by Amanda Mason
The words on the page in front of her made her eyes ache. They seemed to blur and flicker and the paperback book, old with browny-orange pages and a buckled black cover, smelt of cigarette smoke. Loo had probably borrowed it from Dan. She read a lot: in bed, when she was eating, on the toilet, picking up books from around the house then leaving them all over the place, face down, their spines cracking, their pages curling, reading two or three at once, sometimes more, and Cathy – pleased to see her daughter so studious – never really bothered to check the titles Loo had chosen.
Bee looked at the front cover. The words danced and flickered still, but the picture, a young woman in a flimsy white nightgown cowering in front of a blood-stained altar, told her all she needed to know.
Silly little girl.
Bored, she abandoned the book and went to the window, looking out over the garden, which was empty except for Isobel, who was dozing under the tree.
It wasn’t fair, the way Simon looked at Issy, the way she laughed at him, as if she didn’t care; the way he looked at her as if he couldn’t see anyone else.
She leant her head against the drawn-up window frame. In the attic above, the regular thud of Dan’s music seemed to soak through the ceiling like a heartbeat.
‘The candles blew then disappeared.’
She let the song wash over her as she closed her eyes and imagined what it might be like if Isobel was out of the way, for once.
27
Now
It seems to Lucy that now she has agreed to stay, no one is in much of a rush to do anything. They check their readings, they make their notes, and then they eat, each helping themselves to their dwindling supply of sandwiches and crisps. Lewis takes his lunch into the living room and Nina follows, shutting the door behind them.
Hal works at his laptop for a while, still trying to solve the riddle of the files they can’t open. When he finds he can’t, he goes outside. He sits on the back step, rationing out his cigarettes, looking up at the moor. Lucy keeps him company for a while: she enjoys his silence and his second-hand smoke.
She’s still sitting there when Nina comes out, followed by Lewis. Lucy gets to her feet. ‘Right,’ she says, ‘are you ready?’
The sooner they start, the sooner they’re done.
‘Yes. Well, not exactly,’ Nina says.
‘We were just talking about that,’ says Lewis. ‘And we were wondering—’ He looks at Nina. ‘We’ve been thinking,’ he says.
‘About?’
‘The original investigation,’ says Nina. ‘Olivia Farrell.’
‘What we’ve got so far is great,’ says Lewis. ‘The video’s good, you know? And the audio. But it could still be—’
‘Open to interpretation,’ says Nina.
‘We need more,’ says Lewis. ‘We need something conclusive. Ideally, we need to reproduce what happened to Hal.’
‘Yeah, good luck with that,’ says Hal softly.
‘Contact,’ says Lucy. ‘That was what Michael used to talk about. Communication.’
‘Yes. That’s what – Nina thinks we should try again. To talk to it. Her. Tib.’ Lewis looks embarrassed.
‘Yes,’ says Lucy. ‘I see.’ She’s barely surprised. Looking back, this is where they have been heading all along.
‘And we wondered,’ Lewis says, his words coming out in a rush, ‘would you? Would you be willing to try?’ He turns to Hal. ‘Both of you?
‘No way,’ says Hal, standing, throwing down his cigarette onto the damp path. ‘You have plenty of material. Just run the observations like you planned and—’
‘The obs are no good if there’s someone there trying to make contact and we just ignore her,’ says Nina.
‘There’s no one there.’
‘You said you’d help.’
‘With the cameras,’ Hal says. ‘Not with … this is different.’ He turns to Lucy. ‘You can’t possibly think this is a good idea.’
‘I’m not a medium,’ says Lucy.
‘That’s not what Michael thought,’ says Nina. ‘My dad either. They thought you were – gifted.’
‘Olivia knew what she was doing.’
‘But you were there,’ says Lewis. ‘I mean – you remember what it was like, right?’
And she does remember, of course she does.
‘I know it’s a lot to ask,’ Nina begins.
Lucy puts her hand in her pocket, feeling for the marble she’s kept on her ever since she found it in the garden at Blue Jacket House. She can’t be sure, that’s the problem. Now she’s seen the contact sheet, she doesn’t know what else Nina has kept back from them, what else she might have in mind. She’s tempted to leave, to let them get on with it, but she finds she daren’t take the risk. She’d like to believe that if she left nothing would happen, but she’s not sure, and if she stays, then at least she might regain a little control. ‘If I agreed,’ she says slowly, ‘there would have to be conditions, rules. I would be in charge.’
‘Sure,’ says Lewis. ‘Anything.’
‘And if we do try, then we try once, and once only. Just like Olivia did, and then we pack everything up and we go.’
28
Then
When Isobel pushed the living-room door open, she tried to be quiet, not that it mattered. Everyone was looking at the two girls in the centre of the room, barefoot in their white chemises and their billowing petticoats. Still. Solemn.
‘I’m scared,’ said Loo.
Bee was gripping her sister’s hand and Issy was reminded of the fingerprint bruises she’d seen before, dabbed up the inside of Loo’s arm, along her leg, vanishing up her skirt.
‘There’s nothing to be afraid of,’ said Michael.
