by Freer, Echo;
‘Is there someone else in there? ‘Mrs Twigg had obviously heard him too. ‘Come out immediately.’
‘You heard her,’ I said under my voice. ‘She wants you to go out there - immediately.’
‘Ah know tha canst ‘ear me, so tha must listen,’ the voice said. And then it dawned on me - he wasn’t speaking in some little-known Scandinavian dialect, as I’d previously thought - it was actually English. But, oh boy, what weird English! I strained my ears and concentrated as he went on, ‘A great wrong’s bin done. In t’year of our Lord seventeen ‘undred and fifty four, a man wor ‘anged as shouldn’t ‘ave bin. Tha must help us!’
I froze. Oh boy! This was either a very elaborate practical joke, or... no, I wasn’t even going to go there. But before I could go anywhere -
‘YOU AGAIN!’
Uh oh - I’d inadvertently positioned myself in the door of the storeroom and the smog zone that was Mrs Twigg had spotted me. She’d diverted her fury from Kameran and poor Milly (who was almost in tears) and was now bearing down on me from the other end of the gym.
Great - from ghost to ghoul in one minute - my day was just getting better and better. I looked from the cupboard to the gym, where the enormous Mrs T was thundering towards me, and back to the cupboard.
‘I don’t know who you are, but back off,’ I muttered, as the lumbering PE teacher loomed closer.
‘Who do you think you’re telling to back off?’ she boomed.
Which was absolutely not what I’d intended. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get out of this one. I poked my head out of the door and tried to disarm her with a smile. She had an expression like a rampaging rhino, so I guessed I probably needed to work on my disarmament strategy.
‘Er... no one,’ I called, looking round the storeroom, frantically searching for anything that might let me off the hook. ‘I was just saying ...’ Suddenly, like an answer to a prayer, an old shelving unit toppled over on to the mats. ‘I was just saying that I needed to get this rack off.’ Phew! Talk about a narrow escape. ‘It’s fallen on my foot.’
Then moving away from the door I whispered to the voice, ‘If that was your doing, I’m very grateful but please leave me alone. I can’t help you.’
With that I walked out of the freezing cupboard and into the swelteringly hot gym to meet my fate.
4
Whenever something nasty happens to me, I’ve developed this brilliant technique of switching off and singing songs in my head. So while Mrs T was giving me an ear bashing, I was mentally singing an old Bolivian nursery rhyme that (roughly translated) is the Latin American equivalent of, Wibble wobble, wibble wobble, jelly on the plate. I’d like to think that the fact that it came into my head at that particular time had nothing whatsoever to do with Mrs Twigg’s quadruple chins that were bouncing up and down as she read the riot act, but as I said before, I don’t believe in coincidence.
I was up to my eighth rendition when she finally wound down. ‘So, all three of you will have an hour’s detention tomorrow. Meet me outside the Sports Hall after last lesson where you can begin repainting all the hockey balls.’
Milly’s bottom lip began to pucker and she looked really teary. ‘ Mam’ll go mad. I’ve never had a detention before.’
I felt terrible; this was all my fault. Although, when I thought about it, maybe not all my fault - Kameran ought to take some responsibility. After all, it was his idea in the first place. And he did select the storeroom as the venue.
‘I’ve never had one either,’ he said, putting a consoling arm round Milly’s shoulder. Then he grinned. ‘It’s kinda cool.’
Yes! I did a mental victory punch to see them getting up close and personal. It’s so satisfying to see people’s readings coming true. As for the detention, I wasn’t sure about it being cool - that’s probably just a macho boy thing - but I can’t say it was bothering me that much either. Painting hockey balls for an hour was a perfect opportunity to practise my mediation.
There were a couple of things that were really getting up my nose, though. The first was the whole hearing voices incident. I hadn’t said anything to the others because it had freaked me out a bit. It’s one thing to get intuitive messages through the cards, but to have a spirit actually speak to you is a whole different crystal ball game. Even though Wanda sometimes says she’s seeing or hearing spirits, between you and me, I’m not totally convinced - and neither are most of her clients!
