by P L Kane
Take Vicky here, who was sitting opposite her on the caravan’s sofa today. She’d lost someone in the most tragic of circumstances the previous year, her husband Simon. Again, Vicky had come to her because she was desperate, and via a friend of hers, Jules. Julie Radcliffe, who had seen her own fair share of tragedy in her life. Bella had helped Julie, and so that woman thought she might be able to help Vicky come to terms with things too.
As Julie had explained to her friend when she first started bringing her along to the group sessions, Bella didn’t channel the departed. They didn’t take her over, possess her like something from a cheesy supernatural movie. They just talked, if they felt like it, and Bella listened, passed on their messages. What the living chose to do with that information was up to them.
Vicky had stopped coming to her group for a while, over the winter period – she said she’d just battened down the hatches on those long winter days and evenings, but Bella did wonder whether she’d lost her faith in all this. It was a fragile thing, easily shaken; all it would take would be a poisonous word or two from someone, a crack about Bella’s voices being a mental illness: multiple personality disorder or something. About Vicky being as deluded as her if she believed in it all. But Bella needn’t have worried, Vicky had returned again in the spring.
It was around this time she’d asked if she could see Bella separately, on her own sometimes. There were things to sort out with her late husband she’d prefer not to air in front of the others. Which was fine, Bella had made time for her when she could. And she knew Vicky didn’t have a lot of money, so there was never any pressure about that side of things. None of this was about fleecing people, regardless of what some – Vicky’s cousin, for example, some of Bella’s own neighbours even – thought.
Today was one of those days Vicky had arranged to see her. Bella should have cancelled really, when she first felt the headache building. But she figured she could get rid of it; she’d never had one that lasted more than a couple of hours before. Never had been one of those people who suffered from crippling migraines that knocked them out of commission for days at a time, causing them to vomit or whatever. Those techniques she employed usually worked.
Just not this time.
Besides, part of why these people came to her was for a chat. To get things off their chest, whether their deceased relative cropped up or not. Sometimes they didn’t, it was as unpredictable as the weather.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Vicky, finally, after being there for twenty minutes or so. She leaned over and touched Bella’s arm.
Bella stared at her and nodded. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just … I’m—’
‘You’re really not yourself today, are you?’ said the woman with the dark hair, which was only marginally longer than Bella’s pixie cut. ‘I can tell.’
‘I … I’m all right,’ Bella protested.
‘You’re absolutely not.’
‘Just a bit of a headache, Vicky. It’s fine.’
‘Doesn’t look fine. Let me make you a cuppa or something.’
‘Honestly, Vicky, it’s—’
‘Hey, Bella, I’m doing it. It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me. Even without the … y’know … you’ve sat there and listened to me drone on and on about things for hours on end. You’re always looking after people, I’ve seen you. Let someone look after you for a change.’
That would definitely make a change. Bella was usually so busy making sure everyone else was okay, she forgot about herself sometimes. It wasn’t as if there was anyone around to look out for her, really. No partner. No family.
She nodded. Vicky was determined to do her kind deed anyway, so she might as well let her. ‘But herbal, if that’s okay? Feverfew, ginger or peppermint please.’ All teas that usually helped soothe a sore head.
As Vicky rose and busied herself in the small kitchen not far away, Bella leaned back on the couch, resting the base of her skull. She was so, so tired. In fact, regardless of the headache, she’d almost drifted off when Vicky returned with the teas: ginger for Bella, which she placed on the small coffee table, moving a candle aside to do so, and an ordinary brew for herself. Vicky was quite a down-to-earth soul when all was said and done, which was why it was so flattering and so special that she’d warmed to what Bella did. If only her own brother could do the same.
‘Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to …’ said Vicky, apologizing for rousing her.
‘It’s okay,’ Bella told her.
‘So, what is it? Bad hangover? I’ve been there,’ Vicky said with a chuckle.
Bella couldn’t help letting out a little laugh herself at that. ‘No, no. Never touch the stuff. I’m teetotal.’
