by Mark Edwards
He took a step towards her.
Chapter 23
Jessica drove her mother home and picked up Olivia and Caspar, both of whom seemed sad to say goodbye to Pete. He’d made Nutella on toast, Olivia’s absolute favourite. Smelling the sweet chocolate-and-hazelnut spread on her daughter’s breath as she picked her up jolted Jessica back to childhood. She and Izzy had gone through a phase when they were obsessed with Nutella, eating it morning, noon and night until Mum told them it was too expensive and that she was switching to a supermarket own brand, which both girls declared inedible. Jessica smiled as she recalled herself shouting, ‘This is the worst day of my life!’
On the drive home Jessica spied a grey car in her rear mirror and her foot slipped from the clutch as she was changing gears, making the car bump and shudder. But the grey car turned down a side street, and it wasn’t a Hyundai anyway.
It was hardly surprising she was jumpy. If Simon Parker was right, she was on the verge of making contact with her dead sister. Of finding out her secret.
She had given up trying to tell herself this was impossible.
Back at home Simon had finished setting up the equipment, including the monitor in Jessica’s bedroom, which displayed a surprisingly clear colour image of Olivia’s room.
Olivia was shocked to find the old man in the white suit in their kitchen, drinking tea.
‘Who are you?’ she asked, peering out from behind Jessica’s legs.
‘This is Simon,’ Jessica said.
‘Are you a magician?’ Olivia asked, eyeing his suit.
‘I suppose I am a kind of magician.’
Olivia frowned. ‘I don’t like magic. It’s a total rip-off.’
‘We hired a magician for Livvy’s fourth birthday party,’ Jessica explained, wincing at the memory. She hadn’t realised Olivia had absorbed Will’s scathing review.
Simon was giving Jessica a meaningful look, and she remembered that before taking Mum home she’d agreed that she would ask Olivia to play in her bedroom when they got back. Simon wanted to see if the measurements he had taken in Olivia’s room differed when she was in there.
‘Olivia, why don’t you go and play in your room?’
‘Okay.’ Sometimes children were surprisingly amenable.
Jessica waited till she heard Olivia’s footsteps reach the top of the stairs. ‘Anything?’ she asked.
Simon was able to check the readings using an app on his phone. He sat at the kitchen table, with the dog at his feet, and studied his screen, brow furrowed with concentration.
‘It’s too early to tell at the moment. Why don’t you try to relax while I keep an eye on this?’
Feeling like a stranger in her own home, Jessica went up to her bedroom and sat on the bed, in front of the little screen with its view of Olivia’s bedroom. It reminded her of when Olivia was a newborn and Will had set up a video baby monitor. Jessica had sometimes watched it for hours, fixated on the image of their sleeping daughter. She had been a good baby, much easier than Felix, who had been colicky and fractious. She and Will had congratulated themselves on getting it right with their second child, even though they knew it was all down to luck. Then, when Olivia turned two and transformed into the toddler from hell, they had regretted being so smug about their perfect baby. A horrible thought struck her. Had Olivia been so difficult back then because Izzy was visiting her? Was that the cause of the night terrors that had plagued her for several months a couple of years ago?
How long had Izzy’s spirit been around?
There was another question tickling the back of her head, one she couldn’t quite formulate. But it boiled down to this: Why was Izzy using Olivia? If she wanted to communicate with the living world, why go through a young child? And why, when she’d died in 2013, had she waited until now? It didn’t make sense.
Jessica was about to go downstairs to ask Simon what he thought when she saw something on the monitor.
Olivia was crouching on the floor of her room, rummaging through a little toy box. Every day when Jessica tidied Olivia’s room she would organise toys into their categories, My Little Pony in one box, Toy Story in another. The box Olivia was currently emptying contained all sorts of junk that didn’t belong anywhere else. She was clearly looking for something, taking out items and casting them aside, chucking old Happy Meal toys and stray building blocks across the carpet. Jessica could see her face, which went from frustrated to delighted when she found what she was looking for.
It was a necklace. She put it over her head. It was already fastened at the back.
