by Linda Taylor
I wondered if he was secretly more interested in the mysteries of the human mind than he cared to admit. His father, my Uncle, had attended séances and met mediums. Most people explained his interest as a morbid fear of death. He claimed to feel a presence in most of the homes that they had lived in and I wasn’t sure how much Peter had been affected by this. I remembered my parents would scoff at such tales when Uncle paid a visit.
‘Uncle had dreams and thought he had a sixth sense, didn’t he Pete?’ I bravely brought this into the conversation.
‘Pa? Oh, yes, silly old duffer. He said his mother regularly stood at the end of his bed soon after she had died. But it could have been guilt. He was away with some dolly bird when she was ill. Ma was in hospital of course at that time.’
‘Aunt never told me that before.’ Suddenly I shivered as if someone had stroked my spine with an icy feather.
‘What about you?’
‘Me? Seeing the ghost of Alison you mean?’
‘I don’t mean to pry,’ I quickly added.
‘Its okay, Lou. No. when you’re dead, you’re dead. And what’s more, you’re a long time dead!’ he said, letting that grin reappear.
‘I do know of a bloke, though. I think I told you about him?’ ‘I nodded and let him continue.’ He was in the Army with me and he left to go into this psychology stuff. He’d said he witnessed a soul leave a body- it was in Belfast.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Good bloke. Made me stop and think a bit, because he was always so sound. He practices some kind of technique on insomniacs; People who can’t sleep for whatever reason. Bad dreams or flash backs.’
I couldn’t fail to show interest at hearing this.
‘So, is he local?’
‘Yes. You do look tired. Are you having trouble sleeping then, Lou?’
I had to think quickly before answering and revealing too much at this stage.
‘I don’t want to keep taking tablets. I’ve tried relaxation and walking and a hot bath.’
Peter grinned’ And sex?’
‘Yes. That helps, Cheeky! Do you think though, he might see me?’
‘I can find out for you,’ he offered.
‘You won’t mention it to Aunt, will you? I don’t want her upset and thinking I’m getting like Uncle.’
‘No, if you don’t want me to. But I bet the old girl has seen those dark rings under your eyes by now’.
He hugged me goodbye as I opened my door and walked away, waving at me just the once. He was the brother I had never had.
And when I had climbed the stairs and opened my door, my heart skipped several more beats: Daniel was sitting there in my fireside chair. ‘I used the spare you gave me,’ he said holding the Yale key aloft, and enticing me into his arms with those soft, brown eyes.
He stayed until morning and left me fast asleep and dreamless.
Peter offered to drive me to John Connelly’s practice. He worked from home in a small village almost ten miles away. There were few buses and no train stop so I agreed to his kind offer. He would have stayed with me if I had asked. But this was my problem and I had to deal with it.
John C opened the door to me. I could hear loud pop music and as he took my coat, he called up the stairs ‘keep that noise down, you two, I have company’. At this, the music was obediently lowered. He smiled reassuringly and said ‘teenagers!’ He was a tall man, with dark ruffled hair, a grey goatee beard and a paunch. He was dressed in green, corduroy trousers, open sandals with odd socks and a lightly striped short sleeved shirt to complete the relaxed, casual look.
‘This way, Louisa,’ he said, guiding me to small room, crowded with heavy furniture and softly lit.
‘I work in here,’ he explained. He sat down behind a desk that was covered with files and paperwork and I automatically sat opposite him.
‘Sorry about the mess.’
‘Don’t worry about that. I ‘m just so grateful you could see me and with such short notice’.
‘Pete and I go back a few years. He’s a great guy’.
‘My cousin is more like a brother to be honest.’
John leaned forward.
‘I’ll come round and sit next to you’, he said and moved to the upholstered chair beside mine. He leant forward earnestly and took my hands in his. He turned them up and examined my palms.
‘I do have a medical degree, Louisa. I don’t know if Pete told you that. I am no quack’.
‘So what do these tell you?’ I asked, perhaps rather abruptly.
