Chapter 16: Sixteen - A London Haunting: A Christmas Ghost Story

“You can’t go in, love, not if you’re feeling that poorly.”

“I can’t believe it, Mum. How can a cold come on this quickly?”

Jenny stood over Lottie as she lay in her bed and sighed. “When it’s the flu, that’s when. There’s nothing else for it, I’m afraid, you’ll have to ring the agency and get them to send someone else in to cover your shifts. You could be laid up for days.”

“Days? Shit!” Lottie pushed herself up onto her elbows but then decided against it, an act as simple as that enough to leech the energy from her.

Apart from a sore throat, she’d been fine when she’d left Mabel’s the night before. She’d come home, had dinner, showered, exchanged texts with Cam – telling him about the new book, the one that seemingly demanded to be read, the title of it – and they’d arranged their next meeting to discuss it further, both signing off with kisses.

She’d placed the book on her bedside table after reading its famous first line: Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again. Beyond that, she had no idea what it was about, nor should she try to guess what made it significant – not at this point. Better to wait and see. She’d gone back to A Tale of Two Cities instead, letting herself be swept along by Sydney Carton, just as Mabel had promised – a man of great talent, yet convinced his life had no meaning, in love with a woman he could never have.

She was only a few chapters from the end when she’d drifted into sleep, her head beginning to ache too, but nothing terrible.

And now this: a full-blown fever, aching limbs, throat that was more like a cheese grater, and a streaming nose.

It was only Tuesday, too early in the week to be stuck at home sniffling and sneezing into a handkerchief. Even so, her mum was right. The last thing she should do was drag herself to Reggie’s and risk infecting him.

Jenny’s tone softened. “Look, focus on getting better and I’ll phone the agency. It’ll be okay.”

Perhaps she was right, and it would be. As for the carers covering Lottie’s shifts – if Reggie even wanted them to – it would likely be several carers rather than one. They wouldn’t spend enough time with him to truly form an impression, to notice how cold his manner could be. They’d just pop in, do what was needed – which was actually very little – and leave again, never lingering in that stiflingly hot room.

There’d be no time to snoop, no inclination either, and so nothing would rattle, nothing would fly off the shelves; there’d be no murmurings to catch.

It was just a few days. That was all. Then she’d be back in the saddle.

As her mum wandered off to make the call, Lottie grabbed her own phone. She called Reggie, wanting to explain what had happened, a need that grew stronger with each passing moment – to let him know she wasn’t abandoning him.

He didn’t answer. Just let it ring and ring.

Worried, she texted Cam, explaining everything, relieved when his reply came almost at once. I’ll be checking in on him later, don’t worry. Just get better soon.

But that was the thing – she did worry. Overmuch. But it was in hand. Again, she reminded herself of that and of something else too: Reggie had survived long before she’d arrived on the scene. He’d made it to eighty-four without Lottie Beck in his life.

Nothing for it but to fall back into A Tale of Two Cities, to let her own troubles slide as she lost herself in Sydney, Lucie, the French aristocrat Charles Darnay, and the Defarges, all committed to the Revolution, to changing things and not giving in, even with the guillotine looming. People of passion, of principle, of unshakable belief.

A story to live by.

She was thankful to Mabel for steering her to it, for giving her something to cling to when her thoughts of Reggie tightened round her like a coil.

He would be all right.

He would.

Wouldn’t he?

Words, words, words. Just focus on the words, Lottie.

The day was already underway; the decision already made.

Oh, Sydney! A man who’d lived life at his lowest ebb – and yet look what he’d done, for love, for Lucie, for her husband Darnay. The sacrifice he’d made. He was noble. So noble! And tragic too, because life had ruined him otherwise, and he’d let it, only to snatch it back at the end and make something glorious of it.

She was sniffing even harder now, having to blow her nose again and again, and not just because of the cold. She was lost in his heroism, utterly absorbed, her eyelids growing heavier and heavier as she fought to keep them open, determined to read on, not wanting to leave him alone to his fate either.

The best of times, the worst of times… The best of times, the worst of times…

The words kept rolling in Lottie’s mind, confusing her. That was the beginning of A Tale of Two Cities, wasn’t it? Yet she’d reached the end, absorbed more immortal lines written by the master himself, with Sydney – wonderful, tragic Sydney, whom she’d fallen head over heels in love with – meeting his destiny with a calm selflessness as he declared: It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.

As sad as she felt for him, there was joy too. He deserved peace – something life had never given to him.

