Rayn reappeared in jeans and a T-shirt and went into the kitchen to join Amelia. There was a lot of laughing and giggling, banging of kitchen cabinet doors and the sound of pots and pans. Before long they were all sitting around the dining room table. The transformation had been miraculous. A clean white tablecloth, well-loaded fruit bowl, a jug of iced lemonade and a bottle of inexpensive rosé wine. There was a vast array of condiments and sauces and the whole table was dominated by a beautiful flower display.
Lucy looked pale after her ordeal, but didn’t complain.
After Mrs Orugo had left, muttering about the time, they started into thick slices of honey roast ham, French-fried potatoes, peas and stuffed tomatoes, in which Bridie recognised her daughter’s handiwork. The hot crusty rolls were a perfect complement to the meal.
“I hope this old table can stand all this,” remarked Lucy. “It’s a bit…er…distressed.”
“Distressed mother?” retorted Amelia. “It’s like everything else in this house. It’s not distressed, it’s positively suicidal.”
***
Amelia’s alarm burst into life. She stared at the hideous green display unit. It stared back at her daring her to ignore it and giving her a look of wicked pleasure. That clock really hates me, she thought. Then she spoke out loud. “One day you might come to a very bizarre ending, so watch it.”
She lay back and wondered why, at three fifty in the morning, she should wake up feeling almost elated. She thought for a moment and recalled with delight the previous evening. She had enjoyed herself so much. Mrs Mgee – no, Bridie – was fabulous. Her own mother had seemed a bit unsettled and Amelia put it down to her physio session but had made the effort and become so relaxed and chatty that Amelia hardly recognised her. Rayn was a riot and they all seemed to be on the same wave-length.
A car horn sounded outside her window. “Turdles!” she said, leaping out of bed. “Nigel.”
Grabbing her tracksuit and underwear she dressed hurriedly on her way downstairs still giggling at Rayn’s swear word. Turdles. It almost, but not quite, said what you meant.
Amelia’s mother couldn’t tolerate swearing, she considered it the product of a lazy mind, but she’d curled up with laughter when Rayn had come out with it after spilling her drink. Amelia was safe with this one.
In the utility room behind the kitchen, she unlocked the back door and grabbing a bunch of keys from a hook on the wall she dashed out making her way round her mother’s large green-house she made her way through the covered yard area avoiding the stacks of potting compost and clay and ceramic pots of all shapes and sizes. Lucy couldn’t abide plastic pots, ‘Buy one of my plants and you buy one of my pots!’ was her battle cry.
Unlocking the side gate, she turned left and ran down the full length of the old coach house driveway. At the bottom, she fumbled with the padlocks and swung the huge, arched wooden gates open and secured them to the walls. Hearing Nigel revving his engine, she fled back up the drive as he backed in. He didn’t waste any time and the drive wasn’t that wide. He pulled up with his back doors level with the side gate.
“Hey there,” his open, handsome smile greeted her. “Did you forget me?” he asked.
“Sorry,” said Amelia. “We had a late night.”
“Is your mum okay?” he asked with concern as he climbed out of the van.
“Yes thanks, Nigel. We had company for dinner, that’s all. It was fun.”
“Anyone I know?” he asked, grinning.
“No, but I’m sure you will in time,” replied Amelia.
Nigel opened the van doors and they began unloading cut flowers laid in plastic bread trays so that they wouldn’t get crushed. Amelia grabbed a couple, dashed into the utility room and put the kettle on. Then she found a frying pan, threw in some bacon and put it on the lit hob. In a few minutes every available space in the two rooms was taken up with potted plants, shrubs, small trees, flowers and spare pots. One familiar box, A4 size, heavy for its size and well packed and sealed with sticky tape Amelia took straight into her mum’s ‘lab’. She knew it contained various natural potions and powders with which she made up her ‘magic’ to enhance the fragrance, colour and shelf life of her products. Those packages arrived and went twice a week with her wholesalers order. Amelia had no idea whether this was legal; but she never asked.
