Death and Faxes

by Julie Howlin

  ‘Give me a name, or a date, or a location and I might say something,’ I said silently to the Cosmos. ‘If you want me to do this, you’ll have to give me something more concrete. I’m not risking being dumped by Daniel unless I have information that might actually save a life.’

  I put the paper down. I now had to amuse myself for the weekend. I picked up the phone and called Megan. ‘Is that ticket to the psychic fair still going?’

  ‘Indeed it is’, she said.

  ‘Looks like I can make it after all.’

  **

  I love psychic fairs. I love the way they engage all the senses: the colourful crystal stalls and angel posters; the music; the smell of incense; the chance to have a massage and sample the latest organic food or drink. I see all the psychics and mediums and Tarot readers and wonder if I’ll ever feel confident enough to do readings for strangers.

  I bought a couple of crystals and managed to get a reading. I was hoping Gran would come through, but she didn’t. It was very disappointing. Very little of the reading meant anything to me at all. ‘You have a gift, too,’ the medium said. She was wearing a purple headscarf, huge hoop earrings and had nails like talons painted bright red. They all say that, I thought. Did she really see it or was she hedging and betting that most people who came to these shows either were psychic or wanted to hear that they were? ‘Do you know someone called Clare?’ she asked.

  ‘Um. There was a girl in my class called Clare,’ I said and immediately regretted it. If she was cold reading, she would latch on to that.

  ‘Is she on this side of life?’ the medium asked.

  ‘Yes, I believe she's working for the Bank of England,’ I said.

  ‘That's not her, then,’ the medium said. ‘This is a Clare who's passed.’

  ‘I don't think I know a Clare who's passed,’ I said.

  ‘I sense that you will find out who she is and that you are going to be a great help to her and those that she loves.’ Due respect to her, she didn't latch on to the Clare I knew, but saying she was someone I was to look out for was another classic cop out. ‘Your parents are still here?’ I nodded. Reasonable guess as I'm only in my twenties. ‘Ask them if there is a Clare in the family. And I'm getting the name James or Jimmy,’ she went on. ‘He's important.’

  ‘I don't know anyone called James or Jimmy, either,’ I said.

  ‘Well, then, it's someone you need to look out for.’

  I couldn’t help feeling this medium was guessing. When she got it wrong, she used the standard get-out clause - it’s some ancestor you’re not aware of or someone you haven’t met yet. I wasn't convinced.

  The good thing about such a non-specific reading, though, was that there was no mention of detective work; nothing that would suggest to Megan that my getting involved in detective work should be re-instated in The Book. I hadn't mentioned that I'd had another telephone call from Detective Inspector Swan since my abortive attempt to respond to the first one. Surely if this medium was for real she would have picked up on that, and on Gran. I was very disappointed that there had been nothing from Gran.

  It wasn’t an entirely wasted day, though. I bought a bag full of books and some more crystals and managed to forget how badly Daniel had let me down.

  **

  Daniel called the next day to tell me that he’d been invited to stay for a weekend with some friends in Suffolk, and asked if I wanted to go. There was nothing I would have liked better than to go away for a weekend with Daniel, but Mum had beaten him to it and I’d already agreed to have Amber to stay on Friday night.

  ‘I’m babysitting my little sister,’ I said. Part of me hoped he would say, bring her, but he didn’t. Perhaps that was just as well. Mum was giving me one night with Amber as a probationary session, to see if I was suitable as a babysitter. Taking Amber out of town with Daniel and his bawdy friends would be a bad idea - although I could not help thinking that it would be a lesser crime in my mother’s eyes than ‘teaching her about Tarot cards and nonsense’. More importantly, though, having a six-year-old in tow would prevent me from being with Daniel in the way I wanted to be with him.

  15 tabitha and amber

  Mum and Dad dropped Amber off at half past six. Mum was fussing. ‘She goes to bed at half past eight at weekends,’ she said. ‘She knows to clean her teeth, but do check that she’s done it, and had a wash. She’s already had her tea. She has cereal for breakfast - you do have some, I trust?’

