Chapter 19: Nineteen - A London Haunting: A Christmas Ghost Story

Lottie had been ill, and now her mum and Tony were too, struck down by something similar. Just as well she wasn’t working; she had them to care for now. She ran up endless cups of tea and tried to tempt them with nourishing soups, not the shop-bought kind, but made by her own fair hand from recipes she’d found online.

Tony at least tried them, but Jenny couldn’t face a thing.

“Sorry, love,” she murmured. “You’ve worked so hard as well.”

“No worries, Mum. I’m just sorry you’re so unwell.”

At this, Tony managed a rueful smile. “’Tis the season, pet. Aye, ’tis the season.”

It was the season for extra shifts too. Work was keeping Cam busier than ever as more and more people huddled indoors against the weather, ordering food in instead of eating out. They had research to do, she and Cam, but after their visit to Dot, circumstances meant it was a week or two before they could get back to it.

During that time, Lottie may not have made it to the library, but she caught the bus a couple of times to Long Mere Road – unable to resist the pull of it. On the way, she’d stare out through the rain-drizzled window at high streets dressed for the season, the build-up underway in all its gaudy, glittering glory.

After what Dot had said about the streets of London being filled with ghosts, she watched the people too – so many rushing here or there. Were they all truly living and breathing? Or might one or two – more, even, who knew? – sense her gaze, drop their pretence of urgency, and come to a halt? Perhaps they would turn towards the bus as it idled at the lights or in traffic, lift their heads, and look straight back at her. And in that shared gaze, there it would be – a moment of recognition.

You know? They’d silently ask.

Yes, she’d reply with a nod.

Sometimes, she even turned to the people crammed on the bus with her. Were they all real, too? They seemed real – often bedraggled, with weary faces. She’d almost will someone to meet her gaze, but no one ever did.

Yet Dot’s theory…it made sense to her. That quote Matt had loved about the world being stranger than we can imagine made sense too.

Everything felt strange on the days she took the bus, especially when she got off just short of Long Mere Road and walked its length, remembering the dream she’d had – all those people peering out from behind their curtains, watching from the safety of their living rooms, as if she were the spectacle. A ghost of sorts.

They weren’t there now, of course – only Christmas trees. Both sides of the road glowed with them, some houses lit up too, their front gardens shimmering gold, silver, green, and red. All promoting a jolliness she felt entirely detached from, and that detachment only deepening the closer she got to No.142.

It was in darkness, except for that single light upstairs – the Christmas tree no longer out of place, now that its season had come around again.

But what else was due?

Whatever it was, Reggie would have to face it alone. Then again, Christmas came every year, which meant he’d faced it alone before. And he was all right, Lottie.

That was what she told herself as she stood outside his door. He’d been all right. So why do this – keep worrying? As she’d said to Dot, she’d never formed deep feelings for him. Not really. How could she, when he was as cold as stone?

She could let him go. Just turn around and walk away, get back on the bus home. His fate was his own. There’d be no need to head back to the library then, to dig any deeper, seeing what else she might uncover. She’d just…move on – to the next job, to someone else in need. Someone who wouldn’t keep rejecting her. Sacking her.

Yes, easy enough to do that. A nice, simple, peaceful Christmas coming right up, thank you very much. She had some money saved, had already decided to look for work after the holidays – to spend Christmas with her family and Cam. Quality time.

Reggie. Lord. Could. Manage. Without. Her.

The same Reggie Lord who’d grown frailer, even in the short time she’d known him. Who, beneath that tough exterior, was frightened, and with every reason to be.

But that was his business. Not hers.

Walk away, Lottie.

Don’t walk away, Lottie.

Just…walk away.

Don’t… Don’t… Don’t…

A sad, sad thing, that Christmas tree – something that made no pretence at being otherwise. Among its ragged branches, the truth was laid bare for all to see. An object meant to glitter, to light up the darkest time of year, lost to darkness instead.

Just like the man in the room above, who had no one to fill a photo frame.

Even so, it would be extremely easy to walk away – to do as the young should do and live. Seize the moment, nothing more. Not let the past keep pulling them under.

And not even their own past, but someone else’s.

As easy as pie.

But she wouldn’t.

And it was the Christmas tree that persuaded her.

Why was the run-up to Christmas always so busy? Lottie’s mum was forever nagging at her to help with the shopping, the decorations, and all the planning that the big day not only required but demanded. Her brother Jack was coming home for it – and, lo and behold, bringing his new girlfriend, Amelia, with him, as her parents would be abroad. The way Jenny was carrying on, you’d think royalty was visiting.

