The Girl from the Corner Shop

by Alrene Hughes

  ‘Oh, my friend Agnes couldn’t come. I hope you don’t mind, but I lost my husband recently and she thought it would be all right for me to come instead.’ Helen was surprised at the ease with which the lies tripped off her tongue.

  ‘Of course, it’s all right, Helen. I’m Mabel. Come in, you’re very welcome,’ and she ushered Helen up the hallway, past a large barometer and a gilt mirror, into the parlour. There were four women already there. ‘Chat among yourselves while we wait for one more lady,’ she said and left them.

  Helen said hello and tried to appear friendly while saying very little as the others talked. She observed them closely. Joan, an elderly woman, explained that she’d been before. ‘It were very interesting last time,’ she said. ‘My Albert passed with his heart two year ago and he said he were in fine fettle over the other side. Now I’m hoping he’ll bring me sister Margaret over. It’ll be great hearing from her again.’

  A well-heeled woman, with a large cameo brooch on her lapel, seemed quite composed. ‘I just want to know that my brother is happy at last, Lord knows he deserves it.’ She turned to the woman next to her, who was already dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, and asked who she hoped to hear from. ‘My lad Ernie, he was at Dunkirk, drowned…’ She offered nothing more.

  But it was the youngest woman, a girl really, not much more than eighteen, that Helen felt so sorry for. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes darting here and there like a frightened animal. Helen recognised herself in the girl as she had been in those days immediately after Jim’s death, when her grief was raw and the shock had lodged inside her. God knows how she would react to a message from beyond the grave. The cameo woman tried to draw her into the conversation by asking her if she had only just been bereaved. The girl managed to nod and that alone set her weeping softly.

  ‘And what about you, dear?’ She smiled at Helen, drawing her into the conversation, and all eyes turned to her. ‘Who are you hoping will come through this evening?’ What to answer? What comfort could there be in a stranger making up some sentimental rubbish?

  She said simply, ‘I want to hear from my husband.’

  The room seemed to have taken on an atmosphere of sadness and despair and she felt the weight of her own grief pressing upon her.

  Nevertheless, the ice was broken and, as the minutes ticked by, they chatted as women do to pass the time. Helen listened to what was said and contributed a little, but was careful not to give away any of her story. The girl said nothing.

  The medium returned and invited them to come into the dining room. The other lady they had waited for had not arrived. ‘Sometimes that happens,’ explained Mabel. ‘Their courage fails them, poor souls.’

  The room was lit by three table lamps, covered in chiffon to create a suffused glow. There was nothing on the round table other than a ruby-coloured chenille cloth. Helen sat with the window behind her and facing the medium. To her right was a large mahogany sideboard and to the left was a grand fireplace of black marble. The girl sat beside her and Helen could almost feel her shaking. Unlike the parlour, this room was distinctly cold.

  When everyone was seated, Mabel explained, ‘There is nothing to be frightened of, those spirits that will join us here tonight are just like us; they want to connect with those they love. We begin by creating the circle. Please put your hands, palm down, on the table and spread them to touch the hands of the ladies next to you. Do not break the circle and please do not make any sudden noises, whatever happens. Clear your mind of everything except your loved one who has passed over.’ Well, thought Helen, in for a penny in for a pound, and she brought to mind Jim’s face that last night they were together at the working men’s club.

  The silence seemed to creep around them.

  ‘Let us begin,’ said Mabel and Helen shivered.

  ‘Come, spirit. I sense you near. Is your loved one here? I’m ready and waiting to pass on your message. Speak to me.’ Mabel cocked an ear as though listening, now she was nodding, then turning to Joan, the elderly woman. ‘Ah, your husband is here again. You have such a strong connection to him.’

  ‘How do, Albert?’ The woman greeted him as though she’d run into him on Market Street.

  Mabel smiled. ‘Oh, he says he’s got someone called Margaret with him? Do you know a Margaret?’

  ‘Course I do. She’s me sister. Hello, our kid, I don’t half miss you. Are you all right?’

