Eventually, she stood back up again, walked across the empty graveyard and sat down on an old wooden bench. The churchyard looked dark and depressing in the winter light, the trees bare of their leaves which were still lying on the soggy ground. The old stone church threw dark shadows across most of the graves, some of which were hundreds of years old. There were a few with fresh flowers on some of them, red Poinsettias mainly, probably where family members had come to pay their Christmas respects, otherwise there was no colour anywhere. The dim and sombre atmosphere matched her mood, and she found it strangely comforting to sit in the silence, with just her thoughts.
These thoughts soon returned to Tom, and she immediately felt a warm glow inside her. Tom was everything she could have wished for in a man; handsome, funny and clever, although he could be a bit intense sometimes. She would quite happily have stayed with him in this dimension for the rest of eternity. If only they could help Susie get back without Tom having to leave as well. But, no matter how hard she tried to think of ways around it, it was clear that if Susie hadn’t been killed, Tom wouldn’t have gone to prison, and his mother would have buried him with his father, and grieved for him the way a loving mother would. It was probably also Tom’s feeling of guilt that kept him here, for although he didn’t actually kill Susie himself, if he hadn’t left the key in the car that day, Susie would still be alive.
She was begrudgingly glad that she had managed to persuade him and Susie to leave. But what about her? She had told Tom that she would also leave if he did, but she knew that she could never leave now, because leaving would mean losing her memory of Tom and, besides, her existence before she died had been empty, apart from her friendship with Alice. But she knew that Tom would never leave if he knew she wasn’t going as well, so she would just have to lie and tell him that she would go as soon as he was gone. She would be left with Max, she thought with a shudder. Another thought occurred to her. If Max knew that Tom was planning on leaving, he may not help them with the wormhole. Whether he ever carried out his threat of revenge, or if it was just the thought of it keeping him going, Max was certainly not going to be happy if he found out, and the rage that was still burning in him so fiercely, could resurface.
No, Max mustn’t know, but they did need his help. She resolved to tell him that it was for her. He already believed she was planning on leaving, so she’d just let him carry on thinking that. The one consolation was that she’d still have Claire when Tom and Susie were gone, she thought with some comfort.
Thinking of Claire made her want to go and see her, so she took a last look around the graveyard, before closing her eyes and focusing on Ashdown Forest. A split second later, she approached the clearing where Claire usually sat waiting for her beloved Robert. He must be pretty fantastic for his wife to wait for him all these years, she thought, although it was a bit odd that he had never turned up, and even more odd that Claire was still waiting for him. No matter how perfect a man was, surely there came a point when you had to admit defeat, and accept that he would never come. Maybe he wasn’t as perfect as Claire might like to think.
Jemma stopped in surprise when she got arrived at the clearing. Claire’s bench was empty! How strange, she thought, she was always there. Unless Robert had actually turned up at last, but that didn’t seem very likely after all these years. Feeling disappointed, she walked over to the bench and sat down, deciding to wait a few minutes in case she came back. It didn’t feel right without Claire there though, so after a few minutes she decided to go home and come back tomorrow. Claire was completely impartial to the whole Tom/Susie/Max thing, so it would be good to talk it all through with her. She was such a calm and rational person, so her advice would be very welcome.
A split second later, she found herself back in the kitchen at Jack’s house. That was empty as well. Where the hell was everyone, she wondered. Oh well, she thought, she might as well go into the living room and talk to Max about these wormholes, no time like the present. She needed to plant some more seeds to let him think that she was leaving, then, in a couple of days, she would ask him for his help. She wondered if she should play down her relationship with Tom so he was more likely to talk. Walking through the wall, she fixed a smile on her face and said, “Hi, Max. Oh!” She stared in surprise at Max, who was sitting, deep in conversation, with Claire.
“Hello, dear,” smiled Claire, looking up.
“Er... I didn’t know you knew Max?” said Jemma, stupidly.
“Well I didn’t until you introduced us. I’ve visited him a few times and we’re friends now. That’s alright isn’t it?”