Jessica wasn’t able to zoom in, but she could make out the shape of the creature that hung from the chain. She knew what it was.
It was Izzy’s old bat necklace, the necklace Jessica had removed from Olivia’s room when all this weird shit had first started happening. How the hell had Olivia got it back? The necklace had been in a box on top of the wardrobe here in the master bedroom. There was no way Olivia could have got to that box, even if she’d stood on a chair.
Jessica got up, feeling faint. But before storming into Olivia’s room she sent a text to Will.
Did you give Olivia that bat necklace back?
Will replied almost immediately.
Sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Are you OK? Xx
She hesitated, then replied: Yes, just checking something. Can you ask Felix if he got it down for her? Make it clear that we won’t be angry if he did! X
Jessica waited for what felt like minutes, before the answer came back.
He says no. Why are you asking? Are you talking about Izzy’s necklace? Xx
She didn’t respond. She threw the phone on the bed and hurried along the hall to Olivia’s bedroom, taking deep breaths and reminding herself not to go in all guns blazing. But she forgot her vow the second she entered the room.
‘Livvy, show me that necklace.’
Olivia clutched it, eyes wide with alarm.
‘Let me see, Olivia.’
Reluctantly the little girl let go of the pendant, giving Jessica a clear view. She had been right. She grabbed the chain and pulled it over Olivia’s head, cradling the bat in the palm of her hand. It was weird: she was sure she could feel it vibrating with energy. Isabel’s energy.
‘I took this away. How did you get it?’ she demanded.
Olivia burst into tears.
‘Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry.’ She pulled Olivia into a hug, murmuring apologies until she calmed down. Sitting on the floor, with Olivia on her lap, she spoke gently: ‘Can you tell me how you got it? I promise I won’t be cross.’
Olivia sniffed. ‘Auntie Izzy gave it to me. But she told me not to tell you.’
‘Another secret?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry, Mummy.’
Jessica had no idea what to do or think. There was nothing in the many parenting guides she’d read that told her how to deal with this situation. My sister’s ghost retrieved the necklace I confiscated from my daughter. What should I do? Jessica felt bubbles of hysteria rising inside her.
It was cold in the room again. She wondered if it showed on Simon’s app downstairs, the decrease in the ambient temperature or whatever he had called it.
‘Is she here now?’ Jessica asked.
‘Who?’
‘Auntie Izzy.’
Olivia shook her head, then stopped, as if she had something very important to say. Jessica waited, heart thumping so hard she was sure Olivia must be able to feel it.
‘Can I have a snack?’ Olivia asked.
Jessica squeezed her fists tight, just about managing to keep a lid on the hysteria. ‘Of course. Come on, come downstairs. Do you want a jam sandwich? You can eat it in front of the telly.’
She took Olivia’s hand and led her from the room. As they reached the top of the staircase, Olivia said, ‘I don’t want you to be sad, Mummy.’
‘I don’t want you to be sad either.’ She stopped walking and knelt beside her daughter. ‘But it’s very impo
rtant that you don’t keep any more secrets from me, okay?’
‘Okay.’ There was a long pause. ‘Can I have a jam sandwich and a packet of crisps?’
She put the TV on in the living room and left Olivia watching Peppa Pig. In the kitchen she took the jam out of the fridge and put it down with a thud in front of Simon, making him jump. He was wearing headphones, which were plugged into his phone.
‘So?’ she said, grabbing the bread and making a sandwich on autopilot. ‘Did you pick anything up?’
‘I’m not sure. It’s too soon to—’
She cut him off. ‘We don’t have time to be patient.’
‘Because your husband is back—?’
Again, she didn’t let him finish. ‘Because I need to know if it’s Izzy talking to Olivia. I can’t take any more of this.’
She explained what had happened upstairs, with the necklace.
Simon’s mouth opened then closed. ‘You’re saying . . . the spirit transported a physical item from one room of your house to another?’
‘Is that shocking? Larry used to do that kind of thing all the time.’
‘Actually, that entity, the one you call Larry, was only able to use its kinetic force to hurl or dislodge objects. There was no control. Nothing this . . . deliberate.’ He opened a notebook and scribbled in it. ‘This is fascinating.’
