‘Oh, yes, I know,’ I say, wondering what gossip my mum has been told about sleep-deprived Mrs Horsham.
‘Well, you are never going to believe this, Sammy,’ my mum starts and lowers her voice just in case our phones are being tapped, ‘but she’s only booted him out.’
‘Booted who out?’ I’m already confused by which one has the wonky leg.
‘Mr Horsham. She’s booted her husband out and made him sleep in the shed at the bottom of the garden. She said she’d had enough of him getting her up at all hours of the night, and she finally snapped. One night last week Mr Horsham went sleepwalking down the garden, so she got up, locked the back door and went back to bed. Poor old Mr Horsham ended up sleeping on next door’s sofa. They found him wandering around their back garden and thought he was a burglar, until Mr Lawrence recognised who it was.’
Oh dear, poor Mr Horsham, but then I suppose if I’d been deprived of sleep for thirty-odd years I think I might be tempted to do the same thing.
‘And that’s not all,’ my mum continues. ‘Mrs Landsbury, you know, the one with that horrible poodle – bloody horrible dog it is, does nothing but snap at you - well, she said that she popped round to Mrs Horsham’s the other day and discovered a family photo of Mrs Landsbury and her husband on Mrs Horsham’s mantelpiece!’
‘What’s Mrs Horsham doing with a photo of Mr and Mrs Landsbury on her mantelpiece?’
‘Who knows?’ my mum says. ‘And that’s not all,’ my mum continues in hushed tones. ‘She told Mrs Landsbury she went out on one of those speedy dating things the other night in town. She’s been dating all sorts of men! She told Veronica, who told Joan, who told me, that she’s never been so popular! She’s thinking of getting her boobs done.’ My mother gasps.
‘Uh-oh,’ Ange says again.
‘It’s speed dating, Mum. Anyway, maybe she’s having a midlife crisis, you know, recapturing her youth. Where’s Mr Horsham now? He’s not still living in the shed, is he?’
‘Oh no, the Lawrences felt sorry for him and are letting him stay with them for the time being, but I think between you and me that Mrs Lawrence is finding it a bit of a problem, with his nocturnal wanderings and all that, and has told Mr Lawrence that he will have to go soon because he can’t keep coming into their room in the middle of the night and getting into bed with them.’
Well, it all happens in my mum’s street, doesn’t it?
‘Well, I’m sure they will sort it out eventually. Oh, while I think about it, have you got Missy with you? She’s gone missing again.’
‘No, love, I haven’t seen her all day. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen that tomcat of hers either.’
My stomach does one of those sickening flips. I hope they haven’t eloped to Gretna Green or whatever the feline equivalent is.
‘Well, where is she then? She isn’t here. Oh God, you don’t think she’s been run over, do you?’ Tears sting my eyes. I have visions of putting up those ‘Missing Cat’ posters all over the town, requesting people to please look in their sheds. I wonder if Mrs Horsham has had to do that to find her missing husband before now. It’s my own fault for leaving her on her own for so long. If I had been here to keep an eye on her, she wouldn’t have wandered off again in search of Spencer – bloody men cats!
‘Well, don’t worry, love, I’m sure she’ll be home soon. I’ll ask Colin to have a run out in the car when he gets home. Now I must go, there’s a documentary on Nelson Mandela I want to watch,’ my mother says and abruptly ends our conversation.
Nelson Mandela? Since when was my mother a fan of Nelson Mandela? Oh well. I sigh, suddenly feeling very cold and remembering that I still haven’t switched the heating or the water on so it’s going to be another hour before I get a hot bath. That’s the problem with old houses, they’re very beautiful but boy are they cold!
As I climb the stairs I’m a bit apprehensive that the train room will suddenly come alive again. There is no set pattern to when my mysterious ghost shows itself and I still have no idea why it comes when it does or even what it wants. Ange is as flummoxed as I am and no one seems to be able to give me any clues and the bugger always takes me by surprise. I might be brushing my teeth and suddenly the train set comes alive again, or I might be having my supper and it starts. Some days nothing happens at all and those are my favourite days. Other times my ghost will be banging doors and playing with the train set all day. I need to get to the bottom of this and make a mental note to ask Miracle to come over and see what she makes of it all.