‘I don’t want her to go. You can’t make her go. I want Bee.’ Loo sounded as if she might cry. For a moment Michael looked uncertain and Isobel wondered if he might postpone the sitting. If he did call it off, then maybe she could talk to Simon, tell him about Olivia, the way she’d been – not snooping, exactly, but something close to it. Find a way of asking him if that was normal, acceptable.
‘Very well,’ said Michael. ‘If you think that would help.’
Olivia with the photo in one hand and the letters in the other. None of this quite making sense any more. Issy bumped awkwardly against the door. ‘Sorry.’
‘That’s quite all right, Isobel. If you could take your place and then I think we can begin,’ Michael said.
Olivia with her fine dark hair and knowing smile, so cool, so calm.
‘Issy?’
‘Yes. Sorry.’ She took up her place and checked her camera.
They used the hard upright chairs, brought in from the kitchen. They set them in a rough circle: Michael, Simon, Cathy, Bee and Loo next to each other, and Olivia.
Issy stayed by the window. One camera in her hand and another, a smaller Olympus Trip, in her lap. Dan was outside with Florian, the silence in the room broken intermittently by the thump of a football against a wall and by Florian’s voice, high-pitched, questioning.
Simon was holding a tape recorder: a second larger model was placed on the floor, a microphone propped up on a pile of books, pointing at the girls, at Loo. Olivia sat still, upright, with her hands folded loosely in her lap.
‘We’re just going to sit quietly for a while. You may close your eyes if you wish, and we’re simply going to allow ourselves to breathe, gently, steadily …’
Loo closed her eyes obediently and Olivia went on.
‘… allowing our minds to clear as we breathe gently, steadily, deeper now. With each breath we are calmer, more receptive, more alert.’
The late afternoon light cast a lazy golden glow around the room, dust motes swirled slowly in the air, the room seemed to gather itself in.
‘Our minds clear as we hear the world around us, but we remain silent, focused.’
A loud thump echoed above their heads, followed by a cascade of knocks. Bee bit her lip and shifted in her seat.
‘Quietly
breathing in and out, waiting—’
The second wave of knocking was louder, almost drowning out Olivia’s voice entirely. Loo opened her eyes and looked around the circle as the noise built to a climax. ‘Don’t,’ she said, and the noise stopped abruptly.
‘Who’s there?’ said Olivia. There was no answer, of course; the question wasn’t a genuine enquiry, more a way of asserting her presence.
I am here and you will speak to me.
It was warm in the little front room. The unnaturally hot weather had gone on for too long. Like most people she knew, Olivia wished it would break. She wasn’t made for this permanent, endless summer; it wasn’t natural. Isobel was a distraction, her camera too. She was finding it hard to concentrate.
Michael looked relaxed enough; he didn’t seem to doubt that she’d speak to them.
Tib.
Simon looked anxious, though; this was his first séance, he didn’t quite know what to expect and was probably worried he wouldn’t record everything, and Cathy, she looked uneasy too. Loo seemed the most worried, strained to breaking point, unable to calm her breathing, barely managing to sit still. If she carried on like this, Olivia might have to call a halt to things. She needed Loo to be at ease, relaxed.
Bee sat next to her sister, ramrod straight, alert, buzzing with energy.
Loo’s hands were clammy. She was too hot and she wished now that she had gone down to the kitchen and had something to eat or drink after all. The noise from upstairs had made her jump. She’d felt herself beginning to drift away and then the thumping had started and now she could feel it still inside her chest and the soft, sleepy feeling had vanished. She wondered how long they’d been sitting there. No one seemed in a rush.
Carefully, she opened her eyes. The first person she saw was Isobel, perched on a chair by the window, staring at her. Issy smiled encouragingly and rather than smile back – that would feel wrong, not serious – Loo nodded her head. The exchange made Simon look away from the circle, towards Issy, and Loo remembered that morning all over again.
Simon and Isobel. She felt hot and sweaty and a bit sick. She could feel Bee next to her, though she didn’t dare look. She could feel her willing her to do something.
Get on with it.
Loo let her head drop forward, the way she always did when Tib wanted to talk, and she waited for someone to ask a question. Her eyes fluttered shut and she thought she could hear footsteps, a light pattering up and down the stairs. They seemed to go on forever, up and down, up and down, until they stopped outside the door, and Loo waited for it to fly open, for someone to come in.
She felt herself begin to float away, and the thudding of her heart eased.
‘Who’s there?’ said Olivia.
She waited for a while. Maybe if she didn’t answer it would all stop, and they could go down to the shop, buy some ice cream.
‘Who’s there?’ said Olivia again.
‘Tib.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Here.’
The same stupid questions. Her head felt heavy; she could almost fall forward off the chair. She had the feeling that if she did, she’d sink slowly through the carpet and into the floorboards, that she’d carry on falling forever.
‘How old are you?’
‘Don’t know.’
She didn’t need to open her eyes to know that Simon was checking the recorder, that Issy had lifted her camera and was waiting for the right moment to press the shutter release, that Michael was leaning slightly forward, hardly daring to breathe, all of them watching her.
‘Where do you live?’
