by Dawn Harris
Now, looking at the situation calmly, I realised I’d chosen a bad day to talk about anything that required an optimistic response. Arsenal had lost at home and Rob was in mourning. Once he realised how much teaching meant to me, I was sure he’d be much more enthusiastic.
My curiosity about Michael’s archaeological excavation led me in that direction again the following day, but this time I wrapped Midge’s lead firmly around my wrist. Michael showed me several small finds he’d made, and I mused in growing interest, ‘To think they’ve just been lying there in the earth for hundreds of years.’
He smiled. ‘Some things on the island are much older than that.’
‘Really?’
‘The dinosaur footprints, for instance.’
‘Dinosaur footprints,’ I gasped. ‘You’re joking.’
‘No, honestly. The island was inhabited by dinosaurs until about 60 million years ago. Come down to the beach and I’ll show you the footprints.’ Frankly, I didn’t believe him. I knew about the dinosaurs, but footprints, after 60 million years? He glanced at his watch and said, ‘You’re in luck. The tide’s out, so they’ll be visible right now.’ He made an old-fashioned bow. ‘My van is at your service, madam. Midge can go in the back.’
Down on the beach the tide was right out, exposing what Michael said were mudstones and sandstones, and it was in these that the dinosaur footprints were preserved. ‘The original footprints filled with sand and hardened to produce a natural rock cast,’ he explained. ‘The large three-toed blocks are the most spectacular.’ They were like sizeable rocks in appearance, but the three large toes were quite obvious. I ran my hand over the cast, imagining herds of dinosaur roaming the very spot where we stood.
As we walked back, I enthused, ‘I’ll bring the boys down here on Saturday. They’d love this.’
Michael pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘You know Alex, in my experience children ask the most awkward questions. I could come and answer them for you – if you like.’ And before I knew it, we’d fixed a time for him to join us.
I rang Rob and told him about the dinosaur footprints, but he only wanted to talk about the midweek match. Barely had I put the phone down, when Michael knocked on the door. ‘I’ve brought some fossils to show the boys,’ he said.
A few minutes later Pattie rang from America, and I assured her, ‘Everything’s fine here. No problems at all.’ Nor were there. Until the following morning when Tom, the youngest of my charges, came out in spots – chickenpox. Then on Saturday morning his brother, Simon, fell from an apple tree which resulted in mild concussion and a fractured arm.
While we waited for the ambulance, I rang Rob. ‘Could you come down straight away and stay the weekend?’ I pleaded. ‘Simon will need me at the hospital and I can’t possibly take Tom with me. Not with chickenpox.’
‘Sorry, Alex. No can do, I’m afraid. Arsenal are at home today. And tomorrow I’m playing for the pub side.’
I slammed the phone down in anger, and sat there, trembling, wondering how I was going to cope, when the doorbell rang. Michael stood smiling down at me, and only then did I remember our outing. ‘I’m a bit early.....’ he began, and stopped the moment he saw the look on my face. ‘What is it, Alex?’ he demanded in a voice so full of concern, I had the strangest desire to walk into his arms.
Pulling myself together, I explained and he said, ‘No problem, I’ll look after Tom. We’ve met a few times and get on well. He’s a good kid.’
Simon’s arm was soon in plaster, and although he seemed fully recovered from the concussion, the doctors wanted him to stay in hospital for a bit so they could keep an eye on him. I didn’t get back from the hospital until ten that evening, and I immediately rang Pattie to tell her what had happened. She was frantic with worry at first, but calmed down once she’d spoken to Tom, and then to Michael, who reassured her all was well.
Before Michael left we had something to eat, and as we said goodbye on the doorstep, I said, ‘I don’t know how to thank you for all your help.’
‘Don’t you?’ he murmured, grinning at me and taking my hands in his. ‘I’m sure I could think of something.’
Breathlessly, I pulled my hands away. ‘Michael, I can’t... I mean....’ I threw my hands up in exasperation. ‘Oh... I don’t know what I mean.’
Thoughtfully, he suggested, ‘My guess is, you mean you don’t play around. But now Rob has blotted his copybook you’re having second thoughts about him.....’
