The Lost Ones Read online

  A cowboy from a film. Jake pursed his lips dubiously. Even in these days of mass tourism, you didn’t get many standard Americans visiting Middlebury, let alone cowboys.

  The entry continued,

  Hank offered to carry Micah home. I was cold all over and I could not stop shaking. Hank gave me his jacket to wear and I said thank you. Hank told me that Micah had died quickly without any pain and that made me feel a tiny bit better. I don’t really know why I said it but I told him I don’t like cowboy films very much. He asked what I did like and I said I like The Persuaders. He said he liked The Persuaders too and asked who my favourite character was and I said Danny Wilde. When we got to the garden gate Hank said he had to go and meet someone. He gave me Micah. Micah was still warm. I gave him back his jacket and thanked him again. He said he was sorry about Micah and that he hoped I would be OK. I took Micah to Daddy and told him about the brown car and about Hank helping me. Daddy asked why Hank did not come to the house and I told him what Hank told me. We buried Micah by an apple tree in the garden. Daddy carved a cross into the tree and said a prayer. I closed my eyes and pretended to pray. Goodbye Micah my ONLY friend in the whole world. I almost wish I could have died with you. I WILL NOT say my prayers tonight.

  Underneath the final sentence, Rachel had drawn a crucifix with ‘RIP Micah’ on it. And underneath that she’d written, ‘Is it my destiny to be alone?’

  Jake wrinkled his forehead in thought. There was no doubt this time that Rachel’s faith had been shaken, if not completely crushed. He wondered, too, about Hank. Why hadn’t Hank gone to the house? His line about having to meet someone seemed faintly suspect. The fog of encroaching sleep blown away by the entry, Jake read on. The next was dated ‘Sunday, 7 May’.

  I did not go to church today. I lied and said that I had a headache and was too ill to get out of bed. Daddy and Mary went to church but Mummy stayed at home and looked after me. Next Sunday I will lie again. God hates me so I will hate Him right back. I wonder why He hates me? What have I done? I have followed His word and tried to be good so why am I being punished? Daddy says we are all tested in life and that we have to prove ourselves worthy of God’s love. If he is right and this is a test I don’t think I am going to pass it. No more prayers.

  ‘We are all tested in life,’ Jake murmured. Wasn’t that the truth, he reflected, his thoughts returning to Erin.

  The next entry came hot on the heels of the previous two. ‘Monday, 8 May’:

  Today was a strange day really bad but also kind of good. I was sick three times before school but Daddy would not let me have the day off. In history we were told that we are going on a field trip to the 5 Women stone circle. Mr Harrison gave us a form for our parents to sign so we are allowed to go. I already know that Daddy will not give me permission to go and that I will be teased by that WHORE Tina Dixon because of it. I almost cried just thinking about it. I thought it was going to be another absolutely horrible day but when I was walking home from school I saw Hank. He wasn’t wearing a cowboy hat any more and his hair was combed like Danny Wilde’s hair. Hank asked if I was OK and I lied and said I was. I had thought he was an American but today he spoke with an English accent.

  Jake lifted his eyebrows, amused and curious. An English boy dressing like a cowboy and putting on an American accent. If Hank was nine or ten, there would be nothing unusual about that. But Jake got the impression that Hank was a good few years older, which marked him out as a bit of an oddball.

  ‘Hank asked if he could walk me home and I said yes,’ continued the entry.

  He didn’t want to walk by the road so we walked through the woods by the river where it is nice and quiet. I asked why he talked like an American the other day and he said he just does it for fun sometimes. He asked how old I was and I said I was almost thirteen. He said he was sixteen and I said he looked older. He said people always said that. I asked where he went to school and he said he went to Silverton boarding school near Rothbury. I asked why he wasn’t there now and he said there had been a fire and the school was closed for repairs. I asked where he lives and he said Netherwitton. He said he had a present for me. It was a silver bracelet with a little dog on it. He asked if I liked it and I said yes and he put it on my wrist. When we got to the back gate he said something funny. He said I was really pretty and it is a shame I am not fourteen because then I could be his girlfriend. I said I didn’t want to be his girlfriend and he asked why not did I think he was ugly? I said no he was not ugly at all but that Daddy does not allow me to have boyfriends. I asked if he wanted to come in and say hello to Mummy and he said no. He asked if it would be OK if I did not tell Mummy and Daddy about him coming to see me because he did not want them to get the wrong idea. I said I would not tell them and he asked if it was OK if he walked me home again tomorrow. I said I would really like that and I thanked him for my present. He said he would meet me in the same place and we said goodbye and I went into the house. I am hiding the bracelet from Mummy and Daddy so that they don’t take it away like they did my four-leaf-clover pendant.

