The Possession of November Jones

by Pat Herbert

Minty could have kissed him, but at the same time she was astonished that he hadn’t carried out her instructions to the letter.

  “Well, Geoffrey, I can’t say that I’m not pleased ... but you really should have done what I instructed, you know.”

  “I know,” he grinned. “But aren’t you glad I didn’t?”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Lydia stared at the kind doctor. She took in his chiselled profile, strong chin and aquiline nose, upon which perched tortoiseshell-framed glasses that slightly magnified his pale blue eyes. These eyes were looking at her now with sympathy as he continued to speak. She wasn’t taking it in.

  “Can I ask my friend to come in?” she asked, as he finished speaking. “I – I’m not sure I understood it all.”

  Robbie stood up at once. “Wait there, Mrs Holman, I’ll fetch her.”

  When Minty was sitting beside her, he began again. “I have just been telling your friend, here,” he said, addressing Minty, “about the results of her chest X-ray.”

  “Yes?” Minty gripped Lydia’s hand tightly.

  He coughed. It was never easy imparting bad news like this. It was the part of his job he hated. The older lady hadn’t understood what he had said, he knew that. Maybe it was just as well. Now he had to tell her friend the same thing. He poured some water into a glass and passed it to Lydia.

  She lifted the glass with a shaking hand and took a few sips. Minty took it from her as she realised she was about to drop it.

  “Tell me, Doc, what’s the verdict?” she asked, taking a few sips of water herself.

  “Well, it’s not good news, I’m afraid...”

  “Just tell me,” instructed Minty. “Us, I mean. No fancy rigmarole, no medical jargon, if you please.”

  Robbie cleared his throat. “Well, I’m sorry to tell you that Mrs Holman –” He paused, avoiding Lydia’s eyes and concentrating firmly on Minty. “There is evidence of severe deterioration of the lungs.”

  “Can you be more precise?”

  No, he thought. Not without telling you she is going to die.

  “Er, well, the left lung is practically useless, while the right one is very weak. It is hardly coping at the moment. Of course, we can make it easier, and we can certainly make Mrs Holman more comfortable.”

  “How long?”

  Robbie poured himself a glass of water before replying.

  “How long has she got?” Minty’s eyes were burning into his.

  “It’s always difficult to estimate these things,” he prevaricated. “A few weeks, months, maybe even a year if the right treatment is given.”

  But he wondered how long the poor old lady would last if she had no permanent roof over her head. The hostel was all well and good, but the conditions there were hardly conducive to good health, and she wouldn’t last the week if she had to walk the streets all day.

  “Don’t worry, Doc,” said Minty, helping Lydia to rise. “I’ll see she gets the best treatment there is.”

  Lydia, who had understood hardly anything that had passed between Minty and Robbie, spoke up now.

  “So, am I going to die, then?”

  “We won’t talk of dying, will we, Doc?” said Minty to Robbie, giving him a warning look.

  Robbie suspected that Lydia was taking the news rather better than her friend. It was often so with much older people. They realised their time had come, and they were usually prepared.

  “No, of course not,” smiled Robbie. He patted Lydia on the shoulder. “Now, we just need to make sure you have somewhere to stay. I think I should ring the hospital and get them to organise for you to be admitted as soon as possible.” It wasn’t ideal, but he couldn’t see any alternative.

  “No,” said Minty with determination. “No hospital for my Lyd. I’m going to see to it that she has everything she needs. Good food and somewhere to stay. Somewhere just right. She’ll want for nothing from now on.”

  Robbie smiled at her uncertainly. “Forgive me, but I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying. I thought you were both more or less homeless?”

  “Oh, didn’t I say? I’ve got a legacy, Doc. I’m a rich woman.”

  He scratched his head. “Then why are you sleeping in hostels?”

  “That was then. This is now.”

  Minty tapped the side of her nose and gave him a wink.

