Viridian Tears

by Rachel Green

  “A man? He’s coming.” The thin voice went quiet. “He’s a bit on the portly side and he’s wearing a suit. He’s dripping. Dripping, dripping. The poor man drowned.”

  “Tell him we want to speak to him, Gran.”

  “He knows. He knows.” The voice faded entirely. Michelle’s eyelids fluttered and her body stiffened, her fingers splayed to their full extent as the spirit would took possession of her. Her head rocked from side to side as if she was being buffeted by high winds. She moistened her lips and spoke with her own voice. “I can feel your presence, spirit. Who are you and what do you want here?”

  Her voice dropped by more than an octave. She knew his voice. There’d been a recording of him on the My Video! page on the internet. There were several of his speeches as deputy mayor but one particularly useful one of a candid after-dinner conversation with his family. Michelle had studied it many times. She knew it was his voice. She knew the East End burr to his words, his habit of clipping sentences like they were gold coins he could sell by the ounce and his use of the vernacular when he was stressed.

  “Fack me. It’s bleedin’ hot. Why’s it so bleedin’ hot?”

  Michelle could tell by the way the sofa cushion shifted that Shirley had leaned forward.

  “Eddie? Is that you love?”

  “Shirley? It’s so dark here. Hot and dark. I can’t see, Shirl, old girl, I’m under the earth.”

  “Yes Eddie? I’m here, love. You’ve passed over. Are you all right?”

  “I’m under the earth! Help me Shirley.”

  “What can I do?”

  “It’s so dark, Shirley. I need…”

  “Yes?”

  “I need you to find it, Shirl.”

  “Find what? Eddie?”

  “The money. I left you clues. Find the money.”

  “What money, Eddie? The bank account? It’s not lost, love.”

  “Not the bank account. The legacy. The legacy for you and the kids. For George and Beatrice and Timothy and my beautiful little gal.”

  Shirley frowned. “Do you mean Bethany, your granddaughter? Or someone else?”

  “My beautiful granddaughter, yeah.” Eddie’s voice grew fainter. “Find the legacy, darlin’ Save me from the dark earth, the hungry earth…”

  Shirley gripped Michelle’s fingers, the sudden pain forcing her to open her eyes. “Eddie? Wait! Where’s the check book?”

  Michelle slumped forward and almost slipped off the edge of the sofa. She could feel the heat of the candles on the coffee table and risked a peek through her eyelashes. They were closer than she’d thought. She pulled back a little way and let out a small moan as if she was coming round.

  “Look, she’s coming to.” Beatrice reached for her glass of wine. “Are you all right, Mrs. Browning? You nearly had your hair alight.”

  “He’s gone.” Michelle pulled her hand from Shirley’s and massaged life back into her fingers. She’d nearly overdone it that time. Why did she have to mention the little girl? Never touch a subject you don’t know anything about. Spiritualism one-oh-one, that was. That and don’t get caught. “What happened? Did I manage to get through to the other side? Did Mr. Burbridge come?”

  “You did, Madam.” Shirley clutched at her arm. “But get him back! Oh, please get him back. There’s so much I need to ask him.”

  “Ask him something useful.” George stood and crossed to the side table where the bottles of alcohol stood guard against sobriety. “Ask him who got him pissed and pushed him in the cut.”

  “Oh yes. Do try to get him back, Madame Browning, please. And ask him where the check book is.”

  “There isn’t a check book, you stupid woman.” George, with a fresh measure of whisky, returned to his seat. “Who still uses check books these days? It’s all pin numbers and data transfers. You’ll have to go to the bank and request a new card and PIN.”

  “Don’t be mean to her, George.” Angela took the glass from him and swallowed a large mouthful. “She can’t help it. Your father didn’t marry her for her brains.”

  “Just as well. Even a zombie would walk straight past her.”

  “Don’t be so mean, both of you.” Beatrice reached across to pat Shirley’s knee. “Don’t listen to them. You made Dad very happy for the three years you were with him. They’re just jealous because he left you everything.”

