by Pat Herbert
“I know, Bernie, but I think the boy had a psychic experience. The woman fell from the Big Wheel, not this morning, but many moons ago. That’s what I think.”
“Oh, you and your psychic phenomena,” said Bernard dismissively. “You’re always looking for ghosts and things.”
“Well, why not? What other explanation could there be for what the boy saw?”
“I told you – he’s a liar.”
“Is he, Bernie? Is he really?”
Bernard shrugged. “I – I don’t know. Maybe not.”
“That’s better,” grinned Robbie. “We need to find out about this woman.”
“Find out about a non-existent woman? Do me a favour. How?”
Robbie’s grin widened. “Not sure. But it’ll be fun trying, won’t it?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
May 1959
“Come on, Alfie,” coaxed Mrs Harper, “drink your milk and then you can ’ave some of these nice biscuits.”
The vicar’s housekeeper was in the act of taking out a tray of delicious-smelling gingerbread biscuits from the oven as she said this. She looked at the child with sympathy, or what passed for sympathy in her case, as he sat at the kitchen table playing with his new toy fire engine, ignoring his glass of milk.
Bernard and Robbie stood in the doorway watching the spectacle. “Drink your milk, there’s a good chap,” urged Bernard timidly. “It will do you good.”
“Don’t like milk,” was the boy’s response.
“Tut, tut, lad,” said Robbie, entering the kitchen. “Don’t you want to grow big and strong?” Receiving no answer to this, he tried another tack. “Wouldn’t you like one of these delicious biscuits?”
The boy shrugged. “Don’t care,” he said. Although he still seemed a little shaken by his experience earlier that day, it didn’t prevent him from saying in his next breath, “I want to go back to the fair!”
Mrs Harper folded her arms across her ample bosom and looked sternly at him. “I don’t think you should, lovey. I promised your mum I’d look after you, and you’ve ’ad a shock. What will I tell ’er if you go back and ’ave another one?”
“I never got a shock in the first place,” asserted the child boldly, swinging his legs against those of the table, shaking it alarmingly. Now he was safely at home (temporary though it was), it was easy to be brave.
“Don’t tell fibs,” said Mrs Harper sternly, “and don’t kick the table. You’ll ’ave my biscuits on the floor if you’re not careful.”
“Don’t care! Don’t like biscuits!”
“Don’t like biscuits?” questioned Bernard in disbelief. What child didn’t like biscuits? It was incomprehensible to him.
He and Robbie had been interrupted in their tête-à-tête by the noise of Alfie’s crying and shouting from the kitchen below. He was an obstinate cuss, but they both agreed they should rally round poor Mrs Harper in her attempts to mollify the child. They stood either side of him now as the boy continued to play with his fire engine and kick the table.
Robbie put his hand on the toy fire engine that was speeding across the table towards the floor. “You’ll break it if you’re not careful, my lad. Now, what makes you want to go back to the fair so soon, eh? You don’t want to see any more ladies falling off the Big Wheel, now do you?”
“It was only one lady,” the boy pointed out pedantically, grabbing the toy from Robbie’s grasp. “She’s not there anyway. Can we go back? Plee-ee-ase!”
Bernard sighed. The thought of another trip to the fair was far from pleasant. “Look, Alfie,” he said, “it’s nearly dinner time. Let’s have our dinner first and talk about it afterwards.”
“Don’t want no dinner,” said Alfie sulkily, scraping the table with his toy. “Look out, there’s a fire!” he yelled, all his attention concentrated on the engine he was pushing around. “Get out of the way, you silly buses!” The child had a vivid imagination, Bernard gave him that.
“Don’t like milk. Don’t like biscuits. Don’t want any dinner,” recited Mrs Harper. “You’re very difficult to please, ain’t you?”
She had reached the end of her tether. To her way of thinking, her great-nephew was an ungrateful little so-and-so. The two men, out of the goodness of their hearts, had taken him to the fair, paid for his rides and bought him a toy. What more could the child want?
“Want to go back to the fair!” insisted Alfie, thumping the table with his fire engine.
