by Finegan, KT
14
I saw a young girl handing out leaflets outside the church. In her orange cagoule and bobbly hat, she seemed bright in the miserable grey drizzle, and the wild wind threatened to whip the papers from her gloved hand. I took a damp leaflet from her and shivered as I walked past the railings, not hanging about to admire the architecture. From my experience last night, I now knew the church was so much more than that.
When I pushed open the glass doors into Angel’s Cakes that wonderful aroma of coffee and toasted bread, and the sound of people laughing and chatting, welcomed me in. I saw that Angel had taped one of the multi-coloured leaflets to her counter, and I narrowed my eyes to read it as I waited to be served.
It was an invitation to a public meeting that evening in the Memorial Hall. That’s where all the town meetings took place, and this one was being held by the Town Council. Council officials, according to the leaflet, would be there to discuss the planning decision on the quarry extension, and representatives of the quarry owner would also be in attendance to answer any questions. This was an opportunity for the town to hear all about the plans, and to voice any objections.
Angel appeared from the back shop, red-cheeked and perspiring, which was hardly surprising as she carried a huge cauldron of bubbling hot soup. She broke into a cheeky grin when she saw me, and said she was planning to take a break and would join me. I gave her my order and found a seat, and five minutes later we were sitting together eating toasted cheese sandwiches and drinking coffee.
‘How did it go at your gran’s? And how are you feeling now after last night? Did you sleep okay?’ she asked. ‘Did you find anything?’
She was obviously concerned and really interested in what had happened. So I explained that I hadn’t found anything, and although I’d felt upset and found it difficult, I’d been able to look through the cottage, including Gran’s room.
She rubbed my arm in acknowledgement of my achievement. ‘How brave of you. I know I found it hard to clear out my parents’ things after they had gone. It’s not easy for anyone at these times. It must have been difficult, but I bet you’re glad you’ve done it.’
And she was right. I was pleased that I’d been able to go round on my own. As silly as it seems, I was proud of myself for doing it. I had always had a fear of death. I suppose you wouldn’t need to be a psychologist to understand that, having lost my parents so young. My gran always used to say that people held on too long to their childhood experiences. She would say that it’s thoughts of the past that make us sad in the present so that we worry about the future rather than enjoying what we have.
I smiled. It was funny, it was almost as if she was in my head at that moment, with all her wisdom and optimism.
‘So did you hear about the public meeting tonight?’ Angel was chattering again. ‘Grizelle and I are going, will you join us? We have the feeling that it’s important we all attend. Sometimes these things can go a bit over the top… heightened emotions and all that, and people can say and do things that can upset others.’
‘Will you do that thing you did with me last night?’ I replied shyly. ‘You know… with the way you held your hands?’
Angel laughed. ‘Well, we might not have to. I’ll take some smoky quartz crystals with me, as that helps transmute negativity. You might laugh, but your gran got the builders to put smoky and pink quartz into the walls of the Memorial Hall when they were renovating it last year!’
She giggled and looked really pleased with herself, and as much as I didn’t know that much about crystals, I had to smile at the thought of my wee gran asking big burly builders to pop crystals behind walls. I wish I’d seen that.
I told Angel that I planned to go and see the doctor to ask more about Gran, but that I really wanted to talk to her about what had happened the night before, especially about the movement of the March Stone, and the visions I’d seen of the messed kitchen and then the explosion. She suggested I go round to the doctor’s surgery and ask to see him, rather than telephone for an appointment, and that she and I would talk later.
Outside, the drizzle had turned into sleet which blew horizontally in bursts into my face. I was freezing and wet to the core by the time I pushed against the wind and got to the surgery. It was still on the same site I remembered at the back of the train station, uphill from The Three Keys. Now, though, it was in a purpose-built, low building, housing a pharmacy and some clinics, rather than the old draughty house I remembered from childhood visits.
The wide glass door opened automatically and I felt as if I flew into the brightly-lit foyer, bringing in icy wind to the harassed and unhappy-looking receptionist. When I asked if it was possible to see the doctor for a few minutes, I knew that she was going to say no. But at that moment a blond woman around my age came out of one of the offices and called my name.
It took me a few moments to recognise that it was one of my closest friends from primary school.
‘Carole,’ I said, genuinely pleased to see a familiar face. ‘I haven’t seen you for years. How on earth did you recognise me?’
‘You haven’t changed a bit, Kirsty!’ She laughed. ‘And I sort of expected to see you after hearing about your gran. I’m so sorry. She was such a great character.’
She was sympathetic, and when I asked if it was possible to have a brief word with the doctor, Carole offered to try to catch him before he left for the evening.
Within a few minutes she was back, then buzzed me through a security door and pointed to a door further along the sage green corridor. I knocked quietly and entered hesitantly when a voice called me in.
I had expected old Dr McLeod, but this was a much younger man. Obviously used to the surprised reaction, he laughed and explained that he had taken over from his father three years before. After we shook hand, he professionally rearranged his features into a sombre expression as he said he was sorry for my loss.
