by EH Walter
Chapter 12: When it's all over we still have to clear up
My kitchen clock had stopped when the power had been cut. It showed the time as 10:34 pm. I looked at it for a while when I got home as it was the only sign of the evening before. That evening that already seemed half a lifetime away. The clock's hands were caught in that moment and in truth I think a part of me was there with it, trapped forever in time.
The window had been replaced and everything cleaned. Not a grain of salt was in the wrong place. Nissa had been good to stay and work without my leaving out a dish of milk. I opened the fridge and poured one out for her now. I always bought full fat Jersey milk for my little Brownie helper, I thought it was the least I could do. As I closed the fridge door I caught sight of a postcard tucked under a magnet. It was from this summer when an old friend had gone to Spain. 'Wish you were here' it said across the front, a picture of green trees and sandy desert. I looked up to the clock and then back down to the postcard.
The sofas that had been up ended were now back where they should be, Bob's blanket neatly folded on one arm.
Bob had followed me into the flat and looked just as confused as I did as to what happened next, now all the drama had been played out.
"Goodnight," I said to Bob, although the time was early in the morning, and I went to my bedroom, closing the door behind me.
The duvet was warm once I pulled it around me and cut off all the gaps where a draft could get in. I knew I wouldn't sleep, my mind was too busy. In a frantic rush my mind replayed everything and then debated the millions of variables that could have occurred if I had made different decisions. No matter how much I thought, nothing would change and nothing would make me feel better.
I reached into a drawer for a hand full of knock-off sleeping pills and swallowed them dry.
I woke when it was dark, popped more pills and slept again. My sleep was good - it was empty of dreams.
It was definitely the next day when I woke, or it could have been the day after that. Anyway - a hungry stomach got me out of bed and made me walk to the kitchen. As I was rummaging in the fridge I noticed Bob was sitting on the sofa with the local jobs paper spread before him on the coffee table. He was serious then.
I took a spoon and a bowl of cornflakes to the other sofa and sat down. As I ate I regarded Bob and watched the rapt interest at which he read all the advertisements, he even had a red felt tip pen in his hand, ready to circle the ones that interested him. He scratched his head, right by his little stubby horns.
"Er... Bob..."
He looked at me and blinked.
"I don't want to throw a spanner in the works or anything - but how are you going to get away with... with - them?" and I gestured to where the horns were on his head.
His hand followed mine and he felt his horns as if he had forgotten all about them. "Oh, I've been letting my hair grow. I can back comb it into an amazing afro, the local hair dresser showed me how. I told her I was a genetic freak. She even sold me the comb to do it with."
"And your feet?"
"I'll get human shoes with inserts. No one will ever notice."
"Oh okay."
I went back to eating and he went back to reading.
"Er, Bob..."
"Yes?"
"What qualifications do you have?"
"Huh?"
"Qualifications. What qualifications do you have?"
He scratched his head again. "Well I was many years with the fairies..."
"You can't tell them that. You need bits of paper, bits of paper that say you can do things."
"Can't I just show them? Show them how well I can do the job?"
I shrugged. "I think employers like bits of paper."
He gave me a nonchalant expression and settled back into his reading. I obviously hadn't put him off because he continued to ring the adverts that interested him.
Mind you, I couldn't really criticise - a drama diploma and a certificate in stage combat didn't really go very far. It got you about as far as your great aunt's investigation agency anyway.
I could have stayed around moping, but that's no fun when you share a flat with a half-goat half-man and have an obsessive compulsive Brownie who wouldn't allow any mess to remain for longer than it took you to turn your back. In my mood a bit of mess would have been reassuring. So there was nothing to do but shower, dress and drive up to the office in Cockfosters. Perhaps it was time real life started again.
The office building was as deserted as usual. I had no trouble in finding parking since my car was the only one that ever parked there - apart from the occasional intrusion from the odd commuter departing from Cockfosters tube.
It was a cold morning, winter was truly here and as I stepped from the car I wrapped my coat close about me.
I walked into the building and up the stairs. Reggie was at work on the floors. I bade him good morning and he didn't even blink. I hesitated with my hand on the brass door knob to Paranormal Investigations, looking at the dripping gold letters. This was it now. This was my life. I would never play Lady Macbeth, I would never be a member of the Royal Shakespeare Company. I was doomed to work for my aunt and scrape a living spying on errant husbands and the occasional sexed up ghost.
