51 Weeks

by Julia Myerscough

  “The family that plays together, stays together,” I murmur, picking at my fingernails as Geoff pointedly criticises the lack of vegetables, comments on the amount of carbs we’ve consumed and complains about the cost of the starters.

  “Aww, you love him really,” grins Claire, noting my mounting embarrassment. “As does Mrs Mon-Key. Since the blueberry-eating challenge, she hasn’t stopped singing his praises. Have you started helping her with her accounts yet, Geoffrey?”

  “Are you? You never said?” I say, perplexed.

  “She asked, and I agreed. It’s no big deal and doesn’t take up too much of my time. Her terms are excellent, Claire,” he smirks.

  “I’m sure they are,” Claire smiles.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I plough on. “How come my friends know about this but your wife doesn’t?”

  Claire smooths the waters before he irritates me further. “Does it matter, Amy? Geoff’s doing her a favour, that’s all. I agree that he should have mentioned it, though. You really should communicate better with Amy, Geoff. At least let her know where you are when you’re away. Now, let’s change the subject. Show us your challenge.”

  The slip of paper reads:

  SPEND A NIGHT IN A HAUNTED HOUSE.

  “Fancy joining me?” I ask, looking round the table expectantly.

  Geoff chokes on his beer. “Count me out. Load of bollocks.”

  “Well, I’m up for it,” says Claire. “And I bet the rest of The Girls will be, too. We could hold a séance or try the Ouija board like we did at school, remember?”

  “Over my dead body,” I frown. “Spending a night in a haunted house is one thing. But no boards, please. They scare the living daylights out of me.” I remember the blind panic I felt as I heard a glass scraping over the table one time. “However, we must have the right location. No venue, no challenge,” I chant.

  “The answer is right under our noses,” Claire giggles. “I work in a building that was once used as a mental hospital,” she explains. “It’s thought that a lady dressed in a long nightshirt floats around the building and talks. Everybody believes it.”

  “Nooooo,” I breathe. “Well, that’s decided then – as long as you can get the go-ahead? Just remember that we need to do it by Friday.”

  “I’ll try. Even if it means we do it as a fundraiser for our charity of choice or something. It’ll be worth it.”

  “Cracking plan, ladies,” laughs Bob. “Don’t forget to watch ‘High S-ghoul Musical’ while you’re there and buy food from the ‘ghost-ery store’.”

  “Bob,” I groan. “Okay, I’ve one big favour to ask you guys? While we are away, send us lots of motivational and comforting texts. I know I’m going to need them. They’ll really help me.”

  “We can do that, can’t we mate?” says Bob.

  “Most definitely,” affirms Geoff. “No worries.”

  Tuesday, 8.00 p.m.

  Exploring the nooks and crannies of this sprawling building is frightening yet exhilarating. We snake our way along a maze of stark and draughty corridors and through a myriad of abandoned spaces, looking to commit to where we will set up camp for the night. We don’t feel the cold. We are united in our cause – to survive the night in a haunted hospital. A heady cocktail of adrenaline and strong black coffee has got us this far, and there is no way we are giving up now. We decide on a dank, whitewashed room, which could have been used as a ward back in the day, and change into our onesies.

  “It’s damn draughty,” shivers Cate, unrolling her sleeping bag. “Hope the candles don’t blow out.”

  Bea is busy unzipping a coolbag. “Get that down you, pet,” she says kindly, passing Cate a glass. “You’ll soon warm up after a dram or two of something special and these treats, pet. Ta-da!” She unveils several bottles of alcohol and packets of nibbles. “Got to recapture the days of our misguided youth,” she grins.

  The goodies are a welcome distraction. None of us have eaten properly all day. Nobody has had much appetite. Cate’s busying herself with the contents of a carrier bag. I wander over to investigate. She holds a ten-inch-tall brown plush dog aloft. “This is no ordinary dog – this is a special hound,” she laughs. “Say hi to the Cosmotron Three Thousand, tonight’s interactive investigator. Nice to spook with you, to spook with you, nice,” she laughs, imitating Bruce Forsyth. “My friend Weird Dan is into this sort of stuff. When I told him what we were up to, he agreed to loan me this cute thing.”

