“How do you mistake these,” she says loudly, smacking her foot on top of the table with an echoy thud, displaying her new shoe purchase, “with a Kurt Geiger, Sevilla Boot? They don’t even compare!”
She goes on talking about tea socials with her friends, but if she’s being completely honest, there is never any tea being drank at those parties, although the gab is generally honest; as honest as a bunch of old ninnies can be, she explains with a wink. Liam rolls his eyes to that one. Then she continues to explain how she'd convinced some “git” that she was England's queen out in disguise so that she could enjoy the day as a commoner. The man had even taken a picture with her. I had to laugh out loud at that. She looks nothing like the Queen of England.
Nan asks Liam about the States and seems thoroughly interested while listening about our small school and the little group of friends he’s made. Small, meaningless chit-chat occupies the conversation and I’m delighted for the normalcy of it. It seems the past few days has been mainly circled around chaos and I welcome the distraction today.
“Nicky,” she says turning toward me, leaning across the table. “Are you ready to talk about what happened with your hand?” she asks in a mischievous voice. Her eyes sparkle like an excited child.
“What is she talking about?” Liam whispers.
I swallow the last bite of food I’ve shoved into my mouth and glance down to my hands, again as if trying to see something different with them. Of course nothing is.
“When we shook hands, I heard things. V-v-voices.” I stammer.
“What do you mean by voices?” Liam asks. “I thought you heard… those… all of the time.”
“I think our young Nicky here has become a little dozy with her talents. I can see that she’s been ignoring her flair. A shame if you ask me. Tsk tsk.”
“I wouldn’t call it a talent,” I murmur. “And certainly nothing to do flair.”
“No?” Nan says, raising her eyebrows. “Not many people can say they talk to the dead.”
My eyes widen to her lack of subtleness and I open my mouth to speak but am completely speechless.
“Nan,” Liam warns.
“This stone here,” she says digging into the velvety bag she’d touched me with earlier, “is a tumbled amethyst. It will help protect you from your own fearful thoughts and also open your spiritual center. You hang on to this, Nicky, and you will be more powerful than even you knew you could be.”
Nan reaches out her wrinkled hand to mine and drops an oblong purple rock that has been chiseled smooth into my palm. It shines in the dim light of the restaurant and otherwise looks insignificant. As it touches my skin with its smooth face and no longer having the boundary of the velvet bag, I expect to experience the same thing as before – a whirl of voices surrounding my head. But to my surprise, nothing happens.
“Nan, what is this?” Liam asks in a tired tone.
“This is my way of helping both of you.”
“A rock? And this rock is supposed to help us tonight? Help us with a psychotic ghost that doesn’t want to move on and is intent on making both of our lives miserable, and another that likes to swoop in unexpectedly bringing blinding pain?” Liam’s voice is borderline acidic and I don’t like him talking to his grandmother this way.
“She’s just trying to help,” I interject.
“Do you hear everyone all of the time?” Carling asks me, completely ignoring her rude grandson.
I shake my head.
“But you did when I first placed my bag into your palm. Although I bet now you don’t hear anyone, do you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“And why do you think that is?”
“Because I don’t want to,” I answer softly but truthfully.
“There, you see. This stone will help her unblock herself. She was expecting it, so she steeled herself against it. Nicky needs to be completely open to tonight and whatever may happen. She has to fully accept her gift for everything to work. You heard the voices that surround you when I first touched you with it because you were unprepared. Now, you’re expecting it and you’ve got your guard up. Tsk tsk,” she says again.
“What do you mean by that, Nan?” Liam, now impatient.
“Listen, I don’t have all the answers you’re looking for. Nicky has to figure it out on her own. This is all I’ve got and I hope that it helps. But I do have one more question for you, dear.”
“You do?” I ask doubtedly.
“Yes. I'm gathering you can see these visitors as well, that is when you haven't got your guard up. But I ask you, can you see both kinds of spirits?”
