ahead.
She didn't speak until the car raced past the
junction for the motorway. "We should have turned
thereea8she protested.
The policeman moved his grip higher on the wheel.
"I'm afraid notea8he said.
The road twisted back and forth as though desperate
to avoid the probing of the headlamps, and then it
described a long curve, the outer edge of which
broadened into a layby shaded
by
trees. The single permanently parked vehicle was
a double-decker bus that had been converted into a
roadside caf6 where truck drivers drank
murky tea from mugs. Just now there were no trucks,
only three police cars whose warning beacons jerked
the underside of the foliage alight, leaves glaring red
or blue. Daniella saw the Mercedes pointing in
the wrong direction and resting against trees beyond a
police vehicle in front of the bus. Though the
Mer-
OF THE FATHERS
cedes didn't look as damaged as she'd feared,
her innards stiffened, It was her father's car.
The policeman hadn't braked when she
unclipped her safety belt. He began to speak
as she fumbled the door open and dashed across the rutted
earth to the Mercedes. Its silver body was being
turned into a throbbing bruise
by
the roof lights of the police cars. There wasn't a
scratch on the passenger side, and she dared to hope
until she realised what else she was seeing.
Half the car was gone.
For a moment her mind let her imagine it was a
fake, a prop of which only as much as an audience
needed to see had been built. The trees had
smashed in or sheared away most of the driver's side
of the car. The wreckage of the driver's seat
sprawled almost horizontal in the back, and was
sprinkled with glass that glittered dark red, perhaps not
just with the flashing of the police lights. She bowed
towards her three palpitating shadows on the hood
and planted a hand on the unyielding metal, which was so
cold it added to her shock. "Where's my dad88she
said.
A
chubby big-boned policeman abandoned his
interrogation of a young man in motorcycle leather and
made his weighty way to her.
"Daniella. Logan?"
"Where's my dad?"
...
Mey've taken him."
Her voice was seeking refuge in her throat, and
when she forced it free it came out sharp. "Who has?
Where?"
"The medics. To the hospital. He'll take
youea8the policeman said, turning a slow thumb
towards her recent driver.
The motorcyclist stepped forward. "Are you
Daniella88he said.
His thin angular face was white as paper.
A
vein at his temple throbbed with light or
anxietlally
or both. She didn't know what she might be
inviting
by
saying "Yes9"
"He talked about you- He said your name."
Her eyes blurred, and she Supported herself on the
remains of the hood while she blinked her vision
clear. "Who are you?"
"I
called the police and the ambulance and stayed with him
till they cameea8he said, patting the mobile phone
on his belt.
"I
didn't make him crash,
I
wasn't even close.
I
was nearly on the road when
I
saw him coming and
I
stopped.8His accent was retreating northward as he
spoke.
"I
think he saw my light and thought this was part of the road.
That's how fast he drove onto it, and then he
tried to stop when he must have seen the bus. He
skidded round, and-well."
Though he restrained himself from indicating the wreck, his
glancing away from it while he avoided talking about
it was as bad. She stood back from it and wobbled
only a little on her rickety legs as she saw her
driver trudging over, having spoken to his radio.
"Can we go to the hospital88she said.
"I
was coming for you."
He stayed close to her as she returned to his car,
but she managed not to need to grab his arm. Once
she'd donned her safety belt he eased the car
into the road. He built up speed gradually and
left the warning lights and siren off. She tried
to speak more than once on the way to saying "Can't we
go faster?"
"I'm sorryea8he said and breathed hard through his
nose, either expressing some emotion or delaying his
next words. She saw the oncoming road grow
artificial and irrelevant as a video game when
he said "I'm afraid there's no longer the need."
The rituals were far from over. Every mourner needed to be
shaken
by
the hand, every one of the procession of utterances had to be
greeted with not too much of either a smile or a tear,
and then there was the coffin to be watched as it descended
into the earth, and a handful of soil that gritted under
Daniella's fingernails to be cast with a soft
rattle on the lid.
