by Lucy Banks
I wonder how one is meant to act when surrounded by insane people? He looked around for something to defend himself with. The best he could find was an antique paperknife on the desk behind him, though its tarnished blade suggested it had seen better days. Was it improper to threaten lunatics with a paperknife? Or should he simply try to escape at the first opportunity?
“I hate to tell you this, Kester, but that’s actually not true,” Miss Wellbeloved said, interrupting his thoughts. “It’s what the government would have you believe, but the reality of the situation is very different. The supernatural is very real indeed.”
Kester straightened his collar. “I’m ever so sorry,” he said in as polite a tone as he could muster. “But I’m afraid I don’t believe you. Not one little bit.”
“Dios mio! And you’re meant to be my son?” Dr Ribero exclaimed, shaking a fist at the ceiling, as though berating the heavens themselves. “But that cannot be! I could never produce so narrow-minded a creature, no?”
“Dr Ribero, please remember, this is all very new to him,” Miss Wellbeloved said warningly. She turned to Kester. “This is precisely why your mother asked him to stay away from you. We run a very unusual type of business here, and she didn’t want you involved in it when you were a child.”
“Hang on,” Kester said heavily. “Just a moment please.”
Miss Wellbeloved and Dr Ribero waited patiently, observing him with implacable severity. He felt like a beetle under a microscope, about to be squashed.
What on earth am I meant to do? he wondered. Nothing in his twenty-two years of life so far had prepared him for this kind of situation, and he felt utterly helpless. All that he had learnt about social etiquette seemed completely useless in this current situation. There had never been a time at Cambridge where he’d been educated on how to address people who were potentially mad.
He cast his mind to Alice in Wonderland, one of his favourite childhood books. How had Alice dealt with the Mad Hatter? Humour him, he thought, with sudden clarity. Humour them both. That’s the way out of this situation.
However, there was something in their faces that deterred him from this approach. Neither looked at all mad, despite their outrageous claims. In fact, a more classic image of sanity would be hard to find. The austere ruler-straightness of Miss Wellbeloved and the charismatic elegance of Ribero didn’t work at all with his preconceived notions of insanity.
“You said earlier my mum used to work here,” he began, proceeding with the delicacy of a tiptoeing ballet dancer. “Are you seriously telling me that my mother used to investigate ghosts?”
“Aha, now he finally starts to grasp it!” Dr Ribero said, with a sarcastic slap of the thigh. Miss Wellbeloved shot him a look. She leaned over, grasping Kester by the arm.
“Come on,” she said firmly. “Perhaps if the others tell you more about what they do, you’ll understand things a bit better.”
“Hey, you are not having this conversation without me,” Dr Ribero said hastily, rising from the chair with an energy quite at odds with his age. “I will come with you.”
“Hang on, I’m not sure I want to come with you myself yet!” Kester squawked, pulling his arm from her grip as politely as he could. He smoothed down his hair, shoved his glasses up his nose, and eyed them with deep suspicion.
“What are you going to do instead, cower in my office all afternoon?” Dr Ribero said.
“Well, no. No, of course not. But I rather thought I might leave. This is all a bit too silly.”
“You still don’t believe us?” Ribero barked.
“Of course I don’t believe you!” Kester replied, finally losing his cool. “You’re telling me you investigate ghosts for a living, which is just plain bloody mad!”
“Oh dear,” muttered Miss Wellbeloved with a sigh.
“If you go now, do not expect to be welcomed back!” Dr Ribero said, raising his voice.
“That’s probably fine with me,” Kester flustered. “To be honest, I think you’re quite insane, and I’m not sure you’re my father either. So it’s probably best I leave.”
“Fine, if that is your choice!”
“I think it is my choice, yes.”
“Oh for goodness’ sake, will you both stop being so ridiculous!” Miss Wellbeloved flared, her icy tones heating up by a significant margin. “Julio, I said it was better for you to tell him. I’ve handled it badly, and you’ve been no help in the matter either.”
