child left alone with no light. When he dozes he's intermittently able to forget Freda's cry. "It's got in."
THE FACE FROM THE DARK
They've been stopped by traffic lights at the edge of Speke when they hear the song from the car that has pulled up beside Luke's car at traffic lights. "That's me," Sophie says. "Luke, it's me."
He switches on the radio and searches for the station. Her voice in both vehicles begins to duet with itself just as the refrain comes up—"A song we all can sing." The presenter fades the record out and sings the line. "Sophie Drew with the Liverpool sound for this century," he says, and so does his twin on the road. "Watch her climb the charts."
The show is on national radio, not local. The lights step down to green, and as the Lexus surges forward Sophie says "I still can't quite believe so many people like me."
"I can't believe anybody wouldn't, so just you believe in yourself."
"I will if you will."
"I'm still trying to decide who I am."
"You're who you made yourself, just like everybody else. The people you've known had something to do with it, but you're the one who had to make the choices." As Luke wonders if it can be so simple for anyone she says "You're Maurice and Freda and Terence and the bits of them you decided not to be."
"Is that how it worked with your parents?"
"I'm sure it was."
He's inclined to agree. He has grown to know them, classical musicians who lecture on the subject and who are even more delighted that their daughter writes songs than by her arranging and performing them. The speed limit on the open road lets the Lexus have its head, and he says "I wish you'd given me a chance to clear up at the house."
"I promise not to be appalled. I saw your place before I moved in, remember."
"That was a shadow. This is the real thing. I just don't want you trying to tidy up when you're what Freda's mother used to call delicate."
"We're sturdy even if we don't look it, the Drew women." When Luke doesn't answer she says "There's nothing I can't see, is there?"
"Terence asked me not to let people into the house, but he can't have meant you. He must have known he was leaving it to us both." Luke hesitates and doesn't know why before blurting "I found his diary last time I was there."
"Did it tell you anything?"
"Not that I noticed. Some of it might as well be in code."
There's a promise of green at the end of the concrete vista ahead—the bridge over the river. As he drives across it Luke can't identify exactly where he found the van, but he vows never to forget all that Terence did for him. A procession of glazed faces is slithering above the house. The train snakes away as Luke halts the car, and Sophie says "How long did he live here?"
"More than all my life."
"It's almost hidden, isn't it?" She clambers out of the car and blinks at the arch. "I think he was quite a private person," she says, "under everything we saw."
Luke finds he doesn't want to be reminded. He's anticipating resistance when he unlocks the front door, but there are no more bills. He tries the light and finds the electricity has indeed been switched off. The stale smell is waiting like a friend that's grown too old. Luke hurries to retrieve the bottle from the front room and empty it into the kitchen sink. "I should think so too," Sophie says and instantly relents. "No, I shouldn't think anything of the kind. I can imagine how you felt when you were here."
She's gazing at the relics in the front room: the gaping slippers, the coat the armchair has shrugged on. As she picks up the scattered pages of the newspaper she sees how Terence dug his pen into the listing for the Brittan show. "He must have been angry," she murmurs. "Maybe he thought Brittan was right."
Luke doesn't have time to examine his own anger. "Right how?"
"I'm not saying he was, just that Terence might have thought so. That's how he looked when Brittan tried to say it was his fault you had medical help."
"Well, it wasn't, and why
THE FACE FROM THE DARK
They've been stopped by traffic lights at the edge of Speke when they hear the song from the car that has pulled up beside Luke's car at traffic lights. "That's me," Sophie says. "Luke, it's me."
He switches on the radio and searches for the station. Her voice in both vehicles begins to duet with itself just as the refrain comes up—"A song we all can sing." The presenter fades the record out and sings the line. "Sophie Drew with the Liverpool sound for this century," he says, and so does his twin on the road. "Watch her climb the charts."
The show is on national radio, not local. The lights step down to green, and as the Lexus surges forward Sophie says "I still can't quite believe so many people like me."
"I can't believe anybody wouldn't, so just you believe in yourself."
"I will if you will."
"I'm still trying to decide who I am."
"You're who you made yourself, just like everybody else. The people you've known had something to do with it, but you're the one who had to make the choices." As Luke wonders if it can be so simple for anyone she says "You're Maurice and Freda and Terence and the bits of them you decided not to be."
"Is that how it worked with your parents?"
"I'm sure it was."
He's inclined to agree. He has grown to know them, classical musicians who lecture on the subject and who are even more delighted that their daughter writes songs than by her arranging and performing them. The speed limit on the open road lets the Lexus have its head, and he says "I wish you'd given me a chance to clear up at the house."
"I promise not to be appalled. I saw your place before I moved in, remember."
"That was a shadow. This is the real thing. I just don't want you trying to tidy up when you're what Freda's mother used to call delicate."
"We're sturdy even if we don't look it, the Drew women." When Luke doesn't answer she says "There's nothing I can't see, is there?"
"Terence asked me not to let people into the house, but he can't have meant you. He must have known he was leaving it to us both." Luke hesitates and doesn't know why before blurting "I found his diary last time I was there."
"Did it tell you anything?"
"Not that I noticed. Some of it might as well be in code."
There's a promise of green at the end of the concrete vista ahead—the bridge over the river. As he drives across it Luke can't identify exactly where he found the van, but he vows never to forget all that Terence did for him. A procession of glazed faces is slithering above the house. The train snakes away as Luke halts the car, and Sophie says "How long did he live here?"
"More than all my life."
"It's almost hidden, isn't it?" She clambers out of the car and blinks at the arch. "I think he was quite a private person," she says, "under everything we saw."
Luke finds he doesn't want to be reminded. He's anticipating resistance when he unlocks the front door, but there are no more bills. He tries the light and finds the electricity has indeed been switched off. The stale smell is waiting like a friend that's grown too old. Luke hurries to retrieve the bottle from the front room and empty it into the kitchen sink. "I should think so too," Sophie says and instantly relents. "No, I shouldn't think anything of the kind. I can imagine how you felt when you were here."
She's gazing at the relics in the front room: the gaping slippers, the coat the armchair has shrugged on. As she picks up the scattered pages of the newspaper she sees how Terence dug his pen into the listing for the Brittan show. "He must have been angry," she murmurs. "Maybe he thought Brittan was right."
Luke doesn't have time to examine his own anger. "Right how?"
"I'm not saying he was, just that Terence might have thought so. That's how he looked when Brittan tried to say it was his fault you had medical help."
"Well, it wasn't, and why
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