Free Wake Wood by KA John Page B

phone started to ring as she kicked the door shut behind her. She ignored it and loomed over Mary, pinning her down.
    ‘Tell me my daughter’s name!’ she demanded.
    ‘I don’t know,’ Mary protested.
    Louise grabbed Mary’s arms and held her wrists above her head, fast against the tread of one of the stair risers. ‘Tell me my daughter’s name,’ she repeated earnestly.
    ‘I don’t know. Truly,’ Mary insisted.
    ‘Tell me!’ Louise stared into Mary’s eyes.
    ‘I don’t know.’
    There was an honest sincerity in Mary’s voice that Louise found difficult to ignore. ‘Her name was Alice,’ she informed her coldly. ‘Now tell me. How did your niece know that?’
    ‘Your phone is ringing,’ Mary said, as though Louise couldn’t hear it.
    ‘It’s not urgent.’
    The phone stopped and Louise stepped back. Seeing Mary cower as if she were about to hit her, Louise felt ashamed. Ashamed of breaking into Mary’s house the way she had, but more than that, ashamed of threatening Mary in her own home. What was she doing? What had she become? She leaned back weakly against the front door.
    When Mary realised she was free to move, she pushed herself off the stairs, rose to her feet and walked into the living room. To Louise’s amazement, Mary beckoned her forward.
    After a moment’s hesitation, Louise followed Mary into her warm, cosy, old-fashioned living room. The carpet and three-piece suite were worn and shabby but spotlessly clean. A fire blazed behind a brass guard in the hearth and the fire irons shone, highly polished, in the light from the flames.
    The wooden mantelpiece was covered with knick-knacks, principally small china animals; the sort of cheap ornaments given away as fairground prizes or bought in bargain-priced novelty shops by children with precious pocket money as gifts for their mothers. In pride of place in the centre was a silver-framed photograph of Deirdre. She was wearing a straw hat and smiling as she leaned on a farm gate. Behind her, horses grazed in a field. Louise wondered if the picture had been taken locally, in Wake Wood.
    ‘Sit down.’ Mary offered Louise a chair. When Louise took it, Mary sat opposite her and leaned forward. Silence reigned for a full minute. When Mary finally spoke it was obvious she’d chosen her words with care.
    ‘I understand your pain, Louise, but I worry about you. You’re putting yourself in serious danger.’
    Louise shook her head. ‘I saw something last night. Something strange … then Deirdre spoke to me about Alice … about her having a lovely voice. Alice adored singing. Her teachers said she was talented … she sang all the time … loved learning new songs …’ Louise suddenly remembered her reason for visiting Mary. ‘I’m looking for an explanation as to why Deirdre mentioned Alice’s voice.’
    ‘Put the light on.’
    Louise reached out to the side table next to her and switched on a lamp.
    ‘You’ve suffered a great tragedy with the loss of your daughter,’ Mary sympathised. ‘But forget what you’ve seen and heard here. What goes on in Wake Wood is not for everyone.’
    ‘And what does go on in Wake Wood?’ Louise demanded.
    ‘Please,’ Mary begged, ‘you and Patrick should try to make another baby to love.’
    ‘I can’t. There were problems.’ Louise bit her lip, fighting back the memory. ‘The doctors told me that my first would be my last.’
    Mary nodded. ‘I know how you feel.’
    ‘No, I don’t think you do.’ Louise watched Mary turn her head and gaze longingly at the photograph of Deirdre next to the china dogs and cats on the mantelpiece. Realisation dawned. ‘Deirdre’s not your niece.’ It wasn’t a question.
    Mary refused to meet Louise’s eye.
    ‘So please, tell me what’s going on,’ Louise persisted. ‘I won’t leave until you tell me the truth.’
    Mary left her chair and knelt in front of Louise. She put her arms around her, and pushed her face very close to Louise’s. ‘You