The Boy In the Olive Grove

by Fleur Beale

  ‘That is what I hoped you would do.’ She gave one of her regal nods.

  While I was in her good books I told her about Auckland. Her good book crashed shut.

  ‘How typically selfish of you to disappear for three days. Doesn’t it ever occur to you that I might like some company? That I might require your help too?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I really am. Save the chores and I’ll do them next week. I promise.’

  She didn’t look at me. ‘Next week will be too late. I’ll attend to them myself.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, all right. I’ll make it up to you.’

  ‘Kindly don’t make promises you have no intention of keeping.’ She left me stewing in a mix of guilt, fury and impotent frustration.

  I went to my room and sent Clo a message: ETA early afternoon. Can’t wait to see you.

  There was the usual silence from Hadleigh. I wrote him a huge spit about Mum, then deleted it and wrote: Dad doing well. I might be hiring a sulky teenage boy to do the finishing. Funny, eh! Seeing Iris’s pet shrink tomorrow. Good, I think. Can’t get whatever it was out of my head. Getting into my dreams now. Not fun. Write to me, Hads. Love you.

  In the morning, Mum piled on the guilt by getting up early to make me breakfast — all in silence. Her vibes were icy, toxic and stronger than a battering ram. I said goodbye. I told her where I was staying, and when I expected to be back. She ignored me with glacial splendour.

  If Gwennie help me avoid commit ting matricide, it’d be a freaking miracle. Oh yes, and there was also the small matter of wife-burning to deal to. It should be a fun old day.

  GWENNIE’S HOUSE TURNED out to be easy to find. The path to the front door had mosaic tiles set into the concrete pavers. Herbs grew in the cracks. The whole garden was a messy scatter of trees, vines and stone sculptures. I rang the bell and admired the stained glass in the door.

  It was time to face my demons past and present.

  A woman completely unlike the Gwennie of my imagination greeted me. ‘Come in, Bess. Through here.’

  ‘Huh, are you Gwennie? Iris’s friend?’ I felt dumb asking, but she didn’t look as if she matched the garden, the path, or Iris for that matter. She was tall, sleekly groomed, and dressed in quiet shades of beige and umber.

  ‘I am indeed,’ she said. ‘Take a seat.’

  I chose the upright one next to her desk rather than the armchair.

  She studied me for around ten seconds before she said, ‘This is a rather unusual situation, and normally I wouldn’t agree to see two members of the same family. I know a lot about you, Bess, so you must say now if you’re not comfortable with me treating you.’

  ‘I don’t want to risk being locked up by people in white coats if I tell somebody else this stuff,’ I said. ‘Truthfully, it’s a relief that you know all about it. About me, too.’

  She had a warm smile. ‘Very well. Did Iris explain the procedure I use?’

  I shook my head, still finding it hard to credit I was about to dive into a past existence.

  ‘I can go into it more fully if you wish, but in summary the goal is to put you in touch with your subconscious mind. I use deep relaxation to do that. You won’t be asleep. You’ll remember everything that happens, and you can come out of the state at will.’ She waited for questions, but when I didn’t ask any she went on, ‘I’m assuming you want to access the lifetime where you and Iris were together as husband and wife?’

  The words landed in my gut with a clunk.

  ‘I want to get the pictures out of my head. Did Iris tell you what happened?’

  ‘You’ve had two episodes, both with the same images?’

  I nodded, feeling sick all over again.

  ‘Unusual. Normally when people have those flashbacks to a past life it’s because they’re visiting somewhere they’ve lived before. Let’s make a start, shall we? Turn off your cellphone and make yourself comfortable in that armchair. Good. Now close your eyes and let us begin.’

  I had to begin by breathing deeply, then she told me to visualise all my muscles relaxing. I’d been to a yoga class a couple of times — this felt like yoga, and it was never going to put me in touch with my subconscious.

  Yes, it would — it had to. I did not want those pictures in my head. I wanted to be free of memories of what I’d apparently done to Iris. I had to trust her.

  Gwennie’s voice flowed calmly on. I breathed deeply again five more times, all the while keeping my mind focused on her. I stopped thinking about time, about how long this would take, about whether or not it would work.