I was stunned. ‘How did you know....?’
‘In my job I spend a lot time piecing together evidence. And you’ve dropped a few clues.’
‘Oh,’ I said, biting my lip. He had, of course, hit the nail on the head, but I didn’t want to talk about it, so I changed the subject. ‘Simon’s coming home tomorrow afternoon.’
‘That’s perfect, because I promised to show Tom the dinosaur footprints in the morning.’ He smiled. ‘Come with us, Alex.’ He spoke my name like a caress, but I still agreed to go.
As I saw him to the door, a car drew up outside and a man hurried down the path. ‘Rob!’ I exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I came to help out, as you asked.’ He glared at Michael. ‘Who the hell’s this?’
‘I’m the childminder,’ Michael said.
‘Childminder?’ There was no mistaking the disbelief in Rob’s voice. He tapped the face of his watch. ‘So what’s he doing here at eleven o’clock at night?’
‘We were having a meal,’ I protested.
Rob snorted, ‘Oh, were you.....’
Blazing mad, I fumed, ‘If you’re suggesting.....’
Michael turned to Rob and interrupted, ‘Alex doesn’t play around. You ought to know that.’
Rob’s eyes narrowed. ‘You do fancy her, don’t you?’
A rueful smile hovered on Michael’s lips. ‘Yes, I do. In fact, I’ve loved Alex from the first moment I saw her.’ Rob stared at him utterly speechless, and I gasped in shock. ‘I thought you knew,’ he said to me quietly. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Alex.’ And he set off down the path.
Rob followed me indoors. ‘I want the truth out of you......’
‘The truth is,’ I stormed, ‘ if you’d come to the island when I asked you, Michael wouldn’t have been here at all.’
‘I came as soon as I could,’ he retorted righteously.
‘No, Rob. You came when it suited you. And that’s too late.’
Six months later, on our wedding day, Michael gave me a most unusual present. The cast of an animal’s footprint. ‘To remind you of how we met,’ he said, grinning. It was a large footprint but it didn’t belong to a dinosaur, of course. It was one of Midge’s.
CAROL, THE FORTUNE TELLER
I was peering into my crystal ball, willing it to show me the features of the dark-haired man who, according to my latest premonition, was destined to be my third and last husband, when my mobile rang.
‘Carol?’
‘Hello, mum,’ I said, smiling.
‘Carol, I keep thinking about your dark-haired man....’
I laughed. ‘So do I.’ We had no secrets when it came to premonitions. She had them too; like me, not often, but they always came true. Mind you, nothing warned me my first husband would leave me because he couldn’t cope when our triplets were born, or that my second would run off with a dancer to open a fish and chip shop in Spain. But, in my experience, premonitions are like that. Selective.
This one came a month ago, soon after the last of my three wonderful sons left home, and it promised I was finally about to meet the love of my life. And I was getting impatient.
My mother went on, ‘Have you tried the crystal ball?’
‘Yes, but I can’t see anything. I never do.’ Frankly I wondered if anyone ever did. I used mine to tell fortunes at Fayres and Fetes to help raise money. The crystal ball added mystery to the proceedings and gave me time to think what to say. I’ve become rather good at telling little white lies. And not only at Fetes. I glance
d at my watch. ‘I must go, mum. It’s the village carnival this afternoon.’ Today’s good cause was a desperately needed playing field.
I polished the crystal ball, put on my brightly coloured flowing gown and matching turban, over-the-top make-up, shoes and giant ear-rings, and set off. When I arrived a strikingly handsome man of my own age was setting up my tent. His name was Richard and indicating his stall opposite, he said, ‘Dave and I are organising a ten kilometre run in September in aid of the playing field.’
Eyeing his gorgeous black hair and remembering my premonition, I took a deep breath. ‘I’m up for that.’
I wrote down my details before I could change my mind, and he, observing I was overweight, asked a little awkwardly, ‘Are you sure, Carol? It’s a little over six miles, you know.’
