by Rosie James
It was almost the end of 1946 – the gentle weather giving no indication of what was to come the following year – and it seemed impossible to Alice that it would be Christmas again soon. She glanced over at Valerie who was typing up the specifications to go with the property advertisements they’d put in the window.
‘I can’t believe that we’ve been open for more than a year, can you, Valerie?’ Alice said. ‘The time has just flown by.’
Valerie stopped typing for a moment, and leaned back, stretching her arms. ‘Yep,’ she agreed, ‘the time has flown – and that’s because we’re usually so busy. Not like the last place I worked,’ she went on, ‘where most afternoons we had nothing to do. Every day seemed like a year.’
She looked over at Alice, then – ‘I think that you coming to live down here, and us working together, has been a real stroke of luck for me, Alice,’ she said. ‘I’ve never been happier – because we do get on OK, don’t we? And I’ve never been paid better!’
And neither had she, Alice thought. Because the year – the first, important year of this branch being set up – had done better than she or anyone could have hoped. The agency had gone from strength to strength, the number of properties passing through its hands continually increasing. Mr. Pennington had come down twice during the year to congratulate them – and raising both their salaries by a considerable extent. Money isn’t everything – but it certainly helps…
Rex, too, had been very interested in how they were getting on, coming down several times during the year to see them, and to buy them both lunch – and being repaid by Alice cooking the three of them supper before he went back.
Alice smiled at what Valerie had just said. ‘And it was lucky for me, too, Valerie,’ she said, ‘because you always pull your weight, and you never mind working overtime when clients want to come at awkward times… and you’ve shown me the town, shown me all the interesting bits and made me feel at home here…and yes, we do get on OK,’ she added.
Valerie looked solemn for a second. Then – ‘This time last year…last Christmas…my whole family was in such a state of upset it felt like the end of the world,’ she said slowly. ‘When Joan decided she wanted out. It was terrible for Ronnie, who hadn’t seen it coming – and neither had the rest of us. I never thought I’d see my brother smile again,’ she added, ‘and whatever my mum said about it not being anyone’s fault, I know she shed buckets and buckets of tears. She can’t bear to see either of us unhappy.’
There was silence for a second, then – ‘Well, all’s well that ends well, isn’t it,’ Alice said. ‘And I’m pleased that I was able to be at their second wedding!’
Valerie pursed her lips. ‘I never thought that would happen,’ she said, ‘but it’s his nature to forgive and forget. I can tell you – I’m not such a nice person! See, after Joan and her – bloke – came back from that holiday and he said that after all he still loved his wife, and would never give up his children, Joan realized that she’d made a ghastly mistake…and came running back, quick as you like.’ Valerie sniffed. ‘Well, anyway, if Ronnie’s able to forgive her, then we have to as well I suppose. And actually – I always liked Joan,’ she added.
It was 10.30, and Valerie got up to go and make the coffee. ‘Will you be having Christmas here again, Alice?’ she said. ‘With your friends coming down?’ She turned to glance back. ‘I loved your party last year – and so did Ronnie! He’d had such a long face before then – but you actually got him to have a laugh.’
‘I haven’t made any plans for Christmas yet,’ Alice said, ‘but if I do have a party you will certainly be invited – and Ronnie and Joan, too, if they like.’
Alice’s thoughts ran on as she stuck the pictures – which the photographer had just sent – onto the advertisement panels going into the window. She would have to make some plans soon, about whether Fay and Eve could come down again – they hadn’t been in touch for a couple of months – or whether she would accept Gloria’s persistent invitations to visit her and Don at Totterdown. It was almost certain that Alice would hear from the Carmichaels…but if she didn’t, it was her own fault. She’d felt too emotionally insecure to accept the invitations she’d received from them. And Sam’s planned visit to Dorchester at Easter had never happened, because he’d had a serious bout of ’flu at the time. It seemed unlikely, somehow, that their paths were likely to cross much again.
