The boy on the bench didn’t move. He sat with shoulders hunched forward as his hands gripped the wooden seat either side of him.

Fiona called out for a second time as she waved a friendly greeting. ‘Hello there, stopped for lunch?’ Again, there was no response.

As Fiona looked more keenly at the face, her eyes caught the unwavering stare of his eyes. For some reason the boy’s silent demeanour unsettled her, so she looked away and continued across the mouth of the track. In a couple of seconds, she reached the impenetrable hedgerow which, aside from this one large gap, grew along the entire length of the lane. A final glance over her shoulder found the boy sitting in the same pensive manner.

Odd looking boy, she thought as she pursed her lips. Momentarily her body shuddered with cold as if a thick, dark cloud had appeared from nowhere and blotted out the sun.

Looking around to check on the state of the weather, it became obvious why the tall country hedgerow was absent on both sides of the narrow road at this particular location. It had almost certainly been chopped down to make a viewing point that would be best enjoyed from the wooden bench.

Staring across to the other side of the steep sided valley, Fiona caught her first glimpse of the hilly expanse that reached as far as the Welsh border. And the recent encounter was completely forgotten.

‘Crumbs, Jessica must have an awesome view from her house.’

Her words came softly for the sight of the green and orangey brown coloured hills was quite breathtaking. She crossed the frost weathered surface of Shepherds Lane and walked over the small grass verge that, after several feet, gave way to a sheer drop down to the wide, valley floor. Holding her long blond hair away from her face, she peered cautiously over the edge, and spied an empty road following the course of a stream. It suddenly dawned on her that she couldn’t hear the sound of traffic – not a single car or bus. As someone used to living in a busy, urban environment the discovery made her feel that the world around her was in some way unreal. For the second time in just minutes her body shivered as if chilled to the bone. And now even the lovely view of the hills did nothing to cheer her mood. If she did not get to her friend’s house quickly, she was in danger of suffering that nervous state of mind where the events of the past are repeatedly churned over and over in a never-ending cycle. A rapid turn of both ankles had her briskly walking on again.

Too late, her thoughts were already brooding on a recent loss. The shame of a troubled divorced from her once precious Ryan had left her emotionally drained and in need of a long vacation away from city life. With no nearest living relatives to turn to, she had sought out the one close friend with whom she had made the effort to keep in touch with over the last five years. She and Jessica Fellsley had been best mates since meeting in 1940 when, as two young twenty-year-olds, they joined the ATS as drivers for the war office. Jessica had recently settled down with her two children in the unspoilt Shropshire Hills after living in Germany since the end of the war. Her husband, David, had recently purchased a fizzy drinks manufacturing company outside Hopecott, and he planned to reopen the mothballed factory when he was free to return to England in April.

Renting temporary accommodation close to Jessica had therefore seemed the perfect way to distance herself from her turbulent past. Thus, a six-month lease on a furnished house in Hopecott Village had been agreed at short notice and she had moved in just a day ago.

The March sun was warm, and the brisk overnight wind had died down to leave a very mild spring day. Fiona unbuttoned her long, dark brown coat and loosened the green scarf covering her neck. The twenty-five minute walk from the village had been more tiring than she cared to admit, so when the driveway, situated at one end of the large front garden of Jessica’s house, finally came into view, she breathed a mighty sigh of relief.

 Her tired legs slowly walked up the spacious drive that ran past the house and ended at a garage that had been built in the back garden. Halfway up the gravel driveway, a path led off to an open porch at the front of the large, detached, turn of the century brick building. Fiona gratefully stopped at the big wooden door at the rear of the stone porch and found the doorbell. A tall dark-haired woman, smartly dressed in a light blue jumper worn over a dark blue woollen skirt, gasped with delight when she opened the door.

‘Oh Fi… It’s so good to see you.’ The greeting was accompanied by a tight hug.

Fiona found herself half crying as she held her friend. Trying to hide her embarrassment, she wiped her cheeks and hurriedly explained that she was simply tired after walking from home. But the bright idea to explain away the tears backfired, for her forthright friend was not impressed.

‘Fiona Roberts, what on earth possessed you to walk that far so soon after your illness!’

‘My doctor said walking in the Shropshire Hills would be the perfect remedy for my malady. Besides I need to build-up my strength again.’

Jessica was having none of it. ‘Fiona, surely you realise you must exercise gently at first or you will wear yourself out again in no time. After all, when I visited you in hospital in January you were very ill.’ She looked into the white drained, but still pretty, oval face that stood in front of her and immediately took pity. ’Come into the kitchen and take the weight off your feet,’ she continued in a more soothing tone. ’You can tell me how you copied with the move whilst I finish cooking lunch. Oh, and I have news about David’s latest ideas for the soft drinks business. You’ll want to hear those.’ Jessica was talking and prodding the young, blond woman into her kitchen at the same time. ‘Furthermore, I forbid you to walk home,’ she continued. ‘How about I drop you at your cottage before picking up the kids from school?’

Lunch was a treat for Fiona. The stress of the divorce had brought on a bout of pneumonia and a lengthy stay in hospital. NHS food had done nothing to tempt her already weakened appetite. And, as she wasn’t much of a cook herself, she had become as thin as a rake since returning home. The brown and cream, cable knitted jumper she wore couldn’t hide the fact that her warm, woollen trousers were being kept up by a leather belt pulled as tightly as possible round her slender waist.

Fortunately, Jessica excelled in the kitchen. It always amazed Fiona how she kept her comely figure given that she was so fond of cooking and baking. It was obvious Jessica loved being a mother and that the spacious, country kitchen was her domain. Wonderful home-made vegetable soup, accompanied by thick farmhouse bread, soon revived Fiona’s neglected taste buds. The home-made theme continued with steak and kidney pie, peas and mashed potatoes followed by fruit cake. When the meal was finished, a contented Fiona watched Jessica pour out two cups of tea.

‘Those were freshly baked this morning. Have one with your tea,’ Jessica said, as she nodded towards a plate of cherry scones.

‘Jes! You must be joking. Even though they look divine, I really couldn’t eat another morsel.’

‘Suit yourself.’

The brown teapot was placed on its mat before both women took a small sip of their piping hot drink. ‘I shall expect you to come for lunch regularly now you live close by. It’ll be like the old days when we both rented bedsits in that shabby terraced house in Pimlico. We pooled our ration coupons and I cooked for the two of us. That was before I married. But really Fi, your culinary skills haven’t improved by the look of things – you’ve become so thin and peaky. Mind you, even when you were growing up you were the skinniest little thing imaginable.’

Fiona shook her head and laughed. ‘No, I wasn’t. Anyway, how do you know what I looked like as a child?’

‘Yes, you were. Recall the Saturday I found your late dad’s photo album in a storage trunk in your wartime bedsit. David’s superior at the war office had given him a Saturday off for a change, and the three of us sat and looked at the photos before going out to the pictures in the evening. The Maltese Falcon, starring the brilliant Humphrey Bogart, was showing at the old ABC cinema round the corner.’

Both women laughed as fond memories of past days flooded their minds. Jessica had exchanged all the gossip about their old war pals during lunch. It was surprising the number of christenings there had been – with one couple alone having had three babies in the last four years. Jessica and David, with two children, weren’t far behind. Fiona though held the most painful record of all – her cherished marriage had failed. Ryan had said such hateful things to make her agree to a quick divorce after he left her to live with another woman. The undefended divorce had been granted by one of the provincial assizes within three weeks. Adjusting to life by herself proved hard and the lingering upset set off a serious decline in her health. It was this period of grief and illness that Fiona’s doctor had advised she must forget. Though saying was a lot easier than doing – Fiona would need a peaceful home and good company to blow away those dark cobwebs that still clouded her unhappy mind.

A tour of the four-bedroom house and gardens took up the afternoon. As they went from room to room, Jessica explained that the rambling, Edwardian house had been on the market at a cheap price because it needed a bit of modernisation. The elderly couple who sold it to them had lived there for decades, thus the paintwork was chipped in places, the old-style, faded wallpaper was peeling here and there plus the kitchen and bathrooms needed updating. On entering each one of the lovely, large and airy downstairs rooms, Jessica was continually pointing out the various aspects that she wanted to alter or replace over the next few years.

After discussing what required doing in the lounge, Jessica and Fiona mounted a wide wooden staircase to reach the upstairs landing. In one of the front bedrooms, the belongings were obviously those of a growing boy. Comics and Christmas annuals had been neatly stacked in two piles on the bottom shelf of a medium sized bookcase. Next to them was a prized collection of the latest dinky cars which had been carefully stored in an open top cardboard box. Several jigsaws, a couple of boxed games and a clockwork train set took up all of the space on the middle shelf. The top shelf had been reserved for popular, adventure story books. Fiona’s attention was caught by the bright white net curtains that hung nearby. She walked over to the side of the small table that had been placed in front of the only window, swept the netting to one side and looked out. The view looking over the front garden was the loveliest the house had to offer.

‘Your house is in such a beautiful spot. I don’t need to ask why you chose to settle here despite neither of you having lived in this part of the country before,’ she said as she smoothed the netting back into position.

‘Our dream of living in the Shropshire Hills started when we spent our honeymoon here.’ Looking at the tidy bookcase she continued, ‘David insisted I give Bobby the best room – after all he is the reason we decided to return to England.’

‘How is Bobby?’

‘The final tests last summer were fine. Only…’ Jessica broke off as her voice faltered unexpectedly.

‘Oh dear,’ Fiona’s voice was full of concern as she stood facing her best friend. ‘What is it? Has his cancer returned?’

‘This last few weeks Bobby has been unwell at times, mainly with slight colds. One night he felt so ill that I sent for our local doctor – he immediately referred Bobby to Dr Parks, the consultant at Shrewsbury Hospital. Under Dr Parks’ supervision, Bobby underwent a set of clinical tests – the results are due back next Monday. In the meantime, I was told to make sure he has plenty of sleep and doesn’t get over excited.’

Jessica’s hansom face, with its prominent chin, was looking as composed as ever – however her screwed up eyes showed how deeply concerned she really was.

Fiona hesitated, unsure how to react to the depressing news. But she needn’t have worried. When Jessica noticed the afternoon sun streaming through the net curtains, she did what she always did when times were tough – she ploughed on regardless.

‘Come on, we shouldn’t dwell on things that may never happen. Besides, it’s so nice outside and I want to show off my garden. The flower beds are looking superb.’ In no time she was out of the door and calling back, ‘hurry up Fi. We may not have long before the rain comes. Those black clouds in the distance do look ominous.’

The tension disappeared and the chatter started freely again as soon as the pair found themselves admiring the bulbs and spring flowering shrubs in the wide front garden. Here and there pockets of robust bright yellow daffodils were beginning to bloom next to the delicate snowdrops that were just starting to fade.

And the view from the lawn was as good as Fiona had expected. Above the thinner section of hedgerow growing opposite the house, the range of the hills stretched right across the horizon in a gentle undulating line. But the tops of those hills were already lost in the misty, dark clouds that were racing towards the house. Rain was definitely on the way.

