CHAPTER 3

That night, he borrowed a van from the meat plant. Harry, the weekend caretaker, had clued him in to that particular unofficial perk, and he’d agreeably turned a blind eye to the times when Harry had borrowed it on his watch. Now, faced with the difficulty of hiring a car with no licence, he rationalised that borrowing the van wouldn’t hurt anyone. Despite this logic, he’d had to suppress a few pangs of guilt at the unofficial arrangement.

His first stop was a large house in a relatively new housing estate just outside London. As he waited, a station wagon pulled into the drive. The doors opened, and out climbed a couple in their mid-forties, and three children who ranged in age from seven to thirteen. He didn’t need to check his notes; he knew that Stephanie was the eldest, closely followed by Hamish and then Emily, clearly a late addition to the family. As he watched, Emily yawned hugely, and her father smiled fondly and reached out to tousle her hair. She had a look of Livvy about her, and he remembered, dimly, doing the same to her.

“Stop it, Will,” she would cry. “Mama, Will’s teasing me again.” Their mother would turn, trying to look stern.

“William, it’s not kind to tease your sister.”

“Yes, Mama. Sorry, Livvy. Sorry, Mama,” he would say contritely, only for Mama to reach out and tousle his hair herself.

Hamish ran ahead and was almost knocked over by the enormous golden retriever that bounded out as soon as he unlocked and opened the front door.

The children’s parents exchanged an amused glance as Stephanie joined Hamish in trying to restrain the dog. Moments later, they were inside, the closed door a tangible symbol of the barriers between Spike and the warmth of their home.

Livvy’s great-great grandchildren seemed happy enough in their loving, comfortable home. He had never been a part of their lives, and there was no sense in trying now. It wouldn’t have been right to go back to Sunnydale without looking in on them, though.

One down, he thought to himself as he started the engine and turned the van around.

***

His next stop was closer to the centre of the city, a narrow house in a genteel part of town. The lights were on, and he could see the flicker of a television behind the net curtains. Squaring his shoulders, he climbed the stairs and rang the bell.

“Just a minute,” called a voice. A minute or so later, the door opened to reveal an elderly woman in a heathery tweed skirt and a fluffy, pale blue jumper that matched her still-bright eyes. Her woolly slippers were more practical than elegant. “Can I help you?”

He shuffled a little, not entirely comfortable with the lie he’d prepared. Plastered a friendly smile on his face, apologised mentally to Xander and began.

“I’m sorry to disturb you so late. I’m looking for Miss Nancy Carmichael. My name’s William Harris. I’m visiting the area, and I believe we may be related.”

An indefinable emotion flickered across her face, then she stepped back. “That’s me. You’d better come in then, Mr. – ” She paused. “Harris.”

Relieved to be over that hurdle, he followed her inside. She switched off the television. “Some awful game show,” she apologised. “I like to have it on in the evening. It gets lonely with no one else here.”

He nodded. “I do the same.”

They chatted about nothing over a pot of Earl Grey before she leaned forward.

“So, Mr. –er— Harris,” she invited. “How can I help you?”

Why had he come? Where to start?

“Your great-grandmother is the relative we share. Your grandmother Olivia’s mother. Her grave is at St Margaret’s. I wondered if you knew who had been maintaining it.”

She smiled. “I keep up a regular donation to the church there. The churchwarden keeps it tidy for me. My cousin’s grandchildren visit it sometimes and take flowers. My second cousins once removed, or some such. I can never keep up with these relationships.”

He grinned. “Me either. Just working out how you and I are related is tricky enough.”

“I would have thought that would be quite simple,” she said. “For you.”

He stilled.

She looked steadily at him. “Granny told me, just before she died. How you visited her one day. What you had become. I always wondered what you had made of yourself. I guess now I know.”

He looked away, ashamed. “I never wanted her to know, not really. I didn’t want her to live with the shame.”

“It was never a question of shame. As far as I’m concerned, forewarned is forearmed, and that’s what the family has been all these years. You’re obviously a fine young man, William. Or should I call you a fine old man, great-uncle Will? I don’t really understand the etiquette of these situations,” she added dryly.

“Somehow I don’t think Mrs. Post ever got around to writing the chapter on dealing with undead relatives,” he cracked, still unsure of where this was heading.

“I always wondered what your life – may I call it that? – was like. Granny was certain you were more than the monster you showed her. She used to wonder where you were, what you were doing.”

Spike shrugged, uncomfortable with her regard. “Oh, I was a monster alright. And if you knew what I was --” he corrected himself. “If you knew what I am, what the bollocking hell were you doing inviting me in?”

Her eyes twinkled at him. “It doesn’t matter much, these days. I’m seventy-eight years old, and I’ve had a good innings. I’m still in good health, but there’s no one much to miss me if I go. Besides, I always hoped I’d meet you, one day.”

“You. Do. Not. Invite. Vampires. Inside. Your. Home.” He frowned at her, trying to look threatening. “Ever,” he added.

“Yes, Great Uncle Will,” she replied demurely. “I’ll remember. Now tell me about …”