I laughed but it was more through nerves than finding what she’d said funny. Most Saturday mornings I’d do normal stuff – catching up on the week, maybe a DIY manicure, check emails, maybe Facebook, a bit of study but now here I was in a cemetery going to look for the grave of what could be my former dead body. It doesn’t get any weirder, however, there was no going back now. I felt compelled to carry on and see where it led.
At ten on the dot, a man with sandy hair, in his sixties, dressed in an old grey cardigan and corduroy trousers, opened the wrought iron gates and beckoned the group inside.
‘Those for the western cemetery this way,’ he called. ‘Three pounds each. Those here to see Karl Marx’s grave, you’ll find it opposite in the eastern cemetery.’
‘A communist plot,’ whispered Effy and Tash giggled.
We dropped our money into a box on the way in and waited with the group in the cobbled courtyard.
Our guide soon motioned for us to follow him and began his talk.
‘The building behind is made up of two chapels, one for the Anglicans, one for dissenters. . .’
I looked back at the chapels and then into the woodland where I could see the tops of headstones amidst profuse greenery and trees.
‘The western cemetery first opened in 1839 as one of the seven new cemeteries,’ the guide continued, ‘known as the Magnificent Seven, around the outside of London. The eastern side was added in 1854 and can be toured unaccompanied. About one hundred and seventy thousand persons are buried here in fiftyone thousand graves which vary from the minute plot markers for foundlings and tiny children to the ornate and ostentatious monuments we’ll see further on.’
As our group moved on down one of the paths leading away from the courtyard, I looked around. It was nothing like I had imagined. Nature had been left to go completely wild and the crumbling and cracked gravestones were overgrown with moss, weeds and ivy. As we progressed, we saw statues of kneeling angels and bowed Madonnas which were all the more poignant because of their decaying appearance. Despite my nerves, I couldn’t help but find the cemetery eerily enchanting, like walking into the perfect Gothic film set. Tash had been right, I did love it.
We walked up a sloping path through a confusion of trees and shrubs. Ivy seemed to have taken over everywhere; untamed it had grown over headstones, up trees, across the winding paths.
‘In the early days,’ said our guide, ‘there were only a handful of trees and row upon row of neatly maintained graves. There was formality and solemnity . . .’
No longer, I thought, but that’s what gives it its charm.
Effy stopped and read the inscription on one grave. ‘Stop stranger there as you go by, as you are now, so once was I,’ she read. ‘As I am now, so you shall be, so be prepared to follow me.’
‘To follow you, I’d be content ... if only I knew which way you went,’ I added. That set Tash off laughing and our guide gave her a filthy look.
We read various other gravestones: to Martha, beloved wife, or Bertram, who fell asleep, Emma, who is now in peace.
‘Makes you think, doesn’t it? We’re all going to die but no one ever talks about it.’
Effy and Tash nodded, serious for a moment.
‘Well, we are in a graveyard,’ said Tash. ‘I wonder where they went. Where we go.’
‘If anywhere,’ I said. ‘It would help if, when we got our birth certificates, we got our date of death as well, like a driving licence or credit card, you know, it gives you the date of issue, date of expiry. Then you could prepare.’
‘I don’t think I’d want to know,’ said Effy. ‘You might go round being miserable all the time. Like I’m do-oomed.’
‘Or maybe you’d make sure you really appreciate each day’ said Tash.
‘Oo get us,’ said Effy, ‘coming over all deep.’
‘Hard not to in a place like this,’ I said.
The guide frowned at us from the front of the group. ‘Shh, over there.’
‘I wish we could break away from the group,’ I said as I looked at the various pathways through the trees.
‘Yeah but I wouldn’t want to get lost in here,’ said Tash. ‘It would be like The Blair Witch Project times ten.’
‘Times fifty thousand people or however many are buried in here. What if they all came out of their graves at night?’ asked Effy.
‘We could do the Thriller routine,’ I said. We’d done it for an end of term show in Year Seven. I did a few moves and once again the guide at the front frowned at us.
‘I read in one of Mum’s magazines that they did a survey of the most common last words before dying,’ said Tash.