‘It’s amazing how fast the weather changes in this hilly area. I’ve taken to having a brolly with me whenever I go out,’ Jessica said brightly.

‘I know. Yet my walk this morning was lovely. The sun was warm, and it was so peaceful. I never saw a soul after I left the village.’ Fiona tilted her head sideways whilst her mouth tightened to become a thin line in her face. ‘Hmm… Except that is for a young boy sitting on the bench just up the lane.’ Fiona turned to find her friend leaning over a bush to sniff the fragrance of its white flowers. ‘I called out to him and waved. But he didn’t answer. Is he a local lad?’

‘What was that?’ came the distracted reply.

‘I passed a boy, only slightly younger than Bobby, sitting along the lane. Do you know him?’

Jessica straightened up and beckoned to her companion to come and enjoy the sweet perfume. Fiona stubbornly ignored the gesture and stood resolute waiting for an answer. Jessica shrugged and asked where she had seen this boy as she continued to admire her delightful flowers.

‘On the bench further along the lane. Is he a local lad?’

‘About Bobby’s age did you say? Should’ve been in school then. Anyway, he definitely doesn’t live along Shepherds Lane. As you can see, we have only one neighbouring house in that direction.’ Her arm pointed to a tiny dot at the very end of the road. ‘It’s a large Victorian house set in substantial grounds that reach up to our garden, and is owned by the Sandfords, a couple well into their fifties or even sixties. Their only daughter recently married the local solicitor’s son, so now they live on their own. And on the other side of us, old Mrs Berry lives by herself in a small stone cottage. You will have walked right past it coming here from the village – but as the building is hidden behind the tall hedgerow, you probably won’t have noticed it. Its entrance is off the track where you saw the bench. And that’s everyone who lives along this lane.’

‘Could the boy have been visiting a grandparent?’

‘No – none of our neighbours have grandchildren.’

Still the thought of the boy would not leave Fiona’s mind. ‘I was surprised to find a boy about eight years old just sat there. As you mentioned, he really should’ve been in school.’

‘He was probably out with his father, who was off work for the day. I’m told walkers from the village often come up here by the footpath that goes over the top of the track next to Shepherds Cottage – that’s old Mrs Berry’s house. It’s part of a circular route that returns to the village by way of Shepherds Lane.’

In a fit of frustration, Fiona raised her voice and clenched her hands into fists.

‘I told you, I looked everywhere and there was no one else in sight. So, how could he have been with his father?’

A perplexed look spread over Jessica’s face. Fiona had always been highly-strung, and the strain of the last few months had obviously left her living on a knife edge. Jessica resolved to observe Fiona closely and ensure those frayed nerves didn’t deteriorate any further. She then turned her attention to the trivial incident. Why was Fiona so fixated on this boy? If it was only his presence, solitary and silent, that was troubling her old friend, then there should be a logical explanation that would readily set her mind at ease. It didn’t take long to find one.

‘Fi the answer is staring you in the face. The track disappears over a hill behind the bench, right? Well, the father was probably out of sight on the other side of the hill. I’m sure there are many reasons why that might have happened. Possibly, the boy ran ahead so he could sit and rest on the bench before his father caught up. As to him not speaking, why most children are brought up not to talk to strangers.’

‘Of course. The father was over the hill. How clever – that would explain everything.’ Fiona beamed as the anxiety of the encounter evaporated.

There was a knowing nod. ‘That sort of thing happens all the time when you take young kids out for a walk. They tire ever so easily and need frequent breaks.’ A mischievous smile sprang across her lips. ‘Your mystery boy has reminded me of a funny incident involving Celia who you know has always loved to play hide and seek. After a walk in a wooded area in Germany, David and I were unpacking a bag of sandwiches when she ran after Bobby who was bragging about the juicy blackberries he had found. The two of them promptly disappeared round the back of the tall bushes where there was a plentiful supply of ripe berries within their reach. Minutes later, David shouted for them to come and eat lunch as, coincidentally, two male hikers approached the bush. Celia heard David calling, mistook the men for her father, jumped out in front of them and shouted, you didn’t find me. She gave the German men quite a shock, but they kindly laughed it off when they realised what had happened.’

Both women broke into a fit of giggles which were only stopped by the arrival of the anticipated shower. By the time the friends ran into the house they were quite wet.

‘Now for that cherry scone,’ Jessica insisted as she shook the damp from her short, well cut dark hair. Minutes later, as the teapot was filled, Jessica surreptitiously looked to see if Fiona appeared more her old self now the drama of the unknown boy on the bench was seemingly forgotten. Her smile of satisfaction, as a placid Fiona cut open a scone to butter it, was confirmation that she thought she had succeeded.

The rain was intermittent by the time the pair started the drive to the village in Jessica’s Hillman Minx car. Too busy gossiping, Fiona missed the chance to glance at the bench as the car passed by. Still the image of the boy stubbornly hijacked her mind as she washed the dishes after supper, and an element of doubt crept into her thoughts. His manner had given the impression of someone totally absorbed in their own world. It certainly hadn’t been that of a fidgety boy who, having just run to the bench, was expecting his father to arrive at any moment. So, was Jessica’s explanation correct? Trying to shrug the thought of him away, she presumed she would never unravel the conundrum.

                                                         CHAPTER TWO

Two days later Fiona was once more approaching the bench where she had seen the young boy earlier in the week. The showers had died away, yet the gusty March wind was so cold that she walked briskly along with her coat collar up in an attempt to keep warm. All of a sudden the unkempt grassy bank at the bottom of the hedgerow give way to the gravelled mouth of the track. A strange sense of apprehension gripped the young woman as, with each stride she took, more of the gravel came into view. Two more steps and she should be able to see the seat.

Fiona drew in a sharp breath. There was the boy on the bench.

Momentum carried her halfway across the loose surface before a nagging feeling of disquiet suggested there something was not right about that small figure. Immediately, she realised how daft such a thought would sound to Jessica. So, she tried to picture him as an innocent little boy who was enjoying being outside on a spring day – with or without company. Not being very experienced with children, she naively assumed that under the circumstances she should be kind and convince him not to be afraid of her. She might even offer to keep him company if he was indeed waiting for someone. And who knows, a friendly approach might prompt the boy to talk about himself, and the mystery surrounding him would be solved.

‘Hello.’ She stopped and looked back towards the bench. ‘The wind is wickedly cold today, isn’t it?’

He didn’t stir. His vacant eyes remained fixed on a point directly in front of him.

‘Did you come up here from the village? It’s a long way to walk if you did.’ Fiona tried to be the friendly, confident adult she felt she ought to be. Only the small, weak voice she uttered made it seem as if it was she who needed to be reassured there was nothing to fear in this lonely country lane.

As before, not a flicker of emotion passed over the pale face and no response came from the closed mouth. She tried one more time.

 ‘Are you waiting for someone?’

Only the rustle of the breeze blowing through the hibernating hedgerows gave answer. Fiona conceded defeat and, having no wish to stay in the uncomfortable atmosphere that surrounded the inert figure any longer, she walked smartly on.

Irritated by his rude, unfriendly behaviour she set to banish him from her mind. Today it was a task that was easy, for as she turned onto Jessica’s drive, Fiona found herself feeling unusually hungry. She hoped lunch was going to be hot, filling and tasty. Fortunately, she was not disappointed, for when she was throwing her coat onto the coatstand after entering the hallway, the smell of chicken casserole and dumplings made her positively drool with anticipation. Jessica had been about to put the plates of stew back in the ancient, coal fired cooking range to keep warm when she’d been interrupted by the doorbell. In a couple of minutes both women were tucking into the delicious hot food and enjoying a thoroughly good natter about the residents of Hopecott.

                                                         CHAPTER THREE

Celia’s fifth birthday party was being held at Jessica’s house that Saturday. A few of the little girl’s friends from school had been invited and, if the nice weather lasted long enough, they were to have a game of pin the tail on the donkey, a balloon race and a spoon race in the gardens after lunch. Fiona couldn’t help but laugh when she found out that Jessica planned to make the spoon race more fun by using pine cones instead of the traditional eggs. The swap had actually been necessary because eggs were still rationed, and also expensive.

Jessica had insisted Fiona attend as it afforded her the opportunity to start socialising with young couples from the village. The other guests were expected at about half past eleven for tea, squash and present opening, but Jessica advised Fiona to miss that bit as it might be too noisy for her.

Thus, on the day, Fiona delayed her departure for the party until just before noon. Being a lovely spring morning, she once more chose to walk rather than drive. The memory of a visit to the village shops the previous day to buy a present for the sweet, little girl made her smile and, after she entered Shepherds Lane, her hands fussed about trying to get the ribbons on its gift wrapping absolutely perfect.

The surface of the road soon became uncomfortable, so she tucked the parcel under her arm and concentrated on the state of the ground ahead. Fiona drew in a breath of surprise, for she was already nearing the track beside the stone cottage that Jessica had mentioned. That horrible combination of anticipation and dread that had engulfed her the previous two times she had walked this way made her brow cold and clammy. Indecision stopped her feet. She really couldn’t face seeing that boy again – yet passing over the track was the only way to reach Jessica’s house. Forewarned is forearmed she thought to herself, as she decided to first find out if he was there. So, she crept up to the edge of the hedging and sneaked a look.

There he was. Sitting alone on the bench.

Using the hedge as cover, Fiona took a good look at him. Even though he was sitting down, he appeared small for the age she presumed him to be. It was his face though that caused her to stare long and hard. Two dark eyes sank into two even darker hollows at the top of his deathly pale, gaunt cheeks. The sad looking face, which was framed by straight, short dark hair, bore no spark of life.

Quite unexpectedly, the slender body moved. It was the first time he had done so.

Fiona watched intently as he wearily rose up off the seat and then steadily trudged, head down, along the earthy track to the top of the hill. He appeared to have little energy for it took a while for him to reach the summit, giving Fiona plenty more time to note his attire. He wore a forest green jacket over old-fashioned white breeches which were tucked into thick green knee-high socks. The clothes were quaint and certainly not what you would call modern. From a distance they appeared to be made of good quality material and, oddly enough for a small child, they fitted handsomely as if they had been made for the slight body. She also noticed that he didn’t have a coat, which, given the cold climate in the Shropshire Hills at that time of year, was ill advised. Her focus came back to the retreating figure as, without stopping, it slowly disappeared from sight.

Coming out from behind the thick hedgerow she took several paces to the centre of the gently sloping area, which was wide enough to serve as a passing place for three cars. From there she surveyed the deserted scene.

About twenty feet in front, the simple, backless wooden seat stood on the rough gravelled surface of the funnel-shaped mouth. Behind it, the ground changed into the compacted stony earth which eventually funnelled upwards into the well-trodden track that climbed straight up the hill. On her right, the tall hedge, which ran along the lane in front of the stone cottage, continued round the corner to make up the right side. As Fiona’s blue grey eyes darted in that direction, the entrance to the dwelling place, an archway half-way up the hedging, became visible. It was directly opposite the bench.

