Celestial Land and Sea

by Amy McLean

  "Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you're phoning them up about a missing pigeon?"

  "Birds matter too, you know!" Grace couldn't tell whether he was being sincere or sarcastic. "This was a prize-winning racing pigeon, and it's somehow just vanished! The guy who owns it said the bird would never just take off and not return, so I have to do a bit of investigation, you see? I've promised the owner and taken this on as my duty, because the police aren't going to bother with a missing pigeon."

  "Right you are, James. Milk?"

  "Yeah, please."

  Grace stirred the coffees and walked over to James's desk. She handed him his mug, the cartoon faces of Wallace and Gromit staring back at her.

  "Cheers. Quiet today, isn't it?"

  "Tell me about it. I almost wish Mr Barrie was here to shout at someone."

  James sat up in his chair. "You know, Grace," he paused, "do you think he'd give me time off next month? It's just that I want to take my girlfriend on holiday before Christmas but—"

  "I wouldn't count on it, James. It's like asking Scrooge to let the workers away early on Christmas Eve. I'd put money on his answer being a firm no. But, by all means, if you're feeling brave enough, then ask him." She grinned before returning to her seat.

  Only a handful of emails had been sent, and not a single letter had been delivered to the office. All the articles had already been posted on the social media sites and there wasn't much she could do until everybody else finished their work for the day. Perhaps she could just...

  She opened a search engine to scavenge for something, anything that might help her regain entrance through the portal. She found numerous references, but before she began to read, she fished out a notebook from inside the drawer of her desk. It had been untouched for months, but at least now it would be put to good use. She unclipped the pen from the top of it to reveal little more than a few pages of doodled ladybirds and jack-in-the-boxes.

  The used pages were discarded and tossed onto the desk. Grace etched Gráinne's name onto the top of the first page and positioned the notebook to her side, not prepared to stop until she found what it was she was looking for.

  An hour or so later she discovered something that made her gasp.

  "Lord Bingham? Wasn't that the man who Donal said had captured Tibbott?" She scribbled down her findings. "And he worked for the Queen!"

  Aside from a few weeks at secondary school that had been spent looking at the history of the British monarchy, Grace had to confess that she knew very little about Queen Elizabeth I. She tried to picture a portrait of her in her mind as she read further down the page. To Grace's surprise, she found out that Gráinne had actually ended up appealing directly to the Queen for her son to be set free.

  She thought for a moment before it clicked.

  "Is that what I need to do?" she asked herself. 'But I couldn't... Could I?"

  The concept of coming face to face with a Queen of England was starting to make Grace's head spin. She had promised Donal she would do anything she could to rescue Tibbott. And she knew it was down to her to save him. But just as she was starting to feel comfortable with the situation, she was suddenly being thrown back into deep and murky waters.

  "No, I couldn't. I'm not strong enough! And I wouldn't know how to get across the Irish Sea to England. There has to be another way. They've got the wrong person!"

  Flustered, she closed the browser and tossed her notes onto the desk. The room had suddenly grown hot and stuffy. Grace felt choked. She needed to get outside, find some fresh air.

  She headed for the main door. Only James was in the office, and he wouldn't miss her. She left the room, took the stairs, and left the building.

  The chilly air had never felt so welcome before. She inhaled deeply as she tried to clear her mind. What was she to do? She couldn't turn her back. She didn't even know if she had any control over the situation, or if she were even allowed a say in what happened. But then she saw him, up ahead. A newspaper was folded under his arm, a takeaway coffee cup in his hand. He looked left, right, left again before crossing the road. He was heading down the street now, coming toward her. He glanced up. He noticed her. Then he smiled.

  "Grace," he said, standing in front of her now. "Enjoying the sun, as it were?"

  Of course the sky was overcast.

  "Just clearing my head," she said. She checked to make sure she was smiling at him.

  "Work getting to you again?" He wasn't laughing now, but speaking seriously to her, because he understood how she felt.

  "'I just needed a little break. Listen—"

  "Grace—"

  They grinned at each other.

  "You first."

  "I was just going to say thank you for coming to the diner the other night. I know it probably wasn't how you had planned to spend your evening, and I just wanted you to know that I really did appreciate it."

  "Andy, honestly, I had a really good time. I was actually going to ask if you maybe wanted to..." she could feel her face burning up, "...come over to my place this weekend so I could repay you with the meal we talked about. Nothing fancy or anything, just something—"

  "That'd be lovely, Grace. Thank you." He smiled as his eyes met hers. Nobody said anything for a moment, until Andy's attention suddenly snapped back to the office. "I really need to go upstairs and type this interview. The boss will kill me if it's not done by the end of the day."

  "Oh. Yes, of course."

  "I'll see you in there."

  Andy entered the building, leaving Grace leaning against the wall. She had to check to see that she was still rooted to the ground. He had said yes. She could hardly believe it, but he had said yes.

  What was she going to cook? What was she supposed to wear? Had they even agreed on a day? Her mind was flooded with questions about the impending date. No room in there for worrying about Tibbott—not now. His situation would be the same whenever she returned, whether in a day or a week by her present-day clock and calendar. After all, she had a life to live—here, now, in London, at Anchor, and maybe even with Andy... She returned to the building and headed up to the office, her smile as broad as she had ever known it to be. Cathleen and Donal would have to wait for Gráinne. Right now it was time for her to focus on something important: Grace's life.