“Er, yes, of course. But what about Robert?”
“You said yourself that if he came back after all this time, he can wait for me for once.”
“Oh, yes. Okay. Right, I must go now. Nice to see you,” Jemma said, quickly, before disappearing back into the kitchen.
“Hey, what’s up?” Susie was back, sitting on the kitchen table, swinging her legs restlessly.
“Did you know that Claire has been visiting Max?” asked Jemma, still reeling from her surprise.
“Yeah, she’s been to see me as well. Is that a problem?”
“No, of course not. I knew that you were friends, but I just didn’t know that she was friends with Max now. Don’t you find that a bit strange?”
“No. Why?” shrugged Susie.
“Well, for a start he’s a miserable old man, who’s angry with just about everyone, and she’s .... well, she’s nice.”
“Opposites attract and all that,” said Susie, clearly not seeing what the fuss was all about.
Jemma didn’t really want to tell her why she was so upset to see Claire and Max together. Claire was the only person she could confide in, but now that she was friends with Max, she couldn’t trust her not to tell him about her plans. She felt strangely let down, but didn’t want to look like a sulky brat, so she just smiled and said, “Yes, I suppose.”
“Anyway, where have you been today? I came to see if you fancied playing some tricks on next door, but you weren’t here.”
“I went to visit my grave,” Jemma said. “And my mum’s grave as well.”
“Wow, how was it?”
“Very emotional. Have you seen Tom?”
“Yeah, he said he was going to visit his dad’s grave earlier. He’s probably still there.”
“Susie? Do you know anything about his mother?”
“Yeah, I know a bit. I know that he hates her and will never go and see her.”
“I don’t think he hates her. He’s devastated that she rejected him, and he’s bitter, yes, but he doesn’t hate her.”
“She’s a right cow,” said Susie, simply. Jemma smiled, she loved the way Susie always came straight, and bluntly, to the point.
“Yes well, we’ll see. I don’t suppose you know where she lives?”
“I do as it happens,” grinned Susie, to Jemma’s surprise.
“Really? Are you serious?”
“Yep! I followed Tom to his dad’s grave a few years ago and then I just waited until his mum came to visit. I was curious and wanted to see what she was like. I knew it was only a matter of time and, sure enough, the next day, there she was. I knew it was her from Tom’s description, and I just followed her home. It was easy.”
“That’s great. Can you still remember where she lives?”
“Jemma, what are you up to? Tom will never go, you know.”
“I know, but who said anything about Tom? I’m going. I just want to watch her, find out a bit about what she’s like and hopefully, gauge her feelings towards him now.”
“He’ll go mad if he finds out you went to see his mum,” stated Susie.
“Well, he won’t find out. Will he?” retorted Jemma, giving Susie her best ‘don’t tell on me’ look.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“Would you?”
“Yeah, no problem. Come on then, let’s go,” said Susie, jumping down from the table.
“Yeah, why not? Come on.” Susie grabbed Jemma’s hand, and in a split second, they found themselves in a dark and dusty room. “Here we are. This is it.”
Jemma looked around the dark room, which was untidy and extremely gloomy. There were some long dead flowers in a vase standing on a dusty side table and, given that Christmas was only a week away, there wasn’t a single Christmas decoration or card in sight. It was a very sad and uninviting room.
“Look!” Susie was pointing toward the fireplace, which still had a few glowing embers left in it. A large, high backed armchair stood facing the fire, and in it sat an old woman.
Jemma walked over to the woman and stared at her in disbelief. “Is that her?”
“Yep,” Susie said, as she threw herself onto the old sofa. “That’s definitely her. She’s not quite what you expected, is she?”
Chapter 15
Jemma stared in surprise at Tom’s mother. She had been expecting a proud, immaculate woman, with not a hair out of place, perfectly manicured hands and expensive designer clothes, but the woman sitting here was nothing like that at all. Her long, unbrushed grey hair was hanging down in thin straggly wisps, and her pale face was drawn and hollow, deep lines aging her more than she probably was. Her cheeks were stained with what looked like dried tears, and her head was bowed suggesting that she was asleep. In her frail, thin hands, she was clutching a picture frame tightly. Jemma gasped as she leaned over to take a closer look.
