Death and Faxes

by Julie Howlin

  I settled down to watch an old black and white film. I turned the sound down low, so as not to wake Amber, and drew my knees up under my chin, letting the flickering images wash over me. I wasn’t really concentrating on the film. I was drifting, and felt that familiar fogginess enter my brain. I didn’t have the energy to fight it, and for once let my eyes lose their focus. As I did so, the images on the screen suddenly appeared perfectly sharp and in full colour. I wasn’t watching the movie anymore, but something spirit was showing me. When this happened at development group meetings, I would usually resist it, but in my own living room I felt safe enough to let it happen and go with the flow.

  I saw the promenade of a seaside town. It could have been anywhere in Britain. I could see a pier in the distance, a vast expanse of sandy beach, and a row of brightly painted wooden beach huts, each one a different colour. It was as if I was walking along the row, noting the colours as I went. A blue one. A white one. A red one. A yellow one. A lilac one. A green one. It was out of season and the sky was grey. A chilly wind whipped along the shoreline, and I could almost feel the fine, cold drizzle on my face. There seemed to be no people around apart from someone walking a dog way out on the sand, throwing a stick. The beach huts were all closed and locked up. Opposite the green one, I could see a child’s ride - a pink elephant. For 50p, a child could climb on its back, be rocked back and forth and imagine they were riding a fantasy creature in a colourful fantasy world. I took in the scene, not knowing why I was seeing it. A few people passed by, bundled up against the cold and wet, hurrying to get out of the wind into the warm.

  I noticed that the door to the green hut was slightly ajar. As I watched, a small child emerged. Her hair was tousled and tangled, as if she had just woken up. She walked over to the elephant and, after staring at it for a moment, climbed up. She sat on the blue saddle, squeezing the garish creature with her knees, as if geeing up a horse. Without 50p, of course, nothing would happen. I sensed great disappointment as she slid off.

  I watched her walk a little further towards the pier and pause by a waste bin. Someone had thrown away the remains of a fish and chip supper in a red and white carton. I saw the little girl pick it out and look inside, finding a few chips. She started to eat them. Not very nice cold, but she was so hungry.

  Fog was closing in, and I could no longer see her clearly. I saw the shadowy figure of a man. There was something dark and sinister about him as he walked along the promenade towards the child, but by now the mist was swirling and hiding the scene from my view. I found I could no longer keep my eyes open and let them close, knowing that in seconds I would be in a deep, dreamless sleep. I would probably wake up in the morning with a crick in my neck, and would probably have forgotten the whole vision, but the effort to rouse myself to write it all down in my journal, or even to make myself more comfortable, seemed too much, so I just let myself go...

  A child screamed. For a second I thought it was the girl in my vision being attacked by the man I had seen. Then I realised the screaming was coming from Amber.

  I ran into the bedroom and gathered my sister into my arms. She was sobbing and wailing; Thumbelina sat on the very edge of the bed, clearly puzzled by all the noise. It was some time before Amber had calmed down enough for me to ask her what was wrong.

  ‘It’s M-M-Molly,’ she gulped, at last. ‘I was dreaming about Molly.’ I went cold.

  ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’

  ‘She’s in a dark place. She’s cold, and hungry. There’s a spider on the wall and a nasty man trying to open the door. She’s really scared.’

  ‘Do you know where the cold, dark place is?’ I asked.

  ‘Somewhere that’s usually nice,’ said Amber. ‘It’s nice when Mummy and Daddy are there but it’s not nice in the dark and there’s no food.’

  I was sure Amber was really connected with Molly, but nothing she was saying gave any clue as to where Molly might be. The only thing I knew was that Amber’s dream was saying that Molly was alive. For now.

  ‘You can find her, can’t you?’ Amber said in a small voice. She had broken away from my embrace and was looking at me with those light brown eyes that had inspired her name.

  ‘I don’t know that I can, Honey,’ I said.

  ‘But you saw her, too!’

