“You’re honest, that’s all and that’s something to be proud of. How am I going to help the poor kid?”
“Would you be okay if she was to leave without you?”
A shadow momentarily crossed his face before he answered, “Yes, if it were possible. I’d miss her dreadfully, but I hate to see her so unhappy. If there’s a way for her to go back without me, then I’d be happy for her.”
Jemma was satisfied with his answer, if he was happy for Susie to go back, then that’s all that mattered. She smiled at him and felt a little flutter of something deep inside her as he smiled back, and she remembered, almost fondly, how she had called him Hot Lips when she had first arrived. That seemed like such a long time ago now, even though time apparently didn’t exist anymore.
“I might as well go and talk to Max straight away,” she said reluctantly, “I keep putting it off, but I suppose now’s as good a time as any.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“No, if he doesn’t like you, he may not want to talk. I’ll be fine. Thanks.”
As she walked through the open door to the living room though, she wished she had taken Tom up on his offer. Max made her feel nervous and, on top of that, she couldn’t get Susie’s warning out of her head. As she looked at him now, she felt the same sense of unease that she always felt around him. He had an air of danger about him, or was it evil? Either way, it unsettled her and it was with enormous effort that she swallowed her fear and smiled nervously.
“Er, Max?” She hesitated, trying to think of what to say. ‘Remember, he’s just a harmless old spook’, she told herself. He studied her quietly for a few moments, and a look of something that looked a bit like pain, followed immediately by anger, spread over his face.
“What do you want?” he growled, in a deep, gravelly voice.
“Erm, I was wondering if I could talk to you about something?”
“What?”
She coughed nervously. “Er, as you know, I want to leave this place, and you told me before that there’s only one way out and that’s through a wormhole, and I was, well, I wondering if you would tell me how I’d locate ....” her voice trailed off as she saw the hostile expression on Max’s face.
“Think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you,” he snarled.
“Oh, no, I just...”
“Come here,” he growled.
Jemma had never been up close to Max before, and the thought terrified her, but something inside her wanted to know more about this sinister man so, slowly, she moved closer to him, feeling more uncomfortable with every step, until she was standing in front of him. Up close, she was surprised to see that he wasn’t as old as she had first thought, and that he looked wet, his old fashioned clothes, possibly early twentieth century, were clinging to his body, as if he had just climbed out of a swimming pool.
“Are you wet?” she couldn’t help asking, her quest momentarily forgotten.
“Of course I bloody am. I drowned didn’t I?”
“Oh, I didn’t know. What happened?” she asked, her curiosity momentarily replacing her fear.
For a moment, Jemma thought he was going to shout at her, but then he started speaking, almost calmly. “I was on a boat, a big boat built for the rich. I got a job on it, shovelling coal in the engine room. Bloody hard work, but it was a job, and there was the possibility of staying in America and starting a new life. But the bloody boat sank.” He paused momentarily, and then suddenly threw Jemma a wild glare and said, “They said it was unsinkable!”
“Oh my god,” whispered Jemma. “You were on the Titanic?”
The brief calmness in his voice earlier was gone again and it was now trembling as he continued. “The night it happened, I had gone up onto the passenger deck. We weren’t allowed up there, but it was late and I needed some air. There was a couple up there, walking on the deck, but I didn’t take much notice of them. When we hit the iceberg, the missus slipped and fell onto the deck and I went over and helped him pick her up. She was a bit shaken, but alright. I helped them!”
Jemma found it incredible that she was talking to someone who had actually been on the Titanic. She had seen countless films and television programmes about it, but here she was, getting the story first hand, from someone who had actually been there.
