Haunted Christmas

by Pat Herbert

  Dorothy Plunkett smiled again, and studied his kind, handsome face with interest. “That would be very nice,” she said. “As soon as I feel better, I would love to. You have my address and phone number on my file. Give me a call.”

  “I’ll do that. By the way, are you going to the Christmas do at the church hall? I’m sure it’ll be a great evening and you’d get to know your neighbours as well.”

  “Oh, yes. I saw the advert in the newsagents,” she said. “I was thinking about it but was waiting till I felt better.”

  “All the tickets are sold now,” he told her. “But I’ve got a spare one, so why don’t you come with me?” Was he moving too fast? he asked himself. He wasn’t an impetuous man as a rule, but there was something so pleasing about this woman, he couldn’t help himself.

  “Well, I – ” She hesitated for a moment. “All right. I’d love to,” she said.

  “It’s a date, then. My name’s Robert, by the way – Robbie to my friends, which I hope you will be.”

  He felt a lot more cheerful after she had gone than before her visit. What a godsend she was. Not only was she pretty, she was single and available. And, a big plus, she was a psychic medium. He would be able to confide in her about his vision of the two children. He was sure she would be interested and sympathise. He switched off the light and the electric fire and made his way upstairs to his living quarters. Lucy Carter was there to greet him with his lunchtime meal.

  She placed the plate of sausages, mashed potato and onions in front of him with a smile. He munched his food, not really tasting it, thinking of Dorothy Plunkett. Up until he’d met her, he had been planning to take Lucy to the dance. He was glad, now, that he hadn’t mentioned it to her.

  

  There were several large fir trees lying in front of Morrie’s greengrocery emporium that wintry morning. They looked and smelt wonderful, and Bernard was as excited as a child, trying to decide which one to choose. Mrs Harper just stood by and watched him in amusement. There were several other people examining the trees too.

  “Hurry up and pick one, Vicar,” she prompted. “There’ll all be gone if you don’t make up your mind soon.”

  “Which one do you like best, Mrs Harper?” he asked her, dithering between two likely candidates.

  “They all look the same to me,” she said, unhelpfully. She gave them a cursory glance. “That one.” She pointed to the tallest tree propped up against the window. “I think that’ll look fine in the ’all. Once we’ve got the lights on it and everything.”

  Bernard wasn’t so sure. It looked a bit threadbare to him, compared to a couple of others he was considering. But it was definitely the tallest, and, as Mrs Harper said, once the lights and tinsel were on it, it wouldn’t be noticed.

  “Very well,” he said. “I bow to your judgement. But look at the price. Five shillings. That’s a bit steep.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “Leave it to me.” So saying, she disappeared inside the shop, leaving Bernard to cool his heels outside. While he waited he changed his mind at least ten times about his choice. Finally, Mrs Harper reappeared. “That’s done,” she said with gratification. “It’ll be delivered tomorrow morning.”

  “How much is it going to cost?” he asked anxiously.

  “Nothing,” she said in triumph.

  “Nothing? What do you mean?”

  “I just told ’im it was in a good cause – works every time.”

  “Just that? And he agreed to give it to you for nothing? I mean, I know it’s for charity, but the man has to make a living.”

  “Well, when I say I got it for nothing …” she began.

  “Well?”

  “I said ’e and ’is wife could come to the dance for free.”

  “But isn’t it already over-subscribed? They won’t be able to move in the hall at this rate.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said dismissively. “There’s always some who don’t turn up. Anyway, ’e also promised to donate a basket of fruit for the raffle, so we can’t pass that up, can we?”

  “No, Mrs Harper. We can’t. What would I do without you?”

  Her only reply was a sniff. It spoke volumes.

  

  “What’s her name?”

  “Dorothy – Dorothy Plunkett,” said Robbie, supping his pint. Bernard and Robbie had met in the Bricklayer’s Arms the next day. Unable to wait to tell him about the new woman in his life, Robbie had phoned his friend and asked to meet him in the pub after his morning surgery.