  At some point, she said, ‘I’m going to count backwards from five to one. When we reach one, you will be deeply relaxed. Your mind will be free to explore other times.’ There were more instructions, I think, but they were obliterated from my mind when I found myself looking at the man I knew to be me.

  Gwennie’s voice said, ‘Look around you. What do you see?’

  ‘I’m tall and I’m proud of my strength. I have a wife. She is wilful and disobeys me. I am a leader, but she shames me.’

  ‘How does she shame you?’

  ‘People come to her for healing. She is headstrong. I forbid her to use herbs and chants. I forbid her to use the touch of her hands. She waits until I am working and she goes against my orders.’

  ‘Do you have children?’

  ‘No. She takes herbs to prevent a child from quickening in her womb.’

  ‘You sound angry.’

  ‘I am angry. Men mock me. They say there are no arrows in my quiver.’

  ‘Go forward in time to an event of importance in that life.’

  ‘I’m happy. I’ve found a girl who loves me. She looks up to me. She does what I ask. I want to wed her.’

  ‘Are you still married to your wife?’

  ‘She will die soon. She’s a witch. Villagers are talking. I have fed the flames of suspicion. Sheep have died. It happens in springtime, but I said my wife had cast a spell.’

  ‘Do you want her to die?’

  ‘Yes. She deserves to die. She doesn’t love me. She won’t obey me.’

  ‘Go forward in time. Now what do you see? Remember that you are safe. The scenes you see are not of this life. It’s important to understand them, that’s all.’

  ‘She is burning. She struggles, but the flames devour her. I am happy to be rid of her. She curses me as she dies.’

  I knew I was crying. I watched the flames burn my stepmother. The man I was then felt no remorse, no sorrow for the pain, no guilt at taking an innocent life. He felt the sting of her curse but shrugged it off.

  Gwennie’s calm voice anchored me, reminding me I was looking at scenes from the past, not the present. ‘Go forward in that life. What is happening now?’

  ‘I marry the girl. We are happy for a short time, but she is a nag. We have three children. They are always whining. I stay away from the house.’

  ‘Go forward in time. What do you see now?’

  ‘I have a fever. I am dying. My children are caring for me but they are afraid of me. They fight over who must tend me. They don’t want to come near me. My wife has already died. The children wept for her. They cared for her lovingly. I die unloved.’

  I watched that life unroll in front of me, and I felt all the remorse and all the shame I should have felt then.

  ‘Do you recognise anyone from your current life?’

  ‘Just Iris.’

  ‘That life is over. Visualise letting it go. See it as a cloak you can take off. You can bury it deep in the ground if you wish.’

  I did as she instructed and I felt the weight of it fall from my shoulders. ‘Oh! It’s burning!’ These flames were cleansing, burning away the horror.

  ‘I will count to five,’ Gwennie said. ‘When I reach five, you will be back in the present. You will be rested and you will remember everything.’

  I was almost afraid to open my eyes, fearing I’d still see remnants of that other world, but Gwennie was right. This was the present,
the here and now, alive and kicking in her office.

  She handed me a glass of water. ‘What lessons are there for you in those memories, Bess?’

  ‘I was always angry. I didn’t care about what anyone else felt. I was the important one. They had to do what I wanted or suffer the consequences. I was strong and I used my strength to make them obey me.’ Less than a month ago, I’d have laughed at the suggestion that I’d be sitting in a shrink’s office talking about my life as a man who burned his wife to death. Now, I said, ‘I died alone, unloved and bitter.’

  Gwennie, with her expression as bland as paste, asked, ‘Do you see any parallels with your present-day relationships?’

  ‘No!’

  She went on being bland and silent.

  ‘With Iris, do you mean?’ I was stalling for time. Oh, get real, Bess. ‘You’re talking about Mum, aren’t you? I’m always angry with her. She’s the important one. Everything’s all about her.’

  ‘You sound bitter,’ Gwennie said. ‘What do you want from her?’

  ‘I want her to love me.’ There. As simple as that, yet I’d never seen it until now. I felt winded, and wounded too.