“What?” asked Susie, who had been busily snooping around the room.
“Susie, look! The picture she’s holding is of her and Tom.” It looked like it had been taken when Tom was in his mid-twenties and they were at the beach in Norfolk. She recognised the tall sand dunes in the background. Tom was laughing, his eyes alive and sparkling, with his arms affectionately draped round his mother’s shoulder. But the thing that moved Jemma most was the look of total unconditional love on his mother’s face, as she smiled back up at her youngest son.
“Come on, Susie,” said Jemma, quietly. “I think we’ve seen all we need to see here.” She looked again at the frail old woman, who must have fallen asleep in her armchair every night, crying tears of love and regret over her dead son, completely absorbed in her tragic lament. Tom was so wrong about his mother. She may have been angry and unforgiving once, but that was a long time ago.
“Susie, do you think there’s a way we can convince her to move Tom’s ashes so he can lie next to his dad? She must know where he’s buried.”
“Dunno. How? We can’t talk to her.”
“I know. But there must be a way. Can you imagine what it would mean to Tom if his mother finally granted him his dying wish?”
“Yeah, but it wouldn’t change anything. He’d still be here because of me.”
“Yes, but it means that when you both go, he can leave with peace of mind, knowing that his mum did love him, and that she did the right thing in the end.”
When they got back to the house, Susie immediately disappeared next door to catch the latest episode of Tracy Beaker, leaving Jemma alone with her thoughts. She couldn’t get the image of the old woman out of her head. The happy, smiling woman in the picture, bore no resemblance to the sad, rather pathetic, woman she had seen today. She felt a strong urge to do something and she knew just the person to help her. Claire had been around for a very long time, and she had seen and learnt many things about this dimension. It had been her who had shown her how to leave the tulip for Alice, and she had hinted then that she had a few more tricks up her sleeve. When they had first met, her impression of Claire had been that she was a bit naive and unrealistic, considering that she had waited so long for a husband who was obviously not going to come. But as she had gotten to know her better, Jemma realised that she was, in fact, a strong and intelligent woman who knew a lot more than she let on. It was as if she was hiding behind this gullible innocence to block out something dark and painful from her past. Not deliberately, she really did believe that Robert was going to come for her one day, but that didn’t fit with the Claire that she was getting to know.
Walking through the wall into the living room, she saw that Claire was still talking to Max. Shit.
“Hello again, dear.” Claire smiled, as Jemma hesitated in front of them. “Are you alright?”
“Well, actually, I was wondering if I could have a word with you before you leave. In private,” she added, noticing Max’s eyebrow twitch.
“Of course. I was just about to leave anyway, I need to get back to see if Robert’s turned up, so why don’t you come back to the forest with me and we can talk then?”
“Okay. Thanks.” Jemma shifted uncomfortably under Max’s glare. Oh shit, had she just pissed him off even more now?
“That was good timing, dear,” grinned Claire, as they arrived back at the deserted clearing and made their way to the bench. “Max is very sweet, but he can get quite intense at times.”
“Sweet?” Jemma could think of many words to describe Max, but sweet was definitely not one of them.
“Now, dear, what was it you wanted to talk about?”
“I went to visit Tom’s mother today. Oh, it was so sad, Claire, she was nothing like I thought she would be. I went expecting to hate her for the way she’s treated Tom, but she’s heartbroken. Tom thinks she doesn’t love him, but it’s obvious that she does, and I really believe that she regrets the way she treated him.” Jemma paused briefly, recalling the overwhelming sadness she had seen earlier. “The thing is, Claire, I want to try and make her move Tom’s ashes so that he’s buried next to his dad. It was his dying wish, but I don’t know what to do and I was hoping that you might know of a way.”
“Why, that’s obvious, dear,” said Claire.
“Is it?”