The other side. Heaven. That’s where her thoughts drifted as she slipped further into sleep – hoping, wishing, crafting a place for Sydney and others like him to go to. A land of rolling green hills that stretched forever, the long grass rippling like water, dotted with pink and yellow wildflowers beneath a cloudless blue sky.

It was she, not Sydney, who wandered there, though smiling at the prospect of whom she might meet along the way. No sign of anyone yet, however.

No sign of…anything.

Shouldn’t there be butterflies in this paradise? Birds overhead?

With a dreamer’s will, she painted them in, and there they were: two birds gliding in the distance, high and then low, their wings spread wide.

If she could create them, then perhaps – magician-like – she could conjure people too. Those she’d lost: Alice, Bobby, but most of all Matt. All of them happy. All free.

“Matt,” she whispered. “Where are you?”

She walked on, the scenery unchanging. The same fields, the same flowers, the same birds wheeling above, the same slow sway of trees at the edges of sight.

“Matt,” she called again, louder this time.

She knew he was all right. Someone who shone so brightly could never be lost to darkness. Illness may have ravaged his body, but it could never touch his soul, the very essence of him. When death had come, he’d met it with a smile. Fearless.

She spun around in the empty meadow.

“Is there anyone here? I can’t be the only one.”

Because if she was, then it was closer to hell.

Loneliness was a curse. And Lottie should know – she’d seen more than her share of it in her short career. A world full of people, yet still so empty.

She remembered the curtain-twitchers from Long Mere Road – those who’d watched behind glass and brick when the boys had jeered and thrown stones at her, and when she’d been furious with Cam for barging into Reggie’s with his food delivery. No one had come out to offer help. All they’d done was stare.

It struck her now how so many people lived that way – keeping themselves to themselves, never reaching out. In a city as crowded as London, everyone still managed to look the other way. On the streets, on the buses, on the trains, even on the Tube – eyes looking down or fixed ahead, faces blank.

Just like Reggie, people retreated inside, tending to their own needs, moving in their own small circles, arms folded instead of open.

All human – and yet sometimes the way they acted was anything but.

Loneliness was a silent thing, that was how Lottie thought of it. Something kept hidden that shamed those who felt it, because if no one bothered with you, what did that mean? That you couldn’t be loved?

That was the fear. That you were unlovable, and disposable too.

Loneliness was a killer.

In this bliss she’d imagined, loneliness had no place. And yet still there was no one. Even the birds were gone. And the flowers – were some of them…wilting?

Enough. Time to wake up. To return to the world and whatever it held. She’d forced herself awake from nightmares before, when they’d grown too dark. This wasn’t quite a nightmare, but the same rule must apply.

Wake up, Lottie! Slowly now. Open your eyes. Wake up.

It was a shame to leave such beauty, but if there was no one else here…

No curtain-twitchers.

Boom!

The scenery shifted. Completely.

The meadow was gone. No drifting through fields. No thoughts of Matt.

She was back on a street she knew all too well, one she’d walked down countless times to reach a certain address: No.142 Long Mere Road.

The day had gone too. It was nighttime.

House after house after house lined the street, misty figures half-hidden behind curtains, watching her – the only one out here.

Curious now rather than afraid, she let the dream unfold. Some figures…were they holding up phones? Taking pictures of her?

Why?

It was just an ordinary night. Cold.

She was definitely cold, though she seemed to be dressed for it – shivering harder the closer she came to Reggie’s. There it was, in the distance, the only house without light. Not even a glow from the front bedroom where Reggie stayed.

She shrugged. Maybe it was because he was asleep. No big deal.

A sudden flash almost blinded her. Someone was definitely taking her photograph. What an invasion! What would they use it for anyway?

As evidence.

Even as she thought it, she questioned it. Evidence of what?

Of the harm you’ve done.

What harm?

Fury sparked. Turning to one of the windows, she shouted.

“Tell me, then! What would you have done differently?”

No one answered. The silent judges behind their curtains remained just that.

She was still the only one out on the street. As alone as she’d been in the fields. Someone who stood out. Someone different.

A difference that might condemn her to a lifetime of this – loneliness.

Lonely even now, despite meeting Cam and liking him so much, and knowing he liked her. But could he cope with her in the long run? That was the question.

If client after client turned out like Alice, like Reggie, and if she couldn’t stop herself from getting involved, from going the extra mile – interfering – what then?

“I’m just trying to help,” she said, still shouting. “That’s all. Because…I don’t know…people need help. One day, you might too.”

Not just one flash now, but dozens – bursts of light exploding around her like starlight. Yet still the doors remained shut, though something reached her ears.

Laughter – hard and cruel.

