by Carys Jones
Surely, he reasoned, it was just an intern who looked very similar to Lorna. Charles wanted to believe that but he knew her face too well as he saw it each and every night in his dreams. It was Lorna who had been amongst the interns; what was uncertain was the reason for her being there.
Charles almost wished it was her ghost reaching out to him, as much as that prospect terrified him. At least that meant that he wasn’t going insane. Morbidly, he began to recall a documentary he had once watched, about a man who kept having vivid hallucinations which doctors discovered were attributed to a giant tumour growing inside his brain. The tumour was inoperable and the man ultimately died a slow, unpleasant death. On reflex, Charles tentatively touched his forehead. Was Lorna a manifestation of something sinister growing within him?
Perhaps the dreams had been a precursor and now the tumour had grown so much that his hallucinations were spilling out in to broad daylight, no longer confined to the darkness of his dreams.
To think that all this was just the mark of an illness made Charles despair. A part of him yearned for it to be Lorna’s spirit because that meant that, even in the afterlife, she still wanted to cling to him as much as he did to her.
He thought back to the documentary he had seen and remembered another chilling addition to the man’s symptoms; uncharacteristic behaviour. Before the tumour was discovered he began liking food he had always hated and being spiteful to those he loved after spending a lifetime being a kind, gentle man. Charles had never before acted on impulse until he met Lorna. The whole affair was grossly out of character for him. Sighing, Charles rubbed at his temple which was potentially housing the source of all his despair.
With hands still shaking, Charles picked up his phone and dialled home. He knew that the most decisive course of action would be to see his doctor as soon as possible. He hoped that he was wrong – that there was no tumour poisoning his mind. He couldn’t bear the thought thar everything he had felt with Lorna was not real andwas merely the symptom of an illness. The notion tainted the love he had felt and made him feel sick, as though he had been deceived by his own body.
‘Lloyd residence.’ Elaine sounded particularly cheerful as she answered the phone.
‘Honey, it’s me,’ Charles said, his voice hoarse.
‘Oh Charles, perfect timing! I have the decorator here with me now and we are going through samples for the dining room. Would you prefer magnolia or ivory?’
‘What?’ The fog of confusion produced by the shock of seeing Lorna made Charles struggle to decipher his wife’s question.
‘Colours, Charles. What would you like?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Is something wrong, dear?’ Elaine suddenly focused on her husband, her intuition sensing that there was a problem.
‘I’m just not feeling very well.’ Charles said softly.
‘Oh no, are you coming home?’ his wife asked in a panic, perturbed to think that her daily plans might suddenly be compromised.
‘No, I think I can stick out the rest of the day, but can you call the doctor again for me?’
‘Yes, certainly,’ Elaine answered, relieved. ‘There are a lot of bugs going around at the moment, three of the ladies from the book club called off sick.’
‘Oh.’ Charles cared not for the trials and tribulations of his wife’s social circle. He was even less tolerant when potentially gravely ill.
‘Are you quite sure that you wouldn’t rather come home?’ It was an empty question but, bound by the code of wifely duities, one Elaine felt compelled to ask.
‘I can’t, I’ve too much work to do.’
‘Well, as Deputy Prime Minister you have more work to do than most!’ Elaine raised her voice ever so slightly as she spoke, no doubt to ensure that the decorator in the next room could hear that she was speaking with her ever-so-important husband.
‘If you can just call the doctor, please.’ Charles felt his temple begin to throb, either from the frustrations of speaking with his wife or a reaction to the fear he had placed within his mind of a tumour lurking there. He hung up without a formal goodbye, imaging how Elaine would still cling to the receiver and deliver a loving farewell to the dial tone, all in the name of maintaining the image she had so perfectly crafted over the years.
When Charles spoke with Lorna on the telephone she had always signed off the same way. He would say goodbye and Lorna, in her sweet, singsong voice would brightly reply, ‘Until next time’. He found it endearing and loved how it made him yearn for their next conversation, their next union. Charles imagined how, if their love had endured, they would have ended their conversations with undying declarations of love, each living for the moment when they next spoke again.
