by Julie Howlin
‘You're not listening to me, are you?’ Jess accused.
My attention snapped back to her. ‘Sorry - what did you say?’
‘When did you last see Daniel?’ she repeated.
‘Last weekend, actually.’
‘And before that?’
‘About three weeks.’
‘And when are you going to see him again?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Oh, Tabs, he’s not exactly attentive, is he? You deserve better, girl.’
‘I know you don’t like him, but he’s all right. It’s early days yet.’
‘You’ve been saying that for six months,’ Jess said.
I saw the pale girl walking over to the bathroom again.
‘Look at me, Tabs,’ Jess said, and I pulled my gaze away from the stranger and met Jess’s eyes. ‘Repeat after me. I deserve someone better than Daniel.’
‘Oh, Jess, stop hassling me. I love Daniel. We’re fine.’
There was an awkward silence. I glanced at the cool blonde again. She was holding her slim mobile phone to her ear. She was scanning the room and suddenly she was looking right at me. I looked away, embarrassed that she’d caught me watching her. When I looked at her again, she was smiling and waving to someone. Her date had turned up, then.
She stood up and greeted him with a kiss, and handed him the beer she’d bought him. I was a little startled to see who he was - the blond guy in the leather jacket from Gran’s funeral. He was wearing jeans and boots now instead of the smart trousers and shiny black shoes he’d been wearing then. The casual look suited him much better, I thought. He sat down beside the woman and slipped his arm around her. She smiled up into his eyes and they talked and laughed together. So he wasn’t married, but he was spoken for, just the same. I was disturbed to find that I felt rather disappointed by that, so I turned to Jess and got her talking about her work.
She had some hilarious stories to tell about her clients and for a while I forgot how uneasy I felt. However, after a while the tension began to build again. I noticed that the hum of conversation was getting louder as more and more people were coming in. The bar was getting quite full. My bad feeling was getting stronger.
‘Are you okay?’ Jess asked. ‘You seem a little distracted. Perhaps I shouldn't have dragged you out drinking so soon after...’
‘It's not that,’ I said. ‘To be honest, I’ve had a funny feeling about this place since we arrived, and it’s getting worse.’
I looked around again. Now I was getting some seriously bad vibes from quite a few of the people. They were not the kind of people one wanted to annoy, and I got the feeling some of them would be quite easily annoyed. I noticed Leather Jacket and his girlfriend, while clasping hands and talking animatedly to each other, were, at the same time, watching the crowd. They clearly enjoyed people watching as much as I did.
‘You know something,’ Jess said, ‘I’m not sure I like the look of some of these people, either.’
Then I saw the pale girl heading for the toilets again. ‘I wonder if that girl’s ill - she keeps going to the loo,’ I said.
‘Which girl?’ Jess asked.
‘The one in the lacy top. Right there.’
‘I can’t see her.’
‘I’ll swear, Jess, I think you must be blind as a bat sometimes. Are you sure you don’t need glasses? She’s right there by the... OH, MY GOD!’
‘What’s the matter, Tabs? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
That was not surprising, because I had.
‘She just walked right through the loo door.’
‘Well, if she was going to the loo, isn’t that what you’d expect her to do?’
‘Not without opening the door first,’ I said.
‘You mean she - shit, Tabs, you’re giving me the creeps! Are you saying this place is haunted?’
I was shivering and felt a familiar prickling on the back of my neck.
‘Jess, there’s something very, very wrong. Can we go somewhere else? I need to get out of here, right now.’
Jess knew that if I picked up bad vibes, there was always a reason. That prickling feeling had got us out of many a sticky situation when we were clubbing, so she trusted my instincts. Also, I think she was spooked because I’d seen a spirit right there in the room.
‘Okay, let's go.’ She took a deep swig of her wine and pulled on her coat. We left, without even finishing the two glasses of wine. I was feeling quite sick by now and had left my glass untouched.
As soon as we got outside, I felt better. The crisp night air helped, I’m sure. We walked a couple of blocks to another pub. ‘How do you feel about this one?’ she asked.
I closed my eyes and listened to my psychic sense. This one felt warm and welcoming. ‘Fine,’ I said. Then I looked up at the sign and almost laughed aloud. It was called ‘The Swan’.
The rest of the evening passed without incident. There were no restless spirits and I could relax and have fun. There was a band that was really quite good, and they even did food.
We stayed until the place closed and I treated myself to a cab home. As I sped through the city streets, my mind raced. What was it with all these swans? I was dreaming about them, seeing them everywhere. I remembered the dream about Daniel and the swan, and it occurred to me that the haunted pub had been called The King's Arms. Daniel's surname was King. Was the spirit world trying to tell me something?
When I got home, I glanced at the phone. The message light was dark. Daniel still hadn't called.
13 call to adventure
On Monday morning I managed to get a free newspaper and a seat on the train. The headline caught my eye. ‘Two Dead in London Pub Riot’. Curious to know if it was anywhere I knew, I read on.
Two men are dead and a third is fighting for his life following a gun fight at a London pub on Friday night. The incident, at the King’s Arms pub in Woodville Road, NW8 was thought by police to have been the eruption of a long-standing rivalry of drug gangs in the area.
