Chapter 1 – Half Term

"Are you all right staying with your uncle over the half term?" Lydia's mother asked, as she turned off the dual carriageway.

"Yeah!" Lydia enthused, nodding her head so that her long blonde hair rippled. "Uncle Ambrose has loads of books and things. And he talks about my dad."

Lydia glanced across at her mother. She was biting her bottom lip while she drove.

"You never talk about him," Lydia pouted.

"I do, sometimes," Mrs Ward protested.

Lydia didn't actually harrumph, but she folded her arms and made a small grunt.

"Well, it's difficult," her mother explained. "It makes me sad. And worried because… we don't know anything."

An uneasy silence fell between them for several moments as they crossed the bridge over the river and came to the outskirts of the town. Lydia looked over the parapet of the bridge and along the lazy brown river to the distant wharves and warehouse buildings of the old port. Uncle Ambrose had lots of seafaring stories, but then Uncle Ambrose had stories about everything.

"I think your uncle has something interesting planned," Mrs Ward said to break the silence.

Lydia's expression lifted. "What is it?"

"Don't ask me. He doesn't let me in on your secrets. I'm sure he'll let you know, in his own sweet time. He's odd but he's a good man."

"He looked after Grandma," Lydia noted.

Lydia's mum smiled and nodded. "He did. My mum always liked him. He used to make her laugh. And she always used to take more notice of what he said than she did of me. I had to get him to repeat everything I said before she would believe it. That was true even before she lost her memory."

Mrs Ward fell silent.

Lydia looked at her. "You've lost a lot of people, mum."

She sighed. "So have you, Lydia."

"I've still got my mum and I don't remember dad. Uncle Ambrose is kind of like a dad, part-time."

"An old dad. An old, weird dad."

Lydia smiled. "With a crazy hairstyle and a mad beard."

They both giggled, as they turned into the street where Lydia's uncle, Ambrose Ward, lived. The car pulled up outside his house. There was nowhere to park but, being a cul-de-sac, they were fine for a minute or so while Lydia got out. The door of the house opened and Uncle Ambrose appeared wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and a waistcoat. He looked, to Lydia, like a professor who wished he was a rock star.

"Is that you, Lydia?" he asked.

"Apparently," was the exasperated reply from her mother.

"Ah, but appearances can be deceptive," Ambrose warned. "And greetings to you, my dear Catherine."

"You've plaited your beard, Uncle Ambrose," Lydia observed, as he stepped up to help her with her bags.

"I had to, your mother was reluctant to let me plait hers," he replied with a wink.

Lydia grinned.

"Miaow," added Uncle Ambrose's cat, Jacaranda.

"Hello, Jac!" Lydia chirruped, squatting down to welcome him with open arms.

Jac leapt into her arms and they nuzzled each other as only a soft old cat and a pet-deprived young girl might.

"Well, if you could bring Jacaranda in, I will endeavour to carry your assorted luggage all by myself."

"Ambrose, it's one case and a carrier bag," Lydia's mother said. "If you can't manage, I'll carry one."

"I can manage both," he assured her. "Provided you carry me, of course."

"Get away with you," she laughed, locking the car and following them to the house.

"Come along then," Ambrose smiled, taking Lydia's bag. "Pasta of some description for tea?"

"Great!" Lydia smiled back and led the way into the house.

"I shall take your bag upstairs," her uncle said, doing exactly that.

"I have something arranged for this week," he called down. "How would you like to go to London for a few days?"

Lydia ran back to the bottom of the stairs. "Really?"

Ambrose beamed as he came back down.

•

"I have something to which I need to attend while we are in London but, for the remainder of the time, we can peruse all the sights and such."

As luck would have it a car had vacated a place a couple of houses further up the street. Lydia's mother had taken the opportunity to park hers properly for a while. She had stayed for a cup of coffee with Uncle Ambrose, while Lydia had discussed various cat-related topics with Jac at the far end of the kitchen-diner. Mrs Ward was mildly allergic to cats and Lydia always looked after her mum's best interests. After the coffee Mrs Ward had said her goodbyes to all, even Jac, and flitted from the house. Lydia felt resentful for a moment that she seemed excited to be away, but "pasta for tea" generally meant either linguine with carbonara sauce or macaroni cheese. Either way it was a treat.

Lydia bounced up and down on her seat. "What is it you need to do in London, uncle?" She twirled more linguine around her fork.

Ambrose finished a mouthful. "Do you recall Tina, your grandmama's care worker, Lydia?"

Her mouth now full she nodded enthusiastically.

"Well, it appears she has gone missing and, unaccountably, nobody seems to care."

"Aw, she's sweet! What happened?"

"It is difficult to say with any certainty. I saw that compact car of hers outside Mrs. Glenson's house last week. I thought it strange because it was there late in the evening and the house lights were all off. Then it was there again, or conceivably still there, the following day. It transpires that it is still there now. Being of sound mind and inquisitiveness, I rapped upon Mrs. Glenson's door, but nobody answered the call. I happened upon one of the neighbours, who informed me that Mrs. Glenson had died. There had been an ambulance and police cars around a couple of nights before, she informed me. She knew nothing about Tina. Indeed, it was rather odd. It was as if she had no memory of who Tina was. I am quite certain I have seen the two of them conversing on more than one occasion."

Lydia had stopped eating now. She was quite used to the odd way her uncle spoke; it was the events he was talking about which made her pause.

Ambrose put down his fork. "I paid a visit to the police station. They were unable to furnish me with many details. On my return, Kevin from across the road…"

"The one with the Labradoodle?" Lydia loved dogs, possibly even more than she loved cats.