‘Dr McLeod, I’m not sure exactly why I’m here. I suppose I was hoping for some answers,’ I began. ‘I understand that my gran was coming to see you and that she was ill. And that you found her?’
His eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘Please sit down and I’ll do what I can to help. I wish all my patients were as fit and healthy as your gran was. I wasn’t treating Kirsten for anything. As far as I knew, she was in fine fettle for a woman of her age… just a couple of aches and pains which she didn’t want help with.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘She said she had something for that.’
I was shocked. ‘But, Doctor, if you weren’t treating her for anything, why were you at the house? What exactly happened to her?’
This didn’t make any sense to me, and I could feel a pulse beating fiercely somewhere at the front of my brain, blocking out the desk, the room, noises of the telephone from reception. I was focused on him. I saw him lick his lips, then bow his head slightly as if working out what to say or how best to say it.
‘I feel I have to tell you what I know. She came in a couple of months ago for an annual check-up. She said she was feeling a bit more tired than normal, but said she knew it wouldn’t last forever. Something was bothering her, but she said it was all under control so I didn’t push it.
‘Then last week she called in and asked one of our receptionists – Carole, I think – to book me in for a home visit. She didn’t say what it was about and I can only assume that she wasn’t feeling well. It was so unusual for her to ask that I felt it was important, so I decided to go out in the morning before the surgery opened. I got to the cottage before nine, and saw that she had left the door slightly open. There was a note pinned to it asking me to go in, and that she was in the bedroom.’
He swallowed and paused briefly before continuing. ‘It was such a lovely day. I remember admiring the garden, such a beautiful view, the best in the town, I’m sure, and there was a bright rainbow hanging over the Falls across the valley. It was magical, so much quieter than in the to
wn. I’d love to live there. You are very lucky, you know. Anyway, I went into the cottage calling for her, but I suppose as medics we get a sixth sense for these things. I knew she had passed away before I got into the bedroom.
‘She looked so peaceful lying in her bed, and there was a note for me on the bedside table with your number to call and to let the Jacks’ and Douglas the solicitor know, as she had made arrangements with them.’ He shrugged slightly. ‘So I made all the calls and they took over.’
I felt a tear roll down my cheek as he described finding Granny. What a woman she was, to call and arrange for the doctor to come in and find her, rather than a friend or neighbour. That took some courage and trust.
I struggled to compose myself as the doctor went on to explain that even though Gran’s death had been unexpected, they had felt that given her age and the fact that she had arranged the home visit, she must have felt ill. A post mortem had been carried out, as the law dictates for sudden deaths, but that nothing obvious had shown up. As a result, a death certificate stating ‘natural causes’ had been issued to allow the funeral to take place.
It all made such perfect sense. My only sadness was that Gran had passed away on her own, and that I hadn’t been able to be with her and hold her hand as she slipped away. The Doctor said he believed that her passing had been peaceful, probably in her sleep, and I liked that she might have been dreaming of happy times as she left this world.
I couldn’t wait to tell Angel and Grizelle, but then realised that it wouldn’t be news to them. They had sensed it, or Gran had told them somehow.
When I caught him glancing at his watch, I stood and thanked Dr McLeod for his time. He looked tired, and I guessed he wanted to be on his way home. I looked out for Carole as I left but she wasn’t around for me to thank her again. Instead, I smiled at the receptionist, and she surprised me by smiling back. Maybe she’d had a hard day as well. It couldn’t be easy being surrounded by sick people every day, all needing to see the doctor. I couldn’t do a job like that.
It was cold outside, and the rain was bouncing off the road like someone had left a tap running and a bath had overflowed. A bath of very cold water, though, and I had to dodge in and out of grey puddles to try to avoid the worst and the splashes from cars and buses.
I was soaked to the skin by the time I got back to the flat, and I quickly lit the stove and changed into dry clothes. Switching the kettle on to make a hot drink, I found the book Angel had given me on my first night. Sitting on her big comfy sofa, I felt welcomed by the flames but couldn’t read a word. Tears blinded my vision at the thought of my wonderful, selfless gran, who would have done anything to help anyone, passing away into death on her own. What I would have given to be able to rewind and be there with her, holding her hand, telling her I loved her. My heart felt dragged down with sadness.
But the moment passed, and instead in my mind I saw a picture of my gran in her garden. She looked the same as always, but softer somehow, younger, smiling at me, laughing, so real that I could have put out my hand and touched her face.
I suddenly remembered something she had told me years ago when I was young and we had been talking about death. She said that no-one dies on their own. When we die, our families come back from heaven and take us with them. She told me that when her grandfather was dying, he said he could see his own mother and father waiting for him, and that there was light all around them, so he wasn’t scared to go with them.
That memory gave me comfort. It was as if Granny had popped it into my head to remind me. And then the vision faded, and I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.
I heard Angel come in and go straight into the kitchen, and within a few minutes I could smell garlic and other delights, and my tummy rumbled in anticipation.
‘Are you still okay to come to the meeting tonight?’ she asked. ‘I thought we could eat and then go over a bit earlier. I’m feeling it might get a bit, you know, mad when the townspeople hear about the plans.’