Then home. The rooms seemed unnaturally clean
from the attentions of the housekeeper, and the
buffet with which the caterers hired
by
Alan Stanley had loaded every avail-
OF THE FATHERS
able surface in the panelled dining-room only
made it feel less lived in than a restaurant.
But the guests trooped in and set about the food and
wine, and as the conversations grew louder Chrysteen
brought Daniella a lager to go with her plateful of
snacks.
All
the guests appeared to be determined to top the
observations they had made to her outside the church.
"He thought the world of youea8sd Reginald Gray in the
tone he reserved on his television show for welcoming
inexperienced guests. "He made you the best life
he could."
"Don't take this the wrong wayea8Anthony Still
George said, "but you can't know how important you were
to him.8He was the surgeon who'd had himself flown to the
hos-
pital,
though not quite in time to save her father, and so she told
herself he still meant to be kind. Meanwhile Nonnan
Wells was informing her mother "You and Teddy
created the most precious thing anyone can,
Isobel."
He would say that, Daniella thought, since he ran
the Care For Children chanty. The approach of Simon
Hastings, Chrysteen's father, saved her from blushing
too much. "Rest assured I'm keeping both eyes
on the investigation," the chief constable said.
"Thank youea8Daniella's mother murmured.
Daniella considered leaving it at that but couldn't.
"Why
my dad was drunk, you mean. So drunk he
didn't even know which way he was going."
A
hint of a quizzical expression he might have
directed at someone half her age appeared on his
jowly pinkish face. "What do you think that could tell
us?"
"I
don't know, but he never drank and drove."
"Till then, you mean.
Up
to then, agreed, he was an example to us all."
"If
there were more men like he wasea8sd Bill Trask, owner
of the
Beacon
newspaper, "the world would be a steadier place."
Daniella saw Nana Babouris frown at his
back, and felt encouraged to retort "Just men?"
said, lifting
"I
didneament mean to denigrate Your motherea8he
his fat piebald face to sight down his luxuriant
purplish nose at Daniella, "but you'll
remember we're here for your father."
"I'm not likely to forget it, am IT"
Nana beckoned her over to whisper
"If
you need somewhere to help you recover I'm not too far
away. You'll find me in your father's book.
Easier stillea8she said, and palmed it, "here's my
card."
There had been times when Daniella might have gone
abroad if the prospect hadn't made her father so
openly anxious.
"I'll
rememberea8she said.
Chrysteen and her parents were the last to leave. As the
Hastings family drove away, Daniella's mother
expelled a breath that trembled her wide
pink lips and drained her pale blue eyes and
flawless oval face of nearly all the animation
she'd maintained throughout the wake. "I fancy a
coffee to liven me up. Are you feeling a bit
sludgy in the head as well after all the effort you've
been making?"
Daniella said. "I don't suppose you'd like to go
and visit dad before it's dark,"8It's a little soon
for me. Would you?"
"I
wouldn't mind now everybody's gone.
I'll
be back in
York tomorrow, and
I
don't know when I'm coming home again.

"I'll
tag along if you'd like me to."
"It's all right, mummy, you stay and
restea8Daniella said, having glimpsed her mother's
need for it.
"By
myself
I'll
have more chance to think."
"How are you going?"
"I've been drinking.
I'll
walk."
"Best be off then, while there's some light on the
road.8Daniella. hurried upstairs to change.
On the horizon beyond her window framed
by
green curtains printed with vines, the Chiltem
hills were turning blue with an oncoming chill.
Nearly all her clothes from the fitted wardrobe and the
drawers had accompanied her to York, but she felt
as though her father's absence had emptied her bedroom.
She took off her black dress and pulled on the
jeans and thin sweater
OF THE FATHERS

she'd travelled in, and trotted quickly past the
echoes of her footsteps in her parents', her
father's, nobody's room.
