Chapter 18: Eighteen - A London Haunting: A Christmas Ghost Story

Jenny Beck was straight on the phone to the social services and the police, even though Lottie had told her to wait – to calm down, to give them a chance to think things through and decide what to do next about Reggie Lord.

In a heightened state herself, Jenny stumbled over her words as she tried to explain what had happened and how worried they all were for him. Despite Lottie’s pleading, she refused to hand the phone over. All she and Cam could do was stand there and wait while Jenny tried to make sense of what was senseless – Cam throwing Lottie the occasional look, as well he might, given what she’d just revealed.

“I mean…like…I went in there, okay?” Jenny was saying. “Because my daughter, who cares for him – a professional carer – was ill with a cold. And the agency she works for? They’re a bit lackadaisical in their approach. Lackadaisical…what does it mean? Lax. It means lax, for goodness sake! Yes, they do their job, but not always with the greatest enthusiasm. Do you see now? Good…good… Where was I?”

Jenny went on to explain that she’d cooked a meal for Reggie and, along with the food, had brought a book to read to him – “because apparently, he enjoys that.”

Yes, she said, she had let herself in. No, she hadn’t warned him first – and yes, all right, that probably would have been a good idea. No, she hadn’t been given permission. Whoever was on the other end of the line wouldn’t let her get to the point, too hung up, it seemed, on accusing her of ‘trespassing’.

Jenny was indignant. “I was not trespassing! I was doing a good deed. If only more people thought to look out for others! What? You’re coming to speak to me? But this is about Reggie Lord! Oh, you’ll be taking a statement from him too? A statement! I’m sorry, am I getting the wrong end of the stick here? You’re sending an officer round. Oh, okay, two officers – to do what? Arrest me? Are you deranged?”

“Mum!” Lottie finally wrestled the phone from her, then found herself apologising profusely to the officer.

In the aftermath, Jenny was still reeling, so when Tony came home, she went through it all again with him, in painstaking detail, giving Lottie and Cam the chance to slip away to her bedroom, where she could do some explaining of her own.

“I understand if you’re angry,” she said to Cam once they were ensconced in her room, perched together on the bed. “We’ve known each other a few weeks now. I’ve even met your Aunt Dot, who’s psychic, but I haven’t told you about me.”

“I’m not angry,” Cam said, and his expression seemed earnest enough. “But…yeah, when you met Aunt Dot, that would’ve been a good time to say something. You know how much I think of her. That stuff like that doesn’t faze me.”

“I do know,” Lottie said. “And…and I think it’s great.”

“I think you’re great, Lottie. I love getting to know you, but now I’m worried.”

“About Reggie?”

“No – about you. You try to hide your gift, don’t you?”

Her gift. He’d used the same term Bobby had.

“No, well…I used to. Mum didn’t like it, but then things happened – good things, ultimately – and she relaxed. I just feel I’m at the beginning of my journey with it, that’s all. It only really came into its own a couple of years ago, after Matt’s death, and I’ve no idea how far I’ll be able to take it. Or whether I should.”

She also came clean about Aunt Dot and the silent exchange they’d shared.

“So you see, I have to tread carefully. If I don’t keep it under control, it could overwhelm me. That’s what I’ve been doing, I suppose: treading carefully. I was going to tell you, though. Soon. I promise. And…sorry, can you pass that box of tissues?”

Cam handed it over, and she turned away to blow her nose. “Sorry again. This bloody cold. You shouldn’t be in the same room as me.”

“Too late for that,” Cam said, shifting closer.

Looking up, she met his gaze. “Yeah,” she breathed. “I suppose it is.”

This was overwhelming, the moment between them – something charged too.

He reached for her hand, the one not clutching the tissue. “I am fazed by Reggie, though,” he admitted. “Not because I’m frightened for myself, but for him.”

“Me too. Reggie’s stuck in the past. The trouble is, who’s stuck with him?”

“Haunting him,” Cam said, sighing, and then, “Lottie, this is a genuine bloody haunting! In London. In a terraced house, of all places.”

“Yeah. People always picture abandoned farmhouses or crumbling country mansions when they think of hauntings, don’t they? But it can happen anywhere.”

