The Haunting of Harriet

by Jennifer Button

  Harriet turned to look at the young woman standing beside her. This was her friend and it was fate that had thrown them together. Through this vital young woman she could reach out and touch life, free to follow its twists and turns, no longer afraid of what lay around the next bend. Together the two women watched the old boathouse, one seeing it consumed in flames the other rebuilding it in her mind’s eye.

  They turned and walked back to the house, Harriet at last ready to face her fate, Liz thanking her lucky stars she had been dealt such a fabulous hand. Harriet wrapped her cloak around Liz’s shoulders as together they watched some tiny birds flying high in the sky overhead. Liz thought they might be bluebirds and wondered why she suddenly felt so deliciously warm.

  CHAPTER 9

  The first of August was deemed an apposite day for the actual building work to begin. It happened to be Liz’s thirty-fifth birthday and as it was her pet project what better choice of day could there be? Bob wanted to remove the old structure, clean out the lake and clear the site thoroughly well before that date. He estimated it would take two or three weeks. If they started now that allowed enough time to draw up the plans and steer them through any bureaucratic hiccups. They all prayed for an Indian summer so that the really messy work would be over before the wet winter the forecasters had promised began in earnest. The enthusiasm to get started gripped everyone, except poor Liz. The old boat was in the way of any future construction work and her fears were staring her in the face.

  She knew the first thing the men intended to do was raise the wreck. The very thought of this apparently trivial act filled her with a dreadful foreboding that could reduce her to tears. Telling herself that she was getting things out of proportion – it was just an old dinghy - did nothing to lift her anxiety. Why the mystery? Vivid memories of how violently she had reacted on the night of the millennium would leap out of nowhere, still with the power to terrify her. It was all linked to a feeling of complicity. Guilt pressed down on her whenever she thought of it, making it difficult to breathe, her chest hurt so much. Now she had to go through it all again. What they were about to do was an act of desecration. Hoping it would lessen the strain she had persuaded them to complete the salvage work on the day before her birthday, but now the day had arrived she was not sure she could go through with it.

  If she shouted to them to stop they would have to listen to her. After all, it had been her idea to pull down the boathouse; she could simply say she had changed her mind, it was a ridiculous waste of money and they should call it a day. Before she could speak, her head began to swim and she felt herself swaying. A slight nausea crept over her as she struggled to stay upright. The light-headedness spread through her body. It was as though she were floating a few inches above the ground. Her senses functioned; she could hear and see, but nothing felt normal. When she tried to move she could not. Something was raising her up, lifting her to a point where she could see without the limitations of perspective and reality.

  She had distanced herself from the others by standing on the near bank beneath the willow. The boat was not visible from here, but she preferred that. Harriet placed herself behind Liz; they could see Mel standing with the twins on the far bank where they had a good view of the proceedings. Liz was no longer shaking with fear. She was paralysed. Harriet moved closer until they were standing shoulder to shoulder. Outwardly they appeared calm and composed. Inside their shared feelings were complex. Neither wanted to face what was about to surface.

  Bob, clad only in his shorts and a huge grin, lowered himself into the water shuddering at the unexpected chill as it reached his nether regions. They watched as he tied various lengths of rope around the rotting hull before instructing Edward to haul it in. The twins rushed forward to help their struggling father until with a loud crack the first plank broke loose and crashed on to the bank. The three fell backwards in a heap, to be met by a rousing cheer from Mel. Sliver by sliver, plank by rotten plank it was wrenched free, no longer held together by knotted reeds and years of compacted mud. Gradually what remained of the little boat was laid out on the bank, like a giant half-eaten jigsaw. It was hardly recognizable as a boat, just fragments of wood caked with mud, algae and lichen. It smelt rank.

  “Look at this!” Bob exclaimed, holding aloft a length of hull with a jagged hole at its centre. “Pierced through the heart, looks like she was scuppered… what d’ye think, me ‘earties?” He pulled a face with one eye closed, the other opened wide, and he hopped around ridiculously on one leg. James and Mel took up the pirate theme but Jenny was too busy. She was examining a piece of wood with a thoroughness which would have met with the approval of Sherlock Holmes himself. They were barely visible, but fragments of red paint had not escaped Jenny’s eagle eyes. After close scrutiny she exclaimed the strange words: “olly Ro.”

  “The Olly Ro,” squealed James. “Wow, what a cool name.”

  Jenny, who was still examining the remains, corrected him. “No, look, the ‘o’ is small but the ‘R’ is a capital letter. I do believe you are right, Captain Bob, we have a pirate vessel here. I present The Jolly Roger. God bless her and all who sail in her!”

  Mel was kneeling beside her God-daughter. Edward scratched his head. Whose daughter was this? She never failed to amaze him. Jenny winked at Mel before pulling her brother down onto the grass beside her, holding him in an arm-lock akin to a half-Nelson.

  “Olly Ro, Olly Ro, Olly Ro,” he chanted until she too took up the cry and they found themselves in a shouting competition. The Pote joined in, barking at full voice and trying to nip the odd ankle as it presented itself. Bob was still waist-deep in the water. “Someone fetch a rake. There’s something else buried in the mud down here. I need something long to pull it out.”

