IT WAS HEADLINE news. Splashed across the front page in bold, black letters.
Caroline Bow: a nurse from Manchester, by chance visiting friends here in Moutonby. She’d heard about the ‘kerfuffle’ down at the lake and had gone along ‘just to be nosy, really’. But she’d been the one to see what everybody else was talking about.
Jenny held the newspaper so that Tim was able to read it over her shoulder. ‘What d’you think?’
He didn’t answer, but took the paper from her so that he could read it again. He wanted to concentrate on each and every word to be absolutely certain of not missing anything. Yes, he’d read about her in another paper. Yes, he’d seen her interviewed on TV. But this particular story might have something different, something extra.
They were in room six, Jack Spicer’s room, and had found the paper on the dressing table. They weren’t snooping; they’d been asked by Anne to help clean the rooms. No school for either of them today. They had originally meant to go in late because of the emergency Feed Bill had called. He’d wanted them to go as soon as it was over but the Head had phoned with the request that they take the day off altogether. Apparently there was not just one but a whole horde of reporters hanging around outside the school gates. Mrs Collins thought it would be far too disruptive for the other students if Jenny and Tim were to attend classes. All Bill and Anne could do was reluctantly consent. But not before putting brother and sister under strict house arrest.
They had plenty to keep them occupied, however, because Mourn Home was full. Every room was taken; it was so busy you’d be forgiven for thinking it was the height of summer. This was why Anne and Nana Dairy were doing an emergency shop at the wholesalers. The Feed earlier had been attended by what Tim reckoned was about a hundred people – a fair few of whom hadn’t even been locals.
Tim looked at the photo of Caroline Bow in the newspaper. He couldn’t say he remembered her being there, but then there had been so many new faces in the crowd.
Jenny was doing all the work. ‘Tim?’
He shushed her. ‘Just a minute.’
The nurse’s description was a little different to what Jack Spicer claimed to have seen, but it was weird that she’d been at almost exactly the same spot where Old William and the schoolboys had been attacked. There was a photo of that spot – the trees crowding down to the shingle at the water’s edge. There was a photo of Caroline Bow too. He studied the slightly fuzzy black and white image of her. She was youngish looking, not as old as Anne or Uncle Doug, with long, light hair. She’d obviously been posed pointing out at the lake. The expression on her face was hard to read – perhaps she looked a little embarrassed. What she didn’t look was barmy.
‘Do you believe her?’ he asked Jenny.
She was bundling up the sheets she’d just stripped from the bed. ‘Why bother to make it up?’
Good question – why? To get her picture in the paper? He reckoned there were better ways to do it, ways which didn’t automatically get people calling you a nutter, anyway. There was a particular tone to the interview that he recognized all too well. It was insinuating, sniggering. It was the way he’d often heard people talk to his father. Why would a nurse from Manchester come all this way to make up a story?
‘I think—’ Tim started, but didn’t get chance to say exactly what it was he thought because Jack Spicer appeared through the door. He jumped, realizing he was holding the old man’s paper and immediately started apologizing. This was their first meeting since Saturday in the Dows Bridges, but Mr Spicer seemed to have other things on his mind.
‘Don’t bother yourselves, I’m not checking up on you. I’ve just come for my hat and scarf. It’s too sharp for this old man out there.’ He bent over the chest of drawers and had his back to them when he asked, ‘What do you make of her, then? This nurse.’
Tim and Jenny exchanged glances. ‘What do you mean?’ Tim asked.
The old man was rummaging. ‘I reckon she needs glasses. She should know that, her being a nurse, don’t you think?’
The twins remained quiet.
‘Didn’t you notice? She makes it sound more like a big wet wolf or something. Bit different to what I saw, wouldn’t you say?’
Tim wasn’t sure how to answer. Jenny was no help. She ducked out of the conversation by unfolding the clean sheets across the bed, busying herself.
Jack Spicer was insistent. ‘I think what I saw tallies more with what we all know the Mourn to look like, don’t you?’ He pulled his scarf from the drawer like a magician pulling a silk handkerchief from his sleeve.
‘She says she saw it at the same place Old William did.’ Tim held up the paper in an attempt to show the photo. ‘It’s just here where the marker stone is and—’
Mr Spicer rode right over him. ‘Fur on its head, she says. And a muzzle. It’s the “dragon in the lake”, not the big soggy mutt.’ He was particularly scornful and threw his woolly scarf around his neck, yanked it tight. ‘What do you think she saw?’
Tim squirmed. ‘Erm . . .’
