The minutes passed slowly and Florrie forced herself to pour out some more tea and hand it to Gran and Aunt Lucy. It was when Gran had reached the dregs of her cup, which she indicated with a loud straining noise through her teeth, that John’s foot came off the chair, knocking it flying, and leaning further forward he shouted, ‘Here he comes.’
As if they had been shot to the window Florrie, Gran and Aunt Lucy crowded round him, and there before their astonished gaze came Broderick McNally racing down the street, coatless and hatless, his mouth agape and his arms flailing the air as they speeded him nearer home. But it was not up his own path he turned; as earlier, he made straight for John’s house and John, knowing what was coming, turned calmly to Florrie and said, ‘Open the door or else he’ll come through it.’
Florrie did not immediately obey her husband for she was staring at him, her eyes full of fear. She was becoming afraid of this man, afraid of her John, her quiet tongue-tied, reticent John, for he was no longer quiet and tongue-tied or reticent; he was a man who was not himself but had become possessed, of this she was sure. She was surprised when she found herself at the door and she had just opened it when Broderick fell into her arms.
‘Florrie, God Almighty… John… What has come upon me this night? John, where is he? Oh, my God, Florrie, is it mad I’m goin’?’ He was almost gibbering.
‘Come in and calm yourself.’ Florrie’s voice was steady—more steady than she was feeling—and when, almost supporting Broderick, she led him into the kitchen she felt a moment of anger against her husband for she saw that John was surveying Broderick quizzically and getting a great kick out of what he saw. In fact, she guessed he was laughing loudly inside.
Broderick staggered straight for John and clutching his arm between his great hands he cried, ‘Mother of God, John, the things I’ve seen the night. But it is you who’ll understand. I saw him, John. I saw him with me own eyes, and it’s not me that’s mad, is it? And he spoke to me, John. He spoke to me. I heard him with these ears.’ Broderick released one hand and actually belted himself on the side of the head.
‘Sit down and get a hold of yourself, man, and tell me about it.’ John’s voice was cool and distant.
Broderick, as if half blind, groped at the chair that Florrie held for him, and when he had sat down he found himself in line with Gran’s eyes and Gran spoke. ‘If this is one large mickey you’re takin’, Broderick McNally, you’ll pay for it. Mark my words you will, for them that sows such fun weeps sorrow.’
‘Glory be to God.’ Broderick closed his eyes and moved his head from one shoulder to the other. He repeated, ‘Glory be to God, then would I be in the state I’m in taking the mickey out of anybody? I tell you, Gran, I’ve witnessed something this night that has galloped me towards me grave, of that I’m sure.’
As Gran spoke Florrie motioned to Aunt Lucy and when Aunt Lucy, her eyes popping out of her head, came to her side, Florrie whispered, ‘Go and get Katie, quick.’ Then going to the cupboard she took out a bottle and pouring out a generous measure into a glass she went to Broderick where he was now sitting with his head bowed and his hands hanging between his knees. Tapping him on the shoulder she said, ‘Here, drink this, Broderick.’
He lifted his eyes sideways to the glass and his hand went half out to it before waving it aside saying, ‘No, Florrie, no. There are one or two things that could have caused the night’s business. Either I had too much when I went up there looking for John, or I’ve gone completely out of me senses, an’ I would like, Florrie, if you don’t mind, I would like to think it’s the first of the two.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Florrie harshly. ‘Drink it.’ She pushed it towards his mouth, and obeying her with the docility of a child, he drank the whisky. As she took the empty glass from his hand, she glanced at her husband and at this moment there was little love in her look. She had blamed Broderick for having unbalanced him but she had done that only on guesswork. But now she knew without a doubt that John was responsible for the state that Broderick was in, and for him to have the power to reduce her vibrant neighbour to this jellyfish condition spoke to Florrie of something beyond the known and brought back that eerie feeling of last night.
Broderick gave a mighty shiver—whether from fear or the effects of the spirit it was hard to tell. Then putting his hand out feelingly to John, he whispered, ‘Tell me, John, tell me. This man that you see. Is he a towering fella with a head on him as big as a barrel?’
