by Kirsty Ferry
Then Seb laughed. ‘So it’s like that. I see,’ he said.
‘Yes it is like that,’ snapped Becky, finally moving her camera down and facing him. ‘What on earth do you expect me to do?’
‘Forgive me?’ he said, with a young Hugh Grant smile. Becky said something particularly Anglo-Saxon, which just made him throw back his head and laugh. ‘Ah, come on, Bex,’ he said, using the one version of her name she hated. ‘Is it going to be like this forever with us?’
‘Yes, actually, I think it is,’ she said. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back into the town. I’ve got work to do.’
‘Yes, you’re covering Goth Weekend aren’t you?’ he said. ‘I’ve been in touch with Chrissie.’
Chrissie was PA to the editor of the People’s History. Becky didn’t want to know how exactly Seb had been ‘in touch’ with her, but turned away, furious, intending to stomp away from him back through the gravestones.
‘Chrissie had no right to tell you where I was,’ she threw back over her shoulder.
Seb took hold of her elbow and spun her round to face him none too gently. He grabbed the tops of her arms and pulled her towards him. ‘Bex, we were a team. We were unstoppable. Will this not change your mind?’ he said. He planted his lips firmly on hers and tried to kiss her.
Becky struggled against him, but he held her tight. She managed to launch a kick at his shin, which at least made him stumble.
‘Ouch!’ he said. He looked surprised, which was comical in a way. But he bloody deserved it.
‘Keep away from me,’ she stated. Oh God, she could feel Ella descending out of nowhere … not here, not in front of him … But he must have seen something change in her eyes; he put one hand on either side of her face and stared at her. He moved his hands to her shoulders and shook her, repeating her name.
The storm was coming in from the sea. The church in the distance was no longer welcoming; the candle in the window had guttered and the pathway was in darkness. No light spilled out into the churchyard, save the feeble glow of the winter sun as it dropped behind the church and into the hillside. She wished now that she hadn’t decided to start for home without him. He’d said he wouldn’t be long, but she hadn’t bothered waiting. The truth was, she didn’t want to be out any later than she had to be. She was so stupid. Why? Why on God’s earth had she even contemplated going on ahead?
‘Adam!’ She called for him, but whether he answered or not, she didn’t know. Her eyes searched the twilight, until she saw the dark shape of a horse riding along the cliff path. There was a man on it. He raised his hand to her and waved. Thank God, he’d finished and he’d come for her. She turned, picking her skirts up and ran up the pathway to where she had tied her horse. She fumbled with the bridle, her hands cold and shaking. She dipped her head and blew on her fingers to warm them before picking up the riding crop and mounting the animal. ‘Come on,’ she urged it. Her heart was hammering in her chest. She hated riding, she hated the dark – how had she thought she could possibly cope with riding in the dark?
Ella faded and Becky saw the world through her own eyes again.
‘Seb, just go away,’ she managed. This time, she extricated herself from his grasp and hurried away from him. He made no attempt to follow her, but she didn’t stop hurrying until she had reached the town and scurried up the side street to Jon’s studio.
THE STUDIO
Jon was working when Becky burst through the door. A girl who appeared to be in her early twenties was sitting at the same antique desk Becky had used when she’d had her photograph taken. The girl was swathed in a black taffeta creation and had a studded choker around her neck and a lily-white face. Becky noticed that the writing slope, though, was no longer on display among the props.
The customer looked up, startled by the clanging bell as the door opened and Jon briefly popped his head from under the cloth of the camera. He waved at Becky across the room and disappeared again.
Becky smiled apologetically at the girl and snuck around the back of the till again, shedding her coat as she went. She realised, too late, that she hadn’t brought the surprise coffees.
She watched Jon at work and gradually stopped worrying that Seb was going to walk in after her. Jon had an aura of calm about him, and after the experience on the cliff top by the church, she was grateful.
The customer stood up and, casting a sidelong look at Becky, leaned close to Jon and whispered something a little more than flirtatious about getting a cup of coffee.
