The Woman in Black (7 page)

‘James,’ said Eve, ‘you used to be best friends with Edward, didn’t you?’

James was about to answer, but Tom gave him a severe look and surreptitiously stamped on his foot. Eve noticed.

‘Look, I know things have changed, James, but I’d like you to include him.’ Her words encompassed Tom, too. ‘It’s times like this when he needs friends. Do you understand?’

The boys nodded.

‘Just think if it was the other way round.’

She walked off, hoping they were thinking exactly that.

Tom knew Miss Parkins didn’t like him. She didn’t have to say it; she made it perfectly clear without words. He didn’t know why. She just didn’t. But that was fine, really, because he didn’t like her. Or at least that was what he told himself.

Mrs Hogg was all right, though. She was strong. She had discipline. Although he’d had the cane from her a few times, she was never cruel. It had hurt, but not too much. She was hard but fair, and that was something Tom could respond to, respect, because that was the way things should be. His dad had told him that before he had left. Off to fight, his mother had said, been fighting all his life. That, thought Tom, was how a man should be. And his dad was a lot more forceful than Mrs Hogg when he was dishing out punishment, too. No mistake.

So he didn’t care whether Miss Parkins, with her nice smile and her gentle manners, liked him or not. Didn’t care at all. Not a bit. No. But he still found himself back in the children’s quarters, doing what she had asked him to.

Edward didn’t look up when Tom and James entered the room. He sat on his bed, head down, concentrating on his drawing. Tom moved closer, looking down over his shoulder. Edward was sketching a picture of a woman and a small boy, standing in front of a house. Tom felt a new kind of emotion inside. Sadness, anger, jealousy, compassion? He wasn’t sure what it was. But it was there, and he didn’t like it. It made him angry.

He stood there, waiting for Edward to acknowledge them. When he didn’t, Tom said, ‘Come on, Edward, let’s go and explore.’ He pulled him by the shoulder, but Edward didn’t move, just slowly shook his head.

Tom was finding this difficult. He gave Edward’s shoulder a punch. Just a light one. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t you want to be friends?’

Edward flinched, put his head down, as if he were about to be hit. Any answer would be the wrong one.

Tom was getting irritated and it was starting to show. ‘You’ve got to. Miss said.’

Panic was rising in Edward’s eyes. He looked
between the other two. James stepped forward, his voice quiet, compassionate. He smiled at his friend. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be all right. We’re all stuck here, we’ve got to be friends.’

Tom saw how reassured Edward was by the words. Why couldn’t he be the one the other children liked and got on with? He felt his anger rising further. He knew the pattern. He would soon need an outlet, something to vent it on. Something, hopefully, that would make the others respect him.

He grabbed Edward’s drawing away from him.

Edward looked up, terrified, like a treasured possession, something of vital importance, had been stolen. He grabbed for it, but Tom moved it out of the way.

That was better, thought Tom. If he couldn’t do something to get a good reaction, a bad one would do.

‘I’ll give it back,’ he said, enjoying the power over the other boy, ‘if you do what we say.’

Edward looked at James, who seemed uncomfortable and couldn’t hold his gaze. Edward, having no choice, nodded.

Tom smiled and, Edward’s drawing in hand, he walked into the hall. The other two followed him. He made straight for the stairs, started to run up them.

‘Why don’t you talk?’ Tom said.

Edward didn’t reply.

An idea came to Tom. ‘I think … I think we should make you talk. Then Miss Parkins will like us.’

He turned to James, who didn’t look happy about going along with Tom but nevertheless said nothing. Then he remembered: Miss Parkins already liked James. And the thought of that made him angry once more. He reached the landing and, not waiting for the other two, walked along the corridor, trying all the door handles, looking for an open one.

He found it.

The room was dusty and empty. It had been cleared of furniture and all that remained was a black, soot-stained fireplace with a heavy iron grate placed in front of it.

Tom was disappointed and angry, as if the room had been emptied just to annoy him personally. ‘There’s nothing in here,’ he called to the other two.

James and Edward entered the room, looked round. Tom was already voicing his displeasure about how boring the room was, when James heard something. He held up his hand, telling Tom to be quiet.

Tom didn’t like being told what to do, and was about to complain further when James told him to be quiet once again. And then he heard it too. A
scratching sound; faint, but audible. Coming from the fireplace.

Edward, who hadn’t fully committed to entering the room and was standing in the doorway, turned to leave. Tom wasn’t going to allow that to happen.

‘Oi,’ he said, ‘help us.’ He grabbed hold of Edward and dragged him over to the fireplace, where Edward just stood and stared. He didn’t seem interested in what the other two were doing, just waiting to have his drawing returned to him.

The scratching didn’t stop.

Gesturing to James to do likewise, Tom knelt down and began to lift up the grate. It was too heavy, even for both of them, so Tom looked once more at Edward.

‘Come on, don’t just stand there.’

Edward, knowing a threat when he heard one, knelt down and joined them.

Together, they managed to lift off the grate, put it at the side of the fireplace. All three of them peered inside.

There was a dead crow lying curled and still in a nest, surrounded by several dead little chicks.

Edward and James scuttled back, recoiling from the sight, but Tom continued to stare, fascinated. The crow had clearly been there for a while because it had started to decay; its body decomposing from
inside, almost mummified. The chicks just looked peaceful, like they were asleep.

Tom was transfixed. He loved being close to death, was fascinated by it. The war had been a godsend for Tom. While other children were terrified of the bombing, he loved it. He didn’t know what would be left when he emerged the next morning or who would be missing. He always hoped that if someone he knew had been bombed, they would die messily and he would get to see the bloody body.

He reached for the poker at the side of the fireplace and gingerly began to examine the dead bird, prodding and poking it.