The left-hand side of the mouth consisted of a thicket of thin, hibernating trees, some of which had ivy clinging to the dark, slender, twig covered trunks. These same trees lined each side of the track as far as the crest of the hill.

The only splash of colour to be seen anywhere in the immediate vicinity was provided by the masses of brown and yellowy dead leaves which completely covered the bare ground in between the trees on the hillside. Today, in a chill wind, the whole place had a cold, creepy feel to it.

Curiosity made Fiona wonder if she should follow the boy to see where he was going. Then a gust of the March wind rustled the gift paper of the present she carried and instantly the idea was snuffed out. What was she thinking – this was no time to linger in an eerie place. Her mood brightened up at the thought of the happy Saturday afternoon that lay ahead. She couldn’t wait to give Celia the stuffed toy. Even better, this afternoon she didn’t have to walk past that irritating boy. Half a smile broke over her delicate, oval face and she hurried on her way.

At Jessica’s front door, the sound of young voices and laughter could be heard even before it cracked open.

‘Hello, your Celia, aren’t you? Remember me, I’m Auntie Fiona.’

‘It’s Auntie Fiona,’ the attractive, dark-haired girl cried out. ‘And she’s brought me a big present.’ Squeals of delight followed Fiona into the kitchen as she dangled the parcel over the excited child’s head. Celia danced around her impatiently until Jessica appeared in the doorway and told her daughter to be patient and wait nicely until given the parcel.

Fiona laughed and handed the new five-year-old the pretty box. In no time a black and white fluffy toy kitten was retrieved and whirled around the little girl’s body. ‘Just what I wanted,’ Celia shouted out as she ran into the lounge to show it off to her older brother.

Jessica asked in a very loud voice if Celia had thanked Auntie Fiona and without waiting for an answer then said, ‘thanks Fi, what a lovely gift. A few of my friends are drinking tea in the lounge. Come on in and I’ll introduce you to everyone.’

Lunch in the dining room was a boisterous affair. Six excited four and five-year-olds competed with three older children to see which group could make the most noise as they sat at a folding table. The adults were seated separately around the main dining table and let Jessica, who was in her element, single-handedly bring in big plates loaded with sandwiches, dainty fairy cakes and slices of the birthday cake.

After eating, the youngsters burst into the front garden and ran around excitedly. Jessica left with the children and, helped by another mother, was trying to get them organised into age groups so they could play the three party games she had planned. The other adults carried out their chairs and sat around the lawn. The warm sunshine that lit up the spring flowers added cheer to the occasion. Daffodils were coming out in force whilst the snowdrops were bravely hanging on, their white petals drooping more each day.

 Fiona found herself sitting with a nice couple from the village and watched contentedly as the two separate games of pin the tail on the donkey progressed noisily. Suddenly, the shrieks of laughter were interrupted by a shout above the din.

‘Mum!’ Bobby’s voice cried out. ‘It’s Mrs Berry. She’s walking up the drive.’

Everyone turned to see an elderly lady in a thick, charcoal grey coat wave before approaching the garden along the path.

‘Hello, my dear,’ came the jovial greeting from the unexpected guest. ‘I just popped over to wish Celia a happy birthday. I didn’t know she was having a party, so I’m afraid I’ve come empty handed.’

As was her way, Jessica waved the omission aside and made the elderly lady feel more than welcome by insisting she join them for a cup of tea, a sandwich and some birthday cake. Accepting swiftly, the sprightly, white-haired visitor headed straight for the nearest vacant seat. As the toddler’s game had finished and her mum was disappearing into the house by the back door, Celia grabbed a handful of toys and rushed over to the surprise guest to show off her birthday presents.

Fiona rose up, followed Jessica into the kitchen and watched her heap a sandwich and a generous slice of Celia’s birthday cake onto a dinner plate. When Jessica saw Fiona at the door she said casually, ‘dear old Mrs Berry. She never says no to a piece of my cake.’

Fiona grinned as she headed over towards the mass of coats that had been hung on the coatstand in the hallway. She had come to put on her winter coat as it was getting chilly outside, and hardly took much notice of what was being said until Jessica added an interesting snippet. ‘Mrs Berry is the neighbour I told you about – the one who lives in the cottage beside the track. Remember, I said you couldn’t see the building as it is surrounded by tall hedgerows.’

Fiona looked round in amazement. She hadn’t recognised the name of the elderly woman who lived next to the bench. She wondered if this Mrs Berry had ever noticed the mysterious boy.

Jessica was waiting for the kettle to boil, so Fiona returned to the garden, and to her delight saw Mrs Berry seated next to her vacant chair. The white-haired lady was busy chatting away to the same sociable couple she had left moments ago. As Fiona approached the enlarged group, the husband and wife took their leave and went to join the other parents. Fiona grinned at another stroke of luck. She had the old lady all to herself. Now to ask about the young stranger without being overheard.

Jessica immediately brought out her guest’s afternoon tea and then left the pair to get to know one another whilst she went to sort out the younger children who were clamouring to begin the pine cone and spoon race. As the old lady placed her cup of tea on the grass, Fiona noticed that her face had weathered and aged into many large, deep wrinkles. Furthermore, its ruddy complexion and round shape now resembled the colouring of a young blackberry. The surname Berry was most apt she thought.

Mrs Berry picked up half a sandwich and at the same time started the conversation by asking Fiona how she was settling into the village.

‘Why yes, I have just come to live here,’ Fiona replied with half a laugh. She went on in a friendly tone, ‘I’m renting one of those lovely, old terraced cottages opposite the church.’

‘How nice. I live in a cottage too – Shepherds Cottage – just up the lane. Small cottages are so convenient for us single ladies, aren’t they? And they’re economical to heat as well. Did you come to Hopecott to get away from your troubles, my dear?’

Fiona was taken aback by the question, and tried to change the subject for she had no wish to talk about recent events in her life.

‘Actually, I moved here to be close to Jessica. We became good friends whilst training to become drivers at the start of the war. I was a bridesmaid at her wartime wedding to David,’ she found herself saying.

The old woman chose to ignore Fiona’s response for she went on, ‘I find the best way to get over a loss is to believe that you must make every effort to carry on living life to the full ‘cos if not… Well, melancholia lingers.’ Even though Mrs Berry talked whilst she took another bite of sandwich, Fiona could not get a word in fast enough to alter the course of the conversation. She was forced to sit and listen to the old ladies well intentioned advice.

‘Take me for example, my late husband died some twelve years ago leaving me the cottage he’d been brought up in. And although it would be hard to live up on this hill on my own, I decided to stay for it was the home I’d grown to love. I’ve never regretted that decision. When I have a fancy for company, I simply visit or telephone one of my many good friends in the village. That way I never feel I am alone. So my dear, you too can have a good life if you try hard to overcome grief.’ She went silent, her mouth chewing slowly, whilst she looked Fiona full in the face.

Fiona dropped her head to avoid her companion’s gaze, folded her arms and stared at her shoes. The conversation she was having was uncanny. How could this stranger possibly know about Fiona’s divorce and subsequent illness? Squeals from the playing kids made the old lady turn sideways to find out what was going on. Unobserved, Fiona stared at Mrs Berry. Did those wrinkled old eyes see more than most she wondered? Either the old woman was psychic, or she had a lucky choice of words for Fiona had definitely come to Hopecott to escape her past.

‘Lovely children Bobby and Celia. So full of life.’

Upon hearing the comment, Fiona remembered the reason she was so keen to talk with this old lady. Her arms relaxed and her hands unfolded into her lap. She looked over to see Mrs Berry, who’d just finished the cheese and pickle sandwich, start on the birthday cake which had been made with orange marmalade. Quick to seize her opportunity, she started probing.

‘I walk here from the village when I come to lunch with Jessica,’ she began. Before she could continue the old lady cut in.

‘It’s many a year since I was able to do that walk,’ the wise old voice chuckled. ‘I use Jenkins now – he drives our local taxi. Picks me up regular every Monday, Tuesday and Thursday mornings then drops me back home again when I’m ready. You see, only the tourists walk all the way up here these days. I see plenty of them along the lane in the summer.’

The mention of tourists gave Fiona a second opportunity to turn the conversation towards the boy on the bench – only she had to be quick before Mrs Berry rambled on again.

‘By the way, every time I’ve passed your cottage this week I’ve seen a young boy sitting on the bench at the bottom of the track. It’s odd, for he is always by himself even though he is of a similar age to Bobby. Have you ever seen him?’

Mrs Berry’s reaction to the remark was strange. Her mouth stopped chewing the marmalade cake. A crumb dropped from her hand onto her coat. But she didn’t notice. Her brow puckered as her eyes stared fixedly on the younger, fair-haired woman. It was an age before she spoke.

‘What boy was that?’

A simple question. Yet the tone of the elderly woman’s voice suggested more.

‘Oh, just a boy on his own. I’ve tried to be friendly by calling out to him. But he never answers.’

‘Has anyone else seen him?’

Another simple question.

‘No. I’ve always been on my own. I did ask Jessica if there was a boy of Bobby’s age who lives close by. She told me there wasn’t.’

‘Does he look pale and ill?’

A third simple, but unusual question.

‘Why yes, his face was so pale you could describe it as bloodless. Other than that, he had short dark hair and was not very tall. And did I mention he was dressed in really old-fashioned breeches with a tweed jacket instead of a coat. So, you do know him then?’

‘Me? No.’ The faint voice quivered – maybe with age. Maybe not.

Fiona’s eyes widened with surprise.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Why no dear, none of the village boys I know match your description. It’s just that, for one second, I thought…’

‘Yes?’

The pause was suggestive, and Fiona believed Mrs Berry was on the verge of revealing something interesting. She edged closer and waited with bated breath. But old Mrs Berry soon shook her head negatively. ‘No, it couldn’t be.’

The elderly widow regained an element of her composure. ‘Look, it’s a long way to walk to the bench from the village, especially for a child, so your boy would’ve been very tired. Getting tired makes you turn white, don’t it? I’m sure your boy just sat down to rest awhile before he went home.’

‘Jessica had exactly the same thought. I suppose he could’ve been resting as he waited for his father to arrive. Yet today…’

‘Well that settles it. You saw a tired little chap. Nothing more.’ The comment was said with conviction.

‘But he’s been there every…’

‘As you yourself admit,’ Mrs Berry’s voice became domineering as she cut in, ‘he was probably catching his breath whilst waiting for his father to appear.’

The elderly lady’s eyes dropped down to the moist, brown cake and from then on she made a point of eating in silence. Fiona took the hint and she too sat silently, only forcing a smile when her eyes caught the wary glances that came her way from time to time.

Soon the sun disappeared behind grey coloured clouds and the warmth of the afternoon waned as the chill in the wind took over. A sudden feeling of utter fatigue overcame Fiona, and she pulled her coat tighter around her in an effort to stop herself shivering. Requesting a ride back to the village would be prudent for she no longer felt like walking back by herself. After making a polite excuse to Mrs Berry, she dashed off to find her host.