As I cautiously open the airing cupboard and reach into it to turn on the switch and get a couple of towels ready, I look down and see two pairs of green eyes looking back at me.
‘Meaow!’
‘Missy? Spencer?’ I bend down to see Missy and Spencer, her tomcat boyfriend, all snuggled up together inside my yellow bathrobe.
‘What are you doing in here, you silly pair? I thought you’d gone out again.’ The relief of seeing her looking up at me makes me feel like crying. As I reach down to pick her up, Missy meows again. I look down and, oh my goodness! Snuggled up against her furry little tummy are eight tiny balls of fluff. Missy has had kittens! Oh my God, Missy is a mummy!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
‘Want to talk about it?’ Miracle asks when I arrive at the academy. Due to my new duties as a result of becoming a grandmother to eight adorable kittens, she’s already had to cover my class entitled So You Think You Can Hear Voices That Are Not Your Own?, and has just sent everyone off for refreshments, including my A star student Alistair, aka Elvis, who has just gone past us, thrusting his pelvis and singing ‘Jail House Rock’, in a very un-Elvis style.
‘God, where do I start?’ I sigh, as I throw my bag to the floor and slump down in the chair beside her. Miracle hands me a much appreciated cup of hot chocolate.
‘The beginning is always the best place, I find.’ She smiles her wonderful kind smile, the smile that makes you want to tell her all your troubles. You know, Miracle would be perfect as an interrogator. She would sit a suspect down, hand them a cup of her famous hot chocolate, smile her warm smile and bingo, they would spill the beans in an instant.
‘Well, I’ve just become a grandmother to eight for starters – Missy had kittens last night. Lord knows what I’m going to do with them all. I don’t suppose you and Max want a cat do you?’
‘Can’t I’m afraid. Max is allergic to them.’
‘Oh well. Just one more thing I have to sort out. We can’t keep them all, as much as I love them,’ I sigh.
‘So what else is bothering you?’ Miracle asks, handing me a chocolate digestive to dunk – oh this woman knows me too well.
‘My friend Gem, you remember I spoke to you about her?’
Miracle nods.
‘Her husband, Simon, he’s been killed in Afghanistan. A car bomb.’
‘And you’ve seen him?’
Damn, she’s good.
I nod.
‘And?’
‘And I wish I hadn’t. She is distraught, Miracle. The pain that poor girl is going through …’
‘And you can’t understand why, when they had so much to live for, he was taken away from her.’
I nod again. Is Miracle a mind reader as well as a psychic?
‘Ange said what my dad said, that when it’s our time, it’s our time, and there is nothing we can do about it.’
‘That is true,’ Miracle confirms.
‘But it’s just so unfair, Miracle. It’s just so unfair. That girl is left with a baby to bring up all on her own.’
Miracle holds my hand.
‘Darling, it’s not for us to decode when and why things happen when they do. All we can do is help to mend those broken hearts, my love. Imagine how you would feel if it was suddenly your time. That’s why we get so many distressed spirits coming through. They all say it’s not fair; even the suicides. They may think they want out of this world, but when they’re successful, they want nothing more than to be back he
re on the earth plane. You will send yourself mad if you try to question why all the time, Sammy. We’re just the messengers; remember that.’
‘Hum, I guess. Oh, and if that isn’t bad enough, I’ve got my mother acting all weird on me, deciding to play homage to Bob Marley and the Wailers by dancing around in a frigging reggae hat; my ghostly guest won’t tell me what he wants from me; and would you believe I saw my mum’s friend Marjorie begging for money on the street yesterday. I mean, she’s the Chair of the WI for goodness sake! Then there’s Mr Brent. You know, the old man who lives down the road from me. I caught him running after a couple of tourists yesterday, wielding a slingshot at them. It’s like the world has gone mad. Mum was saying that a neighbour of hers, Mrs Horsham, who is usually such a nice woman, has turned into a kleptomaniac and is looking at having a boob job; she’s in her seventies! And now I’ve gone and got myself involved with this psychic detective thing, as if I don’t have enough on my plate. I’m a hundred per cent sure that Petra’s mother, Pearl, was poisoned. They’re going to start filming next week. So besides all that, trying to organise my wedding by text message and missing Jack like crazy, I’m fine! We can’t even decide on where to have the bloody reception and time is running out!’ I take a deep breath, realising I sound like a woman on the verge of being committed to the loony bin.
