hammered the brass knocker for good measure. Still nothing. He leaned over the railing and peered through the living-room window. No one there, just a fireplace, a couple of heavy old armchairs, a coffee table with a folded newspaper and a stack of unopened letters on top of it, a TV set in the far corner. He drew back and knocked on the front door again.
A neighbour came out from next door. A large middle-aged woman with honey-coloured hair, her rolled sleeves exposing powerful forearms. A cold, suspicious expression on her heavy face. ‘Can I help you?’ she said.
‘Is this where Grandpa Cullen lives?’ he said. ‘George Cullen?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘What do you want with Mr Cullen?’
‘It’s not him exactly. I’m looking for Callie, his granddaughter.’
‘What do you want with Callie then?’
‘It’s personal.’
She stared at him, stone-faced.
‘I just want to ask her where her brother is,’ he said. ‘Mark. I know him from school. He was my best mate.’
‘Was?’
‘We fell out.’
‘Ah. And now you want to make up with him, do you?’ The woman’s expression softened a little. ‘They’re not here, love.’
‘It’s OK. I’ll wait.’
‘They’re not coming back. No one lives there now. George fell sick and went into hospital a month ago. He couldn’t look after himself, never mind take care of two children. Not that it was much of a surprise. His health’s not been good for years. I don’t suppose he’ll last much longer, bless him.’
She paused. Then: ‘You know about his son, I suppose. The children’s father.’
Ash nodded. ‘Yeah.’
A clap of wings overhead. Ash flinched and glanced up. Just a pigeon, launching from the chimney stack. And a face at the upstairs window, Callie’s face. She pressed a finger to her lips and drew back into the gloom inside.
‘Jumpy lad, aren’t you?’ said the woman.
‘The pigeon,’ he said vaguely. ‘It startled me, that’s all.’
‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘where was I?’
‘Mr Cullen’s health.’
‘Ah yes.’ She sighed theatrically. ‘That terrible business with his son. I think that was the last straw. Broke his heart, it did. Anyway, the children went off to stay with relatives in Thornditch, so I was told. I expect Mr Cullen’s house will be up for sale soon.’
Thornditch. They didn’t have any relatives there. They didn’t have any relatives anywhere that Ash knew of, except for Grandpa Cullen. And now he knew that Callie was in the house anyway, hiding upstairs. Maybe she’d been secretly staying there all along.
‘OK,’ said Ash. ‘Thanks. Sorry for bothering you.’
The woman smiled. ‘It’s no bother, love. If you ask around Thornditch, I’m sure you’ll find them soon enough. It’s only a little village. Someone will know.’
‘Right,’ said Ash. ‘I will. Thanks.’
‘What’s your name, love? So I can pass it on if I see anyone.’
‘Ash,’ he said. ‘Ash Tyler.’
‘Tyler? Stephen Tyler’s lad?’
A hard edge in her voice now. She knew who his dad was. Ash should have kept his mouth shut.
‘Don’t you live in Thornditch?’ she said.
‘No,’ he said. Reddening at the lie. Forcing a smile, backing away. ‘Must be a different Tyler.’
He walked away slowly, told himself it probably didn’t matter. The woman didn’t know anything much. Didn’t know Mark was living wild in the mountains. Didn’t even know that Callie was staying in Grandpa Cullen’s house.
But she’d known he’d lied, he was certain of it, and now she’d realise that Mark and Callie couldn’t be in Thornditch. What if she started snooping?
And he still needed to talk to Callie.
He looked back. The neighbour was standing in the middle of the pavement, her arms folded, watching him go.
He felt her gaze on him all the way to the end of the street.
EIGHTEEN
In the end, it was Callie who found him. As he headed back towards the town centre, she must have hurried along the back lanes to catch
A neighbour came out from next door. A large middle-aged woman with honey-coloured hair, her rolled sleeves exposing powerful forearms. A cold, suspicious expression on her heavy face. ‘Can I help you?’ she said.
‘Is this where Grandpa Cullen lives?’ he said. ‘George Cullen?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘What do you want with Mr Cullen?’
‘It’s not him exactly. I’m looking for Callie, his granddaughter.’
‘What do you want with Callie then?’
‘It’s personal.’
She stared at him, stone-faced.
‘I just want to ask her where her brother is,’ he said. ‘Mark. I know him from school. He was my best mate.’
‘Was?’
‘We fell out.’
‘Ah. And now you want to make up with him, do you?’ The woman’s expression softened a little. ‘They’re not here, love.’
‘It’s OK. I’ll wait.’
‘They’re not coming back. No one lives there now. George fell sick and went into hospital a month ago. He couldn’t look after himself, never mind take care of two children. Not that it was much of a surprise. His health’s not been good for years. I don’t suppose he’ll last much longer, bless him.’
She paused. Then: ‘You know about his son, I suppose. The children’s father.’
Ash nodded. ‘Yeah.’
A clap of wings overhead. Ash flinched and glanced up. Just a pigeon, launching from the chimney stack. And a face at the upstairs window, Callie’s face. She pressed a finger to her lips and drew back into the gloom inside.
‘Jumpy lad, aren’t you?’ said the woman.
‘The pigeon,’ he said vaguely. ‘It startled me, that’s all.’
‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘where was I?’
‘Mr Cullen’s health.’
‘Ah yes.’ She sighed theatrically. ‘That terrible business with his son. I think that was the last straw. Broke his heart, it did. Anyway, the children went off to stay with relatives in Thornditch, so I was told. I expect Mr Cullen’s house will be up for sale soon.’
Thornditch. They didn’t have any relatives there. They didn’t have any relatives anywhere that Ash knew of, except for Grandpa Cullen. And now he knew that Callie was in the house anyway, hiding upstairs. Maybe she’d been secretly staying there all along.
‘OK,’ said Ash. ‘Thanks. Sorry for bothering you.’
The woman smiled. ‘It’s no bother, love. If you ask around Thornditch, I’m sure you’ll find them soon enough. It’s only a little village. Someone will know.’
‘Right,’ said Ash. ‘I will. Thanks.’
‘What’s your name, love? So I can pass it on if I see anyone.’
‘Ash,’ he said. ‘Ash Tyler.’
‘Tyler? Stephen Tyler’s lad?’
A hard edge in her voice now. She knew who his dad was. Ash should have kept his mouth shut.
‘Don’t you live in Thornditch?’ she said.
‘No,’ he said. Reddening at the lie. Forcing a smile, backing away. ‘Must be a different Tyler.’
He walked away slowly, told himself it probably didn’t matter. The woman didn’t know anything much. Didn’t know Mark was living wild in the mountains. Didn’t even know that Callie was staying in Grandpa Cullen’s house.
But she’d known he’d lied, he was certain of it, and now she’d realise that Mark and Callie couldn’t be in Thornditch. What if she started snooping?
And he still needed to talk to Callie.
He looked back. The neighbour was standing in the middle of the pavement, her arms folded, watching him go.
He felt her gaze on him all the way to the end of the street.
EIGHTEEN
In the end, it was Callie who found him. As he headed back towards the town centre, she must have hurried along the back lanes to catch
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