Fortunately, the party was already breaking up and Jessica found her an immediate lift with one of the couples and their five-year-old daughter. Upon arriving home just before four o’clock, Fiona was thankful to sink onto the lounge sofa. She quickly drifted into sleep. Awaking in the dark, she had little appetite. So, she prepared herself a soft-boiled egg, toast and a pot of strong tea and then settled down to listen to the popular Saturday night radio play. When it finished, she read a few chapters of the new book she had bought in the village newsagents. Finally, exhaustion made her retire to bed early.

                                                         CHAPTER FOUR

The following Monday afternoon, Jessica took her son to Shrewsbury hospital for an appointment with Dr Parks. Fiona spent a restless afternoon waiting to find out how things had gone. At five minutes to seven she could wait no longer and asked the operator to connect her to her friend’s phone number. Jessica’s voice sounded drained of energy as she answered the call. Bobby’s results had not been that great, still overall Dr Parks had been cautiously optimistic about his general health. However, in the short term he would need to undergo treatment, although it would not be nearly as aggressive as before. A short stay in hospital was being arranged and she had been told it was OK for Bobby to attend school in the meantime.

‘It must be a good sign that Dr Parks is not fussed about a little wait until the treatment can begin,’ Jessica added. After a long day, the strain of concern in the mother’s voice could not be hidden. The call ended by Jessica insisting Fiona pop over for lunch the next day. And Fiona was told not to forget to bring more ration coupons with her as she was intending to feed her as often as she could until she looked as if she was wearing the right sized clothes. When Fiona went upstairs that night, she looked at herself in the mirror before undressing. The navy winter skirt did indeed look at least one if not two sizes too big. She hadn’t quite appreciated how thin she must now look to other folk.

Fiona spent the following morning tidying up whilst she waited for the empty tea chests to be picked up by the local removal men who’d fetched her personal belongings from London. They came before midday, allowing her to leave the cottage in plenty of time to reach Jessica’s for lunch. The weather had turned colder again, and the radio forecast had mentioned that heavy snow was expected by the weekend. Today though it was the dark rain clouds that were the menacing threat – heavy showers could appear at anytime the weatherman had warned. Winter was certainly hanging on grimly this year.

The walk to Jessica’s house was easier now her legs were getting used to the distance and she made good time up to the section of hedgerow that ran in front of Mrs Berry’s cottage on Shepherds Lane. As she passed the hidden building, she wondered what was going to happen when she reached the bench. Her walking pace slowed to a crawl, and she looked anxiously ahead as first the gravel area came into view and then the tip of the wooden bench appeared. She stopped before cautiously leaning forward.

Her heart sank. The same boy was sitting there.

He appeared to be unaware of her presence for, almost at once, his delicate body wrenched itself in a coughing fit. The fit became so severe that he was forced to cup his mouth with a small, white hand. When the coughing passed, he stood up and, with slow, steady strides, laboured up the bare earthen track at the rear of the bench.

Fiona stood rooted to the spot for a minute, possibly two. She was in two minds as to what to do next – run up the track to see where he went or dash on to Jessica’s to avoid the shower which now looked inevitable. Curiosity took over and she raced after the boy. At the top she stopped to look around. Her eyes followed the track as it sloped down to a wide, flat grassy field before it continued in a straight line through the long grass and on towards Cottstone Hill in the distance. At the far end of the field the track branched into two paths that led in opposite directions – rather like a T junction at the end of a road. The right-hand branch eventually disappeared into a substantial wood before emerging again at the edge of Hopecott Village – although the village itself wasn’t visible from where she stood. In the other direction, a less distinct path meandered gently through more open green fields. Each path was empty. There was not a living soul to be seen.

Turning her head to the left, she gazed again at the grassy fields. ‘Surely I should still be able to spot him,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘I mean he’s only small so he couldn’t have gone very far in that little time.’ She gasped. ‘Come to think of it, nor could an adult disappear that quickly.’

The answer to one part of the puzzle had been found.

‘I was right all along. He comes here on his own. Now – where does he come from?’

Mystified, she surveyed the deserted scene until the splatter of raindrops foretold of the imminent downpour she had feared. It was time to rush to the comfort and shelter of Jessica’s house. Only the slipperiness of the sloping track followed by the rough, pitted surface of the lane meant that she couldn’t manage anything faster than a brisk walking pace. As such she arrived sopping wet.

‘Goodness. In this weather you should have driven in your car,’ Jessica chided when she saw the state of her friend’s clothes.

‘I know, I almost made it as far as your driveway when the rain came. I tried to run the last hundred yards along the lane, but I almost turned my ankle and had to slow down. To cap it all I was pelted by hail coming up the path,’ she replied in a high whiny voice. Needing to distract Jessica before she could be told off again, Fiona asked for help in getting out of her wet coat. As Jessica held the collar and she struggled to get her arms free, she further diverted her friend by asking how Bobby had taken the news from Dr Parks.

The ploy worked and Jessica fell silent whilst she hung the wet brown coat on the hall coatstand. Next, she led the way into the kitchen. The room had become dark and gloomy, so she switched on the light.

‘Bobby’s being really brave. Keeps assuring me that he feels fine and that I shouldn’t worry about the upcoming treatment. I’m so proud of the grown-up way he has reacted to this setback.’ The room light illuminated Jessica’s face and Fiona could see her eyes were slightly reddish as if she had been crying. Feeling guilty for bringing up the worrying topic so soon on arrival she tried to change the subject. Unfortunately, Jessica started to speak at exactly the same time and neither woman was able to hear what the other was saying. Fiona laughed nervously as people usually do when that sort of thing occurs – Jessica didn’t.

‘Fi, something awful has happened,’ she said quickly. ‘David’s boss telephoned me from Germany not long ago. David’s in hospital after…’ Her voice faltered. After taking a moment to collect herself, she was able to relate the phone conversation without any further pauses. ‘He’s been badly injured in a freak accident on the way to work and is unconscious in intensive care. He suffered chest injuries which were serious enough to require immediate surgery, and a head injury is also causing concern. The doctors are saying the next forty-eight hours are crucial, but at least his condition is stable. His boss will phone again when the doctors have more news.’

‘What happened?’

‘A severe storm blew into Germany last night causing unusually high levels of snow to build-up on the sloping roof of the block of flats where he lives. First thing this morning, David went to speak to the middle-aged concierge who busy clearing ice off the pavement outside the period building. He was handing over an airmail letter for posting when apparently a substantial amount of heavy ice and snow was dislodged off the roof by the strong, gusting winds. Loose tiles and chunks of masonry were ripped off as the resultant snowfall descended onto the two men. The concierge was lucky, he escaped with just cuts and bruises, but David had to be pulled out of the snow and debris.’

A silence followed the stark summary of David’s plight. Fiona put a sympathetic hand on her friend’s arm. That was all she felt able to do as she dropped onto the nearest chair – the exertion of the walk had caught up with her. Fortunately, Jessica didn’t notice how pale and concerned Fiona’s delicate face had become. She was too busy saying how upsetting it was that she could not sit by her husband’s hospital bed, for with Bobby being unwell she must stay in England. She sat down and the two women held hands. Jessica found solace in talking again.

‘Everything was perfect when David secured a civil service job in occupied Germany at the end of the war. A senior administrator position meant a big promotion for David and a lovely house for me to settle the family into. We used to have such fun times with the kids after Celia was born.’ Jessica relaxed just a bit and even managed a short laugh. Fiona smiled back in relief – however out of the two of them, she was the one who worried most that David might die.

Lunch was a rather sombre affair with neither woman having much appetite. Over a strong cup of tea, Fiona suggested that, given the circumstances, she could make herself useful to Jessica if she came to stay in the spare room for a little while.

‘That is kind of you,’ Jessica said as she patted Fiona’s hand. ‘But I want to be alone when I tell Celia and Bobby about David’s accident. It will be a nasty shock as they both adore their father.’

Fiona felt crushed not to be needed, not least because she craved companionship after the unexpected turn of events. Now she would spend the night alone in the rented cottage with only her troubled thoughts for company. A loud groan of despair escaped her causing a startled Jessica to spill a few drops of tea onto her saucer. Fiona, realising she had been selfish thinking only of herself, tried to make amends.

‘Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to… Well, you’re absolutely right – about the kids that is – best we think of them. I’ll be fine on my own,’ Fiona stuttered in confusion. ‘Really, I’ll be fine on my own.’

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

‘Yes of course. Look, shall I give you a hand with the washing up before we leave for the village?’

Fiona hurried to clear her empty cup and saucer to the cluttered kitchen sink. Jessica sat sipping the last of her tea – a pensive frown across her brow. She had clearly upset her best friend. Still, knowing Fiona as she did, that would all be forgotten by the time they finished the dishes. Right now, it was more important to put her family first. Rising to give Fiona her teacup, she took the decision to keep Celia and Bobby away from school until David was out of intensive care. Dr Parks had stressed the importance of preventing Bobby from getting over excited before he was admitted to hospital, and she was afraid his classmates would ask lots of questions that might upset him.

On the drive home, Fiona deliberately fixed her eyes on the road ahead. She had no wish to know if the boy was at the bench or not. The news about Bobby and David was unsettling enough for her nerves. Nevertheless, as the car rattled past the tall hedgerow that hid Mrs Berry’s stone cottage, the old lady’s odd reaction at Celia’s birthday party flooded back. Her manner had certainly altered. She had seemed wary, almost scared, as though the description of the mystery boy reminded her of something or someone she believed should remain locked in the past. And what’s more, she had denied seeing him. How come, given he was often at the bench right outside her cottage?

 Irritability made her start to fidget. It seemed so very difficult to learn anything concrete about this lone boy – it was as if he had never existed. Take today for example – by following him up the track she ought at least to have found out if he went to the village through Cottstone Wood or if, instead, he turned and walked in the opposite direction. Yet when she reached the top, he’d simply vanished into thin air.

‘Where did he go?’

‘Who are you talking about?’ Jessica asked as she took her eyes off the road.

Being used to living on her own, Fiona was not aware she had spoken out loud and the result was another dilemma for her to solve. Should she do as she ached to do and confide in Jessica about the boy’s continued presence at the bench. Or should she keep stumm because Jessica had enough troubles of her own to deal with. Desperate to protect Jessica and Bobby from any further stress, she kept her concerns about the boy a secret.

Jessica’s eyebrows raised in a quizzical look when her passenger didn’t respond.

‘Forget it. I was only thinking out aloud,’ Fiona eventually muttered.

The quip was followed by a nervous glance at the driver. It was OK, she was concentrating on stopping for two elderly gentlemen who were waiting at the zebra crossing in the high street. If Jessica guessed what had really been occupying her, there would come the inevitable, and probably the very sensible advice that both she and Mrs Berry had given before – forget the boy. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help it, the boy stole into her thoughts at will. Sadly, it seemed he had become an obsession that filled the empty days between visits to Jessica.

