In 2017, I was part of Story Shop, an Edinburgh City of Literature collaboration with Edinburgh International Book Festival. Ten local writers read their story, one a day, in the Spiegel tent. The fabulous Alex Dillon helped us prepare. My short story is ties together two of my fictional worlds – the first ever story I published, and a novel I wrote – and I had a lot of fun writing and performing it.
‘It’s not as unusual as you may think, Lynn,’ Dr Barker said with a kindly smile as she fitted a blood-pressure cuff around my arm. The smile I returned was a little quivery.
‘No?’ I held Audra’s hand tightly with my free one. She was unfazed by the surroundings; the smell of bleach and the sterile white walls made me nervous.
‘You’d be surprised. It affects about two percent of the population. Mostly women but men too. Where did you find her?’
‘It’ll sound crazy…’
Dr Barker shook her head. ‘Not to me.’
She noted my blood pressure and prepared to take a blood test. I don’t like needles so I looked at Audra while I spoke.
‘I was walking in the highlands. It started raining really heavily so I took refuge in a bothy and there she was, standing in the corner, waiting.’
It had been weird. I opened the door to the musty room and saw a glimmer in the murk: a thin white-clad girl was looking at me while the rain hammered the roof and the wind screamed around the open door.
She wasn’t anxious or scared but stood straight, hands clasped in front of her, head slightly lowered so her fringe obscured her eyes. Bland patience personified.
I went to her immediately, hugged her bird-thin frame and darkened her knitted jumper with rain from my coat.
‘We haven’t been apart since,’ I told Dr Barker.
The doctor pulled the needle out of my arm. I flinched. Audra’s nostrils flared and she blinked rapidly. I gave her a calming smile, let go of her hand and put pressure on the needle prick as instructed.
Dr Barker labelled samples and put them in the fridge.
She moved efficiently, making small sounds – pen on paper, glass on metal, the fridge door opening and closing.
‘Now it’s Audra’s turn,’ she said.
‘Time to be weighed and measured. Do you know what to do or do you need help?’
‘We’re fine.’ I walked Audra over to the scales and she stepped up.
’24 kilos.’
Dr Barker took a note.
‘Height?’
Audra was already in position.
‘135 centimetres.’
‘How old do you think she is?’
‘She looks about eight.’
Dr Barker frowned slightly.
‘She’s tall for her apparent age,’ she said, ‘and underweight. Does she look OK to you?’
‘She’s perfect in every way. Except for the eyes.’
Audra looked at me. Her eyes – pupil, iris and white – were the uniform grey of cement. They were surrounded by long black lashes, set in a pale golden face.
She had straight black hair with a severe fringe, high cheek bones, freckles across her wide nose, a plump mouth. She looked like a doll; limbs long and fine.
‘Did you invite her or did she follow you from the cabin?’ Dr Barker asked.
‘I took her with me,’ I said, stroking Audra’s hair. ‘I couldn’t leave her.’
‘Does she speak?’
I shook my head.
‘When did you realise no one else could see her?’
I pulled Audra close to my side. ‘When I got back to town. I went into a B&B. We were both drenched, it had rained all day and Audra wasn’t kitted out for it. I asked for children’s PJs…’
I shrugged.
‘And they asked why?’
I nodded.
‘She’s lived with you for two years?’
‘Yes.’
‘Has she changed at all in that time?’
I shook my head. ‘Not even her clothes.’
Dr Barker rose and indicated two blue foot-shaped stickers on the floor next to the wall.
‘Stand here, Audra, and I’ll take your temperature.’
I sat down and nodded encouragement. Audra stood very still while Dr Barker scanned the area around her body with what looked like an electric wand. The doctor nodded to herself and took a few more notes.
Somewhere, something turned on, filling the air with a quiet background hum.
‘Stay there.’ Dr Barker sat down and brought out a camera. She took three pictures of what, to her, must have looked like empty air.
‘I’m glad you came to us,’ she said. ‘She’s really here, I can tell you that. She’s not all in your mind.’
It wasn’t until she said it I realised how worried I’d been that I’d made Audra up. Tears welled in my eyes. Dr Barker gave me a tissue. Audra ran to me and put her arm around my neck. She doesn’t like it when I cry.