Becky dipped her head, smiling. So, he had an admirer, did he? The girl sashayed across to the desk and rummaged around in a purse for a credit card. She was still wearing the black taffeta. It was hers, then, and not one of Jon’s multi-size outfits. She kept looking at Jon as he hovered around the door to the darkroom and she kept flicking smug little glances at Becky. As if I don’t know what’s going on, thought Becky.
She found an elastic band on the counter and busied herself with tying her wet hair into a ponytail. Honestly, she thought, some people were so transparent. She’d worked in retail briefly and so luckily knew a thing or two about credit card machines.
‘Here you go,’ said Becky. She pressed a few buttons and gave the girl a receipt. Her name was Mina, Becky noticed. A deed poll change if ever there was one or her parents had been fans. Good old Bram Stoker.
‘Thank you,’ replied Mina, and tucked it in her purse. She stared again into the darkroom.
‘Oh, and by the way,’ said Becky, lowering her voice and leaning closer to the girl. ‘He hates coffee. It brings him out in a terrible rash – all over. It gives him migraines as well.’ She tapped her temple to prove her point. ‘I wouldn’t.’ She shook her head and frowned in a concerned fashion. ‘I’ve known him a long time, since we were kids in fact. And I’ve seen what it can do to him.’
She watched the girl go even paler under her white make-up, then flush so her face became a rosy pink. She stuttered something unintelligible and took herself off to the corner of the studio, where she huddled on a chair until Jon brought her photograph through. Mina grabbed it from him and fled from the studio, slamming the door behind her.
‘Bye bye Mina,’ said Becky, waving solemnly as the bell clanged almost off its hinges.
‘Mina?’ asked Jon. ‘Unusual name. Nice girl, though. She said if I ever fancied a coffee, she would …’ He looked at Becky and realisation dawned. ‘Oh. Right. Ha!’ He shook his head and sat down on his usual perch at the edge of the table. ‘Thanks, Becky.’
‘No worries,’ she replied. ‘Jon, my ex is in Whitby. I’ve just seen him at the church.’
‘Who? This Seb character?’ asked Jon. His face fell. ‘Oh. Right. So I could have gone out with Mina tonight then?’
‘No, you couldn’t have done,’ replied Becky without missing a beat. ‘She hates coffee, it would never work out. Anyway—’
‘But you know that she said—’ began Jon.
Becky held her hand up to stop him. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m just saying it wouldn’t work. As for my ex, I’m more interested in avoiding him than actually meeting up with him. He found out from the editor’s PA that I was here. I don’t know what he hopes to achieve by finding me.’
‘Does he want you back?’ asked Jon.
‘I don’t know. He probably just doesn’t like the fact that I dumped him. I guess if we got back together it wouldn’t last that long because he would dump me, just so he could say he was the dumper rather than the dumpee.’
‘Makes sense, I think,’ said Jon. ‘Did he follow you down here?’ He looked at the door, as if it would somehow open up and let Seb in.
‘I don’t think so. I don’t know if I’m honest though. If he was really sneaky, he would have quietly followed me and he’ll be hanging around. Then he’ll pop up when I leave here later. Ugh.’ She shuddered. ‘But t
hat’s not all, Jon. When I was up there at the church, Ella came back. It was like I was living her life for a few moments again. It was getting close to night-time, because she was frightened of being in the dark alone. I was up on the cliffs and I was waiting for someone, and I saw him coming. So I – well, Ella – got onto my horse … and that’s where it stopped. It wasn’t a good feeling though.’
‘And it just stopped? Just like that?’ asked Jon.
‘Yes. I was scared. Really scared. I wasn’t scared of Ella. I was scared because I was Ella. It’s difficult to explain.’ She reached up to push her hair behind her ears, and realised it was already tied back. She tugged on the ponytail instead and brought it around to hang over her shoulder. ‘Whatever was happening to her or was going to happen up there wasn’t pleasant.’
‘And you say she was waiting for someone?’