‘I. Don’t.’
‘Where did you live?’
‘Farm.’
‘What did you do there?’
‘Helped.’
‘Helped who?’
‘Mam.’
‘What did she do?’
‘Cooked. Cleaned.’
‘Was it her farm?’
‘No.’
‘Whose farm was it?’
‘I …’
‘Whose farm?’
‘I …’
‘Who was the master here?’
The stone hit the window with a sharp crack and was followed immediately by a cascade of smaller pebbles.
‘I …’
Silence.
Loo was listening too, wondering what Tib might say next.
‘Who is he?’
‘Mustn’t.’
‘Why not?’
Her throat ached and sweat prickled along the back of her neck.
‘Are you afraid of him?’
Loo waited.
‘No.’
‘The master of the house?’
She could hear her own breathing, shallow, ragged.
‘Are you afraid, Tib?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who do you fear?’
‘Her.’
‘Not him?’
‘Her.’
She could feel Olivia thinking, deciding what to say next.
‘I have a very strong sense of him,’ she said and Loo could imagine Michael nodding and making notes. ‘A powerful man, with a strong connection to the land, this farm, a family connection. But there is another presence too, a female energy. She’s …’ Olivia hesitated. ‘There’s a feeling of … anger, rage.’
Loo could almost see them herself.
‘Who is he, Tib?’
‘No.’
‘What about your mother, then? What’s her name?’
‘No.’ A chair moved, Cathy’s chair.
Olivia cleared her throat. ‘Tell me about her, tell me about your mother.’
‘She … she …’
‘I can sense her, in the kitchen,’ said Olivia.
‘Yes.’
The scullery, Loo thought.
‘Baking.’
‘Bread.’
‘And you helped, didn’t you, Tib?’
‘Yes.’
‘She’s close.’ Olivia’s voice was low, urgent, speaking for the tape machine, speaking so Michael could take notes. ‘Very close. There’s a barrier … a barrier of some sort between her and Tib …’
‘I want you to stop,’ said Cathy, but Olivia ignored her.
‘Tell me more about your mother.’
‘Blood.’
‘What?’
‘Blood—’
‘Where?’
‘I …’
‘Where?’
‘Stones …’
‘Where?’
‘The barn. I saw.’
‘What happened there? Can you tell me what happened there?’
‘I saw her,’ she said.
For a second no one moved, then Loo’s head jerked back as she reached out for Bee, only Bee, Issy’s camera whirring as Loo flung herself at her sister.
‘I saw her. I saw her. I saw what she did.’
She fell into Bee’s arms, burying her face against her neck and shutting her eyes, and Bee pulled her close, her fingers pressing hard into her skin, hard enough to bruise.
29
Now
They sit cross-legged on the living-room floor.
‘Do we hold hands, or what?’ says Hal.
‘No. We just … sit. The point is to be open, receptive,’ says Lucy.
He can’t quite believe he’s doing this, filming himself doing this, no less. He looks at Nina and Lewis, who have already settled themselves into attitudes of solemn expectation; it’s ridiculous really, a joke.
‘Think about the state you were in before, on the sofa, listening but not trying to listen,’ says Nina.
‘To be honest, I was just trying to tune Lewis out.’
‘Cheers.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Well, this time, try to tune us all out,’ says Nina.
At first Lewis is bored.
Then he’s cold.
Then he’s cold and bored.
He had begun by closing his eyes, breathing deeply, listening, but had quickly found that
sitting cross-legged was uncomfortable and felt slightly ludicrous.
He opens his eyes. Nina is to his left, chin up, eyes closed, still. To his right sits Lucy. She’s shrugged off her coat and is sitting quietly, her head dropped forward, loose strands of hair sweeping down over her face.
Opposite Hal is watching him. He looks … sceptical.
Lewis shifts his weight cautiously. He can’t honestly say that he feels the atmosphere is especially charged, but he doesn’t want to be the first person to break the mood. It’s getting dark in here, even though it’s only early afternoon. But there’s no natural light, after all, just the black plastic sheeting stretched over the empty window pane. He doesn’t like that, the lack of light. He finds himself hoping they’ll stop soon, that they won’t be sitting there for too long in the dark.
Lucy can’t be sure she’s hearing anything at all, not at first.
Footsteps pattering up and down the staircase.
‘Who’s there?’ she says and the sound stops.
From where she sits Lucy can see into the empty hall – they were careful to leave the door open, to leave all the doors in the house open. A stair creaks. Silence.
The trick is to tune everything out, to let go. Only she can’t. She won’t. She’s painfully aware of the sofa against her back and the damp air surrounding them, of their inexperience, their innocence. It’s just a story in a book to the rest of them.
She’ll put on a show, she’ll go through the motions and when they don’t make contact, then they’ll pack up and leave, and this time she won’t come back. It’s not much of a plan, but it’s the best she’s got. All she has to do is concentrate on keeping it out, keeping her out, whoever she is.
Hal decides he’ll give it five more minutes, then they can all get up and pack away their gear and they’ll be done. Now he’s thought about it, he’s pretty sure that’s what Lucy is hoping for. This comforts him.