  ‘What did your children and your wives want from you in the life you’ve just reviewed?’

  ‘Yeah. I get it.’ I spent a long time examining the pattern on her carpet. This whole business seemed just too neat and tidy. Bad person in one life meets same sort of baddie in a different family, a different time. ‘Is it karma? Is Mum my punishment for what I did?’

  Gwennie got brisk. ‘No. It’s about learning and growing through each of your lifetimes. If you refuse to learn something, then after that body dies, you might choose to repeat the lesson in your next life.’

  I said through gritted teeth, ‘I did not choose to be born to my mother.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’ An unarguable statement, so all I did was snort. She went on, ‘It mightn’t have been anything to do with being born to your mother. It might have been about you and Iris. Or both.’

  ‘But according to that theory, if I keep being furious with Mum, if I don’t love her and have compassion for her, then I’m stuffed?’ I could not imagine feeling a gram of compassion for her, not in this life or the next few hundred.

  ‘From what I’ve observed over many regressions, it’s all to do with the strength of emotion you invest,’ Gwennie said. ‘If you still feel bitterness and anger towards your mother when you die, for example, then you will often be together again in subsequent lives, repeating the patterns of this one.’

  I let that sink in, witchy, new-agey and just plain daft as it sounded. My main thought, though, was that I’d better not take myself out on the motorway on the way home. ‘I’m screwed for eternity then. No matter if I bust my butt trying to be nice, it never works.’

  ‘No, it won’t.’

  Well, that was a surprise. ‘How do you know? Sorry, I mean …’

  She took pity on me. ‘I know quite a bit about your mother. Iris has had to deal with her for years now.’

  I wanted to ask more, dead curious about what Iris had said, but Gwennie brought the session to an end. ‘Our time’s up for today. I’d like you to come again next week, if you can. We’ll talk about the interaction between you and your mother.’

  I stood up. ‘Okay. Thanks. Will it be another regression session?’

  ‘We can do that if you want to explore whether there are past life connections with your mum,’ she said. ‘But I feel it would be best to work on this life.’ She handed me her card. ‘My contact details are on this, and a list of charges.’

  I felt the blood rush to my face. I hadn’t even thought about costs or payment. I fished in my wallet for my eftpos card, but she waved it away. ‘This session is a favour to Iris.’

  I still burned with shame. ‘I can pay. Truly. Mum gives me a huge allowance.’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me. Let me know on Monday if you’d like another appointment. No payment today.’ She opened the door, ushering me into the hall.

  ‘Thank you. And please can I come next Friday? I need help coping with Mum or I’ll never get through a whole year of living with her. Would eleven o’clock be okay?’ That way I could go up and back the same day. I’d never hear the end of it from Mum if I swanned off for another three days next week.

  The appointment was arranged, and I walked back down Gwennie’s crazily paved path with much to think about.

  Damn it! I’d forgotten to ask her if the images of Iris in flames would come back.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I’D BARELY GOT THE CAR parked at Clodagh’s when my door was wrenched open and there was Charlotte. ‘Are you okay? Why don’t you answer your phone, for chrissakes! We’ve been calling you for hours.’

  I hugged her, coming over all tearful at the sight of her. ‘This is amazing! How come you’re here?’

  She moved back to let me out. ‘Came down to see you, dumb nut.’ She grabbed my shoulders and treated me to a searching look. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ I said. ‘Getting there, anyway. Tell you all about it when we get inside.’

  Clodagh strolled down the path to meet us. ‘You see, Charlotte? Behold Bess, all present and in one piece.’ To me, she said, ‘She was sure something evil had befallen you when we couldn’t get hold of you.’

  ‘Sorry. I turned my phone off while I was seeing the shrink. Forgot to turn it back on again.’ I collected my bag, locked the car and headed for the house, aware that Charlotte and Clodagh were exchanging meaningful looks behind me.

  They let me get inside before they pounced. ‘You will tell all,’ Charlotte said.

  ‘Or we have ways of not feeding you,’ Clodagh said.

  I stalled for time. ‘Where’s your gran, Clo? And the boys?’

