by Lyn Murphy
See? She is just a very ordinary little girl heading off to school and not some strange ghostly creature coming to haunt me like Sarah’s unwelcome guest. It’s obvious to me now that, as much as I’m fascinated by this story; as much as I’m captivated by Sarah and her ghost girl, I need to get the manuscript finished and sent back to the publishing house.
Susan will say Amen to that thought, I know she will. Just this morning there was an email requesting a time frame for delivery; she is champing at the bit to get this novel on the presses and ready for the release date.
I used to dream of being a best selling writer. I even studied Creative Writing for several years at University. But I am easily discouraged. My self esteem is not sufficient to be able to go on believing in myself in the face of criticism and rejection, not like Monica or my mother. They were both such strong, confident women that nothing would deter them from their goals.
I, however, am more like my father, in both looks and personality. Like him I am tall and stick thin with baby blonde hair that will never accept a style. My sister and my mother were small, compact people; immaculately groomed brunettes who dressed with professional flair, bold colours to match their equally bold natures.
They always scoffed at my choice of shapeless, easy care trousers under flowing tunics, all in muted earth tones, which they said did absolutely nothing for me at all. Then again they didn’t seem to understand that my desire for anonymity was as fierce as their hunger for notoriety.
They’re all gone now, my parents and my sister. They were coming home from an awards ceremony at which Monica was recognised as Business Woman of the year for the third year in succession. My father had a stroke at the wheel of the car and drove directly into the path of a fully laden semi trailer.
I didn’t go to the ceremony. I wasn’t even invited. I was very obviously pregnant with Jake at the time and therefore too much of an embarrassment to my family. I was pregnant with the child of my live-in lover who just happened to be the husband on Monica’s best friend, Julie.
In those days I still thought that Tom and I were forever.
He was my first. My only. I’d never been comfortable around men and I guess the feeling was mutual. I could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times that a man had shown interest in me or asked me out on a date.
Tom and I met at Monica’s birthday party. I was never much of a party person, but how does one escape a sister’s birthday party when it is held at my Mum’s place and I was still living at home?
Monica invited all her friends from work, but Julie, Tom’s wife had to beg off at the last moment because her mother took ill with pneumonia. Tom came anyway and because we were the only ones ‘stag’ at the party, we were left to keep each other company
I had a couple of drinks, something I rarely did in those days and certainly would never do now. It was one of those hot summer nights with a moon as bright as day and somehow I ended up on the beach with Tom. I think we started out just going to for walk to get away from the noise, but we ended up making love in the sand.
Our affair continued in secret for months. Tom told me he loved me and he desperately wanted to leave his wife and be with me. Is there one mistress of a married man who has not heard that line, I wonder? But, of course, I believed him. I believed that it was extremely difficult for him to leave Julie at the moment because of the children, and because she was the one with the job, while Tom was between commissions as an artist.
Then we got caught. I guess Julie was suspicious and she followed him one night when Tom came to meet with me. She packed up his things and threw him out on the street.
So we ran away together to Pebble Beach, a small coastal town some two hours drive from the city. I took out a loan, and, when combined with a generous slice of my savings, it was enough to put down a deposit on our cottage. I did freelance article writing and Tom, as much as it grieved him to do so, actually got a job as a sign writer.
The dream was that eventually I would write my best selling novel and Tom’s landscape paintings would start to sell like hot-cakes at the stand where he displayed them each market day.
We discovered that I was pregnant and we were delirious with joy. Tom was going to file for a divorce so that we could marry. How could life get any better than this?
But, for Tom at least, it seems our relationship was more about the lure of forbidden fruit.
We were together for real now; there was no need to sneak around, to lie in order to see each other. Once the newness of this wore off, Tom began to get bored and restless. Even the arrival of our son did little to improve things.
