The Lost Child. Ann Troup
where I live.’
Brodie flung the sketchpad aside, frustrated with her feeble efforts. ‘How come you didn’t move away? I’d have gone to London.’
‘I wanted to,’ Elaine was picking at a blade of rye grass and stripping it with her nails, ‘but my mum didn’t really want me to be away from home. I think the thought of me in a big city on my own frightened her. She was a bit clingy.’ It was a massive understatement and Elaine knew it, but this girl didn’t need to be burdened with that kind of information.
‘Huh, I reckon if I wanted to go to London my mum would have my suitcase packed and by the door before I’d finished the sentence. She can’t wait to be rid of me.’ Brodie’s voice was loaded with dull resignation.
‘Mothers eh? Bloody hard work. Anyway, tell me about you, what do you like? Tell me about your friends.’ Elaine was eager to change the subject. It was bad enough that Jean’s continued presence in the boot of the car was weighing on her conscience, without having to go into territory fraught with mother issues.
Brodie shrugged, ‘There’s a few people I hang out with at school I suppose. But no one likes coming round to our house, Mum freaks them out.’
This was going to be hard work. ‘What about boys, do you have a boyfriend?’ Elaine imagined a sullen, silent goth loping around in Brodie’s abrasive wake.
It was Brodie’s turn to tear at the grass; she did it fiercely, grasping a great handful and brushing it from her hands into an untidy, wilting pile. ‘Nah, all the boys I meet are complete twats. If I ever find one with a brain I might think about it. Have you got a boyfriend?’
Elaine’s hand drifted to her throat unconsciously, once her fingers found that her muslin scarf was still in place she spoke. ‘No, I tend to meet that kind too. But I must admit, I do quite fancy my builder.’ Her cheeks were flushing red with the admission while her brain demanded to know why on earth she had felt the need to confess such thing to a fifteen-year-old girl.
‘Really? Cool. Is he good looking?’ Brodie was intrigued, the sniff of romance making her all ears.
Elaine blushed again, ‘Well, I wouldn’t say he’s Brad Pitt, but yeah, he’s nice in a craggy, rugged sort of way. And he’s funny, which always helps, makes him less of a twat.’ she said with a wry smile, the word didn’t roll as easily from her own tongue.
‘So are you going to go out with him?’ Brodie asked eagerly.
The hand fluttered to the throat again. ‘I don’t know, maybe. I think he’s just being nice because I’m paying him a truckload of money to do up the house. So maybe I’m just being daft.’
Brodie shook her head. ‘Nah, he likes you. Blokes don’t mess about when they’re older. Tony says they haven’t got time to muck about. You should go out with him, see what happens.’
Elaine laughed, amused at the receipt of dating advice from a teenager. Perhaps she should take it. After all, normal relationships weren’t exactly her forte and maybe she needed the practice, the last time she had tangled with Dan it had ended miserably because Jean and life had got in the way. She looked at Brodie; it felt like they were heading into uncomfortable territory again. ‘Hey, why don’t we go and explore the estate? I fancy having a look around the folly, I can see it from my bedroom window and it looks like it might be interesting.’
‘Are we allowed? Miriam told me not to go wandering about on my own.’
Elaine got to her feet, brushing slivers of grass from her clothes. ‘Yeah, why not? The bumf I got about the cottage says that guests are welcome to explore the estate. As long as we stay away from the house we should be fine.’
Brodie shrugged, seemingly indifferent. ‘Might as well.’
*
The folly turned out not to be a folly at all, but the ruined shell of an old chapel. Undone as much by the scrambling ravages of wild ivy and brambles as it had been by the desolation of time. Like all such places it had a melancholy, eerie feel. A set of characteristics compounded by Brodie’s insistence that there would be bats roosting in the crumbling tower. The thought of that wasn’t the only thing that made Elaine shiver and wrap her arms about her body. For someone who claimed not to believe in things that went bump in the night she was experiencing a sense of profound fear as she contemplated the structure’s wounded state. With mounting apprehension she watched Brodie gleefully scramble through the green clad arches and jump between the slippery, moss encrusted stones. She had visions of broken ankles and skull fractures.
‘Come away Brodie, it’s dangerous,’ she called, unable to propel herself to move closer. The aversion she felt for the place was far out of proportion to any real risk that might exist.
‘Don’t be a knob, it’s fine. Anything that’s going to fall down has fallen down by now. Come on in, it’s really creepy in here.’ Brodie’s voice mutated to an echo as she moved deeper into the ruin.
Elaine’s discomfort was growing. ‘Brodie, please come out of there. I really don’t think it’s safe.’
Her fear was compounded by the bloodcurdling interjection of a screeching bird, which swooped out of the nearby trees in a fury of feather and claw. Elaine’s heart nearly burst out of her chest with the rush of adrenaline that accompanied the creature’s sudden appearance. She flung herself to the ground as the feathered fiend passed, her own voice emitting a squeal of anguish sharp enough to match the bird’s terrified screech.
Brodie hurtled out of the chapel, ‘Oh my God, are you all right?’ She bolted towards where the trembling, tearful (and ashamed) Elaine knelt. ‘What was that, what happened?’ she demanded, her hands fluttering and hesitant in the face of Elaine’s distress.
Elaine let out a tremulous laugh, ‘Bloody bird shot out of the bushes and damned near made me crap myself!’ she said as her body released a final visceral shudder.
‘Bloody hell,’ Brodie’s eyes cast about for the offending avian, which was now long gone. Her gaze settled on a figure in the trees, its countenance made grotesque by shadows cast by the overhanging branches.
Fettered by the sun she squinted, peering deeper into the glade ‘Oi! You!’ she called, as if demanding that the shaded figure make itself known. Instead it turned and loped off into the trees, leaving nothing in its wake but swaying boughs and rustling leaves to betray that it had ever been there.
‘What is it?’ Elaine followed Brodie’s gaze.
‘Nothing, some weirdo spying on us I reckon.’ she said, grasping Elaine’s arm protectively. ‘Freak!’ she yelled, as if hoping that whoever lurked in the woods would hear her, and would be afraid.
‘Come on’ Elaine said, gathering herself, ‘Let’s go and drink hot chocolate and eat cake, we’ll go to that cafe on the village green. This place gives me the creeps.’ She was determined to shake off the uneasy feeling the place had induced. ‘I hear sugar is good for shock’.
As they walked away, even knowing the chapel was at her back, ripples of tension coursed up Elaine’s spine. She didn’t relax until they had left the grounds of Hallow’s Court and were well on their way to the village.
*
It was clear from the whispered conversations and evasive looks that everyone in the village knew who Brodie was. Elaine was acutely aware that Brodie was being stoic and defiant as she ate her cake under the curious stares of the cafe regulars.
The previous evening, Elaine had spent some time Googling Brodie’s missing sister, and she had to acknowledge that such an event could not have left the village unscathed. Even so, it appeared to her that the locals were being niggardly in their scrutiny of Brodie. Perhaps they felt her presence had prodded at old wounds. Regardless of that, Elaine felt an intrinsic defensiveness on Brodie’s behalf. ‘Do you want to go?’ she asked, as yet another person gave them a pointed look and bent to whisper into the ear of a companion.
Brodie