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It was just about to hit mid-afternoon, when we should realistically be setting out on a case, but from the information we gathered it wasn’t much more than a type 1 haunting and in all honesty, it only needed one of us to head out to settle whatever apparition decided to torment whoever, two of us maximum. With me back at Lockwood & Co after my absence, that would still leave us at half our full capacity, the majority of us if you counted Kipps, though I wasn’t actually sure if Lockwood was currently paying him. With this little burst of time, I found myself finishing unpacking what little I had left from my time in Tooting, and in all honesty it was just room decor now.
Back before I left Lockwood & Co, my little room had grown to be rather adorned with posters of bands I liked as well as various photos, both from my home up north (though really it was just me and my old team at Jacobs) and the ones I’d taken down here in London. It was mostly of me and Lockwood and George, though over time various ones with the Skull had emerged, and even Holly was now in a couple. All the photos had hung from lines of twine that hung on the wall beside my bed, and now was the process of putting them back up.
The posters had been yesterday’s job and I took a sense of joy being able to rearrange them around the room, changing everything ever so slightly to be known, but now enough that the reshuffle would seriously throw me off (or add any new pin holes into the walls). Admittedly, returning the photos would take longer, because I have to either use a small peg of paperclip to get it onto the twine and to say it’s finicky would be an understatement.
After a short while, however, I fell into a rhythm. Take a photo, then a paperclip, find a suitable bit of twine to hang it from, repeat. Take a photo, then a paperclip, find a suitable bit of twine to hang it from, repeat. Take a phot- oh . The image now in my hand was an older one, all things considered, but it didn’t really feel all that old. Then again, thinking about the girl I was in that image compared to the girl I am now, we couldn’t be more different. I’d seen the place we go when we die, that girl had barely felt loss in a way that meant something to her.
I never really got a chance to celebrate my birthday while I lived up north. Being my mother’s 7th child, she was over all the typical child milestones, and by the time I was working, she’d all but given up on trying to make an attempt to care. The people who did care, however, were my team at Jacobs, all of them. There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t miss them, and there’s not a day that goes by which feels sick that I’m not with them.
The photo was of my 14th birthday, not long before the Wythburn Mill incident. It had been taken on our break, and while we didn’t get any longer than legally mandated, it was one of the few times in my life up to that point where I’d had time specifically dedicated to me. One of the lads, Paul if I was remembering correctly, had taken a trek out to a local bakery which we as a group always reserved for special occasions, and bought me back a cupcake, as was tradition with the 6 of us. The celebration was small, but enough. More than enough. We’d taken it on Norrie’s old polaroid, the image was largely over-exposed because of the hard fluorescent lighting in the building of Jacobs & Co, but that didn’t matter, it was the memory attached that meant more.
“Knock knock.” Came a voice from my door in tandem with two raps at it. It was Lockwood. I knew it because he was the only person in this house to knock like that. Not around clients, just around us. It always made me smile.
“Come in!” I called though to him, shuffling so my position on my bed was facing the door instead of away.
“Afternoon, Luce, or should I say evening? Doesn’t really matter. I bought you some tea. I’d say it’s the way you like it, but in all honesty, I had to open up a new bottle of milk and it came out faster than I expected so it mightn’t be as strong.” He rambled as he came in, putting it on my bedside cabinet by my bed without me asking. I could see the steam coming off it, and he knew I always waited for it to cool before I drank any of it.
“Honestly, Lockwood, I’m grateful you made me anything at all, so thank you.”
“Oh it’s nothing really, I was making tea for the rest of the folks downstairs so it only made sense to bring some up to you.” Lockwood commented rather nonchalantly, flashing me one of those iconic smiles, before looking up at the pictures I’d so far managed to get on the wall. He let out a light chuckle. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen these.”
“Sorry about that,”
He shook his head, mumbled something, then reached over for one close to him. It was the two of us with George, and if the date and the dresswear were anything to go by, it was one we’d taken just before going to the Fittes party. Lockwood had set up his camera on a timer and rushed to join the two of us before it flashed leaving a slight blur on the final photo. We’d all been laughing at the commotion of him trying to get the camera, you could tell from how flushed our faces were.
What struck me most, once again, was how different he seemed between the two pictures. I stared at the photo, and then looked back at him. In both cases he was smiling, and the dimples in his cheeks were always pronounced, though now maybe less so, then again, his smile wasn’t quite as broad right now. Because he wasn’t smiling, it made the hard bags under his eyes more pronounced, and while all of us as agents have them, between the Lockwood in the photo and the Lockwood standing here, he just looked weary. And then of course, there was the fresh white streak in his hair. We both had that now, though.
“That was one hell of a night, huh?” Lockwood commented fondly before putting the picture back.
I nodded. “I still can’t believe we pulled it off.”
