Chapter 13: Thirteen - A London Haunting: A Christmas Ghost Story

“You’ve found…nothing?” Lottie had to check again.

Cam nodded. “I did try.”

“Oh no, no, I wasn’t implying you didn’t try. But you found…nothing? Really?”

“Really,” Cam said, just as dismayed.

“But that’s…impossible!”

Lottie had left Reggie’s after work, and though it was barely four o’clock, the night was already creeping in. For a while she hadn’t moved at all, just stood outside No.142 Long Mere Road, staring back at it. At the ghost of a Christmas tree in the window, with nothing else behind it – she’d checked in daylight, several times now – certainly not the shrine to Christmas she’d once imagined. It was just the tree. Left there. Above it, the light from Reggie’s room glowed faintly – no match for the neighbouring houses, bright and cheerful in contrast.

The rest of the house was sunk in shadow.

Too much shadow. Too much darkness. Especially now, in this darkened season.

The sight had upset her again, tears pricking at her eyes.

When he’d insisted he’d be safe up there tonight, he hadn’t been bluffing – she’d seen it in his eyes. He believed it. That’s how it tends to work, he’d said. What did he mean by that, exactly? She was an empath – she had a gift – but sometimes felt so…untested. Blind, even. Answers existing but always hovering out of reach.

Still standing on the pavement, with rain beginning to fall, she’d finally texted Cam to ask how it was going. His reply had come almost at once.

U still at Reggie’s?

No, left early.

Oh nice – I’ll drop his food off then pub later? How about The Albion, closer to you? If you don’t know it, I’ll send a pin. 7ish okay?

She’d had time to head home, shower, and reapply her make-up – more than she usually wore, actually. A bit of contouring, extra mascara, thicker kohl, lip liner, the works. She’d noticed he frowned slightly on seeing her, though not nearly as much as she was frowning after what he’d said about finding nothing on Reggie Lord.

“I am born,” she muttered, her rum and Coke untouched on the table before her.

“What?” Cam asked. “How’d you mean?”

She smiled as she sighed. “Oh, it’s a chapter title from David Copperfield,” she explained. “The first chapter, actually.”

Cam nodded. “Oh yeah, you read to Reggie. I forgot.”

“Yeah, or I did. After today, I don’t know if he’ll want me to anymore.” She’d explained what had happened, and he’d been as stunned as she was. “I’ve been thinking that if I don’t read to him, it might give us more of a chance to talk, but…I don’t know, maybe not. He doesn’t chat, but he does exist – even if there’s a lack of paperwork to prove it. I am born,” she said, repeating the chapter title, and then the first line of the book. “Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show. But what if there are no pages to a book, Cam? What if they’re blank, all blank?”

Cam stared at her briefly, then nudged her. “Have some rum. I think you need it.”

She laughed, taking several mouthfuls in the end, practically finishing it. “Whoa, that’s strong,” she said, wiping her mouth.

“I made it a double,” he said, flashing that cheeky grin of his.

She allowed herself a moment or two to bask in the glow of it, then his expression grew as serious as hers as he continued to enlighten her.

“It was explained to me why records might be incomplete, birth records, anyway.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because of when he was born. 1941. Bang in the middle of World War II, Churchill and Hitler going at it hammer and tongs. Births, deaths, and marriages were all supposed to be registered, and it was rare they weren’t, but things were pretty chaotic back then, so some could have easily slipped through.”

Lottie nodded. “Who explained this?”

“The lady who works at the library. Janice. She said it might also be because he wasn’t born in this country, so the record’s elsewhere. Or he could have been adopted, meaning his birth name is different from the one he has now. Basically, we’ve hit a hurdle on our very first attempt. Even the census records for No.142 turned up nothing, and again Janice explained why. They’re taken every ten years, in years ending with one – so, like, 1961, 1971, that sort of thing.”

Lottie nodded again, her head pleasantly fuzzy as the double rum took hold. It was a warm, humming feeling, so she polished off the remnants.

“Okay, all right,” she said, then paused. “Oh…it’s my round. Fancy another?”

He agreed, and a few minutes later they were sipping fresh drinks.

“They’re taken every ten years, like I said,” he continued, “but the trouble is, we can only access them up until 1921. The later ones, they’re sealed for a hundred years, some sort of privacy protection thing.”

“1921? But that’s too early for Reggie.”

“Yeah. Everything after 1951’s locked away until at least 2051. Annoying, but as Janice said, that’s just how it goes.”

“What’s Janice like, then?” Lottie cut in playfully, feeling perhaps just a tiny bit jealous of how much time Cam had spent with her today.