I didn’t know he was back in contact with Julie. I had no idea he was calling her from work; driving down to see her and the children when I thought he was off painting signs. I didn’t know until he announced that he was moving back to the city – to ‘give it another go’ with his wife.
I was shattered when he left, and yet I was also a little relieved. As much as I loved Tom it was hard work to share my life with another person so completely; to never be able to retreat into myself without being asked
‘What’s wrong? Why are you so quiet? What the hell have I done wrong this time?’
There is something very sad in watching a relationship die and turn to dust.
It’s true I never got to write my own best seller, but all those years of tuition have certainly not been wasted. I’ve been instrumental in helping to launch the careers of quite a few promising authors since landing this job at the publishing house.
But, right now I need to take a break.
I’m going outside into my garden to feed the goldfish. They don’t really need extra food; having a plethora of natural goodies for the taking in their habitat. But I love to watch them crowd around the edges of the pond, their greedy little mouths working above the waters surface as they beg for their fish flakes treat.
I come to my feet and turn quickly towards the front gate, a prickling sensation at the nape of my neck alerting me to the feeling that I am being observed.
She is there at the gate, staring at me through the bars which she grips tightly with both hands.
A quick glance at my watch shows me that school is over for the day. Lily is still wearing her school uniform but she has lost the pony tail and her hair has resumed its normal tangle of curls.
I start to walk towards her, expecting that she will turn and run. But she stays exactly as she is, just watching me; as though she is issuing a challenge.
‘You’ve locked the gates,’ she says finally. I’m noticing that her eyes are very large and a washed out shade of blue.
‘That’s right,’ I tell her. ‘That’s to keep little girls out of my garden.’
She continues to stare at me with that strange, vacant expression.
‘But I can’t reach the doorway now,’ she says forlornly.
‘Doorway? What doorway?’ I ask her, frowning, and Lily thrusts an arm through the bars of the gate and points to something behind me. When I turn I see only the garden and the gazebo. I turn back to her, shaking my head.
‘Okay – look, ‘I tell her, angry now. ‘I don’t know what you’re on about and I don’t really care. I just don’t want you playing in my garden, alright? Didn’t your Mother have a word to you about that last night?’
‘I don’t want to play in your garden,’ she flings at me ‘I just want to go through the doorway to see my Dad.’
‘Your Dad? What are you talking about? What would your Dad be doing in my garden?’ I cry, startled by the sudden vehemence in her tone.
‘Lily?’ Brenda’s voice rings out in the afternoon air and a door bangs loudly from across the road. ‘Where have you got to now, you little cow?’
Lily turns on her heel and flees back across the road. I can only stand there and stare after her, my mind boiling with unanswered questions.
Chapter Six
Another restless night.
In the short st
retches when I do manage to fall asleep I dream strange, jumbled dreams in which Lily floats about, all pale and golden, in a long white gown. I’m trying to catch her, but every time I get within reach, she simply disappears.
So it’s no surprise that the new day has found me tired and angry. I’m angry because I don’t understand why this is happening.
I’ve travelled a long, difficult road to get back from that awful place where I went after Jake died. I’ve faithfully practised all the special techniques taught to me by my therapist; I’ve taken my medication and (generally) avoided the types of things that I know will exacerbate my condition.
I don’t expect life to be without its ups and downs. Heck, I even accept that the downs might still be in the majority because, as my mother used to say, I have always been a bit ‘emotionally delicate’. But I really did think I had come further than this.
‘Yoo Hoo!’ Brenda’s voice startles me and I look up from contemplating the letters I’ve pulled from the mail box to find her rushing across the road towards me. ‘I’ve just realized,’ she rasps as she reaches me. ‘I don’t know your name.’
So I tell her ‘It’s Jillian,’ And she flashes me a smile.
‘Well Jillian, I just wanted to let you know I’ve had a word with Lily about coming into your yard, and I don’t think she’ll be doing it again, okay? I mean I really don’t want for us to end up being enemies or something, being neighbours and all, you know? So, like I said, I don’t think you’ll be having any more problems with her, but, if you do, just give me a ‘Hoy’ and I’ll sort her out, okay?’
