Torn, Ruby thought about it for a moment. “Actually, it can’t.”
Pushing him onto the edge of the bed, she sat beside him, and flicked on a side lamp. Giving voice to what she’d done would bring it to life, which was a good thing, a very good thing. She’d waited a long time to say these words.
“I’ve found him.”
“What? Found who?”
“My father.”
If Cash had looked confused before, it was nothing to how he looked now.
“Your father? How?”
“Mum, of course, she told me his name at last. He was in the police force, I’ve told you that before. He isn’t now, he’s retired, but with a name to go on and Ness able to pull a few strings with her friend, Lee, who’s also in the police force, we got an email address…” Here she paused again. It had been so difficult to know how to word that first email. She’d sat at her desk in her attic office in the Lewes High Street and she’d typed; deleted; typed; deleted. In the end she kept it simple, explaining who she was, how she had found him and enquiring whether he’d be agreeable to striking up a correspondence via email, with a view to perhaps meeting at a later date. It had taken a few nail-biting days, but eventually he’d replied. Peter Gregory was his name: such an ordinary name. So many times she’d tested Ruby Gregory on her lips, but it neither sounded nor felt right. Whatever happened, she was Ruby Davis; always had been and always would be.
Peter said he was surprised to hear from her, but yes, he remembered her mother, Jessica, and, of course, all that had transpired between them. He’d often wondered what had happened to her and the baby, but thought it best not to interfere once the decision had been made to separate. He said he was glad Ruby had got in touch, but that it was wise to take things slowly. They each had their own lives and their own families. This would come as a surprise to them too. It needed to be handled, as he put it, ‘sensitively’.
All this she tried to explain to Cash as succinctly as possible, although she suspected that in her rush to get the words out, it was actually quite garbled.
Cash’s dark eyes were huge. “Did you tell him about, you know, your abilities?”
“No.”
“Did he know what your mum was capable of?”
Raising a demon, that’s what Jessica was capable of. Perhaps not a demon as such, rather it was an embodiment of negative energy, something born of dark thoughts and desires; a conjuring designed to impress her lover at the time, Saul, who’d sat with her when she did it, who encouraged her. Neither of them had foreseen the dire consequences of their actions, they’d been drunk instead on the headiness of possibility. Both had been members of Terra Stella, a local Hastings group interested in matters of the occult, who’d meet regularly. That’s where they’d forged their fateful alliance. All of this, however, had taken place after Jessica’s relationship with Peter and not before or during. Ruby hadn’t yet mentioned her own ability or profession to him, and Peter hadn’t mentioned anything about Jessica other than to ask how she was. It was another matter to be handled with care.
Ruby sighed. She’d spent years asking both her mother, Jessica, and her grandmother, Sarah, for the name of her father, an identity, which in turn would confirm her own, and she’d been brushed off. She could remember what her mother used to say, rather irritably at times: You don’t need to know him; your Gran and I are enough. Certainly Gran, who’d been responsible for the lion’s share of raising Ruby due to her mother’s subsequent breakdown after the conjuring, had been enough. But with no father or grandfather either, she’d nonetheless always felt the absence of a man in her life keenly. Perhaps it was no more than a longing for some kind of balance; a desire for natural order. It had always just been the three of them, Ruby, Jessica and Sarah – and now there was Peter – or there would be, if she played her cards right.
After she told Cash that Peter was still in the dark regarding her gift, he leant towards her and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. It might be the drink – although to be honest, she felt surprisingly sober now after such serious talk – but the unexpected gesture brought a lump to her throat.
“Cash…? Are you okay?”
“Me? I’m fine. I just… I hope it goes okay. Between you and your father, I mean.”
“Why wouldn’t it?”
“Ruby…” He looked to the side as if trying to perform a conjuring of his own: seeking the right words to say. She studied him while he did this, his chiselled features, his hair that he usually kept close-cropped but which was now growing out – how dark it was; his pale brown skin inherited from his Jamaican mother. His father was English and missing from his life too, having left home when Cash was two and his elder brother, Presley, was four. Fathers. It was a sensitive subject all round.
