by Rachel Green
The gloom deepened as she sat back in the deckchair, sipping her coffee.
As an early November twilight fell, the two canvasses sank further and further into the shadows. All Eden could make out was a crescent of ivory white where the skull of the left-hand painting showed through where rippled skin had slipped from the subject’s facial muscles. She put her cup down and stepped forward. The skull was too obvious. It turned the portrait into a memento mori, a reminder of the death that awaits the human condition. Not what she’d intended at all. It was supposed to represent the cycle of life, hence the daisy chain trailing from the corpse’s fingers and the housefly laying eggs in the corner of her mouth.
Eden switched on the overhead light, picked up her palette and brushes and began to paint.
The painting had changed completely by the time she heard David calling her name. She glanced at her watch to find it was almost seven and the skylights had become dark holes in the roof above her head. She dropped her brushes in the jar of white spirit and eased the palette from her left hand, massaging some life back into the thumb as she crossed to the stairs. “I’ll be right down.”
She went to the paint-stained sink to wash her hands and caught sight of herself in the mirrored cabinet doors. She had a streak of blue paint across one cheek, probably from scratching her nose while holding a loaded brush. She reached for the pot of hand cleanser and rubbed the streak away, hoping the pigment hadn’t stained.
She clattered downstairs and dropped her cup in the kitchen sink before threading a path through the boxes of files in the living room to the bedroom, where David was shedding the last of his clothes onto the floor. The sound of running water came from the en-suite bathroom.
“Darling! There you are.” He stepped forward to embrace her, his flaccid penis banging against her jeans. “What a bloody awful day I’ve had.”
Eden perched on the end of the bed. “Who did you get?”
“Fear Me Fearney.” David shook his head. “He must be down on his quota for this month. I thought I’d be in and out in ten minutes. I mean, it was only supposed to be a slap on the wrist for soliciting and my client was pleading guilty anyway. We should have been ‘Yes, your Honor. No, your Honor, fifty quid fine and away, but instead the old fool wants to make a stand against the declining moral standards of Laverstone and its environs and sends her down for six months. I mean, she’ll get four with good behavior and come out in two but it’s a hell of a difference to a slapped wrist. Now Social Services has to be involved because she’s got two little ones.”
“Oh dear. How old?”
“I don’t know. Under ten.” David frowned, scratching his left man-boob. “It’ll be in the case files. So anyway that’s why I’m late. Amy-blasted-Fitzroy from Social Services insisted on a dialogue.” This last was illustrated by his making quotation marks with his fingers.
“Your bath will overflow.”
“Yes. Thank you.” He hurried into the bathroom and shut off the taps. “So there you go. The poor little mites were held in the police station for three hours while she sorted out a temporary fostering. What sort of life for a kid is that, I ask you? Less than ten and they’ve already seen the inside of a cop shop.”
“So had I and I turned out alright.”
“In a manner of speaking.” David appeared at the doorway and laughed. “Anyway, it’s not the same for you. You were a copper’s daughter.” He disappeared from view again and Eden heard splashes as he lowered himself into the hot water. “Would you pass me my drink?”
“Sure.” Eden picked up a wine glass and carried it through. Water had splashed onto the tiled floor where David’s bulk had displaced it from the over-full bath. She put the drink on the corner, where there was an indented section for the soap he was currently running under his arms. “Had she no family then?”
“Amy Fitzroy? I’ve no idea. Obviously not, since she was in no hurry to go anywhere. I think she’d have kept me there all night if I hadn’t capitulated to her request for fostering.”
“I meant the girl you were representing. Didn’t she have someone who could look after the kids?”
“No. A mother, I think, but she’s in Bournemouth and wants nothing to do with her daughter. She’d have probably taken the kids, though, if I’d been willing to spend another three hours trying to convince Amy Fitzroy it was worth pursuing.” He sank back with a groan of pleasure and closed his eyes. “You wouldn’t scrub my back would you?”
