EMERGENCE

by R. H. Dixon

  Seren took the book without much enthusiasm, but began to look through it nonetheless. She’d been in a strange mood all day, becoming more and more sullen as the hours passed. John knew she was keen to get going and expected that the longer he stalled the sulkier she’d get, which he understood because he felt the same pressing urgency to leave. Even the dogs didn’t wander far from the back door, as though they were keen on the imminent escape plan too. Otis hadn’t been upstairs since the episode with the swinging light shade and Mindy, strangely, wouldn’t even go within ten feet of the stairs. They both seemed skittish and restless anywhere apart from the kitchen.

  ‘Not much longer now,’ John said. ‘Just got to put a few things back into place after I’ve sorted this box, then we can get going.’

  Seren didn’t look up from the book or respond.

  Emily stood up and joined John by the draining board. ‘So, what else you got in there?’ she asked, prodding the box’s squishy side.

  ‘God knows.’

  ‘Bust lava lamp?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘What’s that?’ She pointed to a black leather-bound book at the top of the pile.

  John picked it out. ‘Probably more drawings.’

  ‘I had no idea you were an artist.’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far, they’re just scribbles.’

  ‘Gimme a look.’ She took the book from his hands and opened it. A graphite portrait of a female still-life model on the first page had faded with time but was highly detailed and impressive. It was a study of curves and symmetry, elegantly done. ‘Doesn’t look like a bloody scribble to me.’

  John shrugged. ‘It’s nothing special.’

  ‘It’s certainly rude.’

  ‘It’s art.’

  ‘Seems more and more like you could be the black sheep of the family, bro.’

  John pulled a handful of CD cases out of the box, browsing their spines for anything interesting, and shook his head. ‘You think I could take that title away from Dad?’

  ‘Definitely.’ Emily poked him in the chest where she knew it would hurt. ‘You’ve been sneaking about the place like some ninja Lothario as well by the looks of things.’

  ‘Lothario?’ He laughed, despite himself. ‘I hardly think so.’

  ‘So how else might you explain that thing on your chest?’

  John scowled, motioning towards Seren with a sideways glance. ‘Not now, eh?’

  ‘Okay, but you’ll have to tell me later. Inquiring minds need to know.’

  ‘I don’t have to tell my kid sister anything.’

  ‘Jesus, I’m not asking for gory details,’ she chided. ‘I just want to know who.’

  ‘No one.’

  ‘Yeah right.’

  ‘Seriously. No one.’

  ‘Shut up, you can’t expect me to…hey, who’s this?’ Emily pulled a photograph from the pages of the sketch book. It showed a pretty brunette with kind brown eyes beaming at the camera, a can of lemonade in her hand.

  John looked at the picture, but didn’t reply. His demeanour instantly stiffened.

  ‘Well?’ Emily prompted.

  ‘No one.’

  ‘Wow, you know a lot of no ones.’ She cocked an eyebrow.

  ‘It’s just an old girlfriend, alright!’

  ‘Bloody hell, alright,’ Emily said, taken aback by his defensiveness. ‘Here, do you want it?’ She held the picture out to him.

  ‘Put it back where you found it.’

  Nobody spoke for a while, the hum of the fridge filling in the silence for them. John glanced through a pile of old college papers, his thoughts hardly on them, and Emily continued to flick through his sketchbook.

  Seren was the first to break the air of awkwardness. ‘Dad, are you nearly done?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Can I go and watch telly till you are?’

  ‘Yeah, course you can.’ He watched as she got up and pushed her chair beneath the table before leaving the room. Turning to Emily, he said, ‘Hey, sorry, didn’t mean to bite your head off just now. It’s just…there’s stuff going on round here that I don’t understand. I’m feeling pretty tense.’

