Chapter 11: Eleven - A London Haunting: A Christmas Ghost Story

“Hey. Wait. Just wait up, okay? You’ve got some explaining to do.”

The man – about her age, nineteen or twenty – was just about to swing onto his electric bike, one of those food-delivery types with the box on the front. At her voice, his leg froze mid-air, then dropped heavily back to the ground.

“I’ve got some explaining to do?” he said.

“Yes. What the hell were you doing in there? In Reggie Lord’s house?”

When the Chicken Cottage bag had burst open, scattering fries, nuggets and drumsticks across the carpet, Lottie had scrambled to gather them up. While she did, another roar had joined the mix – Reggie’s.

“What the blazes? My food!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Lottie had said. “The chicken’s wrapped. It’s all salvageable.”

“Then salvage it and get out. The pair of you.”

She’d risen as the man – not the ghost – had smoothed out the paper bag onto a side table, motioning for her to place the food on top.

He knew the drill clearly.

Reggie had marched over, with no sign of the broken man he’d been just moments before. His eyes were dry – completely dry – and his voice firm.

“Let me have my dinner in peace.”

“In peace?” Lottie had muttered. Reggie Lord was not a man at peace. Whatever had just happened, they needed to understand it.

“It’s okay,” she’d said. “I can stay––“

But Reggie had cut her off. “You’ve overstayed your hours, so leave. I’ll see you tomorrow.” His gaze had then slid to the man, who was standing ashen-faced beside Lottie, every bit as bewildered as she was. “I’ll see you tomorrow too.”

“Same again?” the man had asked with a gulp.

“Same again,” Reggie replied.

Then the man had bolted, and Lottie – still burning with questions – had grabbed her things and hurried after him.

On the street, she wasn’t about to let him slip away so easily.

“So,” the man said, cornered. “What exactly do you want me to explain?”

“Well…I’ve just said. You’re the delivery guy from Chicken Cottage, aren’t you?”

He gestured at the bike as if that weren’t obvious. “Um…yes.”

“Well, isn’t it more the done thing to ring someone’s doorbell rather than wander into a house – into a bedroom – to hand an order over!”

“I’ve got a key.”

He’d said it as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“You’ve got a key?” Lottie repeated, incredulous.

“Yes.”

“To Reggie Lord’s house?”

“Still yes.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “So what are you, then? Some sort of…elite courier service? Got keys to every household that fancies a bargain bucket, have you?”

Any flicker of irritation vanished. He grinned instead. “Don’t be daft.”

A grin – no matter how pleasant – that only infuriated her more.

“You can’t just accept a key from him,” Lottie snapped. “You should’ve refused.”

He tilted his head, dark hair beneath that hood, she noticed. “Why?”

“Why? Because…because it’s not ethical. That’s why!”

“And what you do is?”

“What I do? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Sleeping on the job.”

“Sleeping? I was not…sleeping.”

“Really? What were you doing then?”

“Dozing. I was dozing, that’s all.”

“Massive difference, then?”

“Yes, there bloody is!”

He burst out laughing.

“Excuse me…” she bristled, but he stuck out a hand before she could finish.

“Name’s Cam. What’s yours?”

“Mine? None of your business.”

His grin held. “Oh, come on! Looks like we’re both on the same team here.”

“The same team? What the hell are you talking about?”

Before answering her again, he glanced around. “Look, we can’t talk here. See those curtains? How they’re twitching?”

She frowned, then followed his gaze. He was right – they were. This was something she’d seen before, when she’d chased down those two little thugs who’d lobbed a stone at her head. Curtains had twitched then too, a row of behind-the-window warriors pursing their lips at the commotion, but no one coming out to help.

They weren’t about to now, either, while she stood in the street sparring with Cam.

“There’s a pub down the road,” he said.

“A pub? You think I’m going to the pub with you? A complete stranger?”

His grin faltered. He looked hurt instead. “I know we’re strangers, but like I said, it seems we’ve got the same goal. You’re a carer, yeah? Judging by the uniform.”

“Yes, Reggie’s carer. Full-time. Hasn’t he mentioned me?”

He shook his head. “Nope. But I figured someone was around. His room isn’t the disaster zone it used to be.”

“Thanks,” she said dryly.

“Come on,” he coaxed, chancing another smile. “It’s freezing. Let’s go somewhere warm, and I’ll explain properly.”

“You sure there aren’t others waiting for your…divine service?”

Her sarcasm bit deep, but he shrugged. “Actually, no, there aren’t.” Then with a wink, he added, “Lucky for you, it’s my night off.”

That was the only reason Lottie went with Cam to the pub – because he was still delivering food to Reggie, even on his night off. Why would he be doing that?