‘You are a fit young woman. No liver trouble. No sign of heart problems’, he added, turning my hands back and looking at the nails.
‘Taking any medications?’ I shook my head in the negative.
‘So’ he began ‘that’s out the way. Tell me about yourself: in your own words and at your own speed. You are comfy in that seat or would you prefer the settee over there?’
‘I’m fine here thanks, John.’
‘Good.’
He was so easy to talk to and I told him about the dream. He asked me about my previous relationships and my relationship with my parents, but only briefly.
‘I am no analyst,’ he explained. ‘I’m not into Freud or transactional analysis, although they no doubt have their place and use. I can see you are an intelligent woman. You obviously have heard of both! But I am exploring some new ideas, Louisa. It is as yet new and very exciting. Some of my workshops have been extraordinary and I, as well as my clients, am learning so much more about the mind. I really feel this is ground-breaking work. But let’s return to you. I want you to tell me anything else you want to tell me. Anything you think might be of use.’
There was a heavy pause. I could think of nothing in response.
‘Have you ever experienced anything that might be classed as paranormal, or had a relative who has had such an experience?’
‘Well, yes, but it sounds daft.’
‘Go on. Let me be the judge of that. It obviously isn’t daft to you’, he said encouragingly.
‘Well, when I was a child, and even now on rare occasions, I have awoken to see a figure at the end of my bed. It is a woman from another era, from her dress. Victorian I think. I told my parents and they dismissed it as mere childhood fantasy and said I would grow out of it.’
‘God! Parents! What harm we can do!’ he interposed. ‘Do go on, my dear.’
‘But I left home and have moved house and still I see her. So if it is such a thing as a ghost, it is following me but I don’t know why?’
‘How does it make you feel?’
‘Uncomfortable, but not frightened: unlike this recurring dream.’ I looked to him expecting further explanations.
‘I cannot tell you the meaning of your dream. You know the meaning of your own dream’.
‘But I don’t!’ I exclaimed, surprised at this statement.
‘Louisa, only you have the dream. Few people share dreams- that’s very rare, believe you me. I know of only one case. However, what I do is help you take control of the dream.’
‘Control?’
‘That’s it. What else bothers you about it but your lack of control over it? I can help you move on within that dream to wherever you wish it to take you. Dreams are our way of telling ourselves uncomfortable things. Things we feel unable to claim during the waking state. That is my theory and I have proved it time and time again over the last few years.’
‘Okay, I can accept that. I’ll try anything once!’
‘Louisa, it could take more than once… we need to concentrate on it for a weekend at least. I hold my workshops here and we supply a sleeping bag and the odd supper- jacket potatoes with butter and a good bottle of wine usually prove popular!’
‘It all sounds too easy! Almost fun’.
‘It can be enjoyable, yes. But I must have your trust if we are to make any progress. Is there anything you want to know about me? Ask me anything and I will answer as honestly and as fully as I can’.
; It was at this point that there was a gentle but firm knock on the door. A woman, dressed in a long, flowery dress and loose greying hair, entered the room and spoke softly.
‘There’s an urgent call, John.’
‘Not now Clemmie, when I’m with someone.’
‘No, dear, it’s for your client! It’s Pete Bishop’.
I felt my stomach churning over. I just knew it was bad news.
Pete fetched me soon afterwards.
It was my darling, my lovely, my wonderful Aunt. He had found her in her bed. She was dead.
Chapter 8
Aunt had died in her sleep. The best way to go, I consoled myself. But I was bereft and felt so lost without my confidante and friend.
Peter cried with me. It was even harder for him as she was mother and of course he had lost his lovely wife Alison so recently too.
‘I always knew one day, one day the old girl would have to leave me,’ he rubbed his eyes harshly with his handkerchief as if angry with himself for showing his sorrow.
‘But not NOW, not at this time.’
‘I know. I know, Pete, I had come to depend on her so much. Few people can actually listen these days. But Aunt, she was always ready to listen and never judged me.’ I put my arm around him.