  It was then that I realised. The little girl in my vision was Molly Baker. The pictures in the papers showed her in her Sunday best, hair combed and plaited, and I had seen her in jeans and a T-shirt, her hair all over the place. So she was in a green beach hut facing onto a promenade, with a pink elephant ride outside and a pier in the distance. I had not seen anything, however, that told me exactly which seaside resort it was. It could have been anywhere.

  ‘Please, Tabitha,’ Amber was pleading. ‘We have to tell someone so they can find her before that man gets in.’

  I went cold again. Molly may have been safe up to now, but she was in danger at this moment. How could I possibly work out where she was from such a sparse set of clues? Perhaps I could relax into the vision again and see if I could see something that might identify the location, but my mind was racing now and I knew it would take precious time for me to calm down enough to enter that state again. With Amber eagerly watching me I might not manage it at all. And even if the information came to me, who could I tell? Was there a hotline people could ring if they had information? I picked up the paper and flicked through, looking for one. There didn’t seem to be anything. I could ring the local police station - I had their number on my noticeboard, but they hadn’t seemed very efficient when I had called to report someone suspicious lurking outside and peering through the neighbours' letterbox - and that was something that was happening in their catchment area. I kept looking, and thinking.

  Somewhere that was usually nice. Somewhere she liked to be - a seaside resort - where it was normally sunny and Mummy was there with 50p to make the elephant move...

  Of course! I might not know where the beach hut was, but Molly’s parents would. What was needed was someone to call them and find out. Surely there was a hotline number here somewhere? But, with a sinking feeling, I realised that even if I found one, they might not take my call seriously. A psychic vision and a child’s nightmare? At best we’d be seen as delusional, at worst, cruel pranksters. But I knew I had to try.

  I wondered if they’d published a hotline number in the previous day’s paper - I probably still had it in my bag. I upturned my bag and tipped the contents onto the sofa. Something fluttered to the floor. I bent to pick it up. It was Detective Inspector Swan’s business card, with his work phone and direct fax number printed on the front – not much use at this time of night - but he had scribbled his mobile phone number on the back. I hoped he had meant it when he said I could call any time with any information that came to me. I didn't like him. I hadn't wanted to speak to him ever again, but right now, he was Molly Baker’s only hope.

  The number rang four times, and I was sure he wasn't going to pick up. It was after midnight, after all. Then a sleepy voice came on the line: ‘Jamie Swan, hello?’

  ‘Oh, thank goodness you’ve picked up,’ I said.

  ‘Who is this?’ I detected suspicion in his voice.

  ‘It’s Tabitha Drake. Maggie Flynn’s granddaughter? I don’t know if you remember me.’

  ‘Tabitha! Of course - I could hardly forget you. So to what do I owe this call in the middle of the night?’ he sounded a little grumpy and I could hardly blame him.

  ‘I’m sorry if I woke you. I’ve no idea if you’re the appropriate person to call, but I think I have something on the whereabouts of Molly Baker.’

  ‘You do?’ He sounded more awake and more interested now. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly where she is, but I think her parents will. She’s somewhere by the sea, in a green beach hut with a sort of pink elephant ride thing outside, on a promenade. She’s been there before and usually it’s nice, but it’s dark and frightening now, and there’s
a scary man trying to get into the beach hut. That’s all I know.’

  ‘I’ll get on to it, right away,’ he said. ‘And thanks. You don’t know how much I appreciate your getting in touch with me.’

  ‘This doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind,’ I said. ‘I got this information and I could hardly not pass it on when this little girl’s life could be at stake. I don’t want any more involvement. I don’t want you to call me again.’

  ‘Not even to let you know what happens?’ he asked.

  ‘Well...’ Amber was looking at me eagerly. She would want to know, and I had to admit that I did, too. ‘Yes. please. But that’s all,’ I said, and hung up.

  Amber was smiling, clearly satisfied with the action I’d taken.

  ‘They’ll find Molly now, won’t they?’ She said.

  ‘I hope so. Do you think you can go back to sleep now?’

