style="font-size:15px;"> Mum’s face visibly paled.
‘It’s not uncommon, Grace,’ the Doc said, putting a reassuring hand on her arm. ‘Small babies have all kinds of curious problems, and sometimes we simply don’t know what’s wrong with them, and of course they can’t tell us anything themselves until they start talking. But in my experience, by the time they do start talking, the vast majority of them have left these problems behind.’
‘The vast majority?’ Mum said, raising an eyebrow.
‘Elliot’s going to be okay, Grace,’ the Doc said softly. ‘Trust me, everything’s going to be fine.’
Everything wasn’t fine, though. I didn’t leave my problems behind. And by the time I was talking well enough to express my feelings, there was no doubt what was wrong with me.
‘I’m scared, Mummy.’
‘Scared of what, love?’
‘Everything.’
The Santa in the passenger seat of the stolen Land Rover pulled down his stringy white beard and cursed again as he scratched his unshaven chin.
‘This is killing me,’ he said, flicking angrily at the beard. ‘It feels like it’s made of asbestos or something.’
‘Put it back on,’ the Santa in the driver’s seat told him.
‘I don’t see why –’
‘Put it back on.’
The driver’s voice was calm and measured, but there was a chilling edge to it that his companion knew better than to ignore. He’d seen at first hand what his partner could do to people who didn’t take him seriously, and although they were partners – of a kind, at least – he knew that didn’t make any difference. Partner or not, if the man sitting beside him wanted to hurt him, he wouldn’t think twice about doing it.
‘I was only saying,’ he muttered, pulling the elasticated beard back up and refixing it to his face.
‘Yeah, well don’t, okay?’
The Santa in the passenger seat shrugged sulkily then turned away and gazed out of the window.
It was 11.42 a.m.
They were taking the back way to the village, driving across the moors, and the Santa in the passenger seat knew this area like the back of his hand. He used to come up here with his friends when he was a kid, happily ignoring the KEEP OUT! MILITARY FIRING RANGE warning signs to search for anything the army had left behind after their manoeuvres the night before – spent rifle shells, burnt-out flares, even live ammunition, if you were lucky. He knew that on a clear day you could see for miles up here, all the way across to the distant Hambleton Hills, but today the snow was so thick and heavy that visibility was practically nil. The raw moorland wind was blowing so fiercely that great sheets of snow were gusting horizontally across the desolate landscape, and he could feel the car struggling to stay in a straight line.
As he rested his head against the cold glass of the window, he wondered once again what he was doing here. Why do you keep getting yourself into these things? he asked himself. I mean, what’s your problem? What’s so difficult about saying no?
His name was Leonard Dacre. Most people called him Dake.
The driver’s name was Carl Jenner.
‘When this is all over,’ Jenner said, breaking the silence, ‘you can go out and buy yourself the most expensive Santa Claus costume in the world.’ He glanced at Dake. ‘Solid gold buttons, silk trousers, a snakeskin belt . . .’
‘A beard made from polar bear fur . . .’
‘Yeah.’
The two men grinned at each other, and the Land Rover drove on through the snow.
I don’t like hiding things from Mum – it makes me feel like I’m betraying her – but I learned a long time ago that sometimes it’s best for both of us if I keep certain things to myself.
Like Ellamay, for example.
I was about four years old when I first realised that I had to keep Ellamay to myself. The Doc had been round to see me, and afterwards – while he was talking to Mum – I was sitting on the floor looking through one of my favourite picture books, and it just so happened that Ellamay suddenly came to me.
Are you all right, Elliot? she asked. What did the Doc say this time?
‘He wants me to see a special doctor,’ I told her.
What kind of special doctor?
‘A brain doctor.’
Why?
‘To stop me being frightened.’
‘Elliot?’
It wasn’t Ellamay’s voice this time, and for a second I didn’t know what was happening. Then Mum spoke again.
‘What are you doing, Elliot? Who are you talking to?’
I looked up at her. ‘It’s Ellamay.’
‘Who?’
‘Ellamay.’
Mum looked puzzled, and as she turned to the Doc I could see that she was worried too.
‘Who’s Ellamay, Elliot?’ the Doc asked me.
‘My sister.’
‘Your sister?’
I nodded.
The Doc turned to Mum. ‘Ellamay?’
Mum shook her head, and I could see now that there were tears in her eyes. ‘He didn’t get it from me . . .’ she muttered, her voice catching in her throat. ‘You know I couldn’t bear to give her a name . . . he must have made it up himself . . .’
‘Have you heard him talking to her before?’
‘I always thought he was just talking to himself.’
She was crying now, tears running down her face. I got up and went over to her and put my arms around her neck.
‘Don’t cry, Mummy . . .