‘Then you’d better drink yours while it’s hot,’ Vicky ordered, smiling.
Bella had no idea whether she thought that’s what it meant – that she only drank tea – or she was making a joke herself, but had a sip anyway. It wasn’t that she hadn’t ever drunk alcohol; actually, she’d quite liked drinking when she was younger, much to her family’s chagrin. It helped to dampen down the voices that had been coming to her ever since she could remember. That she’d been too scared to tell anyone about because they’d have had her committed, that had made her wonder whether she actually should be sometimes. Whether she was going mad.
But now she steered clear of drink for exactly the opposite reason, to keep her head clear so she could hear what they were saying. Over time, and using certain practises she’d come across, she’d learned to separate them out. Only focus on one at a time. She’d also learned to tell them when to leave her alone. If you were reading a book, it was hard to concentrate on the words when there was someone’s nan chatting away ten to the dozen in her head about how proud she was of little Timmy. And they respected that, the spirits. Mostly. Unless it was something pretty urgent.
‘It’s—’ began Bella, then stopped again. Did she really want to get into this with Vicky? With someone who’d come here with her own problems today? She shook her head.
‘Go on, it’s all right. I can be a good listener too, when I put my mind to it.’ Vicky flashed her another warm smile.
Bella’s eyes brushed the floor. ‘My father’s just passed away,’ she said.
There was silence for a moment or two, then Vicky answered with: ‘Oh.’
‘Yes. Oh.’ Bella looked up and took another sip of her tea.
‘And were you …’ Vicky paused, obviously worried about broaching anything too personal. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry. It’s none of my business.’
‘It’s all right, Vicky. Honestly.’ It was like they said in that gameshow: they’d started, so they’d finish.
Vicky sat back with her own tea. ‘I was just going to ask if you two were close. I mean, you never really talk about … You don’t talk about your family at all, actually. I just assumed, I guess I thought you were just a really private person.’
‘I am,’ Bella confirmed. ‘But it’s not that, it’s just this particular … It’s complicated.’
‘I see,’ Vicky responded, frowning in a way that said she really didn’t at all. How could she? Bella wasn’t exactly explaining herself well. Wasn’t sure how to.
‘We did used to be close. Mum died when I was still a young girl, you see. But then we had a falling out when I was in my teens, I can’t even remember what about now and if I try to … I just remember the hurt, the pain. The wanting to get away.’
‘Right.’ Vicky drank some of her own tea. ‘So you didn’t really have anything to do with him after that?’
Bella shook her head. ‘I still keep in touch with my younger brother. Sort of. He was the one who let me know about my dad.’
‘And now you feel guilty about that?’ asked Vicky, still struggling to understand.
‘No. I don’t know. I feel guilty for just taking off and leaving Mitch – oh, that’s my brother’s name. For leaving him there in Green Acres, for not being able to return with him now. But—’
Vicky sat forwards. ‘You’re from Green Acres?’ Bella nodded, though the action just brought fresh pain to her temples. ‘Lovely bit of the world, that is.’ Her visitor said that like they didn’t already live in a beautiful spot by the seaside. ‘We went on a holiday there once. Stayed in one of those cottages they have on the outskirts, Simon and …’ Her voice tailed off sadly.
It was Bella’s turn to reach forward now and pat Vicky’s hand. ‘It’s okay. We’re working through all that. You’re working through it, you and Simon.’
Vicky nodded, tears in her eyes – and not for the first time if the subject of her late husband came up. Usually when he was talking to her ‘through’ Bella. ‘And you can’t just, y’know, yourself …?’ Vicky asked now.
Bella stared at her, confused.
‘What I mean is, you guys didn’t talk when he was alive. Why don’t you try now, same as I’ve been doing with Simon?’ She sniffed back more tears.