"The very fellow. He told me Mrs. Glenson had indeed passed away, but the circumstances were somewhat unusual. She had not been in the full bloom of health but neither was she expected to die at this juncture. This would explain why the police had attended, I imagine. According to Kevin, some people had immediately suspected that grandson of hers. People were scandalised that he had had mental health issues."

Ambrose frowned and smoothed a wrinkle in the tablecloth. "He had not had the happiest of lives, his mother dying when he was a small child, a difficult upbringing, a great deal of bullying at school, and his father passing mere weeks ago. I doubt people would be quite so harsh with the lad, had he encountered physical health problems.

"Nevertheless, I enquired of Kevin whether he knew of Tina's whereabouts. His reaction was the same thing again: as though he had never heard of her. And you are well aware he used to chat with her when she came to Grandmama's. She always used to love to have a laugh with him after she had visited your grandmama."

"How could he not remember?" Lydia frowned. She even pouted. Her uncle had to suppress a smile for a moment.

"Well, exactly. It did not seem he was trying to conceal anything. It was simply that he could vaguely remember a care worker, but nothing specific about her. Furthermore, nobody had said anything about Tina's car being there all the time. You have seen how excruciating the parking situation down these terraces can be. People have put parking cones out to try to prevent others parking in 'their' places. It is inconceivable that nobody would notice an extra car parked here."

"So why London, uncle?"

"Forgive me, I will get to the point I promise."

"Well, once would be nice," Lydia muttered.

"Quite so." Ambrose stroked his plaited beard once or twice and continued. "I asked around about Granville, Mrs. Glenson's grandson. Whenever I made enquiries, people became vague about why he had not been questioned. Everyone assumed that there must be a good reason but nobody knew what it was, not even the police."

Lydia had started eating again, but was only picking at the strands of linguine with her fork.

"Anyway, this Granville had been living with his grandmama from time to time. It would be reasonable to expect him to have returned. I have visited the house a number of times but, to all appearances, there has never been anybody there. I went to the care agency to enquire after Tina. They checked the books and found she was no longer on contract with them. Whilst they were looking, I did manage to read her address upside down off the register."

"Oh, you're so smug about that!"

"Well, there had to have been some advantage to having been an auditor for several years."

"Wasn't the advantage having a job?"

"Purely incidental," her uncle shrugged.

"So, Tina?"

"Ah, yes indeed. I made a visit to the house which she had been sharing and, once again, nobody seemed concerned. They barely remembered her. They had not seen her, or at least they were unable to remember having seen her. It seems none of the people who should remember her do, with the notable exception of our good selves of course: people no one would associate with her. I asked her erstwhile housemates if I might check her room. They were wholly unconcerned. Accordingly, I availed myself of the opportunity. I unearthed nothing unusual. There was no indication that she had packed to go away anywhere. To all appearances she had gone out to work expecting to be back. All her makeup and girlish palaver was still there. There was even a cup of coffee going mouldy. I did happen across her diary, however."

"And you read it!" Lydia accused him.

"Out of concern for her best interests, naturally" Ambrose replied somewhat indignantly.

Lydia's scowl conveyed her views on the sanctity of a girl's diary.

"This is not like your dear mama nosing about in your diary – if such a thing were ever to occur. Tina might be in danger."

"Well, what did you find out?"

"Reading between the lines, and wading through the terrible handwriting, bad spelling, atrocious grammar…"

"Go on!"

"Very well. She seems to have been somewhat smitten with young Master Granville. Although she met him but a few times at his grandmother's, they had conversed at some length, it would appear. It is most singular. He is hardly what one would call a particularly attractive young fellow. Yet, she seemed somewhat obsessed with him, quite frankly. She only started to keep her diary after he had suggested she keep a journal because he kept one."

Ambrose stopped and pulled his beard a few times before continuing. "She had had some odd conversations with him. It appears he would tell her stories about another, hidden, world. She seemed rather excited by it. She wanted to know more than he was willing to tell her. She frequently wrote about how much she would like to read his journal and see his collection."

"Collection?"

"Yes, I was unsure what she meant by that at the time. I have formed a vague opinion since, but I'm not sure he was not simply leading her on about it."

"This isn't turning into some sort of horror story, is it?"

"I sincerely hope not. But no, though..."

"What else?"

"I, so to speak, broke into Mrs. Glenson's house and into Granville's room therein. After some neighbourly nosing around I discovered his journal. I have it upstairs, even now. It is rather unusual: thick leather and brass cover and the pages are parchment or vellum or some such."

"What does it say?"

"Oh, I see. A gentleman's journal is not quite as sacrosanct as a girlie's diary, then?"

"Uncle."

"It is merely… raving, not to put too fine a point on it. It transpires that he was somewhat more disturbed than I had suspected. It speaks of another world within the world, of how he found out about it, and of his collection of artefacts – books and other paraphernalia. I am sure it is all delusion."

"And London?

"Indeed, we alight upon the original point at last. It talks specifically about a certain person who works in London, of whom Granville believes he has to be wary. Additionally, it speaks of how he may be found."

"Do you think this bloke really exists?"

Ambrose sat back and sighed. "If he does, he might know something about Tina or, indeed, he might be in danger from this Granville. If he does not exist, well, we may have a few days in London. However, he does, if he exists, need to see some of the things I have found in this journal."

"What like?" Lydia asked.

"That is quite enough for now," Ambrose said. "I have some lukewarm pasta which I dearly wish to finish, before it becomes cold."

"You might be too late," said Lydia.