Part 15 (1/2)

Elizabeth continued circling the island. Her energy seemed inexhaustible. She'd bounded in from school, the bandages trailing to her knees. They were grubby enough to be nearer to black than white. John had removed them, leaving only the sticking plaster on her chin like some funny little goatee. As always, Elizabeth had been full of news. She'd told him over juice and chocolate chip cookies that a child had been murdered in the village. He'd already caught that on the lunch-time news when he'd returned from calling on old Stan Price. That probably accounted for the wail of sirens the previous evening. He gathered it was one of those sordid domestic incidents. A guy had murdered the child of his ex-lover in revenge for being dumped. Thank G.o.d the b.a.s.t.a.r.d hadn't got far before the cops caught up him. With luck, the guy would rot in jail.

Typical with news that had flashed mouth-to-mouth around school the murder had been embellished with all kinds of unlikely details. It had taken John some time to divert Elizabeth's attention off the subject.

At least now she was thras.h.i.+ng away with the oars happily enough. She hadn't mentioned the murder in the last hour or so.

After indulging her fantasies that she was on board the sinking t.i.tanic she allowed the boat to drift while she gazed down into the water. John found himself relaxing. Here, the peace and quiet was something else. Dragonflies skimmed the water in flashes of brilliant turquoise. A kingfisher dove into the lake in search of minnows. Water dripped from the oars, sounding like notes played on some exotic musical instrument. Elizabeth hummed lightly to herself.

By now Val had emerged, freshly showered, changed into cut-offs and a T-s.h.i.+rt. She sat on a patio chair with a cup in her hand. John found his mind turning to squeezing a great pile of oranges then mixing the juice with crushed ice. The more he thought about the iced drink sliding down his throat, the more appealing it became. To paraphrase one old song, it was summer time and the living was easy. He looked back at Elizabeth. She still stared into the water.

He leaned sideward a little to see into the lake. He saw reflected sky, a strand or two of weed. Nothing else.

”See any fish, hon?”

He waited for a reply, only she was too mesmerized by the water.

”Elizabeth. See any fish?”

”No,” she said at last. ”I'm looking for Baby Bones.”

2.

Ten minutes later John sat down beside Val. He asked her if she'd heard of anyone by the name of Baby Bones.

”Baby Bones?” She shrugged. ”Sounds like a cartoon character to me. Why?”

”I've heard Elizabeth talking about this Baby Bones over the last couple of days. She seems obsessed with hima or it.”

”Don't worry. She tends to get fixated on people or things every so often. Remember how she used to go on endlessly about the t.i.tanic?”

”It's just how she talks about this Baby Bones. She seems excited and frightened all at the same time.”

”Baby Bones?” Val sipped from her cup, thinking. ”Isn't that the one from the Rugrats cartoon?”

”That's Chucky, Lill, Phil, Tommy and Angelica.”

She smiled. ”You know your cartoon characters, Mr. Newton.”

”It rubs off when you've sat through hundreds of the things when the kids watch them.”

”Are you sure you're the hardworking writer that you seem to be?” Her eyes twinkled. ”It sounds as if you sit in front of the cartoon channels all day.”

”I wish.” He smiled. ”At least that way I'd know if this Baby Bones was a cartoon character or not.”

”Or Elizabeth might have picked something up from a book?”

”She might,” he allowed. ”But I was up on the lake with her just now. She was staring down into the water and when I asked if she was looking for fish she said, no, she was looking for Baby Bones.”

”She obviously gets the strange imagination from you, John.”

”She told me that if you saw Baby Bones looking back at you then you would soon die.”

”And you think she was genuinely frightening herself doing this?”

”As I said, it's a mixture of excitement and fear. You know.” He shrugged. ”The same as how she gets riding a ghost train.”

”I wouldn't worry about it, John. It sounds like one of these school yard myths that children frighten each other with. You know the sort, step on a crack in the pavement and you'll die, or hold your breath when an ambulance goes by otherwise you'll catch a disease.”

He nodded. ”Or the plant Mother Dye. When I was a kid local legend had it that if you picked the plant your mother would die.” He grinned. ”Steve and I used to tease our mother no end by telling her we picked huge armfuls of the stuff.”

”And as she's still alive and kicking it's obviously just another of those half-baked superst.i.tions.” She leaned across and squeezed John's knee. ”See, Baby Bones is just one of those stories that kids tell each other. Elizabeth'll have forgotten all about it in a few days.”

”And no more Baby Bones.”

”Righta now, what are we going to cook for supper, handsome? Pork chops? Steak? Quiche?”

”Quiche with salad. It's too hot to stand over a stove.” He stood up, stretching. ”I'll make a start on it.”

”Will Paul be back to eat with us?”

”No, he's meeting some friends this evening. He said he'd make himself a sandwich later.”

”I'll come and do the salad.”

”No. You look bushed. I can manage.”

”Come here.” She touched her lips.

He kissed her.

”Thank you. You're a good man.”

Smiling, he walked back into the house. Elizabeth sat cross-legged on the observation gla.s.s while gazing down into the waters rus.h.i.+ng through the millrace below. She was lost in her own world. John, not wis.h.i.+ng to disturb her, went into the kitchen to make a start on the meal.

3.

The evening sun sliced through the trees in the cemetery, glinting from headstones, warming the faces of stone angels. Already, shadows had begun to pour into the Vale Of Tears, filling the labyrinth of pa.s.sages with a shade so dark and so thick it looked as if liquid darkness leaked from the vaults.

Paul walked with Miranda Bloom along one of the pa.s.sageways. The walls of the crypts flanked them above head height. You couldn't see back or forward more than fifteen paces, due to the sharp turns of the pa.s.sageways. Only the roof was open to the evening air. Yet the branches of trees lidded even that.