Born to Be Trouble

by Sheila Jeffries

  CHAPTER 21

  Kate’s Red Ribbon

  ‘I’m no use to anyone,’ Freddie declared, staring into the fire. One year on from losing Kate, Freddie had lost himself as well, Tessa thought, looking at the shell of a man he had become. His skin looked blotchy, his ankles swollen from endless hours of sitting in a chair, his eyes had lost the sparkle Tessa remembered, the deep blues and the twinkle of light so like the Cornish sea, the mystery in them, the curiosity, the empathy. All gone. He was caught in a negative spiral, resisting attempts to help him, even hers. He just sat and stared at nothing, his hand caressing Tarka who had become a devoted companion dog, glossy and contented.

  ‘What were your dreams, Dad, when you were young?’ Tessa asked. She had a plan. Something she would do first and tell him afterwards.

  He shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’

  ‘I remember you as a creative artist,’ Tessa said. ‘You were always carving something, or drawing.’

  ‘Ah – I were. ’Tis no good thinking about it now.’ His eyes didn’t change, didn’t look at her.

  ‘I’m trying to help you, Dad.’

  ‘I know you are – and it’s good of you – but don’t waste your time. There’s nothing you can do.’

  Tessa picked up her car keys from the table. ‘Oh, but there is, Dad. There IS something I can do, and I’m going to do it. I’ll be back later, about tea time.’

  ‘No – don’t you go bothering about me. Where are you going?’

  ‘Wait and see,’ Tessa said brightly, ‘and you’ll like it.’ She kissed his grey-looking cheek and swept out, twiddling the keys.

  ‘Just like her mother she is, my Tessa,’ she heard him say to Tarka, but he made no attempt to stop her.

  Her brand new white Capri was parked in the drive. It still gave her a buzz, seeing it, getting in and driving away smoothly, purring, not popping and rattling like her previous cars had done. She opened the boot and checked the papers she needed were in there, a neat bundle tied together with a red ribbon. She’d touched the ribbon and felt her mother’s vibes on it – one of Kate’s hair ribbons from her childhood.

  If Mum could see me now, Tessa thought as she drove on, over the Polden Hills, through Ashcott, and out across the Somerset Levels. It was March and some of the fields were still flooded, a vast expanse of mirror-like water, reflecting the sky. There were wheeling flocks of lapwing and many pairs of nesting swans. She passed Burrow Mump, a steep green hill with a ruined church on top, and on towards Taunton.

  Tessa was proud of the way she’d rebuilt her life after Paul. She’d stayed in London, found herself a flat with a telephone, and begun to work as a clairvoyant medium. At first she’d kept her job with the children. They were good for her, and it paid the rent while she was building her client list. After her successful debut in Pimlico she was in demand, for public meetings and for private sittings. Money rolled in to her bank account and soon she was able to buy herself a few exotic clothes, and the new car.

  She spent much of her free time at The Pines, striving to help Freddie out of his paralysing grief. It was hard slog, doing washing, ironing and shopping, and patiently teaching him how to cook simple meals. It left little time for visits to the field. She’d been there with Freddie in the autumn to plant more young trees, and at the winter solstice she’d made him go to the source of the spring with her. A snowy wind howled through the bare trees, and the water steamed gently as it bubbled up from the earth. Tessa tried to share her dream of restoring the well, planting a magical garden, and starting a healing centre. But Freddie wanted to go home to the cosy fire, and he’d said bluntly, ‘You can’t do that in Monterose.’ Disappointed, Tessa followed him down to the car, their feet crunching the frosted grass. She tried to understand and forgive, but it stung. Mum would have told him off for being negative, she thought, and her own grief hurt like never before.

  Today as she drove to Taunton she sensed Kate beside her, encouraging her and celebrating her success. She found Elrose College of Art, drove into the car park, and took the bundle out of the boot. Tucking it under her arm, she walked into the entrance, feeling good in the ‘flowing robe’ she had chosen to wear. It was one she used for her meetings, and the colours were arty, subtle abstracts of pink and mellow orange on a cream background. She looked, and felt like an artist.

  ‘I’m Tessa Barcussy,’ she told the receptionist, with a disarming smile. ‘I have an interview with the principal.’