‘And what were they?’ I asked.
‘Oh shit.’
‘No. Seriously?’ I asked.
Effy nodded and this set us off laughing again. Our tour guide stopped what he was saying. ‘Can the group at the back pay attention and have some more respect for where they are, please?’
Tash and I straightened our faces immediately, but poor Effy was off on one of her laughing attacks and had to go into a coughing fit.
‘You’re having a coffin fit,’ whispered Tash.
Of course that made Effy worse and her shoulders were shaking helplessly.
‘Be quiet,’ I whispered, ‘or we’ll get thrown out.’
‘The Victorians loved the symbolism of death, for example here you have in the angel’s hand an upturned torch to symbolise life extinguished,’ said the guide as he pointed at a statue that looked like an angel from a Leonardo Da Vinci painting. The guide then pointed at a broken pillar behind him. ‘And here’s another popular symbol. The pillar is broken, it symbolises life and strength cut off.’
He led us further into the woods and all the time, Effy, Tash and I scanned the headstones looking for the name Watts.
Our guide suddenly stopped at a grave and when I saw the inscription on the headstone, my interest perked up even more. Elizabeth Siddal.
‘There’s a mystery surrounding the Siddal grave,’ our guide told us. ‘It’s said that Rossetti was so consumed with sadness when she died that, as an expression of his grief, he placed a notebook of his poems under her head. Seven years later, his popularity as a poet and artist was diminishing and his agent persuaded him to have the grave opened so that the book could be retrieved. It is said that when the coffin was opened, late one night, Elizabeth’s red hair had continued to grow and filled the coffin.’
‘Spooky,’ I said.
‘What a creep,’ said Effy. ‘Giving her a book of poems then digging her up to get them back. That’s so gross.’
‘I hope she haunted him,’ I said as our guide beckoned us on.
‘And now we reach the most famous part of the cemetery,’ said the guide. ‘Some call it the street or avenue of death or the Egyptian avenue and it leads to the circle of Lebanon.’
As we turned a corner, we came upon a magnificent stone gateway flanked by columns and obelisks worthy of a temple in Egypt. It looked as if it had been built into the side of a hill like the entrance to a cave. As we trooped through the gate, we saw a dark tunnel lined with tall chambers.
‘Note the upturned torches on the door frames,’ said the guide as he led us through and we looked up at the tall doors towering above us. ‘In here are twenty family catacombs.’
‘If there are families in here, maybe we’ll find the Wattses,’ said Effy.
I read the inscriptions next to the doors as we walked through but there were no Wattses. After a while, we came to some steps and climbed up to find another level of graves with an enormous cedar tree in the middle.
‘Take a look around,’ said the guide, ‘and we’ll reconvene in a few minutes.’
At last we were free to wander and the three of us split up to cover as much ground as we could. Some of the statues above the graves were works of art and looked like they must have cost a lot of money. I particularly liked the angels. A few minutes later, Effy ran to get me. ‘Over here,’ she said.
‘I’ve found them!’
I quickly followed her and there, set a short way back from the path, was a marble plinth with a statue of a seated woman in veils. She was leaning against an urn, her head bowed. In her right hand was an upturned torch, in her left, a wreath. I could just about make out the faded writing on the stone:
EDWARD WATTS: 1858–1916 AND HIS
BELOVD WIFE LYDIA: 1860–1933.
Underneath that was:
HOWARD WATTS: 1881–1914
DANIEL WATTS: 1896–1970 AND HIS
BELOVD WIFE 1901–1977.
‘Daniel must have been the little boy that Henrietta cared for,’ said Effy.
‘And Howard was only thirty-three when he died. So young,’ said Tash.
‘Looking at the date, maybe he died in the First World War,’ I commented. ‘And it looks as if he never married.’
It felt odd to be standing there over a stranger’s grave. What were this family like? I wondered. Whether I knew them or not, it was eerie to be there. Only a week ago, I was so sure of things. So sure of who I was. Now I felt like I didn’t know anything.
‘Moving on,’ called our guide and beckoned us to go back and join the group. ‘I have another group at eleven.’
