Born to Be Trouble

by Sheila Jeffries

  Benita appeared, meowing, walking purposefully along the stone parapet, her big lamp eyes shining in the dark. ‘You miss Kate, don’t you?’ Freddie mumbled, and the cat rubbed herself against him, walking to and fro, her fur cool and lustrous. Kate’s pride and joy, he thought, a lump in his throat as he remembered how lovingly Kate had restored the little cat to health, the hours Benita had spent lying on the bed with her, purring.

  It only took Freddie an instant to make a decision. He lifted the gun with both hands and held it over the water, reaching out as far as he could. Let go, he thought, and Kate’s voice spoke brightly into the silence of his grief. ‘Let go of it, dear.’ It was something she often said to people if they were worrying about a problem or a responsibility. ‘Let go of it, dear. Let go.’

  Freddie opened his hands and dropped the gun into the river with a satisfying splash which sent Benita scurrying into the dark. The splash was somehow cathartic. Freddie watched the ripples race outwards until the black water was smooth as glass. He watched a water vole glide out from the reeds, and saw the shadow of the huge carp cross the pool with a flick of its tail. Planet Earth had swallowed the gun in one gulp, and healed the scar, effortlessly. All he had to do now was go home to Tarka.

  ‘Maybe I can survive,’ he said aloud, and Benita ran to him with her tail up. He picked her up and put her on his shoulder. ‘God knows how, but we gotta try.’

  Paul banged his fist on the roof of Tessa’s blue Ford Anglia. She wound the window down, glaring at him. ‘Don’t try to stop me, Paul. I’ve got a right to go and see Dad.’

  ‘Why don’t you LISTEN?’ he yelled. ‘You’re wanted on the phone. It’s that bloody woman. She said it’s urgent.’

  ‘Starlinda?’

  ‘Whatever her stupid name is.’

  ‘You’d better not be kidding.’ Tessa switched off the engine and got out, thinking Paul might be tricking her into staying. ‘And I’ve told Dad I’m going down there.’

  ‘Who cares?’

  ‘You obviously don’t.’ Tessa tucked her car key safely into her jeans and went inside. Paul had left the wall telephone dangling on its cable. She picked it up. ‘Hi.’

  ‘Oh, Tessa – thank God I’ve caught you.’ Starlinda’s voice sounded faint and stressed.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Tessa asked, surprised.

  ‘Take a deep breath,’ Starlinda said in her normal confident tone. ‘I’m dropping you in the deep end, darling.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I am booked to do a public meeting as a clairvoyant medium, at 7.30 in that lovely hall in Pimlico – you know the one I mean? You came with me last time.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well – deep breath, Tessa – I am sick, with a tummy bug, and I can’t possibly do it. I’ve promised to find a gifted young psychic to replace me – and it has to be you. Will you be there?’

  ‘ME! But but . . .’

  Paul was standing close, listening, his arms folded over his chest, shaking his head and looking sceptical.

  ‘Yes, you, Tessa. There’s no one else I trust to stand in for me.’

  ‘But I don’t feel ready.’

  ‘Yes, you do, and you are ready. I’ve got total confidence in you. It’s a golden opportunity, darling – it won’t come again.’

  Tessa was speechless. She wished Paul would go away. Having him looming there, putting pressure on her to say no, and Starlinda pouring flattery into the phone to persuade her, felt like being torn apart.

  ‘People who stand in your way are needy souls who want a slice of your light, Tessa. Isn’t this what you wanted to do? Then go for it, girl, I’m handing it to you on a plate.’

  ‘But what am I going to WEAR?’ Tessa asked. She covered the mouthpiece and hissed at Paul. ‘This is a private conversation – will you please BACK OFF.’

  ‘I can lend you something stunning – but you must get over here quickly.’

  Tessa felt as if bells were ringing all around her, inside her aura; tambourine bells and fairy bells, brass hand bells and a church tower bell, its vibration reaching her from far away, from Monterose. She felt entangled in webs of resonance.

  ‘You look shocked,’ Paul said, frowning. ‘What’s going on, Tessa? What does that woman want?’

  ‘Nothing much. She’s sick.’ Tessa heard her own voice calmly being economical with the truth. ‘I’m going over there now. Then I shall come home and drive down to Dad’s place, no matter how late, and whether you like it or not, Paul.’

  ‘What about my supper?’ Paul said petulantly.