No use shouting anymore. She had to move. Had to get to safety. All these doors were closed, but there was one house she could enter – one that she had a key to. She’d go there, to Reggie’s, where someone needed her, even if he couldn’t admit it.

“Fuck you all,” she muttered, as more laughter erupted.

Despite what she’d just promised herself, her head snapped towards the nearest house. The curtains were yanked back fully, and at the window two small figures.

Two boys.

Lottie ground her teeth.

Of course. Those two again – the little horrors from her first day on this road.

Just as they’d once pointed and laughed at a Christmas tree on display in the middle of summer, now they were pointing and laughing at her.

“Weirdo,” one shouted.

“Fucking weirdo,” spat the other.

“No one wants you here, okay?” the first – Ewan? – went on. “Your sort.”

Lottie stared them down, nostrils flaring, every muscle tightening. No, no, no. She would not put up with this – especially not from two bloody kids.

“Don’t you speak––”

Something was coming her way. A stone. A huge stone, arcing straight for her head. But how? The boys were behind the window, the glass unbroken – yet the stone was flying from their direction. If it hit her, it’d do damage, more than before.

No more distractions. She had to run – now.

No.142 had been in darkness, but now a light was pulsing in the upstairs window. On. Off. On. Off. Like Morse code. Beckoning.

Hurry, Lottie. Hurry!

She was hurrying, but her legs felt impossibly heavy, the ground beneath her having changed. No longer pavement, but something else.

It had become…swamp-like, a darkness pooling at her feet. Sticky as fresh tar, clinging to her ankles and calves, greedy tendrils creeping higher, gripping tighter.

If she could reach Reggie’s house – get inside – this would all go away.

That was the goal. Focus on that and nothing else.

Keep pushing forwards, no matter how gruelling.

Onwards, onwards, onwards.

Almost there.

Another sound. This time a shriek – she couldn’t tell where from, only that it was urgent, and that she had to escape it. Again, the only possible refuge was inside Reggie’s house. Because that sound…it signalled something: danger.

It meant not just a stone was coming her way – a boulder – but something else just as treacherous. Unseen. Or – if visible – then only to her sort. Daring her to look straight into the heart of it, when that was the last thing she should do.

At last Reggie’s door was in front of her – just Reggie’s door, floating there, all others gone. The darkness remained though, now up to her thighs.

The key. Was it in her pocket? It had to be.

A frantic search revealed nothing.

“Shit!” she hissed, thumping the door with her fist, praying it would open.

It didn’t.

She kicked it, pounding harder, furious at being left outside in the cold. The shriek went on and on, drilling through her skull as her eyes filled with tears.

“Reggie! Let me in! It’s me – Lottie. Let me in now!”

Another sound joined the cacophony – not the shriek, not her own voice, and not the boys’ laughter. A scream. Full-bodied. Human.

From inside the house.

She spun, begging the people peering from behind their curtains – if they were still there in the darkness. “Please. You have to help. Someone’s hurt in there.”

No response.

No key to anything.

And the noise – she couldn’t take any more of it, her head splitting in two.

It’s a dream, remember? You can wake up.

Lottie – WAKE UP!

Her eyes flew open as she jolted upright. She was still ill, still aching, her throat raw, but someone needed her, her phone proof of that, ringing without pause.

As she reached for it, she noticed something. A Tale of Two Cities lay where she’d left it, but Rebecca was gone.

And yet…it had been there. Beneath the Dickens.

More calls. More texts. All from Cam.

The time loomed above the notifications – nearly six. She’d been asleep for hours!

Quickly, she answered.

Before she could speak, Cam’s breathless voice rushed down the line.

“Aunt Dot’s been on the phone. I’ve been trying to reach you, but you didn’t reply. I’m on my way there now. Right now.”

“Where?” Lottie croaked.

“To Reggie’s! She thinks she got it wrong.”

“Who?”

“Aunt Dot! Because…because something’s happened – or is happening. I’m not just around the corner either. My bike’s punctured, and the bus is late, so I’m running. Belting it along, Lottie, so don’t worry. Stay where you are. I’ll report back in a bit, yeah? I just thought you’d want to know. I’ll call again soon, I promise.”

“But what did Aunt Dot get wrong?” Ill or not, Lottie was out of bed, dragging on the nearest set of clothes – her uniform, of all things. “Cam, help me understand!”

“It’s the book,” he said, breathless still. “She told you to keep reading, didn’t she?”

“Yes…”

“That’s what she got wrong. Should have said stop reading, right now – or…”

“Or what?”

“I don’t know, Lottie…or else.”