‘Ask him about Henrietta,’ urged Tash and Effy raced forward to catch the guide up and we hurried to join her.
‘You need to talk to Harry. He looks after the grounds,’ the guide told Effy in answer to her question. ‘I can’t say the name Gleeson is a familiar one, but then some of the graves in the unconsecrated ground are unmarked. Harry will know though, or it will be on a map on the computer. All the graves are listed and accounted for.’
By this time, we were almost back at the courtyard we’d started from. We’d been around in a complete circle and could see a new group waiting at the gates. Our guide said goodbye and went over to greet them.
Effy, Tash and I made our way to the chapel where we found a middle-aged lady at a desk. ‘Is Harry here?’ I asked.
‘You just missed him, love,’ she said. ‘He’ll be back in a couple of hours. Can I help?’
Effy explained about the grave we were looking for.
‘No, Harry’s your man. I can’t help I’m afraid. Come back around two.’
I sighed. I was never going to get any homework done at this rate but no way was I going home now. We’d got so close and found the Watts grave. I had to stay and find Henrietta’s.
‘OK, let’s go and get a strong cappuccino,’ I said. ‘I need a break from the dead, let’s go and live a little.’
Chapter Seventeen
As we passed the florist’s shop on the way to the café in Highgate, I glanced in the window. I could see Ben inside. He was holding a bunch of white lilies and standing at the till.
I nudged Effy. ‘There’s Ben,’ I said and she went and virtually pressed her nose up against the window. I prayed that he wouldn’t turn around and see us. Effy can be so uncool sometimes. Luckily, he didn’t notice us so Effy gave up and we carried on to Costa.
‘Flowers, huh,’ she said as we went into the café and joined the queue for drinks. ‘So he must have a girlfriend somewhere. I wouldn’t have taken him for the romantic sort.’
‘Speculation,’ I said. ‘They might be for anyone his mum or someone’s birthday.’
‘Maybe they’re for you,’ said Effy.
‘As if,’ I said. ‘I don’t think he likes me very much.’
‘He invited you to his exhibition,’ said Tash. ‘He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t like you a bit.’
‘Whatever,’ I said. I didn’t care. It was Finn I cared about. I couldn’t get him out of my head. His laughing eyes, his cheeky grin. He’d sent me a text that morning: Need update on fortunetellers. Anything about us yet? I’d texted back, Dream on. He’d texted back a heart. But does he mean it? I wondered. I was still confused about whether he was genuinely interested or just a flirt. After the Sunday at the festival, I’d hoped that he might get in touch with me in the week but there had been nothing until the text that morning, not even a poke on Facebook. I’d been tempted to contact him but the thousands of girls on his list of friends on his Facebook page soon stopped me. Maybe it was time to share with Effy and Tash to get their opinion.
We found a table at the back of the café, settled down, and Effy and Tash began to talk about finding the Watts grave.
‘How did you feel standing there knowing that you were looking at Howard’s grave?’ asked Tash.
‘Actually I wanted to talk to you both about something else . . . er, OK I’m just going to come out with it. Forget about Howard for a moment and researching some dead guy I’m interested in a live one.’
Effy sighed.’Finn,’she said.
‘What? What’s the problem?’ I asked.
‘He is. I don’t want you to get hurt.’
‘Why should I? And at least he’s alive! Like . . . here we are looking into this Howard character who you’re both convinced is my soulmate and he doesn’t even exist any more, but right in front of me is Finn who does exist and . . . and he’s kind of got to me.’
‘He is gorgeous,’ said Tash, ‘but doesn’t he have a girlfriend?’
‘Yeah. A girlfriend; Effy agreed.
‘She wasn’t there last week in Highbury. We don’t really know anything for sure, do we? Like, how long have they been an item? How serious is it? She could be anyone. A mate even, like I am with Owen. If we’re going to research Howard, why can’t we research Finn as well?’
Tash nodded. ‘Fair point,’ she said.
What about Ben?’ asked Effy.
‘Ben?’ I asked. ‘What about him?’
‘Do you think it could be a coincidence that we just saw him on the very same day we found Howard’s grave?’ said Effy
‘A coincidence?’ I asked.