She turned to Kester and her face softened a little, like a glacier starting to drip. “Look here,” she said, tucking a stray grey curl behind her ear. “This is a shock to you, I know. But we’re telling the absolute truth. We do run a supernatural agency.” She stopped, narrowing her eyes at Ribero. “And this is very much your father. I can vouch for that. I was there when Gretchen announced she was pregnant with you.”
At the mention of his mother’s name, Kester slumped, the fight taken from him. This woman knew me when I was in my mother’s womb, he realised. He also couldn’t help but notice the look she was giving Dr Ribero. It was full of reproach, like a whipped dog. The doctor met her gaze, then looked away, rubbing his eyes.
“Will you come with me to talk to the others?” Miss Wellbeloved said finally, gesturing out the door.
Kester sighed. “Yes,” he agreed, standing. “I suppose so.” After all, he thought. What choice do I have?
“And will you behave yourself and stop working yourself into a temper?” Miss Wellbeloved snapped at Ribero.
Dr Ribero, contrite, shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. “Yes.”
“Good. Well, let’s go and discuss things with the others.”
Sweeping the door open, she ushered Kester back into the airy office, like a hen flapping out an intrusive chick. It was a welcome change from the musty heat of Dr Ribero’s inner sanctum and he felt his head clearing as the breeze from the window grazed his face. At their desks, Pamela, Serena, and Mike looked up in unison: three pets awaiting their master’s command.
Miss Wellbeloved raised an imperious hand, calling for attention. “I’ve told him about our agency,” she said, pointing at Kester. “But, unsurprisingly, he doesn’t believe a word of it. I rather thought you might all be able to help. Can you just clarify things by telling him what you do? Pamela, you start.”
Pamela stood, smoothing down the ruffles on her blouse, which billowed over her large bosom like a waterfall. “Goodness me, I don’t normally have to explain to people what I do for a job, I’m not sure where to start.”
“Just a simple explanation will suffice.”
“Very well.” Pamela smiled. “I’m the agency’s resident psychic. If you don’t know what that is, it’s a—”
“I know what one is,” Kester replied. “They’re people who predict the future, right?”
Pamela knotted her hands in a tumble of awkwardness. “Yes, sort of,” she wavered, looking at Miss Wellbeloved for help.
“How come you didn’t predict that I’d come here today then?” Kester asked.
“It doesn’t really work like that, I’m afraid.”
That’s convenient, Kester thought, but kept his reservations to himself. In spite of his belief that they were all completely bonkers, it was difficult to dislike this strange group of people, and he didn’t want to upset them, even if they were certified lunatics. It was wisest to continue to humour them, then make a run for it at the next available moment.
“A psychic picks up on spirit energy,” Miss Wellbeloved clarified. “Pamela visits haunted locations, and tells us whether a spirit is present or not, and what state of mind it’s in.”
“Oh, I see,” Kester said, with a polite cough. He looked at the exit with renewed longing, wondering whether or not to make a run for it.
Serena coughed deliberately, waving a hand in the air. “I work as the extinguisher,” she declared, th
en added as a challenging afterthought, “I bet you don’t know what that is.”
“Strangely enough, no. I don’t,” Kester replied, fighting to keep any trace of sarcasm from his voice.
“You might have heard of exorcists,” Miss Wellbeloved added. “It’s along those lines.”
“I ask the spirits to vacate the premises,” Serena said. “I’m sort of like a bailiff. I send them packing.”
“It’s not quite like that,” Miss Wellbeloved interrupted, shaking her head. “We like to be respectful of spirits, and we don’t just ‘send them packing’, do we, Serena?”
Serena shrugged, tapping a stilettoed toe on the floor.
Kester screwed up his eyes, struggling to make sense of it all. The words that they were saying were said so seriously, so professionally, that it seemed almost believable. But he knew that it was all complete nonsense. His natural sense of propriety was wrestling with his sense of incredulity, not to mention his growing curiosity. Despite his desire to leave as swiftly as possible, he couldn’t help but want to hear more. He’d never heard anything so preposterous, and yet so intriguing, in his entire life.
