Justine and the Psychic Connections

by Ruth Hay

  In no way would I wish to add to this woman’s problems. The matter of a cat was not going to be high on her list of priorities. I would have to sort out Bossy Boots on my own, it seemed.

  I stayed away from my new home for most of the rest of the day. I deliberately did not open the back door before locking it, but drove up the hill and out of the village and found the main road a short drive away.

  On my arrival the previous day, I had come from the direction of the large city so I drove off in the opposite direction fairly sure I would come to a small town centre further out.

  After a mile or two of countryside, I reached a sizable housing estate and continued to drive along watching for signs of amenities to serve the population of Cumbernauld. At a set of traffic lights I turned right and found exactly what I needed. A bustling shopping centre with a Tesco Express attached to a petrol garage promising a variety of stores and restaurants. I thought at once that this place would provide much more anonymity than Sadie Turner’s shop. It might be worth the drive to maintain my privacy, or whatever was left of that now.

  I found a parking spot and spent the rest of the afternoon happily browsing the mall to see what it offered. I bought a lovely pale blue bedding set and two firm pillows and treated myself to a good meal at a table by myself in a restaurant where I could watch the locals coming and going about their business. I assumed there must be a school nearby as the number of teenagers increased significantly after four o’clock. I watched them avidly, interested in their clothing and hairstyles that looked so different from my most recent country of residence.

  The time passed quickly. I gradually felt it was safe to return to the village of Lenzie with a better, more confident attitude of mind. Whatever the disasters of my first day, I could overcome them and start anew.

  This attitude lasted until I opened the door to the garden to shake my late night snack crumbs out of the table mat and found Bossy Boots sitting in almost the same position as earlier in the day.

  This was a very determined cat. A cat I could no longer ignore.

  “All right! Come in. I refuse to call you that stupid name. We will choose a better one for you.

  I understand what you want. I will not pretend that I don’t. I did not expect you, but I cannot say you are a complete surprise.”

  Four

  He jumped up on the table and stared right into my eyes with his solemn blue gaze.

  I began with a series of normal cat names and as there was no response I began to get more adventurous until I hit on Egyptian names and said the name for Baste, the Egyptian cat goddess.

  This drew a lofty nod of the head for permission to continue.

  I could not help wondering what on earth this noble animal was doing with the Mackenzie brood of active children.

  A little more negotiation and the name of Ramses was at last deemed acceptable. I was not surprised that the name of one of Egypt’s most dominant Pharaohs suited him best.

  Ramses blinked three times and his pink tongue emerged just enough to signify thirst. I fetched the small bottle of cream I had purchased for my coffee and poured a little into a saucer. I did not think Ramses would relish mere milk instead.

  I bent down and placed the dish on the floor beside the kitchen table. He did not move.

  I recognized this as a stand-off. Lines were being drawn in this kitchen.

  I sat down and waited. He yawned.

  I waited. He made a faint sound in his throat.

  I almost laughed out loud at his temerity but that would challenge his dignity and damage any future relationship.

  I gave in.

  I lifted the saucer and placed it in front of him on the tabletop. He lapped the cream up efficiently then proceeded to lick the inner part of his front leg that is equivalent to a person’s wrist. Once moistened, he washed his whiskers and face with his ‘wrist’ until any traces of cream were gone.

  Then he purred once and walked slowly to the back door giving me enough time to get there and open it up for his exit.

  “Very well, Your Highness, or perhaps Mighty Pharaoh,” I murmured into the darkness, as he moved swiftly now toward the rear of the garden.

  “We will see what tomorrow brings.”

  I awoke in the morning, looked around me, and suddenly felt as if I belonged.

  This was my place and with that belief came more confidence to tackle the issue of Ramses, formerly known as Bossy Boots.

  I had a quick breakfast and set out for the Mackenzie residence. Today I was determined to get some answers.

  It was no great shock to find myself walking along behind Ramses. He led me smartly toward the Mackenzie house as if we had an appointment there. I followed him up to the front door. On the doorstep was the pram with a sleeping baby inside. I hesitated to knock on the door and waken this baby but to my surprise Ramses pushed against it with his nose and the door opened up. At once I could hear a number of sounds. It was a minute or so before I could discern which was the more urgent in nature, but Ramses walked on leading me into the kitchen where a scene of despair met my eyes.

  Young Mrs. Mackenzie was sprawled out over the kitchen table sobbing her heart out while the two little boys sat on their rear ends under the table crying and pulling at their mother’s skirt to get her attention. An older child was sitting opposite her mother with a look of sheer panic on her face. The toddler girl was sitting in a high chair smeared from face to fingers with porridge and by the look on her face she, also, was about to join the chorus of wails. The baby asleep in the pram outside was the only peaceful one in, or out of, the house.

  I could not just stand there. I had to do something.

  I moved over to the mother and gently touched her shoulder to announce my presence, then I spoke as soothingly as I could manage.

  “My dear, whatever is the matter? What can I do to help you?”

  She turned up to me a face of such sad devastation that I felt obliged to act.

