The Dead Summer

by Helen Moorhouse

  Martha immediately felt defensive. She leaned forward and took the finger that Gabriel pointed at her daughter and pushed it back in line with the others clenched to his palm. Will went from looking apologetic to alarmed but Martha didn’t notice.

  “Her name is Ruby,” she said firmly. “And she’s my daughter.”

  Gabriel turned to her in an exaggerated move and sneered. “I don’t care if her name is Shirley-Bloody-Bassey-the-Third and she shits rubies in her nappy. I. Don’t. Do. Bairns.”

  Martha was again taken back at his rudeness and Will cringed in his seat.

  “However,” continued Gabriel, “I am unfortunately ‘in’ now, as you so like to put it, William, so I’ll tolerate it.” He re-extended his finger and pointed it from Will to Martha and back again. “But! Do not expect there to be a moment when it tugs on my beard or my heartstrings and all of a sudden I’m running round looking for an eager surrogate and snivelling.”

  Martha was fuming. How dare this man be so rude! She understood that people didn’t like children but did he have to point? Refer to Ruby as ‘it’? She opened her mouth to defend her daughter but the waitress arrived with their order and the moment was lost in the dropping of beer mats, the counting of change and Gabriel taking an enormous gulp from his glass.

  “Right,” he continued, “what do you know about the history of that house?”

  “Not much,” replied Martha timidly. She knew she should stand up for herself – his bulk and tone made him a very intimidating presence, however, and instead of getting up and walking out like she should, she somehow felt an inexplicable urge to please him. “It belongs to my landlord, Rob Mountford. Used to be called Eyrie Farm but he changed it to Hawthorn Cottage to improve its chances of being let – that’s ‘eyrie’ as in nests, not Halloween. It belonged to his family for years apparently, and he was made a gift of it a while ago and did it up single-handedly. At least that’s what I’ve been told. Though my childminder tells me one thing and he tells me another. Apparently, some bits of it could go back to the twelfth century when the abbey was built.”

  Gabriel snorted. “Pfff! Twelfth century, my arse – there’s more concrete in that place than Wembley Stadium.”

  “The Romans used concrete,” said Will suddenly. “You can see it in the Colosseum.”

  Gabriel gave him a withering look and turned back to Martha. “You say Mountford is the name. Do you know who actually lived there?”

  Martha shook her head. “As far as I know it was derelict until a few years ago. There’s stories about it maybe being connected to the monastery. That’s all I know.”

  Gabriel looked thoughtful. “No,” he said. “It wasn’t a monk.”

  Martha looked at him, alarmed. Was this guy trying to tell her that someone or something had come through to him at the cottage?

  Just then she caught sight of the clock and realised it was time to feed Ruby. Good. A distraction. She busied herself getting pots of hot water from the bar, heating up the bottle and food. The small party remained silent as she fed her daughter. She was glad of it in one way because it gave her a while to collect herself. In another way, it was intimidating. She was pleased that Ruby didn’t make a fuss and emptied the tub of food enthusiastically. With her fed, Will ordered another round of drinks, switching to a coffee for himself.

  “Okay,” said Gabriel, taking a swig from his fresh glass of wine. “There’s an entity up there – its name begins with ‘M’.”

  Martha felt panic rise in her. An entity? A ghost? But there was no such thing – was there? Had they been living all that time with something that was dead? It didn’t help her panic how matter-of-fact Gabriel was being, as if describing an actual resident. Someone who had been there all along . . . Her eyes widened as he continued.

  “That’s why it’s interesting that it’s owned by people called Mountford but I don’t think it’s exactly right,” continued Gabriel.

  Martha’s eyes swivelled round to Will who had taken out a notebook and was scribbling notes with a pencil, like he was taking dictation. It seemed so – ordinary, what they were doing. “Hang on,” she said. “Are you being serious? Are you saying there’s a ghost up at my cottage?”

  “Oh, well you know it, missy,” Gabriel retorted. “I got the impression it even let itself be seen by you. And maybe you’d like to tell me about breakfast-time yesterday?”