“Cash,” she said again, “I’ll be all right. This will be all right. From the few emails we’ve exchanged since I first got in touch, he seems nice, down-to-earth. How I’d hoped he’d be.”
“What did he say about his other family?”
“He’s got two children, both older than me, a son and a daughter.” She winced saying this, knowing that Cash’s father, whom he’d traced once, had another family too; two daughters. The fact that she had half-siblings as well was something she couldn’t get her head around: the miracle of it. Not that Cash had thought this way about his sisters, or his father. He’d traced him and then he’d… let them go. His father had been kind enough to him, but it was his new family that was clearly his priority, his replacement family. ‘No one needs that kind of rejection,’ Cash had said once, when talking about it. And that was evidently where his concern for Ruby lay. “Cash, look, I’m not condoning what happened in the past between Mum and Peter, but, right now, this very minute, I’m happy, okay? I’m… excited. Okay, I realise my dad and me might never be close, but we might be able to form some sort of relationship. Maybe we’ll talk on the phone regularly or visit with each other once or twice a year. Hell, if it comes down to just exchanging Christmas cards, it’ll be something. He doesn’t live too far away – near Oxford, which is only two hours by car. This sounds nuts, but I’m hoping that what my Mum said is true, that there’s nothing psychic about him, that he’s just a regular bloke.”
Cash took hold of her hands. “Ruby, why does that matter so much? You’re proud of what you do; you’re out there on the high street. You make a difference to the living and the dead. Not many people can say that. Damn it, I’m proud of you.”
“I know you are, and I love that you are, but… because of what my mother did, my history is dark and sometimes I think that darkness is inherent. My father being non-psychic… again, it’s all about balance. It’s not so one-sided.” She grew frustrated with herself. “I don’t know if I’m explaining this very well.”
“I get you, I really do.”
“Then be happy for me?”
“I am, Rubes. I worry, that’s all.”
“About what?”
“That you’re going to end up disappointed.”
She brought a hand up to his cheek. “Because you were, you mean?”
He was normally so happy-go-lucky, the light to her darkness, but in his expression there was pain, which in turn pierced her. Abandonment, it never quite left you. It stained your soul somehow, left it hollowed out. No matter who came along afterwards, who tried to fill the gap, they never quite managed it. She knew that and he knew that too. “I’ll be careful, I promise,” she whispered.
He held her gaze for what seemed like the longest time. “So, I’m the first one you’ve told about Peter? Your mum and grandmother don’t know yet?”
“When Mum finally gave me his name she knew what I’d do with it, but no, she hasn’t said anything more about it.”
“How do you think she’ll react?”
“She’s made it clear she doesn’t want to meet him. He’s history and that’s how she wants it to stay. Besides, she’s still in recovery from her breakdown, although so much stronger tha
n she used to be, thanks to Saul. Funny to think, isn’t it, that she and Saul brought each other to the edge, both of them teetering on the brink for so long; and now they’ve been reunited, they’re helping each other to live.”
“They know exactly how the other feels, that’s why. They can empathise.”
Ruby nodded. “And that’s true of us in a way, concerning our dads. Cash, I need your support on this. I know it didn’t work out for you, but it might for me.”
“Yeah, yeah, it might. Of course you’ve got my support.”
Beside her a dog barked – Jed had reappeared and was staring at her.
“And you,” she said, smiling down at him. “I need you to stand by me as well.”
It was a new chapter in her life. Snuggling up to Cash, his arms tight around her whilst Jed settled himself, she could hardly wait for it to begin.
Chapter Three
Ruby groaned. Was it morning already? She glanced at her bedside clock. Indeed it was. And whose phone was ringing, hers or Cash’s? For a moment she couldn’t work it out, despite her ringtone being an ethereal tinkling and his, an annoying drone. It was hers, definitely hers. Pushing Cash who was lying on her, half slumped, off and ignoring his muffled protests, she forced herself from her bed – or rather their bed. After all, Cash was at her flat more often than his own. They’d even talked about him giving up his flat altogether and moving in with her, making it official. That was definitely the next step; both of them as keen as each other on the idea. Yawning, she looked around. Where was the bloody phone?
