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ate and drank. Mr Dooley sounded like a straw
at the bottom of a milkshake. I could see Coley trying to
hide his grin again but I kept a straight face. I had to. If
I started laughing I'd never stop.
    Mrs Dooley said, 'There was only ever one child
reared in that house.' I wondered if she ever talked about
anything else or if she was for ever stuck in the same
groove, like the rabbit at the dog track. 'Fifteen years she
lived in that house and nobody ever saw her. Nor her
mother, neither. Himself used do all the shopping and
suchlike. Things a man shouldn't have to be buying.'
    I was reaching breaking point. I didn't dare look at
Coley. I just kept my head down and stuffed my face
with cake. But the next thing she said cured me very fast.
    'They murdered her for a finish.'
    'Murdered who?' I said. 'The child?'
    Mrs Dooley nodded. 'So they said. Put them in
prison and all. The two of them.'
    'I don't believe they did it,' Mr Dooley said. 'They
never found a body or any evidence or anything.'
    'I don't know whether they did or they didn't,' Mrs
Dooley said. 'But poor Peggy wasn't right in the head,
that much I do know. Right from when the baby was
born.'
    'That can happen,' Mr Dooley said.
    'It can,' Mrs Dooley said. 'These days they know
how to treat it. I suppose they weren't used to it, then.'
    Mr Dooley slurped his tea. 'She maintained it
wasn't her baby at all,' he said. 'That was the start of it.'
    'It was,' Mrs Dooley said. 'She swore it was a
changeling.'
    'What's a changeling?' I said.
    'A fairy child,' Mrs Dooley said. 'Her baby stolen
away by the fairies and their own child left in its place.'
    'And was it?' I said.
    But neither of the old people answered that. They
looked at each other and they didn't say anything for a
while, and then Mrs Dooley said: 'Poor Peggy never got
out of prison. She died there. Joe came back and he lived
out his days in the house. He was ninety-three when he
died and I don't believe he enjoyed a single day of his life
there without Peggy.'
    'It's a great house, then,' I said. 'Full of happy
memories.'
    Mr Dooley and Coley laughed.
    I said, 'How do they know the little girl lived
for fifteen years if no one ever seen her? How do
they know they didn't kill her when she was a babby?'
    I wish I never asked that question. The answer
creeped me out.
    Mrs Dooley said, 'There was a nurse used call at the
house every month. Mary Crowley was her name. She
used see the child all right. But she would never talk to
anyone about her. Whatever she knew, she took it with
her to the grave.'
    'And besides,' Mr Dooley said, 'we used hear her.'
    Mrs Dooley nodded. 'She had this terrible little
voice. You'd hear it sometimes, if you were walking past
the house. There were words in it but the sound was too
high pitched. Like a cat trying to speak. Calling for her
mammy or whatever it was she wanted. But sharp, like,
as if she was ordering, not asking.'
    'You'd even hear it from here the odd time,' Mr
Dooley said. 'The night-times were the worst.'
    Grandma Dooley nodded again. 'Sometimes you'd
think it was the sound of the wind, and then you'd
realize there was no wind. Just this high shrieking, like
something out of hell. You couldn't tell if it was pain or
anger or both. There were times we used sleep with the
pillow over our heads for fear we'd hear her.'
    Mr Dooley said, 'Once you got that sound in your
head there was no way you would sleep again that night.'
    I thought they were winding me up and I looked at
Coley, but he wasn't grinning any more. He said, 'I never
knew that. You never told me about the voice.'
    'We didn't tell you when you were smaller,' Mrs
Dooley said. 'We didn't want to scare you. And you
wouldn't want to be telling your little brother, either,'
she said to me.
    'Nor my ma,' I said. 'She's bad enough as it is. She's
terrified of the dark.'
    Mrs Dooley looked at me like I had two heads. 'I
never heard of a grown woman afraid of the dark
before,' she said.
    'I'm not afraid of it,' I said.