The old lady just looked on.
‘Ok, ok, I'm coming, just leave go of my arm. You’re hurting me.’
Bill released the pressure on her arm, and continued to walk to the exit. Carol rubbed her arm. It had hurt where Bill had pinched her. Carol was still unsure what was happening, but thought it better not to resist Bill. As they were about to leave Carol looked back at the clairvoyant. Their eyes met, there seemed to be a connection. The old lady smiled.
‘Goodbye dear,’ she said ‘enjoy your new baby.’
With Bill’s grip loosened, Carol was able to free her arm from his grasp. She took two steps back into the caravan, shoving Bill away from her, finding strength she never knew she had. Marie Rose still sat with her hands on the crystal ball, not even flinching.
Carol still did not understand the situation, her head was still in a whirl.
‘What did you say?’ she stuttered the words out.
‘You’re pregnant.’ Marie Rose told her.
On hearing that, Bill turned round, grabbed Carol forcibly by the arm and almost lifted her out of the caravan. He did not let go of her until they had reached the tower, and what he thought was a safe distance from the evil witch of Blackpool.
Marie Rose stood up from her chair, as a young girl was about to enter the caravan, having queued for what seemed an age. The clairvoyant brushed past her table, almost tipping it over, almost pushing the young girl back through the door.
‘We are closed,’ she shouted. She put her head outside the caravan door and looked at the waiting queue ‘Marie Rose is done for today.’ she said.
‘Fuck you!’ said the girl who had just been ejected, and gave Marie Rose the finger. The waiting customers were annoyed, angry that they had queued for nothing, and a number of them shouted obscenities at the lady in the caravan. Marie Rose didn't care. Her job was done for the day. She went back into the caravan and sat on the chair normally used by customers, a small round table in front of her and on it her crystal ball. She picked up the ball and stared into it, hoping she would at last see something, but she knew it was just a glossed up paper weight. She had never seen anything useful from that ball. Well almost never. Not that she wasn't mystic in some way. Not that she didn't have the power inside her. It was just that crystal balls didn't work, well, at least not for her. They had never worked for her. She reached across the table for her bag, lying where she usually sat. She put the bag on the table next to the crystal ball. Fumbling in her bag she found her packet of cigarettes and took out an Embassy, which she lit from one on the burning candles on the sideboard. She puffed on her cigarette, blowing plumes of smoke all around the caravan. She could still hear the crowd outside, complaining as they dispersed.
She smiled until her smile turned into a grin. To her own surprise she found herself laughing out loud. She put her hand over her mouth like a naughty child, who had been caught doing something wrong. She took a long puff on her cigarette, over-exaggerating as she inhaled, letting out another plume of smoke before extinguishing it in the ashtray.
No. Crystal balls don't work. Her face now grew stern, a face that had lived a thousand lives, told a thousand lies. They've never worked. I've never been able to make them work, not until that first time five years ago, and again today. There was an excitement building up inside it, she could feel it. She knew something special had just happened.
She sat back in her chair and smoked another cigarette. ‘It’s been a good day.’ she said to herself out loud.
Chapter 3
Marie Rose had left her place of work, and was now drawing close to her drive in her white Rover 400. She lived a few miles outside Blackpool, in a place called Lytham St. Anne’s. Her house, a 1980’s build was a five-bedroomed detached property with modest gardens, with rose beds, shrubs that she never knew the names of and trees, plenty of trees. Her nearest neighbours were two hundred yards to the left, and four hundred to the right. Her house was set well back off the busy road, and once inside you would never have thought there was a road there at all. She could not see her neighbours’ houses because of the trees in her, and their gardens. She liked it that way. She had seen the neighbours a couple of times, but she didn’t know either of their names, nor did she wish to. This was an idyllic retreat for her. Some place for her to be while she watched the world go by and dreaming for days like today.