“Does he smell?”
“Pardon?”
“I mean, is there a smell that you associate with him? When people die, the scent they were wearing stays with them forever, just as their clothes do. Smell is far easier to manifest into the living world than solid, material things. If you can manifest a tulip, you can definitely do it with a smell. Find out what smell his mother would associate with him, and then make sure she smells it when she’s visiting her husband’s grave. She would probably think of Tom and hopefully realise what she has to do.”
“But Tom doesn’t smell of anything. He was in prison when he died and didn’t have the luxury of scents or aftershave.”
“Well, find out what smell his mother would have associated with him before he went to prison. Did he paint? Or might there be a smelly food that he was partial to? There must be something. What about tobacco, did he smoke?”
Jemma shook her head as she struggled to recall something Tom had told her a while back. “There could be something, come to think of it. Tom said that he bought Grace, that’s his mum, a honeysuckle bush once because she loved the smell of them so much, and, apparently, every time she caught a smell of the bush in the summer, it would remind her of him. That’s it, Claire. Honeysuckle. I’ll manifest some honeysuckle next time she goes to his dad’s grave. Thank you!” She leaned over and gave Claire a quick peck on the cheek, a natural, typically impulsive gesture on Jemma’s part, but to Claire, it was a sign of affection that she hadn’t seen in many years.
Brushing away a sneaky tear, Claire smiled. “Anytime, dear.”
The following day, Jemma waited impatiently for Grace to go to the cemetery. She followed her to the shops to buy some milk, and then home again. As it started to get dark, Jemma finally admitted defeat and returned to the house realising that Grace probably wasn’t going anywhere for the rest of the day. The following day Grace didn’t even leave the house at all, but on the third day, as Jemma was idly studying some dusty antiques on an equally dusty shelf, Grace got slowly up from her chair, shuffled into the hallway and put her coat on.
“Goodbye, my love. I’m off to see your father.” Grace spoke to a photo that was hanging on the wall i
n the hallway. Jemma walked up to it and studied it closely. It was of Tom, and had been taken when he was a lot younger, probably a student judging by his long unkempt hair and Pink Floyd t-shirt. Next to the photo, hung another of an attractive man with the same striking green eyes as Tom’s. That must be his brother, thought Jemma, noticing that Grace didn’t give that one quite as much attention as the one of Tom.
Jemma watched as Grace climbed into her car, an old BMW that had seen better days, and she then went directly to the cemetery to wait for Grace to arrive. After about half an hour, she saw the slow, lonely figure of Grace appear round the bend, now carrying a bunch of colourful flowers in her arms. As she approached the grave, she knelt carefully down and placed the flowers on her husband’s grave. She stayed there for some time, removing dead leaves from the grave, and rubbing some bird droppings off the gravestone with a bit of tissue. Then she closed her eyes, maybe to say a prayer, and that’s when Jemma focused all her attention on some honeysuckle and, using immense concentration, manifested the honeysuckle to the grave in front of her. All she could do now, was wait for Grace to open her eyes and spot, or smell, the honeysuckle. She studied Grace’s face, waiting for what seemed an eternity, and then, slowly, her nose twitched slightly, followed by a puzzled frown. Her eyes shot open and went straight to the honeysuckle lying in front of her, and she let out a little cry of disbelief. For a few seconds, she just remained there, perfectly still, staring silently at the sweet smelling sprig, before tears welled up in her eyes, and with a shaky voice said, “Tom?”
She started crying then, her whole body wracking with uncontrollable sobs as she let out her years of pent up grief and guilt, and Jemma felt so sorry for her that she went up to her and put her arm around the old woman. Although Jemma knew she wouldn’t have felt it, Grace did seem to calm down a bit, and as she wiped her tears away with her coat sleeve, she picked up the honeysuckle and stared at it as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. Jemma wished she had brought Tom along so he could see this, but she had been worried that it might not work, and then he would have been furious, and left even more hurt.
Love In The Wrong Dimension (Romantic Ghost Story) Page 15