“When we were in the water,” he continued, “I saw a lifeboat and tried to swim towards it, but it was so cold. Someone was sitting in it looking into the water for survivors. I managed to get quite close, and saw that the person in the boat was the man whose wife I had helped. I called to him for help, but he bloody ignored me. He turned away and got someone else out of the water, leaving me to drown. I had helped him and his wife and then he left me to fucking drown!” Max shouted, the fury in his voice rising so quickly that it terrified her. But then he stopped talking and there was a deathly silence as Jemma stared at Max, whose eyes were now filled with a rage that must have been festering for nearly a hundred years. Jemma searched desperately for something appropriate to say, but what the hell do you say to something like that, she thought, remaining silent.
“It was his fault that I died. He could have saved me, but he left me in that water and he’s going to pay,” his voice was now terrifyingly dark, and Jemma knew, without doubt, that he meant it.
“Who was he?” she asked, somehow dreading the answer.
“It was him, wasn’t it. George fucking Cresswell, Tom’s grandfather.” He spat the words out as if they were poison.
So that’s why Max was haunting Jack’s house. He had followed George all the way back here so he could get his revenge. Jemma realised that now probably wouldn’t be a good time to persist with her questions. He had got himself worked up into this terrible rage that had the potential to erupt into something even more dark and dangerous, and there was no way she was going to risk that. So instead, she said she was sorry to hear his story, and bade a hasty goodnight, before getting out of the room as quickly as she could.
When she was on her own again, she kept replaying the conversation in her head. Max’s anger had terrified her, and she was in no doubt that Max wanted revenge. She knew that Tom’s grandfather wasn’t in this dimension though, probably because he had done nothing wrong. It was very likely that he hadn’t even seen or heard Max in the water, after all, it must have been very dark, and Max would have been so cold that his voice wouldn’t have had enough strength for it to be heard. And yet, Max had been adamant that George was going to pay one way or another, but if George wasn’t here, how would Max exact his revenge?
But Jemma already knew the answer, and a dark feeling of foreboding gripped her, as she realised that there was only one person who Max could get his revenge on.
Chapter 9
Alice stood outside the restaurant and smiled when she saw the sign over the window – Glitz. The silver and gold letters looked like they were made of tiny sparkling crystals which made it look glamorous, and, well - glitzy. She looked through one of the windows, which was surrounded by tiny white fairy lights on the inside, and saw a colourful, stylish room with tables of various sizes strategically placed for customer comfort and privacy. Instinctively she knew that this place was going to be fun, and she wanted to be a part of it – and she hadn’t even walked through the door yet.
She glanced at her reflection in the window, and was glad she couldn’t find that green jumper this morning. It was very odd how it had disappeared like that, she was sure she had put it on the chair before she had gone to bed, and she certainly didn’t remember picking the red top out. But whatever the explanation, it had done her a favour, because the red top looked so much better, and that, along with her lucky bangle, had given her a much needed confidence boost.
She glanced at her watch. Two minutes to ten. Perfect. She pushed open the door, stepped inside and was greeted by the distinctive sound of Abba. She loved Abba, so that was another good omen.
“I’ll be right with you,” called a voice from behind a door.
Alice looked around the restaurant and felt a flutter of excitement. She really loved this place, with its twinkling lights, delicious smell of fresh coffee and warm, friendly feel, and that was without the buzz of customers. The walls were covered with mirrors and pictures of seventies and eighties pop stars. The bleached oak tables were laid with stylish plain silver cutlery, and stylish silver candlesticks with tall white candles were neatly placed among the shiny wine glasses and crisp, clean linen napkins. The seats were covered in red velvet, giving the whole place a feeling of comfort, mixed with hint of decadence.
“Sorry about that,” said the voice, as its owner emerged from behind the door. “You must be Alice. I’m Oscar, named after the great Oscar Wilde. Actually, my mum tells me I was named after my granny’s dog, but Oscar Wilde sounds so much better, don’t you think?” he said, with a wink.
“Absolutely,” grinned Alice, “unless the dog was very clever and very beautiful.”
“He was a wire-haired sausage dog!”
“Oh. Oscar Wilde it is then,” laughed Alice, feeling completely relaxed with this bubbly, flamboyant man. He was tall, with perfectly styled blonde hair, equally perfect manicured hands, and was wearing a black t-shirt, which had ABBA written across it in silver glitter. His blue eyes sparkled almost as much as the glitter on his t-shirt.