“Both kinds?” I repeat. There’s more than one kind of ghost?
“Yes dear. There are two types of ghosts. Those who are stuck here on Earth, and those who have crossed over into the Heavens.”
I consider. “Both, I suppose.” I think of Evie and Joseph, then of Sera. If what Carling is saying is true, I can obviously see both.
“Amazing,” she gasps. “Truly amazing.”
I’m very unclear as to what she means by that, but I don't feel like asking. Nothing about what I can do feels any type of amazing, so I let it go. I wonder if people would still think it so amazing if they could do it, too.
Liam continues to badger his Nan with questions and she never sways from her vague answers. I turn the shiny lavender rock over and over in my hand, letting her words sink in. I try to do as she said and release any wall I’ve built around my gift – ugh – and listen to anyone that may be there to hear. I close my eyes and press the rock into my palm, clasping my other hand over it and hold in against my chest, almost trying to force something to happen. Trying to prove that this little amethyst is indeed the key to fixing our situation. But how can I tear down a wall that I can’t see or know is there? Blocking my gift is something I do without trying, so how am I supposed to bring down the barrier when I don’t know how I built it in the first place?
“Breckin,” Liam says, bringing me away from my thoughts.
Both he and Carling are looking at me as if I’ve gone a little crazy. I put my hands in my lap and press my lips together.
“Are you ready to go?” Liam asks then. His aqua eyes are soft with worry and he runs his fingertips down my cheek.
“Sure,” I answer.
“It was such a pleasure meeting you!” Carling exclaims. “You are a delight and I have no worries about this one,” she says then to Liam.
“Good to see you, Nan.” Is all he responds.
“Oh, I love you!” she says gleefully as she cages Liam into a big hug. Carling turns to me next with a warm smile. “You have changed his world, Nicky, and I couldn’t be happier about it. You are such a doll.”
“Thank you. It was such a pleasure to meet you.”
Liam leaves us for a minute to go pay the bill and as I loosen my arms to let go of Carling’s embrace, she puts a hand on either of my shoulders to look me square in the eye. Her faded green eyes are alive with a sparkle like a candle flame.
“Believe in what I tell you, Breckin.” I’m surprised she’s using my real name. “This stone will help you, I promise you that, but you have to trust it. Most of all, you have to trust yourself. You're quite talented, I can feel it. You are meant to do great things, and this is only the beginning.”
I nod, giving her a small and very unsure smile as I look away into the distance.
“Breckin,” she says firmly now. I glance up, meeting her aged green eyes once more. “Give her hell.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The day has been filled with everything touristy and I didn’t think there could be so much sightseeing in one day. Liam has shown me everything London and everything he loves. I have no idea how he’d done it, but he has taken me to most of the things one expects to see while in London, and then, too, things that an out-of-town traveler would never dream or know to see unless accompanied by a local.
First, we stop at the ever famous British Museum, which is colossal. O
h my God, is it big. Liam explains that it’d probably take a week to see everything in it. The south entrance is exquisite. I think it to be Greek in theme with its old grand columns of gray stone darkened and turned with time that expand hundreds of feet both ways. There are long, wide steps to match wrapping around the entirety of the building with two separate wings jutting out on each side. Aside from the humungous entrance doors, there are windows set apart every few feet or so, high above the ground. Above the pediment along the roof line has what appears to be carved Greek gods – at least they depict what ancient gods look like in my mind – both women and men, looking down upon us as we walk, watching over all who pass like muted messengers of history and art with deathly secrets hidden behind their gray, stony eyes. Some are offering up their hands, most are seated with what look like ancient tools and weapons. There are some holding musical instruments and others with the severed heads of men. Golden objects seem to be passed between them and there are different types of animals prowling behind each one. What catches my eye though, is the goddess directly in the middle. She is standing with a golden staff in one hand and golden ball or globe in her other hand. Then to her feet lies a golden armillary sundial. If I were to have to describe her, I’d say that she looked the most vicious.