  Amber nodded and snuggled down under the duvet. ‘The nice man will find her, won’t he?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I believe he will.’ I may have found Jamie Swan infuriating, but I trusted him to get the job done.

  Amber was asleep almost immediately, but I couldn’t switch off. I was expecting a call back from Inspector Swan with news of Molly, and I didn’t want to miss it. I would have liked to report to Amber when she woke up that the nice man had indeed found Molly and she was back at home safe and well with her family. No call came, though, and as dawn was breaking, my body finally gave in and I sank into oblivion.

  **

  I was woken by Amber, who, like most small children, gets up early. She bounced onto the sofa and clicked on the TV. Jarred back into reality by the squeaky voices of Saturday morning children’s cartoon characters, I groaned and sat up. Amber sat there in her nightie, engrossed in the programme, and giggling loudly at the antics of a big purple dinosaur. I was relieved to see her so relaxed and not fretting about Molly Baker any more.

  An hour later, Mum came to pick her up and I spent the rest of the day pottering, meditating and listening for the phone. It finally rang at about four o’clock, and my heart leapt as I thought it would be Inspector Swan with some news. I never thought I would hear myself say this, but I was actually rather disappointed when it turned out to be Daniel, asking if I fancied going out tonight.

  Anxious as I was to know if my vision had helped find Molly, I didn’t want to miss a night with Daniel. I wondered if Inspector Swan would call my mobile number if he got no response from me at home. I sat on the bus checking for missed calls every five minutes. Daniel was late, as usual, so I checked several more times while I waited. When he arrived and saw me looking at the phone, he probably assumed I was calling him, and made no comment.

  However, when I could not resist checking my phone every few minutes in the pub, he was clearly put out. ‘What do you keep checking your phone for?’ he demanded. ‘Are you expecting a call or something?’

  ‘Er. Yes,’ I said, and quickly thought of a lie, knowing how angry he would be if I told the truth. ‘Jess had a doctor’s appointment earlier - she was a bit nervous and she said she’d ring me and let me know how it went.’ I put the phone away. All evening, it was burning a hole in my bag, but I resisted any urge to look again. When we got home, my answering machine was flashing and bleeping. I tried to ignore it and entice Daniel into the bedroom away from it - but too late. He’d seen it.

  ‘Don’t you want to listen to that?’ he said. ‘Might be Jess. You were pretty anxious to hear from her earlier.’

  I had to play it back in front of Daniel and pray it was Jess, or my mother, or Simon, or Megan or Lorna - anyone but Jamie Swan. But it was Jamie Swan.

  ‘They found Molly, thanks to you,’ he said. ‘The family do have a beach hut - they go there every summer. Molly loves it there and never wants to come home. She particularly loves that elephant ride. They knew exactly where it was, but it hadn’t occurred to them she’d go there by herself. Seems she jumped on a bus and then a train, and was camping out in the hut. We got the local police straight round there and you were right - there was a shady character trying the door. Known paedophile who’d fallen off the radar. He’d seen her wandering about on her own and was homing in. He’s back in custody now - we killed two birds with one stone. Well done! After this, are you sure you don’t want to reconsider? You’re really good at this. You’ll have to convince that boyfriend of yours. Call me.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Daniel grunted. ‘You weren’t waiting for a call from Jess at all, were you? It was that guy you were so anxious to hear from. So you’ve been doing the psychic police work behind my back. I told you, I don’t want a girlfriend who talks to dead people.’

  ‘I haven’t been working for them,’ I countered. ‘But last night Amber and I both dreamed about Molly in that beach hut. I had to let somebody know. And they found her, didn’t they?’

  He scratched his head, the way he does when he’s considering something. Perhaps this would change his mind. ‘Well, yes, I suppose so.’ I breathed again, but not for long. ‘But you lied to me about it, Tabitha. If there’s one thing I want less than a psychic for a girlfriend, it’s a liar for a girlfriend.’

  ‘But Daniel...’

  ‘No buts. It’s too late for that. To be honest, Tabs, I’d been thinking for a while that we’re just not working out, and this just about clinches it. I’m going to go home now, and I don’t think we should see each other again.’