  We gather round to admire the dog. “Dan’s informed me that using something familiar and attractive to a… a whatever, may entice it to make contact,” Cate explains. She takes out her iPhone and scrolls through her messages. “Ah, here it is. Dan says that the dog will detect something called EMF… blah blah… his nose lights up when he senses spikes… and when he senses changes in movement, vibration and temperature, he speaks and his ears flash.” She looks up, wide-eyed. “I wonder what the Cosmotron might say? He might scare us away. I’ll switch him on.” She inserts two AA batteries into the dog’s stomach and sets him down on the floor. “Wake up. Time to do your stuff.”

  “A light’s come on!” screeches Claire, grabbing hold of my arm. “He’s spotted something already.”

  “No, silly,” Cate replies, laughing. “That light on his tummy shows he’s working.”

  We all giggle with relief. “Time for more alcohol, methinks,” I say, taking a look at my watch. “Yep, Girls, it’s deffo wine o’clock. Now, where’s that crate we brought with us?”

  It’s incredibly stressful trying to ignore the Cosmotron Three Thousand while waiting for something to happen and so, to keep our spirits up and prevent us going insane, we resort to a lively game of charades. The dog’s cuteness has waned somewhat. There’s been absolutely no sign of any paranormal activity, yet every so often, it speaks without warning, making us jump in fright.

  Cate’s mobile vibrates. “Dan’s checking up on us. Oh, he’s such a charmer,” she giggles drunkenly. “He says he’s totes jealous and has reminded me to tell you all to switch off your mobiles, as they interfere with stuff. So, phones off, Girls.” We do as she instructs.

  “Why do you call him ‘weird’? Must be a bloody weird bloke to be texting you at one in the morning,” I slur. “How do you know him? You’ve never talked about him, and we’ve known you for ages. What’s he like? He might be a good catch for Bea, if he’s available,” I chuckle.

  “Yessh,” replies Bea, topping up everyone’s glasses. “I am ready for a bit of lusting. Not loving, though. Love is too much trouble, but I would lurve lust right now. Is this Dan hot? You, Cate, are a sheep in wolf’s clothing, mishes, pet. Have you had a moment with him that you’ve kept quiet about? In vino veritas. From wine comes truth. We’re having the wine, now give ush the truth.”

  “Bea, it’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Cate smiles. “Well, Dan is um… unique. We’re just friends. I’m up for inviting him over, though, if you’re agreeable. It’d be good to use his expertise and help locate some ghosts. It’s all been a bit quiet so far. He might say no, and for all I know, he won’t even reply. He’s dead unreliable like that. But then again, how many single blokes would turn down the opportunity of spending the night with us? Now that would be weird.”

  Thirty seconds later.

  “Blimey, he’s on his way,” she gasps, “and he’s bringing along some mate of his called Dave.”

  “Nice one,” laughs Bea. “Just make sure he brings more booze too.”

  It’s two in the morning, and our makeshift disco is going strong when Weird Dan and Dave turn up bearing gifts of beer, vodka and tonic. The ward has been fully transformed into a eighties disco heaven. Rotating disco balls reflect against the walls and ceiling, and classics from the decade are blasting out.

  Cate alerts us to their presence, and I sway cross the room to welcome the lads – with Bea in hot pursuit. Cate
hugs Dan and smiles at Dave. “Welcome to Amy’s latest challenge,” she shouts over the music, pointing me out.

  Bea wastes no time in settling in the newcomers. She assertively links arms with them both and practically drags them towards the designated bar area. “Have a drink and join the party. I don’t know why we’ve never been introduced?” she says, giving Dave one of her brazen seductive looks. “Girls, I’m gonna make some new friends, and perhaps a friend to the end,” she adds offhandedly.

  “Don’t go getting too friendly with them, Bea. Cate,” I wince. “She’s used our code.”

  “Bea, did I just hear you right? Did you just say you were going to be friends to the end?” I ask, curious. “Yes to friends, but perhaps not to the end?” I mouth deliberately, raising my eyebrows.