Valerie came back in then, carrying their mugs of coffee. ‘Oh, I must tell you something my mum heard yesterday,’ she said, handing Alice her drink.
‘Go on,’ Alice said, taking a sip. Valerie was a useful, entertaining fount of local information. ‘What was it?’
‘Well – old Judge J. has been on the howl again,’ Valerie said emphatically. ‘Two of my mum’s friends have heard it – both on different nights and at different times! It was very late, and obviously dark, on both occasions – but on the second one it was such a blood-curdling racket that this woman’s husband took fright and raced on home ahead without her! I mean…that wasn’t very gallant, was it?’
‘When was this?’ Alice asked, not wanting to believe it, but curious nonetheless.
‘One night last week, and on Sunday night – the night before last,’ Valerie said. ‘You’d think by now the old blighter could give it a rest. After all, it was a long time ago that he was here, working his evil – but, see, some people – really sensible, down-to-earth people – say that evil doesn’t always die with the perpetrator. That really vile evil cannot die. That it’s a black force, here for good, for ever, and that it can’t be eradicated and that it stays around, sometimes for centuries. Sort of…trapped, embedded in the walls of places, stuck there for ever.’ Valerie couldn’t help feeling a degree of satisfaction. Well, she could see from Alice’s face that she’d made an impression. She decided to fill out her story – especially as she knew it was all true.
‘And when I told my mum that I thought her friend’s husband should be ashamed of himself…running off like that, and leaving her alone, shaking with fright, my mum said, Ah well, there was more to it than that. Because he – my mum’s friend’s husband – he’s a surveyor – had a very unpleasant experience last year and has never forgotten it and is never likely to.’
There was no need for Alice to urge Valerie to continue, and the girl, half-sitting against the edge of the desk and warming her hands on her coffee mug, bent forward.
‘The thing was, he and a colleague were doing a survey on an old property in Piddletrenthide – which has been empty for ages and which used to be a pub, apparently, years ago – when, quite late in the afternoon – it was getting dark – someone…someone…suddenly appeared right next to them in one of the downstairs rooms! They – my mother’s friend’s husband, and the chap he was working with – thought they were alone because no one else was expected to be there, and they had no plans to meet the new owner. Anyway.’ Valerie took a sip from her mug – she didn’t want to get to the best bit too soon. ‘This…person…this weirdo…nodded to them in quite a friendly way, touched his hat, cheeky as you like – he was wearing a deer-stalker – and simply walked away, disappearing right through the wall! And those were stone walls, Alice, thick stone walls!’ Valerie shook her head from side to side wisely. ‘See, we don’t know everything in this world, do we, strange things do go on, no doubt about it.’ She finished her drink and stood up, and Alice said –
‘Well – has anyone else ever seen this – person?’ and Valerie cut in quickly.
‘Oh yes – that’s the point – when they looked through all the paperwork and stuff afterwards, a “supernatural element” was quoted there in black and white! So…’ Valerie said, turning away to take their coffee mugs back into the kitchen, ‘when my mum told me all that, I fully understood why her friend’s husband ran off when he heard the Judge screaming, and left her to fend for herself. I mean, anyone would, wouldn’t they? Spooks are not to be trifled with!’
Later that day after she’d ha
d her supper, Alice sat by the fire thinking about Christmas. Well, it was about time she did, because it would be upon her before she knew it…Christmas was like that. One minute it was safely in the future, the next it was Christmas Eve. So the first step would be to make out her card and present list.
She took a pen and notebook from her bag and started doodling idly…drawing patterns and shading them in rather than doing anything useful. Well it was nearly time for bed, and she was tired. She’d taken two prospective clients to houses just outside the town, but she didn’t hold out much hope that either meant business. One of the women, in particular, kept changing her mind about what she was actually looking for, and Alice had eyed her warily. She could spot an awkward customer in a few seconds, and she sensed that this one was going to be a hopeless time-waster. Alice hoped that some other agency ended up having the pleasure of trying to talk her round and clinch a deal.