  Jake thought about the twelve-year-old girls at his school. Most of them were giggling nonentities his classmates wouldn’t be seen dead hanging around with. The boys in his year fantasised about screwing big-titted teachers and celebrities, not flat-chested little girls. Hank clearly felt the same about the not wanting to be seen part. As for the other part . . . Jake didn’t want to judge Hank. But it seemed to him that rather than not wanting Rachel’s parents to get the wrong idea, Hank didn’t want them to get the right idea.

  ‘Tuesday, 9 May’ brought another entry. The couple of dozen hearts floating around the margins gave a clue as to its contents.

  I asked Daddy about the 5 Women field trip this morning and he said no like I knew he would. He got angry and said the school shouldn’t be taking children to a place like that. I said Mr Harrison said it was a very important historical monument and Daddy said Mr Harrison was a very foolish man. Daddy said the people who worshipped at that place were a cult of whores who glorified Satan. He said he was going to talk to Reverend Douglas and try to stop the field trip from happening. When he said that it made me feel really sick and I had to run to the toilet. I locked the door and refused to come out even when Daddy banged on the door. Daddy broke the lock and pulled me downstairs. He hurt my arm and I told him I hate him. I have never said anything like that before and he said hate is a sin against God and he made me kneel down and pray. I closed my eyes and put my hands together and said the prayer but in my mind I kept saying I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU. School was horrible as usual. At lunchtime Tina Dixon knocked me over and I cut my knee. She said it was an accident but she was lying. I wanted to hit her and keep on hitting her until she promised to leave me alone.

  The entry was interrupted by the word ‘HATE’ written in bubble letters with devilish horns sprouting out of the H and E. After it there was an equals sign, then ‘Daddy and Tina Dixon’. The entry resumed with

  After school Hank was waiting for me in the woods. He saw the cut on my knee and asked how it happened. I told him about Tina Dixon and he said he knows the Dixons and that they are all horrible people. He said Tina Dixon is probably jealous and I asked him what she is jealous of. He said she is jealous because she is so ugly and I am so pretty. We sat by the river and Hank asked if I was wearing his bracelet. I showed him it on my wrist. He asked if he could hold my hand and I said I would think about it. I told him about the 5 Women field trip and what Daddy said. Hank said I should not be angry with Daddy because he is only trying to protect me. I asked Hank if he is religious and he said he does not go to church but he believes in God and the Devil. We sat for a bit longer and I said I had to go home or Mummy would start to wonder where I was. When we got to the back gate I said that he could hold my hand just for a minute. He held both my hands and his hands were warm and soft like Micah. Hank said he wished we could stay there holding hands for the rest of the day. He said he would see me tomorrow and
now all I can think about is how many hours there are until we can hold hands again.

  Underneath this Rachel had written ‘LOVE?’ in bubble writing. Instead of horns, wings sprouted from the first and last letter. Jake tried to picture Rachel and Hank holding hands by the gate. But instead of Rachel’s pale cheeks and big round eyes, he saw Erin’s tanned face with its button nose and smiling dark-chocolate eyes. It gave him a crawling feeling to imagine her with Hank. He felt a sudden strong dislike for him. The dude wasn’t merely an oddball, he was a creep.

  At a soft knock on the door, Jake snapped shut the diary and slid it under his pillow. He padded across to move the chair away from the handle, then returned to bed and said, ‘Come in.’