Your jeans pocket, Ruby, where you usually leave it.
In that case, it was on the floor where she’d left her jeans, or rather where Cash had left them after he’d pulled them off her the previous night. Yawning again she retrieved the phone, only briefly glancing at the caller ID before answering – Unknown Call. Probably work then, despite it being Saturday.
“Hello.” Ruby’s voice was a whisper at first, only returning to normal pitch once she’d left the bedroom and was in the hallway. “This is Ruby Davis.”
“Ruby Davis of Psychic Surveys?”
“That’s right. Do you have an issue I can help you with?”
As head of Psychic Surveys, specialists in domestic spiritual clearance, Ruby was actually used to getting phone calls for help at the weekend. Like those in the basement of The Waterside Inn, the spirits followed their own rules.
Heading for the kitchen so she could get some coffee underway, she rolled her eyes when she heard that the caller lived on the Brookbridge Estate.
“We all know there’s trouble round here,” the caller, Kelly Watkins, stated, “but we’ve been fine in our house until recently. Typical, isn’t it? You think this malarkey is something that happens to other people, and then boom! It happens to you too. My kid’s terrified; she’s sleeping in our room at night, which, you know… isn’t ideal.”
The ‘malarkey’ that Ms Watkins was referring to was, of course, of a spiritual nature. Brookbridge, close to Horam, was built on the site of a former asylum – the Cromer Asylum to be exact, taking its name from the nearby tiny village of Cromer, and nothing to do with its larger Norfolk counterpart. A somewhat grand construction, it was also isolated, perhaps conforming to that old adage: out of sight, out of mind. In 1994, the asylum closed its doors and later the land was sold to developers. The hospital buildings were subsequently demolished and replaced by one-, two- and three-bedroomed houses laid out as a housing estate, attractive price tags overriding any reluctance some might have regarding what had been there before. To date only one block remained – a sizeable boarded-up, red brick building that stood on the edge of the estate. Oh, and a more modern medium-security wing, also on the edge of the estate and shrouded by trees, that was still very much in use.
Like many Victorian asylums, Cromer hadn’t had the best reputation. Stories of abuse had since surfaced, some of which Ruby knew to be true from the cases she’d dealt with – and there’d been plenty since she’d set up business, hence the eye rolling. It had been quiet there recently, though. This was the first call in months.
“Ms Watkins, could you give me a brief rundown of what’s been happening at your house?” Ruby asked.
“Oh, call me Kelly, please,” insisted the woman. “Well…” she paused briefly, as if trying to get the facts straight in her own head. “As I said, it’s my daughter who’s really upset. She thinks there’s someone in her bedroom, a woman. And this woman, she sits at the window, she wrings her hands together and she cries.”
“Can your daughter see this woman?”
“She says she dreams about her, but even when she’s awake she can sense her. The woman’s in real distress and so is Carly. Sorry, that’s my daughter’s name.”
“When she’s awake, can Carly hear anything in the house? Can you?”
“There’s been a sort of thudding noise I can’t explain, and the lights flicker sometimes, that sort of thing. Oh, and the TV keeps going fuzzy too, you know, like snow. Saying that, it’s a pretty old TV; it needs replacing. Look, you’ll know we’re not lying the minute you get here. My daughter’s bedroom is different to the rest of the house. The atmosphere… it’s not the same.”
“I’d never suggest you’re lying,” Ruby assured her. “How old is Carly?”
“Eight.”
Young enough to perhaps rule out poltergeist activity. Traditionally, that tended to occur in houses with resident teenagers, the angst of adolescent years and hormones in free fall creating a source of potent energy.
“Would you like me to speak to Carly at some point?”
“If you do, you’ll have to go careful.”
“Of course. Do you have any other children?”