  Mabel frowned and looked up, presumably at Margaret hovering somewhere above her shoulder, then she turned back to the living sister. ‘She says, you’re not to fritter away that money she left you in her will and you’d be better off using some of it to mend that crumbling chimney before it falls on your head, else you’ll be keepin’ her company before you know it.’

  The woman was affronted. ‘Well, you just tell her, the bloody chimney can wait. There was no point in her keepin’ that money under the mattress. I’m goin’ to enjoy it, for there’s no pockets in shrouds.’

  God, what a farce, thought Helen.

  ‘Now, don’t let’s get involved in any arguments. That’s not what we’re here for,’ said Mabel, sternly. ‘Your husband says you’re to calm down, or your nerves will get the better of you.’

  Helen could tell she was seething, but the woman pursed her lips and said nothing. Helen had to stifle a smile at the thought of a dead husband giving orders to his wife from beyond the grave.

  Mabel went quickly on to describe a softly spoken man in a pin-stripe suit and a bowler hat. ‘That’s John, my brother,’ said the woman with the cameo. ‘Can you tell him his wife has sold the house and moved to Cheadle. So, I won’t have to see her ever again, thank goodness.’ But it seemed that John was no more than a whisper that faded away.

  The mother of the lad who died at Dunkirk was next to receive a message. ‘I’ve a young man here, in uniform. His passing was quick and without pain,’ said Mabel. ‘Ah, I see, he drowned. Dunkirk, he tells me. Now he’s saying, “I’m fine, Mam, don’t worry. When you’re in the kitchen cooking the potato ’ash, I’m there with you. Have you felt my hand on your shoulder?” ’

  The mother’s face was in awe. ‘Yes, yes, Ernie. I felt you there with me. I did. I did. Oh, love, it’s so good to hear from you. Your dad has been so upset too. We miss you so much, son.’ She wiped the tears from her eyes, and Helen saw they were glinting with wonder.

  ‘Ernie, have you anything else you want to say to your mother?’ asked Mabel and she did that listening face again. ‘Right, Ernie. I’ll tell her. He says, “We’ll be together again someday and don’t forget I love you, Mam, and tell Dad I said he’s to look after you.”’

  The emotional atmosphere was now thick as broth and the girl was becoming more agitated.

  ‘Ah, another young man. He’s so desperate to talk to his wife.’ For a moment Helen caught her breath. It couldn’t be a message for her, could it? Mabel went on, ‘Not long married, he tells me.’ Mabel was flustered. ‘I can’t catch his name. Slow down, slow down,’ she told him. ‘Who do you want to speak to?’ and slowly she turned to the girl and smiled. Helen breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘It’s your husband, Violet.’ For a moment Helen was startled. Mabel knew the girl’s name? Then she remembered that she had been asked her name in the vestibule when she arrived: Mabel knew all their names.

  But now Violet was crying out, ‘Johnny, is it you?’

  ‘Yes, it’s Johnny. He’s here, Violet, right next to you. He’s smiling at you. He wants you to know you’re more beautiful than ever. He says, “You mustn’t be sad. Don’t worry about me. You made me so happy and I’m so sorry about what happened.”’

  ‘But the baby?’

  Helen saw Mabel’s eyes widen ever so slightly at the mention of a baby. With barely a hesitation she called, ‘Johnny, are you there? I can’t hear you. Speak to him again, Violet, I’m sure he’s still with us.’

  ‘Johnny, we’re going to have a baby.’ She sounded desperate. ‘I don’t know how I’ll m
anage without you.’

  All Helen could think of was that it could’ve been her. How would she have managed?

  But Mabel was back into her stride. ‘He’s here, I can see him! It’s not often that happens. His love is so strong, Violet. Oh goodness me! He’s kissing your cheek.’

  Violet’s hand shot to her face. ‘I felt him! He’s really here.’

  ‘Listen, Violet, listen.’ Mabel drew her back. ‘Johnny says you and the baby will be fine, because he’ll be watching over the both of you. He wants you to be brave and to know how much he loves you.’

  For the first time, Helen saw the girl smile. The haunted expression had disappeared, to be replaced by joy and, yes, she was beautiful. Helen felt tears well in her eyes to see her transformed.