I entered and was met with an accusatory glare from Rose at her desk. She peered over a pile of papers and through her glasses at me.
"Where have you been?" she demanded.
"Working."
"Humph," she said with a sniff, "would it kill you to call in to the office?"
I sighed and sat down in the visitors' chair opposite her desk, reached for a biscuit off the plate she kept handily on her desk and munched. "Well Rose, it was a bit chaotic what with time travelling with my father, fighting off demons and fairies and then having a showdown in Highgate cemetery when I had to persuade Karl Marx, the zombie version at least, not to ally himself with the forces of evil, but it was okay because it seemed he just wanted to get laid anyway. Oh and the only way I could defeat the bad guy was to marry him."
She sniffed and said, "Ridiculous, your father has been dead twenty-two years." as if she didn't have a problem with any of the other details. Her eyes went back to the paperwork on her desk and she began to shuffle them and make notes in margins. As I got up she tried to peer at me without my seeing, her eyes fell on my ring finger which made me automatically cover it with my right hand. I really was going to have to get a chain and put it somewhere where people couldn't see it. Especially as this ring was still a sought after stolen artefact and a photo of it was bound to be on every police database in the country and possibly further afield.
I went to my office and sat down. There was a stack of papers, messages and expenses to be signed off. I got up and went to the window where I laid my hands on the windowsill and looked out over the Hertfordshire countryside. This side of the office looked over green fields and countryside, the other side looked over the bustle of central London ten miles to the south, the building was built on a curve and my office was on a corner. It was a place of contrasts. I looked at my phone. It hadn't rung for two days - no messages and no missed calls. No one wanted to speak to me. No one.
I looked around the office, it all seemed so pointless. It was no use, I was going to have to go out, get a change of scene.
I darted out of the office before Rose could chastise me, she shouted after me:
"Call Mildred! She's left dozens of messages!"
I bet she had. Still, if she couldn't find the time to talk to me about my so called destiny as a Seer then I couldn't find time to talk to her either.
I walked to the bus stop and went up to High Barnet. In times of trouble I defaulted to Starbucks and at least if I kept myself in public places I would find it easier to fight the tears.
Starbucks was busy and I had to fight my way through a coven of giggling teachers to get to the counter. I joined the queue and, high on the Princess Park Manor money, decided to sp
lash out on a large cup of chai tea latte and a cinnamon swirl - an unheard of extravagance in my meagre life. Having made my choice I just wanted to pay and be done with it but the people in the queue in front of me seemed to be on go-slow. There was a woman who kept asking "Venti? What exactly does that mean?" and a man after her who was staring at the menu as if it was the biggest decision he had ever had to make in his life. He was early thirties and hadn't really got into the Movember idea as he was wearing a stubbly beard rather than an amusing tash. He was wrapped up for weather much colder than it was, a thick jumper in an Argyle print, thick knit scarf and gloves. He had ordered a double chocolate mocha, but was struggling getting the coins out to pay for it as he wouldn't take his gloves off. I sighed and then made myself breathe deeply. It wasn't like I was really in a hurry, I had nowhere to go and no one to see. Even Bob was making plans to leave and Trevor had gone back to his bridge as soon as the McDonald's breakfast was digested. I bit my lip. I would not cry, even if it was pitiful that the two most important people, creatures, whatever - in my life were a goat and a troll. I hadn't even known such creatures existed two weeks ago.
Beardy eventually moved off down the end to wait for his drink and I got to place my order.
The red cups were out in force and Christmas music was piping through the speakers all across Starbucks. I know most people get really excited about the festive period, but for me it's just another day. It's not like I had any family to spend it with, was it? I suppose at least this year would have the benefit of being the first Christmas I wouldn't be angry at my father for not being there. Now I could let all that anger go, he had always done the best for me that he could.
Now I really was all alone. I had isolated all my friends when Jez left and I had practically pushed him away, my family were all gone apart from GA Mildred and she wasn't exactly the sanest bunny in the warren. Really, my life was the product of my own actions and I had no one else to blame for my lonesome misery.
"Caramel frappaccino." the moody Welsh Starbucks barista said as she thumped on the counter the largest frappaccino I had ever seen. The woman threw the drink down with the clear message 'I'm too good for this'. Okay love, we can't all have jobs we love. Her name badge said 'Jones', how very un-Welsh, so I gave Jones a smile just to annoy her as I always found pleasantries did this to people in a mood.