Confused and exhausted, she was once more unable to come to any useful conclusions – except two. Firstly, the boy was not waiting for anyone. And more urgently, she must speak to Mrs Berry again to find out what she knew. Her final thought on the matter as the car reached her home, was that, like Mrs Berry, she too was scared of this tiny stranger. As Jessica drove off, she asked herself how could that be? Surely, he was just a little boy. Feeling a tad put out, she opened the gate and walked up the path. Having to pass him every time she lunched with her close friend was an unwelcome annoyance that was spoiling her hopes of a quiet recuperation in Shropshire. Retrieving the front door key from the pocket of her brown coat, she wished he would vanish from her life as completely as her ex-husband Ryan had done after their divorce.

                                                         CHAPTER FIVE

That evening she felt a cold coming on. Her brow was fevered and no matter how many times she changed into thicker clothes she still found herself feeling all shivery.

The worsening weather didn’t help. It was a miserable night outside the period cottage, and it was uncomfortable inside too. The wind moaned down the chimney in the lounge causing a cold draft by the sofa where she sat. Deciding to go to bed early and read, she first made herself a hot milky drink then poured a dose of her foul-tasting medicine in it before carrying the mug to her bedroom. The upstairs of the house was even colder than the lounge for an icy blast forced its way noisily through the ill-fitting loft hatch.

‘Why is it that every old house I’ve ever lived in has been cold and draughty,’ she whispered in a raspy voice as she prepared for bed. Her manner was resigned and tired as she drank the cooling milk which now smelt unappealing like her medicine. Turning off the room light in favour of the bedside lamp, she snuggled down in bed to read.

The book was a good murder mystery and she stayed awake far longer than expected as the pages were hurriedly turned over once the clues left at the scene of the second brutal murder had the dashing, amateur sleuth close to unmasking the identity of the killer. Now and then the wind outside gusted with terrific force and interrupted her reading. Moans and creaks came from the loft above her head and somewhere close outside a tree branch was making ominous cracking noises. She wouldn’t be surprised to see a fallen branch in front of the house in the morning. It was definitely a night to be safely tucked up in bed.

Finally, the effect of the medicine overcame her efforts to continue the gripping story, and she had to put down the book, switch off the lamp and lie back on the pillow. The noise of the wind disappeared instantly as the deep sleep of exhaustion took hold of her.

But there was to be no rest in peaceful sleep for her anxious mind that night. The room inexplicably became as bright as daylight, and she found herself running towards the stony track that had captured so much of her thoughts this last week. When she reached the wooden bench it was empty. Running straight past, she looked up towards the top of the hill. Even though her eyes were dazzled by the brightness of the light, she instinctively knew he was there. Without warning, about halfway up the slope, a force stopped her legs from moving and she toppled slightly forwards. When she recovered her footing and was able to look up again, she found the daylight less bright as if the sun was getting ready to set at the end of a lovely day. The crest of the hill was now clearly visible to her – and so was the boy. He was looking intently in front of him with his back towards her. Slowly his body turned, and Fiona saw his slender neck twist around as his white bloodless face searched for her. When his ghastly eyes found hers, he waved an acknowledgment before twisting back and trudging out of sight.

‘Why have you chosen to come here now?’ she found herself crying out.

No answer came. The only sound to be heard echoing round the strange land was that of her voice.

She struggled against the supernatural force that pinned her feet to the ground. It took every effort of strength she possessed to free herself and resume the climb to the top of the hill. Her feet were stopped a second time by the same unearthly force when the boy came back into her sight. She was left panting for breath and, with little strength left, gave up fighting. There was nothing to be done but stand staring with fearful eyes at the scene in front.

What she saw puzzled her. It was as if the boy had forgotten she was there for he appeared to be having a great time running and jumping at play in the grassy field – his demeanour no longer solemn and lonely. All at once he stooped to pick a small handful of snowdrops which he then held up in the air. He turned his expressionless face towards her and waved the drooping flowers as if he wanted to show her what he had found. Then he walked calmly away going, not towards the village, but instead along the path that went off into the open fields.

The boy had now conquered her mind for, without him speaking a word, she understood his suffering had ended and he was now happy and at peace. Was he also trying to show that anyone who joined him would be happy too? The anger welled up in her at the thought of someone she loved being dragged out of the real world to exist in this boy’s unearthly realm. Such was the intensity of feeling that an outburst of protest fled her lips. She vowed to protect those she had come to regard as family.

‘I will move heaven and earth to stop you stealing Bobby!’

Trembling, she watched the figure as it receded into a black speck. Then a change came over the world about her. A darkness began to radiate from the tiny speck, and gradually it consumed everything the boy had revealed about his kingdom. As the darkness obliterated all in its path, she became scared and looked to the ground where her legs were stuck hard.

But in a surprise act of clemency, instead of having to struggle wildly to escape the creeping darkness, her feet were sprung free. If she wanted to she could turn and flee. Relief though was fleeting, for the stony ground beneath her moved alarmingly as it fast crumbled away – next she began descending through it. Free-falling downwards, she saw she was returning to the bright light from whence she had come, for it was still at the base of the track. A panic, the like of which she had never known before, rose up inside as the unknown ending got closer and closer. Screaming and shutting her eyes tight, she prepared for the worst.

Just as she was about to crash into the brightness, she became conscious of the howling of the wind outside her bedroom window. It was frightful and must have awoken her from the harrowing nightmare. She looked towards her hands and found that she was kneeling forwards on top of the bedclothes clutching handfuls of crumpled sheet and blanket. Fiona dropped the bedding in amazement and moved her legs so that she sat bolt upright with her bare feet dangling over the side of the bed. Dressed only in her long, brushed cotton nightie, she was freezing cold and felt absolutely dreadful. She was also terrified.

The rest of that night was spent huddled in bed with the lamp turned on. She hardly slept a wink. By daylight, a fevered brow, a cough and a stuffed up nose foretold of a flu like cold that was to confine her to bed for a couple of days.

Thankfully, there would be no repetition of the nightmare for on Wednesday night she increased the concentration of medicine in her milk considerably. Her doctor had advised against doing this when troubled sleep had affected her in London. Still, for a short while Fiona had ignored him and doubled the dose – it had worked a treat. She did the same now. As she stirred the dosed milk, she promised herself it was only until the weekend – just long enough for the uncomfortable cold to get better. And, over the next two nights, her sleep was to be restful and undisturbed.

Each evening, before she dozed off on the settee, she phoned Jessica to check on David’s condition. The same information was given both times – he was still in a coma although there were signs of a slight improvement. Any waking time she had during those days of illness was spent trying to understand the meaning of the horrid dream – but to no avail. After all – a nightmare isn’t real.

                                                         CHAPTER SIX

On Friday morning Fiona crawled out of bed very late. One look in the bathroom mirror confirmed that she looked as awful as she felt. A closer inspection of her night clothes showed how much weight she had lost for they looked enormous on her delicate frame. It was obvious she was in need of some of Jessica’s famous home cooking. If she felt better this evening, she would phone Jessica and invite herself over for a hearty Saturday lunch. Before then she satisfied her weak appetite with a breakfast of buttered toast, strawberry jam and a coffee. Leaving the unwashed breakfast dishes next to last night’s dirty supper ones on the kitchen sink, she went through to the lounge with a second cup of coffee.

After lighting a good fire, she settled to listen to a programme on the radio which started at eleven o’clock. The weather forecast was still on, and she caught the end of a sentence which foretold of a brief respite from the rain. Although, according to the weatherman, this would be short lived for heavy snowfall brought by an icy blast of Siberian air from the east was expected in some areas of Shropshire later on that afternoon. Interestingly, the cold air mass blowing over from Europe was coming from the same direction as the snowstorm that caused David’s accident. Fiona was startled by the coincidence and listened more closely to the summary that followed as she drank the coffee. As usual the forecasters were enjoying the thrill of issuing severe weather warnings and talking of imminent trouble for travellers due to the expected build-up of late winter snow. ‘Don’t go out tonight,’ was the advice given at the end of the bulletin.

‘Oh bother. The roads will be impassable this weekend, so I’ll have to stay here on my own until the snow and ice has melted,’ Fiona whinged as the forecast ended and the programme switched to a rerun of woman’s hour. ‘And now, feeling as I do, I’ll have to go out shopping for food this afternoon. What there is left in the larder certainly won’t last until Monday. Dear me, will this brutally cold winter never end?’

She wrapped a blanket around herself and tried to follow the woman presenter’s voice, but her eyelids began to feel heavy. In a trice, she drifted into a refreshing sleep that lasted until a noise that wouldn’t go away disturbed the peace. She woke up enough to recognise it was the telephone ringing. A dash to the receiver left the blanket on the floor as she made it in time to hear a familiar voice start to chat happily.

‘You took an age to answer Fi. Are you feeling better?’

‘Hello Jessica. Yes, I’m fine. Just dozing in front of the fire. What news about David?’ Fiona had guessed from the tone of her friend’s voice that something good had happened.

And she was right, the hoped-for improvement had occurred overnight, and David was no longer in intensive care. The doctors were now optimistic about a full recovery as the head injury appeared to be more superficial than previously diagnosed and a further operation on his chest had finally stemmed the internal bleeding. A relieved Fiona was invited over for afternoon tea followed by a celebratory supper with her and the children. Jessica went on to describe the other news of the morning which mainly concerned Celia who was spending the day playing with one of her friends who had not yet started primary school. Little Celia had been showing signs of strain, so time away from the house had seemed a good idea. The news about Bobby was a tad worrying though, for he had become over excited when the call about his dad came through. She had him calmed down now and they were about to have lunch before popping to the village stores to do a quick shop for supper. Then to Fiona’s delight, her friend suggested she stay with them until Monday to avoid driving home in the bad weather.

Jessica finished with a reminder. ‘And by the way, don’t forget to arrive between three and half past three as Mrs King won’t be dropping Celia home until after three o’clock.’

With a sigh of satisfaction Fiona replaced the receiver. David was OK and she was to enjoy a good meal tonight. Furthermore, she didn’t have to spend the weekend in this draughty cottage with a raging snowstorm outside. Her day was definitely improving. Straight away, the small blue suitcase kept for such occasions was packed with everything she would need.

A lunch of tinned, cream of chicken soup with a white bread roll fortified her sufficiently to leave her smiling cheerfully. When it was time, Fiona walked upstairs to get her face and hair ready, before reaching for her green hat, a long scarf and the brown winter coat. Given the state of her health, it had not been necessary for Jessica to insist she take the car rather than attempt the long walk along the lane. Problem was that every time she used the car she had to conduct a frustrating search for the keys in all the unlikeliest of places. Once they were located under a couple of newspapers on the dining table, she headed outside with her suitcase, locked the front door and crossed the road to where her green Morris Minor was parked. Before clambering into the driving seat, she put her blue case on the rear seat and glanced over the stone wall into the churchyard of St. Mary’s Church. When she had arrived, beautiful swathes of large, late flowering snowdrops had made the very old headstones on that side of the church appear to be floating in a sea of white petals. Today the same view disappointed – most of the flowers were now well past their prime and the green of the grass they grew in once more dominated the scene. She comforted herself with the thought that at least it meant spring was nearly upon the village.

