Page 12 of The Legend of Lovers Hollow

“It gets boring around ’ere. I ain’t had no one to play with for years.”

I swallow down a pang of sadness. Over the years, I’d convinced myself this small boy had been no more than a childhood imaginary friend. It was only when I’d returned to my early childhood home that I’d discovered he was very much real.

“Wanna go play with Cedric’s trains?” he asks hopefully.

“I can’t right now.” I shake my head, and he lets out a huge sigh and rolls his eyes.

“Grown-ups are so boring.” He pauses and stares at me for several long seconds. “Morgan, why did you leave?”

“My dad died,” I say simply.

He nods. “I know. We all said goodbye and watched him go into the light.”

“You did?” I whisper, feeling a sudden burn at the back of my throat at the thought of my dad. I’d only been six years old at the time, but my memories of him are crystal clear.

Artie nods again. “Bertie knew it was comin’. Said he had a dark cloud hanging over him all day. We was all watchin’ out for him when he just… dropped.”

I suck in a sharp breath. “It was an aneurysm in his brain. The doctors said he wouldn’t have felt anything.”

“He didn’t.” Artie shrugs. “One minute he was like the rest of the fleshies, next he was standin’ next to his body lookin’ down. It didn’t hurt ’im, but he was a bit confused. Bertie looked after ’im til they came for ’im. Then he went into the light, said he could see his mum waitin’.” Artie frowns. “I don’t remember my mum much.”

“What do you remember?” I ask curiously.

“She smelled like flowers,” he says quietly. “On ’er cardigan was a brooch shaped like a butterfly. My dad gave it to ’er before he left. When the doodlebugs came and dropped bombs on us, we had to sleep below ground in Camden tube station. The air-raid sirens was going off, and there was so many people down there, all squashed together on the platform and the rails. Even the stairs. We could ’ear the bangs, and the lights would flicker. I was scared, so Mum held me on ’er lap and put her arms around me. A nice old lady next to us gave me some of her chocolate ration.”

“Oh, Artie.” My heart breaks a bit for a scared little boy huddled underground.

“When we came up, our house and most of our street was gone. My dad was fightin’ in France so it was just me and Mum, but we didn’t ’ave nowhere to live no more. She sent me here so I’d be safe, but I got sick.”

And died here.But I don’t voice the thought out loud.

“I don’t suppose you know what happened to your mother, do you?”

Artie shakes his head.

“I could find out for you, if you want?” I offer, wanting to do something for this lonely, sad child I’d befriended and then abandoned.

He shakes his head. “Ain’t no point now. She’s probably up there somewhere wiv your dad.” He points to the ceiling.

I glance over at the old-fashioned clock mounted on the wall and blink. “Is it really ten p.m.?” I say aloud. My stomach growls loudly in response. “I’ve slept most of the day away.”

“Ellis came to see you earlier, but you was still sleepin’.”

Disappointment washes over me. I’ve done nothing but think about him all week, and the first time I’m back in the same building, let alone the same country, I spend five minutes in his company and then crash out and miss dinner.

I bet Aggie made dumplings too.

My stomach gives another wail of protest at the thought of Aggie’s freshly baked dumplings and her thick, rich beef stew.

Fuck.

“He left you that for when you woke up.” Artie lifts his chin and I turn in the direction he’s indicating.

There’s an old hostess trolley which looks as if it belongs in Downton Abbey. The metal frame is a dull gold plating mounted on four castor wheels and sports three shelves. On the top one are two tall glasses set upside down and two jugs, one containing water and one with what looks to be fresh orange juice. There are also two covered plates, one slightly smaller than the other.

I push back the layers of bedding and scramble out of bed towards the trolley, then wheel it closer to my bed. Uncovering the first plate reveals a sinful-looking slab of decadent chocolate cake, and the other holds a thick doorstep of a sandwich with freshly baked bread, cheese, and carved chunks of ham.

My stomach gives another loud growl and my mouth waters. Picking up the plate with the sandwich, I settle myself comfortably back onto the mattress.