  ‘I sense another spirit. A strong man in his prime. Helen, I think it might be your husband. I’m trying to catch what he’s saying but he seems far off. Concentrate, Helen, and try to draw him to you. Focus on him.’ And Helen found herself silently calling his name. Wondering if he might have found his way to her.

  ‘Ah,’ Mabel sighed. ‘He brings the smell of smoke with him. Can you smell it?’ Helen gasped at her words. Why would she say something out of the blue like that? She breathed in, was there smoke? No, she couldn’t catch it.

  ‘I can smell it,’ said the cameo lady.

  ‘So can I,’ said the girl.

  Helen shivered.

  ‘Believe, just believe,’ pleaded Mabel, and Helen tried so hard to bring him to her. ‘I hear him now, Helen! “Be strong,” he says. “I love you more than anything.” ’ And she let out an anguished moan and fell forward on to the table.

  Helen looked at her in disbelief. What was she to make of it all? The other women were struck dumb until a good minute later Mabel lifted her head and cried, ‘The spirits have left us,’ and a moment later she addressed them in a bright voice. ‘Now, ladies, if you want to make a donation, I’ll leave that up to you.’ She took a fruit bowl from the sideboard and set it on the ruby chenille.

  Helen put in half a crown, the other women gave notes while the girl had a handful of copper that could have come from a piggy bank. The women filed out, thanking Mabel and promising to return. Helen was the last to leave and at the door she turned to look back at the scene. ‘Can you smell it now?’ asked Mabel. Helen didn’t answer, there might well have been a whiff of smoke in the air, but she couldn’t be sure. ‘He’s proud of you, you know,’ she said.

  *

  Ken was waiting for her in the car. ‘Well, how did that go?’

  Helen sighed and tried to release the tension in her body. ‘It was a very strange experience. To tell you the truth, I’m not certain what went on in there. I need to think about it a bit more, so much happened in a short space of time. But don’t worry, you’ll have my report on Monday.’

  ‘That’s great,’ said Ken. ‘Just an outline of what happened and any sign of trickery, distress to the women, asking for money – that kind of thing.’

  Helen didn’t even try to sleep, instead she relived the event from the moment she entered the house to when she left. The waiting in the parlour for the sixth person to arrive gave the women a chance to speak about their dead relatives. She sifted the facts they revealed: a name, cause of death, a place. Were there enough clues there for the medium to fashion a reading? But she hadn’t been in the parlour. Besides, she herself had been careful not to give anything away and said only that she was hoping to connect with her husband. Then there was the girl who didn’t speak in the parlour at all. Could someone not in the room have heard the women’s conversations? Was the door left open a crack? She didn’t think so. There could have been a hole in the room somewhere, but she didn’t see anything suspicious. Maybe it was hidden with a picture or… a barometer?

  The dining room had been very cold, but the medium could have left the windows open all day to make it chilly. She recalled where everyone sat and wondered why there wasn’t an empty chair either at the table or set to the side for the person who didn’t turn up. Maybe there never was another woman on the list. And, come to think of it, the woman with the cameo brooch had kept the conversation going all the time they waited.

  Once the seance began, the medium had been kind and most things she told the women were comforting.

  Then it was her turn… and the whole whiff of smoke thing. Even though she didn’t smell it at first, the suggestion was enough to evoke memories of Jim. Even now, as she thought of it, she could conjure up the smell in her mind. But that wasn’t the same as actually smelling it.

  She lay awake thinking of Jim, recalling how the smell would linger in their bedroom, especially at night when he came home after a late shift. He’d take her in his arms in their narrow bed and the smell of smoke in his hair would forever remind her that she was safe and loved.

  *

  Helen took her report on the seance round to Newton Street on Monday morning and gave it to Ken. He asked her to wait and she watched him as he read it: nodding; pulling a face as if in disbelief; smiling. ‘This is really thorough, well done. It’s not that simple, is it? I think you’re right about an accomplice, most likely the well-dressed woman, who got the conversation going, while the medium was listening through some sort of unseen opening in the wall. So, what have we got? There was deception, but it could be hard to prove; there were some mysterious shenanigans going on, but in the end the outcome was all positive. The women left happy – they even left a donation.’