Lytham St. Anne’s was formed by integrating two towns, Lytham and the seaside resort of St. Anne’s. The towns are situated on the coast, south of Blackpool and, like Blackpool, St. Anne’s overlooks the Irish Sea, whereas Lytham overlooks the Ribble Estuary. Lytham St. Anne’s is internationally renowned for its golf courses and the British open. Lytham St. Anne’s is considered to be a wealthy area, with some of the highest earners in Lancashire.
She had moved there just after her second husband had died in the 1980’s. Her husband wasn't psychic but he knew she was. They kept it out of their married lives as much as they could, and her husband had never wished to see that side of her. She had lost two babies, both miscarriages, with her second husband. Something that she never saw coming either time. She never told her husband of any psychic moments she had. He was a property developer and even when she had seen him, in her other mind, falling from scaffolding hundreds of feet in the air, she never told him. She knew that, although her other mind didn't see very often, it was never wrong. It was always right. The same mind that oversaw the birth of Daniel Fenton and would oversee the birth of his brother. Yes, she had seen her husband on the ground in a pool of blood, every bone in his body broken, as he lay lifeless. She never told her husband this. It was going to happen anyway, she couldn’t control it, and so what was the point.
Instead of informing her husband of his upcoming death, she insured him to the hilt, and within six months of her premonition she had buried her husband, and gathered a very wealthy bank account. The ‘business’ that she ran in Blackpool wasn't crucial to her finances. It merely just kept her in touch with the real world, and every now and again, a person like Daniel would come along. Someone she knew was special to her, and how she longed to be part of his life. One day she would be; of that she was quite sure. One day they would come calling. It was all she lived for now. She could sense it. She could feel it and one day she would see it.
She parked her Rover, and entered the house through its large, solid wooden door leading to a hallway with oak flooring. Heavy embossed wallpaper covered the walls below ornate coving. The glass chandelier that hung from the high ceiling, rattled in the wind, until she closed her door. She went straight into the living area. This was her favourite room, filled with green leather sofas, dark mahogany tables and sideboards, and had three large windows draped with the finest green satin. There were paintings on the walls. Copies of Constable and Lowry, two completely different artists, but brilliant in their own way, she often told herself and anyone else who would listen.
She poured herself a large brandy from the decanter standing on the mahogany drinks cabinet. She sat down on her leather sofa with her brandy and lit a cigarette. Oh it’s been a busy day, a busy, wonderful day. She took a sip of her large brandy, puffed on her cigarette and left it to burn out in the floor-standing ashtray, beside the sofa. It was so nice to see Carol. How wonderful she and Daniel had turned out, but that Bill. Yes, I know all about that Bill. Her face scowled. She finished her brandy.
‘I need food,’ she said, out loud to the empty house and went into the kitchen.
Chapter 4
‘What’s up with you?’ Carol asked Bill, as he planted her firmly on the ground. ‘You’re acting like a mad man, and you hurt me!’
‘Mad? I am mad.’ Bill growled. ‘Isn't what I just heard mad?’ He screamed ‘I'm sorry. It was all just weird. She knew our son’s name, for fuck sake. She called him Daniel! It freaked me out. He calmed a little, ‘I'm sorry babe.’
As he spoke Carol noticed how pale he looked, this big strong man, of whom almost everyone was scared of. Now h
e looked so afraid. What made him like this she did not know? She had never seen him like this before. She knew he had a temper and could flare up at the slightest thing, but to her and Daniel he was nothing but a gentle giant. Now here in Blackpool he looked like a frightened lost boy for all to see.
‘Let’s go to the arcade for a coffee.’ she said, putting her arm in his. ‘The bars and cafes will be full now; it’s always quieter in the arcade cafe. We can talk over a coffee.’