  ‘No worries.’ Emily offered a reconciliatory smile and pointed towards the lounge. ‘I’ll go through and keep her company. Here.’ She closed the sketch book and passed it to him. Something fell out of the pages as he took it. A small square that fluttered to the floor. Emily bent to pick it up, her face clouding with puzzlement as soon as she looked at it. ‘What’s this?’ She held a small black and white picture up for him to see.

  A surge of emotion jolted John’s very core. He took the picture from her, not realising that he’d stopped breathing.

  ‘John?’ Emily’s face was now serious with concern. ‘Whose is it?’

  He brushed his finger over the glossy surface of the baby scan, his voice monotone. ‘Mine.’

  ‘Seren?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then who?’

  ‘She died.’

  ‘Shit, John. I’m sorry.’ Emily stood transfixed for a moment, staring at the back of the scan. But then her shock quickly turned to dejection. ‘How come I never knew about this?’

  ‘It’s not something I talk about.’

  ‘But, I can’t believe I didn’t at least know. Am I the only person in the family, apart from Seren, presumably, who didn’t?’

  ‘Probably.’ He took his eyes off the scan and looked her in the eye. ‘Yeah.’

  She folded her arms across her chest, hurt evident in her expression. ‘That’s okay though because I’m not really part of the family am I?’

  ‘Don’t, Em,’ he warned. ‘This happened before your time. This is not about you, so don’t try to make it.’

  She looked down to the floor. ‘Sorry. It’s just, I can’t believe I didn’t know.’

  ‘It’s nothing personal, Em. I would have told you, but it’s not exactly something I’d easily, or willingly, drop into conversation.’

  She nodded, her mouth downturned. ‘What was she called?’

  ‘She didn’t have a name.’

  ‘And who was the mother?’

  ‘The girl in the photo.’

  Emily took the scan from him and looked at it more closely. The outline of the baby was clear and she could easily make out a head and nose, arms and legs. She felt a great sadness to think that she should have been an aunt to a niece who was older than she was. But the baby hadn’t lived. Hadn’t even been given a name. Then something on the scan caught her eye, something that made her heart beat erratically. At the very top, above the embryonic image, was a line of informational text, part of which showed the mother’s name: GRAHAM, NATASHA.

  ‘Your old girlfriend,’ she said, looking up at John, her face draining of most of its colour, ‘she was called Natasha Graham?’

  ‘Look, Em, can we just drop this?’

  ‘Well, no, not really,’ she said, biting her lip. ‘When I told you last night that a cold caller had called, I was lying.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Because you have enough on your plate already, I didn’t want to bother you with something I thought was trivial, something I thought I could sort out.’

  ‘So who was on the phone?’

  ‘Natasha Graham.’

  _

  26

  _

  ‘Dad, can I go and pack my bags now?’ Seren came into the kitchen. She looked even smaller than usual. ‘We should hurry.’

  ‘Yeah, fine.’ John waved his hand dismissively, without argument. He was sorting through loose paper from his box of stuff, including student loan statements, concert tickets, high street receipts and MOT certificates.

  When Seren turned and wandered back into the lounge, Emily, her voice low, asked him, ‘Do you think she’ll drop the whole Megan thing when you get home?’

  ‘I bloody hope so.’

  Pulling her long ponytail over her shoulder, Emily began to fiddle with it, looking almost sheepish. ‘So y
ou, er…you definitely don’t think there’s anything in it then?’

  John narrowed his eyes. ‘Anything in it?’

  ‘You know, anything unusual.’ She reached over and picked up one of Seren’s drawings from the dining table. It showed a heavily crayoned figure in a long black dress. ‘It’s just all this talk of Megan then Natasha and that business with the mould on the ceilings. I mean I’m not being funny, John, but what mould comes and goes like that?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know, I’m not a mould specialist.’

  Emily huffed. ‘Oh come on, it’s a bit weird you have to admit.’

  ‘Well, yeah, it’s very weird, but it’s mould all the same.’

  ‘Is it though?’

  ‘Of course.’ He looked up from an HMV receipt and shook his head. ‘What are you suggesting it is? Ectoplasm?’