The other thing that was bugging me was that fact that Mrs Twigg had taken my cards. Tarots are extremely personal things and I certainly didn’t want her energy contaminating my best set. And it didn’t help that, when I got home, Wanda was being ridiculously parental about the whole thing.
‘Sweetie, you’ve only been there a week and you’ve been given two detentions, had to drop a subject and now you’re livelihood’s been confiscated. What’s happening to you? I think that school’s having a negative effect on your aura.’
OK, so maybe ridiculously parental is a slight exaggeration, but believe me, for Wanda that was harsh.
‘It’s not having a negative effect on me.’ We were setting up the parlour for Wanda’s evening sitting and I’d just put a match to the fire. ‘I like it at college. I have friends there.’ I was just getting the hang of this ‘making friends’ thing, so the last thing I wanted was for Wanda to take me out of school again.
‘OK then, sweetie. But I don’t want you turning into some juvenile delinquent,’ she warned, as she placed her crystal ball on the table and straightened the tablecloth.
‘I’ll try harder,’ I agreed. I hardly thought that doing a few readings in my lunch break was going to earn me an ASBO.
When Wanda does sittings, it’s my job to create the atmosphere in the room. I’d already lit the tea light under the little urn-shaped burner with rose oil in it, and placed an aromatic joss stick by the door. And I’d just taken another match and was going round the parlour lighting the candles, when I noticed my hand was trembling. Whoa! This was ridiculous. How could I possibly be feeling nervous about a sitting? I’d helped Wanda hundreds of time and I’d never felt like this.
And then it dawned on me; when I’d looked up to the storeroom ceiling and told the spirits that if they didn’t want me doing this stuff, they only had to say, I really hadn’t been prepared for them to actually respond from beyond. It was a huge career leap to go from simple psychic to mystic medium in a single lunch break and I still hadn’t got my head round it. But to make matters worse, I hadn’t told Wanda. To say that I’d been sparing with the truth was an understatement. I’d owned up about the illicit tarot readings, but what I’d omitted was the fairly crucial matter of having a spirit actually speak to me. I don’t know why but every time I’d tried to tell her, something stopped me. And I hate holding things back from her. Wanda and I have never had secrets.
Oh well, here goes, I thought. If say it quickly before the client arrives then it’ll all be over and done with. I took a deep breath. ‘There is something I need to talk to you about.’
Wanda obviously hadn’t picked up on the urgency in my voice because she was going through a pile of sequined headscarves, holding each one up to the light.
‘Mmm?’ she queried, holding a turquoise one with Turkish coins sewn round the edge against her lilac top. ‘Does this one go, sweetie?’
‘The purple one would be better.’ I placed an enormous floor-standing candlestick by the wall and drew the curtains. ‘Wanda, something happened today.’
But just then the ship’s bell that hung over the front door, clanged loudly and I jumped. We’ve lived here over two weeks now and that bell still frightens the bejeebers out of me every time it’s rung.
‘I’ll have to tell Teddy to do something about that,’ Wanda said, tying the turquoise scarf round her head and pushing the last wisps of hair up inside it. Then she giggled, �
�It’s loud enough to wake the dead!’
I didn’t know if I’d been saved by the bell or beaten by it, but either way I decided to forget the whole hearing voices episode and just hope that it was a one-off and things would settle down to normal again. If Wanda wanted to go down the mediumship route, that was up to her; I was just going to stick with my intuition.
And speaking of intuition, the moment the client walked in, my intuition told me that tonight was going to be interesting - and I don’t mean that in a good way. She had wild, badly permed hair, fuchsia lipstick randomly smeared round the bottom of her face and narrow piggy eyes. She was wearing a brown skirt, grey blouse and a long green cardigan with a belt that was tied round her waist. I’ve seen better dressed sacks of rice! Normally I try not to judge a person by their clothes. After all, when Wanda and I lived in Mongolia, there were times when we had nothing to wear but animal skins. But even then, I like to think that we wore them with a certain panache. But this woman wouldn’t know panache if it crept up and crimped her hemline.
‘This is my daughter, Mimosa,’ Wanda introduced. ‘She’ll be assisting me this evening.’ She indicated for the woman to go into the parlour.