“So what do you do?” he asked Miss Wellbeloved finally.
“I’m a conversant,” she said primly. “I inherited the skill from my father, and my father’s father. I can talk to spirits. Believe me, it’s a real asset in this line of work. I operate almost as a lawyer does, facilitating between the spirit and the human on the receiving end.”
“Her skills are very useful indeed,” Dr Ribero added, with a respectful nod. “One of our biggest assets. Many times, Jennifer has calmed down very bad situations, yes?”
“I’m glad you realise that,” Miss Wellbeloved replied, a hint of colour touching her cheeks.
“So what does Mike do then, if he’s not really the IT guy?” Kester asked, looking over at the burly man, who was currently concealed under an unruly mountain of gadgets, wires, and batteries.
“No, he really is our IT guy,” Serena said. “He sorts out our computers, runs the website—”
“You’ve got a website?” Kester said weakly.
“Not one that the public can access. It’s an Swww.co.uk address.”
“What?”
She rolled her eyes. “An Swww.co.uk address. Don’t you understand basic website addresses?”
“Not weird ones like that, funnily enough.”
Mike snorted, poking his head out of the mess like a meerkat. “Hang on a minute,” he interrupted. “I really don’t like this label of ‘IT guy’, Serena. I know you call me that just to bug the crap out of me.” The two glowered at one another, before he continued, “I also design all the equipment that we use. And believe me, some of it is pretty impressive. Larry Higgins would love to get his hands on some of this stuff.”
“Who’s Larry Higgins?” Kester asked.
“Larry Higgins runs the Larry Higgins Agency in Essex,” Serena said. “We all think he’s a fat idiot, but he’s doing very well for himself indeed. Dr Ribero can’t stand him.”
“Do not get me started on the Higgins,” Ribero growled, folding his arms and glaring in Kester’s direction.
“You mean there’s more than one of these supernatural agencies?” Kester blinked, polishing his glasses on his shirt. He was finding it almost impossible to get his head around it all.
Serena sniggered at his lack of knowledge. “There’s a few, yes. Higgins’s company is the only other one in the south, apart from bloody Infinite Enterprises in London.”
“Oh, those bastards,” Mike grumbled. “Don’t even get me started on them. Larry Higgins might be a pompous prat but at least he’s not like bloody Infinite Enterprises.”
“Infinite Enterprises are quite the government darlings,” Miss Wellbeloved explained. “Which is why we’re all very disapproving of them. It’s jealousy, pure and simple. They snap up all the best jobs.”
Government? Kester thought, bewildered. Are they trying to suggest that the government hires these supernatural agencies? This is all getting more ridiculous by the minute!
Dr Ribero stepped forward with the fluid grace of a leopard, reached out, and grasped Kester by the elbows. He studied his son intently, his dark eyes flitting restlessly over his face as though tracking a fly. The room fell silent.
“You don’t believe a word of what we are telling you, do you.” It was a statement, not a question.
Kester shrugged, unsure how to answer without causing offence. No, he thought, but it’s certainly fascinating, even if you are all living in a make-believe world.
The doctor grunted, still examining the young man’s features. Suddenly, he smiled. His face broke into light, a thousand beams of Latin sunshine manifesting themselves in his wrinkles and cracks. “Aha,” he proclaimed, drawing Kester back to view him in his entirety.
“What?” Kester asked weakly, intimidated by the scrutiny.
Dr Ribero met his gaze, then chuckled. “I have finally seen myself in you.”
“What do you mean?”
“At first, it was all your mother. A weak, plump version of your mother. Now, I see a little glimmer of me, right there.” He pointed directly into Kester’s eyes, making him wince. “It is there, that little twinkle of defiance and disbelief. I see the spirit of Argentina in you. Just a little, but it is there. That is a relief, yes?”