  12

  "Can you not wait two minutes?"

  Miaow.

  "Okay. Have it your way!" Harriet tipped the dry biscuits into the bowl and placed it back on the plastic mat. Bella brushed against her legs and went for her breakfast. "I'm going back to my own now, if that's okay with you, your Fluffy Highness!"

  Bella crunched her way through the dish of food.

  "Morning..." Grace shuffled into the room as Harriet was sopping up the last of the egg yolk with a slice of bread.

  "Morning! Ready for your big date tonight?"

  Grace had not been able to think about anything else all week, but she still didn't feel prepared. "Not exactly." She pulled out a chair and sat opposite Harriet. "I still need to shop for the food. I don't know what to offer him to drink, or how many options I should have prepared. I don't know what to wear. And I can't seem to—"

  "Grace, relax! You'll be fine. From what I've heard, he seems like a genuine guy, and if that is the case, then he's not going to care about what you wear. It's pretty obvious he likes you. Try not to worry. Stay calm and just enjoy yourself."

  "I suppose you're right. I'm just so nervous that I'm going to mess everything up. What if I burn the food, or—"

  "When was the last time you burned a meal?"

  "Well, I can't remember, but—"

  "You'll be fine. I promise! What are you cooking, anyway?"

  "I hadn't quite worked that out yet. I'm not entirely sure what he likes. I was thinking lasagne, or maybe spaghetti—"

  "Classic! I'd definitely go with spaghetti. And then you can each take one end of a strand and suck your way up until your lips meet in the middle..."

  "Harriet!" G
race tried to sound stern but she couldn't prevent herself from giggling at the image.

  "I'm only saying!" She stood up and put her plate into the sink. "Right, I better get off."

  "Where are you off to?"

  "Shopping," she sighed. Unlike Grace, Harriet loved clothes shopping. "The shops are going to be packed, but I don't have much choice. I completely forgot the Christmas party at work this evening. There's still a month until Christmas; I don't know why they couldn't put it off for a few weeks. I suppose it's cheaper for them to do it earlier, but it means I wasn't on the ball with making sure I had something to wear in time."

  "Why don't you just wear something that's already in your wardrobe?"

  Harriet laughed. "That would probably be the sensible thing to do, wouldn't it? No, I wouldn't feel right. Besides, I've had my eye on a particular dress for a while now and I'm hoping it's still available in my size. I'll need some new shoes too, of course. And maybe a new bag as well. Oh, this is going to take all day. And don't worry, I'm staying over at Daniel's tonight, so I won't be in your way."

  They'd agreed that Andy would arrive at seven, which would give her plenty of time to get ready and prepare the food, but how was she supposed to fill an entire day when her mind was racing ahead to the evening? She had struggled all week to stay focused at work—it didn't help that Andy sat directly in her view—and now that their first real date was swiftly approaching she was able to think of nothing else.

  Preparing for dates and entertaining dinner guests weren't exactly at the top of her list of expertise. "First, the shopping," she said, placing her laptop on the coffee table before heading up the stairs. In her bedroom she started picking through a pile of clothes she'd left on the chair. She pulled on a pair of stonewash jeans and slipped a grey angora jumper over her head. She'd had the jumper for several years now and the material had started to thin a little at the sleeves, but it would have to do. She wrapped her hair into a bun to keep it out of her face. Retrieving her duffel coat from the wardrobe, she slipped it on and fastened it before pulling on a pair of ankle boots she'd bought during the Christmas sales last year. She hadn't had a chance to wear them yet, but she decided today was as good a day as any to bring them out. She checked to make sure her umbrella was still in her bag. The weather was dry but she just knew that if she didn't take it with her the heavens would open and she'd be drenched before she'd even reached the shop.

  As she moved to close her bag her hand nudged against the letter from Gráinne. She held it in front of her for a moment and studied the writing on the front of it. She still couldn't believe that it was her name that she was reading. She stuffed it back into her bag, refusing to give it another thought. She needed to clear her mind before she approached that situation, and it was not time to do that now. She knew she would find the right answer eventually.

  She grabbed her mobile phone from the coffee table and sent a text message to Andy.

  Still on for this evening? Grace x

  It was only after she'd sent the message that she wondered whether or not the kiss was too much. The last thing she wanted was to scare Andy off when things might just be getting started. Her heart raced as she waited for him to reply.

  She need not have been concerned though. As soon as she had locked the front door behind her, her phone alerted her that a new message had arrived. She reached for her phone and flipped up the screen.

  Of course! Remind me of your address and I'll be there at seven. Andy x

  "Thank goodness!"

  Looking around, she was relieved to find that nobody had heard her talking to her phone screen. She replied accordingly before returning the phone to her pocket and heading down Haverstock Hill.