“After you’ve eaten your dinner,” said Bernard in a no-nonsense tone. “We will then decide. Perhaps you’d prefer to go to the park? They’ve got swings and a roundabout there. How about that?” To him, this was a much better prospect, although he hoped Alfie wouldn’t see any ladies throwing themselves in the duck pond.
“Pooh! Parks are for sissies. Don’t like parks.”
Then Robbie had a brainwave. “What about the flicks? Do you fancy going to the pictures?”
Alfie’s eyes lit up. “Can we go and see The Horrors of the Wax Museum?”
Mrs Harper looked horrified. “That’s an X certificate, ain’t it?” she said. “You can’t go and see that. You’re not old enough, and your mum’d kill me.”
“Be reasonable, sonny,” laughed Robbie. “It’s too scary for you – and possibly for Bernie too.” He winked at Bernard as he said this, noting the pallor in his friend’s cheeks.
“I’m still getting over that other horror film we went to see last week,” muttered Bernard. “What about a nice Disney cartoon? Is there one on anywhere?”
“Let’s find the paper and see,” said Robbie. Bernard followed him into the parlour. “Here we are,” said Robbie, picking up the morning paper. “Let’s see.” But his search proved fruitless. “Hmm,” he said, “the only film that we could take the boy to is an A certificate. Something called Vertigo.”
“Vertigo? That means giddiness, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. That’s the medical term for it. I don’t think a film about that would be very suitable for a youngster, do you?”
Bernard scratched his head. “A normal youngster – no. But one like Alfie ... well, I’m not sure. Although the subject matter is a bit unfortunate, considering what he said he saw at the fair.”
Robbie laughed. “You have a point there,” he said.
“You surely don’t want to go on that after what happened this morning?”
Bernard was astounded, but the boy was jumping up and down demanding that he be allowed to go on the Big Wheel again. Robbie and Bernard had finally succumbed to Alfie’s demands to return to the fair but were fast regretting it.
“But there’s so much else to see,” pleaded Robbie. “Just look around you. Would you like some candyfloss?”
“Smashing! Can I have some now and then go on the Big Wheel?”
So, that didn’t work. He wanted both, naturally. “Well done, Robbie,” smiled Bernard. “You’ll be broke if you carry on like that.”
“There’s no harm in giving the lad a treat or two,” said Robbie. “Look at him. He doesn’t look as if he’s had a decent meal in weeks.”
“He’s getting plenty to eat at the vicarage,” said Bernard. “He can’t have any complaints about Mrs Aitch’s cooking. If he doesn’t appreciate it, that’s his lookout. His mother probably feeds him chips all the time.”
“Well, kids of his age only like chips, unfortunately.”
Bernard sighed. “True, the little toe rag. Look at him, dashing over to the candyfloss stand. Can’t wait to spend your money, can he?”
Five minutes later, Alfie was sitting between them scoffing his candyfloss, making his face pink and very sticky in the process. Suddenly, he let out a yell.
“There’s Henry over there – with his dad!”
“Henry, who’s Henry?” asked Bernard, scanning the crowds.
“He’s in my class. We’re best friends. Can I go and join him?”
Henry, to Bernard’s mind, was a gift sent from heaven, but he put on his
gravest expression. “Well, I’m not sure. Would your mother approve? Does she know this Henry and his father?”
“’Course she does,” said Alfie cheerfully. Before Bernard could say another word, the boy was running up to his classmate, shouting, “Are you going on the Big Wheel?”
“You have one hour,” called Bernard after him. “At the end of that time, come and find us by the tea tent.”
Whether the boy heard him or not, it was difficult to tell. He was lost to view in a moment. The last glimpse the two men had of him was with a boy of similar age led by a tall, thin, respectable-looking man in his early forties.
“I hope he’ll be all right,” said Bernard, wondering if he should have let him go.
“Oh, I should think so,” said Robbie, a little uncertainly. “I just hope he doesn’t see that falling woman again.”
“Oh, for goodness sake, Robbie, how would that be possible?”