Silence filled the room. Kester blinked. Dr Ribero’s smile widened.
“He still doesn’t believe us though,” Serena chimed, after a minute or so.
Mike guffawed, slapping his desk. “Of course he doesn’t!” he bellowed. “Come on guys, we wouldn’t believe us either, if we were hearing it for the first time. That’s how we like it, isn’t it? It’s that disbelief that means we can do our jobs in peace.”
“Well, I don’t see what more I can say to convince him,” said Miss Wellbeloved, scratching her head and looking flustered.
Serena sidled around her desk, languid as an alley-cat. “Perhaps you shouldn’t say anything else,” she said, pixie-eyes glittering. She examined Kester at length, starting at his polished shoes, past his crisply ironed slacks and right up to his face, which was looking more baffled by the moment. Then she nodded. Kester swallowed hard.
“You should show him instead,” she said finally. Her tone was full of ill-disguised glee, to such a degree that he almost expected her to start rubbing her hands together like a Machiavellian pantomime villain.
“Show me what?” Kester asked weakly. Her cunning grin convinced him that he really didn’t want to know.
“Now that’s an idea,” Pamela said, flapping her hands towards the second of the doors at the back of the room. “We caught a Bean Si the other week, why don’t we show Kester that one?”
“What on earth is a ‘bean see’?” Kester looked from face to face with growing alarm. Wherever this was going, he was pretty positive he wasn’t going to like it.
“I’m not sure that’s a wise idea,” Miss Wellbeloved interrupted, looking thoroughly disapproving. “She’s a particularly volatile one. We don’t want to scare him.”
“Oh come on, she wouldn’t scare him, a harmless little thing like that,” Serena replied.
“I don’t know, she’s pretty noisy when she gets going,” Mike added merrily.
Miss Wellbeloved tutted. “I think that’s a rather unprofessional suggestion,” she muttered. “Not to mention disrespectful to the Bean Si in question.”
“Oh come on, she won’t mind being let out for a bit. She could probably do with a stretch before she gets deported anyway.”
“Excuse me, I am still here you know,” Kester said, as assertively as possible. He placed his hands on his hips, and tried to stand a little straighter. Then felt marginally ridiculous and slumped back into his usual posture. Authority wasn’t really his thing. “I don’t know what this bean thing
is,” he said loudly, “and I’m not sure I want to see it.”
“A Bean Si, a Bean Si!” said Dr Ribero, punching Kester’s arm a little too enthusiastically. “You must have heard this name, yes?”
“No.”
“Banshee is the more common term,” Serena said, winking at the others.
“A banshee?” Kester echoed.
“Yes, a banshee,” Miss Wellbeloved confirmed. “Have you heard of such a creature?”
Kester considered. “Well,” he pondered, “My mother used to say to me, when I was a boy, that I cried like a banshee.”
“How old were you when she said that?” Serena asked.
“About thirteen or fourteen?”
Serena snorted.
“Oh dear,” murmured Pamela faintly.
“A banshee, or Bean Si as they’re known in their native land,” continued Miss Wellbeloved, delivering Serena a withering look, “is a female spirit that wails loudly before a person is about to die. However, that’s not entirely based on truth. Although they do enjoy howling whenever death is in the air, they actually wail whatever the occasion.”
“However, as you can imagine, it’s very unsettling for the person who ends up with her in their home,” Pamela added.
“Christ, yes, they make a right bloody din,” Mike added. “We all have to wear earmuffs when we deal with a Bean Si, the noise goes right through you.”
“Is that what happened with this Bean Si then? Was she in someone’s home?” Kester asked. Then he suddenly realised what he was asking. Why am I humouring them? he asked himself. Don’t encourage them! It’ll only make it worse! Yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself. In spite of the oddness of the situation, not to mention his own disbelief, he was curious to learn more. There was a strange logic to their words that wormed its way into his head, making him almost believe them.