‘It seemed like that, yes. I saw him coming up to me.’ Becky closed her eyes and saw the scene again. ‘He was on a horse and he was riding up the cliff path. But I don’t know if he ever got to me.’ She opened her eyes again. ‘Oh, no! What if something happened to him there? What if, I don’t know, the horse threw him or slipped, and he hurt himself? She wouldn’t have heard his cries for help. If it was dark she wouldn’t see him very clearly and might be blaming herself for whatever it was; blaming herself because she couldn’t help him. Jon, we need to go up there and see if you can feel anything.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ cried Jon. ‘It’s getting way too dark out there now – just look at it!’ He nodded towards the door. ‘There’s a definite storm brewing.’
‘So it’s even more important to go up there!’ said Becky. ‘All that rubbish about energy that people go on about; the stuff that makes spirits communicate more easily – what could be more energetic than a storm?’
Becky suddenly remembered the roll of thunder she had apparently heard the first day in Jon’s studio, when she had been trying the dress on. ‘Yes!’ she exclaimed. ‘That storm I heard. That was it. It was important to Ella.’ Had that really only been yesterday? It seemed impossible. She jumped off the seat behind the counter and stood in front of Jon. ‘Please?’ she wheedled. She took his hands. ‘If you won’t come with me, Adam might.’
‘Do we really have to go tonight?’ he asked. ‘Like, right now? What if Seb is still hanging around?’
Becky let go of Jon’s hands. ‘I’d forgotten about him,’ she said bitterly. She went back to where she had dumped her coat and found her bag underneath it. She pulled her phone out and looked at the screen; one new missed call from Seb and two texts from him. ‘Another bloody stalker,’ she muttered. ‘Yay, you and him, I’m so lucky.’
There was also a third text from a number she was inordinately pleased to recognise. ‘Lissy sent us a message!’ She looked up at Jon, smiling. ‘I bet she’s found something.’ She pressed some buttons and read the message. It was very simple. Eleanor Catherine Dunbar!!!!!! Gonna chk St M church 2morrow 4 records. Lissy xxx
Becky held the phone out to Jon. ‘She’s good,’ she said as he read the message.
‘Told you so,’ said Jon. ‘“St M church”? St Mary’s, maybe? This Eleanor Dunbar must be local, then. Sounds good.’
‘I suppose she’ll look at the records from the marriage date and try to fit it all together,’ said Becky. ‘It might prove it was them and we will then have Ella’s details. Wow. I feel excited, but a bit scared as well; especially with going up there earlier and seeing what I saw.’
‘I know you want to go there,’ said Jon, ‘but why don’t we just go back to the hotel? We can relax, you can work on whatever you need to do and then we can have dinner. It’s still a form of research. We want to see the mantelpiece after all, don’t we? They might have some history of the hotel somewhere. And it’s warm.’
Becky gazed at him, considering the options. ‘Okay, then,’ she agreed reluctantly. ‘It was the idea of warmth that swung it.’ There was a damp feeling to her shoulder where her ponytail had been lying and she really did want to pull back a little. Ella was getting stronger, and she didn’t know if she was ready for anything else before a decent meal.
‘Great. Give me another hour or so, just to catch the last few people of the day and I’ll be ready to take you back. Do you want to pop up into the flat for a bit of peace and quiet? You can assimilate all the information.’
‘Assimilate?’ Becky laughed. ‘And peace and quiet? I can sit in a corner here, out of everyone’s way, and have that; but yes. I think I would quite like to see the flat. You can tell a lot about a person from their home. Remember what I do for a profession?’
Jon nodded. ‘Yes. I remember. Okay, just through here.’
‘Narnia again,’ said Becky, picking up her bag. ‘You’re taking me through the back of the wardrobe, aren’t you?’
‘Not quite,’ said Jon. ‘We’re going around the side of it.’ He squeezed past a pile of old furniture, clearly part of Lissy’s contribution, and pulled open a wooden door. It led to a crooked little staircase that looked unbelievably steep and Becky had to put both hands out and connect with the wall to steady herself while she climbed it.
She turned to Jon as she reached the top, her face feeling pink and her eyes wide. ‘That throws me so much off balance!’ she said.