‘We don’t know much about ghost children,’ Dr Barker said.
‘They are most often girls between three and six and usually find carers between 27 and 45 years of age. They’ve been appearing since the 1940s. We don’t know why. We don’t know why some speak or why some can be seen by many and some only by their carer. We have as many questions as you do.’
She grinned.
‘That’s why I’m so grateful that you and Audra are part of this study.’
I kissed Audra’s ear, trying to hide the relief I was feeling. I drew in a breath and the chemical smell of the room caught at the back of my throat. For a second I wished Audra had a scent.
Dr Barker pressed a button on the camera and a printer whirred to life. We waited for the print-out in silence.
The picture made no sense at first. It was all black except for a thin central shape outlined in bright flames. It didn’t look anything like Audra.
‘It’s an aura photograph,’ Dr Barker said. ‘This and thermal mapping are the only techniques we have for documenting ghost children. We’re working to improve detail.’
This wasn’t the evidence I’d hoped for. The tears welled again.
‘There are support groups.’
‘For ghost children?’
‘For their carers.’ Dr Barker gave me a business card.
‘As you know, it’s not always easy to be one. The first year is fine, but when the child doesn’t grow, doesn’t change or speak, many find it distressing.
It causes problems with friends and family too: you can’t get a babysitter for a child no one else can see.’
Tears were rolling down my cheeks, silently dripping off my chin, falling on the sleeve of Audra’s white sweater. She turned her grey eyes to me, her face impassive as always.
I kissed her nose. ‘It’s OK, darling,’ I said, ‘we’re fine, you and me.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Dr Barker said.
‘Try the group, though. Many people find it helpful to meet parents with similar challenges and Audra might enjoy playing with other children. Mary, who runs that one,’ she pointed at the card in my hand, ‘has lived with her Alice for 25 years.’
‘That long?’
‘They’re very happy together. Alice talks now, and some days Mary’s husband can see her.’
Dr Barker patted my hand.
‘You’re in good health but could do with a bit more sleep.’
I made a grimace. ‘I know, I don’t like leaving her alone.’
‘You need to look after yourself. Audra will be fine. Leave her with a book, some crayons or in front of the television if you feel uncomfortable putting her in a bed knowing she won’t sleep.’
‘I can’t stop thinking of her lying there, staring into the darkness.’
‘Some people find it helpful having their ghost children with them when they sleep.’
‘Is she not too big for that?’
Dr Barker shrugged. ‘It’s entirely up to you and what you’re comfortable with. Don’t apply normal parenting rules to Audra. Ghost children have their own needs.’
‘And those are?’
Dr Barker laughed. ‘That we do know: they want to be loved. We might not know where they come from, what attracts them to particular people…’
My eyes widened.
‘Yes, you were chosen. Not every visitor to that cabin will have seen her.’
I scooped Audra up onto my lap, hugging her to me. She was warm against me, her bony bottom digging into my thigh muscles. She leaned her head back against my shoulder and closed her eyes.
‘I’ve loved her almost since the moment I saw her,’ I said. ‘I want to look after her. I worry that I can’t.’
‘You’re doing a great job,’ Dr Barker said and stood up to signal that our meeting was over.
I copied her, hitching Audra onto my hip. She put her arms around my neck and held on tightly.
‘Go to Mary’s group, get some sleep, and you’ll have many healthy, happy years together.’
She smiled at Audra.
‘You chose well, little one,’ she said quietly, as if for Audra’s ears only. ‘Look after her, OK?’
Audra met Dr Barker’s gaze and nodded. It looked, for all the world, as if they locked eyes. I opened my mouth to ask just as Dr Barker looked back at me.
‘See you in three months,’ she said and we were leaving, my shoes squeaking on the blue rubber floor.
‘Darling, did she see you?’
Audra smiled a wide sunny smile, her sharp little teeth white as snow. I hugged her and put her down on the floor. ‘Come,’ I said, holding out my hand for her to take. My heart fluttered with happiness.
‘We’re going to make friends just like us.’