“Okay.” Eden stood over him with the soap worked up a lather with her hands. He leaned forward again and she worked the lather over his shoulders and down his spine. “You’re going gray.” She leaned forward to plant a kiss on the little bald spot.
“I’ll blame that on Amy Fitzroy as well.” He reached for his drink. “You have the softest hands, you know.”
“A combination of linseed oil and rendered human fat.” Eden grinned. “Why do you think I wanted to work with the dead? Now you know my secret. It keeps me young.”
“I know what else is good for the complexion.” He reached up for her hand and pulled her forward, thrusting it to his groin.
Eden laughed. “There really isn’t room for two of us in there.” She lowered herself to her knees at the side of the bath. His penis hardened under the attention and she began to alternate squeezing with gentle tugs on the shaft.
“I love coming home.” David lay back against the slope of the enamel, his eyes closing. “That feels so good.”
As his cock stiffened further it lifted slightly from the water. Eden switched hands and picked up the soap again, rubbing it one-handed through her fingers until it slipped out of her grasp and plopped into David’s wine glass. He opened one eye briefly. “Is that an attempt to stop me drinking?”
“An accident.” Eden used the soaped hand to increase the pressure on his cock He fumbled the glass to the side of the bath as his limbs began to stiffen. Eden smiled. She knew how close he was to orgasm and increased the speed of her movements. He raised himself up as his legs stiffened and she stopped. A great gout of semen spattered over the taps, followed by two smaller bursts and a dribble. It formed a precipitate in the water, like egg yolk being poached. She emptied the wine from the glass and dipped it into the water, catching the floating semi-liquid semen.
She held it up to the light, oblivious of David’s heavy panting. “I should paint this.”
Chapter 3
Teacups rattled in the overheated air of the sitting room. On the sideboard, incense sticks trailed long fingers of sandalwood smoke while Doulton shepherdesses smiled perpetually at single lambs. The fire had been banked too high for a November afternoon, and the rain outside served to make the room even stuffier than it might have been.
On the coffee table lay the detritus of afternoon tea and one of the plates still had a slice of slowly-drying date-and-walnut. Michelle took a last sip of her tea and returned the cup to the table. “Have you finished yet, love?”
The elder of the two women opposite nudged the other. “Shirley. Pay attention. The lady’s speaking to you.”
“What?” Shirley Burbridge yawned, the teacup she was holding shifting to an angle dangerously close to spilling. “Sorry. I was nodding off. Is there any chance of opening a window or something? I can’t keep my eyes open.”
Michelle frowned. “The spirits like it that way. If I open a window they’ll all clear off and then what’ll I do? Have you finished your tea?”
Shirley looked in her cup. “No, sorry. It went cold. Well, tepid.”
“But you drank some, yes?”
“I suppose. A few sips. There were tea leaves, though. I don’t like tea leaves. We get the bags.”
“If I’m going to read your tea leaves there ain’t much point in using bags, is there?” Michelle smiled to take the edge off her sarcasm. She couldn’t afford to offend a customer. “Pass me your cup. Let’s have a shufti at your future.”
“It’s really my Eddie I wanted to speak to. Vera say
s you do seances?”
“A seance?” Michelle was torn. On the one had, tea leaves were quick and easy and difficult to refute. On the other hand seances were where the money was in this game. On the third hand, she needed Graham for seances and he wasn’t back from the building site. She shook her head and placed a reassuring hand over Shirley’s. “You should have said you wanted a seance love. I can’t do them on a whim. Different spirits, you see. The ones today are the spirits of prophesy.”
“Can you not just give Eddie a shout? I can’t find the check book.”
Michelle hardened her voice. “Do you want your leaves read or not?”
“Well I suppose…” She handed over her cup.
Michelle poured the remaining tea back into the pot, milk and all. With the cup empty, she placed the saucer over the top, inverted it and twirled the cup three times. She separated the two and peered into the leaves. “I can see money. Quite a lot of it, actually. And a letter.” She frowned. “The letter overlaps the money so they might be connected.”