‘I suppose it’s selfish of me to say it! But what with Ali going as well…’ he began.
‘We must get busy and organise a good send- off for her.’ I tried to find some words of comfort.
‘She’ll get that alright. But there aren’t many people left to attend, the poor love. Their so called friends didn’t want to know when they heard she was a ‘mental’ case. Mental case indeed! It was him; that bastard of a father of mine. He was enough to drive anyone into a mental home just to be away from him. He drove me into the bloody army, for god’s sake!’
I had never heard him speak quite this openly nor angrily about his relationship with Uncle. I knew however that my Aunt had had a history of mental health problems before meeting Ron but I let Peter rant and rage. It seemed to help and he soon calmed down again and that characteristic cheeky grin re- appeared.
‘Horse and glass carriage. Black feathers and paid mourners. That’s what she’ll have. She’d have loved that. Always into Victorian novels. And I’ve enough money put by.’
‘That’ll make the neighbours sit up and watch’, I added my penny-worth.
‘Yes’ he said proudly’ they’ll be hanging out of their windows and attending after all, the silly buggars. They wouldn’t know a kind soul if they met one. And kindness oozed out of that woman.’
‘She was a darling!’ I declared warmly and hugged him closer to me.
‘She thought more of you than Jan.’
‘Now don’t overdo it, Pete’ I gently scolded.
‘No, I’m serious Lou. Jan was a nasty cow with Mum at times. Even before she was ill. I think she was ashamed of her and her illnesses. There’s such a taboo still, about mental problems.’
‘That’s something else I never heard about’.
‘Well, I guess your Ma and Pa have had too many financial worries over the years to recognise other people’s problems.’
‘Probably true. But we need to make some calls and we need to sort out her flat, bills etc.’
‘I shall stay there at the flat of course until the funeral is organised. I know a chap in the funeral business. We were at school together and I trained his son. His son got shot, poor bloke. But he’ll speed things up for us.’
Peter spent his time doing this and it seemed to help him through. He felt he was being useful and that in an odd sort of way, Aunt would have the last laugh this way and get even with her neighbours and ex friends. He made sure the press took a photo of the black, feathered, horse- drawn carriage that carried her coffin with such dignity to her last resting place, beside Uncle. The full description of the funeral was printed at the top of the list of Obituaries that week.
The journalist, another old friend of his, wrote how the neighbourhood had opened their windows to see her pass by and say goodbye. This had Peter actually chuckling at the irony of it.
As it was a sudden death there had been an autopsy but nothing unusual had been found.
I went with Peter to see her laid at rest. They had covered her head with a lace cap and she looked very peaceful. We both kissed her cold cheek in goodbye.
Just after I had been talking on the telephone to Daniel, Peter rang me. He wanted me to go round and help him sort out Aunt’s few possessions. I was due to go to Norfolk that weekend but at the risk of losing my temporary job, I took some more leave so that I could be there for him.
Aunt had few possessions. Some old familiar and much worn dresses hung in the wardrobe and three pair of sensible shoes. Some cardigans and two blouses with her underwear took up just one drawer of the chest.
As I was bagging up the clothes, Peter came in and I watched as he pulled the bed across and lifted up the rug that lay beside it.
‘What are you doing there?’
‘Ma said I was to have this,’ he replied and lifting up a small block of the floorboard, I saw him take out a small, cash tin.
‘Don’t tell me she had cash stacked away there?’
‘No,’ he replied,’ not cash. She told me I was to open this if anything happened to her, or after she had died. She did say it wasn’t cash, I remember, so that I shouldn’t get too excited!’ he smiled at this reminiscence of her.
I went and made a cup of tea and he brought the cash tin to the kitchen table. He had a key on his key ring and opened it easily.
‘Come and have a look at this, Lou,’ he said, as I put the boiling water onto our tea bags.
I moved our mugs to the table and sat down with him.