‘I’m betting it was a dog. What’re you betting, young Tim?’ Then, when Tim remained stuck for an answer, the old man smiled thinly. ‘Sensible lad. I would’ve had the shirt off your back. It was a dog, I say, and that’s why her supposed photo has never been shown. The sooner she stops kidding herself the sooner she can stop kidding the rest of us. All she’s doing is muddying the water. Look at it out there – bloody circus is what it is.’
He pointed out through his first-floor window at the view of the lake. Both Tim and Jenny followed his finger. Lake Mou had probably never seen anything like it. A loose necklace of people, tents, cars, TV vans and camera crews was strung from WetFun on the eastern shore all the way round the water’s edge and into the woods to the west. Mourn Home was the pendant that hung in the middle of the chain. People were wrapped up against the cold but sitting on bright and stripy deckchairs, or in their parked cars pointed out at the water, or on picnic blankets, with mugs of hot tea steaming in their hands. Were they watching for the Mourn, or waiting in the hope of seeing Gully’s body dredged up by the police divers? It was a circus all right. Even so, Tim thought he should be out there too.
‘She should keep her mouth shut if she doesn’t know what she’s saying.’ A vein, like a streak of lightning, appeared on the old man’s forehead. ‘It’s just making your job harder, young Tim.’ He wagged his spindly finger. ‘I don’t envy you and your dad.’
Tim just nodded. It seemed the safest thing to do. But he knew he should be out on the lake with his father, or patrolling the shore, or just keeping everybody out of the water. He was the Mourner in three days’ time, wasn’t he? And here he was making beds and emptying wastepaper baskets.
Mr Spicer nodded too, at his own supposed wisdom. Then he turned to Jenny. ‘Make certain you tuck that bottom sheet in well, my dear. I can’t sleep when it pulls itself out in the night.’
‘I’ll be sure it’s done properly.’
‘That’s a girl.’
Tim caught the flash of resentment in Jenny’s eye and guessed she believed she should also be out in the thick of it.
The old man was about to leave but he took the paper from Tim and stared at the photo. With a shake of his head he said, ‘Some people, eh? Nothing better to do with their lives.’ He folded the paper under his arm and disappeared out into the hallway.
Tim waited until the footsteps had receded. “What was all that about?’
‘Can’t you guess?’
‘Do you reckon he’s jealous someone else has seen it too?’
‘Well, you know how much he loved the attention he got last Saturday morning. And he is the only one who’s been getting it for the last thirty years.’
‘I would’ve thought he’d be pleased. You know, someone to prove him right.’
Jenny just shrugged. ‘Who knows? But if you give me a hand we can get out of here quick in case he comes back.’
They moved along the hallway to what had been Uncle Doug’s room. There were suitcases on the floor with clothes spilling out of them. The American couple, Mike and Sylvie, had moved in in a hurry, obviously just dumping their stuff before scurrying out with their camcorder’s battery charged up and ready to roll.
Originally they’d planned on leaving today but everything that had happened had persuaded them to stay on longer. Which would have been fine under normal circumstances, but Uncle Doug had booked all the rooms out to people from the British Geological Survey, who were here to investigate the earthquake. He was particularly keen on having them stay because he’d been able to charge them twice the normal room rate.
‘Big organizations can afford more,’ had been his reasoning. ‘Mike and Sylvie are a lovely couple, but—’
‘But they’re my guests, Doug,’ Bill had argued at breakfast. ‘And I don’t throw my guests out into the street.’
‘Are you in any position to turn that kind of money down?’ Doug had asked.
The thing was, Bill had been wary of allowing the BGS people rooms anyway – he’d already insisted that all journalists and TV people be refused accommodation. It wasn’t until the scientists had assured him personally that they weren’t here because of the Mourn, they were solely interested in the earthquake, that he’d acquiesced. Everybody agreed there had been an earthquake and they were here to collect data on it, not to join in the discussion of the Mourn, or give evidence for or against.
But he’d still not allowed Doug to turf Mike and Sylvie out, and in the end the only solution had been for Uncle Doug to give up his own room. He now had a sleeping bag on Tim’s floor.
A room had been offered to Gully’s parents but they’d decided to stay in the Travel Inn on the road out of town, away from what was now the folly of the lakeside, but still close. Scott had gone with them. When they’d told Bill last night that they would be staying in the area until Gully’s body was recovered, he’d stayed quiet. Tim knew his father didn’t believe the body would ever be found.
Jenny tugged the sheets Uncle Doug had slept in from the bed and set to with clean ones. ‘At least we’re not at school,’ she said. ‘I guess we should be grateful for small mercies.’
