The Fire Child by S. K. Tremayne Page A

question, before you go.’
    David smiled, in a fake way, as if everything was made good.
    ‘Of course. Ask anything you like. I know I’m not there much – but I’m always here for you, on the phone, on the screen, always, always.’
    ‘OK, Dad.’
    A long pause. Jamie looked nervous.
    The light was beginning to fade.
    ‘Jamie? What was your question?’
    The boy sighed. And shrugged. He seemed to be wrestling with some dilemma. Finally, he spoke: ‘Daddy, is Mummy still alive?’
    David gazed, wordless, at his son. He hoped he was mishearing.
    But Jamie was now looking directly at his father. Expecting an answer.
    Groping for words, David did his best. ‘Jamie, mate, she’s dead. Your mummy is dead. You know that.’
    Jamie was unmoved. The boy shook his head. ‘But, Daddy, aren’t we meant to see things some people don’t see? Because we’re fire people? Aren’t we meant to be more special, the Kerthens? Because of the legend?’
    ‘No, Jamie. No. That’s just a joke, a childish story. Something to amuse people down from London.’
    The irony was complex, and bitter. How many times had David told the story to laughing guests, in Carnhallow House? All too many. Because of his Kerthen pride. Because it was another subtle way of parading his lineage, of saying,
This is how noble and ancient we are: we have myths and legends
. Now that vainglory had come back to hurt.
    Jamie’s eyes were glistening. ‘I know it sounds like a story, but it’s true, Daddy. True. Sometimes I know she’s close again, near me, talking to me, in my sleep, or in the day, in the rooms. It’s frightening sometimes. But she is here, she’s coming back.’
    ‘Jamie. This is silly. This is nonsense.’
    ‘It’s not. I don’t think so, Daddy. She is still alive. Everyone says she’s dead, but they never found her body, did they? So she must be still here, that’s why I can feel her. That’s why you made me write to her.’
    David closed his eyes, for a second. Quelling his anger. The stupid therapist at Treliske Hospital, with his idiotic questions, his stupid idea of writing letters to a dead mother. What had he done to his son? Letters were disturbing and blurring. Questions were worse.
    ‘Hey.’ David sought his son’s unhappy gaze. ‘Jamie. Mate. Come on. We have to deal with it. Mummy fell down the mine and she isn’t coming back. I know it is very sad and confusing, but just because they didn’t find the body doesn’t mean she can return to life. OK? OK? And the Kerthens aren’t special in any creepy or superstitious sense, we’re just old. An old family. That’s all.’
    Jamie was still, evidently, trying not to cry. David gazed on, helpless.
Please let my son be sane.
Why had all this fresh confusion emerged
now
? It came and went, but this was worse than ever. Much worse.
    ‘Jamie. You know I love you. If there’s anything you want to tell me, you know you can do that, you can say anything. But Mummy is gone and you have a new stepmother now. We have a new life, a new chance. We have to move on.’
    Jamie nodded miserably and reached for his drink. David checked the clock again; if he didn’t get to work soon he’d be stuck at the meeting tomorrow. He’d have to deal with this at the weekend, when he went down.
    ‘Jamie, mate, I do have to go. I’m really sorry. But I’ll see you guys at the weekend and we can talk then.’
    ‘Mmnnn.’
    ‘Jamie, say goodbye properly.’
    But the screen died: Jamie had turned it off first, without saying goodbye. Like a reproach. Like a punishment that David deserved. The bad father. The absent father. Most of all, the lying father.
    David picked up his whisky and regarded the depths of tawny liquid, glowing in the glass. Now that he thought about it, now that he focused on the facts, like a good lawyer, Jamie’s distance, his odd behaviour, had distinctly returned since the summer. Specifically since Rachel had moved in.
    Perhaps it was coincidence? Or maybe it was