The drive out of the village and then up the hill to Shepherds Lane was pleasant enough given the fresh breeze and the dark colour of the clouds ever looming on the horizon. Then came the tall, hedged section of the lane that led on to Jessica’s house. As ever, that cold dread crept upon her as the car approached the track next to Mrs Berry’s cottage. It was as if the sun could never warm up that creepy spot in the otherwise lovely scenic stretch of road.

‘Don’t you dare be there,’ she thought as the end of the hedge came into view. Tears flooded into her eyes when she saw an empty bench. She stopped the car in jubilation and yelled out to the absent child.

‘Don’t ever come back!’

A feeling of elation caused the tension in her to subside, and she glared triumphantly at the bottom of the deserted track.

Compelled to look further upwards, it was then that she saw him. Elation quickly became anguish.

‘No! Not again.’

The small figure that stood at the top of the hill with his back to the lane swivelled round to look over his shoulder at the car. Even from a distance she could see him begin to cough. The fit was so violent it shook his insignificant body, and he was forced to turn to the front as he put his hands to his mouth. As she narrowed her eyes to see what was happening, a pale object fluttered down to his feet. She thought it most likely a big leaf being tossed around by the wind. It faded from her memory when the boy’s coughing stopped, and he staggered forwards out of view.

‘Right, this time I’ll see where you go.’

In an instant, she steered the car off the road and onto the track in front of the bench. Turning the engine off, she grabbed at a silver handle, flung open the car door, jumped out and flew up the track as fast as the muddy, stony ground would allow.

At the spot where the boy must have stood, she stopped. Not a living soul could be seen amongst the undying greenery of the landscape that opened up before her. It was a complete mystery how he vanished so completely – but yet again he was gone. She took time to look very thoroughly in each direction for any sign of a dwelling place that she might have missed on her previous attempt to follow him up the track. There was something. Far away on the left-hand side was a tiny dot poking up from the lush green field which just might be a farmhouse or barn. Was this a new piece of the puzzle – the place where the boy on the bench lived?

It began spitting with rain and it seemed prudent to return to the car. As she turned, the wind whipped some of her long, blond hair across her face. Bending her head down in order to clear it from her eyes, she spied a bright white piece of cloth that was caught under a twig that lay on the ground. Closer inspection showed it to be a handkerchief that had been neatly folded into a small square. Picking it up and turning it over in her gloved hands, she attempted to unfold the expensive, cotton material. She never got to open it, for, out of the gloom, a shrill cry pierced her concentration.

‘Come down my dear! You’ll get soaked up there.’

Fiona’s head jerked up and a feeling of being caught out made her hide the hankie by stuffing it into her coat pocket. Peering into the heavy rain that now engulfed her, she became aware that Mrs Berry was standing next to a gap in the hedging that led into her garden. Holding a large shopping bag in one hand and waving with the other, the old lady was urging Fiona to hurry down the track. Fiona did just that as the stinging hail that was mixed in with the rain fell more forcefully. Mrs Berry took her arm and looked her up and down when she arrived. The strengthening wind and rain was making it difficult for the two women to comfortably hear one another, so Mrs Berry held her very close as she shouted.

‘My goodness, you’re so wet. What on earth were you doing up there in this foul weather?’

‘I must talk to you urgently.’

‘What – now? We’re both getting pelted with hail. Don’t you think you had better run straight to your car.’

‘It’s very important. I need to ask you something,’ Fiona cried out,

‘Well… I guess you’d better come inside until this hail shower blows over. Then you must be on your way because the weather is going to get very nasty after dark.’

Without further ado, Fiona was ushered through the gap in the hedgerow and on towards the stone cottage that looked quite grim in the gloomy light that had descended with the sudden shower.

‘Here we are, home safe and sound,’ came a cheerful voice in front of her as the front door was opened to reveal a surprisingly pleasant and cosy interior. A modest sized fire had been lit that morning to save on wood as the widow had been going out, even so, the air in the room was still warm. Fiona sat down on a relatively firm settee that was directly opposite the large, light coloured stone fireplace where Mrs Berry was now busily re-stacking the wood that would soon become a cheering fire. As she worked, she began to talk away in a friendly manner.

‘You were lucky I came home in time to call out to you. Jenkins just dropped me back from a rare visit to see my old friend who lives in the village care home. Despite the late arrival of spring this year my friend’s doing very well – that is considering she’ll be nigh on ninety this July.

‘There.’ A sigh of satisfaction came from the old lady who, when finished stood up, took off her dark, grey woollen coat and hung it on one of the coat hooks next to the fireplace. Turning to view her younger visitor she said, ‘best take off your wet things dear or you’ll be back in bed again tomorrow.’

‘How did you know I had been in bed with a cold?’ Fiona asked as she hastily unbuttoned her coat and handed it, together with her hat, to Mrs Berry. The scarf she was wearing was dropped onto the pretty pink and crimson flower patterned covering of the empty seat next to her.

‘Hmm, oh well – just idle gossip circulating around the village. I mean, a good-looking young thing like you arriving in a country village on her own gets noticed. And then the gossip from the school is all about poor Jessica and her woes ‘cos people know her kids are out of school this week. And you feature in that talk too ‘cos Jessica mentioned you were ill to several friends of hers who phoned to ask after Celia and Bobby when they didn’t go to school. Then there is the school dinner lady who also works evenings at the care home where the lady I visited today lives.’

‘I suppose I should have guessed everyone would know all about me by now in a place as small as this,’ she sighed in her quiet, resigned manner. ‘By the way Jessica’s had very good news about her husband, David. He’s regained consciousness and has been moved out of intensive care. He should make a full recovery in time.’

‘Oh, I am so relieved. Now I will have to be an old busybody again and broadcast Jessica’s happy news to the other villagers, won’t I?’ She laughed as she clutched her hands together. Then the old lady’s manner became serious. She looked into Fiona’s face. ‘So dear, what is so important that you got yourself half drowned so you could talk to me?’

‘Just now – as I was driving to Jessica’s… I saw that boy again.’

The younger woman didn’t have to explain which boy she meant for the change in the expression on Mrs Berry’s wrinkled old face was so complete it was alarming. The widow’s eyes were grave and without pity as she braced herself for what she was about to say. She strode to the front of the settee and bent over Fiona.

‘You’d do well to heed me and forget that boy.’

‘You know something of him, don’t you?’

‘I told you at Celia’s party that I’ve never seen him.’

‘But you do know who he is. Are you scared of him?’

‘Scared?’

‘Yes. Scared. Is it because he is dangerous?’

‘Dangerous! What nonsense.’ It was Mrs Berry’s turn to be knocked off-kilter. She turned away as if she could no longer look into the worried face in front of her.

‘Is it nonsense? Why does he scare you?’

‘I’m not scared of him. I felt sorry for the poor little mite. Ooh…’ She let out a sigh of annoyance. ‘I’ve let it slip by mistake. I’m not going to say any more.’

‘Tell me about him – please.’

 ‘Why don’t you just forget all about the boy you’ve seen. That way the past will stay in the past and you can start to enjoy yourself here in the present.’

‘I’m begging you to put me out of my misery. Mrs Berry, you’re the only one who can help me.’

‘I don’t know if I should.’

Mrs Berry’s wrinkled face now took on a troubled appearance. She walked across the fireplace and sat down in her favourite fireside chair. It seemed there was a difficult decision to be made. As she sat quietly, she absent-mindedly fumbled with the buttons on her bright purple cardigan. Nervous glances at Fiona showed that it was going to be a close call.

Fiona watched her companion’s mental struggle closely. Would she talk?

‘Believe me. You’re the only one who can unravel the puzzle. Only then will I be free to move on,’ Fiona whispered as two pairs of eyes met.

Fiona was in luck. A reluctant old head nodded agreement and a resigned voice started to tell what turned out to be a singular and tragic tale.

‘I’ve lived here, in my late husband’s house, since we married in the summer of 1929. I was already well into middle age by then ‘cos I lost my first husband in the Great War. My second husband, a lifelong bachelor, was a lot older than me but we lived happily enough for twelve years before he too passed away. I’ve been up on this hill on my own since that day. I don’t complain though, my home is comfortable and folk in Hopecott have been hospitable toward me despite the fact that I’m not a Shropshire lass.

‘But it’s not my story that you want to hear, is it? No, you want to know what my late husband told me about a boy from one of the farms hereabouts. That story begins long before I came here.’

‘Would his home be the tiny building way over to the left as you look down into the valley from the top of the track?’ Fiona asked.

‘That’s right. Quite a way across the fields, isn’t it? Long Meadow Farm it’s called. The main driveway that modern cars and vans use these days is off the main road. But there is a second way to reach the farmhouse – a couple of paths cross the Long Meadow fields and they are still used by those on foot even today. The paths were wider in olden days when horse drawn carts were still common, and the family who lived at the farm at the time of this tale preferred to use them to drive to the village. More importantly, Mr Berry said they frequently brought their horse and cart right up here, past this cottage, and onto the lane outside.’ The old lady tilted her head in the direction of the hedgerow that hid the lane at the front of her property. She continued to expand upon the story.

‘Nowadays it is the Hensons who live at that farm. But around the turn of the century, the eldest son of an old established family called Audrington inherited Long Meadow Farm from his father.’ The old, wrinkled round face became concerned once again as she fiddled with one of her cardigan buttons. ‘He was the last of the Audrington dynasty to live there for it was he who eventually sold the farm to Mr Henson in the 1920s. The farmland has always been good in Long Meadow Valley and is the reason his ancestors became very wealthy. Still even in bad times being rich can’t shield you from troubles.’ She broke off.

‘Did something bad happen at Long Meadow Farm?’ Fiona prompted.

‘Not to the elder brother, Hector. That aspect of the story concerns his younger brother who went to make a living for himself and his young bride in the city of London. He was the cleverest of the two brothers and was able to secure a senior position in a small bank. All went well for him at first, a son was born and his occupation prospered up to the time he joined up to fight in the Great War. Sadly, he was killed in action, leaving his widow and young son in London. Now – have you heard of the outbreak of the killer influenza after the Great War?’

‘The Spanish Flu? The soldiers returning from the trenches brought it back to Great Britain, didn’t they?’

She nodded solemnly. ‘They say it killed tens of millions around the world. Life in Britain was especially hard for those returning from the fighting and I remember it seemed as if death itself plagued this country in that dark era.’

Fiona was left shivering by the unsettling vision being placed before her.

‘Where was I? Oh yes. Tragedy struck the younger Audrington’s poor widow and son again during those bleak days. The lady caught the influenza from her servant girl in the summer of 1918 and she too passed away.

‘That left the younger brother’s eight-year-old son an orphan, so Hector, the older brother, did a charitable deed and vowed to bring his nephew up as his dear brother would have wanted. The boy was brought to live at Long Meadow Farm as an equal amongst his own children. That elder brother, it might be easier if I call him Hector Audrington from now on, had a lovely wife who was as charitable as her husband, and she did what she could for the distraught infant who missed his mother terribly. Alas, he was already sickly with the influenza. My husband did say how the boy was terribly lonely as Mr Hector Audrington’s doctor insisted the boy was kept in isolation ‘cos in his medical opinion the boy’s persistent cough was contagious. Thus, the poor small mite could not play with any other child. Despite this lonely existence he recovered at first and the family was optimistic he would survive. It was all due to good farm food and the fresh Shropshire air Mr Hector had boasted all over the village. Then winter came, and they found he wasn’t used to the bitter cold days we get here in the Midlands, him being from London in the south. His weak condition worsened and in the end it was only months before he too succumbed to the illness that took his mother.

