‘No, I hadn’t either,’ Maddy confirmed. ‘Do you think Richard sent it, or has he made out it’s been sent to him?’
‘But why would Richard send a text to himself?’ Lorna was struggling to keep up, having only just heard the story.
‘Because she’s hardly talking to him at the moment, so he thinks it’s because she’s having an affair, so he’s sent it to test her reaction; see if she reacts guiltily.’ Maddy swiftly brought Lorna up to speed with her theory.
‘I am speaking to him,’ I defended, noting that my colouring was becoming intense; all of the talk was ruining my picture.
‘No, you’re f—’ and she stopped herself swearing in front of the kids ‘…errr…like you should be,’ she added.
My eyes involuntarily glared at her. This was her manipulative way of making me confront things head on. As usual she’d got me cornered in a public space and she was doing her male peacock display; when she did this I wanted to pull her feathers out to get the other, calmer Maddy back. Maddy would sooner die before losing an argument in public. I was sure that the women sitting at the far end of the table were absolutely loving this; I did my best to avert their eyes.
‘I think that the text has come from someone older, because of the word choice, but Richard insists it’s not from him. I’ve confronted him with that one already, and he just got mad with me.’
The word used in the text was certainly baffling me. What I’d reasoned so far was that the more upmarket media would use the word cuckold, because it was precise if it was appropriate to a story. But most normal people, the sort of people we knew who had a grudge, would probably have sent a text which said something like: “…your missus is a slapper”. There was something older or more sophisticated about this text – which made it feel even more sinister and carefully plotted somehow. But then, on the other hand, it was grossly inaccurate as I was not Richard’s wife. So did that mean someone had tried to be clever, but had not really known the precise definition, or that this person didn’t know us well enough to know we weren’t married.
‘But who would do something like that?’
‘God knows…beats me, Lorna. Anyway, I’ve blocked my Facebook Wall from everyone who has Richard’s mobile number, or would at least know how to get hold of it.’
I’d also left a message on mine and Maddy’s Wall that said: “…words are open to interpretation and can be easily misconstrued.”
‘Why Facebook?’ Lorna was baffled by Facebook being brought into the conversation; I’d forgotten that she never signed up to it.
‘Because the silly girl thinks she’s playing a game with someone on there, that’s why Facebook.’
‘What? Who?’ Lorna was even more intrigued and her eyes flashed with greater interest.
‘Can I have the green back please, Nicole?’
‘Yeah, sure, here you go, Mae. It doesn’t matter, Lorna. It’s obviously only an imaginary game,’ I said, staring at Maddy. She was still standing and not joining in with the colouring.
‘The key thing, Lorna,’ I continued, ‘is that my Facebook is the only place where any of my actions could possibly be construed as affair material. But even then, I can’t for the life of me think how.’
And it was true I couldn’t.
Everything was done so subtly, to pick anything untoward on my Facebook you would have needed to see both mine and Anthony’s Facebook page together. Only Maddy knew about that game, but Maddy had never heard of the word. I knew that for a fact because when Richard had shown the text to her, she’d asked what it meant as well. Richard had taken the piss out of the fact that neither of us had heard of the word. But again this made me think that I must have been right about the word being old-fashioned; otherwise we were the three thickest people on the planet. And considering I wasn’t the most of anything – this was highly unlikely.
‘Well, you’re just a tw…err…idiot and you need to sort it out with Richard. I still think it’s Richard…why else wasn’t there a number shown?’ Maddy said, as her final word on the subject, and then busied herself fetching us a coffee.
I was stumped on that last point – I wasn’t entirely sure why there wasn’t a number, and I had no idea whether it was true that a text could be sent without leaving a number trace. But both Maddy and Richard had raised this issue, and now the text had been deleted so I couldn’t examine it. But again the choice of word couldn’t have been Richard. Richard liked precision with words – he was the one who finally decided to quit the Air Force over the fact that the word “invitation” was being used as a substitute for “order”. He’d been called in to see the Commanding Officer for refusing an “invite” and swapping it for a shag in London.
