by Lynda Renham
Reverend Ryan looked at her doubtfully.
‘I know they talk about me at church and say I’m a fraud. It’s just that sometimes the spirits elude me when I need them the most and that tends to be more often than not. All the same, I did sense something tonight and it’s frightened me.’
Henry sat forward.
‘What she means is, up until now, she’s been faking it and taking money too. Tonight though, she sensed me. That’s what she’s trying to tell you. It’s just taking her a long time.’
‘What has frightened you tonight?’ asked Reverend Ryan kindly, although Henry could tell the last thing he wanted to talk about was Faye’s psychic gift.
‘Sometimes I have bad days. It’s like any job,’ explained Faye.
Reverend Ryan and Henry gave a collective sigh.
‘It’s my responsibility to do the right thing.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Henry. ‘Tell him then.’
‘I was at the Frazer’s house tonight,’ she said.
‘The Frazer’s,’ repeated Reverend Ryan, his forehead creasing in concentration as he tried to place the name.
‘They don’t go to our church,’ she explained.
‘Ah,’ smiled Reverend Ryan.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ cried Henry. ‘We’ll still be here at Christmas the rate you’re going.’
‘Henry Frazer was … It was awful …’
Reverend Ryan tapped his forehead. ‘Ah, yes. It was a terrible tragedy. How is his wife?’
Faye’s hand had started to shake, and she put down the flowery teacup.
‘She’s been hearing things,’ said Faye, her eyes locking onto Reverend Ryan’s.
Reverend Ryan shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
‘She is, of course, in a deep state of grief. People experience all kinds of things at difficult times,’ he said carefully.
Faye licked her lips. Henry could see she didn’t like to disagree with the vicar. I suppose it’s like disagreeing with God, thought Henry.
‘I sensed Henry Frazer,’ she said. ‘We used … Mrs Frazer wanted me to … to make contact. So I took the Ouija board.’
Reverend Ryan raised his eyebrows and shifted in his seat.
‘Miss Wilson, you realise that divination is a sin.’
Faye sat forward, leaning her elbows on her knees. The heat from the fire had turned her cheeks a bright red.
‘But I can’t help it. It’s a gift, you see.’
Reverend Ryan lifted the teacup to his lips and savoured the sharp taste of lemon.
‘So, something happened this evening that has disturbed you?’
Henry saw his eyes glance surreptitiously at the clock. He never imagined that his early night would be thwarted by a ghost, smiled Henry.
‘I sensed him,’ said Faye. ‘In fact, I think I might have seen him.’
‘I’ve no doubt my dear, that the apparition that you thought you saw, had, of course, been no more than a distortion of the light. I imagine you dimmed the lights and lit candles?’
‘Well, yes,’ agreed Faye.
‘Frightening yourselves to death,’ he smiled.
‘The blood chilled in my veins. I sensed him and he moved the planchette and …’
‘Planchette?’ queried Reverend Ryan.
‘The pointer on the Ouija board, it moves towards letters and …’
‘Oh yes,’ he smiled.
Henry thought his eyes mocked her. He doesn’t believe a word of it. Still, thought Henry. I don’t suppose I would either.
‘He said he wasn’t dead.’
‘At last,’ cheered Henry. Surely the reverend would take this seriously.
Reverend Ryan looked at her quizzically, for in another whisper, she said,
‘I think he’s stuck, you know?’
Chapter Thirty-Six
Henry waited patiently for Reverend Ryan to respond. His expression gave nothing away, but Henry could tell he had been taken aback. Henry felt sure he’d call his wife down from upstairs in a moment and ask her advice.
‘Call the police,’ she’d say, and Reverend Ryan would tuck in his shirt and together they would wait for the police to come.
Against his better judgement, Henry had decided that perhaps a vicar should have been his first port of call. Vicars knew all about death and dying more than anyone and no doubt something about that strange waiting place where people sometimes get stuck, or, as in Henry’s case, where something had gone disastrously wrong. They would go to the police station and someone would contact Imogen. That would put Jim in his place, thought Henry gleefully. His attention was quickly pulled back to the vicar.