  DAY 2

  2.17 A.M.

  Tom watched Amanda pour herself a second drink, then a third, her eyes growing ever blearier. She sat staring at a photo from a holiday the previous year. They were in a Greek taverna. Amanda had asked the waiter to take a photo. Erin was sitting on Tom’s knee. Amanda’s arms were wrapped around Jake’s shoulders. They were all smiling, even Jake. Would they ever be together like that again? He could see the question written over and over in the tears running from Amanda’s eyes.

  ‘Why don’t you try to get some rest?’

  His suggestion met with frosty silence – a silence that built as the minutes slipped agonisingly by. Tom stared at the phone. He got up and stared out of the window. Silence. Everywhere silence, suffocating as a wet flannel. ‘Christ, this waiting’s worse than anything.’

  Again, Amanda made no reply. Tom felt panic welling up. It was all falling apart. He was losing his grip on everything he loved. He dropped to his knees at Amanda’s side. ‘Please don’t do this. We can’t let this drive us apart. I love you, Amanda. Do you hear me? I love you.’

  She lifted her bloodshot eyes to his. Her voice trembled out. ‘Love can’t bring back Erin.’

  ‘Love gives us the strength to believe. And if we believe, then anything’s possible.’

  ‘Where did you get that crap from? One of your self-help books?’

  ‘You said yourself earlier, we can get through this.’

  ‘Maybe I was wrong.’

  Amanda hugged her arms across herself, her eyes heavy-lidded. She looked exhausted, yet in some strange way more beautiful than ever. Tom wanted to wrap his arms around her, hold her tight and, if only for a few seconds, shut out everything except the feel of her hair and the smell of her skin. But he could tell that she didn’t want to be touched. Heaving a sigh, he straightened. ‘I’m going to check on Jake.’

  Amanda shot him a suspicious glance. ‘What for?’

  ‘I just want to make sure he’s OK. Don’t worry – I won’t disturb him if he’s sleeping.’

  You’d better not, her eyes warned. Tom wearily climbed to the attic door. He reached for the handle, but hesitated. It was time to stop walking in without knocking. How could he expect Jake to behave like an adult if he didn’t treat him like one? He knocked loudly enough to be heard, but quietly enough not to wake Jake. He caught the sound of soft footsteps approaching then retreating from the door. Several times recently he’d found the door barred by a chair. He’d told Jake to stop doing it, but as usual his words had met a brick wall. Had Jake just removed a chair? If so, what was he up to that he didn’t want anyone to walk in on? Tom pushed the questions to the back of his mind. Whatever Jake was up to, this was hardly the moment to burst in and question him about it.

  ‘Come in,’ said Jake.

  Tom opened the door and saw the surprise in Jake’s eyes. He guessed Jake had been expecting his mum. She was usually the only one who bothered to knock. Jake was in bed with his plaster cast resting on the duvet. Tom’s gaze came to rest curiously on a bundle of rags with the reading lamp aimed at it. He tried to smile reassuringly, but it felt more like a grimace. ‘I thought you’d be asleep.’

  ‘I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about Erin.’

  A shudder ran through Tom as he thought of the watery apparition that had invaded his brief sleep. ‘Can I sit down?’

  Again, Jake’s eyebrows rose slightly. ‘Sure.’

  Tom perched on the bed, struggling to think of something he could say to persuade Jake everything was going to be OK. But he knew any words would be as hollow as the ones he’d uttered downstairs. A faint movement among the rags caught his eye. He peeled back a layer of grubby material.

  ‘Careful,’ cautioned Jake as the chicks were exposed. One of the pair gave a tiny flutter of a minuscule wing.

  ‘Where did these come from?’

  Jake told his dad what had happened in the attic of the Ingham house, adding, ‘I couldn’t just leave them there to die. I thought I could look after them until they’re old enough to survive on their own.’

  Tom gave him a look as if he was seeing something new. He smiled again and this time it felt easy. The chick stretched open its beak. ‘It’s hungry.’

  ‘I found some dead flies, but they haven’t eaten them.’

  ‘You need to feed them by hand when they’re this age. We had chickens on the farm. I used to feed their chicks oatmeal.’ Tom laid his hand on the unmoving chick. ‘This one’s dead.’

