Free The Shade of Hettie Daynes by Robert Swindells Page A

of unironed washing and the cat when Alison got in from school. Her mother nodded towards it. ‘It’s open at the page, love. You look sensational.’
    Alison gazed at the photo. She
did
look sensational. She also looked remarkably like the apparition Bethan had snapped at the res. The white make-up, pointing finger and bedraggled dress were absolutely spot-on. ‘That is
so
cool,’ she breathed.
    ‘I’m cutting it out,’ said her mother, ‘when everybody’s had a look. ’Tisn’t every day someone in our family gets her picture in the paper.’
    Alison smiled, shook her head. ‘There’s no need, Mum. They send a glossy in a few days. That’ll be better.’
    ‘It won’t have the words underneath though,’ said Norah. ‘We’ll keep both, and our Tony can scan it for your Auntie Shelley. She’s out of it all, down there in Milton Keynes.’

FORTY-SIX
    NOT EVERYBODY WAS happy with Bill’s snapshot. Carl Hopwood, who’d been kept at home because of his bruised face, saw it in the paper his father had left on the coffee table. He gazed at it.
Try to put it out of your mind
, his mother had said last night, and he
had
tried. This stark reminder made him moan, so that his mother looked up from her magazine.
    ‘What is it, Carl?’ She hadn’t quite forgiven him for calling her a daft beggar.
    ‘This kid in the paper, Mum, look.’ He held up the
Echo
.
    ‘Yes, your father showed it to me.’
    ‘She’s just like the woman I saw at the res. The ghost. It says local people have seen it, so why won’t you and Dad believe
I
saw it?’
    Felicity shook her head. ‘It’s a
story
, Carl. A local legend. Lots of places are said to have ghosts, and some people think they see them because they
expect
to. You know the story of the ghost of Wilton Water, so when you were alone in the dark by the reservoir, you
saw
her.’
    ‘You mean I only
thought
I saw her?’ He shook his head. ‘She was
there
– I saw her like I see you now.’
    His mother nodded. ‘You saw her, Carl, but she came from your mind, not from the water. A psychologist would say she arose out of the cortex. These things happen, it doesn’t mean people are lying.’ She frowned. ‘And it
certainly
doesn’t justify knocking them about.’
    Carl folded the paper, dropped it on the table. ‘I don’t want to be going there all the time, Mum. Will you talk to Dad?’
    His mother nodded. ‘I’ll talk to him, certainly, but you know what he’s like. We must hope this work on the reservoir will be finished soon, then perhaps your father will stop fussing.’
    Carl shook his head. ‘No, Mum, he won’t. You know he won’t. He’ll just find something else to go on about.’

FORTY-SEVEN
    ‘MR CRABTREE?’ ASKED the man on the step. Tony shook his head. ‘I’m Tony Crabtree, you probably want my dad.’
    The man nodded. ‘I’m seeking the gentleman who called the
Echo
recently about an unusual snapshot.’ He smiled, stuck out a hand. ‘I’m Stan Fox, Chief Reporter on the paper.’
    ‘Oh.’ Tony hesitated, then took the hand and shook it. ‘Yes, that was my dad but he’s out. So’s my mum. They go to the supermarket Friday afternoons. I . . . didn’t my dad call back to say it was all a mistake?’
    Fox nodded. ‘Yes, Tony, he did, but then one of our photographers took this picture at the primary school last Friday.’ He pulled a brown envelope from his coat pocket, slid out a glossy photograph and showed it to the youth. ‘Is this young woman your sister?’
    Tony nodded. ‘Yes, that’s our Alison. She won a fancy-dress competition. The pic was in yesterday’s paper.’ He frowned. ‘What’s this about, Mr Fox?’
    Stan looked at him. ‘Alison told our man she’d come as the ghost of Wilton Water. Your dad claimed he had a snapshot of that ghost. I was wondering . . .’
    Tony shook his head. ‘It wasn’t a snap of our Alison, if
that’s
what you were wondering.’
    Fox pounced.