  Tessa smiled sweetly. ‘You’re a big boy now. Make yourself a sandwich, or go to the chippie.’ She twirled around and back to the car, leaving him open-mouthed. I am powerful, she thought joyfully. The long years of studying astrology, the meditations and spiritual training came together in one illuminating moment, like the brilliance of stepping into her own light by the spring in Monterose. Calmly she pulled out and drove down the tree-lined street, seeing Paul in her driving mirror, in his white shirt and tie, his image shrinking to a matchstick. A thought butted in. I’m being arrogant, closely followed by No, I’m not. I’m reclaiming my soul.

  Hours later, dressed in Starlinda’s sequinned turquoise kaftan, silver stilettos and a white faux-fur cape, Tessa swanned in to the familiar hall in Pimlico. She’d always loved going there with Starlinda for life-changing workshops on crystal healing and colour therapy, psychometry and a range of spiritual development. The hall itself was special, aligned on one of London’s powerful ley lines. She felt good there. It couldn’t have been a better place to make her debut.

  She’d had no time to prepare. But that, Starlinda said, was the way of the spirit. You didn’t write speeches or read from a book. You opened your heart and listened, and the words would come. They always did.

  The rows of chairs were full. Heads turned and a hush fell like stardust as Tessa swept down the central gangway to the front where a man called Ross with white hair and an even whiter jacket was setting up a table for her. She saw a velvet cloth, a glass of water and a candle flickering in a pink glass lantern.

  Her heart was beating with fierce energy, as if she’d never before been so alive. Ross introduced her simply as ‘Tessa, a new, young talent, trained by Starlinda. We are honoured to have you, Tessa.’

  She began with a smile so radiant that she felt her mum was actually inside her infusing her with warmth and energy. ‘I’m Tessa,’ she said, beaming, ‘and this is the work I was born to do.’ She scanned the blur of watching faces, and immediately a few individuals caught her attention. ‘Let’s begin by being quiet together.’

  A ripple of anticipation spread through the audience. There were about a hundred people, she guessed, and the hall was filled with the scent of shower gel and shoe polish, and a sense of repressed emotions. Sorrow, anger, jealousy, scepticism and fear. Don’t go there, she thought, remembering her training, rise above the emotional body into the pure light of spirit. In those first few moments it could go badly wrong if she allowed her own emotions to bubble up through the tiniest crack in her confidence. It was like walking a tightrope, believing you could do it. Not looking down.

  Using her healing voice, Tessa talked them through the heart meditation and sensed the room slowly infusing with light. When she opened her eyes, the faces were gazing raptly at her. ‘There are always a few sceptics,’ Starlinda had warned her. ‘Just carry them kindly, like passengers on a bus; don’t focus on them.’

  Tessa waited for the words and they came instantly. ‘There are no limitations. This room has become an arena of celestial light, and it is full of dear friends who have passed into spirit. There are hundreds. Some have come simply to sit with you, to reassure and love you, to wrap you in the softest blanket of comforting light. And some have come to do what they have longed to do – to talk to you. If you listen, from the heart, perhaps you will hear the precious words they will whisper to you, and some will need my help to reach you
.’

  She paused, and her gaze was drawn to an elderly woman sitting in the front row with desperate eyes set in her well-dressed, well-permed, well-powdered image. Tessa asked her name and she said it was Louise.

  ‘I see a young man standing by your left shoulder,’ Tessa said, speaking directly to her. ‘And he is pure gold. He is giving me the name, Martin, shortened to Marty.’

  Louise gave a cry of joy. ‘My son!’ she cried. ‘Marty – oh Marty! You can see him, Tessa?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Tessa said, in a smooth, confident voice. ‘He is very powerful, as if he might have been an athlete in his time on earth. He’s showing me the sea – was he a swimmer?’

  ‘A lifeguard,’ Louise said, dabbing at her powdered cheeks with an embroidered hanky. ‘A beach lifeguard in Cornwall.’

  Tessa swallowed. Don’t go back. Go forward. Stay in the heart. ‘He still loves you,’ she said, ‘and he is with you more than you know. He wants me to say thank you for the dog made of flowers.’

  Again, Louise cried out with amazement. ‘How did you know that? He loved our Scottie dog, Jethro, and I did have a wreath made in the shape of a dog, in red and white chrysanthemums. How wonderful.’