Lorna, and everything he felt for her, could not have just been the manifestation of a tumour slowing rotting his brain. He knew in his heart that it was real. But that meant that the vision he’d seen in the intern meeting was surely an apparition, and that Lorna must be haunting him. But she was so sweet and kind, how could her spirit be malicious enough to torment him? Unless he was the reason why she ended her life and now she despised him. Would she not cease to prowl around his sanity until he had scarified is own life also? The idea was preposterous and Charles quickly dismissed it.
In the quiet of his office, with his mind aching from attempting to make sense of what he had seen, Charles longed for a drink and the welcome release it would bring him from his tangle of thoughts. Elaine had ensured that there was no alcohol in his office, going to such lengths as having the fridge, which his predecessor had put in, removed. Charles resented how she behaved as though he were an alcoholic who couldn’t be near spirits. It was as though she only ever saw the very worst version of him, which antagonised him as he had only ever treated her well. He knew that Elaine’s father had struggled with a severe drinking problem which probably accounted for her often irrational behaviour towards drink. But Charles did not enjoy being treated like a child and having his toys of scotch and bourbon taken away from him.
Lorna enjoyed Malibu® and coke. She would always pour herself a small glass from the contents of the mini bar n the hotel rooms they stayed in. Charles detested the stuff, claiming that it smelt of suntan lotion. Lorna would smile and shake her head in disagreement.
‘It smells exotic,’ she would tell him, seductively inhaling from the glass, her eyes locked onto his.
‘When I drink it, I pretend I’m on some far flung beach, with white sand beneath my feet, the sun beating down from a clear blue sky and a gentle breeze whipping through my hair.’
‘You get all that from a drink?Heck, maybe I should try it sometime!’ Charles would tease her. But deep down he made a promise to himself that one day he would whisk her away to a white sand beach, and they would not have to hide away; they could be open in their love and affection for one another. That promise, and the countless others Charles had made towards Lorna in his mind, had been broken. Perhaps that was why she now pursued him relentlessly, refusing to rest in peace.
Charles leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, willing Lorna to materialise. No matter the reasoning behind the visions, he no longer cared; he just wanted to see her again. His heart ached for her. It was a pain unlike any he had known before. When he thought of her, it would surge through his chest, up into his throat and threaten to steal his last breath from him. It bemused him how love and pain could be so akin to one another.
Faye went to knock on the Deputy Prime Minister’s office door but then recoiled just as her hand was about to connect with the wood and alert him to her presence. She had seen him flee from the intern meeting, suddenly turning whiter than fresh snow, as though he had seen a ghost. She knew what had spooked him and she was reluctant to upset him further. She regretted her decision over not forewarning her boss; she’d thought that she wouldn’t need to, but blatantly, she’d misjudged the situation.
Facing the door, Faye quickly ran over how she should proceed. It was well beyond her co
mfort level and outside of her duties as an assistant. Her boss was clearly in the midst of a breakdown and she did not want to be the person responsible for making it worse. But then, perhaps she would actually be helping, providing him some salvation for his own sanity? Either way, Faye felt uneasy about the whole thing. Sighing, she raised her hand again and this time rapped three short, sharp knocks on the door.
Charles heard the knocks echo around his office which had become his bolthole and ignored them. He did not wish to be disturbed. He couldn’t even bring himself to respond to the caller at the door, let alone attempt to hold a conversation with them.
‘Dammit.’ Faye looked down, shaking her head and then knocked again, louder. When still no reply came she knocked again and again, until her knuckles were reddened and sore. It became obvious that the Deputy Prime Minister would not respond to her knocking. She tried phoning his office, but that too was ignored. Faye knew that she had to go in and speak to him directly, which meant behaving out of turn, but ultimately she hoped he would thank her.