“That’ll be the insurance money.” The second woman sat with her handbag on her lap. “You mark my words. It’ll be here tomorrow.”
“What else do you see?” Shirley sat forward, obviously more interested now Michelle was saying something she wanted to hear. “Is there anything about the check book?”
“No.” Michelle made a point of shifting position to direct more light into the cup. “But I do see an animal. Something soft?”
“An animal? What would I want with an animal? Eddie was always allergic. We couldn’t even let the kids have rabbits. Our Tina brought a hamster home from school once and he nearly had a fit. He had to go outside for a ciggie while she put it back in its cage. She had to keep it in the shed for the rest of the week until the school holiday was over. “
“It’s a very big animal.” Michelle frowned at Shirley going off at a tangent. “A sheep, I think. It seems very important.”
“A sheep? Where do you think I live? On a farm? Don’t you go sending us no sheep, love.” Shirley sat back and fumbled for her handbag. “What would I do with a sheep?”
Vera gave her a nudge with her elbow. “You could eat it.”
“That’d be the best thing.” Shirley giggled. “As long as someone killed it for me and got all the innards out.”
Michelle coughed in an attempt to regain their attention. “It might not be literal. It might mean something made out of wool.”
“What? Like a jumper?” Shirley nudged Vera back. “Maybe I’m going to meet a tall dark stranger who wears a V-necked cardigan.”
Vera cackled. “Could be the vicar. He wears a cardi. An old yellow one. Looks like nicotine.”
“Talking of which, I’m gasping.” Shirley fished a packet of cigarettes from her handbag and pulled one out.
Michelle put the cup down. “You can’t smoke in here.”
“Only because I can’t see to light me fag.” Shirley laughed. “The whole room is full of smoke.”
“Incense smoke. It’s different. No carcinogens, for one thing.”
“Have it your way then. It’s your house, I suppose.” Shirley stood. “Are we about done?”
“Yes, I suppose so.” Michelle crossed the room and opened the door. “Thank you for coming. I hope you gained some insight into the future.”
“Yeah. A bleedin’ sheep.” Shirley laughed and pulled a twenty-pound note out of her purse. “Here you go, love.”
“Thank you.” Michelle looked at the note. She usually charged forty for a reading but didn’t want to push her luck asking for more. “Will you still be requiring the seance tomorrow?”
“Of course. Will you come to the house or should we come here?” She stepped outside to light the cigarette, then turned back again before Michelle had a chance to answer. “You’ll come to the house, of course. Silly of me. Eddie’s never been here, has he? You’ll have a much better chance contacting him at the house.”
“I…” Michelle took a deep breath. A seance at a client’s house was much more difficult to arrange than here, where she had everything to hand. She slumped in defeat. “Of course. Shall we say eight o’clock?”
Shirley blew a long plume of smoke skyward. “That’s a bit early, love, I don’t usually get up until then.”
“I meant in the evening. The spirits are much easier to contact when the sun is down.”
“Fair enough then. You know best. You’ve got the address?”
“Enfield House? Yes.”
“Right then. See you, love.” Shirley and Val climbed into a silver Mercedes and moments later roared off into the night. Michelle closed the door and returned to the sitting room where she threw all the incense sticks on the fire and opened a window to air the room.
“Twenty quid.” She carried the tea tray to the kitchen. “All that effort for twenty measly quid.” She began to fill the washing bowl and squirted an excessive amount of liquid detergent into the water. Bubbles grew under the onslaught of the tap as she picked up the miniature mop on a stick to scrub at the cups. It was her best china and she wouldn’t risk it in the dishwasher.
Her train of thought was interrupted by Graham opening the back door. He took one look at her and hurried to turn off the taps. Bubbles dripped onto her shoes. “Steady on, love. You’ll flood the kitchen.”
“You’re back early.”
He took off his coat and hung it on the peg next to the front door, talking over his shoulder. “I’m not. It’s after eight.”