  Jake jerked up from his pillow. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  Jake screwed up his face, tears springing into his eyes. The diary had partially distracted him from what was going on. But this . . . somehow this brought it all into unbearably sharp focus. ‘I promised I’d take care of them.’

  ‘And you will take care of the one that’s still alive. I’ll show you how.’ Tom gathered up the nest of rags.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘This light bulb isn’t hot enough. We need to get this chick warm.’

  They headed downstairs to the kitchen. Amanda threw them a glazed glance as they passed the living room.

  Tom knew he had to act quickly if the chick was to have any chance of survival. He grabbed a cardboard box from the pantry and emptied its contents onto the floor. ‘Lucky we’ve got a gas oven,’ he said, sliding a hand under the chick’s tummy and lifting it into the box. ‘We used this trick sometimes if the chicks got too cold.’ He put the box in the oven and turned on the pilot light. ‘That’ll warm it up in no time.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Amanda, walking a touch unsteadily into the room.

  As Jake told her, Tom rummaged through the drawers until he found what he was looking for – a plastic medicine syringe from Erin’s baby days. Amanda ruckled her face as if she couldn’t make sense of what she was hearing. ‘It’s just a baby bird,’ she said to Jake. ‘You don’t even like animals. Why do you care if it lives or dies?’

  Jake replied with a nervous shrug, uncertain how to react to the slur of anger in his mum’s voice.

  ‘Your sister’s out there somewhere and this’, Amanda jabbed a finger at the chick, ‘is what you’re worrying about.’

  ‘He made a promise to look after it,’ said Tom, his eyes pleading with Amanda to lay off.

  With a sharp exhalation, she turned and wobbled back into the living room.

  ‘She’s struggling to cope,’ Tom said to Jake in a lowered voice. A look of apology entered his eyes. ‘Both of us are.’

  Momentarily, neither of them seemed to know what to say. Then Tom said, ‘Right, let’s get this chick fed.’ He mixed and warmed some porridge oats into a smooth paste and drew them into the syringe. He checked the temperature of the paste on the underside of his wrist, then tickled the tip of the syringe against the chick’s beak. The chick reflexively opened up and he squirted a small blob into its mouth. ‘Now you have a go.’ He handed Jake the syringe. ‘Not too much,’ he cautioned as, emitting a tiny squeak, the chick stretched its beak wide for more food. ‘That’s it. A little bit at a time. He’ll stop opening his beak when he’s had enough.’

  Jake stroked his thumb against the fuzzy underside of the chick’s throat. ‘Do you think he’ll survive?’
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br />   ‘If you keep a close enough eye on him.’ Tom dug another box out of the pantry, lined it with shreds of newspaper and punched holes in its sides with a knife. He lifted the chick into the box and closed the flaps. ‘We’ll put him in the airing cupboard until we can get our hands on a heat lamp.’

  Jake glanced at the bundle of rags. ‘What about the other one?’

  ‘We can bury it in the garden if you like.’

  Jake nodded. They took the surviving chick back upstairs. ‘He’ll like it in here,’ said Tom, shifting some towels to make space in the airing cupboard for the box. ‘Nice and warm and quiet. He should sleep for a few hours now.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  There was no edge in Jake’s voice, only gratitude. Tom looked at his son and, for the first time, he saw beyond the awkward teenager to the man he might one day become. There was a vulnerability that he himself had never possessed – life on the farm hadn’t allowed it – but there was also a stubbornness that he recognised only too well. He felt a sudden uprush of love so powerful it clogged his throat. A shrill noise rang out. The phone! He darted into the master bedroom and snatched up a handset. ‘Yes?’

  ‘The fog’s clearing,’ Sergeant Dyer informed him. ‘We’re resuming the search.’

  ‘I’m on my way.’

  Tom flew down the stairs. ‘Did you hear that, Amanda? It’s back on. I’m—’ He stuck his head around the living room door and fell silent. Amanda was asleep – or, more accurately, passed out – in an armchair. Her head was slumped to one side. Even unconscious, there was a line like a scar between her eyebrows. A glass rested at an angle in her lap, threatening to spill its contents. He gently extricated it from her hand and turned to see Jake coming up behind him.