“Are you coming?” Liam asks when I stop to stare at the carved figures above us.
“Yes, I was just looking at the Greek gods above us.”
“I don’t think they’re meant to be gods.” His tone isn’t argumentative or callous. Just matter-of-fact.
“No?”
“Greek, yes. Gods, no. Just men and women like you and me.”
“They look like more to me. Like more than regular men and women.” I observe.
I feel that Liam is staring at me, so I turn to face him. His expression holds a certain type of awe and pride. He’s looking at me as if I’ve just done something unbelievable or extraordinary. I squint my eyes at him and he shoots me a faint smile. I automatically reach a gloved hand up to his cheek and he leans into my touch. “I. Love. You.,” he mouths, making each word a staccato as if to put more meaning behind them and I return his smile.
“Let’s go,” I murmur.
Liam escorts me straight to the Egyptian antiques which, according to Liam, are world famous to most, and aside from the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, this is the most complete collection of artifacts the world has to offer. I personally had no clue they were here. I admit that I’m a little naïve when it comes to worldly treasures. But there are rooms, huge rooms that house statues, sculptures, and relics.
“Why did you bring us here?” I ask curiously.
“I thought maybe you’d like to see a part of Sera’s histories. I remembered you saying how she was here in Egyptian times and that it was one of her favorites,” he smiles. “Who knows? Maybe she was even there when some of these were created.”
Liam gestures widely to the large open room in front of us and I follow his gaze. There are coffins on display, some laying while others stand upright; just like the ones you see on a History Channel special, complete with ancient inscriptions, pictures, and runes carrying old magic and secrets. There are countless figurines that have been carved out of stone, granite, or wood. Cats, Egyptian dogs (that looked like Doberman’s to me), pharaohs, half man-half dog looking things. There are Canopic jars meant to hold the organs of their people during the mummification rituals after they’d died. Walls that portray the insides of tombs as they tell stories written in the ancient language of words and pictures. There are glass cases displaying thick golden jewelry that were worn by kings and queens. And mummies. Honest to goodness mummies.
We could have walked through here for hours and hours. There’s so much to see and learn. What if Liam is right? What if Sera had in fact been a part of some of these magical and wonderful pieces of history? I smile. How neat it is to be staring at some of the things Sera probably had in one of her lives thousands of years ago. Maybe she wore some of this jewelry. Maybe she helped make some of the pottery. Or even painted one of these walls. It’s almost surreal to imagine.
Next we make our way over to Buckingham Palace. The lines to actually see anything inside and get a tour are very long. Liam politely asks if I’d like to wait, but I decide against it. I was never one to get excited about the Royal’s although my mother had been a big fan of Princess Diana when she was alive, so I think of her as we gaze upon the tall, elegant, black and golden gates to the palace. I imagine what it must look like here in the spring or summer months. The half-circle landscaping out front across the street is full of white snow, but I imagine it to be bright green with grass in warmer weather. Queen Victoria Monument sits proudly with her light gray stone and gold architecture, and I see a few people bearing the cold as they sit at the fountain and chit-chat. We snap a few pictures with Liam’s professional-looking camera outside next to those big entrance gates and he has a passerby take a couple of us together. I even have a picture taken with one of the guards in his big black furry hat and his firmly pressed red coat as he stands straight and focused at his post. He doesn’t pay any attention to us, which makes it that much more entertaining. I act like I’m going to kiss his cheek in my picture and Liam stands like a muscle builder, flexing his arms and puffing out his chest. It feels so good to let loose and be silly.