  “No! Leave that where it is.” Liz’s command stopped the men in their tracks.

  Throughout the whole salvage procedure Liz and Harriet had been standing at the far bank beneath the willow, lost in their own strange world. It was a hot July day yet Liz felt chilled through to the marrow. Her body ached with an inexplicable overwhelming sadness. Tears streamed from her eyes as she wrapped her arms around herself and rocked to and fro.

  “It’s a boat hook,” she said. Her voice was deep, and detached. As the company turned to look at her she remained rooted to the spot, staring into the depths of the lake. Her face was drained of colour and tears poured down her cheeks. Her hand rose to push back the stray lock of hair that was stuck to her face with hot pain-filled tears.

  “Leave it there! Leave it alone!” Liz was hysterical. Abruptly, she turned and marched across the lawn to the house. Mel clambered up from her kneeling position beside the salvaged wreck, signalling for the others to stay put while she followed her friend inside. Blinking against the sudden darkness, Liz crossed through the kitchen, pausing to collect the iron key from its secret ledge. Crossing the hall she stopped outside the Fourth Room, then opened the oak door and stepped inside. She was sobbing uncontrollably, each sob taking her closer to hysterics, until she was shouting and ranting at the room, “What do you want from me? Tell me, for Christ’s sake tell me or leave me alone. I can’t take much more.”

  Mel caught up with her and followed her into the room. “It’s all right, Liz, I’m here.”

  “Nothing’s bloody well all right. Can’t you feel it? You’re supposed to be a psychic, so tell me what’s going on. What’s happening to me?”

  Mel moved into the centre of the room. She was unfamiliar with this place. Liz tended to keep it locked, referring to it merely as “the Fourth Room”, undesignated and undecorated. Mel peered around her in the gloom. The room was square, with a large oak fireplace on one wall and a deep bay window, with leaded diamond panes, on another. The ceiling was lower than in the other reception rooms, and covered with oak beams, giving the room a claustrophobic atmosphere. There were no nooks or crannies, no pretence, just four honest corners and one very wide door to enter and leave by; a straightforward Tudor room: a waiting-roo
m.

  The two women stood together in the middle. Like this room, they too were in limbo. Mel stretched out her arms, palms upturned, and took long deliberate breaths through her nose. Her eyes were gently closed and she lifted her head to face the ceiling. The lack of natural light in the room dulled her normally bright hair to a deep matt brown. It was not yet dusk, but she left the lights off, preferring to let the room grow dark with the evening and blend in with the gathering shadows. Liz‘s head was pounding. Blood was coursing through her ears and she raised her hands to block out the sound. Mel lowered her arms and moved across to an old sofa that stood in the window bay. Removing a pair of cricket pads and a pile of old curtains she sat in the middle of the seat, patting the cushion beside her. Liz crossed the room to join her. Harriet was already seated. Her patience was growing thin and she wondered why this was taking them so long.

  All three women closed their eyes. Their breath was regular and deep, the only sound in the room. Liz had no thoughts and no memory. She was entering a place without time and where self no longer existed; a place she would never describe and would not remember. She was poised on the brink of somewhere she had never been before, but a place that she knew intimately. She was entering a trance and Harriet was her guide. Together they went back through those happy early childhood days, days destroyed by the loss of a brother and a father. They felt the absence of a mother’s love, the isolation of a child cut off from all warmth and security until, abandoned, it is forced to create a world in which it can survive. Harriet showed her the pain of being exposed to the cold, the enduring pain of a long life lived alone and the bitterness this left in one’s soul. Then she shared the redemptive joy that came from being welcomed into a new family. The warmth that filled her now and her determination to repay their generosity was laid bare as Harriet poured out her heart and soul. By the time she had finished she was weeping and kneeling on the floor, too drained to speak or stand.

  The trance began to lift. Physically Liz had remained unaltered but her spirit had travelled from child to adolescent through adulthood to old age. The strange thing was that none of it came as a revelation to her. With each new twist and turn of the story she was ahead of the narrator, she had seen it all before; lived it all before, but without any conscious knowledge of it. She was a long way away, far away in time and space, in a place where no one lived but everyone had lived and would live again. It was a place where now did not exist. It was neither the future nor the past, it just was, and while she was there it was familiar.

  Liz heard a voice calling her. It came from far away. As it drew nearer, the space she had been occupying sped backward, sucked down a long light shaft. Cold air carried her back along the duct until the tunnel itself began to recede. The air around her grew still and the temperature returned to normal. Once more silence became the strongest presence in the room… the room? Yes, of course, she was in the Fourth Room. She heard her own breath entering and leaving her body. Then she heard Mel exhale a laborious sigh. Mel looked anxiously at Liz, willing her to open her eyes. Harriet had already opened hers and was staring at Mel with disbelief.

  Reluctantly Liz returned to the room. She had been a long way off, out of her own body, drifting in an ethereal world where she did not need weight or substance. Lifting her head, she opened her eyes and the shock of reality hit her hard.

  “OK?” asked Mel.