I wasn’t at all sure, but I’d said I’d do it, and I couldn’t back out now. Putting my hands on my flowing robe, I gave a carefree laugh. ‘This is just padding. Fortune tellers are never thin.’ I’d known him two minutes and I’d already told him one lie. And determined to impress him, I told him another. ‘I ran a half marathon last year.’ Well, I had considered it, for all of three seconds. In truth, I couldn’t even run upstairs. Still, they were only white lies, I told myself.
Richard said, ‘Tomorrow I’m off to Canada, working on a special project for my firm, but I’ll be back before the run. ‘
That gave me three months to get in trim. Yes, I know all that stuff about looks not being important, but as I told my mother, ‘That’s a load of eyewash. This is the rest of my life we’re talking about. And time’s running out.’
That night, once it was dark, I tried to run up the road. I just made it to the first lamp-post, and clung to it, gasping for breath. A passing neighbour asked in concern, ‘Carol? Are you all right?’
‘Mmm,’ I murmured. ‘I – er - tripped over a paving stone.’ I spent half an hour running from one lamp-post to another, and returned home exhausted. But I’d promised to do this run and do it I would. My whole future happiness was at stake.
A week later I could run a hundred yards before collapsing. Then, incredibly, I began to get the hang of it. After a month I could run a whole mile, and I’d lost a stone in weight. Even my mother was impressed.
With one week to go I finally managed the whole run and was two stone lighter. And it felt great. Now, I was ready for anything. I had plenty of sponsors, probably because none of my friends believed I could do it.
On the big day I arrived early, clad in new shorts and t-shirt, and walked up to Richard, who was helping Dave get everything ready. ‘Remember me? Carol, the fortune teller?’
‘Of course. You’re looking very trim.’ And he smiled. ‘Carol – could you lend a hand?’
‘Love to,’ I beamed.
‘Gavin needs help checking in the runners as they arrive.’
He introduced me to Gavin and went back to help Dave. Gavin seemed a really nice guy and I asked if he knew Richard well. ‘I sure do. He’s my best mate. When I lost my wife two years ago, he was a tower of strength. He understood how I felt, you see. John – that was his partner before Dave - died in a skiing accident back in the nineties.’
Luckily a bunch of runners arrived together and by the time we’d sorted them out I’d managed to get my breath back. I asked Gavin if he was taking part in the run. ‘I can’t, unfortunately. I’m having trouble with my right knee.’
Frankly, I thought it was an excuse, like the ones I made. But after I’d completed the run, in a respectable time too, some instinct kept urging me to go back and ask Gavin how he’d hurt his knee.
‘Playing tennis,’ he said.
‘You play tennis?’ I beamed, and for the first time I looked directly into his eyes. In that instant I knew I would never lie to him. Not ever. Not even a little white one.
‘It’s my favourite sport.’
‘Mine too,’ I said, admiring his curly dark hair. ‘I haven’t played lately, but I was county champion once.’
Yes, I know what you’re thinking, but Gavin’s tennis trophies now stand in my sitting room cabinet. Right beside mine.
THE TOTWELL GHOST
Women flock to Totwell House, but not to see me. They come to gawp at Grady’s portrait, to gaze into those famous dark, fathomless eyes, glowing with eternal lust.
Eyes every woman feels are for her alone. Eyes which first met mine more than three centuries ago, when I sat on a stile in a manner which would have earned me a sound beating from my Puritan aunt. If she had seen me, that is.
I was tricked into haunting this wretched house. Yes, tricked. The guide book refers to me as The Totwell Ghost, although I rarely show myself these days, for people do not fear ghosts as they once did. As Grady assuredly did. But, that fact is not to be found in the guide book, nor does it reveal the truth about Grady and myself. I, alone, could tell them that.
I could tell them how I came to leave my earthly body behind that September night in my eighteenth summer. How I found myself in that other place, where there is no sense of passing time. And how, claiming my rights as an innocent victim, I begged those who decide these things, for permission to return in ghostly form long enough to avenge my untimely death.
Then you must tell us the whole truth, they warned, or our retribution will be great. Words those in authority always use. It reminded me of my aunt, who brought me up after my parents died of the plague. ‘Be sure your sins will find you out, Charity,’ she repeatedly cautioned. Like all those miserable Puritans, she was always quoting the Bible.
