The Whisper Man(14)

“Even when we argue?”

“Of course. Especially when we argue. That’s when it matters the most.”

That reminded me of the picture I’d drawn for him, which I knew he’d kept. I glanced down at his Packet of Special Things, which was under the bed now, so that if he were to drape his small arm out in the night he’d be able to touch it. But that in turn made me think of the drawing he’d done that afternoon. He hadn’t been pleased about showing it to me, and so I hadn’t asked him about it at the time. But in the warm, soft light of his bedroom, it felt like maybe I could now.

“It was a good picture of our house today,” I said.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“I’m curious about something, though. Who was the little girl in the window with you?”

He bit his lip and didn’t answer.

“It’s okay,” I said gently. “You can tell me.”

But again he didn’t reply. It was obvious that, whoever it was meant to be, the little girl was the reason he hadn’t wanted to show me the drawing today, and he didn’t want to talk about her now either. But why not?

The answer occurred to me a second later.

“Is she the little girl from the 567 Club?”

He hesitated, then nodded.

I sat back on my heels, doing my best to hide the frustration I felt. The disappointment, even. For the last week, everything had seemed fine. We had been happy here, Jake had seemed to be adjusting well, and I had been cautiously optimistic. And yet apparently his imaginary friend had been following us all along. The thought made me shiver slightly—the idea that we had left her behind in the old house, and ever since she had been working her way slowly across the intervening miles to find us.

“Do you still talk to her?” I said.

Jake shook his head.

“She’s not here.”

From his own disappointment, it was obvious that he wanted her to be, and once again I felt uneasy. It was unhealthy for him to be fixated on someone who wasn’t there. At the same time, he looked so dejected and lonely right now that I almost felt guilty at depriving him of it. And also hurt that, as always, I wasn’t enough.

“Well,” I said carefully. “You start school tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll make lots of new friends there. And in the meantime, I’m here. We’re here. New house, new start.”

“Is it safe here?”

“Safe?” Why was he asking that? “Yes, of course it is.”

“Is the door locked?”

“Yes.”

The lie—a white one—came automatically. The door wasn’t locked; I didn’t think I’d even hooked up the chain. But Featherbank was a quiet village. And anyway, it was early evening and the lights were all on. Nobody was going to be that blatant.

But Jake looked so frightened that I was suddenly conscious of the distance between the two of us and the front door. The noise of running his bath. If someone had crept in while we were up here, would I have heard it?

“You don’t need to worry about that.” I did my best to sound firm. “I’d never let anything happen to you. Why are you so worried?”

“You have to close doors,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“You have to keep them locked.”

“Jake—”

“If you leave a door half open, soon you’ll hear the whispers spoken.”

A chill ran through me. Jake looked scared, and the phrase certainly wasn’t the kind of thing he would have come up with by himself.

“What does that mean?” I said.

“I don’t know.”

“Where did you hear it, then?”

He didn’t answer. But then I realized he didn’t need to.

“The little girl?”

He nodded, and I shook my head, confused. Jake wouldn’t have thought up that rhyme by himself, but equally, he couldn’t have heard it from someone who wasn’t there. So perhaps I’d been wrong at the 567 Club and the little girl was real? Perhaps Jake had just called goodbye without realizing she had gone outside? Except he had been alone at the table when I’d arrived. It must have been one of the other children, then, trying to scare him. From the expression on his face right now, it had worked.

“You’re completely safe, Jake. I promise you.”

“But I’m not in charge of the door!”

“No,” I said. “I am. And so there is nothing for you to worry about. I don’t care what somebody told you. You need to listen to me now. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Ever.”

He was listening, at least, although I wasn’t sure he was convinced.

“I promise you. And do you know why I won’t let anything happen to you? Because I love you. Very much indeed. Even when we argue.”

That brought the slightest of smiles.

“Do you believe me?” I said.

He nodded, looking a little more reassured now.

“Good.” I ruffled his hair and stood up. “Because it’s true. Good night, sweetie.”

“Good night, Daddy.”

“I’ll come up and check on you in five minutes.”

I turned the light off as I left the room, then padded downstairs as quietly as I could. But rather than collapsing on the couch as I wanted to, I stopped at the front door.