by David Munro
Later that morning, as James drew open the lounge curtains, late December sunshine filled the room. Entering the hall, he picked up a handset to call Julie at the guest house in Jersey. His dream, which included April, disturbed him, therefore, speaking to Julie would dismiss his concern. A few seconds later, James heard her voice.
“Hello, Julie, it’s James.” He gripped the handset.
“Hello, James, how are you?”
“Fine, yourself?”
“I’m okay, how is April?”
“Since your last call, there has been no change.”
“Then she’s still in a stable condition?”
“Yes.”
James paused.
“What are your plans for New Year?”
“A neighbour has invited the residents of Dochar to a celebration.”
“It must be a large property.”
“It is, and just as well.”
Julie laughed.
“What are your plans?”
“A family gathering at my aunt’s house on the outskirts of St Helier.”
“Have a terrific time, and I’ll call again soon.”
“Almost forgot!”
“Yes?”
“Victoria will be in Glasgow next month.”
“Oh?”
“She is attending a company seminar, and would like to meet up with you.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
“Can I give her your number, and she can call?”
“Yes, that’s okay.”
“Speak to you later, James, take care.”
“You too, bye.”
James replaced the handset into the cradle, and sighed. Also, he could now meet Victoria. Julie set the handset on the kitchen table. She felt it advisable not to tell James that April recently suffered a relapse.
Five days into 2015, James travelled to Glasgow having arranged to meet Victoria at a popular bar in the city centre. After a two and a half-hour journey, he arrived at ‘GiGis’ bar, just before two o’clock. James ordered a drink from the tall slim bar person with bobbed black hair. He sat down at a table with two chairs, and unbuttoned his dark overcoat. After checking his watch, James gazed out a window facing the street. He took a sip of his drink, set it on the table, and looked around the subdued bar. It could be that following Glasgow’s New Year celebrations, customers were still recuperating. James glanced at a large circular brass clock behind the long bar – 2.19. As his watch showed 2.09, maybe an astute member of staff had put the clock forward to ensure customers finish their drinks in good time. Then, a young woman with shoulder-length blonde hair entered the bar. Since she matched Julie’s description, James got up, and the young woman spotted him.
James approached her. “Victoria?”
She nodded.
“Was the bar easy to find?”
“Yes, it’s only a short walk from George Square.”
“What would you like to drink?”
“A Perrier water, please.”
“With ice?”
“No, thanks.”
When James went to the bar, Victoria sat down, then unbuttoned her black coat. She observed James speaking to the bar person and pondered why he would leave his property to a stranger? It couldn’t be because he knew Victoria’s grandmother.
A few moments later, James returned with an empty glass, plus a bottle of Perrier water. Victoria poured the Perrier water into her glass, and took a sip.
“Is it okay?”
She nodded, set her glass on the table, and looked at James. “You’ve a puzzled expression.”
“You look familiar.”
“In what way?”
“Hair, height and build.”
Victoria lifted her glass, and took another sip.
James lifted his glass. She was in my dream.
Victoria looked around the bar. “Gothic.”
“It’s a popular place in the evening.”
She smiled. “But not during the day.”
James grinned. “How was your meeting?”
“Fine.”
“You work as an Account Manager?”
“For an advertising agency, just off Princes Street.”
“Sounds interesting.” This is surreal, it’s definitely her.
“The work can be demanding, but I prefer it that way.”
James took a sip. I have to pinch myself that this is also my granddaughter. He set his glass on the table.
Victoria looked at James. “A penny for them.”
“How is your mother?”
“A slight improvement.”
“That’s good to hear.”
As James lifted his glass, Victoria followed, and seconds later, looked at her watch.
“Do you have a train to catch?”
Victoria nodded. “There’s one which leaves Queen Street in fifteen minutes.” This is nerve-wracking.
“I will walk you to the station.”
“It’s no problem.”
“I’m heading that way.”
“To the bus station?”
James nodded.
He finished his drink, set the glass down, and glanced at Victoria’s half-empty glass.
“I should have had it with ice.”
Whilst leaving the bar, both customers received a friendly goodbye from the lone bar person.
Following a brisk walk to reach Queen Street railway station, Victoria gave James a relieved smile. “A pleasure to have spoken with you.”
“If you’re coming through to Glasgow, let me know.”
“It’s a long two and a half hours.”
“You become used to it.”
Victoria glanced at her watch.
“Safe journey home.”
“Thanks, you also.”
“Hopefully, after the recent strong winds, my roof will still be intact.”
“It’s a lovely property.”
“Better not miss your train.”
Victoria entered the station and as she walked towards the main platform area, looked behind and waved. James acknowledged, and whilst walking towards the bus station, pondered. How would Victoria know I have a lovely property? Also, she is spot on with the time it takes to Dochar.
James reached the bus station, and headed for his departure stance. Stepping onto the stationary coach, he produced his return ticket, then sat down. As he waited for the coach to depart, James reflected on his day.