Nigel sipped his coffee while Amelia buttered bread, she handed him a bacon sandwich and watched him eat. He was much taller than she was and with wide athletic shoulders, long muscular arms, a narrow waist and slim hips, he moved like a dancer. His curly, prematurely greying hair framed a face that wouldn’t have been out of place on Mount Olympus.
She’d known him since she was nine, when he’d first arrived in Tetherington. In his late twenties, her mother had felt safe for Amelia to be around him. After all, if George had trusted him enough to give him a room and a job then that was fine with her.
She’d learned of his story one night while talking to Granddad with her mum. He had told them Nigel had been one of the top men in his field, training an elite specialist covert army unit. An accident had put paid to his career and left him with slight brain damage. He was okay but not fit to remain in the army. He was, as Amelia had put it, clumsy with his thinking. Finding it difficult to follow jokes, he could never get the punch line and quick retorts, and one-liners confused him.
Amelia thought of him as a big ‘little’ brother, but she never patronised him and they’d got on well from the start. She’d told him about the beating she’d got from the girl who had stolen her pencil case. Since then he’d been teaching her physical fitness, athletics, self-defence and boxing. They’d fixed the old coach house stables up into a mini gym and, although Amelia hadn’t had the occasion to defend herself since, her confidence and self-assurance had given her control of her life.
“So, what’s the rush this morning?” Amelia asked.
“Oh,” he said, “G-Dad got a late phone call from Tetherington Hall last night.” He took the sandwich Amelia offered him and carried on between mouthfuls. “One of their trees came down and smashed a few panes in their greenhouse.”
“And that’s an emergency?” queried Amelia.
“That’s what I thought,” he said. “But Amelia, you’ve never seen anything like this place. The greenhouse is huge; much bigger than a football pitch. It’s stacked full with electronic gear, you know, monitors and things, honestly. It’s got about eight sides to it and they say it’s temperature-controlled. G-Dad had to do a bodge job and he’s back today to do it proper. I think it’s all double or treble glazed so he’s got quite a job on there.”
“That all seems very strange Nigel,” answered Amelia. “Anyway, if it brings work your way it can’t be a bad thing.”
“Huh.” exclaimed Nigel. “Not when they drag you out in the middle of the night in a storm it isn’t. And now I’ve got to spend the rest of the day cutting back over-hanging branches. At least the storms let up.” He took another sandwich, sipped his coffee and continued.
“It’s what’s in that greenhouse that’s amazing. Stuff I’ve never seen before. It’s incredible, even fountains and waterfalls as well. Mind you, I could only see from the outside, I wasn’t allowed in. But there’s an area in the centre that looks like a rain forest.”
“Surely, not a rain forest in an English greenhouse? Don’t you mean just tall trees?”
“No, I’ve been in enough of ’em to know the difference. This was the real deal. But it was too hot, much too hot. Mind you, they did say it was for the hydroponics, whatever they are.”
He had finished his sandwich and was looking at the frying pan. Amelia smiled and put on some more bacon. Here’s a man who always gets his priorities right, she thought.
“You’d better get going, Nigel,” she said, after he had eaten. “It’s five-thirty already.”
“You’re right; I’ve got to get over to Grabsum Moore industrial estate, pick up a load of stuff and get back to the hall to unload it.
I’m supposed to be shifting furniture right now, but it’ll have to wait.”
“Will they be open up on the Moore? Or will you have to hang around?” asked Amelia.
“No,” he replied. “G-Dad’s been on the phone. You know him. No problem. The stuff will be ready when I get there.” He grinned.
“Yes, I can imagine,” she said as she followed him out to lock up. “See you on Monday, on the road,” called Amelia.
As she closed the heavy coach house gates, she noticed for the first time that the storm had completely blown itself out. There was no wind and the stars were out.
***
Her mother looked tired and seemed edgy when Amelia woke her. She drank her tea but said she wasn’t hungry and would have something later, maybe, which worried Amelia intensely, especially during physio when her mother seemed to be in more discomfort that usual.
“Am I hurting you, Mum?” asked Amelia.
“No my love,” Lucy said. “You’re nice and gentle and very effective thank you.”