It was hardly the weather for cold drinks and the guy who ordered it was clearly going to get brain freeze. Yup, there he went sucking at his straw like it was July. The double chocolate mocha was next to be thumped on the counter and Beardy tried to pick it up but it kept slipping through his gloved fingers. Geez, it was like the guy had never been let out before.
My chai tea latte followed, I smiled again at Jones and moved off. I decided to break with tradition and went upstairs where it was always a bit quieter. It was also a workout getting up all those stairs and burnt off some of the cinnamon swirl. Double win.
I was in the comfy chairs in the corner and halfway through my tea when I noticed a man standing at the top of the stairs. I probably noticed him because he was still wearing his motorbike helmet and had a courier bag over his shoulder. He looked around the room and then his eyes settled on me. I tried not to look alarmed as he approached me and thrust a package into my face.
"Sign please," he said, his voice muffled by the helmet.
I took the piece of paper and crappy biro he offered and added a squiggle to the piece of paper.
"Not signing for a bomb or anything am I?" I joked. My humour was lost on the courier and he merely ripped off the top copy of the delivery receipt and handed it to me along with a small jiffy bag.
As I took it he turned around and left. The address on the top of the package had been typed and read 'young woman, upstairs in Starbucks, 11.30am 2nd November'. Interesting. I looked around me, Beardy was upstairs as was a group of teenagers and a couple - I was the only woman on her own.
Cautiously I began to open the small package, ripping the fold off the jiffy bag. I didn't put my hand inside, instead shook out the contents which landed on the table with a slither. A piece of white A4 paper had been folded into quarters and underneath was a gold chain. I opened the A4 paper. I had rarely seen my father's handwriting, but I knew it was his all the same.
I made one more stop, it read, before the end. This was your mother's, I thought it might be useful.
I picked up the chain and let it run through my fingers. I looked back at the note. I had been written in a hurry and the only other lines were post scripts added at the bottom.
PS Have you ever thought about retracing your footsteps?
I scratched my head. Retracing my footsteps? What did that mean?
PPS Be prepared. Be strong. There is worse still to come.
Great dad, thanks. That's a lot of help.
Slowly I eased the ring off my finger and making sure it didn't lose contact with my skin I put it on the chain. The chain I fastened around my neck and tucked under my shirt out of sight. I looked at my finger, the imprint of the ring was still pressed on my flesh, but it would ease in time.
As I finished my tea I thought about what his first PS could mean. Which footsteps should I retrace? The cemetery? Surely not medieval Spain? Then I realised there was only one thing he could mean, one things that was of use - the time I had followed that figure from the British Museum. Would I be able to find that house on the square again? The was only one way to find out.
It was peculiar standing where I had been with my father so recently, or so long ago depending on how you looked at it. I decided I had to find the exact spot I started from to give myself the best chances of finding the house again. The tourists looked at me a bit strangely as I stepped from side to side, trying to be exact, but that was the least of my problems. Heck, I had last been here with a time travelling ex-angel and I had followed a ghoul hell bent on raising the dead.
I closed my eyes to better remember and then set off on my recreation of the journey. It was easy alongside the British Museum as there were not many turnings off, but it became harder to remember which way the ghoul had gone once we were past all the tourists. I made a wrong turn at one point and had to go back on myself and pick up the correct trail. I found a square that I thought might be the one only to realise it didn't have any blue plaques on the houses so I went back again. In a second square I looked about keenly, there was the strangely shaped tree in the gardens and glancing at the blue plaques I knew I was in the right place. I looked at the basement window, I could smash it and squeeze through but it would be noisy. I had a feeling there was no one in, but it would be wise to check first by knocking at the front door.
I walked up the steps to the front door. It was one of those huge, imposing doors that were designed to state the wealth and position of the owners. It had a brass lion head as a knocker and I thumped it down twice. I was not quite sure what to say if someone did come to the door, but knew a claim to be from the Jehovah Witnesses with a copy of the Watchtower would almost certainly guarantee the door being slammed in my face instantly. Unless the person answering the door recognised me from Highgate Cemetery... then I would have to go to plan B, if I could think of one.
I angled my body to better run down the steps should I need to but no one came. I gave one more knock. Nothing. I was about to go down to the basement window when I thought - why not? I put my hand tentatively on the door handle and pushed. It opened.
"Hello," I called, "evil ghoulish demon things? Anyone in?"
It appeared not.
