Justine and the Psychic Connections

by Ruth Hay

  “I truly never understood what a difference it makes when the boys are not under my feet all the time,” she declared. “Justine, you are a miracle worker!”

  A glow of pride suffused my being. It had been a while since I received such fulsome praise.

  The feeling that I needed to help this little family grew even stronger. At the same time I realized the best help I could give them, the help for which I was probably best equipped, was to bring home Cedric Mackenzie.

  Six

  So, here I was, scarcely forty-eight hours in my new home and already embroiled in a mystery.

  Back in number 23 with Ramses on my knees with an inscrutable look on his face as he gazed into the small fire I lit in the grate, I began to map out my plan of attack.

  First was the matter of Miriam.

  The woman badly needed a mother’s helper of some kind. Perhaps when school started, three of her five children could likely be occupied during the day, but for now, she really needed assistance. To accomplish this task I must seek out Sadie Turner in the village shop.

  Reluctant as I felt to ask the local gossip for anything at all, I could think of no one else.

  Time was of the essence.

  Putting that unwelcome encounter aside for the moment, I turned to the second concern on my mental list.

  I knew next to nothing about Cedric Mackenzie and I had to have more than mere intuition could supply. Hopefully, when item #1 was managed, I would have the chance to ask Miriam about item #2. It was a beginning of a plan, but not for this particular evening hour.

  Ramses approved. I relaxed into the embrace of the green velour chair and he purred softly while extending and retracting his claws, a sure sign of his pleasure at my decision.

  I made a mental note to place a small towel under the seat cushion in order to protect my clothing in future such sessions with the cat.

  As I relaxed, my mind drifted along to the impressions I had received about Cedric Mackenzie while looking at his photograph.

  He was in darkness.

  Was he imprisoned? Trapped in a situation he had created? Was he yearning for his wife and children, or glad to be so far removed from them?

  Many possible scenarios presented themselves but my mind and body were fatigued and I began to let go.

  Just then, Ramses let a claw sink deeper into my thigh and I returned reluctantly to the present moment, where I met the cat’s baleful look.

  “What is it? I asked.

  He moved not a whisker in answer, only stretched out his claws as if for another attack on my thigh.

  Had I been more decisive I should have stood up and dumped him unceremoniously onto the carpet, but I was still partly dazed from sleep. I let him sit.

  “So, what do you want from me, you wicked animal?”

  This time Ramses surprised me by moving steadily forward and climbing up my body until his nose was almost touching mine.

  This was unusual behaviour even from a Siamese. I found myself wide awake again and searching for a reason. Ramses meant to tell me something.

  “Is it about the children?” Nothing.

  “Is it some helpful idea for Miriam?” Nothing. Not even a blink of those eyes.

  “Is it some clue I have missed?” His tongue emerged quickly and before I could dodge out of range, the cat licked the tip of my nose then swiftly jumped down and stalked off.

  His message had been delivered. I was left to decipher it.

  What was immediately evident was the meaning. On the nose denotes, ‘You guessed it!”

  I had missed a clue somewhere along the line. But where? And what?

  There would be no chance of rest until I figured it out.

  * * *

  In the end I could not resist sleep but my dreams revolved around times and places far from here. I carried in my memory, bits and pieces of previous discoveries. I could not recall these when I needed them in daylight hours but occasionally something slipped through in the night when I was not fully conscious. This time I saw a jumble of items not unlike the laundry I took from Miriam’s machine. It seemed unimportant as a direction, but, as it was the only thing I had to go on, I was obliged to pay attention.

  First thing in the morning after a gulp of coffee, I set out on my mission.

  The Village Store was my destination. As expected, Sadie was installed behind the counter keeping her beady eye on all comers.

  “Could you possibly help me? I need a teenager who can cope with two boys for a couple of hours a day?”

  Sadie looked at me as if I were mad.

  “What on earth would you be wanting with a teenager, Mrs. Jordan, and you with no one else in the house, as I understand it?”

  Clearly, this was not going well.

  “I am asking on behalf of Mrs. Mackenzie. Her twins are a handful and I believe she could use a break. Do you know of anyone who might help her out for a few weeks? I would pay for his or her time.”

  Sadie’s eyebrows returned to a normal level.

  “That might make it possible. There’s plenty teenagers coming in here at all hours of the day and night, bothering me with their nonsense. Leave it with me. I’ll see what I can do.

  Sure enough, that poor woman could use the help. It’s good of you, a newcomer hardly here for ten minutes, to involve yourself with the Mackenzies.”

  Truth to tell it was Ramses who had engineered this intervention but it would not do my reputation any good to admit that fact. Especially not when there was a first hint of respect in Sadie Turner’s voice.

  I said my thanks and expressed the hope that a reliable teenager could be found quickly.

  As I went out of Sadie’s shop I passed a woman entering with a shopping bag on her arm. She gave me a questioning look but I moved on quickly, headed for the Mackenzie house with my fingers crossed that the place was not in the condition in which I found it the day before.