‘But there is a more unfortunate aspect to his sad ending – he didn’t die in peace in his bed.’

‘What happened?’ An impatient Fiona, now sitting right on the edge of the settee, was hooked on every word that the unwilling storyteller uttered.

‘His last night on this earth was not restful – it was a wild and cruelly cold February evening. The fever had complete control of the poor little soul and, when everyone was fast asleep, he got up and somehow managed to wander out of the farmhouse unnoticed. The tiny frozen body was found the next morning in fields close to the farm. He had died of exposure. So, I guess you could say it was not the influenza that got him in the end.’

Mrs Berry looked as if she had finished, for she let go of the cardigan button she had been twisting and began to settle herself more comfortably in the high-backed chair. She seemed keen to avoid the other woman’s gaze. Fiona felt Mrs Berry could still be holding something back and that the end of the tale had not yet been reached.

‘Where does the bench come into your story?’ she ventured.

’That, oh – my husband said that the family thought the boy might have been trying to make for the bench on the night he wandered out – apparently it was his favourite place. When he arrived in late summer, Mr Hector Audrington used to drive him up here in the cart if he was well enough to go out. My husband spoke to the boy and his uncle outside the cottage more than once before the weather turned. The small lad loved to sit and read his books or just gaze over at the hills. Come the cold weather, he was only seen near this cottage once more – that being a lovely mild February day when the bulbs had started to flower. My late hubby said the boy was completely wrapped around in thick woollen blankets so all you could see was a small, white face. And Mr Audrington didn’t stop at all but passed by the bench, turned round on the lane and then could be heard jeering his horse up the hill as the cart headed straight back to Long Meadow Farm.’ The elderly voice sounded uncomfortable again.

‘Is there anything else you know about Hector Audrington’s nephew?’

‘I’ve told you all you need to know.’ Her hands went back to pulling at a cardigan button.

‘Did someone supposedly see him at the bench after he was dead?’

‘Don’t know,’ came the reluctant answer Mrs Berry always used whenever she wanted a change in the conversation. A gasp followed as the withered hand pulled off the button. ‘Now look what I’ve done. Anyway, I’d better take off my cardigan or I’ll get too hot. The fire is coming on nicely now.’

‘Mrs Berry, you’ve told me most of the story so why don’t you finish it?’ Fiona pleaded.

Mrs Berry grimaced as she folded the cardigan in two, placed it on the wooden arm of her chair and then put the loose button on top of it. Her face turned towards the burning logs as her fingers clasped and unclasped the silver charm on her necklace. She sat stubbornly silent.

’I won’t stop asking until I know everything. Has there been a sighting?’

‘Knowing don’t always give peace my dear.’

‘I’m begging you to continue. You wouldn’t have started the tale unless something else happened.’

There was a deep sigh from the old woman. Fiona’s heart felt plea prodded her into revealing the ending despite her better judgement.

‘It’s only an old wives’ tale you understand – so don’t set too much store by what you hear next. I’m only telling you now in case you find out about it from someone else and take it seriously.’

Mrs Berry took a moment to arrange her thoughts purposefully. Then the final instalment began.

‘There was an incident some years after I came here. Caused quite a scandal at the time. It started with a young man from the village taking his niece to play with the child of a rich couple, the Sandfords, who lived in the big house at the very end of Shepherds Lane. It was meant as a treat on a warm, sunny afternoon at the end of winter. In reality, it was an excuse for him to court the couple’s nanny. As he was driving the toddler past our cottage in the open horse and cart he’d borrowed, they supposedly passed an unknown boy sitting on the bench. His manner and clothes were just like you described. Soon after, the girl fell gravely ill. Within three days the poor wee thing was dead of a fever – or was it something like TB?’

‘Was there anything peculiar about the manner of the girl’s death?’ Fiona had been quick to interrupt, and the effort made her dry throat sound hoarse.

‘How d’you mean?’

‘Did she leave the house like the Audrington boy did on the night he died?’

‘No. She definitely passed away in bed – although it was rumoured she rambled right up to the end ‘cos of the fever. Wait… Let me think.’ Mrs Berry began to relax as she waggled a finger at Fiona in glee. All reluctance to speak vanished and was replaced by a jovial enthusiasm as she successfully recalled ancient conversations.

‘Now I remember. It was the lady in the post office who did say to me back then that there was something odd about the little girl’s dying words. As she departed, the mite cried out that she wanted to go and play in the snowdrops again. Only her distraught mother didn’t know why she said that, for no plants or grass grew in their backyard. And she hadn’t been allowed to play outside of the house that winter due to her delicate health – not even on the February afternoon she was taken to play with the nanny’s charge in the big house. Or at least that’s what the mother’s guilty brother said.

‘I never believed a word of that young man’s story – nor did my late husband. Mr Berry told me the rascal was an accomplished liar – always had been. Why, his own sister turned on him soon afterwards ‘cos he kept insisting to her that his silly tale was true. He should’ve owned up to lying and begged forgiveness for what he had done. You see, on that fateful day, he had assured his sister the child, who was prone to chills, would be home long before darkness fell. His sister should have known better. He actually got them back the best part of an hour and a half after dark on what turned out to be a very cold, frosty night.

‘His wickedness went further still. When the girl died, he invented a story about that so called phantom boy he’d seen sitting on the bench. He took to cursing the boy. Said he was Mr Audrington’s nephew and implied the boy had returned from the dead to spirit his sister’s baby girl away. Well, after that, his sister turfed him out of her house for good.’ An indignant look spread over the wise, old face. She obviously agreed whole heartedly with the grieving mother.

‘If you ask me, he spouted nothing but utter rubbish.’ Mrs Berry was unstoppable now she was in full flow. ‘He knew the villagers would remember the Audrington tragedy that happened during his childhood. And he was relying on the silly superstitions that folk had about such matters in those days to hide his guilt. Why, just think how many times I must have passed that bench over the years and I’ve never seen that so called ghost boy once. As I say…’

The elderly voice tailed off as the younger woman started talking to herself in an animated fashion. Mrs Berry’s enthusiasm to tell all had caused her to miss the abrupt change in Fiona’s demeanour.

‘What is it my dear?’

‘The boy is a harbinger of death.’

Mrs Berry’s mouth dropped open.

‘I believe he appears to those who know a gravely ill child. Bobby is one such child. Dear God – what hope has Bobby now I’ve seen him too?’

‘No! The man lied. You haven’t seen the Audrington boy. He’s dead. Dead and buried!’

A shocked silence followed Mrs Berry’s exasperated cry. The old lady broke it once the air had calmed a little.

‘There – I got carried away as usual. This should have been kept hidden from you – at least until you are better and can think straight. Forgive me, my dear. I can see by that awful look on your face that this story is making you fret something bad.’ She looked over her visitor’s shoulder and saw the modern brass clock that sat on a large, wooden sideboard. ‘My, look at the time – we’ve been talking nigh on half an hour. You best get off quickly before it gets dark. Jessica must be wondering where you are.’

Mrs Berry stood up and went to look out of the window overlooking the front garden. Fiona took the hint – rose from the settee, picked up her green scarf and walked to the row of individual coat hooks to retrieve her hat and coat. Whilst arranging her hat she asked, ‘the man who cursed the boy on the bench – does he still live in Hopecott?’

‘Him. No. He ignored the gossip and carried on seeing the nanny. Then the pair of them ran off together when he was made homeless by his sister. Good riddance, I say.’

As she replaced the net curtain she had swept aside she said, ‘right, the rain’s eased enough for you to leave.’ Without further ado, she went to open the front door.

‘What was the name of the mother whose baby girl died?’ Fiona asked on her way out.

Seeing the colourless, drawn in cheeks and dark eyes on the face that approached her, the old woman laid a steady hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. She ignored the question and instead gave a final piece of advice.

‘Remember – don’t dwell on your boy – he’s can’t be anything to do with that old tale. Goodbye my dear.’

Fiona was bundled out of the door which was swiftly closed behind her. She held her coat tightly around her throat and walked head down against the wind to her car. As she was passing the bench the suddenness of an ambulance rushing by made her start.

                                                         CHAPTER SEVEN

The speeding vehicle was heading towards Jessica’s house. Intuition told her it was for Bobby. With no time to waste, she ran to the door of the Morris Minor, jumped in, fumbled with the key, started the engine and then drove over the potholed surface of the lane as fast as she dared. The car screeched to a stop on Jessica’s driveway as she took the turn off the road too fast and had to brake sharply to avoid running into the side-hedge. Looking up towards the house, she saw the ambulance ahead. It had been turned around and backed up to stop at a path that was closest to the front door. Parking as far out of the way of the other vehicle as possible, she became aware that Jessica was running to greet her. Winding down the window she attempted to ask what had happened, but a worried looking Jessica cut straight in and supplied her with all the relevant details.

Bobby had been taken ill after they returned from the village store. He had almost fainted in the bathroom after being sick. Sure his condition was serious enough to warrant a visit to hospital, she had called for an ambulance straight away. Mrs King had kindly agreed to let Celia stay with her family for the time being when she had been informed of the emergency. A breathless Jessica was about to ask for a big favour from Fiona when the ambulancemen finished getting Bobby seated in the back of the ambulance and called for her to come quickly if she wanted to go with them. Having run out of time, she instructed Fiona to pack an overnight bag for her and bring it to the hospital as soon as possible as she would be staying by her son’s bedside that night. The front door key was thrust at Fiona through the window and Jessica ran off. Halfway to the back of the ambulance she turned and shouted back that Fiona was to drive carefully in the bad weather and not to forget to lock up the house after switching off the lights. The ambulance driver called again to hurry up and Jessica promptly disappeared around the back of the vehicle. Fiona heard the two back doors clunk closed before the engine was started, and the ambulance sped off to the bottom of the drive and disappeared along the lane.

Fiona was left stunned at what had just happened. The roar of the wind was now the only sound she could hear, and it made the setting of the once cheerful family house seem eerie. The cold of the key in her hand recalled her to the journey she must face tonight.

‘Blast,’ she uttered in despair, ‘I really didn’t want to be out in this weather with this flu like virus.’

Nonetheless she left the car after switching everything off and dashed up to the porch. The front door had been left open and she was thankful to enter the hall out of the wind. Nearly all the downstairs lights were on, and Fiona spent a minute going round switching most off. Once the task was complete the house felt even more cold and empty – there was no friendly comfort to quieten nerves rattled by the afternoon’s events. To make matters worse her head was aching as if with a new fever. She headed for the kitchen and turned on the kettle. A strong coffee was required before she could face the thirty minute drive to Shrewsbury. Leaving the hot liquid to cool, she went upstairs to pack the overnight bag.