Faye signaled her imminent arrival with a sharp knock, and then gently pushed the office door open, taking care to quickly seal it shut behind her. The door creaked in protest at having been pried open. Surveying the darkened office, she found Charles sat almost cowering behind his desk, his face still ashen which made his eyes appear sunken and hollow. In the low light, the shadows across his face were more prominent, revealing just how much sleep he had been losing these past months.
‘I want to be left alone,’ Charles said shortly, scowling at her.
‘I know that, believe me I got the message loud and clear when you ignored me for the past twenty minute.,’ Faye switched on the nearby light which bathed the room in a forgiving glow, making the shadows on Charles’ face recede so that he appeared less gaunt.
Like a vampire, Charles squinted in the light.
‘I’m sorry to intrude like this,’ Faye began, speaking calmly and quietly, still trying to configure a plan in her mind to make him come around to what she was about to propose.
‘Then don’t,’ Charles spat. He did not want her to see him like this – backed up into a corner like a frightened animal. He wanted to be left alone. Had he not made that clear?
‘Trust me, I’d much rather stay outside than come into your cave.’ Faye could feel her patience wearing thin as a result of his rude behaviour towards her. She tried to keep calm, reminding herself of the current hierarchy within the room. He could treat her as awfully as he wanted to, but if she said one wrong word, it could cost Faye her job and that wasn’t a risk she was willing to take.
‘Look, sir,’ Faye breathed deeply before continuing, ‘I appreciate that this isn’t the best time, but there is someone outside to see you and …’
‘No,’ Charles cut her off, still scowling.
‘If you would just listen to me!’ Faye pleaded.
‘Whatever they want, the answer is no.’
‘Seriously, I wouldn’t come in here unless …’
‘Faye, are you deaf? I said no!’ Charles didn’t like behaving in such a petulant manner towards his assistant but he theorised that the ruder he was, the quicker Faye would leave and then he could return to the darkness and his thoughts.
‘If you were anyone else, I would turn and walk out, not just of this room but probably my job too!’ Faye said indignantly. Her limits had been tested to the point of breaking and she refused to take anymore. She’d had more than her fair share of experience with pig-headed men and she would make Charles listen to her if it meant slapping him clean around the face to make him come to his senses.
‘I’m in here, asking you to see this person because I respect you, sir.’ The final word tasted bitter in Faye’s mouth, tainted by her current resentment towards his attitude. ‘I know why you are so upset.’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘Yes, I do,’ Faye spoke slowly now, to ensure that her employer caught every word she was relaying to him. ‘You thought you saw Lorna.’
At the mention of Lorna’s name, Charles’ features softened and he looked as though he were about to weep. All he could think was that it had been real. He wasn’t mad; Lorna had not been a figment of his imagination as Faye had seen her too. He tried to process his thoughts, to understand the implication of it all.
‘You thought she was there, at the intern meeting. Seeing her spooked you and you ran in here.’ Faye herself began to thaw, understanding that Charles’ spite towards her had been born from his own fear. ‘I really think that you should see the person waiting outside.’
‘Why?’ Charles asked, puzzled.
‘Just trust me on this,’ Faye urged.
‘I’m not in a fit state to see anyone,’ Charles found himself searching for excuses.
‘Please, You’ll feel better if you see them.’
‘Fine.’ Defeated, Charles raised his hands before straightening his tie as Faye went over to the door. He watched his assistant open it just a crack and call out to the waiting visitor in the corridor. A second later she ushered Lorna into the office.
Inside his chest, Charles felt his heart suddenly cease to beat, frozen from its normal rhythm by the sight his eyes were currently beholding. Vomit began to creep up the back of his throat, threatening to explode all over the ghost who now stood nervously before him.
Faye watched the Deputy Prime Minister’s reaction and immediately regretted her decision to let the girl in. If he had been pale before, he was now completely without colour; his eyes wide in terror.
