Chapter 4: Four - A London Haunting: A Christmas Ghost Story

“All right, love? Supper’s ready – just a salad tonight, something nice and light. How was work, then? We’re dying to hear.”

“Aye, pet, spill the beans. Is it the plum job you thought it’d be?”

Plum job? Lottie raised an eyebrow at that, though she smiled all the same. She loved the idioms Tony came out with – a man who’d spent his whole life in Sunderland before coming to London. And now here he was, in her kitchen, as happy to be here as they were to have him, bringing such light with him, such warmth – introducing an ease to the family dynamic that had been missing before.

Lottie’s relationship with her mother hadn’t always been the best. It wasn’t only because she’d withdrawn after Matt’s death, cocooning herself in her bedroom the way she had. It went back to when her dad had left years earlier – and a distraught Jenny had done much the same thing: turned inwards.

In their family, no one seemed to help each other through their grief. Even her brother Jack, who always kept up a cheerful enough front, had largely kept himself to himself. Then, at the earliest opportunity, he’d left London for university in Liverpool, aced his course, and stayed on there – now earning an enviable salary despite being a recent graduate. To Lottie, he was the golden boy, the one who’d taken the right path, while she was more like the black sheep. Not exactly wayward before Matt’s death, but certainly afterwards. Lost. Quite lost.

She was on her own path now, though, one she intended to follow for a while yet. A path considered menial by some, she knew that. People’s eyes rarely lit up when she told them what she did, whereas with Jack, she imagined quite the opposite.

Her mother had been the one to push her into care work. Jenny had heard about a vacancy at Silver Birches and, tired of Lottie moping around the house, had urged her to apply. Yet even then, Jenny had never shown much interest in the details of her day-to-day life. Tony, though…ah, Tony was different. He regarded her as a hero for what she did – said it was noble, essential work – and he genuinely loved hearing about it. A man who couldn’t be disingenuous if he tried.

Having promised to tell them everything once she’d had a shower – grateful to peel off her uniform and toss that in the wash too – Lottie returned to the table.

The first thing she mentioned was the windows.

Jenny gasped. “They’re what? Nailed down? In this heat? And you fainted? Actually fainted?”

Lottie nodded.

“But…you’ve never fainted before. Have you?”

This time, Lottie shook her head. “Nope. I don’t think so. But, Mum, there was no air in that room, I swear. It was…” She searched for the word. “Suffocating.”

“Fire hazard, that,” said Tony, chewing lettuce. “The agency didn’t clock it, then?”

It was Jenny who answered. “Not all agencies are created equal in the care industry, remember? And if they did notice…they may have turned a blind eye.”

“Tell you what, pet,” Tony said. “I’ll come along tomorrow with some pliers and––”

“No use,” Lottie cut in. “I’ve already suggested that, and he said no. But I won’t give up, I’ll keep working on him, so don’t worry too much. But that’s not all.”

She told them how she’d thought she was walking into a hoarder’s paradise, only to find the place barren – until she reached his bedroom.

“And there he sits, in the middle of it all, a tip, basically, ensconced in his chair as though…presiding over it.” She sighed. “It’s just so…odd. I’m not to go anywhere else in the house, either. The only place I can go is his room.”

“Surely to God you can use the bathroom!” Tony blurted out.

Lottie laughed. “Yes, yes. I am there all day. Okay, two more things––”

“Lottie,” Jenny interrupted. “How’d you get that bruise on your forehead?”

Instinctively, Lottie’s hand went up to touch it, wincing at the tenderness.

“Did Mr Lord throw something at you?”

“Mr Lord? No, Mum, of course not! He’s eighty-four.”

“Even so.”

“But…” she conceded, “he’s not a frail eighty-four. He’s in very good nick, actually, though he’s supposed to be housebound. No, no – the bruise was from two boys. That was the other thing I was coming to. They were outside his living room window when I arrived, shouting things and laughing like loons.”

“What things?” Tony asked, concerned too.

“I don’t know – the usual crap. Stuff like ‘weirdo’ and ‘who does that?’”

“Who does what?” Jenny repeated.

“Has a Christmas tree on display there.”

Tony almost choked on a tomato. “A Christmas tree? In the height of summer?”

Lottie nodded. “A very old, decrepit one – plastic, of course – with baubles and fairy lights. Dead fairy lights. Covered in dust. Heaps of it. But yeah…”

“Did you ask him about it?” Jenny wanted to know.

“No, the only thing I asked about was an empty photo frame.”

“An empty photo frame?” Tony said. “It gets worse! What did he say?”

“Well, he didn’t, because that’s when I fainted.”