  A few minutes later she reached a cluster of shops opposite the underground station in Belsize Park and headed into Budgens. There were several supermarkets nearby from which she could quite easily purchase her supplies, but she'd been drawn to this one ever since moving to the area. Perhaps it was the bright green sign above the entrance, or maybe it had something to do with the fact that the bustle of shoppers that so often flooded the larger chain stores hadn't infiltrated the friendlier atmosphere of Budgens. Whatever it was, she always seemed to have a successful trip, and she was counting on today being no different.

  She started up the first aisle with a basket swinging from her arm. She was relieved to be doing something normal, a welcome respite from the thought of returning to Clare Island that so frequently seemed to occupy her mind nowadays. Eventually she was satisfied that she'd found everything she was going to need.

  Grace made her purchase, exited the shop, and turned back toward Hampstead. She decided to kill some time with a stroll; she wouldn't be going too far, and the mince should be okay for a short time.

  She'd often take a stroll to Primrose Hill, or up to Hampstead Heath, when she wanted time outdoors to think—some of her best decisions had come to her that way. But her feet seemed to have a mind of their own as they crossed over the road toward Church Row.

  She found herself heading toward the churchyard of St-John-at-Hampstead. She approached the gate and entered the grounds. The church itself stood directly in front of her, with one of its large red doors left ajar after Morning Prayer. Rather than enter, she decided to occupy one of the wooden benches situated beneath a cluster of tall trees. The breeze carried the leaves down one by one as they floated toward the ground, landing in a bed of brown and orange. Some of the leaves were wet from the rain, creating a slippery surface near the edges of the graveyard, and Grace took care as she approached the bench so that she didn't fall.

  She sat down safely and looked at the gravestones. Some dated back hundreds of years, plant life nearly covering them. As she became lost in her thoughts a woman sat beside her. Grace had not heard her approach and was startled when she spoke.

  "Do you believe they can help you?"

  A thick Irish accent came with her words. It was different than Grace's accent, and that of any of her family. The mysterious woman stared straight forward, her attention fixed somewhere in the churchyard. Her eyes were watery pools of green, glistening like emeralds.

  Dressed in a long sea-green smock, her attire didn't seem to fit the current century. The upper part of the cotton fabric took the shape of a bodice; the edges were stitched with a gold-coloured thread, and the material was tied tightly down the front with thick string to draw in the dress around the woman's thin frame. A woollen shawl was draped over her shoulders, the sleeveless garment reaching down to her hands. Her fingertips clasped its edge to keep it in place, protecting her pale arms from the wind. Her auburn hair was tied back into a long plait, reaching down to her waist. Grace noted that its length was longer than her own. The tight hairstyle pulled slightly at the woman's forehead, accentuating the delicate features of her face. Her nose was thin and long as it pointed towards her lips. Her lips were narrow but rich in their pink colour. This same shade highlighted the apples above her gaunt cheekbones, adding a small amount of colour to her otherwise-ghostly white skin.

  "I'm sorry?" Grace finally managed to reply. She had been so mesmerised by this woman's sudden and striking appearance that she'd almost forgotten to respond to her question.

  "Do you believe it's possible for those who are no longer of this earth to help in life as it is lived today?"

  "I don't know..." She had no idea how to respond to a question like that. Grace's confusion grew as the woman continued to talk. Her voice was soft and gentle, but her words were insistent and unexpected.

  "Do you not believe that there are ways in which those who have returned to the world of spirit can guide those on earth? Their physical bodies may be rested in the ground, but their spiritual bodies—their original forms—are still here. They are constantly around, working where their assistance is required. Do you not believe that they are able to help you?"

  "I've n-never..." Grace stuttered. It wasn't something she'd ever considered, and she certainly was not prepa
red for the question to be thrown her way today. Not wishing to anger or upset the woman, she forced herself to recall the religious teachings she'd received as a child.

  "I am not speaking about religion," the woman continued, as if she had been reading Grace's mind. "The spirits guide those who require it, and those whose minds are willing and open, regardless of their faith. They do not operate within religious constraints. Perhaps you are aware of Guardian Angels, or maybe even Spirit Guides. The concept is the same, except these spirits have simply been ordinary people on earth, just as you are now. They have no special rank, and they have no requirement for one. They have their duties, and with those they are able and content. There is no restriction between centuries, no language barriers across time or place. You are never alone, Grace."

  Grace wasn't given time to consider how this woman could possibly know her name, because at that moment her phone sounded loudly from inside her pocket. She flinched as she reached for it, then turned away from the woman to silence the sales call. But as Grace turned again to face her, the woman had disappeared. Where had she gone?

  Though, had her phone not caused a distraction, Grace would have noticed as the woman had walked along the path and out through the trees that a pair of leather boots were visible beneath her dress, and she would have also realised that the boots that the woman wore were identical to the pair that she had first discovered on board the ship, the very pair she wore to guide her along Gráinne's journey.

  13

  "Spaghetti prepared, oven preheated, apron on!" Grace talked herself through her mental check-list as she tied the ribbon behind her back. "I think that's everything," she confirmed to herself as she arranged walnuts on top of a sponge cake. As she slid the baking tray into the oven her phone sounded from across the table. She sighed as she recognised the caller instantly. "Hello, Mum."

  "Grace, it's Mum." Her accent was much stronger than Grace's.