The pub has been under long-term surveillance as a suspected venue for high-level drug dealing. A police spokesperson said, ‘Plain clothes officers observed first-hand the occurrence of drug dealing at about 9 p.m. on Friday evening.
During the subsequent police raid a suspect opened fire in what we believe to be a revenge attack on a rival gang, members of which the suspect believed had tipped off the police.’
The dead men have been named as Damien Farrell, 29, a known drug dealer and gang member, and Adam Wesley, 28, an innocent bystander out for a drink with friends. PC Kevin Standford, 25, is in a critical condition in hospital. About 10 other people suffered minor injuries and shock.
I felt that prickling again. If it wasn’t for my sensing bad vibes, Jess and I would have been caught up in that. We’d left at 8.45p.m. Somebody had certainly been looking after us last night! I wondered if that spirit had been trying to warn me, or if she was merely an earthbound soul playing out some traumatic long ago event over and over by sheer coincidence. Perhaps the vibrations left over from whatever happened to her, somehow attracted low vibration people, thugs and drug dealers.
I sent up a prayer of thanks to the universe for taking care of Jess and me. Then I remembered Leather Jacket Man from Gran’s funeral - it had looked as if he and his girlfriend were set to stay there for the whole evening. They had probably still been there when it all kicked off.
I hoped he was all right. I didn’t know his name, and for all I knew he could have been one of those hurt or killed. I didn’t like to think that he was a high-level drug dealer – he’d seemed so nice, but I suppose you can never tell. At least I knew his cool blonde girlfriend survived, as none of the casualties were women. Unless I saw him again, I’d never know.
I felt quite shaky when I got off the tube. I remembered I still had most of the packet of cigarettes I’d bought to help me through Gran’s funeral. Boy, I could use a smoke right now. I fumbled in my bag for the pack, but as I took it out, I
stopped. I’d promised myself I would not start smoking again and knew if I had one now, that would be it. I thought I’d put them in the bin, but there was still enough of the smoker left in me to think that a criminal waste. I handed the pack to a beggar outside the station. ‘God bless you, darlin’,’ he said. I almost gave him the matches as well, but remembered I’d need them for lighting my candles and incense. I went to put them away, and noticed the make. Swan matches.
**
At home that night there were four answerphone messages. The first was only someone putting the phone down. The second was Lorna in a panic because she’d been smudging her room and a spark from the burning sage had burnt a hole in her altar cloth. I phoned her back and told her to cover it up with a candleholder.
There was Caroline, asking for fifty pounds towards the planting of a memorial tree for Gran. Sometimes I think I may have misjudged my sister. She never seemed especially close to Gran, but she still seemed to know exactly what Gran would have liked.
I prayed the final message would be Daniel. It wasn’t. It was a male voice I didn’t recognise. ‘Hi, I’m trying to reach a Miss Tabitha Drake,’ he said. He sounded a little hesitant and unsure of himself. ‘My name is Detective Inspector Swan. You don’t know me, but your late grandmother, Maggie Flynn, and I often used to work together. I’m really sorry to bother you at such a bad time, but she used to talk about you a lot and told me you’d inherited her gift. I was wondering if you’d consider helping us the way she did. I know it’s early days, but I’d like to meet you and discuss it. Please call me back on...’
I suppose I should have been flattered that Gran had been praising me up to this guy, but I actually felt a little irritated. With Gran, for painting a picture of me as a psychic who was as amazing as she was, and with Inspector Swan for intruding and making this request when Gran had only been gone a few days. He had a cheek. I wasn’t sure I could stomach going to crime scenes and looking at gruesome, mangled corpses. Inspector Swan would be less than impressed if I threw up all over him and then did not immediately ‘get’ who’d done it. I pressed the delete button and went to feed Thumbelina.
I decided to have an early night, but I simply couldn’t switch off. There was a voice in my head, I’m not sure who it was, telling me I’d been wrong to delete that message. What if I changed my mind in the morning and decided I wanted to meet the Inspector? I assured the voice I would not change my mind. I'm not good enough and don’t want the responsibility, I told it. ‘The way to get good at something is to do it,’ the voice said. Right. And how many innocent people will be sent to prison, perhaps for life, and how many people will get murdered by the undetected killer while I proceed on little more than guesswork? ‘You’re just scared,’ taunted the voice.
‘Maybe so,’ I flashed back, ‘but I’ve got enough on my plate. I’ve got a full time job and a boyfriend, I’m committed to a development group and now I’m supposed to mentor my little sister. I don’t have time to be Miss Marple as well.’
‘Suit yourself,’ said the voice, and left me alone to lie awake in the dark.
It had not escaped my notice that the man who’d called me was called Inspector Swan. Was he just another coincidence, or was he where all the coincidences had been pointing?
Finally I fell asleep but the remainder of the night was punctuated with odd dreams. Finding a doll with its head ripped off, picking it up and seeing it had Jess’s face; Amber turning into a vicious gremlin; Daniel being eaten by a giant swan.