Robbie gave him an old-fashioned look. “Well, I think you of all people can think of an explanation for what the boy saw?”
“Or what the boy said he saw,” amended Bernard.
“I have no doubt he saw what he saw, Bernie. You said yourself you thought so too.”
“It’s so fantastical, though,” said Bernard.
“Yes, but we’ve been up against the unexplained before, haven’t we?”
“Have it your way, Robbie. You always do.”
The older man grinned. “Now, we’ve got an hour to kill, what do you suggest we do?”
“We could spend it in the tea tent,” said Bernard hopefully.
“For goodness sake, Bernie, we can’t spend a whole hour in there,” grinned his friend.
“Well, what about the Ghost Train? I haven’t been in one of those since I was a child,” said Bernard, looking longingly across the fairground at the sign decked with skeletons and dangling spiders.
“And you’re not going to go in one now, old boy,” said Robbie with authority. “I mean, if you were scared by that horror film the other week, then I think it best we avoid it.”
“But that film was very scary, Robbie, you said so yourself.”
“I said that to humour you. I found it rather dull myself. I almost fell asleep.”
“You’re fibbing,” said Bernard crossly. “You were just as scared as I was.”
“If you say so,” grinned Robbie, “but we’re not going on the Ghost Train. What about the Hall of Mirrors?”
Bernard shrugged. “Not keen,” he said with just a hint of sulkiness. “I’ve a good mind to go on the Ghost Train on my own.”
“Go on then,” said Robbie, his grin widening. “I can’t stop you.”
“Oh, well, all right.” Bernard remained where he was, obviously reluctant to carry out his threat.
Robbie looked around and then behind him. “Look, Bernie, what about giving this a go?”
They were standing by a tent with a sign that said: Madame Zonya, reads your palm, tells your fortune.
“Madame Zonya? I bet she’s a fake. Not like Dorothy...”
He looked wistful for a moment. Dorothy Plunkett was a clairvoyant whom both he and Robbie had met over a decade ago when she had moved to Wandsworth. Each of them, in their different ways, carried a torch for her, but she had long since moved back to her home city of Exeter to look after her ailing parents. Since then, they had only communicated with her by letter and the very occasional visit.
“Dorothy is a genuine medium, old boy. We both have good reason to know that. She’d never be seen dead plying her trade at a fair. This Zonya lady is probably a good actress, but it would be fun to see how she does it. What do you say?”
Bernard looked doubtful but bowed to Robbie’s will. They entered the booth and stared around them. It was very dark inside, and it took them a few moments to adjust to the dim light. Gradually they could see a human form in the corner, hunched over a crystal ball.
“Cross my palm with silver, duckies,” came a crackly voice, “and I will tell ye your fortunes.”
They gingerly sidled over to her and forked out their sixpences. The woman looked at the two coins in her hand. “Hmm,” she said, a little less crackle in her voice now. Her tone was almost business-like. “I usually don’t work for less than a shilling. The spirits are not so willing for a mere six pennies.”
What a bloody cheek, thought Bernard. However, he rummaged in his pocket for another tanner. Robbie did the same.
“Thank you,” she said, bringing back the atmospheric crackle to her tone. “Now let me see...”
They both sat there and listened to her tell them about dark strangers and long sea voyages, trying not to laugh. Her performance was so cliché-ridden; they found it hard to keep a straight face. As they left the tent and were sure they were out of earshot of the ‘gypsy’, they gave in to hysterical laughter.
“What a phoney,” said Bernard, a word he’d learned from an American film he’d seen recently. “Anyway, Robbie, we’ve still got half-an-hour before Alfie comes back – if he does.” He paused. “And, since you’ve vetoed the Ghost Train, can we go and have some tea now?”
“If you insist, old boy,” laughed Robbie, clapping him on the shoulder. “I could do with a cuppa myself after that charade.”
Once more seated in the tea tent, the two of them continued to laugh about Madame Zonya’s performance.
“What a hoot!” said Robbie.
“She ought to be struck off, or whatever the equivalent is for clairvoyants,” laughed Bernard, glad to be out of the sun. The weather was unseasonably warm for early May.
