The Possession of November Jones

by Pat Herbert

  “What’s that you’re singing, Lyd?” she asked, pinning the last roller into her thinning grey hair.

  After the reaction to her appearance at the solicitors, she was making a concerted effort to improve her appearance. She was due to visit the hairdressers the next day but, in the meantime, she had managed to give her crowning glory a bit of a boost with the help of rollers and a decent shampoo. Next, she was going to tackle her wardrobe by visiting Maison Philippe in Wandsworth High Street. She was also going to order some new clothes for Lydia at the same time. Even if they were old and falling apart, there was no excuse not to look as presentable as possible while doing so. Especially now she had the money.

  Lydia sat up with an effort and looked at the clock on her bedside table. “Hurry up, Mint, and get into bed. It’s almost ten o’clock. I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

  “Sorry, love,” smiled Minty, as she climbed into bed, hugging her hot water bottle. “What’s that song?”

  “I used to sing it to baby Ted. I don’t know where I learnt it. A cockney lament, I suppose you’d call it. A comical song, that isn’t all that comical when you think it’s about a baby going down a plughole.”

  Minty laughed. “My mother never sang to me at all. Not that she was my mother, of course. My nurse used to sing to me sometimes, or read me stories, but it’s not the same as having your mother or father doing it.”

  “You sound bitter, Mint.”

  “Well, why shouldn’t I feel bitter? Being lied to all my life.”

  “You should try and get over it. We’ve all got our crosses to bear.”

  Lydia’s tone sounded harsh to Minty’s ears. And after all she’d done for her. But she was right, of course. She plumped up her pillows with some aggression.

  “Anyway, at least you’ve got one living relative, still,” said Lydia.

  “What d’you mean, Lyd?” She stopped mid-plump.

  “What I say. You’ve got a relative, Mint.”

  “I have? Well, yes, I probably do. But so what? I’m never likely to know them, am I?”

  “No? What if I told you I know this relative personally?”

  “How on Earth would you, Lyd? You’re rambling. It’s the medication you’re on, I expect.”

  “Because Ted is, in fact, your cousin. I’ve been working it out. Mind you, I think I’d rather not have any relatives than have one like Ted. Not after what he’s done.”

  “But how could he be my cousin, Lyd? Get a grip, girl.”

  “No, it’s true – he is. Really.”

  “How come?”

  “I haven’t said anything to you before because I wasn’t sure in my own mind. And not being well, I wasn’t sure I wasn’t delirious or senile, or something. But I’m sure now.”

  “Tell me then.”

  Lydia struggled with her pillows as she realised it was going to be a long night. Minty got out of bed to give her the benefit of her expert plumping. Once both parties were comfortable, Lydia continued.

  “I was going to tell you later on. I was going to introduce you to Ted, if that was what you wanted when you knew. I haven’t told Ted about you, by the way ...”

  “Glad to hear it. Let me get used to the idea, first.”

  “Anyway, as I haven’t got much time left – no, Mint, you know it’s true.”

  Minty felt the tears well up, but forced them back with an effort. “Stop talking like that. I don’t know what I’ll do when you’re not here.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll be all right.”

  “Will I? With Ted as my long-lost cousin, I don’t think so. But, tell me, how come he’s my cousin?”

  “Simple. His father was the brother of your father. Doesn’t take an Einstein to work it out. Only someone as thick as me has taken this long to cotton on. Ted’s real name is Edward Moreland-Jones, given to him by his real mother. It was put on the birth certificate and everything.”

  “And I’m Araminta Moreland …” Minty was thoughtful. “I see, Yes, that makes perfect sense. What a turn up.”

  “Ted was always just plain old Ted Holman, taking my husband’s name when Rolly adopted him legally.”

  Minty lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She said nothing for a few minutes, while Lydia made herself comfortable, preparing for sleep.

  “You all right, Mint?” she asked, as she closed her eyes. She was relieved to have told her friend at last.

  “Yes, love. I was just wondering whether I want to acknowledge Ted as my cousin, that’s all.”