“Then what’s wrong?” Amelia was determined to find the cause of her mother’s distress.
“It’s nothing really,” her mother said, evasively. “I think Mrs Orugo was a bit heavy last night. That’s all.”
Amelia knew instinctively that her mother’s problem was not physical. Something wasn’t right.
“Come on Mum, you can’t fool me that easily. What is it? The truth mother, remember, always the truth.” Lucy relaxed back into her pillows.
“It’s hard to explain, really. Anyway, you’d only laugh,” she said.
“Try me,” insisted Amelia.
Lucy knew she was on thin ice, so thin in fact she was almost trying to walk on water. One mistake and she’d be floundering.
“Well, how can I explain it?” she said, looking for some kind of metaphor. “You know in films, when you see a nice country scene? Trees, sunshine, flowers, someone walking, that sort of thing. They always play nice bright music. It lulls you into a feeling of peace and tranquillity.”
“Yes Mum, I get the picture. Where are you going with this?”
“Well, if you see the same scene and the music is a sustained, ascending cello, you know that something awful is going to happen.”
“Yes Mum. So what’s your point?”
“All right, I’m getting there,” she answered shortly. “Don’t get me wrong, but I have to ask, did you put any music on yesterday? About the time the Vicar was leaving?”
Amelia’s mind did a quick circuit of the universe. “What on earth?” she exclaimed, what are you talking about mother?”
“I’m sorry my love, but I need to know. Was it perhaps the Elgar cello concerto?”
“Of course not mum.” replied her daughter. “If I had done I would have used my earphones, I don’t think Bridie and Rayn are too keen on our type of music and…” Amelia froze as an unbelievable thought came at her like an express train. With a fragile voice she asked, “Have you been hearing a cello?”
Amelia felt sick, and nausea wasn’t her preferred state. That part of her dream had been such a small part of a weird sequence of impossible events she had all but forgotten about it and she had never mentioned anything about a cello to her mother, describing her dreams as just ‘nightmares’.
Her mother had always denied that the voice Amelia heard calling for help was just a trick of the subconscious, and claimed there was no possibility of any ‘psychic connection’ between them, calling it ludicrous. She needed to think but her mind had turned to jelly. “What do you mean, Mum? I didn’t hear anything,” was all she could say.
“I’m not surprised,” answered Lucy, grateful that her daughter wasn’t laughing at her, but not realising the impact she made. “It was in my mind.”
For a fleeting moment Amelia was back in her dream, staring down into the abyss, then something totally unexpected and completely beyond her sphere of reference happened. Her mind switched gear, rejecting both fantasy and reality at the same time as she watched her childhood vanish into the darkness, leaving her with nothing but cold, emotionless logic for company.
“I need to know what triggered the reaction mother.” Her voice felt cold and disembodied. “And have you heard this before?”
Lucy, shocked at this sudden change in her daughter realised that in her search for a comforting resolution to her dilemma had opened the wrong door. Oh no, she thought. What have I done? It’s too much too early. She had left herself no choice but to continue and try to exert some damage control.
She told Amelia the events leading up to her ‘day dream’, as she described it, and about the expression on the Vicar’s face but added. “I’m sure it was because he was pleased about my support for his Halloween service, Bridie was laughing, after all.” She claimed.
Unfamiliar thought patterns in Amelia’s mind trapped her mother’s bluff, and she tried a shot in the dark. “And when did you first hear the ghost of Elgar, and how often?”
“What?” Lucy was confused by her daughter’s lack of compassion and began to feel she was being interrogated. “I’m not sure,” she responded. “I can’t remember. I haven’t heard that sound since…” Lucy’s voice trailed off. “Since the night of the accident, when your father died. I can’t get it out of my mind. I’m afraid I haven’t slept much.”
“One more question Mother, Did you hear the sound before or after the accident?”
“I must have heard it before.” Said Lucy, “I was unconscious for three days afterward.”
“So it was a warning then.” Amelia confirmed her worst suspicions.