  “I know.” Shirley smiled across at George and Angela. “But he loved Timmy and Bethany and I’ll make sure they get their trust fund.” She patted Vera’s knee. “Vera’s offered to help set it up.”

  “Vera.” George sputtered a laugh. “What does she know about trust funds? She was his secretary, for god’s sake.”

  “I was his accountant before you were out of nappies, young man.” Vera pursed her lips. “You just be grateful he left you a share in the family business.”

  “A share? I built that business from the ground up. Dad was only the financial backing when I got started.”

  “But all the risk was his.

  “And all the graft was mine.” George all but spat at the older woman but instead of rising further to the bait she sat back with a smug smile on her face.

  “You would have fallen flat on your face without him pulling the strings in the background. Why else do you think so many companies would trust you with their waste? The goodness of their hearts? Or your dad on the phone in the background, encouraging them to buy your services?”

  “Madame Browning? Please? Try to get him back before they start throwing things at each other.”

  “All right, but give me a moment.” Michelle massaged her temples. “Could I have that glass of water, please?”

  “Of course, love, here.” Shirley pressed a cold glass into her hand.

  Michelle took several sips to ease her throat. She didn’t think she could manage Eddie’s East-end baritone again. Not tonight anyway. Still, she had to show willing, didn’t she? Patrons were few and far between. She struggled to recall Shirley’s history from the two or three times they’d met. Didn’t she come from Billericay?

  “All right. Once more, then. See if we can get anything else.” She held out her hands and they all joined another circle. She repeated the summoning again.

  “Here comes Granny.”

  “Shh! George. Don’t be cruel.”

  “There’s a little girl here. She’s about eight or ten, with her hair in a ponytail.”

  George’s voice again. “That’s a nice safe bet. Who here has ever seen a little girl?”

  “She’s showing me a picture of an old building. Somewhere with a central hall and two wings. The walls are made of sticks and plaster…now she’s showing me a chessboard…she’s rubbing her head. There’s a low ceiling…”

  “Checkers.” Shirley gripped Michelle’s hand. “It’s an old pub in Billericay. Who’s she then?”

  “Now she’s showing me a picture of a fish. A gold fish in a plastic bag. And ducks.”

  “The mop!” Shirley chuckled. “It was a little travelling fair that came once a year. There was a stall where you had to hook a duck and if you got the right number you got a goldfish. How clever. I’d forgotten that. I don’t think they’re allowed to give away goldfish any more.”

  “Now she’s showing me a picture of a blue car going along a road…and a tree…and a fire. Not a big fire. A campfire. And a man. She’s showing me a hole in the ground behind the tree…” Shirley’s grip on Michelle’s arm relaxed.

  “What’s that?” Vera’s shriek broke through Michelle’s hypnotic voice. “Something moved. Behind George. Something white. I saw it. Oh, Shirley, I don’t like this. Can we stop please?”

  The room was plunged into darkness as the candles went out. Vera gave a cry.

  “Wait, I’ll get the lights.” Beatrice swore as she barked her shin on the coffee table. Light flooded the room, forcing them all to blink until their eyes adjusted.

  “Oh my gawd.” Vera stood and backed away through the gap between her sofa and George a
nd Angela’s. “She’s dead.”

  Shirley Burbridge was indeed very dead. The bloodstain on her back indicated it quite clearly.

  Chapter 14

  Meinwen handed Winston her mug. “Right. I should go, I suppose. There’s a lentil bake in my freezer waiting for me to come home.”

  “You too, eh?” He grinned. “Not that I’d ever hunt lentils, you understand. Take away pizza is more my style.”

  “I couldn’t. I’d be a blob by the end of the week. Steve McQueen would have to come and put an end to me.”

  “Steve who?” Winston transferred the mug to the sink. “Is that the guy who collects the money from street vendors? Wears like a green overall and carries a clipboard all the time.”

  “No. He’s an actor. You know The Magnificent Seven? The Great Escape?”

  “An actor. White dude, I’m guessing.”

  “Yes.”

  “They all look the same to me.” He winked. “You want me to give you a lift home? I’m driving anyway.”