  Will’s head shot up from his notebook and Martha felt herself redden from the chest up. Why had he brought this stupid psychic here, complicating things? She was going to have to tell them what had happened. Was she ever going to get away?

  “Martha, is it true that something happened? That you’ve seen something?” said Will, his voice both stern and eager.

  Martha nodded.

  “What?” demanded Will, leaning toward her.

  “I didn’t want to tell you,” she said quietly, taking a sip from her glass. “It sort of made it . . . well . . . real or something. I just want to leave . . .” She stared at her lap. Taking another sip, she began to explain quietly what had happened with the chair and the spoon, glancing around from time to time to make sure that no one else was listening. They’d think she was nuts if they heard.

  Will’s face grew hard and he shook his head as he scribbled in his notebook. “This could really have helped me, Martha,” he chided. “I knew you weren’t telling me everything, knew there had to be a bloody good reason why you didn’t want to be here and why you got out in such a hurry.”

  Martha was surprised to find her eyes welling up with tears. “I just didn’t want it to be true,” she said with a sob. “I just wanted to get Ruby out of there and I knew if I told you, of all people, it would turn into something huge and I’d never be able to get away.”

  Will covered her hand with his for a moment.

  Gabriel rolled his eyes. “‘M’, for want of another name, is very active up there. And not in a good way. It blocked me at every turn as I was trying find out who or what it is and why it’s there. All it wanted to do was tell me how much it doesn’t like you.”

  Martha could feel the blood drain from her face. “How do you mean?” she asked, in a very low voice.

  “I should explain that my skills involve being able to see, feel and hear spirit,” said Gabriel calmly. “The Scottish term for me is ‘fey’ – probably in more ways than one, but I prefer to think of myself as sensitive or intuitive. I could actually hear the voice of this entity in my head, giving me messages – does that make sense to you?”

  Martha shook her head. “Not really. Sort of. What did it say?”

  “It said it tried to get you with the pram,” said Gabriel and looked at her for an explanation.

  It didn’t make sense to Martha for a moment but she gave a small cry as she remembered coming back to the empty house when she assumed that Sam had remained behind. “There were nappies all over the kitchen – and music upstairs and the buggy had been moved across the hall so that I fell over it,” she recalled, turning over her arm to see the remains of the bruise on her elbow and showing it to Will and Gabriel.

  Will wrote furiously. “Explain to us from the start, Martha,” he said.

  Fighting back tears, she told them exactly what she had seen and heard.

  Gabriel nodded in agreement to much of the story. “It mentioned the music alright. It said that it doesn’t like that modern muck that you listen to and wanted to hear something good. The nappies thing makes sense too – it said you should wash the damn things once in a while.”

  Martha was baffled. Why on earth would she wash them? Then it struck her. “Does . . . it . . . think that they’re cloth nappies?” she asked, unable to believe that she was asking a question which acknowledged the presence of a ghost. That a spirit or a poltergeist had scattered nappies all over her kitchen floor. She felt as though she were having an out-of-the-body experience.

  “Must do,” said Will. “That helps with a rough timeline
, to know that it’s not familiar with disposables. We must find out when they were invented . . .”

  Gabriel continued. “It would also lead me to surmise that it’s a man perhaps – you know, the little lady should be doing her job around the house sort of thing? It says you nearly saw it upstairs as well but it hid on time. This entity is very strong, I have to say – its presence hit me the second I walked in the door.”

  Martha shook her head, unable to believe she was playing along, but still wracking her brains to think when she could have seen what Gabriel was referring to.

  “There was someone else there at the time, apparently?” he prompted. “There was wine?”

  Martha’s mind flashed back to when Sue was there – no, she had seen nothing then. The only other person she’d had wine with at the house was Mary Stockwell. The shadow. Going into the bathroom. The one that she thought was Mary. Martha’s heart sank. This was all too close for comfort.

  “I did see a shape once,” she said. “It was going into my bathroom. I thought it was my friend but then I went downstairs and she was there all along. I thought it was just a shadow, and we’d had a lot to drink . . .”