**
I felt like a zombie all day on Tuesday. I had to chain drink coffee in order to function at work, and really did not feel up to going to group that evening. Being tired was not an excuse Jonathan would tolerate, so I had to go and hope I wasn’t buzzing too much from all the coffee.
‘When we work as psychics, clients often come to us wanting advice,’ Jonathan said. ‘So tonight we're going to practice tuning in to spirit in order to give people answers to their pressing problems. So I want each of us to bring a burning issue that is on your mind, and the rest of us will look to spirit for the answers.’
My heart sank. I didn't want to tell these people my problems.
Lorna didn't seem to mind. She had been asked out on a date by a man at her spiritualist church and her dilemma was whether or not to accept. Megan said she should; Cynthia said her spirit guide was saying she should not. Lorna looked crestfallen - clearly she wanted to go. I told her she should accept, for how else could she know if she really liked him, but added all the usual practical advice like making sure she met him in a public place and told people where she was going.
Edward followed with some highbrow spiritual issue I didn’t even understand - Jonathan spoke to that, and I didn’t understand his answer either. Megan was wondering about changing jobs - and then it was my turn. I chose to ask for advice on mentoring my sister, the least emotionally charged of any of my ‘issues’ and the one least likely to open any cans of worms.
I should offer to babysit, they suggested. Mum would appreciate that, so I’d get in her good books, too. I should start by telling Amber about my own experiences and then let her talk about hers, and take it from there. Do what Gran did for me - just reassure her it’s okay, and that you’ll always be there for her. Just as it seemed to be over and I was wondering what Cynthia would want advice on, Edward spoke. I was still very new to the group. Everyone else’s experience had been that he didn’t address them or even make eye contact for six months and I’d only been there for three weeks. He looked me in the eye and said, ‘That’s not your biggest issue, is it?’ I noticed for the first time that his eyes were pale blue with a darker ring around the iris.
‘It’s pretty big,’ I countered. ‘Quite a responsibility.’
‘There’s something else you think spirit wants you to do. Isn't there?’
‘No,’ I lied, forgetting that Lorna had this odd talent for seeing fluctuations in people’s auras and always knew when someone was not being completely honest. I hoped she wouldn't have the nerve to challenge me. But she did. ‘Okay. I had a call from some detective who thinks I’m going to take over from Gran on the police work. I’m really not sure I want to. I don't think I'm that good.’
‘The detective must think so,’ Megan said.
‘I’ve never met him. He knows nothing about me.’
‘Except what your gran must have told him,’ Jonathan said. ‘He knows you have the gift.’
‘Well, Gran was biased. She used to overstate what a good psychic I am. So what he thinks he knows isn’t entirely accurate.’
‘But you are good, Tabitha,’ Megan said. ‘I always think so when I work with you.’
I felt myself blush - it was praise indeed. ‘Thanks, Meg, but I’m not sure how reliable I’d be at a crime scene with no time to centre myself, and people pressuring me to tell them what I see... and I think I’d be too squeamish. Show me a rotting corpse and I’d probably be sick and be no use to anybody.’
‘Perhaps if you met this detective, he’d tell you a bit more and you’d have a clearer idea if it’s for you or not,’ Megan continued. ‘Maybe you don’t actually have to see the bodies, just do psychometric readings on things that belonged to them, just like we do here. You’re always saying you’d like to do more with your gift - here’s a chance! Perhaps you should just call him back and talk about it on the phone before you decide on anything.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Jonathan put in. ‘Here is your task for the week. Make contact with the detective and just talk.’
‘I can’t. I deleted his number,’ I admitted, relieved that I had a good reason not to complete the task.
‘Did you get his name?’ Megan asked. ‘Presumably he’s at Scotland Yard. Their number’s in the phone book. You could call there and ask for him.’
‘Inspector Swan,’ I said.
‘Swans are beneficial for you, remember?’ Megan said, brightly. ‘Nothing can go wrong. It’s a sign. You should follow it up.’
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‘You’d make a good team,’ Jonathan said. ‘Swan and Drake on the case.’
‘Clearly spirit wants you to do this,’ added Cynthia.
‘I can say no. I have free will.’ They all looked at me as if I’d confessed to killing children. I frowned. They were quick enough to invoke Daniel’s free will when I joked about casting a love spell on him so that he’d call me more often, but what about my free will? Why do I always have to do as I’m told? I didn't relish the idea of cold calling Scotland Yard, but Jonathan was already writing it in The Book.
The Book was this huge tome in which he recorded any task or assignment the group agreed should be done by someone, complete with deadlines and outcomes. Not completing a task that is written in The Book, or at least making every effort to try, was yet another sign that one was not wholly committed to one’s development. I was going to have to do it.
**
I did try. I called Scotland Yard from my mobile at lunchtime on Wednesday. I went to the park where nobody could listen in and dialled. The call went like this:
‘Scotland Yard, good afternoon’.
‘Can I speak to Detective Inspector Swan, please?’
‘Do you have an extension?’
‘Er, no.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t put you through if you don’t have an extension.’
‘He asked me to call him, but I lost his number. Don’t you have a list?’
‘I’m afraid not - there are a huge number of detectives working from here, and to protect them, we don’t put the public through unless the detective has given them his or her extension.’