‘Has planning permission actually been granted yet?’ I asked.
‘We know it has, but that’s all unofficial and I doubt that they will announce it tonight, not in front of the whole town. I think they’ll release it on their website soon. I think tonight is about looking like they care.’ I was surprised to hear Angel talk so dismissively; she had always seemed so calm and upbeat.
‘Maybe not. Let’s stay positive,’ I said. ‘You never know, maybe the angels will be looking after us!’
Angel’s eyes moistened with tears. ‘They always do,’ she said, wiping a hand across her eyes, ‘but sometimes we don’t realise when things are for the best.’
15
After dinner the heavy rain had eased, and although damp and a little foggy we walked to the top of the High Street and the grand pilloried entrance to the Memorial Hall, a large Victorian ornately decorated meeting place. It had been built when the town was a centre of commerce in the area. The main hall was stunning, with dark wood panelling and a patterned marble floor. Glass and gold chandeliers dazzled high above our heads.
I wondered where Gran had placed the quartz, and for a moment felt a tug towards her, a real connection to her fun side. I could see her doing it here in this building, with a cheeky glint in her eye. How could anyone have resisted her? And she would most likely have known the families of the builders, in any case. I was sure she would have told them so.
I saw Grizelle come in and take a seat at the back of the room to the left of the doorway; Angel and I sat across from her on the right hand side. Seats were filling up quickly and I realised that Grizelle and Angel had decided to do what they had done to me in the church, healing or hold the energies, I think one of them had said.
Within a few minutes the hall was filled with townsfolk. I recognised many as neighbours and friends of my gran, and people who ran the local shops and businesses. In a small town you see the same people all the time, so even though you might not speak to them, you still know who they are.
After a few minutes of waiting, people were getting restless, fidgeting and crossing and uncrossing their legs, and shuffling around on their seats. There were lots of loud coughs given it was winter, noisy chat, and the smell of wet wool filled the room.
About ten minutes later the council officials and representatives from the quarry and town council came in and took their places on a long table at the far end of the room. It was on a slightly raised platform, so I could see them all easily. I wasn’t sure who was who; they all looked the same, middle-aged men in suits, shirts and ties, all seemingly very friendly with each other. I had a sense that they were pleased with themselves and I knew my gran wouldn’t have approved.
One of the men introduced himself as the Deputy Head of Planning, then he introduced all the others. The audience was silent but I could sense the mood wasn’t good. People sat with crossed arms and frowns, waiting for a chance to speak. One of the men from the quarry company got to his feet and gave a presentation showing a tiny map which I certainly couldn’t see from the back of the room. People started to heckle him, and within minutes people were shouting out and talking over each other. The planning official tried to keep order by telling people to wait and allow the presenter to finish.
This seemed to infuriate the townspeople further, and a lot of them, especially those towards the back, jumped to their feet shouting and gesturing angrily. The local press photographer was running around taking photos, which only seemed to result in winding people up even more.
I heard a roar and a loud bang as the ornate double doors crashed open and a large crowd pushed their way into the meeting. The two old, uniformed security guards struggled to keep them back, not physically fit or emotionally ready for such an onslaught. The group forced their way in and rushed to the staged area, shouting and waving banners. Chairs were knocked flying, people were pushing against each other, and the whole room descended into chaos.
I joined Angel and Grizelle who had quickly moved against the back wall but still seemed to be praying or meditating in some way. They were the only ones showing serenity, as if the conflict and confusion was happening a million miles away.
I didn’t recognise anyone in this new group, but amidst the chaos I noticed that they seemed well organised. Most of them headed to the front of the hall towards the officials on the small stage, while others made for the three other exit doors and stood with their placards and banners. Their actions were intimidating, and people seemed scared as well as angry.
From their knitted woollen ponchos and sweaters, and multi-coloured dreadlocked hair, they looked like what I’d expected environmental activists to look like. I’d always assumed those types to be peaceful, but this group was aggressive and, from what I could see, violent and intent on causing problems. More chairs were overturned, and I saw a couple of the environmentalists lift them up and smash them against the wall. Papers, pamphlets, and the presentation equipment were strewn across the floor.
I had a sudden thought that these protesters weren’t in the town to spread a message of environmentalism, they were in the town to cause problems. Everyone was roaring at each other. I saw church elders and senior members of the town pushing and pulling each other, so angry that they were spitting fury. Punches were being thrown, people were rolling around on the floor trying to hit each other. Men and women of all ages, and all seeming to be possessed by the same angry, aggressive spirit. I had never seen anything like it. It was bedlam. Chaos. Like a bar-room brawl.
The three of us, along with several other ladies and a couple of elderly gentlemen, were pushed back against the doorway and the force of destruction propelled us into the main hallway. In the distance we could hear a police siren, and we looked at each other in horror. The two elderly security guards, shaken and ashen-faced, ran out to the street to wait for the police. They were followed out by several of the council officials, looking equally pale and scared. By this time, the environmentalists had taken over the raised area and were still shouting.