  ‘No. I dunno.’ Emily riffled through the pages of his sketch book again, quickly so that each image was nothing but a fleeting impression on the eye. ‘And what about Seren running off? That’s not like her.’

  ‘Exactly. Breathing in mould spores is probably sending us all doolally. It can’t be healthy.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘All the more reason to get the hell out of here I say.’

  ‘Why don’t you stay another night or two so you can get someone to come out and take a look at it? Get it sorted once and for all.’

  ‘Seren won’t stay another night.’

  Emily’s eyes were suddenly scrutinising. ‘Seren won’t or you won’t?’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘You’re holding something back, I can tell. You’re acting all edgy.’

  ‘No I’m not.’

  ‘Yes you are. Something’s happened. Have you seen Megan?’

  John dropped the sheaf of papers to the draining board and gave her his full attention. ‘No, of course I bloody haven’t.’

  ‘So what’s up?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘You look ill, John. I’m actually really worried about you. What’s got you so rattled?’

  He dragged a hand over his face. It was true, he felt drained, on the verge of some sickness. And her talking like this wasn’t helping. Emily was echoing all of his own unvoiced concerns, making them even more real.

  ‘Tell me,’ she urged. ‘I know you’re holding something back.’

  He took a long, slow breath and, relinquishing, lifted the front of his shirt to reveal the angry purple welt on his chest. ‘It’s this.’

  Emily looked momentarily confused, but then her eyes sparked with understanding. ‘You mean, you think that’s why Seren’s acting up? You’ve been seeing someone new and…’

  ‘No,’ he interrupted. Whatever she thought she understood, she definitely didn’t. ‘There is no one.’

  ‘So who did that?’

  ‘I don’t know, that’s the point. I had this dream about Pam…about one of my mother’s neighbours. She bit me and when I woke up, there it was as though she really had.’

  ‘But, that’s not even possible.’

  ‘I know.’

  Emily was quiet for a moment, while she took stock of things. ‘So, let’s see. Seren’s talking about a woman who visits her room every night who very bloody randomly told her to call your ex. Then you’ve got some, God, I dunno, succubus visiting your room. We’ve got weird mould that comes and goes. And let’s not forget the bloody awful smell that keeps wafting about the place. Something’s not right. There’s bad tension in the house, can you feel it?’

  John could, but he wasn’t about to admit as much. ‘You’re creeping yourself out, trying to sell yourself a ghost story. But there’s nothing sensational going on, Em, and I dare say it’s all related to the mould. I’ll get Nick to sort it out. Or Norman’s daughter. They can set some dehumidifiers up in the bedrooms, see if that solves the problem. But, either way, I can’t stay here any longer.’

  ‘Well I think that’s a horseshit excuse. I don’t think it is mould.’

  ‘And how would you know? You’re an expert all of a sudden?’

  ‘No, doofus. But it doesn’t take an expert to know that mould doesn’t jump off walls and give people love bites.’ She waved Seren’s drawing of the black-haired woman in front of him. ‘Something out of the ordinary is going on here, whether you’d care to admit it or not.’

  John shook his head, disregarding the picture. ‘So what, you think a ghost is causing all of this?’

  ‘Yes, well…maybe.’

  ‘Whose ghost?’

  Emily bit her bottom lip and looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Okay, so this is just a thought right? But Seren says that Megan looks like me.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So who do I look like?’

  John looked at her and shrugged. ‘Olive Oil?’

  ‘Don’t be a dick.’

  ‘I dunno. Dad?’

  ‘Yes. And?’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘You!’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So what if Megan is your daughter?’

  John was stunned by the suggestion, the fact that it could even be a suggestion. ‘She was just a baby, for fuck’s sake.’

  ‘Who says spirits don’t age?’

  ‘Who says they exist?’

  ‘What if she’s trying to warn you? She keeps telling Seren to leave. What if the bad woman is your succubus?’

  ‘Have you heard yourself?’