I try to find an answering smile.
‘Thank you. I appreciate that,’ I tell her and she heaves one of her theatrical sighs.
‘That girl – I tell you, she’ll be the death of me yet. She’s such a head case at times. Just like her father. Always off with the fairies, you know?’
‘Her father?’ I repeat, my interest piqued and Brenda nods, looking sad now.
‘He died. Six months ago. Lung cancer,’
‘He’s dead?’ I say, feeling a sudden chill. But Brenda doesn’t seem to notice my disquiet.
‘That’s why we had to come here to live. Couldn’t afford the rent where we were before. Not with me on the disability pension. Bad back, you know.’ She presses a hand to the small of her back and winces to show me how much it hurts. ‘It’s been really difficult for us. That’s probably why Lily is being such a little cow at the moment. She was really close to her Dad. Losing him like that hit her really hard, you know?’
But my mind is like a spider trying to take the slenderest threads and weave them into something solid instead of something that should just blow away in the breeze.
‘Lily was upset because she couldn’t reach the doorway to visit him,’ I hear myself saying and Brenda gives me a puzzled look.
‘Huh?’
‘She came here yesterday, after school,’ I tell her. “She was upset because I’d locked the gates and she couldn’t get into my yard to go through the doorway.’
Brenda casts a look over my shoulder into the garden.
‘What doorway?’ she asks me and I spread my hands in a shrug
‘I don’t know,’ I tell her. ‘But Lily said she only wanted to go through the doorway to visit with her Dad!’
Now Brenda hoots with laughter.
‘Oh wow. So - what? You’ve got some kind of “spirit world” thing happening in your garden have you?’ She hooks her fingers to make the quote marks for her words and then laughs some more. ‘Oh that girl and her imagination – I tell you.’ She chortles.
But I find myself frowning.
‘You don’t find that a bit disturbing? That your daughter believes she can visit with her dead father through some imaginary doorway in my garden?’ I ask, and Brenda sobers a little.
‘Well yeah, a bit, I suppose. But that’s kids for you, eh? They have all sorts of weird ways of dealing with things and I guess this is just Lily’s way.’
I can see she is a bit offended by my inference that there is something amiss with Lily’s behaviour. Perhaps I should have trodden with a lighter step? Still, I haven’t set out here to make friends and influence neighbours. All I want is for that little girl to stop popping in and out of my garden like a prop in a magic show.
Brenda bids me farewell on a slightly strained note, lighting up a cigarette as she goes and coughing her way back home. Will Lily soon be losing another parent to the Nicotine god?
Chapter Seven
It’s evening now and the last rays of the sun are tinting the clouds along the horizon with shades of pink and gold.
The blinds are open wide again so that I can stand here and admire the beauty of the sunset while I wait for my coffee machine to work its magic.
I really don’t think Lily will be bothering me again. She must understand now that she isn’t welcome in my yard.
Perhaps I should feel sorry for Lily rather than fearing her. And I do fear her, as silly as that may sound. She seems to have a very strange effect on me.
Yet that little girl has not had much of a life to date. Losing her father and being forced to relocate like this. It can’t have been easy for her.
And Lily is so different from the children of my acquaintance. They are all so boisterous and full of a zest for life, while Lily seems somehow faded and empty.
She actually seems a bit like me; a bit like the child I used to be. I was always lurking around in the background watching everyone else live their lives; always living more inside my own head than in the real world.
I think Lily is like that too. Well she obviously has quite an imagination on her if she can believe in some ‘doorway to the spirit world’, to borrow her mother’s terminology. Then again it would explain where Lily goes to when she does her disappearing act?
The thought startles me. It occurs to me that when I start having thoughts like that it might be time to call my therapist and make an appointment.