John’s eyes were lowered and he was some time in replying. ‘I wouldn’t say as big as a barrel. At times I’ve thought he looks uncommonly like yourself.’
‘Like me?’ Broderick’s voice sounded as if it was corkscrewing itself into the distance for it faded away on a thin squeak. ‘Like me?’ he repeated. ‘The thing I saw—the fella I saw—for he was a fella, like flesh and blood, he was twice me size if not more.’
‘Tell me how it came about?’ said John quietly. He was looking at Broderick now.
Broderick glanced at Florrie and then to Gran before bringing his eyes back to John and then he said in a hoarse whisper, ‘I can’t rightly tell you, John. It was as if I was drawn to the cemetery the night. I felt—you might not believe it—I felt that it was yourself I wanted to see. I’ll go and see John and have a laugh with him, I said. Cheer him up, I told meself. I left the club an hour or so afore me time. It was like an urge on me, John, like an urge—’
At that moment the sound of Katie’s voice could be heard coming up the garden path, and Broderick put his hand to his head and turned to the door as she bounced into the room. When she stopped dead at the sight of him, he said to her, ‘Don’t start, woman, don’t start.’
‘Holy Mother of God, what’s taken you? Where’s your coat in all this?’ Katie moved nearer to him. ‘Look at your shirt, and it on clean just the night. Is it palatic you are?’
‘Be quiet, woman.’ Broderick closed his eyes. ‘I may be palatic drunk or I may be mad, it’s one or t’other. I’m trying to find out by telling John what happened. Be quiet.’
‘God Almighty, look at your face—it’s the colour of ash and your hair’s on end. What’s struck you, man?’
‘Sit you down, woman, afore I knock you down.’ There was the shadow of the old Broderick in this command and Katie sat down saying, ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what’s come over him?’
Broderick, treating his wife as if she wasn’t there, now turned his attention once again to John who had not moved during the altercation. ‘As I was saying, John, I felt drawn there right up to the gates. It was as if a hand was out towards me, tugging me, and when I got there I looked about for you but couldn’t see a hair of your head and then I went on up to your hut. And, y’know another strange thing, John? I’ve never been as far as your hut in all me born days, but there I was going straight to it as if I took the path every mornin’ of me life. I have no use for cemeteries, John, I don’t mind telling you. Time enough, I’ve always said to meself, to go into the cemetery when you’ve got to, but there I was going quite gaily in search of you and not a tremor in me. And as I said, I got to your hut only to find it was locked. Then I got a sort of feeling that you were around in the bushes to the left, and I went round and through the gap but there was nothing to be seen but the great manure heap you’ve made, and as there was no way out of the place but by the way I’d come in I turned meself about, John, and it was then I saw him.’
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’
Broderick turned and looked at Katie where she sat blessing herself as she mumbled the words, and he nodded to her and said, ‘Them’s the very words I used. I closed me eyes tighter than they’ve ever been closed afore and I said to meself “Jesus, Mary and Joseph”, but when I opened them he was still there. And, John…’ Broderick’s two hands now went out in pathetic appeal to John. ‘John, he spoke to me and he called me by me name. “Hullo, Broderick,” he said.’ Broderick covered his eyes and bowed his head at the memory and, on this, Katie closed her eye
s and putting her head back appealed to heaven, wailing like a banshee now. ‘Holy Mother of God, lift the blight off him.’
‘And what then?’ It was John speaking for the first time, and Broderick, opening his eyes once again, went on, his voice low and trembling. ‘He moved towards me, John, talkin’ all the time, and I backed, step with his step, I backed. The sweat was squirting from every pore in me body like a fountain, and I knew what it was to feel faint for the first time in me life. Round your manure heap we went, me backing one step and he taking one step forward all the time. And him talking the while, never stoppin’.’
‘What did he say?’
‘I can’t rightly recollect, John, for me wits were goin’, but he did talk of you of that I’m sure, and us being neighbours and me pulling your leg. He knew everything, John, everything. But I was backing, John, all the while I was backing and I backed, John, until I felt I was near the opening and then I turned ready to flee… but, begod, there he was, standin’ filling the gap again. John, I tell you, the hairs on me body stood up one by one. I felt me senses goin’, but even so it occurred to me to make a dash right through him for he could not be real.’
