Ann Troup - The Lost Child

Brodie shrugged, seemingly indifferent. ‘Might as well.’

*

The folly turned out not to be a folly at all, but the ruined shell of an old chapel. Undone as much by the scrambling ravages of wild ivy and brambles as it had been by the desolation of time. Like all such places it had a melancholy, eerie feel. A set of characteristics compounded by Brodie’s insistence that there would be bats roosting in the crumbling tower. The thought of that wasn’t the only thing that made Elaine shiver and wrap her arms about her body. For someone who claimed not to believe in things that went bump in the night she was experiencing a sense of profound fear as she contemplated the structure’s wounded state. With mounting apprehension she watched Brodie gleefully scramble through the green clad arches and jump between the slippery, moss encrusted stones. She had visions of broken ankles and skull fractures.

‘Come away Brodie, it’s dangerous,’ she called, unable to propel herself to move closer. The aversion she felt for the place was far out of proportion to any real risk that might exist.

‘Don’t be a knob, it’s fine. Anything that’s going to fall down has fallen down by now. Come on in, it’s really creepy in here.’ Brodie’s voice mutated to an echo as she moved deeper into the ruin.

Elaine’s discomfort was growing. ‘Brodie, please come out of there. I really don’t think it’s safe.’

Her fear was compounded by the bloodcurdling interjection of a screeching bird, which swooped out of the nearby trees in a fury of feather and claw. Elaine’s heart nearly burst out of her chest with the rush of adrenaline that accompanied the creature’s sudden appearance. She flung herself to the ground as the feathered fiend passed, her own voice emitting a squeal of anguish sharp enough to match the bird’s terrified screech.

Brodie hurtled out of the chapel, ‘Oh my God, are you all right?’ She bolted towards where the trembling, tearful (and ashamed) Elaine knelt. ‘What was that, what happened?’ she demanded, her hands fluttering and hesitant in the face of Elaine’s distress.

Elaine let out a tremulous laugh, ‘Bloody bird shot out of the bushes and damned near made me crap myself!’ she said as her body released a final visceral shudder.

‘Bloody hell,’ Brodie’s eyes cast about for the offending avian, which was now long gone. Her gaze settled on a figure in the trees, its countenance made grotesque by shadows cast by the overhanging branches.

Fettered by the sun she squinted, peering deeper into the glade ‘Oi! You!’ she called, as if demanding that the shaded figure make itself known. Instead it turned and loped off into the trees, leaving nothing in its wake but swaying boughs and rustling leaves to betray that it had ever been there.

‘What is it?’ Elaine followed Brodie’s gaze.

‘Nothing, some weirdo spying on us I reckon.’ she said, grasping Elaine’s arm protectively. ‘Freak!’ she yelled, as if hoping that whoever lurked in the woods would hear her, and would be afraid.

‘Come on’ Elaine said, gathering herself, ‘Let’s go and drink hot chocolate and eat cake, we’ll go to that cafe on the village green. This place gives me the creeps.’ She was determined to shake off the uneasy feeling the place had induced. ‘I hear sugar is good for shock’.

As they walked away, even knowing the chapel was at her back, ripples of tension coursed up Elaine’s spine. She didn’t relax until they had left the grounds of Hallow’s Court and were well on their way to the village.

*

It was clear from the whispered conversations and evasive looks that everyone in the village knew who Brodie was. Elaine was acutely aware that Brodie was being stoic and defiant as she ate her cake under the curious stares of the cafe regulars.

The previous evening, Elaine had spent some time Googling Brodie’s missing sister, and she had to acknowledge that such an event could not have left the village unscathed. Even so, it appeared to her that the locals were being niggardly in their scrutiny of Brodie. Perhaps they felt her presence had prodded at old wounds. Regardless of that, Elaine felt an intrinsic defensiveness on Brodie’s behalf. ‘Do you want to go?’ she asked, as yet another person gave them a pointed look and bent to whisper into the ear of a companion.

Brodie looked around, ‘Nope. I’m fine. If you’re worried about what people will think, don’t. I’m used to it.’ With that she turned to the room and stood up. ‘Yes, I’m that girl. Brodie Miller, sister of Mandy Miller. Sorry if that offends you and all, but, well, tough.’

Her words caused an initial flush of embarrassment, swiftly followed by a susurration of indignation as the shame of being caught out impacted the room. Two people even walked out, causing the proprietor to shake her head and roll her eyes.

When she came over to the table to clear it she had the grace to say, ‘Sorry ladies, welcome to village life. Put it this way, you’re the most exciting thing that’s happened around here in a long time.’ She nodded at Brodie. ‘Oh and your cake is on the house. I can’t apologise for the customers, but I can let you know that we aren’t all suffering from small minds.’

Elaine protested, more than willing to pay for what they’d had, but the woman waved her away, insistent that they accept her gesture.

It was a shame that her bonhomie didn’t redeem the rest of the village populace. Their stares and whispers continued as Elaine and Brodie made their way along the green and onto the road that led towards the cottages. Elaine had to confess to a sneaking admiration for Brodie’s ability to speak out and stand up for herself; it wasn’t something she would have had the confidence to do at the age of fifteen. Even now she would have been more likely to just quietly slip away nursing her mortification. The thought of her inadequacy shamed her.

Despite her bravado, the experience in the cafe seemed to leave Brodie subdued. A state of affairs that ruffled Elaine’s sensibilities and brought out her propensity to mend things.

‘How about we shake the country dirt off tomorrow and go into town?’ she suggested, hoping that the offer of a change of scene would brighten the girl’s morose mood. The black clothes and the bleak countenance were starting to become unnerving.

Brodie gave a sullen shrug, ‘S’pose.’ She paused to kick at a stone that was wedged in the sun-baked earth.

Elaine paused too, and watched as the girl used the sole of her trainer to work the stone loose and liberate it from the mud. Brodie worried at it, like a dentist determined to pull a recalcitrant tooth. ‘You can’t let people get to you like this. What they think doesn’t matter.’ Elaine said, aware of the ineptitude of her wisdom. Who was she trying to kid? She had grown up on a diet of ‘What will people think Elaine?’ and would no doubt spend the rest of her years trying to take the advice she had just given to Brodie.

Brodie paused in her labours and regarded the stubborn stone, then she turned to Elaine. ‘But you do, you worry,’ she said, pointing to the printed muslin scarf that adorned Elaine’s throat.

Instantly Elaine’s hand moved to touch the fabric, the scar beneath radiating a fire that flushed her cheeks and made her grit her jaw. ‘That’s different.’

Brodie tilted her head to one side and stared at the scarf as if looking straight through it to what lay beneath. ‘How? How is it different? It isn’t only the things people can see that make them judge you.’

Elaine felt herself bristle, her indignation fed by long-held defences. ‘I just don’t enjoy people staring at me, that’s all.’

‘Neither do I. But they do anyway.’ Brodie parted her hands to illustrate the uniform of black, which she routinely wore. ‘I used to think that if I dressed like this – boring, black and baggy – that people wouldn’t see me. I’d just blend in, be invisible. But it doesn’t work like that. It makes them notice you. I’m a hoodie, I scare people. If you want to hide something, you have to put it in plain sight. If you’re not bothered by it, other people won’t be either.’