The colour was coming back to his face as they linked arms and walked the short distance to the arcade. He fancied a beer, but agreed, the cafe would be better. Carol was right. There were about thirty tables in the cafe in three rows each, seating up to four people. Half of them were empty. The others were occupied mainly by adults having a coffee whilst their kids ran havoc in the arcade. It was noisy, but that suited Carol. They needed to talk and she didn't really want anyone listening. Bill hated the noise; the sound of lots of children shouting drove him mad. He hoped he would be okay. He hoped it wouldn’t start. He could feel it coming and he didn’t like that. Carol told Bill to grab a seat whilst she got the coffees. There was no queue and she ordered two cappuccinos, smiled as she paid the lady, and then she walked back with the coffees. Bill was sitting at a table he had found in the corner. Carol noticed his colour had come back, but she still thought he looked as if he’d just lost a tenner and found five pence. She sat opposite him, placed his coffee in front of him, and took a sip of her own coffee. It was hot and she felt her lips burning. She put her coffee down on the table. She needed to make sense of all this. It didn't really make sense to her that this could happen twice, and she was really concerned about her husband’s reaction. Why did it freak him so much?
‘Right Bill, what just happened to you?’ she asked, as she put her hands around her mug of coffee, feeling the warmth of the coffee on her hands.
Bill raised his hands in the air, shuffling in his seat He looked really uncomfortable as he spoke
‘She knew his fucking name!’ He flopped back in his seat.
‘Calm down.’ Carol soothed. ‘Let’s look at this logically, she’s a . . .’ She paused thinking of the right words. ‘She's a wots it,’ she continued, ‘a medium, psychic person, or whatever you call them.’
She leaned towards him. Their eyes met, Bill knew it was time to listen now and try to make sense of it. Maybe Carol could make it better, make this feeling go away. His head hurt and he didn't like it when his head hurt.
‘Four years ago,’ she paused, and then corrected herself. ‘Five years ago, that dear old lady told us we were going to have a baby. All that’s happened is that it came true. We had Daniel, just like she said. She told us we were going to have a baby boy. Like you say, Bill, it’s a 50-50 chance.’
She leaned across the table and held both his hands in hers. Her voice grew softer.
‘I always loved that name, and maybe, five years ago when she told us that wonderful news, in all the excitement I probably shouted out what name we would call him. We had often talked about it.’
Bill squeezed her hands. She made it sound all so simple, so logical.
‘Maybe I had that pregnant look, and she recognised it. She is a medium. Maybe she has a memory like no other person, and she's not a medium at all. I don't really know,’ she sighed, ‘she just knew his name, that’s all. You know, she continued ‘when I told my mother I was pregnant with Daniel she wasn't a bit surprised. And do you know why?’
Bill didn't answer. He knew the answer was coming.
Carol went on, ‘because she said she could tell, by the way I looked. She told me I looked pregnant.’
Bill wasn't getting it. ‘It’s women’s intuition,’ she continued, ‘my mum knew. That’s the way it goes.’
‘You’re right, I acted like an idiot.’ Bill replied, ‘She just had a good memory.’
He did not really believe what she said. There was something about that woman that frightened him. She looked familiar. He tried racking his brain for answers, but there were none there. Carol smiled. They let go of each other’s hands and both grabbed their coffees which had cooled now. They both took two long gulps feeling the coffee warming their not cold, but damp bodies. They looked at each other and smiled, and didn't say a word until the last drop from their mugs had gone. They sat for a while in silence, both trying to take in the day’s events.
‘Just one more thing,’ Bill mentioned, ‘she said you were pregnant.’
Carol looked at him from across the table, biting her bottom lip. She was expecting that statement. ‘Haven't worked that one out yet.’ she replied.
Chapter 5
Daniel had been an easy birth, almost nine months after Bill and Carol’s trip to Blackpool. He arrived, not as planned, all a bit rushed and low key, but the bump didn't show at their wedding. A council house was quickly forthcoming with a baby on the way. They were housed on the Ashbourne council estate, just outside Newport, in the county of Gwent. The estate comprised over a thousand houses, with playing fields, a stream and woods behind the estate. Half and half of two or three-bedroomed houses which all looked exactly the same. A real blot on the landscape. It was originally developed from a World War Two prisoner of war camp at the end of the war, and the remnants of the camp still survived until the early nineties. Then it was demolished and houses built on the land. It was built in the shadow of a wooded area, all the streets were identical and, if it wasn't for the signs, you would never know which street was which. All the houses had pebble-dashed fronts with picket fences. Some owners had replaced the fences with more sturdy and modern fencing, but most still retained the picket fencing. Wooden poles with three sets of wires going horizontally and somehow, whatever you did to them, they never looked straight. A pristine garden would border a neighbours with grass four feet tall. Every other house had a satellite dish. An occasional window smashed by kids playing football. All in all, a typical housing estate in Wales.