Of course I know what Dr Morris will tell me. It’s the manuscript, she will say. I shouldn’t be reading stuff like that. It’s just feeding my overactive imagination. But at least Dr Morris will be able to guide me back to safer ground – away from the edge of the precipice where I am currently teetering.
It’s too late to call tonight. I have an after hours number for emergencies. But that is only for the hopeless cases who never seem to learn to use the tools at their disposal. I refuse to be like that. I will make myself some herbal tea and find myself a documentary to watch on Pay TV. No scary stories tonight. Just cute and cuddly tiger cubs or lions yawning and napping in the noonday sun.
But she’s back again. Lily is climbing over my fence in her pyjamas.
I stare in shock as she drops lightly to the ground and sets off at a crouching run towards the gazebo. She glances frequently towards the house as if checking to see if she has been spotted. She doesn’t see me standing here at the window of the darkened room.
‘Stop right there,’ I shout at her. She hears me and freezes. I see this in the split second before I launch myself into action, heading not for the front door this time, but for the door leading out from my laundry. This brings me out adjacent to the gazebo and gives me a chance to intercept the heedless little minx.
She stops abruptly when she sees me burst into the yard in front of her, darting nervous glances between me and her intended destination. I see her dilemma. Does she make a dash for it, knowing she was probably easily outrun me? Or does she turn and hightail it home?
I
‘You stay right there young lady,’ I warn. I approach slowly, warily. I’m not sure what I’m intending to do if she stays still long enough for me to reach her. In my mind I see myself grabbing her by the scruff of the neck and marching her back across the road to her mother.
‘You said to give you a ‘Hoy’. Well Hoy. She was in my yard again. Do something about it.’
But I never get the chance to live out my imagi
ned scenario as Lily seems to make her decision. She chooses to go forward. She launches herself out of a semi crouch like a runner from the starting blocks. I see the little shift in the scenery; and then she is gone.
My blood runs cold with shock and fear. This time there is no wondering. This time there is only the awfulness of knowing. The child has vanished into thin air.
My mind is scrabbling for purchase on this slippery slope into pure madness. Lily calls it a ‘doorway’. No matter how ridiculous it sounds I can no longer deny that the child is really going somewhere that is not readily discoverable to me. However, for Lily to use this doorway of hers, she has to be able to see it somehow. It has to have some tangible, perceivable form.
I know it is pointless to search for her, or for her ‘doorway’. But she will come back eventually. And I will be waiting – right here by the gazebo – and I’ll make her tell me how it all works. I’ll make her show me, because if the doorway is real, then Lily’s claim to be visiting with her dead father is also real. And if she can transcend the barriers between the living and the dead, then, maybe, so can I.
Reality seeps back like the cool evening air penetrating my thin clothing. It all sounded so rational a few moments ago. But now it is beginning to occur to me that I might be in a much worse state than I ever imagined.
To think just a few hours ago I was admonishing Brenda for finding her daughter’s wild imaginings anything less than disturbing. Yet here I am having fully bought into that same fantasy, and even about to attempt to modify it to suit my own needs.
I force my leaden legs to take me back towards the house. I will not subscribe to any more of this madness. I will take enough of my pills to knock me unconscious and, first thing in the morning I will phone for an appointment with my therapist.
I almost fall over the child. Lily has just appeared right in front of me. I react without thinking, lunging forward to grab her by the arm. The child screams in fear and whirls to face me, the movement wrenching her free of my grasp. I reach for her again but she is much too fast. She wheels and sprints for the gate.
‘Lily,’ I cry, running after her. ‘Lily. Come back’
There is no way I can catch her. She runs like the wind, launching herself at the fence with such force that the railings rattle and the gate clangs in its moorings. I hear her whimpering like a frightened puppy as she drags herself up and over the fence, falling heavily to the ground on the other side. I can only stand there, gripping the bars and watching as she bounces to her feet and races off across the road
