Paranormal Investigations

by EH Walter

Chapter 6: First Night

  A chill descended on me. Bob was right - fairies were mean, I could feel it in my bones.

  "Little child," she said coldly, "how little you know. This was a courtesy, a polite request out of respect for your position. The only thing that changes with your rejection is that now you will die too and that will be an end to the Seers."

  She seemed to rise from the chair with no effort. She pursed her lips at me, flicked her hair and disappeared. Yes, disappeared. I looked around to see whether anyone else in Starbucks had noticed. Only a baby in a pushchair was staring at the spot where she had been, everyone else was absorbed in their own business and ignorant of the fact a beautiful fairy had just evaporated into the ether.

  I went to drink the rest of my tea but when it hit my lips I realised it had turned into lumps of crystallised ice. I shivered.

  As I left Starbucks I felt an unease and kept looking over my shoulder and checking my reflection in shop windows. It felt like someone was following me, however my eyes told me nothing was there. Could they follow me home to Bob? Would I be leading him into danger if I went home?

  I stopped outside the Victoria Bakery. My heart was pounding and a sheen of sweat was over my face. Pressed against the shop window displaying Belgian buns and iced fairy cakes I thought carefully about what I should do next. I was unwilling to go home in case I led them directly there. I fumbled in my pocket for my phone, my sweating hand slipped over the buttons as I tried to dial my home number. I had to correct it several times before I tapped in the correct number and managed to dial. It rang seven times before it was answered. I counted every one. If anything happened to Bob it would be my fault, okay he was kinda weird - but he was my responsibility. And it would make one hell of a mess in my flat.

  "Hello," said a nervous voice, "she doesn't like me answering her phone."

  "No she doesn't. It's me Bob - this fairy just found me in Starbucks."

  There was a pause. "A fairy? Which one?"

  "Orla?"

  "Oh, that's bad - that's really bad!"

  I thought he was going to cry.

  "She wants to eat me, doesn't she? Orla always eats people who annoy her, it's her way."

  Hmm, what could I say? She did want to eat him. "Well, let's just say she wasn't overly happy with you. Is Trevor there?"

  There was silence. I presumed this was Bob either nodding or shaking his head.

  "Bob, I can't see you - this is a phone remember."

  "Oh, yes. He's watching Homes Under the Hammer."

  "How? I took the fuse out of the plug."

  Silence again. A shrug?

  "Never mind. Look Bob, I won't come home straight away - I've got this thing tonight anyway, I'll just go straight into town. When I feel like I'm not being watched I'll come home."

  "I was going to cook food," he said forlornly, "I found a book of culinary instructions and everything."

  "Another time Bob, okay? I'm sure Trevor will eat it."

  "Trevor says my cooking tastes like refuse."

  "Is that a good thing coming from a troll? I mean, maybe he likes refuse?"

  Bob sniffed, "Well - he didn't say it in a good way."

  "Look Bob, I really have to go - I need to get a few things if I'm going to stay out til tonight. Lock the door and be safe, okay?"

  Silence - a nod.

  "How do I lock the door?"

  "Never mind, just don't open it."

  I finished the call, set it to ring loudly - in case Bob should need me - and glanced around. I felt a little easier now I had made the decision not to go home. Then a different unease settled on my stomach - tonight was Jez's press night and that was the 'thing' I had on. Part of me had wondered whether to go or not, but now that decision had been made for me. And I had nothing to wear! Somehow the fear of seeing an ex and not looking completely hot was way more scary than being eaten by a fairy. What can I say? I'm a girl. A girl in love.

  I checked my purse - yes, I did still have that ancient credit card hidden away in there under my organ donor card - I would shop and look gorgeous tonight. Jez would wonder what he was missing.

  On my way to Monsoon, the shop-I-could-never-afford-except-when-using-my-forbidden-credit-card, I caught a blur of light in my peripheral vision as I walked past Mr Simms' Olde Sweet Shop. I stopped dead. What had Bob said? Most people only saw them as a blur of light?

  I pressed my face against the shop window and looked in. At first I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. There was a shopkeeper serving a woman and her son and two girls browsing the selection of chocolates. I took a deep breath and slowly my vision began to clear and I could see extra images above the clear reality. There appeared to be two blurs of light dancing around the shop. They seemed to be having some effect on the customers as the woman was swatting the air as if a fly was pestering her and one of the girls had to keep picking up a bar of chocolate that kept slipping from her hand to the floor. Very suddenly, like a whoosh of cold air had shaken me up I saw the reason she kept dropping the chocolate. A fat fairy about the size of a large Yorkshire terrier with a mischievous face kept knocking it out of her hand. The other blur of light was another fat fairy that kept plucking at the woman's skin and clothes. Both were chuckling maliciously.