Again Broderick closed his eyes but only for a second this time, and now he was leaning forward nearer to John, and his voice sunk to a faint whisper as he said, ‘But then he touched me, John, he put out his great hand, and, John, before God, if I had to meet me Maker this very minute’—Broderick made the sign of the cross—‘that was the hand of no ghost for it was warm and heavy on me arm. I only felt it for a split second but I felt it, an’ I screamed so loud that the dead must have kicked in their coffins. And the next thing I knew I was tearing back over the muck heap and goin’ hell for leather through the shrubbery. That’s where I lost me coat and me hat.’ He cast a quick glance in Katie’s direction, as he gave this information, but Katie had her eyes closed. ‘I don’t know if it was all the claws of the fiends of hell that tore them off me or it was the branches or what, I only know that when I got through that thicket me shirt was in ribbons as you see it now, and I was coatless and hatless and as near mad as I’ll ever be in me life without bein’ tied up. And, John, I never stopped until I reached this room… Aw, don’t John, don’t.’ Broderick was on his feet now, his hand raised as he towered above John. ‘For God’s sake, don’t laugh at me. You can’t laugh at me in this predicament after what I’ve been through this night.’
Broderick stood gazing down on John’s bowed head and shaking shoulders, and now his voice was full of reproach as he cried, ‘You’ve no Christian spirit in you, John, to laugh at me and me in this state. I’ve been devilled. What’s more, I’ve seen what you yourself have seen, John, so you should understand a man.’
Now John raised his face to Broderick and it was wet with tears of laughter, and he muttered, ‘In that case, then, you have nothing to worry about.’
‘In the name of God, John, I’ve everything to worry about, the state I’ve been in all evening wasn’t me natural state. I had an urge on me, and it wasn’t natural.’
‘No, of course it wasn’t.’ John got to his feet, then added casually, ‘But you’ll always have it just afore you see him.’
‘Just afore I see him,’ repeated Broderick in an awestruck whisper.
‘Aye,’ repeated John. ‘Just afore you see him. It’s called…’ He scratched his head. ‘Now what is it called? He told me the name this morning. Now what was it?’ Again he scratched his head, then went on, ‘It’s slipped me mind at the moment but—’ He stopped abruptly and turning in the direction of the clothes cupboard where not one of the occupants of the room was standing, he smiled and said, ‘Oh, there you are. What did you say it was?’
‘The dimension of awareness, John,’ replied the Saint, smiling back broadly at him.
‘That’s it. It’s rather a mouthful to remember. Thanks again.’ He turned now and confronted the awestruck company, but addressing himself particularly to Broderick, he said, ‘He says it’s called the dimension of awareness.’
‘He’s not…’ It was a weak protest from Broderick.
John nodded and said, ‘Yes. Yes, he is.’
‘Oh, my God. Aw… aw… aw.’ It was a sickly wailing groan, not from Broderick but Katie as her fat bulk slithered to the floor in a dead faint.
Aunt Lucy, shaking with her fear, was about to beat a hasty retreat to the scullery, there to be sick, when Florrie’s cry of, ‘John Gascoigne, stop this! Stop it at once, I say!’ brought her with head bent to Katie’s side, and when a few minutes later Gran liberally splashed cold water over Katie’s face, half drenching her, she did not protest for she felt that she needed water or something even stronger to get her over this experience.
‘Oh, my God, what’s come upon us this night?’ Broderick groaned when, with the assistance of Florrie and Aunt Lucy, he helped Katie onto a chair.
His mutterings were joined by his wife’s pleas to the Almighty for enlightenment when a few minutes later he helped her to her feet and guided her out of the seething room.