  He turned out to be fortyish, and hippyish, with a ponytail and discerning eyes. He looked her up and down with approval and more than a hint of sexuality. ‘Great to meet you, Tessa. I’m Oliver Portwell. It’s an interesting idea you have – I hope we can sort something out.’

  Oliver led her into a studio with two white cane chairs. ‘I’m keen to see what you’ve brought me,’ he said, eyeing the bundle, and his eyes lit up. ‘I can smell talent – and it smells musty – goodness, those do look old!’

  ‘They are.’ Tessa gave him one of her bewitching smiles. Her pale blue eyes shone with mystery as she undid the red ribbon and handed Freddie’s sketchbooks, dated 1930–1950, to the principal of Elrose College of Art.

  It would be hard to resist telling Freddie where she had been, but Tessa wanted a positive result before revealing her plan to him.

  She hurried back to Monterose for another meeting she had secretly arranged, this time in her field. A slow tractor on the narrow road over the Poldens made her late, and she felt flustered when she needed to be calm. There was no time to change into her jeans as she’d intended, and the flowing robe would look inappropriate, even silly, in the field.

  A few shiny cars were parked in the lane and five men in suits were there, looking over the gate and brandishing clipboards. Tessa parked on the grass verge. She took her amethyst crystal from the dashboard cubby hole and put it into the pocket of her aquamarine cape coat. She and Starlinda had programmed the crystal with a special prayer of intention, and Tessa wanted to be able to touch it discreetly while she was talking. The five men turned to stare at her arriving, the key to the road gate hooked over her finger.

  Tessa was used to walking into meetings looking like a Goddess, her hair and clothes shimmering, her eyes alive and powerful. It’s who I am, she reminded herself now, facing these five local men who were trying to look important. She smiled into the eyes of the man who held out his hand to her. ‘Hello. I’m Tessa Barcussy. Thanks for coming.’

  ‘I’m John Whitsby, chairman of Monterose District Council,’ he said, and his eyes looked into her soul in a friendly way. ‘I understand what you want to do here, Tessa.’ He held on to her hand long enough for her to get the feeling he was sending her. He’s spiritual, she thought immediately, but he’s in chains. She gave him a secret smile. He’s already said yes, she thought.

  John Whitsby introduced the other four, and Tessa’s heart sank. One looked bored, two looked sceptical, and the fourth was a young man, Mick Tucker, who Tessa remembered from primary school. He had bullied her, and the old hostility still brooded in his peat-dark eyes, an ‘us and them’ kind of smirk, now disguised as a district councillor in a suit. Don’t engage with him, Tessa thought, but in that moment she felt like the loneliest person on the planet.

  Her fingers shook as she unlocked the heavy padlock and let the men strut into her precious field. Right on cue, an orange-tip butterfly went bobbing over the wild flowers and grasses.

  ‘As you can see, this land is a sanctuary for wild flowers and butterflies,’ she said, hoping they would appreciate the violets and primroses, the patches of wild thyme and mosses.

  ‘Looks a proper mess to me,’ Mick Tucker said, with relish.

  ‘Don’t take any notice of him – he’s a farmer,’ said John Whitsby pleasantly. ‘You’re not getting your tractor in here, Mick.’

  There was laughter and a bit of banter. Tessa led them up to the source of the spring, and they stood in a bored semicircle, not even looking at the miracle
of the bubbling water. They’re out of the body, Tessa thought, and she longed to say something outrageous. Instead she spoke to John Whitsby, directly into the sparkle of his eyes. ‘I have done some research,’ she told him, ‘and this used to be a Holy Well. It was used by the Romans, and by the Victorians who used it as a spa. It had an exquisite well-house building around it, with a circular stone seat, and of course the Romans had a beautiful mosaic floor.’

  ‘How fascinating.’ John Whitsby was looking at her eagerly.

  ‘What I’d like to do is restore it very beautifully, plant a woodland garden around it, and re-open it as a sacred spring, a place where people can come for healing. Like Chalice Well in Glastonbury.’

  ‘Yes – yes, I know Chalice Well,’ John Whitsby said, but no one else spoke, except with looks of derision which passed between them.

