by Alys West
It was a bit more helpful. Meditation, practice and keeping a journal seemed to be the key points. Meditation made her think of Maeve. Putting her hands on her hips, Zoe blew out a long breath. She had to put that aside. She couldn’t reject the whole concept of meditation because Maeve did it.
Hearing the phone ringing, she walked through to the kitchen to pick it up.
“Zoe, my favourite seer,” Winston said after she’d answered it. “That’s quite a picture you’ve drawn.”
She pulled a chair out and sat at the kitchen table. “Is it Orkney?”
“Yes.” There was a tiny hesitation before he added, “It’s Jenna’s uncle’s house.”
“Oh my God! Did you show it to her? How did she react?”
The hesitation was longer this time. “Badly.”
“What happened?”
“Where do you want me to start?”
“At the beginning. I’ve got time. I’m not expecting another dream until at least bedtime.”
A short laugh came down the line. “You’re joking about them. That’s a first.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him what else was a first but then he started talking and she knew he needed to get the words out. As he explained about Jenna’s reaction to the picture and to learning he’d investigated her uncle, Zoe could feel the thing he wasn’t saying pulsing behind his words.
“How did you leave it with her?” she asked.
“I didn’t.”
“How come?”
The pause was even longer this time. “I might have said some things.”
“Might or did?”
“Aye, well, I did. But she needed to hear them.”
“Hear what?”
“This Hal bloke she’s so keen on, he’s playing her. I heard him on the phone last night to this other woman—”
“And you told her?”
“Of course I told her. She needed to know.”
“She didn’t need to hear it from you! Honestly, Winston, for a smart bloke you can be such a tosser sometimes. You do know you’re jealous, don’t you?”
“I am not! You couldn’t be more—”
“Yes, you are. Just admit it. You like Jenna.”
“Not like that.”
“Really? Because for someone who’s not interested you spend a lot of time talking about her.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
“What? Too close to the truth?”
“Butt out, Zo! You’re worse than Finn.”
She laughed. “Been teasing you too, has he?”
“Where is the bastard?”
“Combing the beaches of Donegal looking for broom. He says it’s going to help with your storm witch problem.”
A low whistle came down the line. “Why didn’t I think of that? Going to burn it, is he?”
“That’s what he says.”
“Ask him to ring me when he gets back, will you?”
“Sure.” She bit her lip and then went for it. He’d got to be a better source than Google. “If I wanted to learn how to be a proper seer. You know, have visions when I’m not asleep and that kind of thing, how would I go about doing it?”
“You want to learn? You’re sure about this?”
“I think so. I can’t just sit around waiting to have another dream. I never wanted this but I guess I’ve realised it’s not going away and I want to know if there’s a way to do it on my terms.”
“Zoe, that is the best news I’ve had all day. I’ve been hoping since Glastonbury that you’d decide to do this but Finn said I shouldn’t put any pressure on you.”
“You and Finn talked about this?” She was so going to be having words with him when he got back.
“Aye but don’t be angry with him. It’s probably more accurate to say I talked to him and he told me to back off.”
“Oh.” Maybe she wouldn’t yell at him as soon as he stepped through the front door. He should have told her though.
“If Nina were alive she’d have been the person to talk to. I don’t know anyone else but I’ll ask Grace. I need to ring her anyway.”
“Thanks.” She should have rung him in the first place rather than messing around with Google. It was hard to remember she was now part of this world where magic was accepted and openly discussed.
“No worries. Happy to help. And if there’s any other dreams...”
“I’ll email you.” Her fingers traced the grain in the table, brushed a crumb loose. Should she push this? If she was right, and she was sure she was, he’d be grateful in the end. “And ring Jenna and say sorry.”
“Why? I’ve not done anything wrong.”
“Really?” She bit her lip and hoped silence would do the work for her. The line crackled repeatedly. She waited.
“I could maybe have handled it better about her uncle’s house. She’d told me she was feeling bad and I could see that. She looked terrible and I ignored it because I wanted to know where the picture was. And I…”
“What?”
“Cracked some jokes I maybe shouldn’t have.”
“See that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“For who?”
She laughed. “You’ll thank me one day.”
“What? When she slams the phone down on me?”
“No, when you’re finally in a relationship with a woman who sees you for who you really are.”
“Fuck off!”
***
Saying goodbye was always the hardest part. Rachel promised to visit again in two weeks. It wasn’t enough. She knew that. Didn’t need Tess’s comment about ‘how much your dad looks forwards to your visits’. If she could get here more often, she would.
At the bus stop she joined a couple of women who were returning from their trip to Wick, weighed down with shopping. Rachel yawned hugely. It’d be after nine by the time she got home. Her stomach rumbled. She’d taken Dad in his wheelchair into the town centre and they’d gone to a café for lunch. She’d hardly eaten, the knot in her stomach too tight to accept food. Yet when she got on the ferry she didn’t want to go to the restaurant. She couldn’t face seeing any of her colleagues. Tomorrow morning would be soon enough for that.