  “Are you? I didn’t see your car when I got here.”

  “No. With the builders here I park it over the road. They covered it in cement dust the first day they were here. I mean, why? It’s not like it’s a brilliant car or nothing but cement dust? Really?”

  “You should have said something.”

  “I did. They just said ‘Sorry, mate, the wind was blowing the wrong way.’”

  “Didn’t they apologize?”

  “That was pretty much it.”

  “Why do you employ them then?”

  “I haven’t really got a choice, have I? I paid for the job in advance. Fifteen grand in notes in an envelope.”

  “In advance?” Meinwen picked up the cups and braved the little sink in the bathroom to wash them. “You never pay for work in advance, love. You should know that. I bet nobody pays for you mending their car in advance.”

  He raised his voice over the splashing water. “You’re right there. It’s hard enough to get people to pay their bills when I’m actually holding their car keys. The problem with this job is they sent round a consultant architect who gave me a really good quote, yeah? Way cheaper than anyone else.”

  “And you accepted it without seeing what his work was like?”

  “No. He gave me a list of projects he’d done and I checked a couple of them out. All legit. All mint. So of course I booked his firm and paid in advance so as they could get the materials. Then I find out he’s got two different sets of workers. One lot he sends on the high vis jobs and the other he sends to do the under the table, cash in hand stuff. Guess which lot I got.”

  “That’s terrible. You should complain to the council.”

  “I can’t, can I? That’s who the consultant architect was. The bleedin’ mayor.”

  “The mayor?” Meinwen turned off the tap and looked for something to use as a tea towel. “Eddie Burbridge?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. That’s why I thought he was kosher, being a public figure an’ all. I mean, you’d think, wouldn’t you?”

  “Did he say why he was giving you a special rate?”

  “Nostalgia, he said. Gaunt's Garage was his first building project when he moved here from London. He reckoned it’s what got him started in a successful business.”

  “When was this?”

  “I don’t know. In the eighties? I was at school when this end of town got built up. There was a brook somewhere. We used to make wooden boats and float them down it.” He frowned. “Not very good boats, mind. Mostly they the just blocks of wood with one end cut into a point and a nail underneath to keep them uprights. Me and Jim Hunt and Kevin Spanner. Used to be a little wood here as well. It led to a field and across the common to Hobbs Wood.

  “A wood? Really?” Meinwen returned with the cups. Unable to find a cloth that was any cleaner than, say, rubbing the cups in the mud she settled for putting them in front of the heater to dry out. “That surprises me. ‘Gaunt’ used in relation to a landscape means ‘bleak and desolate’. Odd that it should refer to a copse and a meadow.”

  Winston shrugged. “Maybe it was bleak and desolate before it was all woody and meadowy.” He nodded at the mugs. “You want another coffee, yeah?”

  “That’s a nice idea.” Meinwen dusted off a wheeled tool chest and sat. “Unless you want to get on with whatever you were doing to that car.”

  “No. Don’t sweat it. It’s not like I’m snowed under with work at the moment. People see the building work and think I’m closed.” He put a tea bag in each cup and switched the kettle on. “It’s not like I have anything to go home to either, other than the telly.”

  “There’s no nubile young wench waiting to lavish you with attention?”

  “Chance would be a fine thing.” He grinned. “Truth be told, when Lettie moved out to live with Jim I sort of lost interest in the fairer sex.”

  “Why? I mean, was there something between you and Letitia you weren’t letting on?”

  “No, course not. Don’t be disgusting. That’s my sister you’re talking about.”

  “I know. So why the sudden celibacy?”

  “I never said I was celibate.” Winston wagged a finger, grinning. “No way have I gone that far. No, I just meant the whole girlfriend experience. It’s too expensive, man. I can’t be paying for an extension to my garage if I’ve got to be buying bling for the bi–” He coughed. “Woman indoors.”

  “Ah. You’re not celibate.” Meinwen nodded sagely. “I’m glad. That’d be such a waste.”