  It was a curious sight observing something you had never seen before - creatures you had never seen before in their true form (I doubted very much Orla truly looked as human as she had projected herself in Starbucks). As Bob had described, they had wings shaped like a dragonfly's except they seemed to move almost as quick as a hummingbird's wings and were the length of their bodies. They weren't naked, but I couldn't make out their attire - I was still blind to some aspects of them.

  Fascinated, I watched as the shopkeeper weighed out lemon sherbets for the boy on old fashioned scales. The man frowned as the weight seemed to fluctuate randomly - I could see this was because one of the fairies was putting his weight on it and then letting it off. The two fairies seemed to find this hilarious.

  All of a sudden one of them noticed me and they both turned to glare at me. They were so angry and so curious they flew right towards me and smacked into the glass like bees. It was my turn to laugh. They looked at me fiercely, one of them was rubbing his head - both were scowling. It was a good old fashioned stand -off, two fairies against a human with only a pane of glass between us. I'm not sure where it would have gone next, but I'm sure it wouldn't have been pretty when my phone beeped and buzzed to tell me a text message had been received. Both of the fairies immediately clutched their ears and flew backwards, retreating to the far corner of the shop. Interesting to know. Bob had said something about fairies being adverse to modern technology, it seemed as if a mobile could be used against them. I'd better keep it charged.

  I took this as my opportunity to disappear and dashed off to do my must-look-like-a-fox-tonight shopping.

  I managed to waste time trying on a multitude of expensive Monsoon dresses and wandering the shops - which was quite an achievement considering there are so few shops in High Barnet. Then it came to a time when I could dilly dally no longer. I had to leave or be late. I nipped into the ladies' toilet at The Spires, ripped the tags off my new dress (an emerald green satin dress with a wrap waist) and changed. Of course, I hadn't stopped at the dress and had every accessory you could imagine to go with said dress. I had also purchased one of those enormous Mary Poppins style handbags to put everything in. The credit card debt was worth it as long as I looked good to the ex. It was an emergency transaction - like getting home from a foreign country during a coup or emergency knocked-over-pet surgery.

  Another long journey on the Northern Line racked up my anxiety. At least, by getting on at the end of the line I had a seat, which I was grateful for as I was battling against commuters from Finchley south bound. The thing about press nights was they were always scheduled earlier than regular shows, this was fine as long
as you didn't mind commuters - I did. They drove me mad with their rude-shove-you-out-of-the-way ways. I made sure to fix my elbows in position as I fought for the Waterloo exit. No one would budge to let me through so the elbows got a good work out and a few commuters went home with purple ribs.

  I didn't have time to linger as I still had to pick up my ticket so I walked briskly out of the station. Then I retreated back into the station. It was chucking it down. Bloody typical. I didn't have a coat or an umbrella as it had been an unseasonably warm day and I hadn't intended to stay out for so long. The rain was so heavy I could barely see three metres in front of me. I gave it five minutes, during which I kept anxiously glancing at my watch, and then decided I would just have to dash for it or be late.

  I got soaked. I don't mean that soaked when you run for a bus or run out to get the washing in from the line - I mean soaked through my brand new dress, which was now several shades darker, and through to my skin. If I went swimming in a very expensive dress I couldn't have been wetter.

  I entered the theatre and queued at the box office. I got a few strange glances from the other patrons. Especially when the water on my hair sent rivers down my face and along the length of my nose before dripping off on to the floor. After a few minutes a cleaner appeared and began mopping up behind me as I progressed down the line.

  Thankfully there was a ticket with my name on it so I was saved the embarrassment of having come all this way to be forgotten and having to slink away without being seen.

  Ticket in hand I heard the five minute bell and scurried towards the auditorium. The ticket, now wet from my hand, came apart in the usher's hand and she sighed as she gestured me in. I looked for my seat. I was in the stalls. The expensive seats. As I progressed through the auditorium I realised I was in the second row. It meant I would have a great view of the play, however this also meant I was going to be very close to Jez. I hoped he and his fellow thespians weren't from the spitting school of enunciation or I was not going to have any chance of drying out.