The entrance hall was wide and grand. It didn't take too much imagination to picture the hall in its heyday - an obsessive Upstairs Downstairs and Downton Abbey habit didn't hurt too much either. Now it was grey, dark and covered with dust. I looked for footprints but there was too much thick dust to be able to discern anything. I knew my best bet was to find the door to the basement from behind which I had
listened. I wandered the ground floor of the ghostly house until I found a door which seemed to be right. I tried the handle, but the door was locked. Just as well I didn't try coming in through the basement window then. I tried looking through the keyhole but I couldn't see a thing through the gloom. With my back to the door I tried to picture the direction the voices had come from. It seemed to me as if they had come from the left and walked to my right from which they had gone out of hearing distance. If I went left I came upon the entrance hall where I came in, so it made more sense to go right. I followed a dim passage that had once hung with pictures, the rectangular marks of preservation were still clear upon the wall paper. I looked in several doors as I passed them, but the insides were just as empty and dusty as the rest of the house. At the end of the passage was one last door. This had to yield some clue.
I opened the door. Inside was what must have been a gentleman's parlour or study. It was too small to be a library, but books in expensive leather with gilt lettering lined the back wall. There was not a speck of dust which meant someone was either living here, or they had a Brownie as obsessively tidy as my own. There was a fireplace in which a fire was still burning. I looked cautiously about the room, but I was the only one here.
In the centre of the room was a large desk, made of an auburn coloured wood, upon which sat old fashioned books and ledgers. I sat in the wooden and red leather chair at the desk and began to flick through the ledgers. Some of them were handwritten in languages I did not know, deeply etched in darkest black ink. Some of them had words I recognised, 'Vitam Mordem' being one of them. I felt a throb from the ring about my neck. A sheaf of loose papers had been added to the top of one pile, I reached for them but because they were not neatly stacked they slipped through my fingers and fell to the floor. I crouched to pick them up and that was when I heard voices and then footsteps. I grabbed the papers and slid under the desk. Thankfully it was one of those ostentatious Victorian affairs and had an enormous cavity underneath as well as a solid back.
There was enough light from the fire to be able to make out the papers and I realised I was looking at a photograph of myself, except it wasn't exactly me. I had different hair and just looked... different. I had to stop looking when I heard the door handle turn. I clutched them in my hand and tried to make myself into a tiny ball under the desk. My breathing was rapid and so loud I was sure it must be echoing around the room.
"It was good of you to come," said a voice I came to think of as the 'younger' voice. It sounded familiar and it could have been the hooded man's voice, but he was speaking in a different tone so it was too difficult to tell.
"It serves my own interests," said the 'older' voice and he too could have been the hooded man.
A chair creaked on the other side of the room, one of them had sat down.
"It is curious," the younger said, "but you have already seen this, haven't you?"
There was a silence that could have been the nod or shake of a head.
"Can you tell me anymore?"
The elder spoke: "Alas, if I told you any more than was told to me... well, let's just say it wouldn't go well for me."
"Why did you come?"
"Let's just say it was curiosity. I know so much more now about... your wife than I did then."
The younger growled. "Don't."
The older laughed. "Well, if you knew her now as well as you will, you too will find it rather humorous. She has an endearing habit of... stuffing things up."
"Then tell me how I can be rid of her."
"Tsk, tsk, my young friend. I am rather fond of her, as you shall be. She will have her uses."
"Well if you are not going to help me, why did you come?"
"To tell you not to give up, it is not the end - there is hope."
"How?"
A chill filled me.
"Through her. She will provide the solution herself to this miserable race of humans. The world will be on its knees, in time."
"I want it now."
"Patience. Patience."
"How do I know to trust you - that you are not some foul magic sent to trick me?"
"She's under your desk now."
"What?"
"Leo Fey is hiding under the desk. In her hands she has the reports you asked for on her. She slipped through the front door not ten minutes ago because you did not bother to lock it."
There was silence. My heart began to do an ADHD version of the Tango in my chest, my mouth went dry and my throat ripped with breath. I tried really hard to think of my flat, my offices - somewhere safe. Please beam me up Scotty. I began to feel a whoosh fill me just as a pair of legs appeared in front of the desk, he reached down and grabbed hold of the papers and if I could just stay one more second I could see his face... one more second and I would know who he was...
I went and landed with a wet thump.
Bloody trolls. Somehow, despite my best efforts to think of nice, safe, familiar places I had managed to let one thought of Trevor slip in and landed in the middle of the Pymmes Brook in Oakhill Park. It was bloody freezing and since I landed in the position I left I was now sitting in the middle of the water. I stood up, my clothes dragging me down with their sodden weight.