  ‘So, is that it then?’ asked Helen.

  ‘Not quite, I need to speak to the DI. After that I’ll go and see our clergyman and I want you to come with me. No doubt he’ll have questions to ask you.’

  ‘Do I have to go?’

  ‘Of course.’ He held up her report. ‘This is all your work and, not only that, you experienced it first-hand.’

  They arrived outside an imposing church with a steeple, in a good area of south Manchester. Next door to it was the manse. A woman answered the door and her face flushed crimson at the sight of Ken showing a warrant card and Helen behind him in uniform. ‘My husband is in his study,’ she said and led them down the hallway.

  The minister stood up and came from behind his desk as they entered into the room. He shook Ken’s hand and gave a puzzled glance at Helen.

  ‘This is my colleague, WAPC Harrison,’ said Ken.

  He barely looked at her. ‘Sit down, sit down, please. I’m hoping you’ve got to the bottom of this wicked deception.’

  ‘We’ve made a thorough investigation into the matter,’ said Ken. ‘Harrison, here, posed as a grieving widow and took part in the seance. I’ve brought her along today in case you have specific questions about what went on. She has also written a report that you might want to read.’ He passed it across the desk, but the minister was staring at Helen.

  ‘I understood from the chief constable that he would put his best men on the job.’

  ‘With respect, sir, we needed to put a woman in there,’ Ken explained. ‘It was the only way to find out exactly what went on in order to determine whether a crime had been committed.’

  The minister shook his head, picked up the report and scanned it. When he had finished, he said, ‘Well, there you are. If this is what went on in that room, it’s either the work of the devil or a shyster. Either way, it must be against the law to deceive grieving women by telling them lies and taking their money.’

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ said Helen. ‘Everything the medium said to the women was comforting and they all left the seance with their raw grief soothed – it was like ointment on a weeping wound. They were more content and accepting of their loved one’s death than when they came in. Surely that’s a good thing?’

  He looked at her as though she was mad and turned to Ken. ‘The medium was deceiving them and taking money under false pretences. I demand that—’

  ‘How can you say that?’ Helen challenged him. ‘Isn’t it exactly what you do as a minister? Don’t you off
er words of comfort? Don’t you tell wives that their husbands are in heaven? Is it not the same thing?’

  ‘Now look here, young lady, I’m a man of the church and it’s my calling to give succour to the bereaved.’

  Helen could feel the anger rising inside her and she fought to keep her composure. ‘At my husband’s funeral the minister told me, “He’s in the arms of Jesus now.” I didn’t believe him, any more than I believed the woman at the seance, but I found her more comforting in her manner.’

  The minister ignored her and turned to Ken. ‘Is the outcome of this case to be determined by a slip of a girl?’

  ‘No, sir, our detective inspector has reviewed the evidence and he has decided not to proceed.’

  The minister stood up. ‘I shall be writing to the chief constable!’ he said. ‘You can see yourself out, I’m sure.’

  Back in the car, Ken burst out laughing. ‘I can’t believe you – arguing theology with a minister of the church – he looked like he was about to have a stroke! And what did he call you, “a slip of a girl”? Well, you certainly got the better of him.’

  Helen had no idea what theology was, but she knew she’d ruffled the feathers of an important man. ‘Will I get into trouble? I won’t lose my job, will I?’

  ‘Course not, we’ve got far more important things to do than chase after someone who makes a few quid telling sad women what they want to hear. We’ve got an unsolved murder on our patch, not to mention the looting and a black market that’s running rampant. That’s what you call crime.’ He looked across at her and smiled. ‘“A slip of a girl.” I like that.’

  By the end of the week, word of Helen standing up to a minister had got around, so too had the dismissive description ‘a slip of a girl’, only, by then, it had become a compliment.

  Chapter 20

  Helen woke with a start and looked round the room, certain that there had been a noise. There it was again – a sharp crack at the window. She rubbed her eyes and waited, expecting to hear it again. Instead, someone was calling her name outside in the yard. She jumped out of bed and drew back the curtains. There was Frank with a ladder in one hand and a box under his arm.