  As I sank deep into my seat I thought my embarrassment was over. Then steam rose in spirals from my warming body. I pretended nothing was wrong and that the people looking at me were merely curious as to where I got my hair styled.

  It was easy to spot the critics, they were the ones in the very best seats with the notepads balanced on their knees. Some were frowning already, they didn't like the holy sanctum of theatre being trampled on by those from other media - they classed them as unworthy and unqualified.

  The lights went down and my tummy quivered with excitement. A smoke machine cranked up and when the stage lights went on three witches were on stage. Great, I couldn't leave Paranormal Investigations behind for one bloody evening.

  It was pretty good, I mean - the Scottish play is pretty fool proof as long as you have actors who actually understand what they're saying which was not always guaranteed, believe me. When you've seen as much of the Scottish play, A Midsummer Night's Dream and Romeo and Juliet as I have you become bit of a connoisseur. I always play 'spot the numptie who hasn't got a clue what the text means'. There were thankfully few in the National production so I didn't have much to complain about other than the fact I was slowly par simmering in my seat.

  Jez looked hot, even going psycho (his was a very 'street' interpretation) he looked hot. If I was a man I wouldn't have been able to move from my seat at the interval for fear of an enormous tent pole in my trousers. As it was I dared not move for fear of people seeing my drowned rat impression.

  The applause was riotous at the end and understandably so when you considered most of the audience was made up of friends and family. A deliberate action to counteract the negativity of the critics.

  I waited for almost everyone to leave and then went and stood under the hand dryer in the ladies, thankfully I managed to find one that wasn't a Dyson. Dyson - a great inventor, but he never thought about women needing to dry off from the rain when he designed his energy efficient hand dryer.

  Looking a little bedraggled, still shivering slightly and generally feeling less than gorgeous I trudged around to the stage door where Jez had told me to meet him. This was a bad idea that was now a whole lot worse. The wet look worked on some people, normally hot men with white shirts, not on me in a new satin dress. I did debate just going home, but I knew that would offend Jez. Better he saw me looking like a freak than think I hadn't cared enough to come. It was his first night after all.

  The reception area by the stage door was really busy. I gave my name to the stage door keeper and loitered by the door. It was kind of satisfying that when Jez came through he made straight for me and ignored all the other people who wanted his attention and time. It made me feel rather smug.

  Did I say he looked gorgeous? His eyes twinkled as he looked at me and parts of me twinkled in response. His eyes looked me up and down and then he burst into laughter.

  "Thanks," I said.

  "You really shouldn't have made such an effort Leo."

  "Arse to you to Hollywood."

  He was still laughing as he showed me through the hallowed stage door and into the inner sanctum of the theatre.

  "There's a party in the bar," he said as he took my hand, "we don't have to stay long though."

  Oh shit - what did that mean? Why did mean always have to talk in twisted tales? How was I meant to interpret and respond to that? Why was he holding my hand?

  I would have got lost down all the corridors without him to guide me. He took me up to the backstage bar, a large room heavy wooded in decor. It was full of people, I recognised some of the actors from the play and the techies were distinctive in their blacks.

  "Let me get you a drink," Jez said and left me for a moment. I watched as other people's eyes followed him, male as well as female. He picked up a couple of glasses of champagne and was back shortly.

  "None of your family here?" I asked, "Your big night and everything?"

  "Mum's allergic to Shakespeare and my brother still thinks I'm a twat for having such a namby pamby career."

  "Well - he has a point."

  "He still thinks it means I'm in the closet."

  "He's seen your Liza and Dolly collection."

  Jez laughed. How many men would allow an ex to poke fun at their masculinity?

  I couldn't have Jez all to myself, he had to meet the angels and so I got pulled around on his arm. It wasn't a bad thing to be pulled around on the arm of a Hollywood movie star - I mean there are plenty of things worse. Like having to live with a goat, for example, and keep a troll in mangoes.

  I drank the champagne far too quickly and it hit an empty stomach. This made it much easier to smile at strangers and I even managed to engage in some mild conversation. When people talked about the play I put on my serious look and 'ummed' and 'ahed' with much vigorous nodding. When pressed I suggested it was a 'bold' production which always works in making you sound intelligent and confounding people as to what to say in response. I think I said a lot more, but the booze had really kicked in by then so I have no idea what I said exactly.