Her mother was taking up less than a third of the
massive burgundy leather settee in the front
room.
A
gin and tonic and the control of the giant widescreen
television, which had opened its oaken doors, were doing
their best to keep her company.
"I
shouldn't be longea8Daniella said.
"You be all the time you have to be."
Daniella picked up speed once she left the
squeaky gravel drive for the secluded
grass-verged road, on both sides of which poplars
fingered the dimming sky as if to determine how solid
the dark blue glassy surface was. Infrequent
breezes startled creaks out of the dense hedges. She
walked on the right to face the traffic, but there was none
to face. Twice as she rounded a bend some small
creature darted across the road, and once a lithe
black glossy shape vanished with a plop into the
ditch alongside the roots of the hedge. Otherwise,
for most of the half an hour it took her to come in
sight of the churchyard, she was alone with shadows
stretching to combine with the dusk.
When it occurred to her that her father wouldn't have liked her
walking
by
herself out here so late, she had to halt and dab at her
eyes. She felt as if she was rebelling
against his protectiveness at last, but she would rather not have
had this chance. She would almost have preferred to be back
at the convent school to feel constantly watched
by
the stern pale faces pinched
by
wimples in case she might even think of
transgressing any of the rules, far more than made
senseShe and Chrysteen had hardly ever broken one for
fear
of
letting down their parents-mostly their fathers, who'd
insisted on sending them to the high school that would keep
them safest, though the families were at best token
churchgoers. At first university seemed almost too
unconstrained for her to brave without Chrysteen-sometimes
it still did.
How much was her mother to blame? Just now Daniella
blamed her more for leaving her husband for so little
aPparent reason-if she hadn't he might still be
alive. He must
have been feeling lonely to have welcomed Daniella
on the day of his death so forcefully it had seemed
close to violence. She found herself remembering her
last day at school, her ascending the steps
to the stage to receive a distinguished old girl's handshake
and an award for excellence in English, her parents'
proud faces a few rows of folding chairs away,
her father raising a triumphant fist before he opened
it and brought it to his face as though to gaze at it,
instead fingering the edge of his right eye: had he been
reflecting that one day he must lose her? But it was
she who'd lost him, and now they could be no closer
than the churchyard.
She rounded a comer of the church and saw how her father's
grave lay in the shadow of the building. For a moment,
as her brain refused to accept what was there, she thought
only the shadow was preventing her from seeing the headstone
and the mound. But they were hidden
by
at least a dozen figures dressed in black.
Each of them held a flame above its head. The
flames were steady in the abruptly breathless air, but
so dim she had to convince herself she was seeing them. She
stepped forward a pace she was barely conscious of
taking, and another. Her foot caught a fragment of
gravel that had strayed off a grave. The pebble
struck the church with a click like the snap of a camera.
Only the closest of the figures turned.
Daniella had frozen, but when she saw that
each of them was hiding its face with its hand she
retreated a step. She heard a murmur-a very few
words. At once there were no flames, and the gathering
vanished around the church with hardly a whisper of
footfalls on the grass. She barely had time
to distinguish
by
their clothes that they were all men. One stooped to the
grave, then he too dodged around the church.
She faltered and then dashed after them, almost tripping
on the unkempt fringe of a grave, supporting herself
on the slimy pelt of an old moss-topped
memorial. She hadn't sighted the intruders when
she stumbled to a halt. The turf the diggers had
laid that afternoon had been disturbed. One
OF THE FATHERS
of the green squares meant to cover up her father's
plot was askew.
As she bent to it she heard car door after door
slam beyond the main gates. She sprinted past the
church and along the slithery gravel drive, and
panted to the gates in time to see the last vehicle
swing around a bend in the direction of the motorway.
The car slewed across the road, its brake lights
flaring. She was able to read most of the
registration number before it was snatched away. She
bolted after it, but when she reached the bend the cars were
only a low bluffed sound that merged with the oncoming
dark.