The next hour passed swiftly and with fifty or so children and parents floating about the large space, the noise levels had a soporific effect. Unable to decipher one sound from the other, I was easily able to disappear into my own thoughts. It’s as though my eyes were watching the games, but, in reality, they were seeing nothing in front of me. My vision was internalised seeing only Anthony Hope as I sat there.
It was the sheer impossibility of him, yet the fact I couldn’t help but think that he was where I should be. He was somehow in my past, but also my future. What were the chances of him still not having got into a serious relationship, of him still being in the UK, and of him having noticed me among his five hundred or so Facebook friends? It felt like I was being given a second chance. But the second chance felt as cruelly impossible as the first time our lives crossed. And…why do I want to kiss him so much? If I kissed him, would I no longer crave him? Would it finally break the spell he had over me?
‘You’re quiet, Nicole,’ Lorna stated, breaking into my thoughts.
‘What? No…I’m just watching the kids,’ I lied, as I still blankly stared at them. ‘What time is the ghost walk?’
‘After we’ve eaten. Which should be anytime soon,’ Maddy informed us.
The food had been an unexpected feast, rendering our copious supplies unnecessary. After eating, we left the brightness of the conference rooms, and made our way to the main museum. A chain of people walked down the maze of stairs, and back through the voluminous reception, then through the double doors into the familiar darkness.
My eyes adjusted to the change in light relatively quickly, but the sudden drop in temperature as we entered the vast hollow space wasn’t such a comfortable transition. I zipped up my jacket as far as it would go.
Our guide was a young-looking Count Dracula; in fact, he was probably still in his teens and like a colt, he was tall, but still had some filling out to do. But being a young male, our boys had taken to him straight away, hovering and craving his attention.
He stopped the group at the edge of the long, metal suspension bridge. The smell of steel travelled through my nose as I looked around at the old metal workings below me. It was as though, some years ago, someone would have shouted “down tools” and those tools would never be touched again.
‘William was a worker here in the steel works…’ instantly my William was hooked by the ghost story.
‘Mummy, the ghost is called William, just like me,’ he whispered, with a big grin.
‘Yes, I know…that’s cool. Concentrate on what he’s telling you then,’ I said, smiling back at him.
Count Dracula told us that William was a good man who worked hard for his family. And I already knew, before he said it, that he came to a tragic ending, which was why the poor hardworking bastard was stuck in here for eternity. I tried to stay focused, like the kids, but I’ve never really bought into the whole ghost thing – even a psychic night had been unable to dispel that belief. Staff at the factory always said it was haunted, but I never saw any evidence of it. I even worked many Sundays alone in there, and nothing strange ever occurred.
I could still hear the young man’s voice recounting the tale but he drifted further into the background, as I once again turned my thoughts back to Anthony Hope. What if Il
ex Drapes was always meant to close? If it hadn’t closed down I would never have signed up to Facebook and tracked him down. Even the thing with James…had I not had that crush on James, Anthony Hope may not have hit my radar again. In all these years, I’d never so much as had a crush on anyone, and then I close Ilex and develop a crush on its Administrator. What if Anthony Hope was always my fate? What if there is such thing as fate?
Through my jumbled thoughts I sensed the group starting to make their way across the suspension bridge. All of their different shoes made unique sounds as they hit the metal walkway. I felt myself hang back, subconsciously preventing them from disturbing my daydreams. In my mind I could see the sand, the sea, Anthony’s white shirt and jeans. As though to breathe life into one of his pictures I imagined the sea breeze (the cold circulating around me probably helped with this) then I imagined kissing him on the beach.
Then, as quick as that vision vanished, a new one formed and I saw myself walking towards him. It was as though my footsteps across the bridge were my footsteps towards my vision of Anthony Hope; I was aware of the bridge’s gentle vibration and metallic echo with each of my steps. This time I felt that I would be able to touch him, hold him and feel him; he was the keeper of the missing part of my soul.