Rushing around the bedroom, she threw the nightdress that was on her friend’s pillow into the bag that she had located on top of the wardrobe. Some underwear, a hairbrush and other necessities followed before she went to the bathroom. In haste, she dropped a couple of items onto the bathroom floor when rummaging inside the cupboard under the sink. A small amount of talcum powder spilled out of one. Having no time to tidy it up, the sweet-scented pile of white powder was just left there.

The airing cupboard proved equally difficult as when she pulled at a clean towel half the contents of a shelf landed on her feet.

‘Oh drat!’ she yelled as tears of frustration streamed down her cheeks.

The once neatly ironed towels and tea towels were replaced in heaps – Jessica would have to sort out the airing cupboard when she returned.

‘How am I doing?’ she asked herself.

She bit her lower lip as the items in her arms were placed in the bag. More anxiety for her already overstretched nerves as it was apparent the bag was still far from finished. Valuable minutes were wasted as a feeling of helplessness sprung upon her and she struggled to remain calm. Staring around and wondering what other clothes needed to be taken, she eventually decided to pack the slippers and make do with that. They were tossed on top of the pile of items, the bag was shut and she carried it out onto the landing. On the way to the top of the stairs all the room lights were switched off so that the only lights left on in the big house were those in the kitchen and the lights in the hall near the front door. Downstairs the bag was dropped in the hallway and she dashed into the kitchen, poured milk into the still hot coffee and gulped it down. She wondered if there was enough time to find some cake or one of Jessica’s scones. A glance at the kitchen clock answered the question. If she were to get to Shrewsbury before the snow arrived there was no time for food. Ready or not she must leave now.

The final two lights in the house were turned off as the front door was opened. Fiona rushed outside to find the rain had started once more and it was also now quite dark. The empty house was locked before the key was placed into the pocket on the front of Jessica’s bag which was then zipped up securely. The overnight bag was thrust onto the back seat next to her own case before she sat in the driver’s seat. Staring straight ahead as the engine was started and the headlamps turned on, she steeled herself to face the journey along the main road and onto the hospital. Not knowing exactly where in the town the hospital was, she had to hope it was well signposted.

In the lane the wind was fearful, and the rain began lashing down onto the front windscreen so that the wipers could barely keep the view forward clear. She turned the windscreen wipers to maximum and leaned towards the steering wheel to try to see the road. Aware of the steep drop on the right-hand side of the single-track lane where the hedgerow was thin or absent, Fiona slowed the car’s speed to not much more than fifteen miles an hour.

Instinct told her when she reached the mouth of the track and, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the hedgerow on the left disappear. Determined not to look in that direction she stared hard at the uneven road surface in front. At the very last moment her will power deserted her and she couldn’t resist a quick peek. Despite the atrocious weather, she saw enough to know there was nothing there – only wind, sleet, rain and a wonderfully empty bench. Thank goodness she thought. Her head turned round to face the front again.

There, right in front of the car, was the boy.

Her foot slammed on the brakes causing her body to jerk forwards towards the steering wheel. Luckily her hands and arms took the full force of her weight, so she was not hurt. As she stared, the face ahead melted away into the rain. With another whoosh of the windscreen wipers there nothing left of the vision at all. Her breath came with difficulty until she sat back and breathed deeply. When sufficiently recovered from the shock, she looked out of the front windscreen again. A shadowy shape a few feet in front of the car caught her attention – it seemed to be moving. The harder she focused the more the shape took on the form of numerous small puddles on the potholed surface, their water being blown about by the wind. Whatever had just happened it didn’t matter now, for no menacing presence lingered by the car. Satisfied she was safe, she sunk into the seat, closed her eyes and tried to relax.

No peace came. Had she really seen a face with dark, vacant eyes nestling in deep, hollow sockets gazing into the car? Or had she merely seen dark puddles picked out by the car’s headlights? Her head ached terribly and worse still she began to cough. At first the coughing was intermittent but rapidly a painful fit took hold. As it eased, she was left gasping for breath and her throat hurt.

An exhausted Fiona felt it necessary to dry the wet off her lips. Turning on the overhead light, she reached first into one coat pocket and then into the other and pulled out what she thought was a tissue. On further inspection she saw it was actually a white cotton handkerchief – the one the boy had lost as he stood on the track earlier that afternoon. It had been stuffed into her coat pocket before she ran to speak to Mrs Berry.

‘That’s no good,’ she muttered as it was dropped onto the passenger seat. Finding no tissues in her coat, she turned to the glove compartment. Ever since suffering the recent bout of pneumonia she had kept an emergency packet of tissues in the car. Leaning over to pull the release button, her foot slid off the clutch with the gear stick still in second gear. The car jolted as the engine cut out.

Her hand went to her chest as she cried out, ‘oh!’

After a jittery pause, she resumed the search. Rummaging inside the dark hole yielded what she wanted – a small, opened packet of travel tissues. Holding one half open to her mouth, she wiped away what she thought was a tad of phlegm. At the same time, she fretted that the foul weather would make driving so difficult that it would be very late when she finally made it to the hospital. She barely noticed the wet tissue at first, but another cough had her open it fully so she could wipe yet more phlegm away. The damp tissue felt a bit sticky, so it was held up to the overhead light to check if the phlegm was green, which would indicate a bought of bronchitis was coming.

What she saw was shocking. A large stain covered more than half the white paper tissue. Blood – the red blotch had to be blood. She was actually coughing up blood. Her mind began to race once more, and she picked up the boy’s white cotton hankie from off the neighbouring seat, unfolded it and compared it with her tissue. The same large, dark red stain of blood disfigured both.

Horrified, she threw both items away from her and looked over the steering wheel. A dreadful thought struck – but it was too terrible for her reluctant mind to accept it. From the second she had left Mrs Berry’s house to the present moment there hadn’t been even a second to think about the implications of the strange story she had heard. Now parts of the interwoven tales of the ghost boy and the little girl flooded into her muddled head.

Both the young children had been ill and subsequently died.

The girl’s uncle said the Audrington boy’s spirit foretold of a child’s death.

Surely the conclusion she had drawn in Mrs Berry’s house must be right.

Bobby was in mortal danger.

She knew she was the only person who believed that. And now she feared the ghost boy was out to stop her reaching his hospital bedside.

 Although desperate to resume the unwelcome journey, extreme fatigue flashed over her limbs and stopped any movement. It was as if some invisible force was keeping her pinned in the seat until she fathomed an important part of the mystery – the answer to a question that still hijacked her brain. What was it that linked the nightmare that had so petrified her on Tuesday night with the dead little girl from Mrs Berry’s story?

The word snowdrops escaped from her mouth at the same time as a big, leafless twig, that had numerous smaller twiglets sticking out at various angles, was blown onto the windscreen by an extra strong gust of wind. When she heard the loud crash she nearly jumped out of her skin. Further wetness dripped from her lips and, shocked into movement, she wiped it away with her hand. She was relieved when she saw it was only saliva. Glancing into the driving mirror to see what state the rest of her face was in, the two overnight bags on the back seat reminded her again of young Bobby’s plight.

A grim look of determination fell upon her face and, without further hesitation, her hand switched the ignition on and the engine sprang back to life. The windscreen wipers started too, for they had been left switched on when the car cut out – but a whirring, grating noise foretold of trouble. Unfortunately for her, the big twig that had just blown onto the windscreen was caught tight in the driver’s side wiper ensuring it was no longer able to sweep across the glass.

‘Oh damn. Nothing for it – I’ll have to get out and pull it off by hand.’

The cold had intensified with the strength of the wind so that sleet and snow lashed into her face as the car door was opened and she almost fell out. Bending over the car bonnet, she lifted up the wiper to see what was snared in the metal frame. As she pulled at the offending twiglets, a fearful sensation crept over her. She was no longer alone – of that she was sure. Ever so slowly her head tilted sideways until the other side of the car bonnet came into view.

There stood the boy.

For some reason he was not wet – not even his hair dripped water. And on a night like this, with the rain turning to heavy snowfall, he still wore no coat, rather he was dressed only in his familiar little tweed jacket and pure white breeches.

An unearthly flash of the red blotch that stained both the wraith boy’s hankie and her tissue seized her eyes. And the brutal conclusion she could not admit minutes ago now came to her with a vengeance. It was a fevered illness that had driven the boy to his death and some similar fever had claimed the small village girl. But Bobby has cancer – he’s not the one who’s been ill with fevers.

Fear now drove her to back away from the spectre before her. After several steps she stumbled onto uneven, snow-covered ground which resulted in further uncontrolled steps backwards before she could regain her balance and come to a standstill. A quick glance down to her feet showed she was now standing on the narrow grass verge by the side of the single-track lane.

Her eyes shifted back up to find the boy not on the other side of the car but right in front of her – just a few feet away. Fiona was frightened out of her wits when she realised how close he was. The shock left her heart thumping so hard that it hurt and a deathly cold chill gripped at her limbs.

When he saw her response, the boy raised an arm and pointed at her face. The outstretched white, bloodless finger made her brow fiery hot and her throat extremely parched. His hideous eyes, glaring out of those horrible dark sockets, caused an intense burning sensation in her lungs as their gaze fell steadfast upon her painful chest. Coherent thought became ever increasingly difficult as the feverish state increased its hold.

Sheer terror made her back away a second time. It was then that her left shoe failed to make contact with solid ground. Pulled around, she found herself toppling about at the very edge of the hill. Staring into the sheer drop below, she flung both arms out wide and her hands desperately sought anything that might stop her from plummeting into the dark abyss. There was nothing to grab. Next moment she tumbled head-first over the side and began twisting downwards through the stormy air. Her body bounced more than once against the sloping hillside until it’s decent had slowed enough to allow it to roll gently to its final resting place. She came to lie face down against a leafless tree. Unable to move, her last vision was of a beautiful clump of snowdrops shining in the softly falling snow.

As darkness filled her eyes, the true purpose of the boy’s appearance at the bench that particular March finally crossed her cold lips.

‘He’d come for me.’

THE END

The Boy On The Bench by May Quillink

May Quillink Crime Mystery Catalogue Number – 06-03-24-97093 (webpage content)

Copyright – first draft, not published, © 2009 May Quillink

Copyright – first edition, published March 6^th 2024, © 2024 May Quillink

First edition published by May Quillink on www.mayquillink.com

Story formatting and cover design by May Quillink

Website design and website images design by May Quillink

All rights reserved. No part of this story, including the story cover, may be reproduced, copied, distributed in any form, adapted or otherwise used except as permitted by UK copyright law or the author. No licence or transfer of copyright ownership has been granted or is intended by posting this story for the general public to read on the website www.mayquillink.com. Any unauthorised publication, copying, lending, reproduction or other usage will constitute an infringement of copyright. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Certain long-standing institutions, agencies, and public offices maybe mentioned, but the characters and the events involved are wholly imaginary. The storyline is set in the 1950s, and as such may reflect some of the views and customs of that period in history. Such views and customs are not necessarily held by the author.