If only the Council would make a decision. She’d filled in the paperwork months ago, had answered queries and taken time off work to be at the home when someone from social services visited Dad. If they’d only contribute a bit more towards his care then she wouldn’t have to work as bloody hard. And then she would have more time to visit.
She’d known it would be hard when she chose the home in Wick rather than the ones in Orkney. It was one of the last days she’d spent with Kenny. It wasn’t much to remember. A day spent viewing care homes. This had been by far the best, offering care designed to rehabilitate. That was when she’d thought Dad might get better. Not completely. But well enough to come home.
The bus pulled in and she climbed on. After sinking into a seat, she closed her eyes and let thoughts of the sea roll through her mind.
***
“You’re travelling on the 19:45 to Glasgow, sir?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Handing over his booking confirmation, Winston gave the woman behind the check-in desk his best smile. It was a relief to see her blush. He hadn’t completely lost it then. After the day he’d had, he’d been beginning to wonder.
Handing him his boarding pass, the woman said, “Have a great flight and enjoy your weekend.”
“Oh, I will,” he assured her with a suggestive wink.
It was a last-minute decision, the ticket booked only an hour before. He couldn’t face any more time trapped on this head fuck of an island. He was going home.
***
Walking up the hill, Rachel yawned repeatedly. Her legs felt weak and her head ached but then it always did after she’d been to visit Dad. Unlocking the front door, she bent to pick up the post. There was a white envelope with the Orkney Islands Council logo on it. Her stomach tightened. This must be it. The decision she’d
been waiting for about Dad’s care.
Automatically she moved through to the kitchen, dropped her rucksack on the worktop. She tore the envelope open and scanned the letter. She blinked. That couldn’t be right. She read it again, slower this time.
Then she sat down heavily on the kitchen stool. They’d turned him down. They said ‘as the medical prognosis is that he will not recover any further motor or neurological function we cannot support your claim for care outside of the local authority area. We regret we will therefore be withdrawing our current level of financial support with effect from 31st August. We are happy to discuss arrangements that can be made for your father’s care in Orkney at your earliest convenience.’
Rachel wrapped her arms around her body. This couldn’t be happening? He’d paid his taxes all his life, worked hard and they were giving up on him. Condemning him to spend the rest of his life in a crappy Council-run old folks’ home. Sitting with the old biddies, staring into space. Waiting, like the rest of them, for the only possible escape. Out of the door feet first in a box.
There had to be someone who’d listen. She looked again at the letter, brushed a tear from it, turned it over but there was nothing else. No mention of what to do if you thought they’d made a really shit decision.
They couldn’t do this to him. He was only fifty-two. He could be there for another twenty, even thirty years. Never getting any better, never being able to speak more than a few words at a time, barely functioning. And she’d never get him back. She’d known he wouldn’t come home but she’d thought he might improve enough to talk to her, to hug her sometimes. And now she’d lost that. Just like she’d lost Mum and Nina and Kenny and bloody Amy who’d stolen Kenny when she really needed him.
Rachel slipped to the floor and curled up in a ball. Sobs fought their way out. She shuddered repeatedly as tears fell. A gurgling noise came from somewhere. It came again, louder this time. Wiping her face with her sleeve, she got up. It was coming from the sink. Water burbled out of the plug hole. As she got closer it turned into a spout, shooting upwards. A sucking sound from behind the washing machine made her spin. The machine lurched forwards as water flooded out from beneath it, spreading across the tiled floor. Automatically she stepped back.
What the hell was going on? Had the drains backed up? She glanced out the window. It wasn’t even raining anymore. Or was this her? Was she creating this, like she had at Nina’s?
Dropping tea towels onto the floor to try to soak up the flow, she grabbed mop and bucket from the cupboard. The spout from the sink grew bigger, splashing out onto the floor. She flung the door to the hall shut and dropped a towel against it. It wouldn’t stem the flow for long. No matter how fast she mopped, the water kept coming turning the kitchen floor into a paddling pool.
An awful sound like metal grinding on metal came from the sink. She splashed over there. A trickle of water around the base of the cold tap grew to become a spurt. The creak became a groan. Some instinct warned her to step back but she wasn’t fast enough. With a loud pop the tap shot in the air. A stream of water fountained after it.
Automatically Rachel ducked, covering her head with her hands. Water sprayed down on her. A massive thud seemed to shake the room and then the tap splashed into the water near her feet. Shards of plaster and white paint rained down, dappling the water around her.
Fuck! That could… If it’d hit her then… This was her. She was doing it again. She had to stop this before the whole house drowned.
Think, what would Dad do? She closed her eyes, tried to summon his steady voice, the slow smile. It didn’t work. Water continued to shoot out of the sink, sending out spray that soaked into her already damp clothes. A shiver ran down her spine. She had to make it stop. She needed to turn it off. The stopcock was under the sink.
After checking the hot tap for any sign of immediate eruption, she waded over and opened the cupboard door. Bending down, she shivered again as cold water poured over her head and down her back. Throwing out bottles of detergent and bleach she saw the heavy brass tap. It was, of course, at the very back. Kneeling, she reached for it. The tap was stiff. Nothing happened. She got both hands round it and tried again. It moved slightly and then stopped.
