The Doctor. Lisa Stone
although it seemed more likely they just didn’t want to. She doubted Dr Burman had any Christmas spirit in him – definitely a bah-humbug type of person. Dour and sour. And, of course, Alisha, being ill, couldn’t make the effort by herself. Emily hadn’t seen Alisha since her fifteen-minute visit and had only caught glimpses of the doctor going in and out of his house and shed. She thought Alisha might have been a very different person without him, but then again she was ill and he seemed to take care of her, so she shouldn’t really criticize.
As she passed their house, she automatically glanced over as she had the others in the street. But the glimpse between the trees and high evergreen shrubs showed the same gloomy front with blacked-out windows. It was a sad-looking house, even more so now many of their neighbours’ houses were gaily decorated. The sadness inside seemed to seep out, bleed through the walls, Emily thought and hurried by. She was pleased to turn into their drive with its warmth of fairly lights draped under the eaves and sparkling through the glass panel of their front door. She switched the lights on when she got up in the morning and they stayed on until she and Ben went to bed. Having gone to all the trouble of putting them up, she wanted to make the most of them. Their house looked welcoming and, with a frisson of excitement, she took her keys from her coat pocket and unlocked the front door. Closer to Christmas – so they would still be fresh on the big day – she was going to buy a Christmas planter with seasonal flowers and set it just to the right of the front door. The finishing touch.
Her key in the lock, she suddenly stopped, senses alert. She thought she’d heard a child cry from next door – from the Burmans’ house? She must have been mistaken. They didn’t have any children, nor had she ever seen any visitors. Perhaps it was the television or radio, although she’d never heard any noise come from their house before. The windows were always closed, even in summer, and they never used their garden. She pushed open her front door and was about to go in but stopped.
There it was again. It sounded like an older child, not a baby, a girl, and it had definitely come from the Burmans’ house. It didn’t sound like a radio or television. Could they have visitors? It would be a first, as far as she was aware. But why was the child crying? Was she upset? It was a distressing cry, no words spoken, a shriek, animal-like and intense. It made her blood run cold. What should she do?
Emily stood still for a moment, torn between ignoring the crying child and continuing indoors, or going next door and asking if everything was all right. Dr Burman wasn’t home, his car wasn’t on the drive where he kept it, and there were no other cars there suggesting visitors. She knew what Ben would have said – mind your own business and go indoors. Her head agreed with him, while her heart told her something wasn’t right. A child in distress in a house where there were no children and the woman was unwell. Since she’d had a child of her own, Emily was more sensitive to the cries of children, especially if they were upset. It was as if something had been switched on when her milk had come in – a primeval need to protect children which was too strong to ignore.
Closing her front door, she dropped her keys into her coat pocket and wheeled the pushchair to their boundary fence. Robbie, wanting to be home, protested. ‘We won’t be long, little man,’ she said, her voice tight.
From her side of the fence, she looked down the Burmans’ sideway and up at their house – to where the cries seemed to have come from. It was quiet now, but a small fan-like window on the upper floor was slightly open, which was unusual. Emily didn’t know which room the window was in as all the houses in the street were different. As she looked, the cry came again, followed by Alisha’s voice, high-pitched and distressed, ‘Oh my God! I’m trying to help you!’
Emily stayed where she was, her unease building. What was going on? Who was Alisha talking to and why was the child upset? Surely, she wasn’t a guest? It had gone quiet again now and it crossed her mind to call up – ‘Is everything all right?’ – but the child screamed and the decision was made.
Quickly turning the pushchair round, Emily hurried back down her drive then up the Burmans’, trying to convince herself there was a rational explanation for what she’d heard. But what rational explanation there could be escaped her. Better to look a fool than ignore a tragedy, she told herself. If she’d known the Burmans better, she could have made a more informed decision. Now she acted on instinct. She pressed the bell on their entry system as the camera focused on the porch watched her. Robbie struggled to get out. ‘We won’t be long,’ she reassured him again.
She waited. Perhaps no one would answer. Then what would she do? Return home and try to forget it? Impossible. Things heard cannot be unheard, and she knew she’d worry about this until she found out that Alisha and the child were all right. Perhaps she should call the police? And say what? That she’d heard a child crying next door, but the woman who lived there didn’t have a child and was ill? Wouldn’t they suggest she might have a visitor? Perhaps she should go home, but the desperation she’d heard in Alisha’s voice told her to stay.
The door suddenly opened and Alisha stood before her, distraught. ‘Thank goodness. I need your help. Come in.’
‘Is something wrong?’ Emily asked.
‘Yes. Come quickly. You must help me, but never tell anyone what you see.’
Emily stopped, fear gripping her. ‘Why not? What’s going on?’
‘Come quickly. You’ll see. This way.’
Emily pushed the stroller into the hall as Alisha began upstairs. She glanced at Robbie, wondering if it was safe to leave him alone in the hall, but the child above cried out again, even more distressed.
‘Please come now,’ Alisha nearly begged.
Glancing at Robbie, Emily ran up the stairs behind Alisha and then followed her into a room at the side of the house. It was a bathroom, adapted for disabled use. Alisha was going to a bundle on the floor, something wrapped in a towel and wedged between the side of the bath and the hand basin. The cry came again from the bundle, like a trapped animal, and Emily realized it was a child. But not like any child she’d seen. She remained where she stood as Alisha knelt beside her. No child should ever look like that.
‘Please help,’ Alisha said. ‘She won’t hurt you.’
Emily pulled herself together, crossed the bathroom and knelt beside Alisha.
‘If you take that side,’ Alisha said, ‘we can hopefully move her onto her side and be able to slide her out.’ Emily did as Alisha directed and together they released the child from where she’d become trapped. She moaned.
‘It’s OK,’ Alisha soothed, stroking her forehead. ‘We’re going to sit you up now.’
Emily tried to concentrate on what she was doing and not look at the child’s deformities. Together, they eased her into a sitting position. One claw-like hand tightened on Emily’s arm and she tensed. There is nothing to be frightened of, she told herself. She’s a child.
Alisha quickly drew the girl’s bathrobe around her. She whimpered again. ‘It’s all right, you’re not hurt,’ she reassured her. Then to Emily, ‘I need to get her into that wheelchair. That’s what I was trying to do when the hoist broke. I can’t lift her alone.’
Alisha pulled the wheelchair closer and Emily helped draw the child upright and then into the wheelchair.
‘Thank goodness,’ Alisha sighed and carefully set the child’s feet on the footplate. It was clear the child’s wasted legs would never be able to carry her weight even though she was thin. Her small blue eyes were set too far apart in her enormously swollen forehead, giving the poor child a bulbous appearance as though she was top-heavy.
‘Naughty Daddy,’ Alisha said as she made the child comfortable. ‘I told him the hoist needed looking at.’
‘Daddy?’ Emily repeated numbly.
‘Yes,