  “Anything else, Gabriel,” asked Will, as though asking him to add an item to a shopping list. He turned a page in his notebook and looked at Gabriel who nodded, his face taking on a serious look.

  Martha had no doubt that Gabriel believed one hundred per cent in what he was saying and, looking at Will, he did too. As for herself, Gabriel seemed to know too much about recent events for her to totally disbelieve him, and this scared her more than anything. Could this be true?

  “It was cross with you about the feeding, it said,” stated Gabriel. “Lost its patience with you as much as the child because the little brat wouldn’t eat and it wanted you out. Those are its words, not mine.”

  Martha’s face grew black with anger at the reference to Ruby as ‘the little brat’. She went from wishing he wasn’t telling the truth to thinking he had better be.

  “That’s why it lost its temper and smacked the spoon from your hand – again, a very masculine action,” said Gabriel.

  A thought struck Martha. “When the chair skidded back it was like someone standing up in a hurry. Was . . . it . . . in the room with me? Watching me feed Ruby?” Martha reached out and grabbed her daughter’s hand in her pushchair. Ruby had again fallen into a deep sleep and didn’t flinch.

  Gabriel nodded. “Sitting right beside you most likely. Look, I know it’s scary but all I can do is report the facts. As much as it dislikes you – and, I’m sorry, Ruby too –”

  Martha gasped with fear.

  “I sense that it’s also fascinated with you – the concept of you being a mother. Like, it can’t understand how you can actually care about a baby. I also sense that it’s been in Ruby’s room quite a few times as well. Sort of . . . studying her.”

  Martha was horrified. If he was to be believed, then all this time a dead person who hated her and wanted to do her harm had been spying on her – and Ruby.

  “Why doesn’t it like us?” she demanded urgently. The more scared she felt, the more she treated this as real.

  “I couldn’t quite get that,” said Gabriel shaking his head. “It blocked me. My theory would be that it’s because you’re living in its house. I’ve seen this numerous times – quite often if a spirit manifests or engages in poltergeist activity then it’s because it’s trying to get what it considers trespassers out of its home, and by trespassers I mean the living.”

  Martha shuddered. She looked around her for some perspective, to see familiar surroundings in the midst of this outrageous conversation. She saw that the pub was almost empty.

  “What I can’t get over,” said Gabriel, “is how strong it is. It has to be getting that energy from somewhere. Have you been feeling miserable up there?”

  Martha pondered the question. “A little, I suppose. A bit melancholy – sort of negative, I guess.”

  “That makes sense,” said Will. “An entity needs to get energy from somewhere to enable it to be active. Sounds like it’s been draining this energy from you. Have you had power cuts as a matter of interest?”

  Martha turned to Will. “So you believe all of this, do you?” she asked.

  “I do and I don’t. Technically science doesn’t accept any of this – clairvoyance, life after death etcetera. But speaking for myself, I’m always on the lookout for irrefutable evidence and, if I can find it, then maybe that will change and gradually science will come round. Gabriel is able to match so much of what he’s saying to actual events that he couldn’t possibly know about, and that it makes it very hard for me to believe it’s wrong.”

  Martha sighed and turned back to Gabriel. “Was this thing actually what I thought was my intruder the other night?” There was no point in trying to avoid it any longer. There was too much weirdness going on and she had to know.

  Gabriel nodded. “It wanted to give you a right old fright but it said the little brat wouldn’t shut up and it nearly drove it mad.” He looked at Ruby.

  So did Martha, frightened by the prospect that this thing wanted to shut her up. Except of course Ruby had barely cried that night . . .

  “I’ve more information,” said Gabriel, “but I’m exhausted.” He did look tired and Martha had noticed that there had been a distinct lack of sarcasm for a while. “Why don’t we go back to that godforsaken cube of a hotel and meet up for dinner or something? Doing a house like that always makes me feel a bit seasick and you know how it is – you’re always ravenous once you get onto dry land.” He stood up and wandered off in the direction of the gents.