  Bea smiles and tosses her hair. “Ah, Ames, you are always so sensible and right. No worries, pet. We’ll be just fine.” She turns her attention back to the boys. Cate and I exchange glances.

  “That’s a load of bull,” she whispers to me. “She’s already decided what she’s gonna do. I only hope that those lads can handle her. Dan’s rather naïve. She’ll eat him alive.”

  Dan turns to Cate. “Where’s the Tron? Has there been any paranormal activity or spikes?” he asks.

  “He’s over here, but absolutely nothing’s happened, nothing at all.”

  It’s that time of night for drunken, meaningful discussions about whether the paranormal really is ‘a load of bollocks’, as Geoff so eloquently put it earlier in the week. Dan has visibly relaxed. He sits opposite me, chain-smoking and excitedly talking us through a pile of magazine articles he’s brought along that describe different types of so-called paranormal visitations in detail. I half-listen to him through my drunken fog, watching him and his quirky mannerisms. He doesn’t seem that weird to me. He reminds me of an overexcited eight-year-old waiting for Santa to arrive on Christmas Eve. I like that – it’s endearing. In fact, I muse as I listen to his stories, I wonder why he’s single? In some ways, he reminds me of Him. It’s that easy-going manner and tone of voice…

  I sit up with a start, and my heart skips a beat. I smile inwardly. Oh, Him. Where are you, and what are you up to? What did you think when I tried to call you? Were you happy that I did? I brood. Once again, I feel an overwhelming urge to reach out and connect with him. I know I can’t, as our mobiles are out of bounds, but I so want to. And if I could…

  “Claire. Come over here. I need to ask you something important.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s about Him and me. Hypothetically speaking, if you were me and whatever you tried, you just couldn’t get him out of your head, what would you do? What if you felt you’d connected in some way and didn’t want to break that connection, even though you knew you should?” Alcohol loosens my tongue further. “What if I’d really snogged him and liked it too much? What if I still want to snog him? What if he’s become that fucking addiction we sort of talked about?”

  “Do you think he has? Become an addiction, I mean? Please don’t tell me you’ve lied to me all this time and been snogging him – or worse,” she whispers. She sounds totally shocked and close to tears. I realise that I’ve gone too far and that she doesn’t get it. Her expression and tone of voice is condemning. For the first time since I confided in her, I feel quite uncomfortable, and I bend the truth to get out of trouble and protect myself.

  “Course not,” I reply emphatically. “That’s all behind me now,” I backtrack. “I think about him now and again – well, he is my fifty-first challenge buddy, after all – and we’ve texted each other a bit, but nothing else has happened. However, the fact that I secretly harboured feelings of lust for so long has made me question myself and my fidelity.”

  I see obvious relief written on her face. “Oh, Ames, my prayers have been answered. The Lord has given you the strength to find your way to safety. You must stop torturing yourself, hon,” she says, rubbing my arm gently. “No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and He will not let you be tempted beyond your ability to resist but with the temptation He will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it. The snog never happened and, although you worried me there, I never believed for one minute that you – of all people – would risk everything you’ve worked so hard for, just for a tryst. If you feel that bad inside, sit down with Geoff and talk it out. I know he needs you. He’ll understand.”

  She digs me playfully in the ribs. “In all honesty, I think you are acting weird because you’re in the middle of your menopausal mid-life crisis, fuelled by this madcap year of yours. It’s forcing you to dig deep within yourself and challenge everything in your life – even stuff that doesn’t need analysis. But this is an extraordinary year, hon; you must keep things in perspective. I’m glad there’s not long to go until you can get back to some kind of normality. Next January, you’ll take stock and realise how ridiculous you’ve been – mooning over some stupid bloke. I think you’d deeply regret it if Geoff were no longer beside you and vice versa. I envy what you have.” She turns away for a brief moment and coughs.

  “You okay, Claire?”

  “Yes, Ames. Swallowed the wrong way. Now, where were we?”

  “Do you really think everything I’m feeling and doing is down to my hormones?” I reply, hopefully.