  ‘Yes, Mum.’

  ‘No television after eight o’clock - and no violent programmes or she’ll get nightmares. And no tea or coffee - it keeps her awake. She’s brought a colouring book and crayons so she can do some colouring. And remember what I said about all that nonsense. We’ll be back to pick her up about ten tomorrow morning.’

  ‘There’s no rush,’ I said. ‘She can stay as long as she likes.’

  ‘We’ll pick her up at ten,’ Mum said, more firmly. It was clear I was indeed on probation here.

  ‘Be good, Amber, love,’ said my dad, ruffling my little sister’s hair. ‘Do what Tabitha tells you.’

  The door closed behind our parents. I smiled at my little sister and said, ‘Well. Here we are, then.’

  Amber did not reply, but stood awkwardly, looking around the room. I had a chance to look at her properly. Her hair was auburn and a mass of curls reached to just below her shoulders. A sprinkling of freckles dusted her small nose, and her large eyes, which so far had refused to meet mine, were the colour of amber, the substance she had been named after. The name suited her well. She was wearing a pink track suit with the Mitzi Doll motif on it, and brand new pink and white trainers. She clutched her pink overnight bag so tightly that her knuckles were white.

  I had expected her to be a bit more talkative than this and wondered how on earth I was going to entertain her all evening. Especially when I really had no idea what six-year-olds were interested in these days. Not the same things I was interested in when I was six, that’s for sure. ‘Would you like anything to drink?’ I ventured. Amber shook her head, still not looking at me. That was probably just as well. I couldn’t remember if I had any drinks apart from tea, coffee and alcohol.

  ‘Would you like to watch TV?’ The curls shook again. No.

  ‘Would you like to do your colouring?’ No.

  How could I mentor a little girl who wouldn’t even speak to me or look at me? What was I supposed to do? Even though she was my sister, I had never been alone with her before, or she with me. We barely knew each other. She clutched her little bag even tighter and edged away from me. She was frightened of me! Then it came to me with equal clarity that I was a little frightened of her, too.

  ‘Come on, Amber,’ I said. ‘Let me show you where you’re going to sleep so you can put your bag down.’

  She followed me into my bedroom where Thumbelina was asleep on the bed. Amber gave a delighted little squeal, sat beside the cat and started stroking her. Thumbelina made a little angry noise, irritated at being disturbed and then realised that someone was making a fuss of her and settled down to enjoy it. ‘What’s his name?’ Amber asked, meeting my eyes for the first time.

  I sat down beside them. ‘She’s called Thumbelina because she was so tiny when I got her.’

  ‘That’s a lovely name,’ Amber said. Now we were getting somewhere!

  Amber leaned closer to Thumbelina and broke into a huge grin as she heard her purring. ‘So tell me, Amber, what do you like to do? Watch TV?’

  ‘I play on the computer,’ she said. ‘Have you got a computer?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but it doesn’t work yet.’ Daniel hadn’t set it up for me, despite all his promises that he would. ‘I don’t suppose you know how to set one up?’

  ‘No,’ she giggled.

  ‘Never mind.’

  ‘Hey - what’s that?’ Amber was peering at my Tibetan singing bowl.

  ‘It’s a singing bowl. It sings.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Let
me show you.’

  Thanks to my cat, Amber was relaxed with me, now, and she started exploring all my paraphernalia in my meditation space. The rest of the evening flew by as I explained what each of the items was for, where I had got them, or why I liked them. It reminded me of the times I’d spent in Gran’s front room when I was Amber’s age. I began to feel that teaching her would not be as onerous a task as I had thought.

  In the middle of our conversation the phone rang. I was tempted to ignore it and let the machine pick up, especially since I knew that Daniel was driving to Suffolk, so I wouldn’t be missing a call from him. But Amber said, ‘Shouldn’t you answer that?’ I wasn’t sure whether Amber had some intuitive knowledge that the call was important, or whether she was already indoctrinated into the ‘ringing phones must be answered’ mind-set. So I picked up the phone.

  ‘Ah, Miss Drake, I’ve caught you in at last. It’s Detective Inspector Swan - do you have a minute to talk?’