Cam tilted his head. “We’ve been chucked out of Reggie’s, but there’s a chance he’ll think it over and change his mind – realise he needs you, at least.”

“I hope so, because I doubt anyone else will step into my shoes for long.”

“Okay, so, regarding the who in all this, we’ve got a potential name.”

“Rebecca.”

He nodded. “We can work with that. Somehow.”

“Reggie and Rebecca,” Lottie mused. “If it is her, something clearly happened between them. And maybe, just maybe, it was, like, a big deal.”

Cam frowned. “Like…newspaper-worthy?”

Lottie sneezed instead of answering, grabbing another tissue.

Cam grinned, kindly so. “Okay, well, we can trawl through newspapers for sure – but he’s eighty-four. That’s a lot of articles. And who’s to say whatever happened between them took place in London?”

Lottie shrugged. “The haunting’s here, so…”

“Fair point, and we can but try. I’m on board with this – totally. If Reggie still won’t talk, I’ll head back to the library, see what else they’ve got there.”

“Get Janice to help you,” she teased.

“The lovely Janice,” he shot back, pulling her closer.

“Cam, no! My cold.”

“Like I’ve said, too late. I’m in too deep.”

She sniffed and nestled into him, marvelling at how perfectly they fitted together.

Just as she was losing herself in romance rather than intrigue, Cam spoke again.

“You know the book was a trigger, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“That Christmas tree in the living room? What if that was too?”

She pulled away, meeting his eyes. “Yeah. It could have been.”

“And that’s why he locked the door on it. The first of the doors to be locked, even.”

“Again, yeah, it’s possible.”

“But more than a trigger, it’s a clue. And if it is, that makes three clues to go on.”

“Three?”

He nodded. “Whoever’s haunting him could be called Rebecca. Whatever happened, happened at four forty-five. And the last thing…”

“It happened at Christmas,” she finished for him.

Cam looked as pleased with her as he did with himself. “That’s right. It happened at Christmas. Which, just like it does every year, is coming round fast again.”

Christmas might be coming round, but Reggie definitely wasn’t. As far as Lottie knew, he hadn’t called the police, but he had phoned the agency to complain. The result was swift: Lottie was dismissed from any future placements with them.

“Good riddance to bad rubbish. There are better agencies out there, love – plenty of other work for you.” This was from Jenny, who had also been visited and cautioned by the police and was now in rather a dour mood because of it.

Lottie only shrugged. She knew her mum meant well, but it was Jenny’s interference that had led to this – having to hand back the key to Reggie’s house, cutting off access to a man who was clearly in torment. Deserved torment, perhaps, because surely no one was haunted without reason. That’s how it usually went.

And if it was deserved, what then?

Because Lottie’s cold had worsened over the next few days, it was Jenny who took the key when the agency demanded it immediately.

At least the illness gave her time to wallow – to replay everything that had happened, how she’d handled it, and how wrong it had gone. Whenever anger flared towards her mother for bringing things to a head in her absence, she tried to temper it, to keep it from getting the better of her. This wasn’t a time for blame. But neither was it the time to let Reggie go, no matter what he’d done. She couldn’t, not with a clear conscience, not if Cam was right, and they were approaching some kind of anniversary – Rebecca growing stronger because of it.

Cam had been astonished that such a haunting could unfold in an ordinary London terrace, on an ordinary street, but a few days later, when Lottie felt well enough for them to visit Dot, it was she who put them straight.

“Hauntings, they’re two-a-penny in London,” she told them. “A city this old, this steeped in history, is positively crawling with them.” As they stared, fascinated by her words, she happily continued. “There’s even a theory that half the people we see on the streets of London are ghosts. Did you know that?”

“Blimey,” Cam breathed. “Imagine if that were true!”

Dot gave him one of her indulgent smiles. “Next time you’re out and about, my boy, pay more attention. Look at who’s walking beside you – really look – their expression, the type of clothing they’re wearing, how old it is. We trust our eyes, but they can still play tricks on us, feeding our brains with what we expect to see. Sometimes, though, you can trick them right back, but like I said, only if you pay attention. Do that, and you might just see beyond the veil – to what’s really there.” With Cam’s eyes practically popping, Dot turned to Lottie. “I’m sorry I got it wrong about the book, duck. Like I said, the messages I get aren’t always clear. They have to cut through a lot of haze. I’m sorry for Reggie too, but glad you kids and your mum are okay. Sounds like it got a bit hairy for a while.”