Alice was sitting on the floor in front of the fire, hugging her knees and watching the last embers begin to die down. It was much too late – and much to wasteful – to add another lump of coal at this time of night – no one would dream of leaving a fire burning all to itself in an empty room. Her eyes softened as memory took over…she remembered doing this…staring into the flames with the twins at Clifton, each of them trying to find pictures, or a face, in what they saw there. And then afterwards making up stories to go with whatever they’d seen…or thought they’d seen…
For a moment, Alice felt a terrible surge of nostalgia. Sometimes she wished that she could wave a magic wand and go back, right to the beginning of her life, and have it all over again. With her mother there too, of course. Her mother was never far from Alice’s thoughts. What would her mother think of the pathetic amount of work she had done on her novel? Which was less than ten chapters in? Alice could almost hear Ada say – “keep focused, be persistent…never give up on a dream…” But in her own defence, Alice knew that her mind and energy had been anywhere other than creative writing – thanks to her career, thanks to the war. The war. How much longer could she go on blaming the war for everything?
She glanced around at the little sitting room, in this little house, in this little street in Dorchester. And asked herself the question: Is this it? Will I always live here? Will I always be doing the job I’m doing now? A job which had landed in her lap, taking her by surprise and away from much that was familiar? Could she really think of herself being here, like this, into middle age…? Middle age suddenly seemed closer than was comfortable! She moved a bit nearer to the fire…thinking of something Fay had once said about wanting to go and work in London…what if she and Fay – and maybe Eve, as well – all went to the City together one day and started new lives there? Explored pastures new?
All these thoughts were making Alice feel oddly unhappy, because she realized that she was free, absolutely free to do with her life whatever she liked…yet that freedom was itself a sort of harness because she didn’t know what to do with it. What was the next step going to be for her? Freedom is a challenge to make the right decisions – but how could you be sure you were making the right ones, taking the right path?
Alice had seldom been frightened of anything – well, not much and not often – but tonight, and for some reason, the future frightened her. If only she could peep into her life say, ten years from now, and have just some idea of where she would be…
An hour later, tossing and turning and unable to sleep, Alice went into the bathroom and reached for the paracetamol. She filled a glass with water, added two tablets, and stood for a few moments watching them fizz to the top. Then she drank quickly, washed out the glass, and replaced it on the shelf. The medication would probably do the trick, she thought, and hopefully be more effective than making herself some tea and trying to read her future in the leaves…
Chapter Twenty-Four
MAMA!
With a stifled cry, Alice jerked herself up into a sitting position and reached forward, grasping at the covers on the end of the bed, pulling them towards her frantically. Then, kneeling up, she crawled down, running her hands over and over again across the cotton fabric, desperately searching for what she was looking for.
Her mother had been there. Just now. Ada had been there, sitting on the edge of the bed, her gentle voice urgent and distinct. Go home, Alice. Go home…
Alice had seen her, had heard her…had wanted to reach out and hold on to her, to keep her mother here.
But the place where she had been, was vacant now…and there was nothing to show that anyone had been there at all.
After a few moments, Alice slumped back into a sitting position and rubbed her eyes, waiting for full wakefulness and commonsense to kick in. That was the most disturbing dream she had ever had in her life…disturbing because it had been so real. But no, it was not a dream, it was real. She had heard her mother’s voice so clearly it had actually woken her up, brought her to reality. Go home, Alice…
Slowly, Alice lay back down and stared up at the ceiling, waiting for her heart to settle to its normal rhythm, waiting for the heat in her face to cool down.