  ‘They won’t bother us for another couple of hours,’ she said. ‘Shall we talk here, or in my room?’

  ‘There’s a choice?’ I asked.

  ‘Only of venue.’ Clo gave me her wise woman smile as she pointed me at the beanbag.

  ‘You may begin,’ she said.

  ‘You’d better begin,’ Charlotte said.

  I closed my eyes for a moment. Should I tell the whole lot, or not? Except that I’d kind of pre-empted that decision by mentioning a shrink. ‘Okay. But I’m warning you, it’s a crazy story, so don’t blame me if you can’t swallow it.’

  ‘It’s all true, though?’ Charlotte demanded. ‘No bullshitting?’

  ‘Let her tell her story, Charlotte.’ Clodagh sat above me in one of the two armchairs. ‘You’re going to start with the reason you got stuck into the vodka?’

  I started talking. ‘I was lying on my bed. Anita was playing her cello.’ Would I ever hear the cello again without remembering Iris burning? I ploughed on, telling them what I’d seen, telling them that I’d been my stepmother’s husband and that I’d burned her alive. It took till I was about halfway through before I realised that the power had gone from the story. There was no horror, no sickness, only regret at what the person I’d been then had done. I finished and, into the electric silence, said, ‘I did warn you.’

  Charlotte, with an air of picking her way through a minefield, said, ‘The shrink you saw today — he’s put you on drugs of some sort?’

  Clodagh made no comment, but her eyes had that abstracted, computing look.

  ‘No drugs, and the shrink’s name is Gwennie.’ I reached out for Charlotte’s hand. ‘It’s okay. Really. I know it sounds insane and, well … you can see why I tipped the vodka down my throat.’

  She sniffed back tears. I felt like crying too as I saw her withdrawing from me, scared of what I might say next.

  Clodagh said, ‘What did this Gwennie have to say about it? She didn’t think you were hallucinating?’

  ‘I need to go back a bit. Bear with me. It’s all relevant.’ I tried not to see Charlotte sinking further into her chair, curling herself up to get as far from me as she could, but it made the telling hard. I kep
t any hint of emotion out of my voice — I might as well have been describing an egg carton as I related Iris’s bombshell when she told me, image for image, what I’d seen, the whole lot repeating itself in a dream, my promise to Miss Wilding to get counselling if it happened again, and finally the session with Gwennie.

  It was too much for Charlotte. She untangled herself from the chair and sprang to her feet. ‘That woman should be locked up! I’ve never heard such outrageous rubbish.’ She bent over me. ‘You’ve been sucked in, Bess. I bet she charges the earth too. This is just nuts. You need to see a proper psychiatrist. Somebody who won’t pull a fast one over you.’

  ‘Sit down, Charlotte,’ said Clodagh. But Charlotte kept pacing the room. ‘Please,’ said Clodagh, and Charlotte obeyed. Clo tended to have that effect on people.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Charlotte muttered.

  ‘But it’s interesting,’ Clodagh said, her eyes still abstracted. ‘Reincarnation — does it exist or is it a comforting myth?’

  ‘Not too comforting, in this case,’ I said.

  Charlotte snorted, but she seemed to be calming down, and I sent silent blessings in Clodagh’s direction.

  ‘Did Gwennie have any theory about why you saw your stepmother burning?’ she asked.

  ‘No. She said it was unusual because normally you only see past-life flashes if you go to a place you’d lived in.’ I snuck a glance in Charlotte’s direction. She was studying her fingernails.

  ‘That proves it’s rubbish,’ she said. ‘Look at the three of us — we’ve all been to heaps of places. London, New York, Paris, you name it, we’ve been there.’ She glared at me. ‘You’ve never seen anything when you’ve been overseas. I haven’t, and I’m damn sure nobody else at school has either.’

  Clodagh said, ‘No, Charlotte, that doesn’t prove a thing.’ She focused her eyes and bent them on me. ‘Did things change between you and Iris after she told you about that lifetime?’

  ‘Yeah. I can talk to her now. It’s easy, not like with Mum.’

  ‘I always liked Iris,’ Clodagh said.