  “Ha!” Winston’s grin grew even wider. “You got a hankering for a little loving, girl? Got a hankering for the well-oiled muscle machine that is Winston the-one-and-only Campbell? That explains why you felt the need to come and thank me personally for the help with the Angel of Death.”

  “That’s not why I came and you know it. I’m quite self-sufficient in that area, thank you very much.” She looked at the boiling kettle and back to Winston, trying to decide which was the more pressing need. “It’s not like there’s anywhere here we could, anyway. Not that I’ve said I want to.”

  “Where’s there’s a need there’s always a way.” He walked past her to the car he’d been working on and opened the back door. “Your carriage awaits, madame.”

  “You’re kidding me. The back seat of a car? What are we, teenagers?”

  He looked around the garage. “There’s not really anywhere else without getting oil stains on your knickers. I mean, I’m up for that if you want.”

  “No.” Meinwen screwed her face up at the idea. “I really don’t think so.”

  “Shame I haven’t got that hearse in yet. There would have been plenty of room.”

  “I don’t think I could do it in a hearse.”

  “Well I’m running out of options here.” The kettle boiled and clicked off. “Or we could just have another cup of tea if you prefer.”

  “It would be churlish not to after going to the trouble of washing out the cups.”

  “Churlish, yeah.” He took a final look at the back seat and closed the door. “Not what I’d call it, mind.”

  “Wait.”

  “Changed your mind?”

  “If you go and wash your hands, yeah. Touch me with those and I’ll get contact cystitis.”

  “Your wish is my command.” He grinned and climbed out of his overalls. The shirt beneath was mostly clean, if one didn’t look too closely at the cuffs or collar. “Make yourself comfortable and I’ll be right back.”

  Meinwen inspected the back seat. At least the car was new enough for it to be upholstered in something other than vinyl. She tried sitting upright. Sideways. Lying on her back with the legs out of the door. Nothing was comfortable. She hadn’t had sex in the back of a car since Dafydd Thomas took her to the cinema in Aberystwyth in his dad’s Cortina. That night was the reason he bought his first van.

  She heard the water stop in the bathroom and climbed out again. It didn’t feel right to do it in the back of a car, particularly some
one else’s car.

  Winston came out of the bathroom bare-chested, drying his hands and arms on his shirt. It was no surprise he wasn’t celibate. It would be such a waste. He looked at her, his eyebrows raised. “Changed your mind?”

  “I had until about three seconds ago.” She moved forward and ran her hand down his arms, the muscles solid beneath his fingertips. “Now I really, really want to.” She lifted her hands up to his head and pulled him forward and down, crushing her lips against his. It took him a moment to react before he leaned into her, his tongue darting in and out of her mouth, his hot breath filling her lungs as they shared the air between them. One of his hands pressed into the small of her back, pulling her pelvis to his so she could feel the long hard length of his cock against her thigh while the other lifted her skirt, following the curve of her leg and over the band of her Marks and Spenser’s sensibles, then down again into the warm, wet embrace of her cunt. She widened her stance to accommodate his hand, two of his fingers slipping inside her while the ball of his thumb pressed against her clitoris. She gasped, clenching her muscles and gripping his fingers.

  He walked her backward until she was pressed against the car, his fingers working her until she was quivering with the need to release. She pushed her hands between them and fumbled with his belt and the catch and zip of his jeans, pushing them down over his arse and using her thumbs to catch his boxer shorts and drag them down as well.

  “Wait.” He pulled back from her. “In my back pocket.”

  “What?” She caught his jeans before they fell to his ankles.

  “Johnnies. We need to use one.”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “It’s not about trust. It’s about not being stupid. You don’t know my history and I don’t know yours.”

  “God. Why do men have to be so sensible?”

  He laughed, a low chuckle against her ear as he took the packet and opened it. “I think that’s the first time in history a bloke has ever been accused of that.” He ripped open the packet with his teeth and applied the condom in one fluid motion.

  With his dick bouncing, he walked her sideways until she was against the bonnet and slid her backward over the wing, supporting her with his left hand while he used his right to pull her knickers off then guide his cock inside her.