I held out my hand to shake hers but she stomped past me thrusting her bosom in front of her like a weapon of mass destruction.
‘Aye, my lad’s told me about her and her goings on up at t’college,’ she said.
Wanda caught my eye and winked reassuringly. I winked back at her - or tried to. I’ve never actually been able to master the art of winking; I always end up shutting both eyes and looking as though I’ve got some sort of nervous disorder.
‘Mimosa,’ she said, ‘this is Eva Proudfoot.’
‘Mrs Proudfoot, if you don’t mind. I don’t hold with all this first names malarkey. Now just get on with it will you.’
Proudfoot? I didn’t need to be a genealogist to realise that this woman was somehow related to Milly’s two-timing boyfriend, Eddy. I’d never met Eddy, but if the cards were to be believed (which of course they always are), then he was a majorly not-nice guy. And by the looks of things his mother wasn’t much better.
Wanda indicated for Mrs Proudfoot to take her seat at the far side of the table. Wanda sat opposite and then I switched off the lights and sat on a chair by the door, positioning myself so that I was behind Wanda but could see the client clearly. My role was to keep an eye on proceedings and tap Wanda on the shoulder if I saw that the client was in any way distressed or anxious.
Wanda placed her hands flat on the table either side of the crystal ball, dropped her head back, closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose. There was silence apart from the crackling of the fire in the inglenook and the mewing of seagulls outside. I love watching Wanda work and felt a tingle of excitement run down my spine. But then -
‘You can cut out all that rubbish,’ barked Mrs Proudfoot. ‘I’ve not come here for theatricals. Just get on wi’ t’job.’
Wanda’s head snapped forwards again and she opened her eyes. Uh oh! That was definitely not a good start. But she stayed very calm.
‘Believe me, Mrs Proudfoot, I am not an actor. I was merely centring myself and preparing to open a portal to the other side.’ The sequins on her headscarf twinkled in the candlelight. ‘Now if you would be so kind as to allow me to continue.’
‘I’ve never heard ‘owt so daft,’ continued Mrs Proudfoot. ‘I used to go to old Freda Frickley over in Baytown and she never did any of this airy fairy nonsense.’
Wanda smiled and inclined her head slightly but I knew there was a volcano waiting to erupt inside her. ‘If you want to cancel your appointment, Mrs Proudfoot, I would be happy to refund your fee.’ Then she added, ‘Minus the non-refundable deposit of course.’
‘Like heck I want to cancel it. I’ve come here a purpose so don’t think you can get out if it that easy!’
Without replying, Wanda closed her eyes and drew a deep breath again. This time she wrapped her hands around the crystal ball and began to mutter faintly as she lowered her head to gaze into the crystal.
‘What was that my darling?’ she said softly to no one in particular. ‘Have you got a name for me?’
‘By, this place is a bit pokey, in’t it?’ Eva Proudfoot interjected. ‘I’m all but on fire, I’m so close to t’hearth. I’m used to more comfortable surroundings than this.’
‘OK, that’s it!’ Wanda said, unwinding her headscarf and allowing her hair to cascade down her back. ‘I’m sorry but I cannot work ....’
At that moment all the candles in the room flickered and I gave a shiver as the temperature plummeted. Oh no! It was happening again.
‘ I see - more of your little dramatic effects!’ Evil Eva’s head was wagging, in an I’m-on-to-you sort of way.
And then I heard it - the voice again. Not whispering this time - it was as loud as though he was standing next to me. ‘Tell ‘er that ‘er mother says to go ‘ome an’ stop ‘er caterwauling. She couldn’t be trusted wi’ t’money. That’s why she didn’t leave ‘er owt.’
My eyes shot from one end of the room to the other looking for a sign that either Wanda or Mrs Proudfoot had heard him too. But they both seemed totally oblivious.
‘You’re nowt but a charlatan.’ Mrs Proudfoot was pushing her chair back and standing up. ‘I’m off and I’ll have my money back - all of it!’
‘Fine by me,’ Wanda was saying.
‘Tell ‘er. Now! Afore she goes,’ the voice said to me.