  ‘That ain’t gonna work in Monterose,’ Mick Tucker announced. ‘I’m tellin’ you now. This is a good, down to earth farming community. People don’t want Glastonbury stuff here – hippie stuff.’

  Tessa made her voice smooth and quiet. ‘We have to ask ourselves what kind of a world we want our children to inherit,’ she said. ‘Do we want them to have beautiful places with wildflower meadows and butterflies, places where they can feel peaceful, and joyful? What kind of a world would it be without joy?’ She turned her sparkling blue eyes on the dumpy hostility of Mick Tucker, and raised her eyebrows enquiringly. He fidgeted and looked down at his feet. ‘I grew up here in Monterose,’ she continued, ‘and I played in those wildflower meadows, I listened to the nightingales singing under the stars. It filled me with beauty and happiness, and I carry that with me in my heart. I want to give back. I want to do something to restore this special place. I think it matters. Don’t you?’

  No one answered, and no one seemed aware of the shimmering light weaving itself around them. No one else saw the shining people who came gliding through the trees to offer their loving support. A silent moment, a ‘between place’, a moment where time expanded and magic was allowed a voice. And there was a voice, a real voice, singing in the wood.

  There will be an answer

  Let it be

  Tessa froze. The voice from the wood shocked her and she felt close to panic. It was the second time she’d heard it, and what touched her so deeply was the earthiness of it, and the way it reached her with such perfect timing, clarity, and disturbing familiarity. It wasn’t a spirit voice. It was a real voice, low-toned and breathy, targeting her like a storm blowing under a door, a door she thought she had closed long ago.

  John Whitsby was looking intently at her. ‘Are you all right, Tessa?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I’m fine,’ she answered him but he didn’t look convinced.

  ‘Well, I expect you have to get back to London, don’t you?’ he said. ‘I think we’ve seen enough, and we should draw this meeting to a close. We will look very seriously at your application in the next planning meeting.’ He turned to the four men. ‘Thank you, gentlemen, you can go now.’

  He lingered, obviously wanting a private chat with Tessa.

  ‘Of course, I can’t predict the outcome of this meeting,’ he said, ‘but I myself will recommend it, so let’s hope they vote yes.’

  Tessa re-focused her attention on John Whitsby, and the sudden brilliance of his aura. She felt compelled to tell him about it. ‘You have an extraordinary light around you – and with you.’

  He smiled as if he had emerged from a tunnel into the sunshine. ‘Tell me more – please.’

  Tessa hesitated, waiting for the spirit to materialise, and it did. ‘Well – there’s a lady with you who looks like an angel, but she’s not, she tells me – she’s shaking her head – but she loves to walk beside you. She’s showing me a garden with white and purple irises just coming into bloom, and she’s showing me a rocking horse which is being restored. I think she wants you to finish it.’

  John Whitsby looked stunned, and delighted. ‘I knew it,’ he said. ‘I knew the minute I saw you, Tessa – you’re a medium – aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So was my wife – the lady you saw. She did look like an angel – to me anyway. And before she passed over, I was restoring a rocking horse for our granddaughter. But I’m afraid I became gloomy and depressed after my wife had gone, and I’m only just beginning to live again. You’ve given me hope, Tessa, real hope, and motivation. I shall go home and get on with painting that dappled grey horse now. I can’t thank you enough.’

  ‘You’re welcome. It’s something I love to do.’

  ‘Are you a practising medium?’

  ‘Yes, in London. I do private sittings, and meetings.’

  ‘That’s marvellous!’ John Whitsby said. ‘I do wish you luck.’

  ‘Thanks – I usually have to keep the lid on it, especially around here.’

  ‘Well – my wife and I were both members of a healing circle. If you do move back here, Tessa, please get in touch. Maybe you could do a session for us?’

  ‘I’d love to.’

  ‘Wonderful, I’ll look forward to that. Now I really must go, I’ve got another meeting.’

  Left alone by the spring, Tessa felt encouraged by what had happened. She listened to the sounds from the wood, but the singing didn’t come again. There was only the laughing call of the green woodpecker and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. She looked at the path made by whoever was fetching water from the spring. Last time it had been well trodden. Now the grasses were growing over it again as if no one used it. She looked up at the fence and the gate was still shut, the padlock a glint of grey on its chain.