Noticing her mother’s distress her mind snapped back from wherever it had been and tried to offer some comfort. “I don’t find it funny, Mum. Would you like to stay in bed for a while longer this morning? Some breakfast?”
“No thanks, I’m really not hungry yet. I’ll have something later.”
“More tea then? That always sorts you out.”
Her mother nodded, smiled a thank you and Amelia made her way to the kitchen.
As she waited for the kettle to boil, she noticed that the washing-up from the previous night had been done. A quick look in the dishwasher revealed everything was glistening and shiny. This is where Rayn had disappeared to last night, bless her, she thought. It was then she spotted Rayn’s note.
“To my good friend Amelia. I hope you like the kitchen. It was my first domestic battle with a dishwasher. Hope I didn’t ruin it.
PS. How much will you pay me to shut up about the state of your room?
(Gotcha) LOL PS. S.Y.T.
It was just what she needed to change the mood. The child in her resurfaced and Amelia had a broad grin on her face when she gave her mother her tea.
“What’s got you going then?” enquired Lucy. Amelia showed her the note and they both cheered up.
“What does S.Y.T. mean?” asked Lucy.
‘See You Tomorrow’. LOL is ‘Laugh Out Loud’. Text ‘newspeak’. Now there’s an example of a lazy mind.”
“Sounds frighteningly Orwellian.” laughed her mother.
When Lucy was up and dressed, Amelia dived upstairs to change. I really must wash this tracksuit one day, or at least give it a decent burial she thought as she kicked it under the bed. Downstairs again in her familiar jeans and jumper, she made a mental note to keep an eye on her mother during the day. The conversation had unnerved her, but she worried more about her mum than herself. They met up in the utility room and Amelia moved the baskets while Lucy checked the quantity and quality of the delivery.
“That can go back,” she said, pointing out a box of ‘Handy Pack’ weed-killer sprays. “They know we don’t sell that stuff.”
“I put your special delivery package in your workshop mum.” Amelia told her.
“Thank you my love. You didn’t break the seal, did you?” Lucy asked.
“Of course not, and if you don’t stop asking me that you can lug them in there yourself.” Amelia distributed everything to eithe
r the shop or the workshop. Not for the first time she was tempted to ask her Mother about those mysterious packages which had been coming and going as long as she could remember. Deciding against it she stacked the bread trays outside in the yard and opened up the shop.
After having shifted some of the heavier potted shrubs around she was beginning to wish she’d joined Nigel in his bacon sandwiches.
Rayn arrived just after nine. She’d jumped at Lucy’s invitation to take a Saturday job helping Amelia in the shop. And she was actually getting paid! Apologising for being late, she explained that she had to feed the animals.
“There’s Dexter and Daisy the rabbits,” she said, “and Jude and Gypsy the dogs, and Horace. He’s a horse.”
“You have a horse? Why didn’t you tell me? Do you ride?” pestered Amelia.
“Not really, he’s a bit too big for that,” said Rayn.
“Too big? What do you mean?”
“He’s a shire horse. You know, one of those really large ones. He pulls the caravan we live in.”
“Wow, him I’ve got to see,” said Amelia, excitedly.
“You can meet him tomorrow, but just watch your feet. He sometimes has a nasty streak with strangers,” warned Rayn.
Just at that moment big, shiny 4x4 pulled up outside and a portly, middle aged man struggled out.
“Huh oh,” said Amelia. “Talk about nasty streaks, here’s the original.”
“Who he?” asked Rayn.
“It’s Mrs Atkinson’s son for the wedding flowers. Would you mind helping him load please, Rayn? And remember – he’s a customer.”
The man entered the shop full of his own portly importance in his green oilcloth coat and a flat corduroy hat, under which a large, red, clean-shaven face peered. There were no pleasantries
“Is that it then?” he barked, glancing at the carefully laid-out bouquets and bunches of loose flowers at the other end of the shop. His piggy eyes settled on Rayn. “Come on then girl, get loading. I’m in a hurry.”
Rayn looked at Amelia who, with a pleading grin, gently shook her head. Rayn hid her smile of rebellion and did as she was told.
The Chrysalid Conspiracy Page 6