She stood in the middle of the road, digging her
knuckles into her hips, and then she walked back
through the gates to adjust the grassy cover of her
father's resting-place. She couldn't say goodbye
now-there was too much of a clamour in her head. She
hurried through the gates and made for home. As she
marched fast into the darkness, clenching her fists whenever
anything unseen stirred in or beyond the hedges, she
whispered over and over the letters and digits she'd
glimpsed reddened
by
the brake lights.
When Daniella closed the front door and
crossed the hall, her mouth widening with the urgency of
her news, she found her mother asleep in front of a
screen as blank as fog.
A
half-full glass of gin and tonic stood between her
suedeslippered feet like a tribute. She looked
unexpectedly old and vulnerable, exhausted
by
playing the widow. Rather than waken her, Daniella
picked up the glass and drankmostly melted ice
cubes, but at least they moistened her mouth. She
eased the door shut and tiptoed fast along the hall
into her father's study.
When she was little, and recently too, she'd enjoyed
sitting in his capacious office chair that spun and
reclined and sank and rose behind the desk, but now she
felt as if she was trying to take a place that could
never be taken-his, She switched on the overhead
light and the long rectangular desk-lamp on its
segmented snaky neck, and dialed*
"Oxfordshire Police."
A


RAMSEY CAMPBELL
"I want to report some people messing with someone's
grave.
"Is the incident taking place now?"
"Not right now. Just now. Well, maybe half an
hour, a bit more than half an hour ago."
"Can
I
take your nameThat'
"Daniella Logan. It was my dad's grave.
He was buried today-was
She wasn't expecting that to affect the briskly
efficient voice, but there was a pause before the woman
said "Would that be Teddy, I ought to say Theodore
Logan? The gentleman from Oxford Films?"
"He was my dad."
"You say someone was interfering with his grave?"8Right, and
I got nearly all a registration number.
I
don't know what year, but the rest is nine four nine
cue you something.
"Can you say what kind of car?"
"Black. Some sort of hatchback, and it was heading
for the motorway."
"You're at Mr. Logan's house, are you?
Someone will be with you very shortly, Miss Logan."
"It's on Chiltern Roadea8Daniella just had
time to add, and was holding the vacated receiver when her
mother wandered into the room, blinking and rubbing her eyes.
"I've had to call the policeea8Daniella said.
Her mother seemed to rouse her brain with a single hard
blink, and Daniella was about to explain when she was
silenced
by
a crunch of gravel outside the house. Her mother
hurried into the front room.
"Why,"
she said, "it's Simon Hastings."
Daniella ran to open the front door as
Chrysteen's father reached it. "You were
quickea8Daniella's mother said, padding into the hall.
"I
moved as soon as
I
heard. Where shall we, ah..."8Teddy wouldn't rate
me as a hostess if he could see me, would he?
Forgive me, I've been snoozing.8She strode
into
OF THE FATHERS
the front room and sat stiffly upright on the edge
of the sofa, where she reached down for her glass and
focused her disinay on it, perhaps wondering if she had
forgotten finishing her gin. "Should
I
be offering you a drink, Simon?"
"Not when
I'll
be at the wheel soon, thanks.8He leaned against the
piebald marble mantelpiece as
Daniella sat deep in an armchair. "You say
someone was interfering with the grave, Daniella?"
"About twelve men. They'd tried to dig it
up."8ally saw someone digging?"
"No, I must have got there after they had. Only when
they all ran off the grass on top of it was
crooked.
I
didn't see them doing much, just-was
"You're sure you saw themea8her mother said, meaning
well on the way to the opposite.
"I
know you're more upset than you've been letting people
see, and it must have been dark, mustn't it?"
"She's a perceptive young lady, all the same.
What do you think you saw, Daniella?"
"I
don't just think. They were all holding lights up.
Lights or wands."
"Were they using them for any purpose you could
see?"8ationo, but I didn't watch long. They saw
me and ran off."8Could you identify diem?"