  When the time is right, she thought, I must go up there, get close to the wood, and listen, and find out who is in there. Who is watching me? – and singing!

  ‘Dad, will you PLEASE get in the car?’ Tessa said in exasperation the following morning. ‘You won’t come to any harm. I’m a careful driver – I drive round London, for goodness’ sake.’

  ‘I know,’ Freddie said. ‘It isn’t that.’

  ‘So what is it then?’

  ‘Well – I don’t like mystery trips.’ Freddie stood on the doorstep, looking out at the sky with his eyes dull and sad. ‘You promise me you’re not taking me to see some quack of a doctor.’

  ‘No. I promise.’

  Freddie put on his cap and tweed jacket. ‘And it better not be a vicar either.’

  ‘Dad! You KNOW I wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘And I don’t want to leave Tarka on his own. He digs holes in the carpet. I only left him once when I did a job with the lorry, and when I came back he’d eaten the rug in the hall – my mother’s rug – and in two hours that dog reduced it to a ball of string and a heap of fluff. He panics, see, if he’s left alone.’

  ‘Well, bring him,’ Tessa said when she’d finished laughing. ‘He can lie on the back seat.’

  ‘He might be sick.’

  ‘Well – bring him anyway.’

  Tessa clipped Tarka onto his lead. ‘You want to come in Tessa’s car, don’t you?’ she said, and Tarka squirmed with excitement. He went willingly with Tessa and jumped into the car. ‘He thinks he’s going to the river,’ she said. ‘Shall we take him on the way back? Let him have a swim?’

  Freddie’s eyes brightened, and to Tessa’s relief he finally got in the car. ‘We could get fish and chips too,’ he said, patting his wallet.

  ‘Good idea.’ Tessa started the car.

  ‘I’m sorry, dear,’ Freddie said. ‘I’m a miserable old sod. I don’t mean to be. Kate wouldn’t want me to be like this. “Don’t be so morbid, dear,” she’d say!’

  ‘She wants you to be happy,’ Tessa said.

  Freddie put his hand on her arm. ‘Stop a minute. Stop.’

  She’d been about to pull out into the lane. She braked. ‘What is it, Dad?’

  He looked at her, and the consciousness which had disappeared from his eyes flooded back momentarily. ‘Do – do you see her?’ he asked. ‘My Ka
te. Do you see her?’

  ‘Often,’ Tessa said. ‘I did try to tell you, but you’ve been too upset to listen.’

  He nodded. ‘I’ve been in a very dark place.’

  ‘Grief is a terrible dark place to be,’ agreed Tessa, ‘but – please trust me, Dad. All you have to do is sit in the car for twenty minutes, and when we arrive you’ll see it’s something you want – but if you decide you don’t want it, then we’ll still get our fish and chips and come home – and everything will be all right.’

  Freddie stared at her with mixed emotions flickering through his eyes. ‘All right – go on then – take me there,’ he said resignedly, and added brightly, ‘and I do believe Kate put you up to this.’

  ‘She kind of did.’ Tessa flashed him a smile, and drove on towards Taunton with Freddie giving her a running commentary on the birdlife as they drove across the Levels. Tarka sat up on the back seat with his head out of the window.

  ‘Elrose College of Art?’ Freddie said in surprise as they turned into the car park. ‘What the hell do I want to come here for? Eh? Or are you going back to college? Is that it? I always hoped you would. We were so sad when you dropped out all ’cause of that blimin’ hippie. And look what he did.’

  Tessa kept quiet. She locked the car and put Tarka on his lead. The dog was confident now. He would go anywhere with Tessa, or with Freddie. Now he pulled Freddie along as if he wanted him to go into this strange building.

  Oliver was waiting for them, dressed in a brown velvet jacket with a coffee-coloured shirt and a fat tie covered in calligraphy. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Barcussy. I’m Oliver Portwell, and I’m the principal of Elrose College of Art.’

  Freddie looked gobsmacked, but he shook Oliver’s hand, and glanced at Tessa with his eyes open very wide.