  “That’s a tough one, Mint. A really tough one …” She fell asleep, mid-sentence.

  

  Lydia was feeling a little stronger the following morning, after an uninterrupted night’s sleep, for once. The medicine Robbie had prescribed was strong stuff, knocking her out for the best part of twelve hours. Minty, on the other hand, had hardly slept and, of the two of them, felt the more unwell at that moment.

  When she had dozed off, it was to dream of the unsavoury gardener who was apparently related to her by blood. At least according to Lydia, and Lydia would have no reason to lie to her. She could see that leering face still, as it had appeared in her dream and, as she looked out of the French window, could see that same face now in the flesh. He wasn’t looking her way, thank goodness, he was busy clearing the paths of snow. He obviously took his work seriously, she thought. Perhaps he wasn’t as bad as all that. She hoped.

  Lydia was smiling at her, sitting up in bed, waiting for her breakfast. “Are you upset at finding you’re related to Ted, Mint?” she asked, as the familiar rattle of the crockery on the trolley heralded its arrival.

  “Well, it was a bit of a shock, I don’t mind telling you,” she replied. “But I suppose I’ll get used to it.”

  “Do you want me to tell him about you?”

  “Not sure. Maybe I’ll talk to him casually, first. Let me see if I could possibly get on with him. If he’s a pain in the neck, I might disown him. Will you mind?”

  “Not in the least. Anyway, he’s supposed to be dying, according to him, so he won’t be around for long. Might be as well not to say anything at all. I really only told you because you seemed so upset at not having any relations. I just wish I could have conjured up an Arabian prince for you instead.”

  “No, Lyd. I don’t want to be a snob about it. If Ted is my cousin, then I think he should know. If he’s dying, it would be a kindness, don’t you think?”

  “It’s up to you.” Lydia shrugged.

  “Tell you what ...” She paused as a young girl entered the room with their breakfast trays.

  “How are we today, ladies?” she asked them cheerily. “Nice plate of bacon and eggs to set you up a treat.”

  “Lovely,” said Lydia. “What were you going to say, Mint?”

  Minty watched her friend dive into her plate of food and smiled. She seemed so much better today, thank goodness. Maybe she would be spared to her for a bit longer yet.

  “I think I’ll go and speak to him later,” she replied, picking up her own knife and fork.

  “Please yourself,” said her friend, her mouth full of crispy bacon.

  So, after breakfast, Minty set out to find him. She went out through the French windows, having first wrapped herself up against the chill December winds. The snow had stopped, and the sun was giving it a chance to thaw slightly. She looked around the grounds, shading her eyes against its low glare, but there was no sign of him. Maybe he was inside, doing some other job, like fixing a leak or changing a light bulb. Glad to get out of the cold, she searched all the public areas of the Eventide home, including the kitchen and the bathrooms, but he was nowhere to be found.

  As she wandered the corridors in her vain quest, the manageress stepped out of her office. Seeing the old lady looking lost, she gave her an insincere smile. “Good morning, Miss Moreland,” she said.

  “Morning,” replied Minty. There was no two ways about it, she didn’t like this woman at all.

  Miss Chapm
an turned off her smile as abruptly as she had turned it on. “Well, Miss Moreland, can I help you? You look a little lost, if I may say so.”

  “I’m looking for Ted,” Minty explained. “Do you know where I might find him?”

  “Oh, I see,” said Miss Chapman, smiling again. “I’m afraid he isn’t very well this morning, so I sent him to bed. Do you need something attended to?”

  “No, no, it’s not that. I just wanted to talk to him. But didn’t I see him earlier this morning in the garden?”

  “Yes, but as I said, he is now in bed. But why do you want to talk to him? We don’t encourage him to talk to the inmates.”

  ‘Inmates’ was about right, thought Minty, if this woman had her way. With that slash of a mouth, she reminded her of Joan Crawford, an actress she had never liked. Miss Chapman was wasted here, she thought. She’d do better as a prison governor.

  “I don’t think it is any of your business,” said Minty, as rudely as she dared. She was sure she was safe as long as she could pay the bills, but woe betide her if the money ran out. “I can speak to him if I like.”