  “I won’t be able to leave Ruby later,” said Martha.

  “Why don’t you see if the hotel could send someone to watch her?” suggested Will. “And you could have a break for a few hours – would you be comfortable with that?”

  Martha hadn’t thought of it. Her face was pale as she gathered up her belongings to leave. “That’s actually a good idea,” she said. “I could really use a drink or ten!”

  Will smiled at her attempt to joke. “Good. I’d suggest driving back with you but I can’t leave my car here again with all the gear in it. Nor Gabriel, unfortunately, and not only has he had about a half-bottle of wine but he can’t drive. If you like, he could go with you? Keep you company?”

  “No!” said Martha, too quickly. “I appreciate the offer,” she added hastily, “but I’ll be fine, really. It’ll only take us ten minutes to get back.”

  “Right then, William – take me to paradise,” announced a voice behind Martha’s ear as Gabriel returned from the toilet.

  Will looked at Martha. “You’re sure then?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I am.”

  “Okay,” said Will. “I’ll ring the hotel for you and see if we can’t rustle you up a couple of free hours before bedtime.”

  Martha was about to thank him again when Gabriel made a loud snoring noise and tutted loudly.

  “Come on then,” smiled Will, and the small party made their way out into unexpected sunshine.

  The hotel baby-sitter was unavailable but a pregnant receptionist jumped at the chance of a couple of hours off her feet. She arrived at Martha’s room dead on eight o’clock and Martha left her to relax, giving Ruby a lingering kiss as she slept in her travel cot. She was exhausted, Martha thought. All that sleeping today and now no problems in getting her off. Again, she thanked her lucky stars for such a dream baby.

  On returning to the hotel she had showered, changed and reapplied her make-up and, while unnerved by the earlier revelations, she felt she was ready for what Gabriel had to say.

  He and Will were seated in the dining area before her, Gabriel in a turquoise version of his earlier silk shirt with a huge matching ring on his right hand, Will in a black shirt and jeans with his sleeves rolled up.

  “That’s better,” said Gabriel, giving her a once-over as she arrived at the table. />
  Martha opened her mouth to respond but she saw the big man smirk at her playfully and tried not to look surprised. She sat down, trying also not to laugh.

  They ordered a main course each and a bottle of wine between them and chatted informally about Shipton Abbey and its surrounding areas with Gabriel concluding that “The seasidey bit’s alright but that pub’s just a great hole of despair”.

  “There’s a Michelin-recommended restaurant at the back of the pub, you know,” remarked Martha innocently.

  Gabriel almost spluttered his food onto the table. “There is, is there?” he exclaimed. “And we’re eating tinned ravioli in a roadside caff? William?” He looked at Will in disgust.

  “Learn to drive and we can go to any amount of Michelin-starred restaurants you like,” said Will, popping a spiral of pasta into his mouth. “But I fancied a drink and Martha very much needs one so for tonight we’re eating where our beds are.”

  Gabriel looked dismayed. “There’s taxis!” he wailed, outraged.

  Martha snorted. “How long have you two been married!” she laughed, feeling comfortable enough to join in the banter. She took a mouthful of wine and looked up to see the two men staring at her, not moving.

  Gabriel, of course, was first to speak. “We. Are. Not. A Couple. Do you understand?” he said in his booming voice.

  Martha swallowed hard, feeling the redness of her embarrassment start from her chest and run all the way around to her shoulders and upper back.

  “Even if he were of the correct persuasion,” continued Gabriel haughtily, “I wouldn’t be interested. But that,” he pointed at Will, “is a breeder – and I wouldn’t touch him if he was lilacs, sunshine and the cure for the common cold all rolled into one.”

  Will’s expression went from mildly amused to a look of outrage. “What’s wrong with me?” he demanded indignantly.

  Gabriel dropped his fork in his half-eaten pasta. “I’m not even going to answer that, you hairy bloody hippy,” he said dismissively. “It wouldn’t be worth the seconds of my life I’d never get back. Now you’ve made me lose my appetite!”