The Haunt by A. L. Barker Page A

it.’
    ‘But you dug it up again?’ said Elissa.
    ‘This is costume stuff.’ Angela fingered her necklace. ‘Greville gave me real gold and diamonds.’
    Owen said ‘Ah’, which was safe, even with feeling. The feeling was real, but what was it a feeling of ?
    ‘Him dying was so sudden. I thought he was asleep. He looked lovely, so peaceful, I didn’t like to disturb him. I covered him with a rug and went to bed. In the morning he was stone cold.’
    Owen thought, Is this right? Should she share the saddest moments of her life with virtual strangers?
    Elissa said afterwards it wasn’t what she’d heard. ‘By all accounts it was a far from happy marriage. They fought like cat and dog, went at it something dreadful.’
    ‘Judging by the terminology,’ Owen said, ‘the accounts are Mrs Latimer’s.’
    Elissa gathered up the tea things. ‘She forgot to take James’s cake.’
    *
    Owen had formed a habit of walking to the village shop after breakfast to buy a newspaper. Along the lane he came upon James sitting cross-legged in the road.
    ‘What’s this? What are you doing?’
    ‘Sitting.’
    ‘I can see that. Why?’
    ‘I’m tired.’
    ‘Don’t you know it’s risky sitting in the middle of the road?’
    ‘I have to go to the police station.’
    ‘For Pete’s sake!’
    ‘Who’s Pete?’
    ‘Why are you going to the police station?’
    ‘The policeman thinks you drowned me.’
    ‘Who told you that?’
    ‘She said I said so. She was angry.’
    ‘Your mother?’
    ‘Did I? I didn’t mean to. I have to stop him coming to arrest you.’
    Owen laughed. ‘Nobody’s going to arrest me. We’re in the clear, you and I.’
    ‘Is Pete your son?’
    Owen took one look at his darkening face and lifted him to his feet. ‘Tell you what, let’s go to the shop and buy sweets for you and a newspaper for me.’
    ‘Is he?’ Tight-lipped, James pulled at Owen’s hand.
    Owen ruffled his hair. ‘I have no son, old son.’
    James’s face cleared. He touched his cheek on Owen’s hand and ran ahead along the lane.
    The woman in the village store – a collateral, surely, of Mrs Latimer – spoke in breathy whispers while James was choosing his sweets. She obviously believed he could not hear her. ‘Him and his father were real pals. They used to come and buy chocolate and Coke, sherbet and liquorice allsorts, he didn’t need to look twice at anything he fancied. But once the father was gone, the poor lamb was never let near. She said he was losing his teeth through too much sweet stuff. I told her, they’re milk teeth, he’s going to lose them anyway. This is the first I’ve seen him since Mr Hartop went. He loved to come here, laughing and larking with the boy. I said to my husband I’ve seen that man lose himself in the one bit of happiness he’s likely to have—’
    ‘What are milk teeth?’ James had come to the counter.
    ‘My, my!’ Halted in full flood, the woman leaned over to look at him. ‘Little pitchers have big ears. I was talking to this gentleman about things you couldn’t understand.’
    ‘I understand everything!’
    ‘My, my.’ She winked at Owen. ‘Little Master Knowall! We should put him on the telly—’
    ‘Why don’t you bloody shut up!’ Glaring, James tore open a packet and shook out the contents. Red, green and yellow sweets bounced and rolled across the floor. He trod on them as he made for the door. The shopkeeper cried out. Owen said, ‘Oh lord! I’m sorry – I’ll come back and settle with you,’ and ran after James.
    He caught up with him in the lane, spoke with more mildness than he felt. ‘That wasn’t nice. Where did you learn such language –’ James responded with a look between pride and cunning – ‘it’s not clever, it’s not smart.’ Owen lengthened his stride, put distance between the boy and himself. He heard hurrying feet: James was at his heels, whimpering and clinging to the hem of his jacket. Owen rounded on him. ‘I don’t care