She dropped the jam-smeared knife, sending it clattering to the floor. ‘I don’t give a flying fuck if it’s fascinating. I want this dealt with. Now.’
He stared at her, shocked.
‘Wait here,’ she said. She took the sandwich and pack of Wotsits to Olivia, kissed the top of her head and returned to the kitchen, where Simon was now consulting a thick book that he must have had in his holdall. Caspar was standing at the back door, asking to be let out. Jessica opened the door and noticed how dark it was outside. Evening had arrived without her realising.
Simon licked his finger and turned the page. There was no sense of urgency about him. It was infuriating.
‘Well?’ she asked. ‘What should we do?’
‘Jessica, I don’t think we should rush this. If it is a malevolent spirit, we risk angering it. If it’s your sister, we might scare her off.’
Jessica was beginning to feel like a malevolent spirit herself. ‘I remember now, how you were like this when I was a kid. You hung around our house for weeks. And what did that achieve, huh?’
‘We made a lot of interesting discoveries.’
She could feel it. Her internal pressure gauge swinging towards red.
‘No. All you did was make us feel like lab rats. This is not interesting. I don’t care about furthering scientific knowledge. All I want is for this to be over, for my family to be free of all this insanity and . . . and for justice to be done. If you can’t help with that now, perhaps you should go.’
‘Jessica . . .’
‘Be quiet. So what do I need to communicate with the spirit? A Ouija board?’
‘No! That could be highly dangerous. Why don’t you let me do a little more research, and then . . .’
‘No, I don’t have time.’ She leaned over to grab his book. As she did, she noticed how he stared at her chest, his eyes zooming in on her cleavage.
‘Oh my God,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘You’re still the same. You say you made a lot of interesting discoveries, but the only thing I saw you discovering back then was how much you liked gawping at my sister.’
He stood up. ‘That’s outrageous!’
‘No, it’s true. I bet that’s why you hung around so long. So you could spend more time perving over a thirteen-year-old girl.’
He put his hands on his hips. ‘I’m not going to stand here and listen to this!’
‘Good. Because I’ve had enough. I’m going to deal with this myself.’
He tried to grab the book back but she dropped it in his holdall, picked the bag up and handed it to him. ‘I want you to go.’
‘What?’
‘You can pick up your equipment tomorrow.’
‘Jessica, you don’t know what you’re dealing with.’
‘Go!’
She grabbed the holdall back from him and took it with her, striding towards the front door. Simon followed.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ She yanked the door open and chucked his holdall on to the doorstep. Outside, the wind had picked up and leaves chased each other in a circle on the front path. As usual, there was no one around. Jessica quickly glanced left and right, looking for the grey car, but there was no sign of it.
‘You’re making a dreadful mistake,’ Simon said in an angry tone as he left the house, turning on the doorstep to say more.
‘Maybe,’ she said, shutting the door in his face, not allowing him to speak. ‘But it will be my mistake.’
Chapter 24
Jessica sat at Will’s computer, navigating to the photo album that contained the pictures of Isabel, thinking that doing so might help her focus. She flicked through, stopping on a photo in which Izzy looked unhappy and distracted; so beautiful, yet so sad. A month after this, Izzy was dead.
What had been going on in her life in those days? Had Jessica let her down during those final weeks? Could she have saved her, protected her? She racked her brain, trying to remember if Izzy had given her any clue, any coded cry for help. Was there something about Darpak’s behaviour that should have made Jessica suspicious? Jessica had been pregnant with Olivia and self-absorbed, hardly paying attention to anyone else. Yes, Izzy had been subdued and unhappy over Christmas, but the day Jessica told her she was pregnant she’d seemed much happier. Had she been putting on a brave face? Izzy had never wanted to ‘burden’ her little sister with her problems.
That was no excuse, though. Jessica should have noticed, should have seen that something was wrong.
Now was the time to make amends for her neglect. And if she managed to make contact with Izzy, it was also her chance to say sorry.