“Just Carly, although we’ve reached the stage where we’d like another.”
Hence the urgency in reclaiming her own bedroom, Ruby mused, sipping at her coffee. “I can come along for an initial survey today.”
“That’d be great,” said Kelly, sighing with relief. “The thing is, I have to go shopping later. Would you be able to get here soon, this morning, I mean?”
Inwardly sighing too, Ruby banished any ideas she might have of returning to bed with more coffee and a plate of croissants.
“This morning’s fine,” she said. She’d go alone. It wasn’t fair to disturb Cash or the rest of her team. What she’d do was grab a shower and leave him a note saying where she’d gone, and with a bit of luck he might still be in bed when she returned. After all, this shouldn’t take long; it was only an initial survey. A proper cleansing, if needed, could be performed later. “I can be at yours by ten.”
Ending the call, she wondered if she could afford a few minutes to fire up her laptop and check her emails – Peter might have been in touch again. Dad. Her fingertips brushing the computer’s silver lid, she decided against it. She’d check later. Never keep a client waiting. She tried to live by that rule. Even at the weekend.
* * *
Driving onto the estate, half an hour from Lewes, Ruby located Willow Walk easily enough amongst the warren of recently constructed streets, thanks to the genius of the Sat Nav. On her way there, she passed the last original building, the only significant architecture remaining on the estate hidden behind plywood sheets. It was set against the edge of the woods. She’d bet a few of those boards had been torn down or kicked in by local kids, as well as a plethora of would-be ghost hunters, who’d probably dug their way under the high mesh fence that surrounded it. Slightly further on, was an empty patch of land with JCB diggers standing idle. The building that had been there for the best part of a century had been demolished only recently and yet more estate housing would take its place.
She parked outside Kelly Watkins’ house and got out of the car. Kelly had said the atmosphere in Carly’s bedroom was different to the rest of the house. But what struck Ruby as she stood on the pavement was that the atmosphere on the whole estate had changed. It was late summer and the day was pleasant
enough, early morning rain clouds having cleared. Despite this, a shiver ran through her. Something was different; but whatever it was, she couldn’t put a finger on.
In a few short steps she was at the front door, pressing the doorbell and listening to its chime. Within a matter of seconds the door opened and a woman only slightly older than Ruby and about the same height stood before her – Kelly Watkins.
“Ruby Davis? Oh, thanks so much for coming round.” As she ushered Ruby inside, she added, “I forgot to say, I’m so sorry about calling you out on a Saturday, it’s just… I’m getting fed up of it, you know – living with a ghost.”
“It’s fine, seriously. I get calls at the weekend all the time. And hopefully we’ll be able to sort something out; send this spirit to the light.”
“The light? Oh right, yeah, I read about that on your website, it’s where we all come from or something and where we’re supposed to go back to when we die. I like that idea, it’s nice. I like that whole holistic approach; it’s very with the times. I think most religions nowadays are on the wane, well… in this country at least.”
Whilst listening to Kelly talk, Ruby tuned in. Having once studied plans of the asylum, held at East Sussex Record Office, known as The Keep, she reckoned Kelly’s house had been erected on the site of the women’s block, which was to the east of the campus, as opposed to the men’s block, to the west. It gave credence to Carly’s hunch that it was a female spirit that resided here; effectively still imprisoned behind the cold walls of Cromer Asylum.
Kelly’s voice faded as Ruby made a tentative connection that spanned a century and felt the intense anguish experienced by this woman. Why had she been incarcerated? Ruby knew from prior research that ‘insanity’ covered a wide range of mental illnesses, some of which could have been treated better by compassion and validation than by locking sufferers away as though they were criminals, at the mercy of nurses and doctors who were also full of contempt towards their charges. Some of them, Ruby corrected herself. She was sure that certain staff members back in Cromer’s heyday had gone to work there absolutely for the right reasons, but it was never them you read about, or in fact, needed to worry about. It was the ones who’d inflicted the damage, or more to the point, the ones who’d suffered because of the damage inflicted.
Descension Page 3