“Aunt Dot,” Cam began. “If we can visit Reggie again, would you come with us?”

Dot nodded. “I would, but only if I’m not treading on anyone’s toes. Lottie may want to see it through herself – it’s not as if she isn’t capable.” Addressing Lottie again, she added, “You do know that, duck? That you’re perfectly capable.”

Lottie’s shoulders slumped. “Honestly?” she said. “I don’t, actually. I’m not feeling my best right now. I’ve let Reggie down, and I’ve lost my job too.”

“You’re in the care sector?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll get another job, don’t worry on that score. Now – getting back to London hauntings – ever heard of the Enfield Poltergeist? It’s one of the more famous cases. Took place back in the late seventies, something attacking the Hodgson family. No one ever drew any real conclusions as to what it was, though, even with the likes of Ed and Lorraine Warren on board, as well as Maurice Grosse and Guy Playfair – all highly renowned for their paranormal investigations. Then there was the Stockwell Poltergeist in ’74 – another family plagued for years by disturbances.”

“What disturbances?” Cam asked, leaning forwards.

“Oh, the usual stuff – radios switching on by themselves, ornaments flying, lightbulbs popping. They claimed they saw apparitions, too. Oh yes, there’s a wealth of hauntings in dear old London town. Those are just the first that come to mind. There was also the Thornton Heath Poltergeist, which again happened in the seventies, the Southall Haunting in the eighties, and the Battersea Poltergeist. That one centred around a teenager called Shirley Hitchings. Heavily documented, actually – there’s even been a recent podcast on it. But again, no real conclusions ever drawn. They just…happen. Some even think they’re hoaxes. Staged.”

“No one staged what happened at Reggie’s,” Cam said. “Me and Jenny saw it: the book lifting off the table, pages tearing, things flying so hard they dented the walls.”

Lottie nodded. “Missiles meant for me,” she added. “That would’ve dented my head instead. Thanks for telling us about those other cases, Dot, we’ll definitely look into them. It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do right now. I might have been kicked off the job, but I still want to help Reggie. That hasn’t changed. He’s alone now, in that house. Totally alone. The agency told me before they sacked me that he wants nothing more to do with them or any other ‘bloody agency’ ever again. He’s alone, and he’s frightened. He does his best to hide it, but he is.”

“You’ve really bonded with him, haven’t you?” Dot asked.

Lottie shook her head. “That’s the thing, I haven’t. He hasn’t allowed me to. He’s kept me at arm’s length this whole time. Literally.”

Dot frowned. “So, you haven’t bonded with him, but you’re still prepared to help?”

“Of course! Because he needs it.”

There was a brief silence, then Dot smiled at Lottie – the same indulgent smile she always gave to Cam – before turning to her surrogate son.

“Don’t mess this up, my boy, do you hear? She’s a keeper, this one.”

Cam grinned, then laughed, as did Lottie and Dot, all three of them laughing together in the chintz-packed cosy comfort of the older woman’s living room.

It was late November, soon to be December, the busiest, most festive month of the year. In Lottie’s household, the Christmas tree didn’t go up until mid-December, but on the way to Dot’s she’d spotted plenty already on proud display, fairy lights twinkling in the early dusk. She and Cam had admired them as they walked – Lottie, for her part, trying not to think too much of the dust-choked one in Reggie’s house and the sadness it always stirred in her. Putting up trees at different times was normal. What wasn’t was leaving one there all year round – rotting behind a locked door.

Late November, and Dot was one of those who’d slipped in early. There it was before them – no more than three or four feet high – her own Christmas tree. A truly merry little thing, with delicate ornaments dangling from its boughs and a soft glow spilling from its lights. The crocheted angel perched on top wore a sweet smile.

Reggie’s tree had no angel. No fairy. Nothing to spark wonder.

It was just a tree.

A trigger.

A clue.

The last resort would be to make him face it.

If they could get back inside his house to investigate.

A London haunting of their own.