  “Perhaps you’d better come into my office, Miss Moreland. I’ll phone through to the kitchen for some coffee.”

  “There’s really no need,” said Minty, anxious to get away from her. She didn’t want to spend any more time with this martinet than she had to, and Lydia would be wondering where she had got to by now, anyway.

  “Come, my dear,” insisted Miss Chapman. “I think you should rest quietly for a while. I’ll order the coffee.”

  Minty, despite her protests, found herself being forced into the small office by an iron hand. “Don’t pull me. Leave me alone. I want to get back to my friend.”

  Miss Chapman grimaced. “Please let me be the judge of what’s best for you, dear,” she said. Her voice was hard and flinty.

  She dumped poor Minty on a hard wooden chair she, no doubt, reserved for naughty children or, more appropriately, naughty old ladies. She moved round it to sit opposite, and glared at her, tapping her long, painted finger nails on the desk. There was menace in the very sound.

  “I think I ought to tell you, Miss Moreland, that I don’t allow my residents to go wandering around willy-nilly. I have a responsibility for you all, and I need to make sure you don’t get lost or fall over and hurt yourselves. Do you understand?”

  Minty understood all right. She wanted to tell the woman to go to hell but nodded meekly instead. It wasn’t worth it.

  “So, Miss Moreland, what have you to say for yourself? I’m rather worried about your state of mind, if you don’t mind me saying so. I think I will get the doctor to have a look at you.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my mind, Miss Chapman,” said Minty, now prepared to be as rude as possible. There were other Eventide homes. “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, you seem a little, how shall I say? Vague.”

  “Look, I just want to see Ted. What’s vague about that?”

  Miss Chapman turned on her smile again. “I’m sorry, but that was how you appeared to me when I saw you wandering the corridors. I just thought you seemed a little distrait, shall we say?”

  By now, Minty had had enough. “Well, I’m fine,” she said, rising from the chair. “Now, if there’s nothing else, Miss Chapman, I’d like to return to my room.”

  “Very well, dear,” smiled the manageress, walking with her to the door. “Just let me know if I can help you in any way.”

  “Is Ted very ill, do you know?” asked Minty.

  Miss Chapman gave her a steely look. “I believe it is just a headache.”

  Back in her room at last, she found Lydia busy with some crochet work.

  “Ted’s got a headache, Lyd, so I couldn’t see him. Apparently, he’s gone to bed. Or put there, more like.”

  “Oh, right,” said Lydia, concentrating on her work. One of the other residents had lent her some wool, and she was enjoying taking up again what had been one of her most pleasurable pastimes. “I think it’s more than that, Mint. Don’t you?”

  “Probably. Hatchet-face Chapman won’t like it if he’s dying,” said Minty.

  “Hatchet-face?”

  “I met the manageress – Miss Chapman – just now. You know, we met her when we first moved in.”

  “Oh, that cow. Didn’t like the look of her from the start. Bit of a bitch, is she?”

  “You could say that. I don’t think she likes us to get ill. She thinks I’m bats in the belfry, for a start.”

  “Why would she think that? You’re as sane as I am.”

  Minty laughed. “There’s not much hope for me then.” She became serious. “Perhaps we should leave here, Lyd. Go somewhere else. I’ve got plenty of money. We could go to a nice hotel. What d’you say?”

  Lydia sighed, looking up from her work. She took off her glasses and rubbed her pinched nose. “I’d rather stay here, if it’s all the same to you, Mint. I don’t feel like another move now. It’s peaceful here. If I can put up with Ted, you can put up with her, can’t you?”

  “Of course, Lyd. Whatever you say.”

  “I must speak to Ted, though,” said Minty after a few moments. “Tell him who I am and, if he is really dying, maybe it will be some comfort to him to finally meet a genuine relation. I know I feel that way too.”

