by Kathy Shuker
Today, Adam was sitting at one of the window tables. She had seen him there a few times, looking introspective and detached, but this time he looked up as she came to a table nearby and casually invited her to join him, pulling a cellophane-wrapped sandwich across the table to make space for her tray.
‘I see you had the soup today too,’ she said, sitting down. ‘Any good?’
‘Not bad. Better than the tinned stuff I usually eat anyway.’
She smiled and they ate for a few minutes in silence.
‘Any news?’ she asked, conversationally.
He looked up, apparently surprised. ‘Yes, actually. I’ve just been given a commission for a set of paintings for a corporate headquarters.’
‘Congratulations.’
‘Thanks. It’s a bit daunting but the money’ll be useful.’ He glanced at her speculatively. ‘And you?’
‘Me? No. Nothing.’
Adam looked up the room and dropped his voice. ‘I’ve got another commission too. It’s supposed to be a secret but you won’t tell, will you? Or maybe you already know about it?’
Claire frowned, swallowing a mouthful of soup. ‘You’re being cryptic. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘I gather it’s Eve Pennyman’s seventieth this year and the family want me to do a painting for her of the vineyard and house.’
Claire pulled a face and shook her head. ‘I knew it was her seventieth but I didn’t know about the painting. Whose idea was that then?’
Adam finished the soup and pushed the bowl away. ‘I don’t know. It was Julia who rang me. I’m going to do some sketches and take them round to show them.’
He pulled the cellophane off the sandwiches and they fell silent again. Claire picked up the last piece of her bread and fingered it, glancing across at Adam.
‘You said Jane talks to you while you're working. How well do you think you know her?’
He shrugged. ‘Not very. Probably not as well as you do.’
‘It’s years since I knew her well and she didn’t do this natural healing thing back then.’ She hesitated. ‘I was wondering if you think she’s genuine with all these séances and things?’
‘Genuine? You mean, does she believe it?’ He smiled, grimly. ‘Yes, I think she believes it. She’s not a fraud in that way.’
‘But she is a fraud, you think? You don’t think she has any special gifts?’
‘No, I don’t. I don’t believe in all that psychic stuff so I’m afraid I can’t take it seriously.’ He picked up his second sandwich but didn’t start it and looked back up at her. ‘Why? Do you?’
‘No. Not really. It’s just…’ She frowned. ‘Jane came round to me for New Year's Eve and said she could ‘read’ people’s belongings, that she could see things about them if she held something that was personal to them.’ She hesitated again, put the last piece of bread in her mouth and looked round as she ate, checking there was no-one who could hear. She dropped her voice. ‘She held a scarf belonging to Laura and she seemed to know all about where Laura had worn it. It was spooky.’
Adam stared at her thoughtfully, chewing mechanically. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘She must have picked something up from things you’d said. These people use all sorts of information they glean along the way - odd things they’ve seen or overheard.’
‘I thought you said you thought she was genuine?’
‘She probably doesn’t realise she’s doing it - picking up signals, I mean. Maybe things come to mind and she forgets she’s read about it somewhere or overheard someone talking.’
Claire wrinkled up her nose. ‘I don’t know. Jane’s bright - always has been. I can’t believe she wouldn’t remember that she’d heard something before.’
‘If you want to believe something enough, you let yourself. Why are you so interested in it, anyway?’
She pushed her bowl away and sat back in the chair. ‘I was just a bit surprised. That’s all.’
He finished eating and took a mouthful of coffee, studying her face.
‘I’m guessing you were thinking of giving her something of Gilly’s. What did you think she would be able to tell you?’
‘Don’t be absurd,’ she responded crisply. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘Oh, come on. Given what happened to Gilly, it wasn’t rocket science to work out what you had in mind.’
She picked up her mug of tea and didn’t reply.
Adam leaned forward. ‘I was reading about Gilly’s disappearance. It’s hard to understand how it happened in a place as small as this.’
‘I know,’ said Claire lugubriously. ‘That’s what everyone says. And everyone has an opinion too.’
‘I’ve been reading them. There are a lot of sick people out there.’
‘Tell me about it. Some people talk as if you didn’t care or even wanted it to happen. You try to ignore it all but it hurts just the same.’ She frowned, studying his face curiously. ‘What made you read about it?’
‘I seemed to be the only person in the country who didn’t know about it. And it intrigued me.’ He smiled. ‘Anyway, look, if you ever want to talk it through or test out a theory…’ He stabbed at his chest with an emphatic finger, the smile broadening. ‘…I’m your man. I’ve become a mini-expert on who said what and when.’
‘This is not a game,’ she hissed, annoyed at his flippant tone. ‘Or…or…or a cheap whodunit for you to solve. And why the hell would I want to talk to you about it?’
‘Because you’re the one who brought it up,’ he hissed back, glancing towards an adjacent table where two women were looking in their direction. He gave Claire a warning look. ‘There you were talking about Jane’s ‘gifts’ and reading objects,’ he muttered. ‘It was pretty obvious you were thinking about Gilly. So clearly it’s on your mind. It was only an offer.’