  ‘Um - not really. I have company right now.’

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, then, but I really would like to talk to you sometime soon. Is there a good time to call you next week?’

  ‘It’s hard to say,’ I hedged. ‘I’m not sure what I’m doing. You can try.’ I made a mental note to myself - don’t answer the phone next week. Then perhaps this pest will go away and leave me alone.

  ‘All right. Have a nice evening. I’ll speak to you soon.’

  Not if I have any say in the matter, I thought. I put the phone down.

  ‘He’s really nice,’ Amber said, when I returned to the bedroom to find her back on the bed, stroking the cat.

  ‘Who?’ I asked.

  ‘That man who just called you.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I think I saw him once.’

  ‘Amber, you can’t possibly know who I was talking to - I was in the other room - and I’ve never even met him myself. You really can’t...’ I stopped. I was being as bad as Mum and Caroline, just dismissing what Amber said. Gran would never have spoken to me like that. ‘Sorry. I forgot - you see things, don’t you?’

  Amber looked away. ‘Not really.’ So it was happening already - she was starting to deny her gift. I had reached her in the nick of time.

  ‘Amber. Listen to me. I know you see things other people can’t see. I’ve been there when you’ve seen things.’

  ‘Mum says I’m only dreaming.’

  ‘You’re not, Amber. I know, because I see things too. It’s a gift - most people can’t see what we see.’

  ‘You see things, too?’ Amber’s eyes became wide and round. ‘Did you see Granny too, at the funeral?’

  ‘No,’ I said, sadly, ‘I didn’t. But I absolutely believe that you did. Mum used to tell me I was dreaming, too - but I wasn’t. You are not dreaming, either. Granny taught me how to use my gift - the gift you have, too.’

  ‘But Granny isn’t here to teach me,’ Amber said, crestfallen.

  ‘No - but she taught me and I can teach you everything she taught me - if you like.’

  ‘Could you?’

  ‘Yes. I think Granny would like me to. But Mum doesn’t really like what we can do and nor does Caroline - that’s why they say you were dreaming. Granny used to teach me things, but if I told Mum any of it she'd say that if I kept repeating all Granny's rubbish she wouldn't let me go to her house anymore.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  ‘But if I don't tell Mum we talked about Granny, if I just tell her we watched TV and ate pizza she wouldn't stop me from coming over?’

  ‘Probably not.’

  ‘I won't tell her then,’ Amber said. ‘I like it here. I like all your stuff, and I like Thumbelina. Can we play with her now?’

  I glanced at my cat, honing her claws on the scratching post. ‘Yeah, I reckon she's up for a game. She likes the stuffed mouse, over there on the coffee table.’

  Amber snatched up the toy and before long she and Thumbelina were engaged in a frenetic game. I smiled to myself. I could see that Amber and I were becoming friends at last.

  16 the monday from hell

  It was the Monday from Hell. Just me and Robert in the office, and two phone lines. I was expected to cover both. That can be manageable, but not today. Whenever one phone rang, as soon as I answered it, the other one would ring, too. Robert never answers the phone - he just comes out and complains that I’m not fulfilling company policy to pick up within five rings. The callers I couldn't pick up all left messages. Some would be asking a question about something Sarah would normally deal with, so I’d have to sift through all her paperwork while my own work piled up in my in tray.

  ‘That was eight rings,’ whined one caller, with a voice that was the audio equivalent of sour vinegar. ‘It says on the website you're supposed to pick up in five.’

  ‘I'm sorry,’ I said, ‘but we're short-staffed today.’

  ‘Sorry. I know what that's like,’ she said. ‘I just wanted to know if my order was sent yet.’

  ‘Let me take your number, and I'll look into it and call you back,’ I said.

  I put the phone down and took Sarah's order file down from the shelf.

  Robert came over. ‘Tabitha, we don't tell the customers we are short-staffed,’ he said. ‘It's not professional and it's none of their business.’

  I disagreed with him. If you don’t tell the customers that there are unusual circumstances, wouldn’t they just think we were inefficient and useless all the time?