Jenny was still preoccupied with the boys. “So how did they hurt you like that?” When Lottie explained further, Jenny gripped her knife and fork tightly. “Did you call the police? Because if not…”

“Mum,” Lottie said, trying to calm her. “What would the police do? They were kids – twelve or so, no more. Look, it’s fine. I chased them off. Eventually.”

“But what if they come back and attack you again?”

Tony’s brow furrowed, just like Jenny’s. “Aye, well, if they do, call me if not the police. I’ll be out and about in the taxi, no doubt, but I’ll drop everything to help, okay? I’ll bloody do something about it if Dibble won’t.”

“Dibble?” Lottie asked.

“Our name for the police where I’m from. Well…one of them.”

Again, a smile crept over Lottie’s face, and not just because Tony had come out with another colloquialism. Her dad had been gone for over twelve years now, with little contact since – not even a birthday or Christmas card some years. She simply wasn’t used to this level of paternal affection.

“Thanks, Tony,” she said.

“Any time, pet. I mean it. Now, this Christmas tree – that was one of the two things you were wanting to tell us about, was it?”

“Yeah, though I’ve touched on the other. His agility, I mean. His…capability. He lives in a mess – well, in one room that’s a mess – with a Christmas tree downstairs. And he has a right to live that way if he wants. I get that, I respect it. But what concerns me is what I’m supposed to do with him all day. I asked if we could go for walks, just up and down his road, or do some light shopping together, and I got as loud a ‘no’ as when I asked about opening the windows! The room’s going to take some time to sort out, admittedly, and there’s the bathroom to tackle too – the grime in there is something else – but then what? We can’t just sit and stare at each other!”

“Read to him.”

Lottie eyed Tony with surprise. “Huh?”

“Read to him,” he repeated. “That’ll help pass the time. Find out what sort of books he likes – the classics are always a good bet – and read to him.”

It was an idea – a good one – and it would definitely help fill the hours. She’d do that, she decided, suggest it to Mr Lord. She was about to thank Tony again for his brilliance when her phone rang. Murmuring a quick apology, she grabbed it and stepped into the hallway to answer.

A few moments later, she was back.

“All right, love?” Jenny asked, nodding towards her still half-eaten salad.

“Yeah, fine, but…I have to go.”

“Go where?”

“That was Mabel.”

Jenny frowned. “Mabel? Who’s Mabel?”

“Used to be a client of mine. She’s had a fall.”

“And she called you?” This time it was Tony who spoke, half-rising from his chair.

Jenny sighed as realisation dawned. “Oh, I see, I see. You gave her your number, as you do with so many of the people you care for. Your private number, Lottie, remember? If she’s had a fall, she needs to call an ambulance.”

“It’s not that serious,” Lottie assured her. “She’s up and about already, just a bit shaken. She could do with a cuppa to calm her down, some company, that’s all.”

“Aye, pet,” Tony said, that soft smile back on his face. “You’re exactly the help she needs. Jenny, we’ll finish up when we get home. Lottie, I’ll drive you there.”

“Oh, Lottie love, thank you for coming. Thank you so much. I’m so grateful.”

“It’s no problem, Mabel,” Lottie said, having let herself and Tony into the house with the key from the black box outside, the code unchanged since she’d last cared for the old lady. “Come on, let’s get you onto the sofa and make you a cup of tea.”

After she and Tony had made sure Mabel was comfortable and had suffered no injuries, as she’d claimed, Tony headed off to the kitchen.

Smoothing her skirt and still a little breathless, Mabel gave Lottie a rueful smile. “I’m such a fool, tripping over my own feet like that. But at my age, it’s easy enough to do. I’m all right, though – truly. Nothing a good, strong cuppa won’t sort.”

“Hey, you’re no fool,” Lottie insisted, as Tony returned with a tray bearing an assortment of floral china cups, a jug of milk, and a pot of sugar, all neatly arranged.

Once everyone had a cup in front of them, they settled in for a chat – because if there was one thing Mabel loved, it was a good chinwag. As Tony later put it, she can talk the hind legs off a donkey, that one, pet. It was Tony who remarked on her collection of books, all sitting on shelves that lined almost the entire far wall.

“You’re an avid reader, then?” he said.

Mabel’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yes! Aren’t you?”

Tony gave an apologetic shrug. “Never seem to have the time.”

“Really? Then you should make time! That’s why I’m never bored, you see, though I’ve lived on my own for years now – ever since dear Jonathan passed, God rest his soul.”

Lottie smiled; Mabel never said her husband’s name without that gentle adjunct.

“No,” Mabel continued, “you can’t be bored if you escape into books. They’re full of other worlds, other people – and there can be such relief in that, focusing on something other than yourself. Lottie, what about you, do you read?”