“Is it?” Michelle glanced up at the clock. “I must have dozed off standing up.”
Graham relieved her of the cup she’d been washing. “You’ve rubbed the pattern off this, you daft cow.” He placed it carefully in the drying rack. “What’s got your beef today?”
“Shirley bloody Burbridge.” Michelle picked up the tea towel to dry her hands and turned to lean against the counter top. “She came for a tea leaf reading and booked a seance for tomorrow.” She looked Graham in the eyes. “No going gallivanting. She wants it at her house so I need you to give me a hand.”
“If you say so.” He opened the fridge and took out a two-liter jug of milk, twisted off the cap and gulped at least a quarter of it down. “The usual? Spooky moans and the like?”
“Yes. Shame you can’t case the joint to put in some wires and bellows.”
“Shirley Burbridge.” Graham frowned over the milk jug. “Why does the name ring a bell?”
“Enfield House? Ten bedrooms and a wrap-around drive?”
“The place where we all try to guess the number of cars parked? Brilliant. She must have a bob or two.”
“More than that.” Shirley crossed to the kitchen table and sat. “I looked her up in the internet when she made the appointment. Her husband died recently and left her everything.”
“That’s good. We’re going to siphon some of it our way are we?”
“Better than that. Her husband was Eddie Burbridge, the East End millionaire. Rumor has it he converted all his assets into bullion when he moved here. It’s hidden somewhere in the house.”
“And you’ve just got an invitation.” Graham’s grin would have embarrassed the Cheshire Cat. “Clever girl!”
“I figure the wife must know where it is. If I can convince her Eddie wants her to put it somewhere different we can watch where she goes and help ourselves to the lot.” She looked around the kitchen. “Then we can finally get shot of this dump.”
“What’s wrong with this place?” Graham followed her gaze. “I bought this when it got repossessed in the nineties.”
“And that’s the last time it was decorated. It’s no wonder people swallow the whole spiritualist thing. They think the ghosts all live here because it reminds them of home.” She rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m not saying I don’t like living here, just that it’d be nice to move up in the world, and Shirley Burbridge is our meal ticket.”
“Will she fall for the act?”
“I’m sure of it. She’
s a few crackers short of a Christmas party, that one. The mother’s taken to the whole spiritualism thing like it was manna from Heaven. We’ve just got to watch out for the kids.”
“Yes?”
“Grown up kids. A son and a daughter, both older than Shirley. There’ll be resentment there, you mark my words. With a bit of luck we can get them all blaming each other while we top up our tans on the Costa del Sol.”
“Magic.” Graham grinned and rubbed his hands. “This calls for a celebration, I reckon. Are you up for a takeaway?”
“I reckon I am.”
“Right. Let me get my coat.” He went into the hall to fetch it and came back while he was still pulling it on. “What do you fancy? Chinese? I fancy Chinese.”
“Yeah, if you like.” Michelle stared at him.
“What?” He looked behind him. “What are you looking at?”
“What have you got on?”
“Me coat. You’ve seen it afore.”
“What’s it made of?”
He pulled one side out to display the lining. “It’s sheepskin. I was wearing this the first time we went out together.”
“Yes, I’d forgotten.” Michelle sat back in the seat. “You could say wearing it you were like an enormous sheep.”
“Ha. I suppose.” Graham shook his head. “Just don’t ask me to follow anyone.”
“No, you’re missing not letting me finish. When I read Shirley Burbridge’s tea leaves I told her she was going to come into contact with a great big sheep.”
“Magic.” Graham checked his wallet. “Maybe you really do have the gift.”
Chapter 4
Eden woke to David’s alarm going off. It was better than the phone ringing, but she’d rather sleep herself out. She tried to remember the last time she had a lie-in and couldn’t. Was it on their honeymoon six years ago? She rubbed sleep from her eyes and reached over the gentle snorer to cut off the sound. Rain thrummed against the window outside.