  I didn’t have time to go out for lunch, but Robert did buy me a sandwich, a very expensive one from Marks and Spencer and told me it was his treat, so I forgave him until he came out half an hour later and said, ‘Tabitha, your desk is a mess. People can see it from outside. Tidy it up, please.’ I poked my tongue out at his retreating back as he went back into his office. How I was supposed to find time to tidy my desk when I had to do the work of two people I just didn't know. The phone rang again. I snatched it up before he could come back and nag me about five rings.

  ‘May I speak to Tabitha Drake, please?’

  ‘Speaking,’ I said, resigning myself to having to be polite to a tedious salesperson selling something we didn’t want but who would keep me talking for ages trying to convince me to let him come in and see me, or someone who’d traced the source of their problem back to me and wanted it sorted. Right now. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘This is Detective Inspector Swan. You always seem to be out or busy at home so I thought I’d try and catch you at work. I’d really like to set up a meeting with you.’

  ‘This is really not a good time, Inspector,’ I said. Robert looked up sharply and listened to what I was saying. He seemed to have an unerring instinct for guessing when a call was not directly related to business. ‘I’m even busier at work. I’m not supposed to take personal calls, and anyway, I already told you I’m not interested.’

  ‘With all due respect, how can you know that without knowing what the job entails? Please, Miss Drake, all I’m asking is twenty minutes of your time, over coffee, or something stronger if you prefer, just to talk.’

  ‘All right,’ I sighed. Perhaps if I told him no to his face it might stop him from calling. And I could get a free gin and tonic out of him.

  ‘Tonight, then? I assume you get off at five? Is there a place near your office where we could meet?’ Eager, or what? I thought.

  ‘There’s a bar called Rumours, opposite the tube station, next to Marks and Spencer’s,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, yes, I think I know it. The one with the Harley Davidson suspended from the ceiling?’

  ‘That’s it. I’ll be there at five thirty.’

  ‘Great. I look forward to meeting you at last.’

  Robert’s ice blue eyes were freezing my socks off, and I was sure that as soon as I hung up I’d get a talking to about personal calls. I glanced at him, but he went into his office and closed the door.

  It was five thirty before the phone sto
pped ringing and I'd cleared everything. Robert, to his credit, did say he’d lock up, and so I hurried off to Rumours. I went to the bathroom first, and as I checked myself in the mirror, had a worrying thought. I’d arranged to meet this Inspector Swan, but I had no idea what he looked like. I hadn’t thought to ask him to describe himself.

  In a crowded bar like Rumours, popular with office workers, there could be any number of men drinking alone. I didn't want to approach all of them asking if they were Inspector Swan. I hadn't given him any indication of what I look like, either. Still, given the way he was hounding me, he probably already knew. Perhaps Gran had shown him my photograph. Perhaps they had a dossier on me at Scotland Yard. Perhaps all I had to do was sit and wait for him to find me. Which would suit me just fine, except I would have to buy my own gin and tonic, and sit in the bar all by myself, looking as if I had been stood up. I had a guilty feeling about doing nothing. He might think I was unreliable. Mum and Dad had always drummed into me that there were few sins worse than being unreliable. I knew I was going to have to make some effort to find him. I took a deep breath and silently asked spirit to point this guy out to me. I asked for some sign that would make him stand out from all the others. Then I took a good look around the room.

  The bar was not all that busy yet. I could see three lone men. There was no discernible sign that made any of them stand out to me. I was a bit late, so he must be one of them, surely? I assumed detective inspectors must be more reliable and organised than I was, so he had to be one of the three. There was the bike courier in tight speedos who was there every single night. I ruled him out. There was a young boy in a suit who barely looked old enough to be in a bar on his own, let alone have reached the giddy heights of Detective Inspector. The third was a middle aged man in a trench coat. He had thinning salt-and-pepper hair and a red face. Seated at the bar with a half pint glass in front of him, he was engrossed in The Times Crossword. That must be him, I thought. I gathered all my courage and went over. ‘Excuse me?’ I said.