At last – you idiot, she told herself. Are you so gullible that you actually believed that yarn spun you yesterday about ghosts and strange happenings in old houses? But Alice had to admit that, as she had eventually drifted off to sleep, it was Valerie’s earnest voice, her utter sincerity and belief in what she was saying, that had coloured Alice’s last jumbled thoughts. After all, it could have happened. The supernatural had always been entirely real for some people…belief in those restless spirits trapped and floating between the here and the hereafter, possible to actually touch, to witness. Trying to contact the departed was widely practised, and sometimes amazing results did happen. Or so people said.
But it was not something which had ever concerned Alice or her mother, even though Ada had always said that Stanley was never far away from them. But that was different from him actually appearing as a living human being.
Alice turned over, wondering whether she would be able to get any sleep at all for the rest of the night. She glanced at the bedside clock. It was 3 o’clock – a horrible time of the morning to try and drift off – but she’d have to try. She sighed deeply, cross with herself that despite her innate commonsense, she’d fallen into the trap of believing the unbelievable and letting it transmute into something affecting her, and her own life.
Truly the stuff of stupid nightmares.
Alice finished her bowl of cereal, then reached for her mug of tea. Thankfully, after half an hour she had managed to drift into quite a deep sleep, with no more voices in the night. But however much she wanted to discredit the experience, it still felt real this morning, utterly real. Usually, daylight brings most nightmares to a complete end, and remembering any details of them impossible, yet for Alice, her dream was still there, vivid as the moment it had happened.
It was 8 o’clock and still not quite fully light, but Alice never minded the walk to work, whatever the time and weather. That stroll through the Gardens always woke her up properly as she witnessed Nature ringing the changes…even on a December morning the branches of the tall trees – leafless now – struck imposing patterns against the wintry backdrop, the greys and blues of the firs adding some welcome colour here and there.
Alice was just putting on her coat to leave the house when the postman slipped her mail through the letter box, and she bent quickly to pick it up from the doormat. The postman arriving so promptly, and so regularly, had always been one of the joys of Alice’s life – not that she received that much, really. Not now. But, glancing down, she saw at once that the one letter delivered today was from Fay…the girl’s bold handwriting was instantly recognizable.
Alice smiled, and went back into the dining room to sit and read what Fay had written… It was always lovely to hear from one of the other wise monkeys, because they were always interesting and newsy. Alice knew that Fay was renting part of a house in Bedminster – sharing it with t
he owner, which appeared to be working out well, and that Fay could walk to her job at the Council House.
Alice tore open the envelope, and began to read.
Dear Alice
Watcher! How are yer, luvver? (Alice smiled – she could hear Fay’s voice!)
I hope all’s OK down there and that you’re selling lots of houses! The reason I’m writing, Alice, is to tell you that I bumped into Evie and her parents in town at the weekend – they’d come over from Bath to do some Christmas shopping, apparently, but something’s wrong. Evie looked terrible…and I’m wondering if she’s ill and afraid to tell anyone. Her mother and father looked in the best of health! Anyway, I managed to get her away from them – for about half a second – and asked her if she’d like us all to meet up – this coming Sunday – for a get-together. And she jumped at it. I know you work on Saturdays – well until lunch time, don’t you – that’s why I suggested Sunday, but if you could get the train up, say, Saturday afternoon – it’s a good service, I’ve checked – you could stay the night with me – my room’s got two single beds – and then we could meet Evie on Sunday and all go out to lunch. The Berkeley restaurant at the top of Park Street is nice, and not too dear. I know it’s short notice, but I hope you can come… I was going to ring you at your office, but didn’t like to because I know you’re always seeing important clients and I wouldn’t want to be responsible for scuppering a good deal!
You’ve got my Bedminster phone number, and the owner never minds me taking calls. So, if possible, will you ring me this evening? After 7 o’clock?
Best love, Alice…do hope you can come. I’m sure Evie needs us.
Fay. xx
Alice frowned thoughtfully. Fay had obviously spotted something out of the ordinary, something that had given her cause for real concern about Eve – or she wouldn’t have bothered to put pen to paper. Well, Fay was like that. She was highly perceptive – always had been.