“What the heck?” Lottie said when her mum appeared with a can of paint, a set of brushes, and a roller. “We’re painting as well as cleaning?”

“Just Jack’s room,” Jenny said.

“But…why?”

“Because we want to make a good impression, that’s why!” Jenny sounded properly indignant. “Listen, Jack likes Amelia, really likes her, and it may be…well, it may be that she’s the one. And his room…have you been in there lately? It’s a tip! We have to do something about it. So come on, let’s get stuck in.”

“You didn’t make this much fuss when Cam came to visit,” Lottie complained. “And by the way, you know it’s called spring cleaning? For a reason!”

Jenny ignored her, but Lottie knew if she refused, there’d be hell to pay.

The tree had gone up too – bigger than ever, the top of it scraping the ceiling. Bigger and glitzier, Jenny still going all out to impress Amelia. Was she really the one, Lottie wondered? And if she was, that would make her not just Jenny’s future daughter-in-law, but Lottie’s sister-in-law. In which case, perhaps it was a big deal. But she had big deals of her own to deal with, in the shape of Reggie and Cam.

Cam was under pressure too. His mum was on at him about chores just as much as Jenny was with Lottie, despite his work continuing to load him with extra hours. Regarding Reggie, it would have been easy for Cam to waver like Lottie had, to say, ‘Look, just leave it, okay? You’ve been sacked from looking after him, and there’s nothing you can do about that. You don’t even have a key to the house, and you certainly can’t break in, or the police will be back. You have to forget about him. We do.’

She’d dreaded hearing those words, but they never came.

No, Cameron Smith, to give him his full name, had said quite the opposite.

“It’s a crazy month, December, but just get to the library when you can. We’ve got three clues to go on. Most of all, we’ve got a name, which makes it a bit easier. See what you can find, and I’ll do the same. Even if we can’t go together, we go – okay?”

His enthusiasm had spurred her on, had captured her, even more than his dark hair and his dark eyes had, or the way he’d kiss her. His Aunt Dot had called Lottie a keeper, but Lottie could say the same about him. Both she and Jack striking lucky.

More days slipped by, but today she also managed to slip away too. Her mum was exhausted from all the cleaning and redecorating, so this Saturday she’d treated herself to a well-earned lie-in.

Lottie hadn’t. She’d risen early, grabbed a slice of toast, and headed out the door, still munching it, her destination the library, intending to spend a bumper day there.

There was such merriment on the bus journey! It was mid-December, and people were deep in the spirit of the season, some clad in Christmas jumpers, others wearing Rudolph headbands or bauble earrings. More than anything, Lottie noticed, people just smiled more. Normally on the bus, faces were tired and drawn, or buried in their phones, scrolling through whatever delights Instagram and TikTok had to offer, lost in another world. But today was different. People weren’t just smiling – they were talking. Two women in front of her, clearly strangers, as one had only just got on, had found something in common and kept the conversation rolling.

It was such a nice atmosphere to bask in. Then, when she arrived at the library, it was the same there – a display of Christmas books prominent, for children and adults alike, and the inevitable Christmas tree standing among them. People milled around it – young and old – still smiling, though this being a library, less chatty.

She knew there were those who hated Christmas, who turned their back on it – and often with good reason – but it was, at least, an occasion that tried to warm the heart, more than any other. Love it or hate it, what was undeniable was that it was special – not only in a religious sense, but because it symbolised unity, people making the effort to come together after long periods of time spent apart.

For Lottie, that was what mattered most: making the effort. It was the very reason she was here in the first place, feeling a flicker of excitement, even, at the thought of getting stuck in and finally unravelling the mystery.

Hours later, she sighed. Hours.

As Cam had pointed out, they had three clues to go on, but what would have been handy to have was a year. The library in this part of London was a large one. It boasted an excellent reference section – vast, but dauntingly so.

Just as she’d helped Cam, Janice the librarian was now helping Lottie, guiding her through it all. In her snowman jumper and with rosy-red cheeks, she explained that many of the newspapers were available through the British Newspaper Archive and The Times Digital Archive, both accessible from library computers.

“Try entering a name or phrase,” she suggested, her voice with such a rich tone, Lottie thought it’d be perfect for storytelling. “It narrows things down a bit. But it depends on how far back we’re going; not all local papers are fully digitised yet.”

She sat with Lottie as they tried it together – typing Rebecca, Reggie Lord. Nothing of any worth appeared. Then Reggie Lord, Rebecca, London, tragedy, Christmas – all the possible variations. Lottie even added his address. Still nothing.