  “Yeah, I think so… a bit spaced out. I feel as though… I don’t know what I feel… actually I don’t feel too good.” Liz was shaking violently and tears streamed down her face. Taking a hanky from her pocket she blew her nose loudly.

  “Well done. That was quite amazing.” Mel had opened the door enough to let a crack of light in. She peered at her watch. “How long would you say we’ve been here?”

  “I’ve no idea… five, maybe ten minutes,” Liz said.

  “It’s nine o’clock,” said Mel triumphantly.

  “You’re joking! Did I fall asleep? Good grief, it’s dark already!”

  “You have just experienced your very first trance, Mrs Jessop!” Mel was excited. This was her friend’s spiritual awakening and could cement the already strong bond they shared. Liz had never totally accepted this “other” world. Without actually denying it she dismissed it as fascinating and rather scary. Mel was desperate to question Liz: to discover how much she could remember of the séance, but she had to approach it carefully. It was highly likely that Liz would recall nothing of the experience. Mel’s experience told her to tread cautiously.

  Harriet had little or no respect for Mel and her so-called psychic powers. If that previous fiasco with those ridiculous picture cards was anything to go by, Liz needed to be protected from this woman. She had just poured out her inner-most secrets to her friend, a task she found both difficult and painful. She did not want them relayed to this idiot. It had been no mean feat on Harriet’s part to share her very private past with another, so her resentment of it being passed on to yet another was justified. However, more than a little jealousy was at play. Sharing Liz’s friendship did not come easily to Harriet, having being starved of intimacy all her life. Their relationship was based on mutual trust and she did not appreciate this interfering drama queen stealing her thunder. Besides, Mel was filling Liz’s head with nonsense and scaring her to boot. Harriet determined not to let Mel gain the upper hand.

  “What happened? I can’t remember a thing. Is it that late? Tell me what happened, was it good?” Liz was talking quickly and excitedly; she was as high as a kite. Mel realized she ought to bring her back down slowly, so she spoke in a calm professional voice:

  “We’ll have a post-mortem later. Let’s get some water first. I don’t know about you, but I’m thirsty. Are you all right, kiddo? OK, let’s find the others. They’ll have given up on us.”

  Liz began to ease back into reality. The bright light of the hall made her pause until her eyes grew accustomed to the glare. Three hours had been lost. What possible explanation could she give? Her only recollection was of having been away somewhere very different and exciting. A delicious smell of bacon and eggs guided her across the hall to the breakfast-room.

  Harriet remained behind, smarting from what felt like rejection. No recognition as to her contribution had been given. A thank-you would have been nice, she thought as she sat in the armchair. The Pote crept in and settled himself noisily on her lap. She stroked his cold, silky ears. “Well, at least you appreciate me,” she said, and they both fell asleep.

  Edward, Bob and the children were sitting around the table. The children were unwashed but relaxed about it.

  “Where have you two been? We looked everywhere. I was beginning to think about getting worried.” Edward’s forced frown brought Liz back to earth with a bang. She had no idea what to say. Mel was less reticent.

  “We were in the Fourth Room. Poor Liz had a nasty attack of hay-fever so I gave her some healing. It was so deliciously cool in there we just sat on that old sofa and we were goners. Too many gins and all that sun. She’s been telling me her plans for that room. I hadn’t realized it was so lovely. I’ve not actually been in there before.” Mel lied beautifully. Liz was impressed and grateful to have such a clever accomplice. She smiled across at her and Mel winked back.

  Bob had been quietly munching on his food while looking intently at Liz.

  “That thing I found buried in the mud. It was a boat hook, but how the heck did you know? You couldn’t possibly have seen. Even a blooming giraffe couldn’t have spotted it from where you were.” He shovelled another forkful into his mouth and waited for Liz’s answer.

  “What boat hook?”

  “How many boat hooks are there round here? The one you told me to leave alone.”

  “I don’t remember any boat hooks, sorry. So what did you do with it?”

  “Left it alone, mate, I recognize an order when I hear one! I’m married to her, remember.” Bob nodded towards his wife and laughed his relaxed down-to-earth laugh. For the
first time that day Liz felt completely normal. The mention of a boat hook rang no bells and it hardly seemed worth pursuing so late in the day. Soon the twins would be bathed and in bed, stories read, books put away. The men would have retired to the lounge with full bellies and large whiskies, settling down to watch some sport, leaving Mel and her alone to indulge themselves. Maybe at last she would begin to understand what had happened to her. It was not a day she wanted to repeat but she needed to make sense of it.

  At eleven the men went off to bed, worn out by the combination of hard labour, fresh air, children and whisky. Glad that her friend was staying the night, Liz took another bottle of Pinot from the fridge and the two women sat down at the breakfast table ready for a long session. Mel, who was shuffling her beloved Tarot cards, began by asking questions of a frustrated Liz, who was bursting with questions of her own. She needed answers, not more damned questions.

  “So, what happened to you down by the lake?” Mel asked.

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “Think. Take it step by step. Not why, just what.”

  Casting her mind back, Liz tried to recapture her feelings. “I knew something important was going to happen.”

  “How?”

  “I just knew.”

  “When you first woke up?”

  “Yes, the day felt special.”