Victoria boarded the delayed Edinburgh-bound service and managed to get a window seat. As the train left Glasgow, she looked out. If James was eight years old in 1967, he would now be fifty-six, but appears early-forties. Nature has been kind to him.
Complete with winter attire, James departed Docharnea and made for Ardrishaig. Although freezing February had arrived, winter snow and ice did not fill the landscape, therefore, a safe casual walk ensued.
Twenty-five minutes later, James reached the main street, and entered a colourful pleasant-smelling shop. A petite woman preparing a display looked round then went behind the counter. James approached it, glanced at various arrangements of flowers and then looked at the shop assistant.
“Yes, sir.”
“What would you recommend laying at a grave?”
“Any preference of flowers, sir?”
“Something fitting for a great-aunt.”
The woman pointed. “Those white carnations, they represent remembrance.”
James nodded. “Perfect.”
The shop assistant came from behind the counter, and put together a bouquet. She wrapped them in white paper, then handed them to James. After he paid, she smiled. “A lady was here just five minutes ago, and bought light red carnations for a relative.”
“Light red?”
“They represent admiration.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I can tell you more, then again, I won’t keep you.”
“Thanks, anyway.”
“Goodbye.”
“Bye.”
James left the shop, and walked towards Ardrishaig’s cemetery. On the way, he recalled previous visits, and two spirits that showed themselves to him, and no one else.
Upon entering the cemetery, he noticed a lady with shoulder-length raven hair, wearing a long black coat laying flowers beside a grave. When James got closer, she glanced his way. As she resembles Ann Anderson, James stared. The lady looked away, and James continued to his great-aunt’s place of rest. He bent down, laid white carnations at the grey headstone, and stood. A gust of wind appeared, however, the carnations remained still. James reflected for sever moments, then left. Observing that the lady had also left, James walked over to where she had been standing. The writing on the headstone read, Ann Anderson 1894-1917.
After leaving the cemetery, James walked to the main street and once there, went into its popular coffee shop. An assistant wearing a red woollen top greeted him at the counter. “It is busy today, sir?”
James smiled. “To escape the cold.”
“I’m well wrapped up!”
James looked around the shop.
The woman pointed. “Is that one in the corner okay?”
“Yes.”
“What would you like?”
“Just a white coffee, please.”
“I’ll bring it over.”
James sat down, and looked around the popular outlet. Since moving to nearby Dochar, fifteen years had passed, but as a consequence of time travel, those years had been condensed into months! A woman with a brown walking stick entered and sought a chair for relief. Spotting James’s table, she came across. He stood, and presented a chair to her.
“Thank you.” The woman sat down. “Ah, that’s better!”
James smiled.
“I’m Agnes.”
“James.”
“Do you stay in Ardrishaig?”
“Just outside, at Dochar.”
“In one of the Victorian properties?”
James nodded.
“Which one?”
“Docharnea.”
“How long have you stayed there?”
“Almost fifteen years.”
“I haven’t seen you in the village.” She placed the walking stick against her chair. “Fifteen years you say?”
“I’ve travelled a lot, therefore, my time here has been scarce.”
“Where did you travel to?”
“Europe.”
“Were the places interesting?”
“Yes, I witnessed extraordinary sights.”
The woman smiled. “Oh well, that is good.” She looked towards the counter, then at James. “Are you married?”
“Not yet.” This feels like an interview.
“You’re not one of those fussy types?”
James shook his head.
“There is no Miss Perfect in this world!”
James remained silent.
Once more, the lady looked towards the counter, raised her arm and looked at James. “We’ll get served soon.”
A few moments later, the assistant brought James his coffee, took the woman’s order, and departed.
“I like to keep the staff on their toes.”
James lifted his cup and then took a sip.
“Is it warm?”
He nodded, and set the cup on its saucer.
“Last time I visited this place the coffee was cold and I told them!”
“Quite right.”
“At least the shop disposed of that damn doorbell.” The woman coughed. “When someone entered, or left, elderly people would jump out of their chair.”
“It was loud.”
The assistant returned with another cup of coffee, set it in front of the woman, and quickly left. She took a sip, then set her cup on the saucer. “They’ve learned from my last visit.”
“Have you stayed in Ardrishaig long?”
“All my life, I worked in a nearby establishment for many years.”
“What was it called?”
“The Grey Gull Inn.”
“A long-standing establishment.”
“I started as a bar waitress way back in 1950, and became manager in 1961.” The woman coughed. “I stopped working thirty-six years later, and now live off my pension.”
“Did you work at The Grey Gull until you retired?”
The woman shook her head. “I left in 1972, to work for the supermarket.”
“Better working conditions?”
She nodded. “Less hours, and more pay.”
“In 1967, a relative once stayed there.”
“A male relative?”
James nodded. “He was complimentary about the staff.”