Claire put the back of her fingers to her mouth, staring at the table, calming herself. He was right of course. In many ways she was more cross with herself than with him.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I overreacted. It’s just…’
She shook her head, unsure what to say. She was so touchy these days and she hated it. She took another mouthful of her now cold tea, then abandoned it, mumbled a few parting words and left.
Tim was standing near the counter as she walked back to the door, looking her way, and she wondered how long he had been watching her. He smiled genially and sauntered across to join her.
‘Hello stranger,’ he said. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine, thanks. And you?’
‘Oh yes, I’m good. I was thinking, Claire…?’ He hesitated.
‘Yes?’
‘You should come over to my place sometime - have a coffee or a drink or something. We could catch up.’
He’s desperate to know what’s going on, she thought.
‘Thanks. I will,’ she lied. ‘Sorry Tim, I have to go. I need to get back to work.’
‘Sure.’
She crossed the road back to the Craft Yard. What with the women eavesdropping at the neighbouring table, the restaurant staff and now Tim, in a couple of days she’d probably hear on the village grapevine that she and Adam were having a torrid affair. At the very least, Neil would be sure to hear about it, and the thought made her smile.
*
After several days of indecision, it was the last Friday of the month when Claire finally went back to the Natural Healing unit.
‘Claire,’ Jane said serenely as she walked in the door. ‘How lovely. I was just thinking about you. I had a feeling we would meet today. It’s amazing that we work so near and yet hardly ever see each other.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Claire rammed a lock of hair behind her right ear nervously then put her hand down on the counter top, tapping a rhythm with her finger. In the pocket of her jacket she fingered the velvet pouch with her other hand.
‘Can I help you with something?’ Jane prompted.
‘Maybe. When you came round to my house, you said you could ‘r
ead’ objects, that they could tell you things about their owner.’
‘Yes.’ Jane looked at her expectantly.
‘The thing is, I’ve got something of Gilly’s and I wondered if you could…I mean, I’ll pay you of course. It would be a business thing. Only, I’d need you to promise to keep it to yourself.’
‘My consultations are always confidential,’ said Jane primly.
‘Yes, of course.’ Claire pulled the velvet pouch out of her pocket, glanced towards the door to check there was no-one around, then tipped the hair slide onto her palm. She held it out for Jane to see.
‘It’s this. Could you use this to tell me something about her?’
Jane picked it up and examined it, turning it over and back again.
‘What exactly do you hope to find out?’ she asked, at length.
‘I’m not sure. But I don’t think she’s dead. We can’t assume it, can we, just because she hasn’t returned?’ Claire’s voice became more urgent. ‘She might be being held somewhere against her will. We hear about that happening all the time. She might be somewhere near here. I want to know what happened to her. I want to find her. And maybe this slide will give you some information about her.’ She gestured with a desperate hand. ‘A sensation of the place she’s being kept, maybe. Anything which might help.’
An expression of pity crossed Jane’s face, fleeting and gone, and she was studying the slide again, sucking her lower lip. She looked up into Claire’s face.
‘I sense there’s something else you’re not telling me.’
‘No.’ Claire shook her head. ‘What else is there to know?’ She met Jane’s gaze levelly.
‘If I don’t have all the information, it will make it harder for me to get a reading.’
Claire’s stomach twisted with disappointment. After days of arguing with herself, she had quashed all her misgivings to do this out of desperation to do something - anything - which might move her forward. But this was insane.
‘I shouldn’t have come,’ she said and held out her hand for the slide. ‘It was stupid of me. What did I really expect you to do?’
‘No,’ said Jane. ‘Don’t give up, Claire. I just said it would be harder, not impossible.’ She still fingered the slide and Claire let her arm drop. ‘If you’re sure there’s nothing else you can tell me?’
‘No. There’s nothing else.’
Jane nodded slowly. ‘Then I’ll see what I can do. It’s not the most personal of items, is it? Even so, I’ll try.’
‘Gilly did love it though. It was her favourite.’
‘Good. Well, I think this will require some time so you’ll have to leave it with me for a couple of days so I can meditate on it.’
‘No, I can’t do that.’
‘Then I can’t help.’
Their eyes locked.
‘All right,’ said Claire. ‘But please take care of it, Jane, won’t you? I know it’s not much but it is important to me.’
‘I understand, Claire.’ Jane offered a sympathetic smile. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll look after it. If you give me that pouch, it’ll protect it when I’m not working with it.’
Claire passed it over. ‘When will I hear from you?’
‘As soon as I’ve had a chance to work on it. Not long. Two or three days maybe.’
Claire hesitated, then gave a brief, terse nod. ‘OK. Thanks.’
*
Claire struggled to settle. Laura rang on the Sunday and she put the slide out of her mind, determined to make the most of these rare and precious moments with her daughter. But as soon as the call was ended it intruded on her again. She wished she could talk to someone else about it but there wasn’t anyone. Neil came to mind regularly; she even got as far as picking up the phone to ring him but didn’t. He was the first person she always thought of but he’d be the last to understand. He’d tell her to get rid of the slide, tell her she was crazily obsessed, tell her that only a really sad person would take a hair slide to a supposed psychic and expect the woman to tell her something about its owner - even if that owner had been Gilly, which it almost certainly wasn’t. In a quiet and insidious voice, common sense told her that she agreed with him.