  Lydia understood. Both Ted and Minty were in the same boat; brought up all their lives by people they thought were their real parents, only to find out as they entered their twilight years, that they weren’t who they thought they were. Some agency had brought her and Minty together, for whatever reason, so who was she to advise her not to meet Ted? Lydia knew only too well what sort of a man he was, but Minty didn’t. He was a human being (just) and he had a right to at least know about his cousin, just as Minty had had a right to know, too. Once they had met, it would be up to the pair of them where they went from there. If anywhere.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  “Hurry up, Nova, love, they’ll be here in a minute.”

  Mike was standing at the bottom of the stairs calling out to his girlfriend who, it seemed like to him, had been in the bathroom for hours. As he stood there, awaiting her response, four pairs of feet clattered down the stairs past him. One of his flatmates turned as they reached the front door.

  “You and Nova coming to the pub, Mike?” he asked.

  “Not tonight, Brian,” replied Mike. “We’ve got guests coming.”

  “Oh, not another stupid séance?”

  “Not exactly, no. And séances aren’t stupid.”

  There was no time to argue the point, as all four of his flatmates were losing valuable drinking time. And it was Friday night, so no work tomorrow which meant they could drink even more and enjoy their hangovers in peace.

  Mike smiled as the front door slammed on the four happy young people. If only life was as simple for him and Nova, he thought with a sigh.

  “Are you coming?” he called up again, impatient now. Why hadn’t he just gone with the others?

  “Yes, all right. I’m having a bath.”

  “A bath? It’s nearly eight o’clock. What’re you doing having a bath now?”

  “I need to relax,” she told him. “Now, just leave me alone. The longer you keep talking to me, the longer I’ll take.”

  “Oh, all right. Have it your own way.”

  Mike was resigned. At least he could have a drink, he thought, pouring himself a generous whisky. The doorbell rang just as he was about to pour himself another.

  

  As she lay in the bath, soap suds up to her chin, Nova wondered why Robbie and the others (would the ‘others’ include Bernard?) wanted to go down into the cellar. What did they expect to find? Besides, they’d break their silly necks on those dodgy stairs.

  She ducked under the water and lay still, holding her breath for as long as she could. As she lay submerged, Mike rapped on the bathroom door. She burst through the surface and took a gulp of much-needed air.

  “Wha
t now? I’ll be down in a minute. Give me a break,” she snapped.

  “Our guests are here,” he snapped back. “It’s rude to keep them waiting.”

  “It’ll be even ruder to come now – in my birthday suit.”

  She giggled, glad she’d had the foresight to lock the door.

  “Ha, ha. Just hurry up, will you?”

  “All right, all right. Keep your hair on.”

  She had only wished to sit in the bath to be left alone to think. That had been the idea. But she had ducked under the water and wanted to stay there, she now realised with a jolt. Had she had some thought in her head to drown herself? Was some outside force at work on her, yet again? Mike’s knock had broken the spell.

  Good old, long-suffering Mike. Why did he put up with her? At least she was over Bernard now (she told herself), but she still didn’t know what she thought about Mike. He was a dear friend and a kind and considerate lover. But it had all become a bit samey, lately. Maybe that was why she had found the vicar so fascinating.

  As she continued to lie in the bath, still without any intention of getting out, she gradually became aware that the room, like the bath water, was getting colder. She quickly turned on the hot tap to top up the tepid water. She began to shiver.

  “Hello, Nova,” said a woman’s voice just beside her.

  She looked around quickly, but saw nothing. “Who’s there?” she squeaked, suddenly very afraid.

  “It’s me, Rose.”

  “Rose? Rose who? Where are you?”

  “Here – just beside you – sitting on this nice, fluffy towel.”

  Nova turned again, and this time she saw a vague figure sitting on the chair beside the bath. She forced down the urge to scream. Somehow, she didn’t want Mike to come to her rescue. Not yet, anyway. As she stared in grisly fascination, the figure became more defined until finally, she saw a very beautiful, black-haired woman, dressed in old-fashioned clothes, smiling warily at her.

  “You can see me properly now, can’t you?” grinned the woman.

  Nova realised she wasn’t scared anymore, now that she could see where the voice was coming from. “Yes, I can. Are you the one who’s been possessing and haunting me all these weeks?”