“Oh, have more faith in our abilities, Luce! We’re planning quite the heist again at the minute.” And he wasn’t wrong. Between jobs and on especially sleepless nights, we were slowly and surely planning to break into the great Marissa Fittes’ tomb, though right now, I wasn’t really in the mood for talking about that,
“I have plenty of faith in what we can do.” I said, a little more defensively than I would have liked, so I patted on the bed next to me so he knew he was still welcome. Lockwood took the invitation and sat down next to me, nodding toward the photo still in my hand. “Is that your old team?”
Of course, I’d mentioned them before, though never in detail and not recently, so it wasn’t any surprise that he knew, no, what actually got to me was how soft his voice was when he said it. The way he spoke was so gentle, and it was something about that tenderness that made that girl who shouldn’t have survived that accident want to cry like it had just happened.
I smiled instead. “It is. The girl next to me is Norrie, then there's Alfie-Joe and Steph to our right, and Paul to our left. Julie is behind the camera, but I probably have a photo with her somewhere.” I gesture to the small stack of photos I have left. “We took this on my 14th, which technically means we took this nor long before I came here. It feels surreal, really, because my life here is so much different to what it was up there.”
“I wouldn’t know, Luce, you rarely talk about it.”
“You’re one to talk.” I watch him flinch and instantly know I’ve overstepped. “Sorry, I’m touchy about it, I didn’t mean to snap.”
He sighs. “No, don’t worry, so am I. I’m trying to be better, but after pushing it away for so long, I don’t know, it’s like I’ve gained a repulsion to it almost.”
“Yeah, I understand that, though, I think it’s less of a repulsion and more just your brain trying to protect you from hurting.”
I watch as Lockwood breaks eye contact with me and turns his focus across the room. Moving the picture back to the pile, I offer him a hand, and after a moment he takes it. I’ve seen him get like this a few times before, especially around topics like this, so over time, we’ve learnt how to deal with it. Give him a way to ground himself (my hand), and try to change the subject.
“So about that case we have tonight? I doubt we’re all going but-”
“Not right now, Luce, please.” Lockwood asks softly, squeezing my hand a little bit. He looked so vulnerable, and I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the little bit of Anthony that would peek through in times like these. That poor little boy against the world (or at least all of London). “I miss them so much, you know? And sometimes I walk through this house and there’s the tiniest part of me that hopes they’re still there. It’s stupid, really, because it’s been the better part of a decade now, and I know they’re gone, Luce, I know ….”
He lets out another heavy sigh, this one twinged with upset. “I do get it, Lockwood, there are some days where I wish that a letter would come through the door saying, oh I don’t know, ‘Hey Lucy! I didn’t actually die in that accident and I’ve spent the last two years trying to find you again!’ or something.”
Realising that my current approach wasn’t helping him much, I rephrase: “Look, what I’m trying to say is that you’re not alone in this. We all care about you, and you’re not the only one who’s been through things like this. Holly lost her team too, and you’ve known George forever. The sooner you can get it through your thick skull that we care about you, the better.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” He acknowledges. “Speaking of skulls, where is the Skull?”
I try not to quip at the change of topic, I know it’s his way of coping but in all honesty it really doesn’t help. “Oh, he’s in my closet, he was talking too much so I shut the jar and put him in there so I could focus on finishing my room.”
That got a laugh out of Lockwood. Not a big one, but a small genuine one. A relieving sound. “I like what you’ve done with the place. It’s nice seeing the walls decorated.”
He’s acting like his little lapse didn’t happen, but I can’t say I’m surprised. I’ll probably ask him about it later, and he’ll have probably forgotten the worst parts of the conversation, just bringing me my tea, which is probably cold by now.
“I think it looks better too.” I assure him with a smile, which gets returned oh so slightly.
“I’m going to head out with George on that case tonight, say goodnight to Holly when she leaves for us, alright?”
I nod. “I’m probably going to head downstairs once I’ve finished up here anyway, so don’t worry I won’t forget. You sure you’re up for the case?”
“Why wouldn’t I be, Luce?” He asks, and I just shake my head as he lets go of my hand, gets up and heads for the door,
“Just stay safe, and good luck.” I tell him, and I get one last shining smile as he goes.
Once I hear him get to the stairs of the landing, I go to my wardrobe and pull out the skull, who already has a disapproving look on its face. I release the lever on the silverglass jar.
“That boy is going to get what’s coming for him one day, you know.” It comments as I settle it back down on its usual spot on the windowsill.
“Oh I know.” I mumble as I go back to sorting my photos (and like I said, I do find one with Julie in-)
“Is that all I get after being stuck in there all day? Not a single ‘oh you’re so right, I’m going to release you from this jar to hear more-’”
“I know, I know, I’m sorry. You are right, I know you are, it’s just…”
“Hard to admit?”
“Something like that, yeah.” I say half-heartedly, and the skull quietens down for a moment.
“Well, I’ll be tormenting our across-the-street neighbour’s toddler if you need me.”
I let out a snort. “Have fun with that, skull.”
“That I will.”