  The last group of angels we were introduced to consisted of a very tall, handsome man in a suit and open necked shirt, an Asian woman in designer glasses and a short, round, red-faced, bald man. They were the ones who had put in the most money and part of their reward was to schmooze with the star. Oh, and the girl hanging off his arm because she was a bit tipsy and her heels were too high to let him go even for a second even if she wanted to.

  They smiled and proffered their hands for shaking. The woman and the fat man weren't interested in me and didn't offer their hands. They then angled their bodies away from me and spoke wholly to Jez. The other man, the one in the open necked shirt was different. He offered me his hand and held it longer than one needed to for a hand shake.

  "Ignore them," he said in a pleasing voice, confident we were not being overheard "they are only in this for the opportunity to dr
op names."

  "And you?"

  "I like the opportunity to be an angel. I'm not interested in people who earn their livings in this way."

  I glanced at Jez, he was enthralling his two angels and had them absorbed in some tale of when his trousers got ripped off during a stunt. I couldn't tell which of them was enjoying picturing Jez naked more, the man or the woman. I had an advantage - I could use memory instead of imagination. There was a smile on my face I admit.

  "They'll be a while," the man said to me, "shall we go to the bar?"

  I shrugged, "Might as well."

  "Rex Windsor," he said as we walked the short distance to the bar.

  "Leo Fey," I said, although I got a strange feeling this was not news to him.

  "Well Miss Fey, do you come to the theatre regularly?"

  He gestured to the barman which had the effect of two glasses of champagne appearing within seconds. I didn't really like champagne but already a bit wasted I quite liked it on this occasion.

  "I only come when the tickets are free."

  I sat on a bar stool and firmly placed my elbow on the bar for support. Rex stood and appraised me with his eyes. It was a little weird having a stranger looking at you in this way - it was too familiar, like the way a lover looks at you in the early days when there is still the mystery of what is to come.

  As he was looking at me I decided I would look at him in great detail as well. He was in his forties with brown hair and traces of grey nudging in at the temples. He was handsome and magnetic. I wondered why the other women at the party didn't seem to notice him, he was dripping charisma which thankfully I was immune to as I already had a rather gorgeous man I was keeping tabs on.

  "What do you do then, if this isn't your life?" he asked politely.

  "Oh, international playgirl, that's me - one day Monaco, the next Bel Air. And you?"

  "I make loans and investments."

  "Like in worthy theatrical causes."

  He took a small sip of champagne to my glug. "Something like that."

  A hand slipped through my arm, Jez smiled at me.

  "I'll grab my coat and then we can go."

  I smiled and felt rather weak at the knees as he went off for his coat. I nodded to Rex. "Nice to meet you Mr Windsor."

  "And you Miss Fey, it's nice to see you so early."

  I smiled politely at him and then caught Jez's eye.

  "Good night. Mr Windsor."

  I noticed he watched me with a bemused look as I left, as if he thought me a real novelty. To be honest in the state I was, compared to the preened beauties of the stage, I probably was a novelty - and not a good one.

  Jez took my hand again and led me through the backstage area back to the stage door entrance.

  "Let's get out of here," he said, "I've had quite enough of being told how marvellous I am for one evening."

  As soon as he opened the stage door the cold hit us. I shivered, patches of my dress were still damp.

  "Here," he said and passed me a large, thick jumper, "I left it here in my dressing room last week - I knew it had to be for a reason."

  I slipped the jumper on gratefully and felt insulated against the cold and very, very cosy.

  "Shall we walk along the river?" he suggested and I nodded, slipping my hand through his arm.

  It may have been a Monday night, but the south bank was still heaving with people. We walked down to the Thames and stood looking across the river. Is there anything more beautiful than London by night? There was no need for us to speak, we walked side by side admiring the city we both loved.

  We crossed the river at Waterloo Bridge and stood looking over towards Westminster. On our left the London Eye was illuminated a bluey purple and on the right the Palace of Westminster a golden yellow. Party boats were cruising the river.

  "Leo..." he said and I turned towards him.

  My cheeks were cold and a breeze was numbing them. My eyes quizzed him.

  He kissed me.

  The world stopped. The water beneath our feet stopped flowing, Big Ben halted in a tick. The sounds of the river dimmed and blurred. Goats, trolls and all that shit didn't matter any longer. My lips met his in an eager conversation they could not speak but were eager to elucidate on. His hands wrapped around me and I entwined myself around his neck.

  Then my fucking phone rang. Loudly.