  * * *

  “Who was that, Sadie? Someone passing through?”

  “No. She’s the new renter in number 23.”

  “What do you know about her?”

  Sadie Turner sniffed in disgust. Her reputation as the village information source was being brought into question.

  “Yesterday, I would have said she’s a nobody. Abrupt to the point of rudeness, and nothing much to look at with those spectacles that change colour in different light. Name’s Justine Jordan but no mister Jordan in evidence so far.”

  “What changed your mind then, Sadie?”

  “Well, Maisie, today’s a different story. Yesterday our new neighbour asked about a cat, today she needs a teenager to babysit those terrible Mackenzie twins.”

  “How did this happen so fast?”

  “Don’t ask me! She doesn’t look like the social worker type or even the motherly type, yet she knows those Mackenzies already, and knows them well enough to try to help that poor woman.”

  “What you going to do about it, Sadie?”

  “I suppose I can find a kid willing to keep an eye on those twins for a few shillings an hour.”

  “That’s good of you, Sadie. I imagine we’ll find out more as time goes by.”

  Seven

  Miriam Mackenzie looked a little better today. There were still traces of tears and a hollow look around her eyes, but she had washed her dark hair and curls appeared, softening the effects of worry.

  The children were quietly occupied somewhere in the house so I took the chance for a quick chat with their mother. Before I could speak, she grabbed my hand and thanked me profusely.

  “I don’t even know who you are, Justine Jordan, and yet you did so much for me with the children. They are calmer today. I apologize for unloading my troubles on you. I know I must function for their sake. I am all they have now.”

  I could see Miriam was about to break down again, so I jumped in to direct her toward a possible solution.

  “You showed me the council’s letter. Are there documents here related to your husband’s occu
pation? Anything that would indicate who he works for? Any emails from him?”

  Even that faint hope of help galvanized her into action.

  “I can look upstairs in our bedroom. Can you wait here? Susie is sleeping in her pram. Noreen is playing with Debbie and the boys are in the garden.”

  I nodded to give her permission to go. I was glad of the chance to look in the laundry room. My nighttime dream indicated something useful might be there.

  The room was exactly as I had left it. Some dry clothes were in baskets. Diapers, called nappies in Scotland, were soaking in the tub, and a heap of clothes still sat unattended to in a corner.

  I went toward these hoping to find something useful. On top were Miriam’s clothes, liberally stained with messes I did not care to analyse. Beneath were male garments, some folded and clean and others in a bundle. I rifled through the bundle checking pockets. Most were standard casual clothing items, but there was one man’s white shirt with shoulder flashes attached, denoting some military rank. I whipped out my phone and took a photo, then moved into the living room where the wedding photo of Miriam and Cedric sat on top of a display cabinet.

  I had just finished taking a photo of this when Miriam returned waving a sheet of paper.

  “This is the last email he sent me. There’s nothing else.”

  Any further conversation ended as a wail of distress emerged from nearby and Miriam headed out to see what new disaster had befallen her brood.

  I took my chance to escape. I did not have much to go on but I did know how to capitalize on very little evidence.

  When I reached the comparative peace of number 23, I sat down in the kitchen with my phone and called Simon. It wasn’t his real name but it was the one I used and saved him from questioning my identity online.

  “Where the hell are you? No, don’t answer! Everyone has been looking for you and several are worried sick that you vanished so completely.”

  “Sorry Simon. I had to make a quick exit. I am holed up in Alba and I need your help again. I am sending two photos to your secure line. Can you identify the man?”

  There was the sound of a sigh. “What have you got yourself into now?”

  “Trouble finds me, as you know very well, Simon. It’s out of my control.”

  “Look! Try to take care of yourself and keep in touch via our sources. Alles in ordnung!”

  He was gone leaving the final phrase lingering in my ear. It was code to assure me my last situation was resolved, as well as could be hoped for, under the circumstances.

  There was nothing else to do now but wait.

  I made a boiled egg and toast. The granary bread was just as good as I remembered from years before. Two large mugs of tea settled me down and I was considering a nap when Ramses appeared sitting regally on the kitchen windowsill.

  What now?

  I opened the door and fetched him a saucer of cream, which he deigned to accept in his usual royal manner. I felt obliged to bring him up to date with recent events regarding the Mackenzies, which news he accepted with no sign of surprise. He walked ahead of me into the living room and after a pause for whisker maintenance, he jumped onto the green velour couch and curled up for a sleep.

  I went upstairs intending to follow his example, all this business with children was exhausting, but my mind was disturbed by my recent conversation with Simon. Each time I had cause to flee to a safer location, I felt as if I left something behind. Some small part of me that was still invested in the life of another person or people I would never see again.

  Not that this feeling was anything new to me; it was the result of a lifestyle I was obliged to adopt early on. I should be used to the feeling of regret by now, but the truth was that it cost me a little more each year.