  He continued to scratch his head as he watched them leave the surgery. He wondered – hoped – that what Minty said was the truth and not just a case of old person’s bravado. He’d seen a lot of that recently. Old people too proud to ask for help, dying of hypothermia just because they couldn’t afford to put the gas on.

  He would have been gratified to learn that, later that evening, they were being shown into an elegant and comfortable room at the Winter Park Eventide Home for Gentlefolk.

  Chapter Forty

  Robbie stood outside Dorothy’s new flat, which was in a large house containing nine others just off Tooting Bec High Street. The sun, which had appeared briefly for a day or two, had given up the battle with the rain which now held sway, soaking him to the skin, despite being fully equipped with mackintosh and umbrella. His umbrella had seen better days, but it was still sturdy enough to withstand most downpours. Apart from this one, he realised. He shivered as he rang the bell and waited for an answer.

  It wasn’t long before he heard a muffled crackle and Dorothy’s voice, somewhat distorted, wafting out to him.

  “Hello?”

  He looked around him, startled. Where was her voice coming from? This was the first time he had encountered an intercom system like this, and he was at a loss how to deal with it.

  “Hello? Who is it, please?”

  Robbie cleared his throat. “Er...” he began, vaguely aiming at the wall.

  “Is that you, Robbie?”

  “Er...”

  “Just push the door, love.”

  He heard an angry buzzing, but made no move to ‘push the door’ as instructed. The angry buzzing came again, but Robbie just stood there, puzzled, scratching his head. He very much wanted to get out of the rain, but the door seemed firmly closed against him. Why didn’t Dorothy just come to the door and open it like normal people, he wondered.

  Eventually, that is exactly what she did. There she was, smiling at him, pulling him gently into the hall, taking his soggy umbrella and placing it in the stand by the front door.

  “Make sure you remember to take it when you leave,” she said.

  “There’s no danger I’ll forget it in this monsoon,” he growled, wiping his feet on the coconut matting.

  “Didn’t you hear the buzzer?” she asked as he followed her up the stairs to her flat.

  Once inside, she helped him out of his wet overcoat and took it into the bathroom to allow it to drip into the bath.

  “Er, yes...” he replied. “I thought there was something wrong with the door. I didn’t know what to do when you said push it.”

  “You should’ve pushed it, Robbie,” she laughed. “A bit new-fangled for you, eh?”

  Robbie just smiled and shrugged as he looked around the living room which, he was glad to see, was very pleasant indeed. Even though she had only been there a few days, her personality seemed to be stamped on it already. He warmed his hands on the coal-effect electric fire which was doing its best to replace an open one and almost succeeding. There were still a couple of unemptied packing cases in the corner of the room, but otherwise it looked as though she had been living there for years. There was a small table by the fire, laid out with tea things and a cake stand filled with scones, crumpets and sticky buns.

  “Dear Dorothy,” he said. “How are you settling in?”

  “Oh, I’m quite at home, as you can see,” she said. “What do you think of the flat?”

  “It’s fine,” he said. “A bit small, though, isn’t it? Where will you hold your séances, for example?”

  “Come this way,” she instructed.

  He followed her into an adjoining room and w
as surprised to see how spacious it was in comparison with her little living room.

  “What d’you think?”

  He nodded. “That’s good.”

  “All right, Robbie, out with it,” she said, as they returned to the living room.

  “Out with what?”

  They sat down by the fire, and Dorothy poured the tea.

  “What you’re thinking.”

  He smiled at her. “You know me too well, Dorothy,” he said.

  “It’s about Bernie and Nova, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I suppose it is. I just wondered why you moved out of the vicarage when Nova left. You could have stayed on for a bit.”

  “Are you matchmaking, by any chance?”

  “No, but Mrs Aitch is still not a hundred per cent …”

  “Give over. She’s firing on all cylinders now. Didn’t want me under her feet any more than she wanted Nova.”

  “All right, but you should have had it out with Bernie.”

  “Had what out? It’s his life. Nothing to do with me.”

  “He’s a silly old fool,” observed Robbie. “Nova’s just a flash in the pan. Nothing can come of it. You know it, and I know it.”