‘I rather think you’re getting carried away with this,’ he said.
Faye licked her dry lips, then remembered the tea and took a large gulp from the flowery teacup.
‘Don’t you think we should help him?’
Henry was getting frustrated.
‘Don’t you think you should call the police?’ he demanded.
‘My dear Miss Wilson …’ the vicar began in a patronising tone. ‘I can assure you that Henry Frazer is most certainly dead and even if he isn’t, the most we can do is pray for him and I promise to include him in my prayers tonight.’
‘Would you?’ said Faye, looking relieved.
‘Of course, I’d be very happy to.’
‘You don’t think we should call the police?’
Reverend Ryan smiled indulgently.
‘I don’t think a dead person’s words are very reliable, do you?’
‘Why not?’ asked Henry. ‘No one’s word is more reliable than mine.’
‘I suppose the messages can get distorted,’ she agreed.
‘We would be discredited immediately, and it would do nothing for my reputation or yours.’
Henry gaped at him.
‘Well …’ said Faye, faltering.
‘Don’t give up,’ cried Henry. ‘I need to get this sorted.’
Reverend Ryan stretched, managing to pull out more of his shirt.
Henry had somehow ended up in the river and was unable to swim. In the movies drowning is loud and splashy, someone yells and waves their arms, and then they dip below the waves and come up in dramatic fashion while those on shore scramble to rescue them. Henry had been a lifeguard and he knew drowning never happened like that. Drowning is quiet. One minute your head is bobbing above the water and then it is gone. But Henry wouldn’t have drowned. Not in the park river. There should have been an autopsy. They would have seen then that Henry was as fit as a twenty-year-old. Henry didn’t fall into the water. He was pushed. He needn’t have worried about the suspicious mole killing him off or the big C. No, Henry needn’t have worried about them. There was only one person he needed to worry about. It was his wife he needed to fear; his wife who had plotted and carried out his murder. Henry felt very sure about that. Who else would want to kill him? He had no enemies. Lust can make you do all kinds of things. It had been the cause of numerous murders throughout history. Henry had read enough to know that the murderer is nearly always someone the victim knew. The woman he thought he knew so well; his wife, the stranger. The one person he had trusted the most. It had been her. He wouldn’t have made it easy, thought Henry. I would have kicked out desperately as I tried to swim to the surface. The dark dingy water swirling around me, trapping me, keeping me from the oxygen I needed. Henry’s lungs felt on fire just thinking about it. The hot embers couldn’t reach him now. He was chilled to the very bones of his being. Slowly everything would have faded away, painfully and quietly. He hadn’t been strong enough to overpower Jim. But why was he still here? Why hadn’t he gone to wherever dead people go? What was he supposed to do now? Clearly, Faye couldn’t help him, and the vicar was as good as useless. The insurance money, he thought with a jolt. It was most likely to do with that. Jim had talked her into it. Now, everyone was going to let him get away with it.
Faye allowed Reverend Ryan to pour her more tea and gratefully ac
cepted his offer of a macaroon. Henry glanced at the photographs of Reverend Ryan and his wife that sat on the mantelpiece and thought that perhaps Reverend Ryan and his wife had consumed one too many macaroons over the years.
‘Now, why don’t you put all this silliness behind you and focus more on serving God. We need ladies like you at church.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Faye easily flattered.
Henry rolled his eyes.
‘Yes, let’s not focus on unimportant things like murder.’
He watched as Reverend Ryan and Faye ate another macaroon. If the vicar could have opened his mouth any wider he would have eaten the whole thing in one go, Henry thought, his lip curling in disgust. As it was, he took off a half of it in one massive chomp. Then he crunched it up with his mouth opening every time he chewed, treating Henry to a view of the partially masticated biscuit.
‘Right,’ said Henry decisively, standing up.
Faye, now full of macaroons, stood up also.
‘Thank you so much, I feel so much better.’
‘See you in church,’ smiled Reverend Ryan, leading her to the front door.