  “A medium, did you say? What’s that when it’s at home?” Bernard asked, hunting for the bag of salt in his packet of crisps. “Do you know, I don’t think there’s any salt in here at all,” he grumbled.

  “Just as well,” laughed Robbie. “Too much salt’s not good for you,” he said, with his doctor’s hat on.

  “Oh, but crisps are no good without salt,” complained Bernard, eating them just the same. “Come on, tell me. What is a medium exactly?”

  “Someone who contacts those who have passed over. They hold séances for the bereaved, that sort of thing.”

  “You don’t believe in all that rubbish, do you?”

  “I thought we’d had all this out before,” said Robbie impatiently. “You said you believed me about seeing the children.”

  “Yes, I do. But there are a lot of charlatans about. Is she pretty?”

  Robbie felt his cheeks redden. “Well, she’s quite nice-looking, yes,” he admitted. “But that’s not the reason I believe her. If you met her, you’d believe her too.”

  “Okay, Robbie, whatever you say. So, you’re bringing her with you to the buffet dance, then? That’s pretty quick work. I thought doctors weren’t supposed to date their patients.”

  “Not in the ordinary way, no. But she’s only consulted me once, and it was only because of headaches and tiredness. I’ll have to transfer her to another doctor if we continue to go out together, which I hope we will.”

  He finished his pint and opened his own packet of crisps. There were two blue salt bags in it and he handed one to Bernard.

  “Well, I shall look forward to meeting her,” he said, emptying the salt on what remained of his crisps. “The Christmas tree was delivered this morning, by the way. It’s really tall, but a bit straggly in places. Still, it’ll look great in the church hall once all the decorations are on it.”

  Robbie smiled. He couldn’t wait to show off Dorothy to Bernard, as well as to all the people at the Christmas do. Wouldn’t they be jealous!

  London, December 1948

  “Hello, Robbie. It’s Dorothy Plunkett here.”

  Robbie hoped she wasn’t going to tell him she couldn’t come to the dance with him.

  “Hello, Dorothy, how are you? This line isn’t very good.”

  “Can you hear me all right?”

  “Yes, just about.”

  “I just rang to say I’m feeling much better.”

  “You do? That’s good news,” he said, relieved.

  “Actually, I felt better the very next day after seeing you,” she said. “It was as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I was out shopping and began to dread going into the greengrocers. But I needed some parsnips to make soup, so I had no choice. When I came out, I fully expected to feel rotten again but nothing happened this time. I felt absolutely fine.”

  “So, whatever it was that was making you feel ill wasn’t there any longer?”

  “Presumably. But I’m just so glad to be free of those headaches. I can now look forward to the dance without worrying I’ll be too ill to enjoy it.”

  “Indeed, you can,” smiled Robbie into the phone. “Shall I call for you at eight?”

  “Yes, please. We’ll have an aperitif before we go.”

  “Lovely. Take care, young lady.”

  “Bye for now, Robbie. And thank you.”

  Robbie felt very happy as he replaced the receiver. It was going to be a grand night. The only fly in the ointment was his housekeepe
r. He knew that Lucy had seen the tickets on the sideboard and had been expecting him to ask her to go with him to the dance. When he told her he was taking Dorothy, he could see she was disappointed and he felt like a cad. But he hadn’t promised he’d take her, so there was no help for it. Never mind, Bernie would look after her, he thought.

  

  As the evening of the Christmas dance and buffet approached, Bernard could hardly contain his excitement. It was going to cement his standing in the parish, he felt sure and, added to this, Mrs Harper was making not one, but two, superb Christmas cakes! One for himself, and one for the raffle. He crept into the kitchen when she had gone shopping and began licking the icing from the bowl, only to be caught in the act when she returned unexpectedly.

  “Vicar!” she protested. “I ’ope your fingers are clean.”

  “Sorry, Mrs Aitch,” he said meekly. “I just couldn’t resist! I can’t wait to taste the cake when it’s ready.”