  ‘Not working? But why didn’t you say something? We could have talked about it, we could have...’

  ‘I’m sorry, but no. My mind’s made up. Bye, Tabs, see you around.’

  I stared at the door open mouthed for a full minute after he closed it behind him. I was numb with shock. I’d been so sure that he was The One. Yet all the time I had been thinking so, he'd been looking for an excuse to dump me. And Jamie Swan had provided him with one. Thanks a bundle, Inspector Swan, I thought, as the numbness shifted to anger, a need to blame something or someone for the situation I found myself in. I almost hit callback to give Inspector Swan a piece of my mind, but I was rational enough to know that he couldn't have known what effect his call would have, and I had wanted him to let me know what happened.

  It was nobody's fault. The universe was simply being shitty to me. It didn't want me to be happy. As soon as I reached out to grasp happiness, it had been cruelly snatched away. And psychic as I was, I had not seen it coming.

  18 daniel replacement therapy

  I cried myself to sleep that night. I woke up to a world which seemed bleak and empty without Daniel. Perhaps, I reasoned, his outburst had been a knee-jerk reaction and perhaps even now, on this bright sunny morning, he was regretting what he'd said and was trying to pluck up the courage to call me and tell me he had made a big mistake and to ask me to forgive him and start over.

  I called him. Answerphone. I left a garbled message and waited. And waited. He was probably at work. Fighting a fire somewhere. As soon as things were less busy, he'd call. As the days went by, hope faded. Perhaps he hadn't understood my message. I composed another. Wrote it down. Rehearsed it.

  It completely threw me when he actually answered. I was about to launch into what I wanted to say, anyway, when he cut me short.

  ‘I got your message, Tabs,’ he said. ‘I did give it some thought, but I really don't think we were going anywhere. I don't see you as the woman I'd want to marry and it would be even more cruel to keep on stringing you along and then leave you for that woman when I meet her.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘I think it's best if we go our separate ways, I really do. I'm sorry it didn't work, sorry if I hurt you, but I'd rather you didn't call me again. 'Bye, Tabs.’

  I was sure that as he spoke these final words, I could hear a woman giggling in the background, and the words, ‘Stop it, Dan,’ as he said goodbye to me. He'd already moved on.

  I threw the phone on the floor, and hit it with my pillow. ‘Bastard!’ I shouted at it, as if it was Daniel himself.


  **

  I was soaking in the bath a week later, still feeling sorry for myself when the phone rang. Hoping against hope that it might be Daniel ringing to say he had changed his mind, I leapt out of the bath and grabbed a towel.

  ‘Hi, Sweetie Pie, how’s things?’ Simon.

  ‘Oh, same old, same old. Daniel chucked me.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘Nope. Said he didn’t want a psychic girlfriend.’

  ‘You and me both, then. I got dumped at the weekend as well.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘C’est la vie, Sweetie Pie.’

  ‘Unfortunately.’

  ‘Oh, well, screw them both,’ Simon said, with feeling. ‘You can come out with me and Jess and pull someone who likes psychics. There’s a good band on at the King’s Arms - I know you don’t like the place, but these guys are worth seeing.’

  ‘You fancy them in other words,’ I teased.

  ‘Well. Now you come to mention it, the lead singer is to die for. And I’ve heard he’s family.’

  ‘That pub really creeped me out last time. It’s haunted.’

  ‘That makes me want to go there even more! Come on. If you get the heebie jeebies again we can always leave. Go on. You know you want to.’

  I wasn’t sure I did, but a night out with my two best friends must surely beat moping in the flat on my own.

  I met them outside the King’s Arms. The atmosphere had certainly improved since the police raid. I was still aware of an unsettling undercurrent, something still not quite right, but I reckoned I could live with it. I put the unease to the back of my mind and enjoyed the music. Simon was right - the band was pretty good and I could see the lead singer was totally Simon’s cup of tea. It was nice being able to ogle some eye candy, even though I knew I was hardly his type.