Bill and Carol lived at 39 Hill Street. Like the other streets it had forty houses, twenty on each side. The Fenton’s lived in the last but one on the left as you drove into the street. There was a chip shop between Hill Street and Ash Way, the latter being where Wendy Cross would live. She was someone that the Fenton’s had yet to meet. In the centre of the estate on a little precinct were two pubs, a social club, a pizza shop and a chemist. There was also a Spar grocery shop, a newsagents and a hairdresser, alongside a garage for repairs and petrol. Add a communal building used for youth clubs, coffee morning and similar social events.
To the left of the precinct stood a church. To the right there was a park, behind which stood a football pitch, a school and further derelict land. Everyone knew everybody else in Ashbourne. People used to describe it as a prison camp, which of course it had been, because once you got there, there was no escape from it, but generally most people loved it there. It was their estate and the problems that came with it were their problems. Those problems were dealt with by their own people.
***
It was hot today. The James family had been coming to the same villa in Malta for fifteen years. Every time loving their annual break, just to get away from the damp U.K. and soaking up the sun. They did very little on their holidays other than sunbathe, eat, relax and in the evenings, get slightly tipsy at their villa.
However, this holiday was different. It was the first time they had ever brought their grandson, Daniel, and how he had loved the flight, marvelling at how that big piece of metal could float in the air. He loved the excitement of exploring the new apartment when they got there, where he would spend the week. For the first two nights he didn't have any nightmares. He never once thought about his father after he had caught his first fish. Daniel went on his first fishing outing with his dad some weeks earlier. His father hooked up his line from the sea wall in Porthcawl, a seaside holiday resort in South Wales, and it wasn't long before he and his father were reeling in his first ever fish. Daniel was full of excitement and jum
ped up and down as the fish drew closer. He was expecting his dad to throw the fish back in, where it would swim away and continue its fish life, but instead his father had taken his knife out and cut off the fish’s head and started cutting the fish open.
‘This is our tea,’ his father had said.
It was the first time he had ever seen anything being killed, and he didn't want to see anything like that again. The thought of eating it had repulsed him. Daniel didn't cry or say anything. He didn't want his father to see him cry or be upset as he knew dad would get angry. He prayed that he never caught another fish and, as luck had it, he didn't. All the time he couldn't get the image of the fish being gutted out of his mind. He would never want to go fishing again.
From the third day of the holiday Daniel had grown increasingly quiet. Although a very private child in many ways, Daniel was a chatterbox. He would love to sit and hear his grandfather’s stories about when he had been a little boy, and a young man in the army. None of these stories involved killing fish.
***
Vera and Doug James were sitting on their loungers while Daniel played in the sand for the fourth day running. Daniel was bored by the same routine. They had barely ventured out from the villa except to go to the beach, which was just a few hundred yards away. They had gone to the shopping mall once, but didn't stay long, just long enough to pick up some groceries and a case of alcohol. Daniel wanted to explore the mall and pleaded with his grandparents. Age had caught up with them, and all they wanted to do was sit in the sun. Daniel showed little interest in the bucket and spade with which he was playing. His mind was far more active than either of his grandparents. He wanted adventures, but sadly none seemed to be forthcoming. Both Vera and Doug were in their sixties, childhood sweethearts. Doug had run a bookmaker’s which resulted in a chain of five shops. He had been made an offer by one of the leading bookmakers around and he sold up. He hated gambling, which was odd as the benefits of gambling had served him well, but he let others do it and he reaped the rewards. He had never gambled, not even a small flutter on the Grand National.
The Fenton Saga: Never Say Goodbye / There Was No Body. Page 2
