A Private Haunting by Tom McCulloch Page B

She felt a quickening sensation, a deep, alienated strangeness, wondering if others did too, all those clustered on the green, adults baffled as kids and even the colours warped, the sky and the trees too vibrant. Everyone looked over-dressed, as if they’d made an effort, watched with tired interest by men with cameras eating bacon rolls from a fast food van parked by the war memorial.
    She thought of her daughter, a sudden dread churning her guts hollow. But Andrea was hundreds of miles away. Some other poor mother would be catatonic on a morning couch.
    A few people were staring. Looking her up and down. The running kit seemed wildly inappropriate and Mary wished she’d read her husband’s texts before now. She started running again, legs gone to jelly and Florence in her ears, building to a spectacular crescendo.

Sixteen
    Again, Jonas looked down at his basket as the queue shuffled along. A loaf of brown bread, half a dozen free-range eggs and a packet of breaded ham. And three bags of beef Space Raiders.
    The Space Raiders jarred. He wondered if people were staring at his corn snacks. They might be disgusted, I mean, Space Raiders ? And was beef a more appropriate flavour than pickled onion? Then again, it was the Space Raiders themselves that were the issue. This was a time for gravity and they were too whimsical a crisp. They didn’t know he didn’t even have a TV, they just saw happy-go-lucky snack-munching as he watched the 24 hour news.
    There was a commotion behind him. A tubby woman in a blue jumpsuit with a large sunflower motif had knocked over a display of chocolate digestives. She tittered and very loudly said no use crying over broken biscuits! People turned away again but all were listening. She started a conversation with the old man behind her, saying it was such a beautiful day, a good day for the race. When the old man asked what race she said the human race .
    The queue collectively tensed. No one was interested in Jonas’s Space Raiders anymore. Someone tutted and the woman in front of him turned and looked back at Jumpsuit Joker.
    â€˜Have a bit of respect.’
    The smile froze on the woman’s face. ‘I beg your pardon.’
    â€˜For Lacey.’
    â€˜I’m sorry but I don’t – ’
    â€˜The girl that’s disappeared.’ She held up a copy of The Sun , a front-page picture of a smiling Lacey.
    â€˜Oh. Oh no. I didn’t know!’
    The old man beside her looked dumbfounded, did you not see the TV appeal yesterday? Lacey Lewis. Her poor mum was in pieces, no sign of the dad but what do you expect? As Jumpsuit Joker apologised profusely the floodgates opened. You just never, never know , said someone. I moved from London to get away from all this , said another. Jonas listened, caught a couple of eyes and mumbled something for the sake of taking part , in case they turned on him too. He was unsettled by a gleam in the eyes, like a restrained thrill at being in the centre of a sensation. When he left the shop the queue was still speculating, refreshed by new arrivals. Her mother was a mess to begin with… Did you hear about the police briefing… I hope they string the bastard up… they found her purse in the park, it looks bad…
    That was the one that stuck. They found her purse in the park … Jonas saw her. Running in the darkness. Dropping her purse. He closed the door and leaned back, eyes closed. Upstairs he could hear the shower. The mail dropping through the letter box made him jump.
    Just the mail.
    Nothing unusual was happening in the world.
    Just a stranger having a shower.
    After a while the shower stopped. Jonas tensed, remembering Fletcher’s hands on his throat that morning. He took a few steps towards the stairs, listening intently, like the night before.
    Â 
    It was way past midnight. Jonas had been standing outside the door of the spare room for a long time, sure that the stranger was on the