Ah, right. Gotcha, thought Bella. ‘Doesn’t work like that. For one thing they’ve got to want to talk to me, and I don’t think my dad … There’s probably still a lot of anger there. For another, I’ve always had a blind spot where my own life, where my own family are concerned.’ It was true. No one from her own clan had ever come to her from the other side, not her grandparents, great-grandparents. Not even her mother. Bella figured it was just some sort of rule when you did what she did.
‘Could you not go to someone like … I mean, with your abilities.’
It made her sound like a superhero or something. Bella Prescott, racing off to fight evil and save the world! Nothing could be further from the truth. Bella pulled back her free hand, the one not currently employed holding the teacup, and rubbed the back of her head. ‘Sounds stupid, I know, especially given what some folk think about me. But I’m just not sure I trust anyone else to pass messages on to me from my family. You know what I mean?’
Vicky’s watery eyes were wide. ‘I’m probably not the best one to ask that, given where I am. Given all the times I’ve come to see you.’
‘Touché,’ said Bella.
‘I will say one thing, daughters need their dads. I’ve seen the way Mia’s been since Simon passed.’ Mia was Vicky’s young daughter, eight now and going on eighty. An old head on young shoulders, as they were also so fond of saying. ‘Oh, she says she’s okay, but she’s really not. I catch this look in her eye sometimes, and I know she’s thinking about him. About how much she misses Simon.’
‘It’s not the same thing,’ Bella protested, and was there just a bit of an edge to her tone? She hadn’t intended that, it had just crept in.
‘Yeah, yeah I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean …’ They drifted into an uncomfortable silence and drank their tea.
Before they knew it, Vicky was looking at her watch and standing. ‘Is that the time, I said I’d pick Mia up from Jay and Jules.’ Jay was Julie’s son, about the same age as Vicky’s daughter, more or less. The pair were best friends, the kind only seven- or eight-year-old’s can be. There again, Julie had hidden that child from his father for so long, only prompted to get in touch again because of something her late daughter Jordan had said to her: ‘It’s time.’
Maybe it was time for her to lay the past to rest as well? Perhaps she should have gone with Mitch? Too late now. Or was it?
Her headache went into overdrive.
‘Anyway, I’ll be heading off,’ said Vicky. ‘I’m sorry if I said the wrong thing. I’m good like that.’
Bella attempted to shake her head, then gave up. ‘Don’t worry about it. Thanks for listening.’
‘Yeah, sure. Anytime, you know that.’ Vicky moved forwards now and opened her arms. The gesture was as unexpected as it was welcome, and Bella rose to accept the hug with genuine gratitude. ‘You take care of yourself, Bella Prescott. You hear?’
‘I will,’ answered Bella, as the woman saw herself out – though she had no idea how she was going to do so. How she was even going to get rid of the pain that was threatening to crack her skull open.
Staggering across the caravan, she just about made it to the bedroom – to the bed – before collapsing on top of it. She was glad when, a few seconds later, she passed out. Glad to get rid of the pain, to embrace the nothingness that came with the dark.
Though as she descended into that abyss, all she could hear over and over on a loop were the words of Jordan Radcliffe.
‘It’s time,’ she had said, as if the message had been meant for her, not Julie.
‘It’s time.’
Chapter 4
He was making good time.
Mitch had taken one break, at a service station on the motorway full of people looking like they wanted to kill themselves. End it all and be done with it. When his grilled sandwich and coffee arrived, delivered by a guy in an apron with grease stains down the front of it – dropped unceremoniously onto his table – Mitch had to admit he was beginning to see why.
The never-ending stretch of concrete which took him northwards allowed him to open up the bike, when he wasn’t stuck in jams, but it was boring just heading in one direction and his legs were starting to cramp after so long. One of the reasons for stopping in the first place, apart from the fact he knew he should probably grab something to eat. He hadn’t had much of an appetite, though, and the cuisine on offer at that place didn’t exactly do anything to alter this. In the end, he’d taken a bite or two, gulped down the black caffeine – which was so thick you could stand a spoon up in it – and continued on his way again.
At least it had stopped raining, for now.