Effy nodded. ‘Maybe it’s a sign,’ she said but even she didn’t look totally convinced.
‘I’ve barely spoken to Ben and even when I have he’s been rude and distant. So no, Effy, I don’t think it’s a sign that we just saw him in the florist’s. Maybe every man we’ve seen this morning is a contender, a sign. Come on, even you have to admit that to consider Ben just because he was on the high street today is pretty ridiculous.’
Effy pouted and crossed her arms. ‘You should keep your options open. Consider other boys, that’s all I was saying.’
‘I do, I mean, I will. And actually, talking of other boys ... Has Owen got a girlfriend?’
Effy shook her head. ‘Not that I know of and not that he’d tell me if he did. Why?’
‘Oh . . . just he was with someone last time I called him. Susie.’
‘So you do call him?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Does it bother you he might be with someone?’ asked Tash.
‘Course not. I was just interested, that’s all. He’s my oldest mate, mate that’s a boy that is,’ I replied, but I noticed Tash shot Effy a look as if to say, yeah right.
‘You know it’s Finn I like,’ I said.
Effy nodded. ‘We do. I just don’t want you to get your heart broken, that’s all.’
‘I won’t. Look, I’m not stupid. I know that even if Finn isn’t seriously attached, he’d still have a queue of girls lining up and I might not have any chance, but he keeps popping up in my mind and he does flirt. He wouldn’t do that if he was seriously attached.’
‘He might,’ said Effy. ‘He might be one of these boys who has to prove that he can have anyone. A Casanova. I read an article once which said some boys have something called a Casanova Complex. It’s an ego thing, a need to know that they can get off with anyone but behind all the bravado they are actually insecure, hence the need to prove that they can pull over and over again. You don’t want to get involved with anyone like that.’
‘Insecure and Finn are not two words I’d put together,’ I said.
‘No,’ said Tash, ‘and if Jo has got feelings for him, she’d be mad not
to at least find out what his situation is.’
‘Yes. Thanks, Tash. See, Effy, maybe you’ve been right all along. Maybe I have been stuck in the past and maybe Betty was right about me being scared to take a risk when it comes to boys. Up till now I’ve told myself that Finn is out of my league, but I think I have to be brave. Take a chance on love.’
‘Sounds good. And if it’s meant to be, it will be,’ said Tash.
‘OK, but if you really do want to go for Finn, sometimes you have to give fate a hand,’ said Effy.
‘Meaning?’ I asked.
‘Maybe we should do a ritual,’ said Effy. ‘Some spell or something to attract the right boy to you.’
I laughed. ‘I don’t need one of your witchy rituals,’ I said. When we were in Year Nine, I had a crush on a boy called Jake. Effy told me to cover a photo of him in sugar, put it under my pillow then sleep on it. It was supposed to make Jake go sweet on me. All it did was get in my hair and make Mum mad because the sheets were so sticky. ‘Let’s keep it simple find out where Finn’s at and see what happens.’
‘You’re the boss,’ said Effy, ‘just tread carefully with him.’
Tash rubbed her hands. ‘In the meantime,’ she said, ‘we could ask around about him.’ She sighed and looked out of the window with a dreamy expression in her eyes. ‘Actually, you would make a lovely couple. How’s the article going by the way?’
‘I’m still working on it,’ I said. ‘There’s not been much time with everything else that’s been going on.’
‘I’ve been looking at books and CDs about clairvoyants to see if I can get some quotes. Should be good by the time we’ve finished,’ said Effy.
‘Maybe you could give the report to Finn in person,’ said Tash.
‘Maybe I will,’ I said as I thought about his text this morning. It was the perfect excuse.
‘I could find out his address,’ said Effy. ‘I told you his parents are looking for a house so Mum will have their details on her files somewhere. I’ll look for you next time I’m in.’
Yay. At last, the kind of research I really am interested in! I thought.
After our strong cappuccinos, I felt ready for the next round and we set off once more for the cemetery. Outside the café, the sky had darkened, threatening rain.
Love at Second Sight Page 10