Tim bobbed his head in agreement. Life certainly seemed to be a case of spotting and extracting the good bits when you could.
‘I hope Sarah’s been okay. The resident arseholes all know she’s the next best target after us.’
‘Give her a ring later,’ Tim said. ‘See if she’s been getting any hassle.’
‘You ring her. She’s your girlfriend.’
He nodded absently, because he was thinking whether or not he would ever get back to school himself; whether he needed to; whether or not Bill would let him.
‘She still is your girlfriend, isn’t she?’ Jenny asked.
He was surprised by the tone of her voice. ‘I suppose so, yeah.’
‘You suppose so?’
‘Well, okay then. Of course she’s still my girlfriend.’
‘It’s just that I can’t work the two of you out sometimes. She’s idiot enough to adore you – why, I don’t know – but sometimes you . . .’
‘Sometimes I what?’
Jenny shook her head. ‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘No, come on. Sometimes I what?’
‘I don’t know. Blow a bit hot and cold, I suppose.’
‘Do I?’ He raised his eyebrows at her. ‘And what would you know about it?’
‘She is my best friend. We do talk.’
He was paranoid now. ‘Has she said something?’
‘Just that things have changed. She said you seem such a different person from who she started going out with in February.’
‘Well, things have been a bit weird recently, haven’t they?’
Jenny shrugged. ‘She says you don’t laugh any more.’
He didn’t know how to answer that.
‘I’ve noticed it too. We used to always have a laugh together, but I hardly ever see you any more – even though we live in the same house. You just lock yourself away in your room all the time. You’ve got to admit, we don’t act much like twins any more.’
Tim stared at her, a little thrown by what she was saying. He’d spent so long recently blaming Jenny for changing, but maybe he’d been doing quite a bit of his own changing too. He said: ‘It’s because of the Mourn and everything, isn’t it? And Sarah’s part of it all because of her dad.’ It sounded lame and Jenny didn’t look particularly impressed by the answer. But it was the only answer he had. ‘I was going to leave home,’ he told her. ‘When I didn’t think the Mourn was real I just wanted to get as far away from here as I could.’
‘But you’ve changed your mind now?’
His first instinct was to say, I think so. But instead: ‘Well, everything’s changed now, hasn’t it?’
‘For you, maybe. Not necessarily for the rest of us.’
The utility room had originally been a privy years ago; now it held the industrial-size washing machine and dryer. They were kept in here because the walls were thick enough to deaden the incredible noise they made.
Jenny and Tim were stuffing the washing machine with probably far too big a load when Uncle Doug appeared at the door. ‘Tim, lad; Timmo – found you. Need you for a sec – is that all right?’
Happy to get out of any more chores, he jumped at the chance. ‘Yeah. Fine.’
Uncle Doug clapped him on the back. ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’
‘What’s happening outside?’ Jenny asked. ‘Is it as bad as it looks from in here?’ What she was really asking was, could she come too?
But Uncle Doug didn’t seem to realize. ‘You could say that. About five minutes ago we had somebody else shouting that they’d seen the Mourn.’
Jenny and Tim exchanged an almost comical look of surprise. ‘Who? Where?’ they said in unison.
‘Just some little lad who should rightly be at school. He’s only about ten or twelve so nobody’s taking him seriously. Even I’m finding it tough to believe that after all this time the Mourn’s decided to lose its stage fright.’
‘Did it attack him?’ Tim asked.
Doug shook his head. ‘No, no. But it’s caused a bit of fuss, if you know what I mean. So come on, Tim, lad. Got to stay ahead of the game.’ He virtually dragged him away by his arm.
They left Jenny and went through to the kitchen, where Doug told him to shove his coat and shoes on – quick. ‘Is everything okay? Is it Dad?’
‘Your dad’s fine. We’re not going to disturb him.’
‘Nothing’s wrong?’ His uncle’s urgency was making him edgy.
‘No, nothing to worry about. Just need you to talk to someone for me.’ He had his hand in the middle of Tim’s back to gee him along, but when his mobile phone trilled in his jacket pocket he dug it out to answer it. ‘Yes, we’re on our way . . . No, no problem . . . No, away from the house. That pub I told you about . . . Dows Bridges, that’s right . . . Okay, see you in ten.’
‘I’m not allowed to talk to anyone.’ Tim couldn’t help but feel suspicious.
Doug dropped the tiny phone back into his pocket. ‘Why not?’
‘Dad said so.’
‘He’ll be okay with this. He’ll understand when I explain it to him.’
Tim wasn’t being given a chance to argue as his uncle steered him out through the back door.