  “Now let me get you a cup of tea and sort out the children and then we’ll see what to do next.”

  I had no idea what I was getting myself into here but I had to do something. I put water in the kettle and found a tin of chocolate biscuits which I offered to the boys under the table. With their noise ceasing, and their attention diverted, their mother stopped sobbing and dried her eyes on her apron.

  I picked up a dishtowel from a pile folded on the countertop and, wetting the corner with tap water, I wiped the girl’s mouth of porridge and gave her the plastic spoon so she could continue feeding herself from the plastic bowl, which she did with a look of sheer amazement at this strange apparition suddenly appearing in her house and taking over.

  I suspected it would be only a moment or two before the children realized there was a complete stranger directing events in their kitchen, and they began to return to their previous noisy state, so I focussed again on their mother and presented her with a steaming hot cup of tea, meanwhile patting her back gently.

  “There now! It can’t be all that bad, whatever it is. Drink this tea and we’ll talk.”

  The mother’s eyes overflowed again with huge tears and I realized I had said something stupid. Who was I to judge her situation? I had no knowledge of her present troubles, never having been a mother myself.

  I hastened to make amends for my clumsiness.

  “Can you tell me what has caused you such sorrow?”

  In response she offered me a piece of paper unrolled from her clenched fist.

  I quickly smoothed it out on the plastic tablecloth and scanned the contents.

  Lanark County Housing and Rental Offices

  Dear Mrs. Mackenzie

  This is to inform you that you are now in arrears with your rent.

  No cheque arrived last month and in three weeks you will be ejected from the address in Lenzie Village now occupied by you and your family.

  To prevent this from happening, please forward the sum of 300 pounds sterling to this office at your
earliest convenience.

  I remain your humble servant,

  John H. Roberts, Housing Officer.

  The handwritten signature below was underlined with a flourish denoting more Scrooge than humble servant.

  I knew nothing about this rental matter, but I was incensed by this callous treatment. Quickly dispensing more chocolate biscuits to pacify the boys under the table, I took their mother’s damp hands in mine and made her look at me directly.

  “My dear woman, do you have the money?”

  She shook her head vehemently and teardrops rained down on my head and face. To my credit I did not flinch but forged on with my fact-finding mission.

  “Where is your husband, Mrs. Mackenzie?”

  To my alarm this question, seemingly so obvious to me, caused only more distress.

  Miriam Mackenzie’s face turned an alarming shade of red and her voice got quieter and quieter as she spoke so quickly that I felt I was rushing to catch up with the last sentence while she forged on ahead.

  I bent to hear her better, then wished I had not bothered.

  “Cedric Mackenzie is the lowest scum ever put on this earth. He left me here with all these kids and sailed off without a care to join the army and have fun with his pals.

  Not a letter! Not even a phone call! He said he was going on a secret mission but I do not believe it for one minute. What he’s doing is living the high life somewhere warm and balmy while I am going crazy here feeding and caring for his children on a mere pittance each month.

  And now he has left us all in danger of losing our home.

  How could he do it, I ask you? How could he?”

  She grasped my arms as if to squeeze an answer out of me and then she suddenly realized she had no idea who it was to whom she was blurting out this very private confession.

  “Who are you? Are you from the Housing Department?”

  “Oh, no! Not at all! I just moved into number 23. I heard the children crying and I came in to see if I could help.”

  There did not appear to be any point in mentioning Bossy Boots. Matters of far more importance had taken over from there.

  The cat had disappeared again.

  I had a hysterical woman clinging to me as if she were drowning.

  I had no idea what to do now. Never had I faced a dilemma like this one.

  I very much wished to leave, but I was already in too deep to contemplate that cowardly act.

  Miriam Mackenzie needed help.

  Five

  I looked around the room for some idea about what to do next. I caught sight of a photograph in a frame set on top of a sideboard cluttered with toys and children’s shoes. It was clearly a wedding picture showing a younger and happier Miriam with her husband by her side. As I gazed at him, looking for a sense of who he might be, at once I was in darkness.

  The room disappeared and all sound went. Complete silence enveloped me until a glimmer of light from a pair of eyes drew my attention.

  I could see nothing of the person to whom the eyes belonged but emotion flooded over me from that source.

  Alone

  Desperate

  Worried

  I knew this sensation from before. It was an indicator only. Not a true revelation. The darkness denoted a mental rather than a physical state. I could only surmise this was how Cedric Mackenzie was currently feeling.

  As to his location? ………. I had no clue.

  When I came back to my normal senses, Miriam was still whispering and sobbing intermittently.

  Her children, temporarily stunned into silence, began again to reflect the emotion of their mother. Although I had dealt with many unusual situations in the past, this one was without precedent in my experience. I summoned whatever mental and physical resources were available to me, removed my jacket, pushed up the sleeves of my cotton shirt and got to work.