During all this, John stood aside doing nothing and saying nothing. Gran too stood aside and waited. She waited until Florrie and Aunt Lucy, following Broderick and Katie with solicitous help, had left the room empty but for herself and her son, then turning on him she cried breathlessly, ‘I don’t know what you’re up to, me lad, but it’s got to stop. I believed that you were seeing spooks, but nothing on this earth will convince me that Broderick McNally is seeing them an’ all, and the same one into the bargain. Lightning never strikes in the same place twice. Now, I don’t know what your game is, and I don’t know why you started it, but I’m going to tell you this much, that Dr Spencer is not for playing games, and if I can read anybody aright, he doesn’t like you, and he’s made up his mind that he’s going to put you some place where if you haven’t seen spooks afore you go in, you certainly will afore you come out. Your fun and games will land you in the asylum, John Gascoigne, do you realise that? And what’s more, if she has any more worries you’ll have Florrie along with you and you’ll be to blame for it, mind you that.’
John was looking at his mother and there was no laughter in his face now and no trace of amusement in his voice as he said, ‘You’ve always had the idea you know everything. You’re always bloody well right. Well, you might be in this an’ all, but if I go into the asylum, I won’t go alone and it won’t be Florrie that’ll go with me, it’ll be McNally. But they won’t get me into any asylum. They’ve got to prove I’m mad first.’
‘They’ll get you there and prove it after. From what I heard Spencer say the day, there’s ways and means of doing just that.’
‘Just let them try it on.’ John was now bristling, and he stalked past her and out of the room crying again, ‘Let them try it on, that’s all.’
Gran, left alone in the kitchen, nodded her head slowly to herself. There was one thing she was positive about: if she didn’t take things into her own hands soon the trouble that was on this house now would be like a flea bite to what would come upon them in the future… It was worth a try, anyway. Anything was better than an asylum.
Chapter Six
By dinner time the following day it was all over the village and into the outskirts that Big McNally had had the wits scared out of him last night and had reached home on the verge of collapse. Where and how? were the questions. Oh, somebody had got themselves rigged up as a spook in the cemetery and when McNally was passing that way with a full load on, the thing sprang out on him and started to jabber. By the time he reached home, he hadn’t a stitch on his back and scared some woman stiff in the street with his nakedness.
The story had lost nothing when it reached Dr Spencer’s house surgery in Befumstead at three o’clock in the afternoon. It came by way of a patient from Downfell Hurst. Now added to it was the claim that the ghost himself had been none other than John Gascoigne, and he had galloped all the way home from the cemetery after he had startled McNally, flapping his arms like wings.
It was said that he was still laughing at twelve o’clock last night and had the street raised.
The doctor restrained himself from comment to his patient but once the surgery was clear, he made his way to his wife to tell her that if she wanted to be dropped at her friend Trixie’s she’d better get a move on. As he gathered his belongings together, he explained to her the need for his haste. It was that damned gravedigger. If something wasn’t soon done with that chap, serious trouble would ensue, for he had now reached the stage where he was taking a delight in frightening people. The next stage would be one step further when he would be hitting them on the head with something. He would call on old Fowler; Fowler would speed things up. The quicker they got the fellow under control the better for all concerned. If Fowler was available, he might come along with him and if they could catch the chap at some of his tricks, all the better. The thing was to catch him off-guard for he was as cunning as a fox and could talk quite sensibly when he liked.
From a slit of a room off the hall which was known by the name of the nursery, Moira McNally had been listening to all the doctor had said, and no sooner had the front door closed on him and his wife than she whipped their dozing son from his cot and in spite of his whimpering protests dressed him, and, taking him in her arms, she left the house just as she was without hat or coat. By a stroke of luck, she caught the three thirty to Downfell Hurst, but she did not go right into the village. Alighting two stops before the garage, she climbed over a gate, after depositing Andrew through the bottom bars into the field beyond. Then picking him up again, she hurried across a series of fields and over a number of stiles, until she came to the top of the hill where the tail end of the cemetery sprawled. Gratefully she saw that the little-used gate was open for her arms were breaking with the weight of the child, and she was puffing loudly when she came to John’s hut. The door was open but she saw he wasn’t there and it was only after some minutes of further searching that she found him… and in the very place that her da had described to her last night. There was the great manure heap with the thick bushes all around it and there was Uncle John spreading grass cuttings evenly over the sides of the heap.
Saint Christopher and the Gravedigger Page 16