  Encouraged, Tessa continued listening to Marty. ‘He tells me his death was an accident but he doesn’t want you to think of it like that. He says he came to you as a golden gift, for a short time, and he was more than a son – he was your teacher.’

  Louise was nodding, tears running freely, her eyes hungry for every last crumb of information. ‘He was my teacher – it’s true,’ she wept. ‘He taught me how to love.’

  ‘He’s got one more message for you, Louise. He’s showing me an airport, and a big passenger plane with a red maple leaf on it. He says it will take you safely to Canada. He wants you to go, and see the Rockies. You will be quite all right, and you have nothing to fear.’

  Louise reached up with frail arms and gave Tessa a hug. ‘How did you know? It’s exactly what I want to do, so much. You’ve made me so happy. Thank you. Thank you, Tessa.’

  ‘You’re welcome – and you’ve done brilliantly,’ Tessa smiled at Louise, and moved on, her eyes drawn to another spirit who was looking at her intently like someone waiting in a queue, this time a spirit child with understanding, loving eyes. ‘I have a little girl with me, aged about ten, with long dark wavy hair. Her name begins with an M, and she wants to contact her grandad.’ Tessa scanned the faces and found the grandad, hunched and flinty-eyed, on a chair close to the door. ‘Is it you, sir?’ she asked gently.

  The man looked petrified. He covered his eyes with shaking hands. ‘Mandy,’ he whispered. ‘My little Mandy. I – I adored her. She was taken from us so young – it was so cruel.’ He looked up at Tessa in wordless grief.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Terry.’

  Tessa sat down on the empty chair next to him. ‘It’s okay, Terry. Mandy wants me to tell you how much she loved the tree house. Did you build it for her? I’m seeing an oak tree in a big garden, with a round lily pool.’

  Terry gasped in surprise. ‘That’s right – I did.’

  ‘Mandy says you must use it. Climb up there and write the poems she loved to hear. She wants to see them published in a book.’

  Terry’s thin face was getting wider and wider with smiling. He clasped his hands together and looked at Tessa in awe. ‘Are you sure you’re not an angel? You’ve given me HOPE, my dear. It’s a dream of mine, to publish a book of poetry.’

  Tessa brushed her hand across his shaking shoulders, and moved on again, to the next waiting spirit. It was easy. The two hours flew by, golden hours of effortlessly doing what she now knew she was born to do. She wasn’t even tired. And at the end, when Ross declared it was time to close the meeting, there was a standing ovation. People didn’t want to leave, but queued to talk to her and congratulate her. Some asked for private sittings with her, wanted her phone number, her business card. Tessa thought quickly. She couldn’t give her home contact because of Paul – so she asked for theirs and promised to ring them.

  When everyone had gone, Ross handed her a remarkably fat envelope. ‘You’ve done well, Tessa,’ he enthused. ‘There’s a few donations in there as well as the entry fees.’

  Tessa felt her eyes popping at the bundle of cash. Better pretend I’m used to it, she thought, accepting it graciously and tucking it into her bag.

  ‘How are you getting home, my dear?’ Ross asked. ‘I don’t think you should be alone in London at this time of night with that kind of cash.’

  He walked her back to her car.

  ‘I feel like Cinderella getting home from the ball,’ she joked, unlocking the door of her scruffy Ford Anglia.

  ‘You don’t look like Cinderella. You look like a film star,’ Ross said. ‘I hope we’ll see you again.’

  She sat in the car, watching him walk away. I can’t go home, she thought. Paul will destroy everything I’ve done tonight.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’

  Freddie was jolted awake by Tarka’s thunderous barking. He switched on the light and saw the dog at the window, his hackles up like a porcupine, and each reverberating bark lifting the front half of the dog up in the air, his ears flying up wildly. A fearsome sight. Freddie seized the cricket bat from under the bed and crept to the open window with it, ready to crack the burglar on the head.

  He peered out. The back garden was tranquil with pools of moonlight on a wet lawn, and the girls’ old swing hanging motionless.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he asked Tarka. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack. I never heard a dog bark so loud. Wake the blimin’ dead, you would.’

  Tarka had the grace to look ashamed.

  ‘’Tis three o’clock in the morning,’ Freddie told him.

  But Tarka continued to growl. He ran to the bedroom door and listened, his head on one side. It spooked Freddie more than the thunderous barking. Silence was definitely worse. Especially when it creaked. At times like this he missed Kate terribly. She would have looked at him with those bright brown eyes and giggled.