  “Well, you’re just going to ’ave to,” she told him, pushing him gently aside and removing the icing bowl out of temptation’s way into the sink. “It’ll need to mature for a while yet to get the full flavour out. You’re not allowed to touch it until I say it’s ready. Actually, I should ’ave made them earlier, but I’ve been that busy, organising the buffet.”

  “And you’ve done a wonderful job!” Bernard told her. “The hall looks lovely with all the decorations and the tree with all its baubles and tinsel on it. I love the fairy on the top. Where did you get it?”

  “It’s been in my family for generations. I want it back, mind, when the tree’s taken down.”

  “Of course, Mrs Aitch.”

  Bernard’s only slight worry about the evening was the promised advent of Dorothy Plunkett, whom Robbie was treating like the Second Coming.

  “Mrs Aitch?” he began tentatively, nibbling at some freshly baked biscuits that were airing on a tray.

  “Yes, Vicar?”

  “Have you heard of a woman called Dorothy Plunkett? She’s just moved here apparently, and she’s some kind of psychic medium.”

  “Oh ’er,” she sniffed, wiping her hands and removing the tray of fast disappearing biscuits from under Bernard’s itchy fingers.

  “You’ve heard about her?” he asked.

  “Oh yes, she’s made ’er presence felt all over the place. ’Aven’t you seen ’er ads in the newsagents’ windows?”

  “No, I can’t say I have. Have you actually met her, though?”

  “No. Not to speak to. I saw ’er in the greengrocer’s the other day. She was buying some parsnips. Morrie was all over ’er.”

  “How do you know it was her?” he asked, reasonably.

  “Because Morrie called ’er by ’er name,” she replied, also quite reasonably.

  “Oh, I see, of course. What was she like?”

  “Why all the interest? Are you thinking of asking ’er out?” She gave him a knowing look. “She ain’t bad looking, and she’d be about your age. You could do worse.”

  Bernard flushed to the roots of his hair. “Don’t be silly. I don’t even know the woman.”

  “Well, why are you so interested in ’er then?”

  “Because Robbie is bringing her to the dance.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said. “You’ve been pipped at the post, then.”

  Bernard decided to ignore this remark. “He seems very taken with her.”

  Mrs Harper sniffed. “’E should be bringing Lucy to the dance. I bet she ain’t best pleased.”

  “No, I don’t suppose she is,” said Bernard, thoughtfully.

  “So, Vicar, if there ain’t nothing else, can you run along out of my kitchen? I need to get on. Dinner is in ’alf an hour. One o’clock sharp.”

  “Thanks, Mrs Harper. I’ll be in my study. I’m writing a thank you speech to give at the end of the dance.”

  “We’ll look forward to it as long as it ain’t as long as your sermons usually are. Now off with you.”

  With that, Bernard considered himself dismissed. As he sat at his study desk trying to concentrate on his speech, his mind kept wandering to Dorothy Plunkett. Why should he mind about her? he asked himself. If Robbie was interested in her, he should be pleased for him, not jealous. But he was jealous, all the same. Not of Robbie for dating a pretty woman, but of Dorothy, for diverting his friend’s attention from himself. He just wanted Robbie’s undivided attention, that was at the bottom of it. He didn’t want the nature of their friendship to change, as it assuredly would if this Dorothy Plunkett became a permanent fixture in Robbie’s life.

  Bergen, December 1948

  Ever since the discovery of the gun, Baldur Hanssen had been nervous, even though he thought it unlikely the murder weapon could be traced back to him. Especially not by the incompetent Bergen police, anyway. And, as the days and weeks went by, he became more and more relaxed.

  When he was sure he was in the clear, he decided it was time for a change and left his fitting and welding job to become a lumberjack. He preferred the outdoor life, and the work suited him much better. Also, he was working in the forest where the children were buried and was thus able to keep an eye out for any likelihood of their discovery.