“He must have met Abigail.” The woman paused. “I hope your relative wasn’t the rogue who left her in the lurch!” The woman shook her white hair. “Poor Abigail, having to bring up a child on her own.”
James remained silent.
“You appear far away.”
“Reminiscing about the past.”
Following moments of silence, a well-groomed lady entered, looked around, and approached James’s table. The woman looked up, and acknowledged her.
“Apologies for being late, Agnes.”
“Have a seat, Annabelle.”
As the lady sat down, Agnes glanced at James, then Annabelle. “Do you know this gentleman?”
“This morning, our paths crossed at the cemetery.” James looked at Agnes.
“Annabelle, this gentleman has recently returned to the area, and is unattached.”
Annabelle stared at James, then at Agnes.
Agnes looked at James. “Are you rich?”
James shook his head.
“Nonsense, you own one of the properties in affluent Dochar.”
“Which one?”
“Docharnea.”
When a ping came from Annabelle’s coat pocket, she brought out a small pink-coloured device, looked at the screen, and smiled at Agnes. “I have to go, catch up with you tomorrow.”
“I’ll look forward to a longer chat.”
Annabelle glanced at James. “Bye.”
“Bye.”
After she left, Agnes and James lifted their cups, took a sip, and set them down. Agnes looked at James. “Is Docharnea haunted? There have been rumours and sightings going back a hundred years.”
James shook his head.
“Annabelle’s attractive, isn’t she?”
James nodded.
“She’s thirty-nine, how old are you?”
“Forty-three.” Now that I’ve got rid of the beard, I’ll look my age.
“You don’t look it.”
James smiled. “Are you related to Annabelle?”
“I’m a friend of the family.” The woman coughed. “Annabelle has recently arrived from France, where she spent most of her married life.”
“Where in France?”
“Nice.”
That’s a coincidence.
Agnes lifted her cup, took a sip. “Annabelle’s family are from Ardrishaig.” She set the cup down. “There’s a likeness to her and a distant relative.”
“What was the relative’s name?”
“Ann Anderson.”
A lady rose from her chair, came across to the table, and sat next to Agnes.
“Daisy!”
“Hello, Agnes.”
“I didn’t notice you.” Agnes touched Daisy’s arm. “My eyesight is not as it once was.”
Daisy laughed.
James stood up. “You will have to excuse me, ladies.”
“Leaving already?” said Agnes.”
James glanced at his watch. “Time for my trim at the hairdressers.”
“Bye,” said Agnes.
After paying for his coffee, James departed, and Agnes looked away from the entrance. “I tried to pair him with Annabelle.”
“You’re being optimistic!”
“Why do you say that?”
“Annabelle will no doubt be on her travels again.” Daisy shook her short curly white hair
. “She isn’t the type to stay in one place.”
“That gentleman is also a traveller, he has recently returned to the village.”
“Where from?”
“He didn’t say, keeps cards close to his chest.”
Daisy grinned.
“What’s funny?”
“Then he and Annabelle are suited.”
Agnes laughed.
A worried Victoria prepared to catch the flight from Edinburgh Airport to Jersey. Two days earlier, Julie had made an urgent call concerning April’s condition, and Victoria would visit on Valentine’s weekend.
On the flight, she thought about her mother, then a certain James Carsell-Brown and the nagging question, why would he leave his property to her? She put her head on the seat rest, tried to relax, and heard a fellow passenger sneeze. Victoria opened her eyes, and looked sideways.
“My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay.”
“I’ve had this bloody cold for two weeks.” The lady sniffed. “I just can’t get rid of it.” She produced a paper tissue from her coat pocket.
“This damp weather doesn’t help.”
The lady dabbed her nose. “Too many glasses of wine last night didn’t help.”
“Do you stay in Jersey?”
“Yes, I was in Edinburgh on business.”
“What is it you do.”
“I work for a chain of exclusive hotels based in Jersey.”
“A sales position?”
The lady nodded, and held out her hand. “Diana.”
“Victoria.” She shook the lady’s hand.
“Are you visiting friends?”
“My mother, she isn’t well.”
“Last year, I sat beside a gentleman who was also visiting a sick relative.” The lady stared at Victor. There’s a likeness. She leaned forward and removed a magazine from the seat pocket in front, and started to read it.
Victoria looked at the lady. “What was the gentleman’s name?”
“Carlisle-Brown, James Carlisle-Brown.”
“Carsell-Brown?”
“Yes, that was it.” The lady sniffed.
Victoria pondered.
Seconds later, the flight went through strong turbulence, accompanied by gasps and groans from its passengers. The lady stared at Victoria. “Glad I declined a coffee.” She looked at her watch. “Thankfully, not long to go.”
Twenty minutes later, passengers sighed as they got off the aircraft. Colour returned to their faces whilst entering the airport terminal building. After collecting her suitcase, Victoria walked to the taxi rank, and joined a queue. When several taxi cabs appeared at once, she was soon en route to her mother’s guest house.