After texting her mum to say she’d be home later than usual, Lottie followed Cam down a few side streets to the pub he’d mentioned. There it was, perched on the corner: The Dog and Duck. What some might call a proper East End boozer.

Being midweek, it wasn’t busy inside – a few people, regulars most likely, sat hunched in their seats, chatting in low voices or staring into space. One man was reading a book, Lottie noting it with curiosity. What was he reading? Was he enjoying it? It seemed a nice thing to do, slip into a pub to read a book over a drink or two. Relaxing. Just as she’d been relaxed reading to Reggie – too relaxed.

Then caught in the act.

“What you having?” Cam asked.

“You buying?”

“Of course.”

“Rum and Coke, then. If they’ve got that Kraken stuff, even better.”

He grinned again, dimples showing in his cheeks. “Coming right up. You grab a seat and I’ll bring the drinks over.”

A few minutes later, he slid in beside her, setting the glasses down. The table was tacky, and the seat no better.

As much as she welcomed the first sip of rum, the burn of it, she cut to the chase.

“Why’ve you got a key––”

“I’ve got a key because––”

They spoke at once, both then stopping short.

“Go on,” she said. “You first.”

Cam took a slurp of his pint before continuing. “Okay, right. I’ve been at Chicken Cottage for a few months now, and when Reggie calls in his order, I’m usually the one sent to deliver it. It’s the same routine every time – he answers the door, takes his food, end of. Then one evening, I noticed he seemed a bit…off. Disorientated, you know? Reluctant too, like he didn’t want to go back inside. Like he was…”

“Scared?” Lottie suggested.

Cam nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, scared. That could be it. So I said to him, ‘You all right, mate? Need a hand or something?’ He said yeah, could I help him upstairs, that he was feeling unsteady. Well, what was I supposed to do? Couldn’t just leave him there, could I? I went upstairs with him to his room and was a bit surprised by the state of it, to be honest, but it’s not really my business. I got him settled, unpacked his food, and he just…stared at it. Like he couldn’t work out what it was.”

“He’s supposed to have early-onset dementia,” Lottie told him, “but I’ve seen no real sign of it so far.” Though, when she thought about it…what had happened tonight could have been a sign, when the distant past loomed larger than the present. “So, he was confused,” she went on. “Did you stay with him for a while?”

“Yeah, I did. I stayed, and we chatted, or rather, I did. Told him a bit about myself, my name, where I lived – around the corner from him, actually. Oh, and I asked why he still had a Christmas tree in his living room, when Christmas was months ago.”

Lottie nearly choked on her rum and Coke.

“You asked? You actually…asked?”

Cam frowned. “’Course I did. You’re his carer, so surely you’ve asked too?”

She hadn’t. She’d been tiptoeing around the subject, cautious at every turn, while Cam – short for Cameron as he’d said on the way there – had just barged straight in.

“What did he say?” she wanted to know.

“He didn’t. He went…quite pale, actually. I mean, he’s pale already, but this was worse. It was like all the colour just drained out of him. Good thing he was in his armchair by this time, or he might have hit the deck. I changed the subject quickly, rambled on about something else, but he’d gone dead quiet. Then, just as I was leaving, he snapped back to life. Asked if I’d be the one to deliver his food from then on. Said he’d tip me, and he’d give me a key, so I could come straight in – that way he wouldn’t have to come downstairs at all.”

Lottie shook her head – old people and the dangers they could put themselves in!

“Clearly, you agreed,” she said. “But…you shouldn’t have.”

Cam looked genuinely baffled, perhaps even a little miffed.

“Look, I’m not after his money, okay? However much he’s got, I don’t care. Whatever you think of me, I know who I am – what I am. And I’m actually fairly decent. Not the type to take advantage of someone, at any rate.”

“I didn’t mean––”

“Yeah, you did. But…moving on.” He leaned back, calmer now. “I saw an opportunity to help, that’s all. You might see him every day, but he still seems pretty lonely to me. I don’t hang around long, not normally. Not unless I think he wants me to, and even then, it’s just for half an hour or so – just…being there.”

Lottie contemplated that. “And yet, like you said, I’ve been there all day.”

Cam swirled what remained of his pint. “It’s a strange situation, isn’t it? That we seem to be in. That house, it’s just…weird. Don’t you think? The atmosphere’s really heavy. Not gonna lie, Lottie, I don’t mind delivering his food, even on my days off – it’s no real bother as I live so close to him and Chicken Cottage – but despite that, I can’t wait to get out of there, back into the fresh air. Do you, like…feel the same?”