After that, we head to Big Ben. Liam’s history tip for this is that it’s actually just simply called the Clock Tower. Big Ben is the nickname for the actual massive bell inside. I’ve seen many pictures of this enormous clock, but seeing it in person really is quite something. I’m actually glad that Liam has decided not to skip this particular tourist trap. I look up to the vast clock tower, tipping my head as far back as it will go, taking in its beautiful Victorian-gothic architecture that seems to look almost golden in the afternoon sun. I hadn’t realized how in trance I’d become staring up at it, but as Liam stands behind me watching, that’s when I tip all the way back falling against his chest. My eyes meet his upside-down gaze and we both laugh. I never realized that there was so much to Big Ben. It isn’t just a clock tower, although that is what most people think of upon hearing the name. Behind the big clock tower stretches a long building constructed in the same old Neo-gothic structural design as that of the tower itself, making it look like an otherworldly castle meant for mid-evil times. It seems to go on forever, taking up the space of many city blocks. The chimes happen to toll as we stand next to it, and the street beneath us shakes, vibrating the soles of our feet. I imagine for a few seconds that Liam and I are Peter Pan and Wendy, standing on the mammoth hands of the clock in the sky after we’ve magically flown around London at midnight, leaving all our problems and misfortunes beneath us.
Liam and I walk hand in hand through The Camden Market, stopping at several vintage shops so that I can poke around. It’s clear that Liam has no interest in anything at these neat little corner shops, but patient as ever, he browses with me as I soak in all the different clothes and shoes and odds and ends. There are buildings painted in pinks and yellows and bright greens which now look contrastingly bright against the white snow. I notice there are a lot of very well put together people walking around, which causes me to feel even more drab and dull in my boring jeans-and-a-sweatshirt-get-up. The punks or emos or rockers – I really never understood the difference – tromp around in skintight plaid pants garnished with chains and zippers looking like they don't want to be bothered. There are Mohawks in every color of the rainbow or shaved heads highlighting facial piercings. Big clunky combat boots made to be fashionable with noisy leather jackets that swoosh and crinkle as their possessor walks. Then sophisticates buzz about as well, in their suits and pencil skirts, blending in flawlessly with the rocker-emo-punks, the fashion-forward, and elite. All looking as if they could walk a runway.
“Omigosh! Look!” I exclaim, pointing toward a street corner.
“What?” Liam shouts back. He allows his eyes to roam out to where I’m pointing, a littl
e concern masking his features.
“It’s one of those red-booth-telephone-things!”
“And this excites you?” he asks doubtfully. “A telephone booth?”
“I’ve always wanted my picture taken in one. Will you take my picture?”
To that he laughs very loudly. “Of course I will, love. How ‘bout I get someone to take both our picture. If this excites you so much, I’d like to be a part of the memory.”
“There isn’t any memory of this day that won’t include you,” I say quietly. Liam looks a little sad after I've said it and I can’t understand why. But he quickly composes himself as if he’d never been feeling whatever it was that he’d been feeling.
He walks us over to my exciting find and opens the small glass door so that I can step inside. Liam taps a woman on the shoulder standing close to the booth, murmurs something to her in a tone like silk, and she graciously snaps our picture. One nice picture, where he and I wrap our arms around each other and give a big, cheesy smile. Then another, playful this time as we act like we’re stuck in the glass door, making goofy faces at each other. We thank the nice woman – whom I notice has given Liam a second glance and turns a bit pink in the cheeks – and then we’re on our way.
Liam next has to make sure that we take a ride on a Routemaster bus, which he assures me is “vintage London” with a laugh. While waiting for it, I have no clue what I’m in for. Okay, a bus. What’s so spectacular about a bus? And what pulls up makes me giggle. There, waiting to board its passengers sits an old red double-decker bus with an older man in uniform behind the wheel. I scan the monstrous metal vehicle meant to be our passage, taking in the rows of wide windows on both levels. There’s a small balcony on the back of the lower level, probably only meant for climbing aboard as it is really tiny. Luckily the bus is entirely enclosed – not like the tour buses you think of with open upper levels and cutouts for windows. My eyes light up when we begin to step on.
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