  “Again, Robbie, it’s not my concern. I hope he’ll be very happy, whatever happens. I’ll never...” She stopped, and Robbie could see a tear start in her eye. “I’ll never stop loving him. There – I’ve said it. But you can’t make someone love you and I should know – I tried hard enough years ago. He wasn’t sure then and he isn’t sure now. So, there’s nothing more I can do. I can’t put my life on hold while he makes up his mind.”

  Robbie sipped his tea, eyeing her over the rim of his cup. “You’re a brave and lovely woman, Dorothy. I wish you’d married me years ago, you know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Robbie, I do.”

  She got up and walked over to the window. Tears fell down her cheeks unbidden as she stared out at the rain-sodden rooftops and a few equally rain-sodden pigeons. The street lights were already on, even though it was only four o’clock in the afternoon.

  “Why didn’t you?” he persisted, knowing that he was touching a raw nerve but unable now to draw back from the brink.

  She surreptitiously dried her eyes and turned to face him.

  “I’m sorry, Robbie, you know why. I didn’t love you. I don’t want to hurt you, but I didn’t love you. I’ve never loved you. No – that’s not strictly true. Of course, I love you – but only as a friend. That’s all I’ll ever be to you. Let’s just drop the subject, shall we?”

  Robbie finished his tea and helped himself to a scone. “Yes, all right, dear. Whatever you say. I could throttle Bernie with my bare hands.” He was glaring at the scone as if it represented Bernard’s neck.

  She smiled. “So could I. Sometimes.”

  There was a silence between them for a moment.

  “I wonder how she is, now she’s back at the house?”

  “Nova?”

  “Yes.”

  “No doubt we shall hear soon,” said Dorothy. “I hope she’ll be all right. I didn’t dislike the girl, you know. And I feel very sorry for what’s been happening to her. Also, I think it’s important that we find out just what this spirit wants of her.”

  “Another séance?”

  “I suppose so. But let’s wait and see, shall we?”

  “Personally, I’d like to forget the whole business,” said Robbie morosely. “I don’t want anything more to do with it, if I can help it. That apparition was very unsettling.”

  “I know, Robbie. These things can be. But that’s no reason not to try and deal with them, is it?”

  “No,” he sighed. “No reason at all.”

  Although, of course, he could think of at least a hundred.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Lydia couldn’t believe her luck. She had dreamed of living in the Winter Park Eventide Home for Gentlefolk for so long, and now here she was – living in it. Of course, her joy was very much tempered by the fact she probably wouldn’t be living in it very long. Not for the first time, she wondered at the irony of fate. A non-smoker all her life, she had never expected to end up with diseased lungs.

  However, she was determined to enjoy what life still remained to her and to be positive about it. She had acquired a new friend who had paid for her to live in this wonderful place, so what more could she want? Maybe just a little more time to enjoy it? She wasn’t afraid of dying, it was the agony she feared she would go through before she passed. Still, with dear old Minty by her side, how bad could it be?

  She thought back on her own life, as it seemed appropriate to do now that she was about to leave it. It hadn’t been so bad in many ways, especially as she had been lucky enough to meet Roland that night, coming out of his club in Soho. If it hadn’t been for him, she and the baby would have perished for sure.

  Minty smiled at Lydia as she tucked her into her luxurious bed. “There, love,” she said. “Snug as a bug in a rug.”

  Lydia coughed fitfully, and Minty poured her some water. “Here, drink this. Don’t you worry, I’m here to look after you, whatever happens. I won’t leave you.”

  “Thanks, Mint,” she replied, wiping her mouth after swallowing most of the water. “I’m glad we met. You know, Mint, it was meant to be, wasn’t it?”

  “I suppose it was. Yes.”

  Minty had a faraway look in her eyes. Just who was this old woman she had taken to her bosom? All she had gleaned so far was that she had known her real mother when they had lived together for a short while in Tottenham. She had no light to throw on what had happened to her after that, and Minty still didn’t know anything much about Lydia’s own life. Just what had happened to her in the intervening years to bring her to such a sad pass today?