But still she hoped because she couldn’t bear not to, because it felt like the last chance she had of doing anything constructive to help Gilly.
Jane rang on the Tuesday evening, apologising for having taken so long. It had needed a lot of meditation, she said.
‘Would you like to come to my house?’ she suggested. ‘It would be more private. Come tomorrow night after work, say six o’clock?’
Jane lived in a Victorian house set back off the road north out of the village about three-quarters of a mile towards Lostwithiel. Claire remembered it from childhood visits. It had seemed enormous then with two generous floors plus a cellar. The other houses in the tiny hamlet had been agricultural cottages, built to serve a large farm long since broken up and sold off. Claire took the car and parked it close up on the road outside. It was pitch dark but a light on the corner of the building lit up both Jane’s small Peugeot on the drive and the path to the front door. The faint tinkle of wind chimes like the ones in the shop drifted to her on the breeze as she rang the bell and waited. There was a light misting of rain in the February night air.
Opening the door, Jane smiled broadly. ‘Come in,’ she said. ‘Welcome.’ She peered outside. ‘Miserable night, isn’t it? Come and get warm.’
The long hallway was as bright as the unit, painted in warm, pale colours which almost glowed in the artificial light. On one wall was a large mirror and on the other, a large sign read: Peace, Joy, Light. Jane showed Claire into the front room. The curtains had been drawn and the only light came from candles. The room was bare save for a long low table covered with a white cloth and a tall candle at each end, two chairs pushed back against the wall, and several cushions strewn on the wooden floor. Nightlights in small glass bowls were positioned around the perimeter of the floor.
‘Would you prefer a chair or are you happy to sit on a cushion?’ said Jane. ‘Sitting together on the floor is more natural, makes it easier for us to share. But if you’d prefer…?’
‘No, cushions are fine.’
Claire quickly dumped her bag on one of the chairs and got down on the floor. Increasingly she just wanted to get this over with; she wanted to leave.
Jane closed the door, walked to the table and picked up the slide. Claire had seen it there, centred between the candles, like an offering to the gods. Now Jane was sitting cross-legged on a cushion next to her, hands held in her lap, palms up, one resting on the other, the slide on top. She sat erect, chin held high, and closed her eyes.
Claire wondered if she was supposed to close her eyes too.
‘Perhaps you’d like to close your eyes,’ murmured Jane.
Claire did, then opened one a crack and looked sideways at her companion. She seemed to be completely immersed in herself. Claire envied Jane’s composure, her apparent self-containment. And she seemed to have an uncanny way of guessing what Claire was thinking.
‘We must concentrate on Gilly,’ Jane was saying. ‘We have to focus on her completely if we are to pick up her energy.’
Claire tried to think about Gilly. Nothing happened. She struggled to believe in this quasi-religious ritual and had to keep telling herself to focus.
‘It’s always good to have more than one mind willing the energy to us,’ Jane was intoning in an even, mellifluous voice. ‘I have done the preparatory work but you are so close to Gilly. The strength of your bond and emotions will help to guide and lead her to us.’
‘But surely…’ began Claire.
‘Sssh,’ said Jane softly. ‘Relax; think of Gilly; imagine her here, with us now, a bright energy.’
Claire took a deep breath and let it out slowly. A succession of images began to run through her mind: Gilly falling over and cutting her left knee in the same place she always did; Gilly as an unlikely curly blond Virgin Mary in the school
nativity play, looking angelic; Gilly rapt, watching a Punch and Judy show; Gilly’s face on the front of the newspapers in the shop. It was all too busy, too confusing.
‘Concentrate, Claire.’
She took another deep breath and tried to imagine her little girl standing in front of them instead. And for a moment she did. Gilly was there, smiling, her head tilted slightly to one side in that quizzical way she had. She was even wearing the hair slide as if she had reached forward and taken it from Jane’s hand. Claire felt as if she could stretch out her own hand and touch her, maybe hug her. She felt her chin start to wobble and pressed her lips together hard.
‘Ye-es,’ said Jane. ‘Yes, I’m getting something now. Oh yes.’
Claire squeezed her eyes tighter still, willing it to be true, concentrating even harder on the image of Gilly she had burning into the back of her eyelids.
‘I can see trees…’ said Jane. ‘Yes. Yes, trees tossing in the breeze.’
There was a pause. Claire wished she could see them too. She could hear Jane breathing in little gasps as if she was experiencing something deeply emotional. Then she moved in some way. Claire wanted to open her eyes to find out what she was doing but didn’t dare.
‘I can sense water…yes, it’s somewhere near.’ Jane tutted. ‘It’s coming and going. It’s not strong.’
‘What’s not strong: the sensation of water?’
Jane ignored her. Maybe she hadn’t even heard her. She was almost whimpering, her breath still coming in little gasps.
‘Is she all right?’ Claire asked. No reply. She raised her voice. ‘Is she all right?’ she demanded. ‘Is she in pain?’
‘No.’ Jane’s voice had an absent note as if she were speaking from far away. ‘No, she’s not in pain.’