“I…” She hesitated. It felt unprofessional to admit it, even traitorous. Reggie was her charge. But having someone to talk to about this, someone who might actually understand, was…amazing. “Do you know the door to the living room’s locked? Most of them are, except the kitchen, so he must use it now and then, for water, maybe. It can only be that, because the tap’s the only thing in use. All the cupboard doors and drawers are nailed shut. And the windows too. It’s like he’s…imprisoned himself.”

Cam’s face was a picture on hearing this – a very nice picture, she couldn’t help thinking. Dark hair, dark eyes, and those full lips of his now forming a perfect O.

“So, you’ve been…snooping?”

“Snooping?” It was the same word Reggie had used. “I was not snooping!”

“It’s just, he said that when I went in, I was to go straight upstairs to his room. Nowhere else. Like, really stressing it. But you’re allowed to wander?”

No, she wasn’t, and it was clear Cam knew it. And the last time she had…

She dropped the indignation. “When he found me in the kitchen, I wasn’t snooping; I was looking around, okay? For bin bags, if you must know. I needed them so I could start tidying. But here’s the even stranger thing: when he found me, he got really angry, and…well, the drawers and cupboards – the locked drawers and cupboards, remember? – started rattling.”

“Rattling?”

“Rattling,” she confirmed.

“What the fuck? How? Why? What’s he got in there?”

“I don’t think it’s about what’s in there,” Lottie said, lowering her voice as she glanced around before leaning in. “I think…I think…”

“The house could be haunted.”

When he said it for her, she could have kissed him. For the way he said it too, with a touch of awe, yes, but also with genuine curiosity.

“Yes,” Lottie breathed. “I know what I saw and what I heard, though I don’t know how it all ties together: the rattling drawers, the locked doors, the dusty old Christmas tree, the empty photo frame-–”

“Empty photo frame?” Cam cut in, still intrigued.

“On the mantelpiece in his bedroom. Haven’t you noticed it? Right next to the broken clock. Why position it so prominently if it’s empty? There should be someone in it – a loved one, someone whose face you’d want to look at, especially in old age, when there’s not much else to do. And…and…oh, before you came in, while I was taking an…um…a bit of a nap, I started to wake, but hadn’t opened my eyes yet. Reggie was speaking to someone, when he hardly speaks at all. At least not to me.”

“Ah,” Cam said. “So, when I came in, you thought I was that someone.”

“Made manifest.”

He grinned. “Made manifest? Bit dramatic – but I like it.”

Lottie couldn’t help grinning back. “That’s why I jumped, why I yelled out. He’d been talking to someone, and Cam, it was… sad. Pitiful, really. He was apologising, I think. Begging forgiveness. He kept saying ‘ca, ca’. Repeating it over and over.”

“What does that mean?”

She shrugged. “What does any of it mean?”

Finishing the dregs of her drink, she suddenly felt the weight of Reggie’s sadness pressing in on her.

“Hey,” Cam said, noticing. “You okay?”

“Yeah…I…” She trailed off. If only she could tell him something else – just how sensitive she was, her gift – but that would be going too far. Yet…he was still more intrigued than scornful. In fact, he wasn’t scornful at all. Could she confide? Not now, but at some point? If they saw each other again. Would he be like Matt, Bobby, even Tony – encouraging? Or like her mum, and less keen, finding it…off-putting, even?

She was still debating this when he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. A tender gesture, older than his years.

“It’s all right,” he said gently. “It’s okay. Hey, no need for tears.”

Tears? What was he talking about? But when her fingertips touched her cheek, sure enough, they came away wet.

“He pays me to be there,” she said. “He pays you too, tips you, and even on your days off you still go, which is…kind. It is. Decent. Definitely. And I feel bad he has to pay. But that’s how it works, isn’t it? We need to earn money to live. Still…” She swallowed, remembering the loneliness she’d sensed there on her first day, the grief. “He’s haunted, Cam. I really think so. He’s stuck – somewhere else in time. And whatever’s there too, whoever, that’s what’s haunting him. And it’s…sad.”

Good Lord, but the tears were flowing in earnest now. She couldn’t stop them. In the middle of The Dog and Duck, of all places, she was crying over Reggie Lord – empathising just a little too much, and in front of a stranger, no less.

Cam pulled her into a hug.

She barely knew him, but it no longer seemed to matter. They had something in common – the carer and the food courier.

They had Reggie.

“Do you know anything about his history?” Cam asked after a moment.

“No,” she replied, sniffing. “Nothing.”

“Then I guess we try to find out.”

“We?” she said, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes.

“Yes, we,” he repeated. “For all his quirks, I’ve grown a bit fond of Reggie Lord. It’s obvious he’s lonely, and I don’t like seeing it any more than you do. I want to help because…it feels good. Inside, I mean. So, yeah. Let’s do it. Me and you. Help him.”