Page 84 of Pyg

1945. It’s all over, Papa, but not for us. E x

1953. I couldn’t pick this book up for a long time. My heart forgot joy, but lately my cup is full. I read our stories, Papa, and giggled, remembering your voices. I still miss you, Ella x

1955. Oh Papa, I’ve made the happiest mistake of my life. Merry Christmas, Ella & George (…and H, but he’s being grumpy about writing his name) xxx

1956. George is one! I’ve started him off early. He already giggles at the ghosts. I realise now that you did the voices to make them less scary. E&G xx

1957. H isn’t happy… another accident. I’m delighted. I’ve tidied out your old workshop, Papa… I’m painting again, and it gives George somewhere to play away from the house. Ella & George xx

I scanned down the words, zooming through the years until the writing changed to my own juvenile hand; and large, capitalised letters announced my name with all the self-importance of a five-year-old.

1960. GEORGE HENRY SHAW… and Ella and Bernard xxx

I could almost hear her chuckling as she added their names too; blue smoke curling from the thin roll-up pinched between her fingers, as she frowned and carefully scratched the ink into the book.Then the writing switched to Bernard’s hand. He’d scrawled his name, but I’d crossed through it and put mine first, a battle I’d conceded by 1964.

1964. Pyg ate all my biscuits and George wouldn’t share his. Bernard, aged six and a half. Love from the rest of us too, Ella, George and Pyg (the piggy little biscuit thief) x

I sniffed and swiped away my tears with the coarse sleeve of my jumper. Tracing my fingers down the years, I landed on the final one; written in Bernard’s handwriting and finished by Mum. I recalled how I’d been sulking and too stubborn to join in with the fun, and how she’d poked me in the ribs when I wouldn’t do the voices.

“You do them best, Georgie,” Bernard had whined, and so I relented and did the damn voices, my brother’s giggles rising like bubbles of pride in my chest.

1967. My brother does the best ghost voices, ever. Merry Christmas, Bernard, George, Mum and Pyg (the dog) xxxx

My heart lurched as I blinked at the message underneath written in the swooping, elaborate loops of our mother’s handwriting, but scrawled, as if written in a hurry — perhaps an afterthought as she dashed out the door and abandoned us.

Boys — If things have gone to plan, then we’ll be reading this together, enjoying our first Christmas in our new home. If not, then know that I love you so very much and I’ll be back for you soon. You have my word. Merry Christmas, Mum x

I looked at Bernard through tear-filled eyes. “Did you read it?”

Bernard pinched his lips together and nodded. “She did say she’d send for us.”

“But when? She hasn’t yet. We haven’t heard a thing from her.”

Bernard reached out and rubbed my arm. “What is it they’re always saying at church?Have faith.”

I scoffed. “You really believe in all that stuff?”

“No, but I believe in Mum.” Bernard smiled, and it reached my heart. The book fell from my lap as I threw my arms around him.

“Thank you, Bernie.”

Bernard sniffed, and I held him tighter.

“Shall we read a story?”

“Only if you do the ghosts.”

I grinned. “Alright, I’ll do the ghosts.”

* * *

“Bernard, did you hear that?”I sat bolt upright and blinked into the darkness. Bernard grunted and from the clanging protest of his bedsprings, it sounded like he turned over and burrowed himself further into his blankets.

I cocked my head to listen out.Nothing. Perhaps I dreamt it?

With a teeth-chattering shiver, I lay back down and pulled the blankets up to my chin. I closed my eyes and patterns swirled in the blackness behind them. I concentrated on breathing the way Mum had taught me to whenever I woke from a bad dream.In through the nose — hold — out through the mouth. In, hold, out. In, hold —

My eyes snapped open, not that the blackness in the room was any different to the darkness behind my eyelids.No, there it was again.Urgent scratching — claws on wood. And not the scurrying little paws of mice in the attic, but much bigger paws.

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