“Do you want a coffee? I’m desperate for another cup, I can’t function until I’ve got at least three shots of espresso inside me.”
As Oscar expertly produced two cups of steaming coffee from the large espresso machine, he glanced over at Alice.
“So, tell me about yourself. Do you like Abba?”
“Yes, I love Abba,” she enthused.
“Good, who’s your favourite?”
“Oh, I’m not sure. The blonde one, I think.”
“Agnetha? She’s great, but I love Frida. I met her once you know, she was so nice. She’s a very beautiful lady. Did you know she’s a princess now?”
This was the most unusual interview that Alice had ever been to. When Oscar had asked her to tell him about herself, she assumed that he had meant her work experience. She certainly hadn’t expected a discussion on which member of Abba she liked best.
When she left, over an hour later, she still didn’t feel like she’d just been to a job interview. They had chatted about music, food, New York and his boyfriend, Dean, who was the cook at Glitz. She didn’t recall Oscar actually telling her that she had got the job, but guessed she probably had when he asked if she could start the following week.
Afterwards, as she walked up Camden High Street, Alice felt like skipping. She had just got a job. And not only that, Glitz was the most amazing restaurant she had ever been to, and Oscar was going to be so much fun to work with. She couldn’t wait to tell Jack. She would cook him a nice meal, and later, they would go up to Hampstead for a celebratory drink, she thought, excitedly.
She grinned happily at a couple of punks strolling past her. She loved Camden, with its eccentric shops and equally eccentric shoppers. As she strolled idly past a shop selling alternative style clothing, her eyes were drawn to a gorgeous black corset style top hanging in the window. It was lovely, exactly the type of top she loved, but she couldn’t really afford to buy clothes right now – maybe after her first payday though... She was about to turn and walk away, when a voice inside her head screamed – buy it, buy it. It wouldn’t do any harm to go in and have a closer look, she thought, although she really didn’t need another top, and anyway, twenty five quid was too much. But it was a really nice top. Oh, what the hell, making up her mind, she smiled at the girl behind the counter as she asked to try the top on.
By the time she got back to her flat, laden with ingredients for tonight’s dinner, a couple of bottles of wine and the top, she was exhausted. She wished she could tell Jemma about her interview. She would have loved Oscar, and she would also have loved the top she had so impulsively decided to buy. She wasn’t sure why she had bought that top when she knew she couldn’t afford it, although she was glad she did. It was almost as if Jemma had been with her, telling her to buy it, but of course that was ridiculous, although it was a comforting thought.
She absently pushed the kitchen door open with her foot, and was about to put the shopping bags down, when something made her look up. To her horror, she saw the young boy she had seen before, standing right in front of her. She dropped the bags and stared at the strange boy in stunned disbelief. A scream formed in her throat, but nothing came out. It was as if someone had pressed a mute button, leaving her powerless to move or make a sound. She just stood, frozen, trying to work out how he had got in, and if he meant her any harm, whilst not taking her eyes off him for a second.
“Who the hell are you and how did you get into my flat?” she asked, shakily, when she finally got her voice back.
The boy continued to stare silently at her, and Alice felt compelled to stare back, as if she was under some sort of spell. She felt like she was in a trance, unable to move or speak, no longer in control of her actions. She could feel her body tingling, as if some sort of energy was probing her, searching for something inside her, demanding her compliance. As Alice stared helplessly at the boy, she noticed that his skin appeared almost transparent and his blue eyes were so bright that they were radiating a light that seemed to bore deep into her soul. The room felt cold, unnaturally cold, and Alice shivered as she became more aware of the intense silence surrounding her.
“Alice,” a voice whispered, softly. Although the boy had not moved his lips, she knew it had been him who had spoken. How did he know her name?