The cash box held a few old black and white photographs and some other paperwork, insurance certificates and such- like documents, plus a gold locket.
Peter put his glasses on. That always meant seriousness as he seldom would use them.
‘Its one of Dad, in a group. Odd looking lot.’ He passed the photo over to me.
‘What sort of group is this?’ I was mystified as the group were all men and dressed in some kind of robe. They were seated at a long table and it looked as if they were in an old rectory.
‘He was into some weird company, was the old man. After the séances and the mediums, he got hold of some rare books. Ma told me about it on one visit, just before he died. She was worried about him, saying he had got finicky about certain foods and went out at odd hours of the night. If you ask me, he was the batty one!’
‘Sounds ominous. They almost look like, well I don’t know…’ I began.
He sipped his tea and lit one of his roll up cigarettes.
‘Black arts.’ I finally managed to say it:’ Sounds daft’. I felt that cold shiver again run down my spine, more like a trickle of ice water this time.
‘And what does this mean?’ Peter unravelled a list of names on a sheet of A4 paper.
‘This looks as if it was torn out of a book of some kind’ he said passing me the piece of paper.
‘Yes, or maybe it’s from an attendance book.’ I then took up another of the photographs. It was a line of staff outside a large, old house set in countryside.
The house stood alone and you could see trees in the distance as if it was set in a country estate somewhere. I didn’t recognise the place but on the front row, third left stood one of them, dressed in a white coat and I recognised him.
It was no other than Mr Robson. Younger yes, but it was him without a doubt. I would recognise that look, that false, menacing smile anywhere. Hadn’t I seen it often enough before, in my dream?
Chapter 9
I was busy packing a small case ready for my visit to Norfolk. It could be cold there and so I packed a sloppy jumper and leggings in case. I had holidayed on the Broads years before but not being a boat- loving person, found it boring. The weather had been dismal and I remembered a boat trip on the water which turned ou
t to be very disappointing as all we seemed to view were long, tall, rustling reeds.
Cromer would hopefully prove more interesting and of course I would be with Daniel. But I had a butterfly feeling of anxiety in my stomach at the thought of meeting with Mr Robson. In reality we had met that once and yet I had placed him in my dream and made an ogre of him. Was I right to do so all along, having now found that photograph in my late Aunt’s possession? What was she doing with it and what was he doing there? The discovery felt like a foreboding and if it hadn’t been for my ache of desire for Daniel, I would not have agreed to go.
Peter called to say cheerio and he met Daniel as he was going down the stairs and out the front door. They exchanged a quick greeting and I heard Daniel saying how sorry he was to hear of Pete’s loss. Peter mumbled thanks and hurried away. I wished he could have stayed longer as I would have valued his opinion on meeting Daniel for that first time, but I guess he was still too preoccupied, feeling his double bereavement.
We took a taxi to the railway station and after changing trains twice, we finally arrived in Norwich. To my surprise there was a car waiting for us. I had slept most of the railway journey down, with Daniel’s arms warm and comforting around me. We had spoken little to each other as I think he also sensed my apprehension.
His only comment was that Mr Robson would make me welcome and it would take time for me to get to really know him.
I had not responded to this, finding it hard to believe that I was welcome and wondering at the invitation.
The car finally arrived in Cromer and drove along a pathway that led down to the sea. The sea was stormy, with high waves lashing against the cliffs.
An Edwardian villa, painted white, stood there on the cliff over- looking the seashore.
‘Is this really it? ‘I asked, surprised. This property must have cost a small fortune I began to think and was soon justified in my estimation.
‘Why, yes.’ Daniel smiled at me taking my arm, my suitcase in his other hand.
We climbed some steps up to the wrought iron double gates and along the tiled path to an imposing front door. It was painted dark blue, with a lamp above and a door knocker. I could see the panes would be colourful on the inside of it. I was impressed and yet also anxious. It seemed such a lovely place and yet what had I in store here and what kind of person really lay behind it?