Mitch was grateful when he spotted the turn-off, sling-shotting from the roundabout onto the smaller, more winding country roads to head north-west. It gave him something to concentrate on, leaning one way then the other as he navigated some of the tighter bends. Something to think about other than what had happened over the last couple of days: the riot, Tammy, losing his job. Leaving Lucy the way he had, not knowing if they’d be able to fix things when he got back. If he concentrated too much on all that, it started to feel like his life was imploding. What a real mess!
Something to think about other than the reason he was coming back home, as well. The call that had sparked all this. The mysterious circumstances surrounding the death of his father. He still didn’t really have the full story: his dad, killed by fire somehow. Mitch couldn’t help letting his imagination run away with him.
A house fire seemed like the most obvious thing that might have happened, but an accident or something more sinister? Electrical, or had someone put something through the letterbox? A prank gone wrong? Or had his father just forgotten to switch the oven off? The authorities had been less than forthcoming, which just made him all the more suspicious. Made him suspect foul play of some sort, that and those bloody instincts he’d learned not to ignore. Something wasn’t right again. But the lanes, the bends – having to watch out for vehicles that might be coming the other way on roads only wide enough for one of them at a time – took his mind off things for a while. Until he was almost at his destination.
Green Acres was a huge place, the name itself covering as much of the area as the grassland and woods did. He’d seen these from a distance – rolling hills and patches of green – even before he’d hit those narrow lanes with their passing places, spaces at the side to sneak into and avoid collisions. He’d had to do that when a tractor came speeding along to meet him, barely giving Mitch enough time to get out of the way. The man behind the wheel, ruddy-cheeked with bushy sideburns, had blared his horn at Mitch as if to say he was the one in the wrong, that he shouldn’t even be on this road. Maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe this whole thing had been a mistake, he couldn’t help thinking. Perhaps he should just go back to Lucy, instead of getting sucked back into all this again.
Sucked into what? What did he mean by that? Mitch wasn’t entirely sure he knew himself, he needed to look into this. Didn’t he? Yes, of course.
The tractor’s horn bl
ared again, this time apparently to signify that it had passed by – if only it had done that as it approached! – and Mitch shook himself from his reverie again. He accelerated off once more, passing the farm that the lumbering metal beast must have come from – a path leading up to some outhouses, a massive barn and a rundown farmhouse.
Next, as the road dipped slightly, it gave him a view of the patch of water called Lake Iris; named after the kinds of flowers that encircled it, blue irises, rather than a person. A pretty name for a place so associated with ancient horrors – as it was said that witches in the Middle Ages were ‘tested’ here. Dunked in the lake to see if they’d drown, which meant they were innocent, or float, which meant they were in league with the Devil and killed anyway. No way to win. Another passing place of sorts. Indeed, Mitch could recall a few deaths here when he was little, accidental drownings this time which had resulted in a fence being built around the body of water, between that and the path encircling it.
Not far from this was a thick blanket of trees, popular with campers and hunters – plus a cave system just on the other side of it. That had also been popular, but with children when he was younger, especially on dares or initiations to get into gangs. So much so that they’d had to put bars over the entrances and exits to stop kids getting lost inside. Mitch suddenly remembered one such incident his dad had actually covered for The Acre when a team of local cavers had to venture inside to look for a ten-year-old boy who’d been in there a couple of days. It was the most excitement the area had experienced in ages, and thankfully the kid had been all right – if a little emaciated when he emerged into the light again.
As he made his way to the village which was at the centre of everything, and was actually quite tiny by comparison, Mitch couldn’t help noticing a collection of buildings on a hillock that hadn’t been there when he’d last been around. A collection of huts and other structures, along with a few mobile homes, which looked like it was trying to be a village as well, or the beginnings of one. He had to wonder how they’d got permission for the homes that weren’t so mobile, if they even had. Though he knew from conversations with his dad that there had been rumblings about new houses being built, land sold off or whatever. Something the villagers at Green Acres weren’t all that keen on, because it meant strangers disturbing the peace.