But before she was able to respond, a loud, shrill noise thundered through the silence making her jump, and instantly broke the spell. Alice glanced over at the ringing phone briefly, and then quickly returned her gaze to the boy. But he had gone. He just vanished, one minute he was there, a split second later, he was gone.
Deeply shaken, her earlier excitement was now replaced with fear. It had been one thing seeing the boy in a garden or tube train, but it took on a whole new level when he appeared in her flat, and even knew her name. This was obviously no ordinary boy, the way he had disappeared meant that he must have been some sort of apparition. Was he a ghost? Probably, but why on earth was he following her? She had the distinct impression that he had been about to communicate with her, but why?
The phone had fallen silent again, and Alice was left standing in the kitchen, alone and diffident, unsure about what had just happened. If it had happened at all. Had she just imagined the whole thing? It had felt so real and yet.....
She sank down into a chair, the shopping bags forgotten, and stared blankly at the empty space where the boy had been standing, trying to calm herself down. With shaking hands, she picked up the phone and dialled Jack’s number. She needed to hear his reassuring voice.
“Hello, you,” his voice smiled through the earpiece, “I just tried to call you.”
“Oh, it was you.” Alice’s voice broke into a sob.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“Yes.... No. Jack? Can I come over?” Suddenly she didn’t want to be alone. She needed to get out of the flat, and, more than anything, she needed to be with Jack.
“Of course you can. That’s why I was calling. I stayed up half the night finishing those articles, so I could ask if you fancied coming over for lunch?”
Half an hour later, Alice was sitting in Jack’s kitchen, tightly clutching a mug of tea, and telling him about the ghostly boy, from the very first time she had seen him outside his kitchen window, to her frightening encounter with him this morning.
“I didn’t imagine it, Jack, he was right there in front of me,” she finished, suddenly worried that he may think she was going mad and had imagined the whole thing. Or he might think she was an attention seeking drama queen, who made up wild stories to get sympathy.
But Jack took her hand in his, looked her straight in the eye and gently said, “Hey, of course I believe you. I
t does sound as though the boy is trying to communicate with you,” he said, thoughtfully, as he finished preparing a delicious looking chicken Caesar salad. “There’s another psychic meeting on Wednesday, why don’t you mention it to the group then? Someone else may have had a similar experience and be able to offer some advice.”
Anyone else would probably have laughed at her and run a mile, but not Jack. She leant forward and kissed him gently.
“Oh my god!” she cried, suddenly remembering her exciting news. “I completely forgot to tell you. I’ve got a job. I went for an interview this morning and it was amazing.....”
*****
Jemma sat watching Alice and Jack eating their lunch, whilst Alice excitedly told Jack all about her new job. She had listened with curiosity when Alice had spoken off this strange boy who had visited her at the flat. She could have kicked herself for not following Alice home after her interview, but once she had persuaded her to buy that top, she had gone back to Jack’s house. If Alice was seeing, and even hearing ghosts, then why couldn’t she see her? And who was this boy anyway?
She left the two of them to finish their lunch and wandered into the living room. In the corner, as usual, sat the scowling and hostile shadow of Max, and Jemma felt the, now familiar, feeling of unease that she was getting used to experiencing every time she saw him.
“What do you want?”
She flinched at the sound of his voice, he sounded so angry. “Nothing,” she said and quickly left the room again. Back in the kitchen with Alice and Jack, she walked over to the window stared out into the garden. She couldn’t forget Max’s hateful words last time they spoke and wondered just how real a threat he was to Tom. She desperately wanted to be alone, to find her own private space she could go to when she wanted a bit of peace and solitude. Even though Tom was out and Susie was watching next door’s TV, the house still felt crowded. She needed to be somewhere away from this house, and the people and ghosts in it. Tom was probably at his beach in Norfolk, so she couldn’t go there – heaven forbid he might think she was stalking him. She needed somewhere of her own, somewhere she could go to when she needed time alone, her own special place.
Love In The Wrong Dimension (Romantic Ghost Story) Page 9