I finally reached the end of the bridge, only to enter the empty, painted black room with high ceiling and dim lighting. It was at that moment that I felt three sharp prods on my right shoulder.
‘Yeah, what?’ I spun to my right as I spoke. Maddy must have fallen behind too I thought to myself. ‘Eh, where are you?’ I said again, confused and resentful that I’d been pulled from my thoughts.
I instinctively turned my head one hundred and eighty degrees from my right to my left and back again, to find myself facing Maddy who was about seven or eight feet in front of me.
‘You’re there! What? How did you just get there?’
‘What on earth are you going on about?’
‘How did you just get from here to there?’ I asked, still baffled.
‘What are you going on about?’
‘You’re asking me? You just tapped me on the shoulder and I turned round to find out what you wanted and you’re standing over there, not here.’
‘I didn’t tap you on the shoulder!’
‘Yes, you did. I felt it. You prodded me three times,’ I said, indignantly.
‘Are you calling me a liar? How could I possibly tap you on the shoulder and then get all the way over here.’
‘I don’t know. But I know what I felt and someone did it.’
‘There’s only us here and it wasn’t me!’ she said as we both took another glance around the still-empty space. The source of the mystery text flashed through my mind. But we were in a secure building full of parents, kids and staff far removed from my ordinary life.
Logic alone said no one could have gone back over the bridge. We would have heard them and spotted them before they could reach the far end. The faster you moved on the bridge the more noise it made.
‘I’m very aware of the fact there’s only us here, which is precisely why it must have been you. Are you playing games with me?’
Why wouldn’t she just own up to it…how long was she going to keep this up for?
‘For God’s sake! I didn’t tap you on the shoulder, I swear to it.’
‘On Henry’s life?’
‘On Henry’s life, on everyone’s life, look – no fingers crossed.’ She held her hands in the air. ‘I didn’t do it!’
‘Well then – who did?’
‘You must have imagined it.’
‘I did not – I can still feel the finger…’
Continually thinking about it had provoked a burning sensation beneath the thick padding of my jacket. The prodding was so firm and decisive that it was as though the finger was extended as it hit the top of my shoulder. I knew I couldn’t possibly have imagined it.
‘Well…I suggest that you forget about it. Come on, we’d better catch up with Lorna and the others.’
Resigned from reasoning with her any further, I trailed with my thoughts still working through the last few minutes. I was, by this stage, feeling unnerved but there had to be an explanation and now this was going to bug the hell out of me until I’d solved it.
Just as we headed for the room to the right, the rest of the group returned to the large space. I stood in a trance among the children and parents; still replaying in my head what had just taken place. I knew what I had felt; there was no disputing it. It was the rest of it that wasn’t making sense.
I knew deep down that Maddy couldn’t have done it, as it wasn’t physically possible, but she was the only suspect I had. But if she was prepared to swear on Henry’s life, then she was definitely not lying.
CHAPTER TEN
The rest of that evening passed in a haze, interspersed with personal disasters. My new plain black pyjamas turned out not to be so plain – they had the words: “mirror, mirror on the wall, who’ll be fabulous at the ball”, written across them in tiny silver lettering, fine if you’re four.
Henry had out-manoeuvred me on the toilet run and, as a consequence, I’d spent that last part of the night in a pint-sized, pee-soaked sleeping bag, while he was curled up next to Maddy – in mine. But while necking the Bacardi I had established that “William” the ghost didn’t exist. It turned out that the staff had made up the ghost storyfor the kids. So despite Maddy virtually putting a ban on any further discussion on the matter I was still bugged as hell by the whole shoulder-tapping thing, and was glad to get back home. William was more intrigued about it than bugged though.
‘Daddy, Daddy guess what? Mummy got tapped on the shoulder by a ghost.’