The crow’s head came off.

The other two winced, turning their faces away. But Tom, enthralled, kept going. Having prodded some more and exhausted the possibilities of the mother, he turned his attention to the chicks.

‘Don’t, Tom …’ James said.

‘Shut up,’ hissed Tom. He nudged one of the chicks gently with the poker.

And it moved.

The three boys – even Edward – called out in surprise, and they all scurried away from it.

But, slowly, they returned. Tom’s fascination seemed to have infected the other two.

Tom frowned. ‘What shall we do with it?’ For once, he genuinely seemed not to have the answer.

James did, though. ‘We should take it to Miss.’

Tom shook his head. ‘But its mother is dead.’

‘So?’

While the other two were arguing, Edward looked down at the tiny bird. A dead mother. An orphan. He would look after it. He would see that no harm came to it.

He reached out his hands to pick up the tiny chick, getting ready to welcome it, nurture it. But he didn’t get that far. Tom brought the poker down, hard. The chick was now as dead as the rest of them.

Edward glared at Tom. James’s mouth had dropped open. Tom’s eyes darted between the two of them.

‘What?’ he said. His voice was shaky, but he was determined to justify himself. ‘It … it was going to die anyway …’ He laughed, pleased that he had shocked them into a reaction. It might have been a bit much, but it was better than being ignored. ‘Oh, come on …’

Judging by their expressions, James and Edward didn’t agree. Tom had had enough of them. He threw the poker down on the floor, suddenly tired of the whole thing, and turned to leave the room.

‘Come on,’ he said, pulling James with him.

Edward stayed where he was, watching them leave. Angry, lonely tears forming in his eyes.

Tom strode from the room, eyes ablaze. Killing the bird made him feel like he was capable of anything and no one could stop him. No one. He scanned the corridor, fists clenching and unclenching, teeth bared, looking for what he could do next.

He didn’t get far.

Edward cannoned out of the room, mouth open, silently roaring, launching himself at Tom’s back. Taken by surprise, Tom lost his footing and tumbled on to the floor.

Edward, shocked by his own actions, stopped dead and stared at Tom, who slowly got to his feet. James was rooted to the spot.

Seconds felt like hours as the three boys stood there, unmoving.

‘Never turn the other cheek,’ Tom remembered
his father saying to him. ‘Never. Always get your own back. ’Cos if you keep turning the other cheek, know what you get? Punch-drunk, that’s what.’

Tom walked slowly towards Edward, fists raised. Edward, knowing what was coming was going to hurt, cowered away. He closed his eyes.

But the blow never came. Tom smiled instead and grabbed Edward. ‘Let’s play hide-and-seek,’ he said, twisting the other boy’s wrist, forcing him back into the room they had just left. ‘You go first.’

He let go of Edward, and pushed him inside. Before Edward could run out again, Tom took hold of the door and pulled it shut. He felt Edward trying the handle, trying to pull it open, but Tom was too strong for him.

James stepped forward, opened his mouth as if about to speak, but the look in Tom’s eyes silenced him. He stood there listening to the door being hit and kicked. Eventually there was silence.

Edward soon realised it was no good to keep pulling on the door handle. Tom had it held fast. He knew he couldn’t open it until Tom let go. He gave up and walked back further into the room.

It suddenly felt colder, night-time cold. Edward could see his breath forming in misty clouds as he breathed out. He shivered, hugged himself.

There was something else about the room too.
Something he didn’t like. It wasn’t just the cold and the dead birds in the fireplace, it was a sensation. A sadness. He was already feeling lost and desolate but this room seemed to be feeding on his sorrow, magnifying it. And there was something else: a sense of dread, of terror, moving towards him.

And then he noticed the wallpaper.

In the far corner, the old, damp paper began to crack and peel away from the wall. The black mould seemed to be getting even darker, starting to spread out from the corner.

Edward felt his heart jump into his mouth, his body begin to shake. He turned back to the door and hammered as hard as he could.

Tom laughed and held even harder on to the door handle. James just stood and watched. As mute as Edward.

Edward turned away from the door, dared to glance back into the room once more. The mould was making its way round the walls towards him, like black wizened witch’s fingers reaching slowly out, ready to clasp him, entrap him …

With renewed vigour, he began hammering again.

Eve was setting up her classroom in the dining room when she heard the noise. She immediately put down the books she had been laying out and ran to see what was happening.

Edward stopped hammering. He felt something touch him. He had never been so terrified in all his life.

He opened his mouth, let out a silent scream.

‘What’s going on?’ Eve reached the nursery doorway.

Tom saw her coming and let go of the handle. He quickly moved away from the door.

‘James made me do it,’ he said weakly.

Eve ignored him and went straight to the door. She could hear Edward hammering on the other side. She tried the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. She turned to Tom.

‘Did you lock it?’

Tom shook his head. He realised he was in trouble now.

‘Where’s the key?’ Eve shouted at him.

Tom kept shaking his head. ‘I don’t … We didn’t …’

She advanced towards him. ‘You must have unlocked it in the first place.’

‘It … it was open …’

She towered over him, her eyes like two red-hot coals. ‘Where is it?’

Tom cowered away from her, her anger making him too dumb to speak. She turned back to the door.

‘Edward! Let me in!’

Eve twisted the handle, pushing and pulling at the door. Realising she was getting nowhere, she let go, curled her hands into fists and began frantically hammering on it. But still it wouldn’t move.

Her knuckles sore, she turned to the other boys, ready to demand, once again, that they find the key. As she did so, the handle turned. The door swung slowly open of its own accord.

Seeing what was happening, Eve rushed inside, ready to grab Edward, fearing the worst. Then stopped. The boy was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room. In his hands was an old toy, and he was playing with it, seemingly contentedly.