“There’s no law against what she does, Bernie,” observed Robbie, “but maybe there ought to be. They give the genuine ones like Dorothy a bad name.”
“Yes, it’s not right,” agreed Bernard through a mouthful of Eccles cake.
Suddenly, three shadows loomed over them. It was Alfie, his schoolmate Henry and Henry’s father. Alfie was sobbing his heart out.
“I- I saw h-her again!” he burst out.
Henry’s father gently patted the boy’s shoulder. “I brought him back to you because he was so upset,” he said. “Seems he saw a woman falling from the top of the Big Wheel. No one else saw her though.”
“Oh dear,” cried Bernard, standing up and brushing the cake crumbs from his jacket. “He had the same experience this morning. We’ll take him home. Thank you for bringing him back.”
“Not at all,” said the man. “I hope he’ll be all right. Poor little chap.”
Henry nudged the crying Alfie. “Cry baby!” he said unfeelingly.
“Don’t call him that!” cried Bernard, coming to his charge’s rescue. “You shouldn’t upset him any more than he is already.”
Henry’s father was in agreement. “Yes, young Henry,” he said sternly, “don’t be cruel. Can’t you see how upset he is?”
Henry sniffed. “He only saw a lady fall off the Wheel. What’s so awful about that? She wasn’t hurt.”
“Did you see her too?” asked Robbie eagerly.
“Nah, but she weren’t there on the ground so she must have flown away or something.”
“Come on, Henry,” said his father. “Let’s see what else you’d like to go on. We haven’t been in the Crazy House yet. Or the Hall of Mirrors.”
Robbie watched them go, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Bernie, you take Alfie home, will you?”
“Aren’t you coming too?”
“No. I think I’d like a go on that Big Wheel too.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
May 1959
Not long after Bernard returned to the vicarage with Alfie for the second time, Robbie showed up looking almost as shaken as the boy.
He stood in the vicarage study, perspiration popping out all over his brow. Dabbing it with his handkerchief, he sank into the chair by the hearth opposite Bernard who had been there ever since returning Alfie to the charge of Mrs Harper. He had felt slightly guilty leaving the weeping boy to be dealt with by his housekee
per, but he knew he would be of little help. The inner workings of a child’s mind were a total mystery to him.
“Where’s Alfie?” asked Robbie, when he had recovered his equilibrium.
“Er, with Mrs Harper. I wasn’t doing much good down there. She’s looking after him: giving him some of her home-made ice cream. Poor chap, two shocks in one day. I wonder what’s going on. And you, Robbie, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
“Funny you should say that....”
Bernard sat on late into the evening after Robbie had left, deep in thought. So, Alfie Fisher hadn’t been lying. He really had seen a woman fall from the Big Wheel. Robbie had seen her too, so there could be no doubt. Perhaps he had believed the boy all along but didn’t dare to think what Robbie had obviously thought: that the boy had seen something not of this earth. That’s why Robbie had wanted to see for himself.
It had been a shock, Robbie had told him, to see this woman close up. She had suddenly materialised in the passenger car in front of him as the Wheel moved upwards. When it was at its zenith, she had turned around and stared at him. The first thing he had noticed, apart from the malevolence in that stare, was her amazing green eyes. They were as green as new cut grass in spring. For a moment he had been hypnotised by them. Bewitched, even. He had had to blink hard to take his eyes away from hers.
Then the thing had happened. Just like Alfie had said. She stood up and, before he could do anything, she had dropped from sight. He had reached out to clutch at her but all he had clutched was thin air.
“What was she like, Robbie?” Bernard had asked. “Describe her to me.”
“Well, as I said, the first thing I noticed was her eyes. So green, so – so alluring. She must have driven men wild in her day.”
“So, you’re sure she was a ghost, then?”
“Ghost, illusion, hallucination, call it what you will,” Robbie had said. “Someone from another time, that’s for sure. She was dressed in late Victorian clothes and her hair was done up all fancy like they did back then. Beats me how they ever got out of the house before noon; the hours it must have taken to do their hair.”