"They didn't let me see their faces, but
I
got most of a registration number."
He nodded with apparent satisfaction as her mother said
with the start of a laugh that would be either fond or nervous
"So what do you make of all that, Simon? Have you
ever heard anything like it?"
"I
rather think
I
may have.
I
suggest we scoot along for a look."
"All
of us?" s to be "That way there can't be any argument
Over what'
seen.8Even if that was aimed at her mother,
Daniella couldn't help feeling reproved too-
She locked the house and sat in the back of the
Triumph. The house swung away, blacken-
ing, as poplars trooped out of the dark beyond cut-out
silhouettes of her mother and Chrysteen's father. The
curves of the hedges sloughed off the headlamp beams,
the black carapace of the road slithered beneath the
light, and in less than five minutes the churchyard
wall produced the gleam of the gates. "If you'll
let me in, Daniellaea8Chrysteen's father said,
"I'll
drive up."
She pulled the bolts out of the concrete and pushed the
gates back, caging a stone cherub and an angel
with the shadows of the bars. As she walked ahead of the car
up the drive, black rectangles widened behind
headstones, crosses printed their negative
images on the grass. Her father's stone blazed
white, displaying just his name and years. The headlamp
beams rested on it as the passenger door echoed the
driver's-her shadow was pinned to the stone until she
moved aside. "It doesn't look disturbed,"
Chrysteen's father said. "Can you show me where?"
"I
fixed the bit they'd messed with.
I
don't suppose
I
should have."
"I'm sure you were acting out of respect. What
did you touch?"
As she leaned down to point at the square of grass
a blacker version of her fingers swelled out of the mound,
and a man's appeared to clutch them as he stooped
to peel back the turf. He peered for some moments
at the earth he'd revealed before murmuring
"Is this how it was when you covered it up?"
"It looks the same."
"Then put your mind at rest. You too,
Isobel. Daniella must have interrupted anything
they meant to do. This hasn't been dug since the
funeral."
"They might come backea8Daniella said as a
breeze like a breath of the stones parted the hair at the
nape of her neck. "I think they'd be afraid you
saw more than you said, but
I'll
look into having the place patrolled just in case they
return."
"Who88her mother protested. "You're talking as though
you know who they are."
I
PACT
OF THE FATHERS

Having adjusted the square of turf he'd
replaced, he straightened up.
"I
believe it's possible to make a fair guess on
the basis of what Daniella says she saw."
"Satanists, you mean88her mother said with a
fierce glare at the surrounding darkness.
"There's quite a lot of that style of behaviour all
over the country just now. Not necessarily
Satanists. People who want to throw away the Bible and
everything it ever stood for. More to be pitied than seared
of, mind you, but they can't be ignored if they start
troubling the law-abiding public, especially friends
of mine."
He opened two passenger doors and held
Daniella's mother's for her. "Shall
I
take you somewhere happier?"8Please.8Her voice
sounded weighed down
by
other
thoughts, even when she added "Thank you."
Once Daniella was seated he climbed in and saw
her staring at the headstone, which looked increasingly
unreal in the midst of so much darkness. "They must have
wanted a new grave for whatever they get up to,"
he assured her as the car crept backwards with a
gravelly whisper. "It could have been anyone's.
What you saw had nothing to do with Teddy or his life
or yours."
"Thank God for that at leastea8her mother said,
and the stone was extinguished like a thought Daniella had
failed to grasp.
RAMBLEEEY
CAMPSELL
has been hailed as a master of the psychological
novel; his ability to convey the twists and turns of the
human mind is unparalled in modern fiction. Through
the struggles, failures, and triumphs of
Campbell's characters, we see the best and the worst of the
human race. He is the author of
Nazareth Hill, The One Safe Place, The
Long Lost, The Count of Eleven, Obsession,
and many other books, including several short story
collections.
Ramsey Campbell, his wife, and their children live
in Liverpool, England.