  “Yes, I do,” she replies confidently. It’s all about the hormones at our age. Even Bob frogmarched me to see my GP, who kindly diagnosed that I was on my way and casually added that it might take up to eleven years before I am officially through it.”

  “You’re on your way to where?” I ask.

  “Prebloodycisely. According to my research, I am on my way to a potential loss of sex drive, vaginal problems, migraines, weight gain, mood swings, a furry face and forgetfulness. I feel incompetent and unwell, but who can I tell? Who’ll understand?

  “I desperately hide all the crap I’m feeling and muddle through. But one day I will return to how I was, and I will be happy again and, Amy Richards, so will you.”

  I hug Claire tightly, but she pulls away, takes my hands in hers and looks me straight in the eye. “I know you want this Him to help with your final challenge, but you are strong and intelligent enough to do it on your own, Amy. I want you to cut ties – permanently – with Him, and I know, deep inside, that you do too. Do it for your lovely husband. Make a pledge to end it right now. Here, put your hand on your heart and swear to me,” she says with gravitas.

  I hesitate. It all sounds a bit melodramatic, and Claire’s behaviour is unnerving me. I’ve never seen her like this before – so insistent – almost manipulative. It must be the drink talking. I do as she wants to keep the peace.

  Claire appears satisfied. She turns to Dan. “May we switch on our phones just once?” she asks. “Ames and I need to check for motivational messages.”

  “Go on, then – but be quick,” Dan laughs.

  We fire up our mobiles and wait for the messages of support to ping in. Everyone has messages from friends and loved ones – everyone except me. Dan notices my crestfallen face. “Husband forgotten about you?” he enquires.

  Sadly, that’s probably true, I sigh to myself. I quietly retire to the ladies’ to compose myself. I feel deeply let down. Why didn’t Geoff text me this time? We need to sort this out, I reflect grimly. He’s taken me for granted for too long. Pippa’s right, I am his bloody minion.

  I walk slowly back to the main room, pour myself a consolatory glass of wine and throw my mobile into my bag in disgust. A freak cold draught hits me across my back. “Sorry, did I leave the door ajar?” I ask absentmindedly.

  “No,” says Cate, giving the door handle a wiggle. It doesn’t move. Her brow furrows as she tries it again. “Hey, Dan, come and open this for me,” she asks, slightly panicked. “It won’t budge.”

  The Cosmotron Three Thousand spring
s to life. “Hush, everyone,” Dan commands, his eyes gleaming. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

  Nothing to worry about? I wail internally. I am frozen to the spot. My breathing quickens. My finger moves instinctively to my mouth, and I begin to chew methodically, my eyes darting around the room, watching and waiting… Everyone except Bea and Dave looks as petrified as me. They are oblivious to it all.

  Cate makes a noise like a strangled cat. “Dan?” she screeches, desperately tugging at the door handle. Dan wrenches it open. “Sorry, Ames. This is too much for me. Claire, stop that texting and come on.” She grabs Claire’s arm and flees to the safety of her car.

  Bea sidles up to Dave, who is strumming on his guitar, removes a cigarette from the corner of his mouth and takes a long, deep drag on it. “Last woo and men standing,” she slurs, swaying to the music. “Smoking is another experience that I renounced years ago and rekindled,” she breathes seductively. Dave flashes her a look fuelled with unmistakable pure unadulterated lust. “Come on, Bea-youtiful,” he drawls. “Let’s go explore this place and declutter it of a few ghouls.” There’s absolutely no mistaking his intentions. He struts purposefully out of the room signalling for her to follow, and Bea runs after him.

  That leaves me, Dan and the dog. I cannot remember the last time I felt this vulnerable. Was it in Amsterdam? I ponder. At least I knew the Stags a bit, I smile, remembering the fun we had. I hardly know Dan at all, and why does Cate call him weird? What if he did something weird, right now?

  I pour myself a glass of wine, trying to mentally list what Dan doing something weird might look like: taking off all his clothes because he needed to get closer to nature, or donning some strange ghost-hunting outfit to help him to get into role. That would be well, weird. What if he talks in a foreign tongue to ‘visitations’? That one would really set me off, I shudder. Perhaps I should ask him what it is about him, right now.