Miracle looks at me for a moment.
‘Hang on a minute. You said your mum was acting all weird. What do you mean by weird?’
‘Oh, just putting on this Jamaican voice whenever I phone up and playing reggae music at full volume. I mean, she doesn’t even like reggae music!’
‘So she’s never listened to it before then?’
I shake my head.
‘Not to my knowledge. She’s more of a Shirley Bassey kind of girl, is my mum. Me and Jack can’t decide on whether to have the reception at the Royal Hotel or have a marquee in Mum’s back garden or have it at our local. I mean it’s big enough …’ I twitter on.
Miracle looks at me seriously for a moment.
‘Sammy, hang on a minute; did your mum attend the séance by any chance?’
‘Uh-oh,’ Ange says. What do you keep saying that for?
I nod, as I sip my wonderful hot chocolate. Oh, that tastes so good.
‘And this other woman, Marjorie? You say she’s the chair of the WI?’
I nod again. Was Miracle not listening to my wedding dilemma?
‘I’m assuming she doesn’t usually have to beg for a living?’ Miracle asks.
‘What, Marjorie? Oh God no! She lives in the Crescent, the posh part of Bath. Marjorie’s middle name is posh,’ I laugh, and I’m sure it is. Marjorie only ever shops at the most exclusive boutiques in town; Marjorie has two cleaners in every week to keep her grand Georgian house spotless and she even has someone in just to do her laundry, which is why I was shocked to see her sitting looking like a vagrant outside McDonalds.
‘I think she must have been doing something for charity,’ I muse, as I nurse my drink and soggy digestive in my hands. ‘She’s always involved in some sort of charity work.’
‘Wasn’t this lady the one who organised the séance? Did she attend it too?’ Miracle asks.
‘Oh yes, it was quite funny, there was a little Cockney boy there called Tom who came through from the spirit world. He took quite a shine to her,’ I chuckle, as I remember the look on Marjorie’s face when I told her she had a little friend standing next to her.
Miracle looks seriously at me for a moment.
‘Sam, now I want you to think very carefully when you answer this question.’
I nod and laugh nervously. What is up with Miracle today?
‘Uh-oh.’
‘Sam, the man you saw running down the street, Mr Brent? Did he by any chance attend the séance too?’
I nod.
‘He and Mrs Jackson, the woman from the gift shop, wanted to come along. I think they thought it was going to be a run of the mill WI meeting. But I did get Mrs Jackson’s daughter come through. She didn’t seem very happy about it though.’
Miracle frowns.
‘Right, and this Mrs Horsham, the one you said is the kleptomaniac and is going to get a boob job, was she there too?’
‘Yes.’ I’m not sure where this conversation is going, but I don’t like it one bit.
‘Sam, I want you to tell me something. Did you remember to close down the circle on Halloween? Think carefully, Sam. Did you close the circle?’
I think for a moment.
‘Of course I closed the circle down. I mean, I’m not that stup…’ I hesitate. Did I? I hear Ange laughing hysterically. You know, I honestly can’t remember if I did or not. Yes, of course I would have. I mean I wouldn’t have just …
‘Sam, this is very important.’ Miracle speaks very slowly, so that I get the gist of just how important this is.
‘You need to think what you did. Tell me exactly how you closed the circle,’ Miracle urges. I’ve never seen her this serious before.
‘Well, we had lots of people come through – Tom, the little boy I told you about; Mrs Jackson’s daughter, and nobody knew she even had one; um … oh, and would you believe it, a Viking came through! He took a shine to one of the ladies there. I couldn’t believe my eyes! Oh, and my dad helped me a bit. I couldn’t rely on Ange to guide me because she was too busy helping herself to other people’s handbags. Um … oh, there were lots of people in the background wandering around.’
‘Cow!’ Ange says.
‘Did a Jamaican person come through too, by any chance?’ Miracle asks. I can sense her disappointment.