Janice sighed as heavily as Lottie did. “It might help if you knew his profession,” she said. “And a bit more about what you’re looking for. Do you?”

Lottie shook her head, embarrassed.

“Ah, that makes it all trickier then, love,” Janice said. “But I’ll leave you to it for a bit. If you need anything else, come and find me.”

A short while later, Lottie found a Reginald Lord mentioned in the Liverpool Echo, with the word tragedy beside his name. Her heart leapt – until she realised the report referred to a Zeppelin Raid Tragedy in 1915. That particular Reginald Lord had died during a flight in World War I.

She carried on, trying every variation she could think of, growing more and more outlandish, the likes of scandal, murder, even bloodbath making it into the mix.

Janice eventually wandered back over, glancing at her watch.

“No joy, love?”

Lottie shook her head.

“That other lad who came here asking about him – lovely boy, Cam, that was it – he your brother, is he? Reggie part of your family too?”

“No,” Lottie said. “Cam’s my friend – a good friend. As for Reggie, I used to work for him, and…well, it’s kind of hard to explain, but he’s in a bit of a mess, and I just wanted to see if I could help, that’s all.”

“But you don’t know what kind of mess?”

“No,” Lottie admitted.

“He can’t or won’t tell you?”

“I don’t know. A bit of both, really. Look, I’m not being nosy here. I think he needs to tell someone – to offload. Sorry, I know I’m not making sense. It’s a long story.”

Rather than eye her suspiciously, Janice pulled up the same chair she’d used earlier. “Reggie was born during the war, wasn’t he? Such a tricky time. As I told Cam, records were supposed to be kept, but often things went awry – lost or destroyed in bombings. And once they were gone, that was that. Especially if…”

“If people didn’t want them replaced. If they wanted to stay under the radar.”

Janice nodded. “Exactly. If they wanted to keep themselves to themselves.”

“That’s certainly the case with Reggie,” Lottie said.

“So, you used to work for him?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t anymore. Can I ask why?”

Lottie swallowed. Would Janice’s kindness fade if she told her? Would she look at her differently – think the worst of her, of them, Cam included? That they were two young scallies after an old man’s money? What could she possibly say?

“I was fired,” she blurted out, sticking to the truth for better or for worse. “I was fired, but I was only trying to help, I promise. Not for any other reason. Just because…because I felt sorry for him. He seems so sad. So alone in the world that he pays for company. And…and…I could ask him stuff, but it wouldn’t do any good – he won’t say. He hides in his house, and he hides inside himself too. He’s eighty-four, Janice, so he can’t have too much time left. Maybe it’s true and he’ll find peace on the other side, but shouldn’t he have a shot at peace here, too? I don’t think he’s a bad man, or that he did something terrible to make him the way he is. He’s really pretty ordinary, but lost. Like so many are. A closed book – that’s how Cam’s Aunt Dot described him. And you being a librarian, you must agree, a book that remains closed…it’s the saddest thing of all.”

“Cam’s Aunt Dot?” Janice repeated, frowning slightly.

Lottie hesitated. It really was very near closing time. The library, once bustling, had calmed considerably. Most people had long since checked out their books and gone home to read them by the fire – a perfect activity for a winter’s evening. Lottie could even do the same. A Christmas Carol, at last.

Or she could stay. Confide further. Spill everything.

It’s a long story, she’d said, but Janice dealt in stories. They were her livelihood.

Would she want to hear this one too?

It wasn’t as if she’d budged from her seat, or insisted Lottie should. She looked puzzled, yes, but also something else. Intrigued.

Here goes nothing, thought Lottie.

When she’d finished, Janice sat in silence for a moment – thoughtful, but not dismissive. Not once had she tutted, scoffed, or raised an eyebrow.

Instead, she nodded towards Lottie’s phone on the desk. “What you’re doing – looking for details on what might have happened between Reggie and Rebecca without a date – is a bit like searching for a needle in a haystack. You could be here for weeks and still not find a thing. And if you’re right about an anniversary coming up – Christmas – then that’s no good. That’s the crunch point, isn’t it? A build-up that’s been brewing for years, Christmas after Christmas, that could be just as explosive as the festivities themselves, only in a far less merry way.”

“Well…yeah,” Lottie said. “Exactly.”

“The thing is…” Janice brushed an imaginary fleck from her snowman jumper. “I reckon you might be looking in the wrong haystack.”

Lottie frowned. “How’d you mean?”

“Here’s what I mean. Go to Google on your phone and type in the word I’m going to give you. As far as I can gather, that’s the topic you need to be researching.”