‘Sir,’ Faye wanted to calm him, but didn’t really know how. She felt herself floundering helplessly in the situation like a fish removed from water, flapping and gasping for air, desperately stranded. She had already stepped so far over the line of decency within her job role that it had faded off into the horizon. Faye could not risk tarnishing her reputation with her employer any further; she had already done enough potential damage.
‘I’ll leave you two alone,’ Faye said quickly, relieved to be excusing herself from the situation and to return to the relative comfort of her own desk.
For a moment, Charles and Lorna stood in silence, each awaiting a response from the other. It was Charles who spoke first, his fear beginning to turn to anger as he processed what was unfolding before his eyes and began to piece together the truth.
‘This … this is impossible. You are dead!’ It was such an absurd statement to make when the girl was clearly far from deceased; she was standing before him, living, breathing, and thinking.
‘No,’ Lorna spoke but her voice sounded strange. The tone was duller than Charles had remembered, as though it were tainted with sadness.
‘Lorna is dead,’ the girl confirmed. Charles went to speak again but she raised her hand to silence him. ‘My name is Laurie Thomas. I’m Lorna’s twin sister.’
Charles gazed at Laurie in shock. The resemblance was quite exceptional; she was the perfect replica of Lorna. Now, as he scrutinized her further, he saw slight differences, such as the way Laurie held herself, less self-assured than Lorna was, and how her eyes were locked in a furtive, angry way, not kind and warming like her sister’s.
In the aftermath of Lorna’s death it had been easy for Laurie to play on the emotions of the Human Resources staff within Downing Street to pretend she cared as desperately for politics as her twin had and just wanted to fulfil her dead sister’s dreams. They’d offered her an internship position on the spot.
‘I’m so sorry, I did not realise that Lorna had a twin sister.’
‘No, I doubt that you did,’ Laurie said, almost bitterly.
‘I’m very sorry for you loss.’
‘Right, sure.’
Laurie’s rude demeanour made Charles feel taken aback. Lorna had always been so warm and kind but her twin appeared the exact opposite; cold and closed off. It was surreal to see Lorna standing there, behaving so differently, as though her body had been possessed by someone else. Even the way Laurie dresse
d was different. Lorna always wore very feminine, flattering clothes. Laurie was wearing skinny jeans with converse shoes, a green hooded jumper and a black biker jacket. It was very casual attire.
‘Please stop that,’ Laurie said suddenly.
‘Stop what?’ Charles queried, genuinely bemused by what he had just done to offend her.
‘Stop staring at me like I’m goddamn ghost. It’s all anyone does these days and I hate it.’
‘I’m sorry, that must be hard.’ Charles lowered himself into his chair and tried to gain a logical perspective on the situation. Before him stood Lorna – only it wasn’t Lorna, it was her twin sister. It was all so surreal.
‘Please … sit,’ he offered.
Laurie stood in the middle of the room, arms folded, her beautiful face locked in an angry scowl. Charles sensed the rage and anger within the young woman which threatened to rob her of her good looks. He could see that she was deliberating whether or not to sit down. Finally she chose to, her body language growing even more awkward as she settled herself across from him.
‘It’s very nice to meet you, Laurie.’ Charles said her name, hoping it would help to silence his mixed emotions over Lorna’s doppelganger.
‘All of us here were deeply saddened by the loss of your sister.’
‘Save the political bullshit,’ Laurie snapped venomously. ‘I know that you were fucking my sister.’
Charles blushed at the bluntness of the delivery. He tried to regain his composure, suddenly fearful that Laurie was here to blackmail him.
‘Look …’
‘I’m not here for money if that’s what you think. I’m not about to pervert my dead sister’s ill deeds for my own benefit, I’m not a monster,’ Laurie interrupted. ‘Nor am I about to go running off to the tabloids. My parents have had their hearts broken enough by Lorna’s death; it would destroy them if I were to remove the halo they had permanently placed over her head.’