‘Did she?’ Richard said, clearly not sure what to make of William’s tale, considering we’d been on a Halloween adventure for kids. ‘So you all had a good time then?’
‘Yeah, it was brilliant, Daddy. Can I have some cereals?’ he said going off on a tangent.
‘Yes, in a minute. Let me just help Mummy get everything out of the car.’
As we pulled the bags out, I filled Richard in on the shoulder tapping but, like everyone else, he didn’t really take the incident seriously. He appeared to put it down to either my head being the only thing tapped last night, or someone living did do it. My attempt to explain that that theory was impossible failed to register with him, but that was because he wasn’t there to see the space we were in.
‘Your dad phoned and said that he’ll drop Elyse back off in a few hours. She’s been fine over there.’
‘Yeah I know, I’ve already rung them, I want to take a shower now because I feel yucky.’ I said, then gave him a summarised version of Henry’s sleeping-bag saga.
‘Do you want some breakfast?’ Richard kindly asked whilst sorting William’s cereal.
‘No, the food there was amazing, already had a good English breakfast. Did you enjoy your curry last night?’ I practically ran upstairs, not waiting for his answer, because I was desperate to get clean, but I was equally desperate to get on the computer, and with Elyse not due back for a while, I knew I was able to get on there without any bother.
‘Yes…it was very nice…thanks for asking,’ he shouted up to me.
Having showered, I quickly threw on my combats, grabbed a top, and left my hair to dry on its own with the intention of tying it back later. My skin felt tight, so I dipped my finger in the jar of moisturiser on the bathroom shelf and patted it into my skin on my way back downstairs, before disappearing unseen into the study.
‘Do you want this tea in there with you? I take it you’re going on Facebook?’ I felt my neck tense and my face scrunch up. I paused momentarily, having been caught red-handed.
Yes…and yes, please,’ I shouted back, sounding as unperturbed as possible. Suddenly logging onto Facebook was the lesser of two evils.
I waited for the PC to fire up. Richard put my tea on the desk, sliding a pile of books and papers out of the way in the process,
which reminded me once again, that like everywhere else in the house I really needed to sort the study out.
‘Do you fancy a shag later?’ he said casually. ‘If the kids go to bed at a reasonable time, obviously,’ he added.
‘Dunno, I’m not at later right now, so I don’t know,’ I said, thinking that it wasn’t one of my pencilled in his diary rota days, and by asking for it, he’d just put me right off. Besides my focus was heavily on my PC.
‘Okay, well see how you feel later,’ and he disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Blue behind who was curled up on the corner armchair creasing William and Elyse’s school uniforms, which were draped over it. I was too impatient to move them elsewhere and instead I tapped my fingers on the desk as I waited for the search engine to appear on my screen.
When it did, I typed in the words:
Three taps on shoulder + meaning
And within seconds, my screen was full of results, but when I actually looked at them most were offering definitions of tap and shoulder. I was quite sure even I knew what a shoulder was and what a tap was in several different contexts, so I tried again…
Tapped on the shoulder three times
This time it pulled through different pages from the web.
Other people had posted messages on forums wanting to know exactly the same as me. It seemed quite a common phenomenon and always three taps, same finger. But I’d never heard of it before. But neither had I heard of moving keys, windows having a mind of their own and text messages without number traces. As for taps on the shoulder, those who had experienced it seemed as freaked as me, though, which was obviously why they’d written on the forums. I sipped my tea intermittently as I read through posted replies. Some said it was a possible muscular twinge; a nervous twitch, that could need medical attention. But there was nothing wrong with my shoulder, and anyway, it wasn’t even a twinge, it was a prod; a purposeful, unmistakable, finger prod.
Some entries said: friendly ghost or spirit, but more said Guardian Angel. A tap on the right shoulder is your Guardian Angel trying to get your attention. Try meditating to communicate, I read. They want you to pay attention to something. To what though? What am I supposed to be paying attention to? No idea. I couldn’t believe that I was even buying into this.
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