The 1,000-year-old Boy

‘I’m not really supposed to say until it’s official, but, well …’ He paused, and Dad didn’t prompt him. ‘It’s not gonna help him now, is it?’

Him? Did he just say ‘him’? My heart plummeted.

‘Or her, I suppose,’ he continued. ‘Anyways … one body that we know of. We don’t even know who lived there yet. We couldn’t get the trucks down the lane, and the hoses weren’t long enough. They never stood a chance.’

They? Was that ‘they’ as in ‘he or she’ or ‘they’ as in … I was confused and tired, and didn’t know what to think.

Dad tutted and shook his head. ‘Dreadful way to go.’

‘They’re all bad if you’re not ready. But this? Probably quicker than most. You suffocate long before you burn.’ He smiled as if this was encouraging, but I was still unbelievably sad. I rested my forehead on my knees and felt myself wanting to cry. I think I made a slight sobbing noise in my throat because it made Dad and the fireman look down. The fireman spoke and his gentle Geordie accent was reassuring.

‘Ha’way, son. Time you got some sleep, eh? It’s bin a hell of a night!’

I stood up and gave a stiff nod and I felt a tear run down each cheek. I wiped them on my sleeve.

‘It’s … it’s the smoke. It’s got in my eyes,’ I said, though I don’t know why.

‘Aye. It does that. We all get it,’ he said and patted my shoulder. ‘Have a shower, son. You’ll feel better and you won’t smell it.’

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I woke up at ten o’clock and spent a few minutes staring out of Libby’s bedroom window. The sky was a clear light blue with no clouds, and there were a few lone wisps of smoke rising from beyond the trees. I opened the window and there was still a faint smell of burning wood.

Downstairs the local TV channel was showing pictures of firemen and people in white overalls standing by the burnt-out shell of a building. And by ‘burnt-out’ I mean it was just a few blackened walls and a doorway, and half of an upper floor supporting a bit of roof. I could make out the remains of a table and some other furniture, and the camera showed close-ups of some burnt books, a stone sink, a bookshelf and a picture hanging wonkily on the wall.

‘… blaze was well established by the time firefighters arrived on the scene. The secluded house, parts of which are believed to date back to the eighteenth century, was completely destroyed in the inferno, which the fire service spokesperson described as one of the worst house fires she had ever seen.’

Chief Fire Officer Harry Oxley: ‘We have recovered one body from the scene which has been removed for forensic examination. I cannot say more than that at the moment.’

Reporter: ‘Can you say what started the fire?’

CFO Oxley: ‘At this moment in time, we are pursuing all avenues of enquiry, but there is nothing at present that indicates foul play.’

Reporter: ‘The fire spread to other parts of the woods, and locals from the nearby Delaval Estate were warned they might have to evacuate …’

At this point, the picture cut to our street, and there I was, gazing up at the fireman on the ladder. Normally I’d have gone, ‘Dad! Dad! I’m on telly!’ but I didn’t. I just watched in glum fascination as the reporter finished her piece.

‘… finally brought under control shortly before dawn. The area has been cordoned off while fire and police investigators try to establish both the cause of the fire and the identity of the unfortunate victim. This is Janey Calvert in Whitley Bay for North Today.’

When I heard BANG BANG BANG on the window, I jumped so hard I spilt milk on the sofa. It was Roxy.

‘Still in your pyjamas?’ she said, her high voice muffled by the glass. ‘See you in the garage in ten minutes. It’s important.’

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The trees were still dripping from their soaking the previous night and the ground underfoot was soft pale mud, with fresh footprints. Roxy, I figured, must already be inside, and I pushed the door, which swung open, but no one was there.

Just then, Roxy squeezed herself through the gap in the fence, her tiny foot first, her tousled head last.

‘Hiya,’ she said, immediately noticing the door was open. ‘How did you get in?’

‘It was open,’ I said, then raised my finger to my lips to say ‘shh’ and pointed to the footprints in the mud, which, it seemed, were not hers. Now that I looked, I could see that the trail led inside the garage. Instinctively, I think, Roxy lowered her voice.

‘Someone’s been in here. One of the firemen, you reckon?’ she said.

I pointed at the small footprints. ‘It’d have to be one with very dainty feet.’

She gave her little bark of laughter. ‘Very good, Sherlock! But what about my laptop?’

I shrugged, and she pushed past me to the other side of the desk where she kept the computer. Then she just screamed.

And I mean screamed.

For all her small frame, it was a big shriek, followed by little gasps, ‘Ah-ah-ah,’ then, ‘Aidan!’

‘What?’ I was just standing there, unable to do anything because I had no idea what had caused her to shriek.

Roxy’s eyes were fixed on something under the desk, something I couldn’t see.

‘Th-there’s a … a person.’

OK, so what we should have done was calmly leave the shed-cum-garage, locking the door behind us, and call the police.

That would have been sensible. That’s what you should do if you’re ever in the position of finding a person hiding under your desk in an old workman’s hut.

Instead I stepped forward and seized the desk with both hands, tipping it towards me on two legs till it crashed over, revealing a smallish figure curled up in a ball like a scared hedgehog and visibly trembling.

‘What the …’

‘Who the …’

Slowly, like a leaf uncurling in spring, the figure lifted its head, straightened its back and looked up at us standing either side.

‘You!’ Roxy and I said in unison.

The boy from the cottage blinked hard at the light coming through the doorway and slowly stood up and said, ‘Memam … memam … memam …’

Just that. Babbling and blinking, looking first at me and then at Roxy.

She, of course, understood first.

‘Your mam?’

He nodded. ‘Me mam.’ He swallowed hard and carried on blinking in the light.

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The last friend I had ever had was Jack McGonagal. It was Jack who changed everything.