‘Not in a month of Sundays,’ Henry quipped.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Henry walked to Rita’s in a daze. He felt very tired and it didn’t help that he got lost once and had to retrace his steps. It was still raining, and Henry figured he couldn’t get any wetter. He had no idea whether it was nine. He was still reeling from the séance. It had left him quite drained, and the time with Reverend Ryan had only frustrated him more. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this tired. Rita would comfort him. He’d be able to sleep on her cosy couch and maybe she’d even make him a mug of hot chocolate. He’d ask for lots of sugar. Hopefully that would revive him. He finally saw the bus stop and hoped a bus would turn the corner at any moment, but he was too tired to stand and wait and far too tired to walk. If only he could hail a taxi. Then just as he decided to continue walking a bus turned the corner and Henry got on. It was a relief to sit down. Henry smelt fish and chips and realised he was quite hungry. A lad in front of him was tucking into a bag of chips and they smelt delicious. Henry suddenly felt angry that he could be so hungry but couldn’t walk into the fish and chip shop and buy himself some food. He got off the bus and walked the short distance to Rita’s bedsit. Loud voices reached him as he approached, and it took a moment for him to realise it was Billy’s blaring television set. Henry had forgotten about him. He was about to ring the doorbell when it opened, and Rita stood smiling at him.
‘I saw you from the window,’ she said.
The sounds of the television were louder now. Billy was watching another stupid comedy show with canned laughter.
‘Is it too late?’ he asked, hoping very much she would say it wasn’t.
‘I thought you weren’t coming and that perhaps you had sorted everything out and were having sausages with Imogen.’
The mention of sausages made Henry hungry all over again.
‘What is the time?’ he asked, stupidly glancing at his watch.
‘Almost ten,’ she said.
‘Oh, I hadn’t realised it was that late. I was hoping for a hot chocolate and maybe a sandwich.’
Rita thought he made her bedsit sound like a café, but she didn’t really mind. She liked preparing food for Henry.
‘I’ve made you a cheese and tomato,’ said Rita proudly. ‘I’ve not had my hot chocolate yet.’
Henry thought if he stood on the doorstep for much longer the rain would wash him away.
‘Can I come in?’
‘Oh yes, hurry before Billy hears us.’
‘Hears you,’ corrected Henry.
No one ever saw him; no one at all.
The cheese and tomato sandwich was excellent. Even better was the fact, that once he’d finished it, it miraculously appeared on the plate again.
‘I wonder, can I stop the night again?’ asked Henry.
‘Oh,’ said Rita. She hadn’t been expecting that.
‘Is it not convenient?’ asked Henry. ‘Could I have two sugars in the chocolate? It’s been a very odd night.’ And Henry proceeded to tell Rita all about it.
Rita was shocked to hear that Imogen had held a séance in Henry’s house. Heaven alone knows what she had conjured up. It was so unfair on Henry.
‘I wish you could have been there,’ said Henry.
Rita was grateful that she hadn’t been there. What if Henry had brought bad spirits back with him? They clung on tightly, did evil spirits. She touched the cross that lay comfortingly at her breast. Grandmother Monk had given it to her after her father’s funeral.
‘May my son rest in peace,’ she’d whispered. ‘Although I know he doesn’t deserve to. This will forever keep you safe from harm. Don’t lose it.’
She’d kissed it lovingly before placing it around Rita’s neck where it had stayed ever since. Rita stroked it now, in the same way she always did whenever she was with Billy. Nothing could touch her if she was wearing it. But, thought Rita, some spirits could ...
‘What do you make of it all?’ Henry asked, interrupting her thoughts.
Rita sipped her hot chocolate. It was now cold. She’d been so enthralled by Henry’s tale of Ouija boards and murder that she had totally forgotten about it.
‘I think séances are very dangerous,’ she said.
‘It’s stuff and nonsense,’ stated Henry.
‘But you made contact,’ she reminded him.
‘Well, yes,’ he agreed. ‘I had hoped to get through to Imogen, you see.’
‘But you were able to communicate which surely means it isn’t stuff and nonsense.’