‘Yes, aunt,’ I would reply demurely.
Only once did she catch me out, and she paid the price, not I. Thus, I left out of my tale those things I considered of no importance. As I have always done.
The day I first met Grady, I had just endured another of my aunt’s lectures on how young ladies do not stamp their feet and pout when asked to run errands. But it was hot and I didn’t want to walk three miles just to take my miserable old uncle some strawberries. In the end I had to go, and I was dawdling along the lane eating the biggest and juiciest fruit myself – the small ones were quite good enough for my uncle --- when I saw Grady leaning on a gate, grinning at me. He was tall and muscular, with roguish good looks and skin tanned by his life at sea.
He had come home, after a long absence, in order to win the hand of his cousin, Jane, which meant he would become Master of Totwell House when her father died. With no male heir in Jane’s family, and her an only child, Jane had agreed to choose her husband from her maternal aunt’s four sons. It was rumoured in the village that Grady was the favoured one.
Despite that, his eyes gleamed as I approached. The way men’s eyes always did in my presence. It was said I was the prettiest girl in the whole of the county. And I am sure it was true, for I had never seen anyone with hair as golden as mine, or eyes so clear a blue, or with such a perfect figure. Yet I do believe my crosspatch of an aunt would have preferred me to be as ugly as herself, for whenever I indulged in the mildest flirtation, she scolded me severely for acting the trollop. Prophesying I would soon only be fit to marry Sam Moore, whose coat buttons strained disgustingly across his belly, and who had a squint so that I never knew where he was looking.
I did not bother to argue, but merely lowered my eyes as if in repentance, for that was the best way to shorten her tirade. Those pious, virtuous Puritans believed all pleasure to be sinful. I soon learned never to flirt in my aunt’s presence, and to behave with decorum in the company of those dull, worthy simpletons she considered suitable as husbands.
It mattered not to me for, from that moment in the lane, I made up my mind that Grady would be my husband. That plump, prissy, frump-faced Jane could as easily marry one of his brothers. So, I sat on a stile, with my skirts arranged in a manner that would have made my aunt faint with shock.
Before long, Grady and I were lovers. Though he shuddered with horror when I suggested meeting in the churchyard, for he was terrified of ghosts, and it wa
s said that the ghost of a witch who had been burned at the stake, roamed that churchyard at night. And for those who saw her evil, tormented face and heard her fearful wailing, death always followed within a month. I had never encountered a ghost there after dark, but I did not say so. Thus, we met on the cliffs, high above the seas. The wind and the waves were things he understood.
From the outset Grady made it plain that he still intended to marry Jane. ‘Of course,’ I said, and I smiled. Grady was like all men. They were fools, every one of them. His intentions were of no consequence to me. I had my own plans and I was used to men doing as I bid them. When the time was right, I would just raise my little finger.
That time came one warm September night on the cliff top as Grady gently traced the outline of my face with a finger and sighed, ‘My lovely Charity, how I wish you were my uncle’s daughter....’
‘You will choose me, Grady,’ I murmured confidently into his ear. ‘I know it! My aunt will leave me her nest egg, and we shall be comfortable enough.’
‘Comfortable?’ He threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘As Jane’s husband I shall be rich and powerful. I warned you at the beginning how it would be.....’
‘Then you must change your mind, Grady. I am with child.’
Even his dark face paled in the moonlight as I declared in triumph. ‘You will have to marry me now.’
‘You’re no better than a common strumpet,’ he blazed savagely. ‘And I was weak.....’ Thrusting me from him with an agonised groan, he turned away, covering his face with his hands and muttered hoarsely, ‘You leave me no choice......’
He stood on the cliff top silently staring out to sea, while I carefully brushed the dust from my skirt, for my aunt had eyes like a hawk. I judged it wiser that she did not learn of my condition while I was still living under her roof. Time enough for that when the knot was tied. And to my delight, Grady was equally anxious to avoid a confrontation with Jane. ‘I cannot face her, or my family with this. We must go away,’ he stated abruptly.