She winced. “Sorry, Mabel…not much. It’s like Tony said – no time.”

Mabel sighed. “Ah, well, when you’re old like me, you’ve nothing but time, I suppose. Which is ironic, really, given time’s running out.” She gave a sudden laugh at that, as though the thought had only just struck her, as though it were a revelation.

Lottie thought back to what Tony had said earlier at the dinner table. Their house didn’t have bookshelves, not like Mabel’s, though a few paperbacks lay scattered about, the ones her mum liked: romances, crime novels, and psychological thrillers. She could take one of those to read to Mr Lord, but would he enjoy it? At eighty-four, perhaps not. Mabel was closer to his age, so their tastes might align more. She might have some of the classics Tony had mentioned.

Setting her cup and saucer back on the tray, Lottie rose.

“Do you know what, Mabel?” she said. “I’ve just told a lie. I do have time for reading coming up. Would you mind if I take a look?”

“Be my guest!” Mabel beamed. “And if anything takes your fancy, borrow it.”

Such an array of books – bewildering, really. What would Reggie Lord like?

She turned back to Mabel. “What’s your favourite book?”

Mabel’s hands flew to her face. “Oh my, what a question to ask!”

“I just thought––”

“It’s a good question,” Mabel said quickly. “Truly. But…impossible to answer, I’m afraid. A book suits a mood, you see – a season of your life, an experience you’re going through that might be reflected in the story. That’s when it resonates, Lottie, when it can enter your soul, become a part of you. Oh, I’m thrilled – thrilled – you’re taking an interest. Books have been my passion, my life, aside from dear Jonathan, of course, God rest his soul. And since he’s been gone, since the children have flown to pastures new, since I’ve been on my own, they’ve been a godsend, as I’ve said.”

Mabel took a deep breath, then paused, still contemplating Lottie’s question.

“Dickens,” she said eventually. “Why not start with Dickens?”

“Didn’t he write Oliver!?” Tony asked.

Mabel smiled indulgently at him. “He wrote Oliver Twist, yes – the book the film Oliver! was based on. A wonderful tale, along with A Christmas Carol, but…it’s not Christmas yet, is it?” She hauled herself to her feet, brushing away any protestations from Lottie and Tony with a brisk, ‘I’m fine, I’m fine now, really’, and came to stand beside Lottie. Reaching up, she selected a book.

“Why not start with this instead? It’s one of the easier ones to get along with – Great Expectations. Yes, yes, a good choice. Ah, Pip and Estella, and of course Miss Havisham, what a journey they’ll take you on. Try that and see how you like it. Then, when you’re finished, come back and choose another. All right?”

“That would be more than all right,” Lottie said, taking the book from her, a leather-bound edition, no less, as so many of Mabel’s were. “I’ll take good care of it.”

“I know you will,” Mabel said. “I know.”

The old woman wobbled a little as she turned, but Tony was at her side in an instant. “Careful now, Mabel, pet. We don’t want you falling again.”

“I’ll fall for you, you big handsome brute, if you keep fussing. See if I don’t.”

Everyone laughed, though Mabel’s words also brought a blush to Tony’s cheeks. Tall, bald and – as he put it – cracking on, handsome wasn’t something he was used to being called too often, apart from by Jenny, of course, who was always cuddling up to his potbelly, and telling him how damned fine he was.

Mabel asked for her Zimmer frame to be brought to her – in another room when it should always be by her side – and then she walked to the door with them.

“Hope I didn’t ruin your evening too much,” she said to Lottie.

“You didn’t,” Lottie assured her again.

“Your food hasn’t gone cold?”

“We were having salad.”

“It’s just…you said…”

“I did. And I meant it. You can call me anytime, okay? Day or night.”

“Thank you,” Mabel said softly, tears brightening eyes that must have once been a vivid blue. “You don’t know what it means to me, knowing there’s someone close by, someone on hand. Oh, I know you can’t visit as often as you used to; you’ve plenty of others to see to now, but just knowing I can call on you…it’s such a comfort.”

“And for me, it’s a pleasure,” Lottie insisted, while Tony stood beside her, beaming – proud, so very proud – and that pride making her feel a little teary too. “Mabel, I’m happy to help. And hey, I’ll be seeing you soon. After I get through this, I’ll be back.”

“To Mabel’s Lending Library,” Mabel declared with a flourish, the tears gone now, replaced with more laughter.

“Exactly!” Lottie said as Tony opened the front door.

They were about to step outside when Mabel spoke again.

“The books are a godsend, but, Lottie, so are you. So are you.”

Finally, they left. And Lottie didn’t know if she was imagining it or if it could possibly be true, but she had the strongest sense that Bobby was near, her smile warm and bright, shining just as proudly as Tony’s.