  Emily’s chest heaved with an impatient sigh. ‘You said the baby never had a name, why is that?’

  ‘She was stillborn.’ John had become visibly agitated, his demeanour prickly.

  ‘Stillborns have names,’ she challenged.

  ‘For God’s sake, Em.’

  ‘Tell me what happened.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  He turned his back to her and looked out of the window. A pinky-beige dove was sitting on the fence post, its scrupulous black eyes watching him. He felt as though he had an audience, like this was his five minutes on the podium because the world suddenly wanted to hear him declare what a bastard he was, wanted to hear the words from his own mouth. And there was no backing out now, he realised, Emily was too persistent and the strange things that had been happening meant that the past needed to be explored at least.

  ‘When Natasha gave birth to our dead baby,’ he said at last. ‘I left her.’

  It took Emily a few moments to register what he’d said, then she gasped, ‘You what?’

  He spun round to face her, his jaw tight. ‘I’ve lived with the guilt for the past eighteen years. Please, spare me the look of disgust.’

  ‘But, didn’t you hang around at least for a while? Till the baby was buried.’

  ‘No.’ His fists were bunched up by his sides and his eyes had clouded in a fugue of darkness that Emily didn’t recognise.

  Almost too nervous to press him further, but needing to know all the same, she asked, ‘Surely you and Natasha discussed names though?’

  A long silence stretched out. Eventually John sagged against the counter, his expression softening. ‘We agreed we’d decide on a name when we saw the baby.’

  ‘So, given the circumstances, Natasha must have given her a name.’

  ‘And you’re suggesting Megan?’

  Emily shrugged. ‘I’d say you’ve got to find out.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Call Natasha. Ask her.’

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘Think about it, John.’

  ‘I am! I couldn’t do that to the poor woman. What would she think?’ The thought of speaking to Natasha made him feel sick with shame. But then it occurred to him that she might already know Seren was his daughter, she’d called his mother’s number so surely she’d remember it from the past.

  Oh God, what must she think?

  Maybe it was time he apologised. Maybe this was his opportunity to repent.

  ‘How do you fancy taking Seren and the d
ogs out for some fresh air?’ he asked.

  Emily nodded, obviously sensing what he had in mind. ‘Sure, but can I just ask one more thing?’

  ‘If you must.’

  ‘Why did you leave her?’ She was looking at him as if he might be a complete stranger. As if what he’d told her had revealed an aspect of him that she didn’t know and didn’t like the sound of.

  Before he could lose the respect of his little sister altogether, John pulled out a chair and sat down at the dining table, indicating that she should do the same. ‘Okay, I’ll tell you what happened.’ He fiddled with his fingers and avoided her gaze, he couldn’t cope with her judgement right now. ‘But you have to understand that I wasn’t myself for a long while afterwards. I lost the plot. I mean really. Natasha was the one I was going to spend the rest of my life with, and we wanted that baby so much.’

  ‘So what changed?’ Emily asked. ‘What changed about the way you felt about Natasha?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing at all, that’s the hard part. I never stopped loving her and I don’t know how I’ll explain this to you. It’s awful and you’ll hate me for it.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true…’

  ‘After the baby was born I felt dead inside. Instantly. Seeing her perfect face but realising that she wasn’t crying or moving, I can’t put into words how terrible that was. And then I could hear other babies crying, elsewhere in the hospital, and it didn’t seem fair. I know it sounds awful, but I actually resented their parents. I begrudged them the new lives they were embarking on because me and Natasha had been robbed of ours.’

  ‘That’s only natural, it doesn’t make you a bad person to have thought that way. Anyone would after losing their own.’ Emily put her hand on top of his, to show her support.

  He smiled sardonically, wondering how long it would be before she removed it because that was the part of the story that at least warranted some sympathy. ‘When I left the hospital that was the last time I ever saw Natasha. By the next morning I knew that I couldn’t face her again. Not after what I’d done.’