  I turned to the mirror over the small dressing table and checked my appearance for changes. My bright blonde hair was still thick and plentiful although the colour was lightening with every silver hair that appeared. My facial skin was on the sallow side but my darker eyes and eyebrows were much as they had always been. Often I had tried to see what others saw in those brown eyes of mine. I thought they were unremarkable, but I had been told they darkened to almost black in certain conditions and assumed a fearsome dimension. On these occasions, I was too busy to stop and examine my face so that remained a mystery to me.

  As for the rest of me, I could easily pass unnoticed in a crowd, which no doubt saved me numerous times. My set of passports exhibited slightly different versions of my true appearance but I could don a wig in seconds or bend forward assuming a different posture when required. It usually was sufficient to guarantee my anonymity.

  If there is anything remarkable at all about me, it derives from my background.

  I could feel the drift as soon as this thought crossed my mind. I retreated from the mirror and lay down on the bed, giving myself up to the luxury of remembering.

  I was somewhere around the age of three when my mother, Estelle, took me to the cottage.

  I grew up there with little knowledge of how others lived. The remote location near a clifftop in Cornwall with raging seas far below, was normal to me. The windblown trees near the clifftop that transitioned into a deep dark forest, couched in a hollow, was my playground and its creaks and groans, its squirrels and rabbits were my playmates.

  Mother spent her days bringing the cottage back to habitable condition. There was a well, and plentiful wood for fires to heat water but the windows and doors rattled and the furnishings were sparse.

  I did not know the circumstances of our arrival until much later but I do remember the day mother unearthed the name sign and hung it outside on the porch.

  Wychwood

  It was the first word I learned to read. It led me to ask who had lived there before us and given the cottage this name. Mother told me it was an inheritance from an old aunt of hers. I never questioned further. To me this was a paradise. Flocks of birds from far out at sea flew overhead squawking their delight at reaching landfall. The bushes held all kinds of berries and nuts I could gather. Owls peered out sleepily from holes in the gnarled old trees. There were snakes to follow and all manner of small creeping things that never ran from me, allowing me to pick them up and study their patterns and habits.

  Mother never entered the Wychwood. She called to me from the back door when she needed me. I had no way of knowing that the human forms I met occasionally in the woods were not visible to others. I accepted their presence as I accepted that of the animals.

  * * *

  My pleasant reverie was shattered by the sound of persistent knocking at the front door.

  I jumped up and straightened my clothes. I was not expecting a visitor.

  Making my way carefully down the steps, I knew better than to hurry and risk a fall. the knocking persisted.

  As I opened the door, Ramses ran between my legs and escaped down the path. I looked up and saw a young man on the doorstep.

  Eight

  “Are you Mrs. Jordan?”

  I looked the young man up and down. He seemed harmless in a slouching kind of way. His dyed purple hair gave him a modern look but his clothes were standard teen stuff.

  “How can I help you?”

  This question startled him for a moment.

  “Uh! It’s me who’s here to help you! My Auntie Sadie sent me for a job. She said you’d pay me?”

  “Right! What’s your name and can you start now?”

  By the time I marched Kelvin to the Mackenzie house, I had ascertained his interests; footie, bikes and computer games, with a sideline of fishing and music. I outlined what I wanted him to do to keep the twins busy and away from home as much as possible.

  “I will pay you by the hour Kelvin, but I need a daily report on what you do and where. The boys’ mother will tell me when you arrive at their home, and when you leave, and what condition the boys are in when they return. Agreed?”

  Kelvin nodded. I surmised he was too young for a real summer job and bored to te
ars with hanging around at home. This should work out well.

  It helped that his Aunt Sadie was in on the gig.

  “No time like the present, Kelvin! This is Mrs. Mackenzie. Shake hands and introduce yourself.

  I will find the twins and bring them to you.”

  I found Harry and Joe digging another hole in the pockmarked back garden. I dusted them off and promised treats if they behaved and obeyed Kelvin and did not get into trouble.

  There was a niggling fear at the back of my mind that this was a risky endeavour. I had very little experience with small children, or with teens for that matter, and I was putting possibly highly explosive elements together.

  I had to trust my intuition. Giving Miriam a bit of breathing space should help me solve her problem.

  There was a perceptible reduction in tension as soon as the boys left with Kelvin, towing a football, two drink cartons and a snack bag of nuts and raisins. I made a mental note of the time for payment purposes.

  “Now Miriam, let’s look at that e-mail you received from your husband.”

  I produced it and we read it over together. Codes were not unknown to me, so my search through the five lines of type was at a level much deeper than the mere words.

  On the surface, it was a simple message to his wife and children assuring them he was thinking of them and would be home soon.

  “Is this how Cedric usually signs off on a letter, or phone or e-mail?”

  I was concentrating on the final words where Cedric wrote, ‘With love from your BFF. Kiss the tribe for me. Bye for now.’

  Miriam seemed confused by my interest but she said it was more or less how he usually wrote.

  “How much more, or less?”

  “Well, he always calls me his BFF. It means Best Friends Forever. I suppose he doesn’t always call the children a tribe.”