As I began to climb up the slippery, muddy bank a familiar raspy voice said: "Pay the toll, two mangoes."
I gave the troll the finger. "Piss off Trevor."
He crossed his arms. "Charming I am sure."
Shivering I walked the ten minutes back to my flat. I got many strange looks, but I was too cold to care.
With shaking hands I unlocked the door to the flat building and climbed the stairs. Only one more lock stood between me and a warm bath and I could put this day behind me.
I unlocked the door and entered. In the hallway there were boxes and a stack of post. Christmas was coming early it seemed.
"Hello?" I called out, "Bob, are you in?"
A figure in a Pizza Hut uniform, complete with baseball cap, appeared in the hall way.
"Where have you been?" he asked.
"I just went to the British Museum."
"For a month?"
"Huh?"
"Leo, you went missing on the second of November, people said you must have killed yourself because your life was so miserable."
"But it is the second of November."
"No Leo, today is the thirtieth of November."
Oh shit. "You mean I've been gone twenty-eight days?"
"Look," he pointed at the boxes, "they made me pack up your stuff. They told me you were dead."
Then the little goat man burst into tears. I put my wet arms around him and patted him on the back.
So what I'd missed twenty-eight days of my life - this way I'd always be a month younger than I had any god given right to be.
It's amazing how much people seem to care when they think you've topped yourself. I'd never had so many posts on my Facebook page from so many random people. I had a good time reading about how much they missed me and who could go over and above to claim the largest share of the grief as my closest friend.
I did consider whether I could go back to the right time, but I couldn't have gone back if I thought it worth the effort, I just didn't know how to and it seemed like the damage was already done to those I cared for. Of course I didn't tell people I had slipped through time, I claimed to have been backpacking in India 'finding myself' for a month and if anyone asked for details I could not provide since I had never been outside of Europe I pretended to have been too high on an assortment of natural drugs to take in the scenery or sights.
I slipped back in to life with ease, well - for me at least - I had never been away.
Bob had done well at Pizza Hut and was their newest delivery boy. It appears goblins can make anything you ask them to, including three GCSE certificates and a moped driving license. He had saved all his money and on the third of December was moving in to his own place.
&
nbsp; "I'll help you move," I told him the day I got back - post bath and with the addition of warm clothes.
"There's no need," he said.
"No Bob, you've been my house guest and it's the least I can do. I'll help you."
His meagre belongings were packed up in two small bags and one box. On the morning of the third I cooked him breakfast as it would be our last together. I wasn't able to speak, damn it - I was going to miss him!
"Have you got enough money?" I asked him, like a mother sending her son off to university.
"I do, the tips are very nice thank you."
"And you've got everything you need? Toilet brush? Pint of milk?"
"You don't need to worry Leo. I'll be fine."
Huh, I wasn't worried about him - what would I do without his company?
I washed the dishes slowly, but it was clear Bob wanted to be off and all my efforts to put off this moment wouldn't stop it coming. I had to face it - the moment to say goodbye to this strange little friend was here.
"Perhaps we could have dinner soon?" I asked, "Perhaps invite Trevor along too?"
He nodded. "It's time to go."
"Ah, okay."
"You really don't need to help me."
"No, no - I want to."
"Very well."
I put my coat on, scarf, gloves, hat - you really felt the cold when you skipped twenty-eight days between autumn and winter. I made sure I had my purse, phone and keys and picked up one of Bob's bags. He carried the other bag and the box.
"Are you sure you have everything?"
"I have my blanket, my pizza hut uniform and a frying pan. I'm sorted."
He seemed too composed for my liking, he wanted to leave - our friendship meant nothing to him.
Sniffing I went out to the hallway and opened the door. I sniffed again. Dammit!
"Oh Bob!" I cried out, "I'm going to miss you!"
I grabbed him in a hug and let my tears fall. He patted my back.
When I had regained some composure I wiped my eyes with my coat sleeve and we left the flat. I locked the door behind us and began to walk down the corridor to the stairs.
"Where are you going?" Bob asked.
"Huh?"
"This is my flat."
He pointed to the door opposite my own.
"But a Sri Lankan lady lives there."
"She moved out when you were away. She didn't like the way the neighbourhood was going, I don't think she liked demons."
"You mean you let me go through all that and you live here? Opposite me?"
"You didn't ask. I did say I didn't need your help."