  I wiggled the toddler out of her high chair and placed her on the rug with an assortment of plastic toys I found in a brightly coloured box. The older girl watched me with some suspicion but she turned out to be an ally. She began playing with her sister, leaving me a moment to haul the boys out from under the table and set them to work collecting dishes and cutlery in a basin so they could wash these in the bath. This novelty seemed to excite them with water play potential.

  I carefully removed knives, other than blunt plastic types, and let them splash away with their arms immersed in warm water and dish soap. Meanwhile, I approached Miriam and found her asleep with her head on her folded arms. The poor dear was exhausted, and no wonder.

  There was no time for me to stand about thinking sympathetic thoughts. I was learning how much effort was required to keep chaos at bay in this family. Constant supervision was to be my byword.

  I looked over to the older girl and exchanged a nod of approval meant to assure her I would return soon. Off I went at full speed to survey the little house and search for resources. I truly did not know what I was seeking but something had drawn me into this situation and I had no choice other than to continue.

  One living room in some disarray with various pieces of clothing and plastic cups scattered around the threadbare carpet.

  One bedroom with a crib and a small double bed.

  One even smaller bedroom, with two bunk beds.

  One utility room with washing machine and sink, plus two overflowing laundry baskets. This small area opened up to the kitchen again.

  The front door, through which I had entered the hallway what seemed like a month ago, led straight through the house to the back garden via a half-door. I took a quick glance outside and was not surprised to see a clothes line dancing with diapers and tiny clothes hanging over a square of earth devoid of grass and mangled by many feet.

  What did surprise me, however, was the presence of one handsome Siamese cat poised on a low wall with an expression on his face I could only describe as self-satisfied.

  I gave Ramses a threatening glare and rushed back to what I now thought of as the scene of the crime.

  Miriam was awake and looking around for her children.

  “Who are you?” she said.

  “I am a new neighbour at number 23, just down the street a ways. My name is Justine……” Despite my frequent practice, there was a slight hesitation as I added the second name. It still felt like a substitution I had not yet fully mastered. Miriam did not notice.

  “…….Justine Jordan. I was passing by and heard a lot of crying so I came in to see what I could do to help.”

  “Oh, thank God! Isobel Duncan must have sent you. She used to live there. She must have told you about us. Such a lovely woman. I was so sad when she passed away and Michael Morton went to live with his family down in England.”

  As she told me this tale, Miriam sat up and ran her hands through her dark hair, somehow combing it into shape and securing it behind her ears. Now I could see a pretty face with grey eyes, strong eyebrows and rosy cheeks.

  With a perceptible mental shake, she drew herself together and resumed her parental role.

  One quick survey of the kitchen revealed her two daughters happily absorbed in play with a dollhouse.

  “Is Susie still asleep?”

  “Where are Harry and Joe?”

  She jumped to her feet, expecting the worst, no doubt, but I had been listening and was able to assure her Susie slept and the boys were occupied, if somewhat wetter and cleaner by now.

  “Thank you,” she said, with a sweet smile that erased all the pain and worry from her face.

  “You are a godsend. I am sorry you saw me I such a state. Now tell me your name again and I will introduce you to my girls.”

  The older girl was Noreen and the toddler, Deborah, Debbie for short.

  The boys in the bathroom, described sotto voce by their mother as ‘Holy Terrors’ were called Harry and Joe, and now getting to the dangerously noisy stage.

  Miriam lifted Debbie up and took her off to be washed and changed. I followed to remove the boys and the dishw
are from the bath, promising them, since they were already wet through, they could choose clean clothes from the laundry room once they helped me to sort out what belonged to whom.

  This proved to be a brilliant strategy as they quickly arranged four laundry baskets and set to throwing the clothes in them while I removed the washed clothes from the machine and set them aside to be dried outside.

  It turned out that the baby’s things were already hanging there on the line so I took them down and substituted the wet ones in their place.

  The twins had done a good job with their own clothes and had fun sniffing items to see which needed washing. I took the rejected items and filled the machine, leaving it for Miriam to attend to later.

  The boys followed me to show me where their clean clothes should go in the dresser drawers in the room with bunk beds. I showed them some simple folding and organizing techniques. Sock balls were the most popular and soon had them happily throwing at each other, and me.

  I challenged them to show me how to make their bunk beds at speed. I found a few coins in my pants’ pockets and offered a prize. That got the task done promptly.

  To avoid argument, my decision about who succeeded in filling his drawer with sock balls first, was a draw.

  My next question about piggy banks and pocket money, easily translated to talk about their Daddy, where he was and how he earned money for the family.

  Harry offered me the information that his father was “a ‘portant’ man who worked far away”.

  Joe, not to be outdone in this contest, contributed “Daddy brings prizes when he comes home”.

  This thought brought forth a sombre note for the boys. I took advantage of the lull in activity to suggest some quiet time with books from the shelf under the window.

  After I offered to read aloud for them, their attention turned to selecting their favourite book.

  I left the room to check on Miriam and found a transformation.

  Not only had she cleaned up Debbie, but she had also changed her own clothes and tidied up the living room where Noreen was waiting to walk out with the pram to take Susie for an outing.