Yeah, right! That would ease the tension, passing on a message like that to a woman who’s already breathing fire and brimstone. I was looking round the room but I couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from. ‘Just go away and leave me alone,’ I whispered.
I was suddenly aware that both Wanda and Eva were staring at me.
‘Who are you telling to go away?’ Mrs Proudfoot sounded indignant. Then, as she realised I hadn’t been speaking to her, she folded her arms across her pendulous bosom and threw back her head. ‘Oh, I see what’s going on. Well spare me any more of this poppycock! You must think I was born yesterday.’
‘Tell ‘er quick,’ the voice said again.
‘All right,’ I said quietly. I looked Mrs Proudfoot in the eye and repeated the message I’d been given.
Wanda sucked in her breath. Evil Eva said nothing for a few moments. Then she slumped onto the chair, sitting down so heavily that a less sturdy piece of furniture would’ve crumpled under the pressure. She narrowed her eyes even more, so that they became like tiny laser beams boring into me. ‘Has our Eddy been priming you, young lady?’
‘I’ve never met Eddy,’ I said. ‘It was a message from the other side.’
‘Oh really?’ They always say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, but there was nothing witty about Mrs Proudfoot.
Even Wanda sounded incredulous. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, really,’ I told Wanda. ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’
Mrs Proudfoot was not convinced. ‘Listen, I’m not so green as cabbage looking you know. The whole of Whitby knows my mother was a wealthy woman and she left the lot to a dogs’ home. I haven’t paid good money to hear the sort of information you could’ve got from any Tom, Dick or Harry. Now when I used to go to Freda Frickley.....’
‘Ah’m over ‘ere,’ the voice said. ‘Can’st tha see mi?’
My head was twisting and turning, peering into every nook and cranny to find the source of the voice.
‘Our Eddy said your girl was soft in t’head,’ Mrs Proudfoot said, nodding in my direction. ‘Look at her now. You should have her seen to.’
I was ignoring her by mentally singing Alice the Camel as I strained my eyes against the candlelight. And then I saw him! There, behind Mrs Proudfoot, in the corner at the back of the room was a boy. And oh boy, what a boy!
I gasped. ‘Oh my God!’
‘Mimosa?’ I was vaguely aware of Wanda tapping me on the arm, but I was transfixed; this guy was seriously gorgeous.
Wow! Either the sexiest burglar in Britain had snuck into our front room, or this was the physical manifestation of the voice I’d been talking to. It was a toss up which was the better option; in view of his rugged good looks, I had a personal preference for the burglar, simply on the grounds that he would’ve been alive. But unfortunately all the evidence was pointing to the spirit scenario. Apart from the flickering candles, the sub-zero temperature and the unmistakable voice, there were his clothes. He was wearing a jacket that flared out from the waist with a frilly cravat type of thing hanging round his neck and knee length breeches. To be honest, he looked like a scruffy ancestor of Austin Powers. But what really clinched it was the merest suggestion of wallpaper showing through him. I don’t know about you, but I don’t know any living people who have that degree of transparency - well, not on a physical level anyway.
‘Tha canst see mi canst tha?’ he said, suddenly smiling. Whoa! My tummy did a back flip. He was leaning against the wall with his arms folded and one leg crossed over the other looking so hunky I was finding it hard to remember he was only an apparition. ‘Mi name’s Quill - Quill Newton.’ He bent forwards in the slightest suggestion of a bow and it was time for some internal gymnastics again. ‘Ah can’t tell thi ‘ow relieved Ah am. Ah’ve bin tryin’ ti get folk ti see mi for two ‘undred odd year.’
What was I supposed to do? I could hardly just say, oh really, that’s interesting. I’ve never had a conversation with a ghost before and I wasn’t sure I wanted to have one now, particularly not in front of Wanda and Mrs Proudfoot - who was still rambling on about what a fraud Wanda was. Which, sadly, I was beginning to realise might not be too far from the truth. And yet I was intrigued. OK - I admit it; my intrigue could have had something to do with the fact that he was so drop dead gorgeous - if you’ll pardon the pun! (Ghost, drop dead - get it?) Anyway, I was in a dilemma when Quill (and how fabulous is that name?) spoke to me again.