  So, with his new job, he felt more at ease, and his confidence had grown to such as extent he had managed to get himself a girlfriend. Gunda, a woman somewhere in her forties, was a war widow who had been making ends meet by doing various cleaning jobs. He’d met her in the local inn one evening and they had got to talking. She wasn’t what he’d call pretty and looked a little the worse for wear, but she had kind eyes and a nice smile. He had seen her home that first evening and, when she invited him in, he realised she was just as lonely as he was.

  All in all, Baldur Hanssen was happy with his lot. The money earned chopping down trees was good and he was looking forward to a quiet, but pleasant, Christmas with his new love. If he thought he didn’t deserve such luck, he didn’t dare admit it. Not even to himself.

  London, December 1948

  Robbie stood on Dorothy Plunkett’s doorstep the evening of the dance, carrying a large bouquet and a box of Black Magic chocolates. He felt very nervous, done up as he was in his dinner suit which smelt unpleasantly of moth balls. Lucy had hung it out of the window all day to try and shift the smell, but every now and then he caught a whiff of it and it turned his stomach. He only hoped that other people didn’t notice it, especially not Dorothy.

  She opened the door to him almost immediately. She looked lovely in a rose-coloured evening gown and long white gloves. Her dark hair was freshly washed and shining, pinned up in a pile on top of her head. He swallowed hard as she led him through to the living room where bottles and glasses were arranged in readiness on the sideboard.

  “What would you like?” she asked.

  He tried to speak but his mouth had gone dry. Her beauty had taken his breath away. He coughed to release the frog trapped somewhere down his throat. “Er – whisky for me, please,” he managed.

  “Dear me!” she said, “Have you got a cold?”

  “No, I don’t think so. You look lovely.”

  She blushed at the compliment and reciprocated. “You look very dashing in your evening suit,” she said, handing him the whisky. She poured herself a gin and Italian and they clinked glasses. “Here’s to a pleasant evening,” she said.

  “Cheers,” he said, swigging the whisky a little too eagerly, almost choking as he did so.

  “Thanks so much for the flowers and chocolates,” she said.

  “Charmed, charmed,” he replied, smiling at her as the whisky worked its magic on him. He’d be the envy of everyone at the dance. There wasn’t a woman in the whole parish that could compare to her, he felt sure.

  He coughed again, as Dorothy refilled his glass. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said, sipping this second drink more slowly.

  “Mind what, Robbie?” she asked, smiling.

  “I’ve told my housekeeper that I’d go back and fetch her to the da
nce – after I’ve dropped you off, that is. You see, she hasn’t got anyone to go with.”

  “Of course, I don’t mind. How kind you are,” she said.

  “You see, I think she had the idea that I would be taking her. Don’t get me wrong – I hadn’t said anything, I think she must have just assumed. I probably would have taken her if you hadn’t come along, you see.”

  “I suppose she doesn’t like me very much,” observed Dorothy, sitting on the sofa and inviting Robbie to join her.

  “Don’t be silly, she doesn’t even know you,” said Robbie, careful not to sit too close to her. “It’s just that she’s on her own now. Her fiancé was killed in the war.”

  “Oh, how sad. So many women lost their men that way. It’s good business for me, but hard on them.”

  “Yes, it must be. You must see some very sad people in your line of work,” he said. He finished his drink and stood up. “Now, perhaps we’d better get going?”

  Dorothy went to fetch her wrap. “Do you have a car or are we walking?” she asked.

  “Walking, as it’s not far. It’s a nice night for a stroll, but I think you’ll need more than just that flimsy thing,” he said.

  “Yes, you’re probably right. I’ll fetch my coat.”

  Moments later, they were walking along the street towards the church hall which they could see was all lit up and looking very festive. As they made their way inside, Robbie could sense that people’s eyes were all on his lovely companion, men and women alike. Admiring glances from the men, and envious ones from the ladies. He felt very proud as she took his arm, but he remembered he would have to leave her to go and fetch Lucy. She would soon get snapped up if he left her alone. He would make sure he left her with Bernard; that should stop the wolves from gathering, he thought.