  He opened the bedroom door and let Tarka go skidding downstairs. Freddie followed him down, cautiously on his bare feet. The dog was quiet again, doing the stiff listening act, sensing someone standing on the doorstep. A key turned in the lock, the door was pushed open, and Tarka chickened and disappeared behind the sofa.

  ‘Dad! It’s me.’ Tessa switched on the hall light and Freddie immediately noticed the excitement in her pale blue eyes. ‘What are you doing standing on the stairs with a cricket bat, Dad?’ she joked.

  ‘I thought it was a burglar.’ Freddie put the bat down. He’d been so vulnerable since Kate had died. Tides of emotion ebbed and flowed and he no longer felt in control. He didn’t feel like a man, more like a piece of wreckage flung onto an alien shore. Seeing his daughter was overwhelming. He didn’t speak, in case he cried.

  ‘Are you okay, Dad?’ Tessa took off her wet mac and hung it up. She guided him to the sofa and sat down with him. ‘Shall I make some cocoa?’

  Freddie shook his head, wanting only to sit close to Tessa and recapture a sense of belonging. Benita jumped down from Kate’s chair and ran to Tessa, doing funny little mewling sounds. She climbed onto her lap and made a welcoming fuss, purring and reaching up to pat Tessa’s face with a silky paw. The three of them sat wordlessly, listening to the night rain pouring down the windows.

  ‘Where’s the dog?’ Tessa asked.

  ‘Oh – he’s gone behind the sofa. He’s terrified of anyone new. He’ll come creeping out in a minute. But didn’t he bark! I never heard a dog bark so loud. Shook the blimin’ bulbs out of the lights. He makes the noise and tries to be a dog, then he chickens. I dunno what’s wrong with him, Tessa. He’s a lovely dog.’

  ‘Did you let him look in the cupboard?’ Tessa asked.

  ‘Ah – I did more than that. I took Bertie’s gun out, and, well to tell you the truth, I felt like shooting meself.’
r />   ‘Dad!’ Tessa looked horrified.

  ‘I took it down and dropped it in the river. ’Tis gone, and I reckon that dog saved my life, Tessa, in a way. And when I got back he went straight into the kitchen, no problem – he knew what I’d done. Dogs are so wise. I’ve only had him a week, but I wouldn’t be without him now – and Benita – she ran with me all the way to the river, looking at me with big black eyes. I wouldn’t be without her either, she was so attached to Kate.’ Freddie paused, aware of his new tendency to talk too much. Once he started, he couldn’t seem to stop. He looked at Tessa and noticed raindrops on her face and hair. ‘You’re soaking wet. And cold.’ He touched her hand.

  ‘I ran out of petrol a mile from home. I left the car in a layby up on the hill, and walked. It was VERY dark.’

  ‘Oh dear – I’ve got a can of petrol – we’ll fetch the car in the morning,’ Freddie said, looking at his daughter with more awareness of how she might be feeling. He hadn’t welcomed her the way Kate would have done. Tessa had always been so sensitive. He looked at her eyes. They were like the night outside, alternating between the silver of moonlight and the jet blackness of night rain. ‘Has something happened?’ he asked.

  ‘Everything has happened,’ she said, ‘in one incredible evening. I did my first solo meeting as a clairvoyant medium, with about a hundred people,’ her eyes brightened, ‘and I LOVED it, Dad. It’s the best, best thing I’ve ever done – and when I’d finished they gave me a standing ovation.’

  At the sound of her voice, Tarka crept out on his belly and sidled up to Tessa, the tip of his tail wagging. He gazed up at her adoringly. ‘He’s wonderful,’ she breathed. ‘I love him already. So much love. There’s just – so much love here, Dad, in this house. I need it. I really need it.’

  ‘Don’t you feel loved with Paul?’ Freddie asked.

  Tessa shook her head wildly. ‘No. Emphatically – NO.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  She sighed and looked at him with that blend of night rain and moonlight in her eyes. She spoke slowly, in a different, hurting voice. ‘Tonight, when I got home, I was so happy, and all dressed up in Starlinda’s clothes. I felt wonderful. But Paul threw me out. He’d packed my bag and he flung it down the stairs at me, and said he never wanted to see me again. It’s over, Dad, and I’m hurt – but I don’t care. I feel liberated.’