  They had been extremely lucky to get into the home so quickly. There had been only the one room vacant, a double, the room they were in now. It was true, thought Minty, that money talked. And, not only did it talk, it stopped too many awkward questions being asked, such as why she and Lydia were in such a sorry, shabby state in the first place. It was obvious that they were no one’s idea of ‘gentle folk’.

  There had been a tricky moment or two, but when Minty took out her cheque book, no more questions seemed necessary. She had to admit, though, she hadn’t taken to the manageress, or whatever she called herself, but that was the least of her concerns. She could take her money, with pleasure, as long as she left them alone to enjoy the peace and tranquillity of the twilight home.

  Their room overlooked a vista of trees and green lawns and, no doubt, as the winter turned into early spring and then into summer, there would be many wonderful flowers to see, too. A perfect place to end one’s days, thought Minty, as she fell asleep.

  The next morning dawned bright and sunny. Frost glinted on the leaves of the evergreen bushes as Minty pulled back the curtains. Lydia blinked awake as she did so.

  “Oh, Mint, it’s lovely here!”

  Lydia stretched and, as she did so, started coughing. Once the fit had subsided, she eased herself out of the bed and joined her friend at the French windows.

  “What a smashing sight, eh, Mint?” she smiled. “Thanks so much for making my dream come true.” She hugged her warmly.

  Minty surreptitiously wiped a tear from her eye and hugged her back. Just then, a figure appeared from behind a rhododendron bush. He was pushing a wheelbarrow heaped with clods of earth and weeds. A rake and heavy-duty spade were laid on top of them. It was clear he was the gardener. But, as he drew nearer, Lydia’s face darkened, and she felt her stiffen beside her.

  “That old man...” said Lydia.

  “Eh?”

  Minty looked at the old man in question. He didn’t seem particularly remarkable or frightening in any way.

  “The gardener? What about him?”

  “Yes –”

  “Looks a miserable sort of cove,” observed Minty.

  “There’s something familiar about him.”

&n
bsp; “Is there?”

  There was a knock on the door, and a cheerful young girl entered pushing a breakfast trolley.

  “Tea or coffee, ladies?” she asked, smiling.

  

  The Winter Park Eventide Home for Gentlefolk was certainly living up to its reputation so far. Breakfast in their rooms, stunning gardens to be seen just outside their French windows, every whim satisfied. What more could they ask?

  But, as Minty dipped her toasted soldier into her runny boiled egg, done just the way she liked it, she saw that Lydia was moodily sipping her tea, her own boiled egg remaining untouched. Something was wrong.

  “Penny for ’em, Lyd?”

  Lydia looked across at her friend and gave her a half smile. “Oh, just taking it all in – I can’t really believe I’m here. But you shouldn’t spend your money on me – after all, you hardly know me.”

  “Nonsense, love, I feel I’ve known you all my life – which, in a sense I have.”

  “Didn’t you ever have a sweetheart, Mint?” asked Lydia, still looking like she’d lost a shilling and found tuppence.

  “Yes, once. But he got killed in the Great War.”

  “What was his name?”

  A misty look came into Minty’s eyes as she buttered herself some more toast and told her. “He was the sweetest, kindest man, Lyd. You’d have fallen in love with him on the spot like I did. We were going to be married as soon as the war was over, but he never made it back.”

  Lydia saw the tears starting in Minty’s eyes and put out her hand to hers. “Sorry, Mint, I shouldn’t have asked. It must have been very hard for you.”

  “Never mind,” said Minty, brightly. “It was a long time ago, and life’s for the living. But, how about you? There’s something bothering you, isn’t there? You’ve been in a funny mood ever since you saw that gardener chappie.”

  Lydia took the top of her egg before replying. “I don’t know. It’s silly, really. But there’s something about him that reminds me of someone I used to know.”

  “And I think the person he reminds you of is someone you don’t like very much. Am I right?”