Cam raised an eyebrow. “Oh, she’s cute. Really…cute.”

Lottie almost choked on her second double rum. “Is she?”

He kept a straight face, entirely serious. “Yeah. If you’re into older women.”

“How old?” Lottie swallowed.

“Sixty or so?”

As he’d nudged her earlier, she now nudged him back. “Idiot,” she said, then immediately regretted it. “Oh, hang on – I don’t mean you’re an idiot per se. What you did today, the lengths you went to…I’m grateful. Honestly.”

“It’s no bother. I’ve told you, I like helping people. And…I quite like you.”

“Quite?” She batted her eyelashes at him, switching from serious back to playful in a heartbeat, and somewhere deep inside amazed that she could. She hadn’t been out with anyone in a long time, and when she had, there’d been little to no spark. With Cam, there was. At least on her part. The puzzle of Reggie entwining them.

He was still looking at her. Just…gazing.

“What?” she said as heat crept into her cheeks.

“It’s just…you look really lovely tonight, but just so you know, if it’s me you’ve made an effort for, you don’t need to. You’re pretty much perfect as you are.”

If she’d been aghast before, when the photo frame had flown across the room, she was even more so now, burning hot.

“The Land Registry,” she blurted out. “What about that?”

“The Land Registry? Oh right, yeah, Janice mentioned that too. Said I could try that next, but it only shows properties that’ve actually been registered, usually when they’ve been sold. If Reggie’s had his place for decades, it might not show up at all. Another catch: you’ve got to pay a good few quid to check each record, so it can get pricey fast. But if you think it’s worth it, I can go back and have a crack at it.”

She smiled at how willing he was, how involved. “We’ll see. But like you said, when you dropped off his food earlier, he was okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. He was just…Reggie, you know?”

“Just Reggie,” she repeated with a sigh. “That’s the trouble, though, isn’t it? He’s just a name. Like…a shell of a man. Nothing more.”

“His choice, though,” Cam reminded her. “If that’s the way he wants it…”

“I know, I know. But…what’s going to happen to him after me? It’s not like I can care for him forever. I’m going to have to move on eventually. And when I do, who’ll look after him then, if he won’t go into a care home? Because… Because…”

There were few people as equipped as she was to look after him. That’s what she’d been about to say. Few who’d accept so readily the notion of a haunting. Most would run, and who could blame them? Cam, though, hadn’t. He knew what had happened so far, and was actively helping her try to get to the bottom of it.

A regular guy, who thought she was a regular girl.

This gift of hers – Bobby had told her to embrace it, to be proud of it. Her mum said the same now. But there’d been years when Jenny had held the opposite view. She’d wanted Lottie to quash it, convinced it would lead to nothing but trouble. ‘People don’t want that sort of thing,’ she’d insisted. ‘They want to focus on what’s real, what’s tangible – the here and now – on living, not what lies beyond it.’

Did anyone really want a psychic for a girlfriend?

Lost in thought, Lottie sipped at her drink again – or rather drowned it – craving more of that fuzzy warmth, some respite from her thoughts, how they swung between excitement and despair. She was still chasing the calm when Cam tilted his head to the side, clearly considering something.

“What?” she said.

“There is another way we could find out stuff,” he answered.

She knew her way, of course, but what did he mean?

“Okay,” she said, curious. “Tell me.”

“My Aunt Dot.”

“Your…Aunt Dot?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What do you mean, your Aunt Dot?”

Ah, that grin of his!

“She’s not my aunt really, she’s my mum’s friend, but she’s been in our lives ever since…well, ever since day dot. You may laugh at this, but hear me out, all right? Because she’s brilliant, Aunt Dot. Just a really sound person.”

“Okay, I get it. But what I don’t get is how she can help us?”

“That’s what I’m going to tell you. Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“All right. Can you get something of Reggie’s? Like a piece of clothing?”

“A piece of clothing? Yeah, but––”

“It needs to be something he actually uses. Something he touches regularly.”

“Touches?”

Cam nodded. “That’ll have his imprint on it.”

Again, she could only repeat after him, parrot-like. “Imprint?” Then, more urgently, “Cam, how will that help? Tell me!”

“Haven’t you guessed?”

“Guessed what?”

“My Aunt Dot can read psychic imprints. Like I said, she’s brilliant. Uber-cool.”

It might have been the two doubles she’d finished that gave her the courage – or simply what he’d said, the way he’d said it, with such pride – but Lottie did what she’d longed to do ever since that night they’d sat together in The Dog and Duck. She grabbed the front of his hoodie, drew him closer, and kissed him.