‘What?’
Miracle shakes her head.
‘Tell me who you saw, Sam, just before you closed the circle. Think. This is very important.’
And she does look serious this time.
‘Um … oh well … oh, that’s right. Well, I was looking at Gem for a moment and there was this grey shadow behind her. I couldn’t make it out at the time, but I now know it was her husband, Simon, coming through. He had died that day, but he was obviously having trouble coming through to us.’
‘Uh-huh,’ Miracle nods, ‘and then what?’ She grabs a pencil and starts jotting down things on a notepad in front of her.
‘Well, I was a bit shocked because I couldn’t make out who it was and I was tired too, so I ended the séance then,’ I say, trying to think what I did next.
‘And exactly how did you end the séance, Sam?’
‘I broke hands with Gem and told the table that was all I could do tonight and …’
‘So you didn’t close the circle properly?’ Miracle says.
‘And I … oh crap, I don’t know if I did or didn’t.’
‘Right, let me put it this way. Sam,’ Miracle talks very, very slowly now, ‘did you thank your spirits for coming and ask them to go back into the light?’
‘Ha! No she didn’t,’ Ange teases.
Err, no. I don’t remember doing that bit. It was more of blow the candles out and say goodnight.
‘Um …’ is all I can mutter.
Miracle puts her pencil down and holds her head in her hands.
‘Um …is that bad?’ I squeak. I feel like I’m back at school and about to be reprimanded for copying Amy’s answers in our maths test.
‘Ha, ha!’
Miracle looks at me.
‘You let spirits come into this world on All Hallows’ Eve, Sam. The one night in the year when they can physically enter our realm and you forgot to send them back.’
‘And that’s bad because?’ I ask, all wide-eyed.
‘And that’s bad, Sam, because they are now still inhabiting our world. All the spirits that came through to you on Halloween are now in our world, because you didn’t send them back to their realm. Which means, Sam, that whoever attended that séance could easily become possessed by any one of them.’
Oh shit. That is bad.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Before I have time to dige
st just how bad the situation is, my mobile rings. It’s Mark from Living Today TV.
‘Ooo, I like him!’ Ange says as I pick up the phone.
‘Mark, hi.’
‘Hey, Sam, I thought I would let you know we got the results back from the lab this morning,’ Mark says.
‘And?’
‘It was ethylene glycol on the carpet – commonly known as antifreeze to you and me.’
‘What do you mean, antifreeze?’
‘That was what you could smell; that sweet smell you recognised? It was antifreeze.’
‘And?’
‘And my dear, do you know what happens if you drink it?’ Mark says.
‘No.’
‘Breathlessness, stomach pains, dizziness and eventual liver and kidney failure, among other things. Apparently it contains … hang on, let me find the notes … ah, here we are, it contains lots of nasty things including ethylene glycol, methanol and propylene glycol, all things we shouldn’t have in our bodies. When ethylene glycol is oxidised to glycolic acid which in turn oxidises to oxalic acid, it becomes toxic, according to St. James’s Hospital.’
‘So that’s what happened,’ I gasp. ‘I told you I couldn’t breathe in that room. Well, Pearl told me that was her room. Oh my God, Mark, that’s it! They poisoned her. The home poisoned Petra’s mum with antifreeze!’ The same image I had of an elderly woman comes into my mind and she’s nodding in agreement.
‘I told you!’ Ange says.
No, you didn’t!
‘I did so. Anyway, is Mark married?’
I have no idea, Ange.
I wish she would shut up for a minute.
‘Now he is someone I could seriously haunt!’ she giggles. Don’t even think about it, Ange.
‘And he wears purple boxer shorts! I love the colour purple!’ my mad spirit guide informs me.
‘So Georgia has contacted the police and they are talking about requesting an inquest and post-mortem into Pearl’s death. The reason they never suspected anything was because of her age – and the fact that that trout of a matron is very convincing. They will want to interview you at some point, Sam,’ Mark adds, ‘and we are going to have to recreate the footage for the programme because I had the camera when you went off in search of Petra’s mum, so all we have is the recording of you saying you couldn’t breathe.’
Oh Great, Now I Can See Dead People Page 11