But how was she going to do it? Perhaps she shouldn’t have kicked Simon out . . . She frowned. It was too late now, and Jessica also had a feeling, an instinct, that Izzy was far more likely to talk if it was just Jessica and Olivia in the house. Family. No creepy blokes.
She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, trying to empty her mind of everything. She was sure she could feel something in the room, a shift in the atmosphere. Izzy watching. Waiting. But Jessica didn’t feel afraid like she used to when Larry was around. She was frustrated rather than scared. Because she wanted Izzy to talk to her.
‘Can you tell me?’ she whispered. ‘What happened?’
Something cold tickled the back of Jessica’s neck. Downstairs, Caspar barked. Up here in the office she could hear the wind chasing its tail around the chimney, and she was sure it grew stronger and louder as she waited.
She opened her eyes, sure she was going to see Izzy before her. But there was nothing.
Closing her eyes again she whispered, ‘Please, Izzy. Talk to me. Tell me: did someone push you?’
She waited, straining for a sign, a shift in the atmosphere. Expecting to hear a whisper in her ear. She was sure she could feel something, like a cold breeze caressing her face.
But again, when she looked, there was nothing there.
This was maddening. How could she get Izzy to communicate? A memory came back to her.
A rainy Sunday afternoon in winter. Mum was doing the ironing and there was nothing on TV. They were waiting for the top forty to come on the radio so they could listen to it and tape their favourite songs, something they did every week. Isabel went off and came back with a board game that she’d found under the stairs.
‘Come on,’ she’d said. ‘Let’s play Scrabble.’
Jessica groaned. ‘Do we have to? It’s so boring.’
‘No, it’s not! You just know I’m going to thrash you.’
There was no way Jessica, the one who was always top of the class at English, could resist that challen
ge.
They had a set here, didn’t they? They must have, although she hadn’t played it in years. Where would it be? She went down to the landing and looked up at the loft hatch, then pulled down the ladder and climbed up into the darkness. The light bulb had died, so she had to use the light from her phone to illuminate the piles of old toys and broken gadgets, and the Christmas decorations that would soon need to come down. Up here the wind was really howling. She felt something brush against her face and jumped back, banging her head against the low ceiling and clutching her chest. Something black skittered across the floor.
She was about to give up when she saw it – the Scrabble set poking out from beneath a stack of old books. She pulled it out and went back down the ladder, itching and trying not to imagine spiders in her hair, then knelt on the carpet and opened the box. She looked through the little square plastic tiles. They all seemed to be here.
She took a long, deep breath. Izzy had beaten Jessica at Scrabble that day. In fact, she had won every time, until it got to the point where Jessica refused to play any more. Years later, at a dinner party at the flat Izzy lived in before she married Darpak and they bought their big house, Izzy had brought out the Scrabble and suggested a game for old times’ sake. She had won, of course.
‘Mummy, what are you doing?’ Olivia asked, suddenly appearing at the top of the stairs. ‘What’s that?’
Jessica smiled up at her. ‘Hi, Livvy,’ she said. ‘Guess what? We’re going to play a game.’
‘It looks boring,’ Olivia said as they went into her room, and the echo sent a shiver through Jessica’s veins.
‘It’s not boring, I promise.’
‘What do we have to do?’ Olivia asked.
‘You’ll see.’ She leaned forward and squeezed her daughter’s hand. ‘It’s going to be fun.’
One by one, Jessica took the little square Scrabble tiles from the box and laid them out in rows, alphabetically, from the nine tiles bearing the letter A to the single Z piece. There were one hundred tiles in all, and Jessica arranged them in ten rows of ten, so they formed a square in the centre of the room. Olivia watched intently. At school she was learning all these letters now – she could easily recite the alphabet – but was more familiar with the lower-case figures. Every few days Olivia brought home a new book from school along with lists of common words she needed to learn: a, the, and, because. Jessica knew from helping her that Olivia would have no problem recognising each of these letters, even in upper case, but she had only turned four a week before starting school three months ago. She would struggle to spell all but the shortest, easiest words. But that was good. This exercise wouldn’t work with an older child.