“You bloody, fucking thing!” Her hand slammed into it which hurt a lot. She sucked the palm for a second and then tried again. It turned. Slowly and painfully stiff but she could move it. The flow of water falling on her lessened and with another yank of her wrist it stopped.
Pushing her wet hair back, Rachel stood. Water continued to spurt up the plughole. Dirty brown water as if it’d come straight out of the drains.
A hammering on the back door made her spin. Wiping water from her face, she paddled over. It took all of her strength to pull the door open. Water sloshed around her ankles and then flowed out over the step. With remarkable speed for a woman of her age, Mrs Sutherland managed to step aside fast enough to avoid the worst of it.
“Dear Lord!” her neighbour said. “What’s going on in there, lass? You’re soaked through!”
“The kitchen. It’s flooded. I’ve switched the water off at the mains but there’s still water coming up the sink.”
“I’ll get Arthur,” Mrs Sutherland said. “He’ll know what to do.”
“Thanks,” Rachel said weakly. Arthur was seventy-eight and had a dodgy knee. God only knew what he could do to help. Squelching back inside, she found the broom and began sweeping the water out into the garden.
A few minutes later, Mrs Sutherland returned with Arthur. He must have been warned as he wore stout black wellington boots. “Now lass. What’s happened?” he said.
She tried to explain, and seeing his frown deepen, her stomach dropped. She’d done this. Exactly as she had at Nina’s. She trailed off and taking that as the end of the story, Arthur waded through the water and examined the dirty spout fountaining out of the sink. Shaking his head, he turned back to his wife and Rachel waiting by the open door. “You’re going to need to ring the fire brigade, lass. I canna fix this.”
Chapter 27
“I’m only invited to the evening do which is fine.” Suzie rolled onto her side, resting her head along her arm. “It’s not like I want to go to the whole thing.”
Hands behind his head, Winston stared out of the bedroom window. Raindrops rolled down the glass as her words slid over him.
“They’re getting married at the chapel at the University. I guess that’s because they met there. Well, we all met there.”
Clearly there was only one way to shut her up. Rolling on to his side, he trailed his hand lightly between her small breasts. Cupping one, he gently teased the nipple with his thumb. It didn’t have the effect he’d hoped. Suzie kept talking.
“So, I was wondering if you’d come with me. The invite said I could bring a guest and it’s crap going to a wedding on your own. Especially when it’s your ex. But if I turned up with you everyone would think that I’d moved on. Which I have, of course. But we were together for a long time, Jamie and I and, you know, there was a time when I thought we’d get married.”
Winston’s thumb stopped moving. “Say that again.”
“What?” Suzie’s eyes brightened as she smiled. “Does that mean you’ll come?”
“No. Say that bit about you and Jimmy again.” Seeing the smile falter, his brain caught up with his tongue. “I don’t know that I’ll be able to get back for it,” he added quickly.
Suzie flopped down onto her back. “It’s Jamie not Jimmy. We were together for four years at Uni. He’s getting married in three weeks’ time and I want you to come with me to the evening do. That’s what I was telling you.”
“Right.” Winston rolled out of bed and looked for his clothes. They were strewn over the bedroom floor and out onto the hall. The wedding. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? He’d been so focused on the damage to the Cathedral he’d not asked himself why Rachel had chosen that moment to call up a storm? If the wedding was the target it made a lot more sens
e.
“What are you doing?” Suzie’s tone was petulant.
“I’ve got to ring someone.” Pulling on his t-shirt, his words came out muffled. When his head popped out he saw her pout. “For work. I won’t be long. Stay there and I’ll be back with coffee.”
“Oh, okay.” The pout disappeared and Suzie stretched, the movement revealing more of her thin, tanned body. “But don’t be long.”
Finding his jacket in the living room, he checked the pockets, found mobile and money. Once he’d snagged Suzie’s keys from the lock, he pulled the front door behind him and ran down the stairs.
Stepping out of the main entrance to the block of flats, he hunched his shoulders against the steadily falling rain and hurried down the street to the nearest coffee shop. When he’d been served, he found a quiet corner away from the hiss of the coffee machine and took out his iPhone.
He’d heard nothing from Jenna since Friday. She’d not even sent him the paragraphs about her uncle from Nina’s letter. He had to hope she’d forgiven him because he needed to talk to her. This was too good to wait.
“Hello.” She sounded sleepy. As if she were in bed, warm in pyjamas, her hair messy, her face soft.
Hell! Concentrate Grant.
“Hey Jenna.” Abruptly, he didn’t know what to say. That wasn’t good. He cleared his throat, tried again. “How are you?”
“Wondering why on earth you’re disturbing me at this time on a Sunday morning?”
It wasn’t that early, was it? With his mobile to his ear, he couldn’t check. “What time is it?”
“It’s just after eight and I was having a well-earned lie in.”
“Sorry.” He blinked as he found he meant it. “I didn’t think.”