His eyes went straight to the water, to the two police boats. So what if the lake wasn’t really a hundred miles deep? It certainly seemed vast enough to make their job impossible.
He asked, ‘Dad does know, doesn’t he?’
‘I’m sure he’ll be fine.’ Doug wanted to go in the opposite direction. ‘Don’t you get yourself all worked up about it, but if we don’t give the papers something they’re not going to keep—’ He shut up when he saw Bill striding towards them across the back garden. ‘Ah,’ he said. Or perhaps groaned. Tim wasn’t sure.
‘I thought I asked you to stay inside.’ Bill glared at Tim. He’d only just rowed ashore; he was panting slightly, his face red and sweaty.
‘I know, but Uncle Doug—’
Uncle Doug stepped between them. ‘Bill, listen—’
Bill ignored him. ‘Come on, Tim. You can’t leave all the chores to Jenny.’
Doug said, ‘I need him to talk to someone, Bill.’
And Tim realized he was in fact trapped.
‘No reporters,’ his father said. ‘I’ve told you as much I don’t know how many times.’
‘We have to give them something,’ Doug insisted. ‘They’re wondering why we’re not talking to them, and if they get fed up they might decide to get nasty—’
‘Let them get fed up. Let them get so fed up they bugger off and leave us alone.’
‘We need them, Bill.’
‘I don’t.’
‘They think you’re being aloof. And they’ll pay good money for an interview with the new Mourner. I’m talking five figures.’
‘Funny, that. I thought you were talking shite.’
Tim couldn’t help letting a quick, nervous laugh escape.
His dad turned on him. ‘Go back inside and help your sister.’
Tim wasn’t sure if this was the right time to start sticking up for himself or not. Still, he asked, ‘What if I wanted to talk to them?’ But he spoke so quietly the breeze almost carried his words away.
Uncle Doug heard him loud and clear, however. ‘The lad’s right, Bill. It’s his decision, really.’
Bill’s hearing aid was playing up. ‘There’s plenty needs doing around the house.’
‘What are you going to do come Saturday?’ Doug asked. ‘He’s the Mourner then.’
‘He’ll still be my son,’ Bill growled.
‘No, Bill. He’ll be your Mourner.’
There was a stand-off between them. Tim didn’t like it at all, not one bit. He didn’t want to be the piggy in the middle of their argument. He agreed with what Uncle Doug was saying: he would be Mourner; in terms of the tradition he would be head of the Milmullen household and Mourn Home would be his. Yet he was appalled at the way his uncle was using that fact as a weapon against his father. Bill was angry, but there was an uncertainty in his eyes as well.
He turned his glare on Tim. ‘Is this what you think too?’
‘I . . . I suppose so.’
Bill turned to walk away.
Tim grabbed his arm. ‘I mean, yes, I’m going to be Mourner. Like the tradition says. And if I am then I should be allowed to make some decisions, shouldn’t I? I feel as though I’m being treated like a little kid today. But on Saturday I’m meant to be one hundred per cent grown up and responsible.’
Bill was watching him carefully, was listening too.
‘It doesn’t happen like that, does it?’ Tim continued. ‘Growing up? It doesn’t happen overnight, just because it’s my birthday. Did it for you? Did you snap your fingers and become an adult?’
‘He’s talking sense,’ Uncle Doug said.
Both Bill and Tim ignored him. ‘I want to help,’ Tim said. ‘I feel I should help.’
‘You think talking to reporters and getting your face on the television is going to help?’ Bill asked.
‘No,’ Tim admitted. ‘But I could help you, out on the lake, couldn’t I? You can’t watch everywhere at once.’
Bill’s eyes softened the tiniest amount. He breathed a long sigh through his nose.
‘It’s like the Mourn keeps popping its head out and you’d never know unless somebody told you. I can help you now; I don’t have to wait until Saturday.’
‘Yes,’ Bill said quietly. He nodded, once, making the moment of thought definite in head. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right, son. The bloody thing would have to be doing tricks and balancing a ball on its nose before I’d even notice.’ He looked at Tim with an honest admiration and smiled.
Doug shook his head. ‘For what it’s worth, I think you’re both making a mistake. If you talk to them they’ll print what you say, but if you don’t, they’ll just print whatever they want. They’ll have a go at you, Bill, that’s for sure.’
Bill wasn’t even acknowledging him any more. ‘If I stay with the police divers out on the water, can you look after the shoreline?’
Tim nodded quickly. ‘Yeah. Of course. No problem.’ He’d never believed he could feel so good about being his father’s son.