Rita found herself disliking Imogen more and more. Why would Henry’s wife want to have an affair with that hard-looking man? If Henry was Rita’s husband, she would never ever look at another man. She placed her mug of hot chocolate into the microwave. It would have been wasteful to throw it away.
Henry stroked his chin thoughtfully.
‘It seems my life wasn’t really my life at all.’
‘Or your wife wasn’t the woman you thought she was.’
‘Yes, that too. The question now is, do I accept I’m dead? Perhaps that’s what I have to do to move on.’
Rita suddenly remembered the hot chocolate, but she was too late and had it spilled over the rim of the mug onto the microwave plate.
‘Oh,’ she exclaimed miserably, mopping up the milk.
‘I just don’t think I can go to my resting place without knowing exactly how I died,’ said Henry, oblivious to the milk catastrophe.
‘No,’ said Rita, wringing out the cloth.
‘If my wife murdered me, then I want to know.’
Rita froze with the wet cloth dripping water down the front of her blouse.
‘Imogen,’ she said stunned. ‘You think Imogen murdered you? Oh, Henry, that’s awful.’
Henry was quiet for a moment and Rita, so immersed in the horrific thoughts of Henry’s murder at the hands of his wife, didn’t notice Henry move towards her. His hand lightly touched her arm.
‘If I am dead and for no other reason, I’m grateful it brought me to you and we’ve had this time together,’ he said gently. ‘It may never have happened otherwise.’
‘I’ve enjoyed our time together,’ said Rita, surprising herself.
It may have been Henry’s weariness, an inability to fight his feelings or maybe he was desperate for comfort, but he found his arms encircling Rita’s body.
‘Oh, Henry,’ she whispered, her body softening under his warm embrace.
It was only meant to be a grateful hug; a thank you for being there but Henry was overcome with need and longing. He was drowning in an ocean of despair and Rita was keeping him afloat. The sweet smell of bluebells and peach shampoo caused him to lose his head. His lips brushed hers. Not innocently, but hot, fiery, passionate and demanding. He wanted to pull away before he lost himself totally in her delicious fragrance. In that moment his senses ha
d been seduced and he could no longer think straight.
‘Rita,’ he whispered.
Rita’s heart fluttered at his voice. Never before had her name sounded so wonderful. She closed her eyes and when he kissed her, the world fell away. His mouth tasted of chocolate and was warm and soft on hers. Rita was completely unprepared. She’d spent so long watching Henry talk, laugh and smile and thought she knew all there was to know about his lips. But she hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed up against her own.
The ear-splitting wail of a car siren jolted Henry to his senses.
‘My God, what am I doing,’ he exclaimed. ‘Rita, forgive me.’
Rita stumbled back. The loss of Henry’s arms leaving her unsteady. She struggled to hide her disappointment.
‘Oh, Henry …’ she began, her voice thick with emotion.
‘I’m all at sea, that’s what it is,’ explained Henry.
‘Yes,’ agreed Rita, who for once didn’t agree with Henry at all.
Henry turned from her and looked out of the window.
‘It’s raining cats and dogs,’ he said with a small sigh.
Rita was still standing where Henry had left her. She didn’t know where to go. There were no other rooms to escape to. She stared at Henry’s back. His shoulders were slumped like he was carrying a dead weight on them.
Henry watched the rain and wondered how he could possibly stay the night. A policeman strolled by and Henry thought he could rush down and explain his predicament but what would be the point? The policeman wouldn’t see him. Henry would get agitated all over again and he really didn’t have the energy to get agitated any more.
‘I’ll get you a towel,’ Rita said as she rummaged through the drawers of her wardrobe.
Henry wasn’t sure he could trust himself to stay the night. Rita’s warm body was comforting, and he was in dire need of comfort. His life as he’d once known it, was dead, just like him. Life, he decided, sucks.
‘I must go home,’ he said, while every beat of his heart said, ‘I want to stay.’
Rita bowed her head and said softly. ‘I understand. I do.’
He leant forward and kissed her softly on the forehead. Rita was suddenly overcome with emotion and wished she had her hot chocolate to calm her, but it was getting cold again. It wouldn’t feel right going to bed without having the hot chocolate.