‘It’s a funny one,’ replied Jon. He was right behind her, the staircase no problem for him. ‘You get used to it. It’s all uneven and plays havoc with the average person’s equilibrium.’ He managed to reach around her to unlock another little door and threw it open. ‘Welcome,’ he said, ‘to my humble abode. Oh – that’s the bell ringing from the shop. I’ll leave you to it.’ He bounded back downstairs and left Becky staring around her in delight.
The flat was small, but certainly not a bedsit. Becky was in a little hallway, and to her right was a door which led into the lounge area. It had a sofa and a comfy armchair, and a coffee table in the middle of them. The seating area looked out over the old town and Becky knew the sea was just beyond the rooftops. From the lounge was a door, which stood open and revealed a tiny kitchen.
Back in the hallway, to her left was another partially open door, which was apparently the bathroom, as she could see the corner of a shower unit through it; which left the door straight ahead of her as the bedroom. She toyed with the idea of opening the door and peeking in, and looked over her shoulder for any sign of Jon returning. She waited for a moment until she thought she was safe and hurried the few steps along the hallway to the door. She took hold of the handle and pushed it open, her eyes expertly scanning the room. Yes, it was a bedroom, and it seemed to contain a double bed. A window to the left of the room overlooked the back street where Jon had parked the car this morning. She quickly shut the door and hurried back into the lounge.
The place was remarkably neat and tidy. It was fairly obvious that it was merely a bolt-hole and not Jon’s proper accommodation as there were very few personal possessions lying around. A handful of books sat on a bookshelf in the lounge, mainly about photography, local history and antiques, and a walnut desk was pushed into the corner. There was a closed laptop on the desk and next to it was the writing slope.
Becky stared at the laptop and shook her head. Typical Jon – why on earth hadn’t he sent Lissy up here when the battery died on her machine? Men! Was exasperating on her Jon List? Well. It was now. Still, part of her thought, it means we get a little more time together to work it all out. She supposed that almost made up for it; so she sent a silent thank you to Jon anyway, and went over to the desk.
There was a note beside the laptop. Becky, she read, just in case you pop up here at some point, please feel free to use the facilities. Coffee, tea and snacks are in the kitchen (only long-life milk though) and the password for the laptop and WiFi are both Dracula. Yes, unoriginal, but at least I can remember them. Jon had signed it with a flourish at the bottom.
Becky put her bag down by the side of the walnut desk and opened the lid of the laptop. She switched it on and waited for it to boot up. She might as well get some more pieces written while she had the chance.
She was very aware of the writing slope lying next to her and couldn’t help but rummage through it again. She opened the section she had discovered and pulled everything out of it. Jon had put the photograph in there as well, she realised. She took it all to the coffee table and spread the documents out again. Finger spelling sheet: check. She understood that one. Music score: check. Ella loved her piano; she had practically made Becky play the damn thing. The impressions had been so strong that Becky could only assume Ella was a musician. She metaphorically raised her hat to her, impressed by the girl’s talents.
She was almost sure a small breath of wind lifted a wisp of hair that had escaped from her ponytail and a feeling of quiet warmth spread across her. Yes. Ella liked her piano. Next to the music was the invitation; that was still a mystery but it had grounded them at Carrick Park perhaps. Something must have happened that evening that warranted Lydia to keep it with her special mementoes. Becky remembered the cold, dark evening she had experienced through Ella’s eyes at the church earlier. It didn’t, she thought, have anything to do with that night. The invitation was for the summer, anyway, and not the winter. Then there was the lavender. No idea, thought Becky. She didn’t dare pick that up or handle it too much, but she got absolutely no sense of ownership from Ella. And finally, there was the photograph; Becky’s favourite item. She picked it up, along with the two enlargements that Jon had thoughtfully put with the original.
‘Ella Dunbar,’ she said out loud, ‘is this you then?’ She thought, for just a brief moment, that she heard the word yes in her mind.
It must have been almost forty-five minutes later that Jon came back upstairs to the flat. Becky looked up, startled, as he drifted past her into the kitchen. It was a room she hadn’t investigated properly and she saw him head to the kettle and fill it up from the tap at the sink.