Chapter 33
In the morning I went to see Bryony Hughes. I hadn’t been back to the sixth-form college since I left after my last exam. I didn’t even attend my leaving prom. It’s funny, I remember my Talgarth days with almost uncomfortable clarity, but I have almost no recollection of my A-Level years. I spent two years of my life in this place but it seems to have left no mark on me. Did I have teachers, friends, enemies? I honestly can’t remember. It’s as if it happened to someone else.
The buildings are the same: a series of concrete rectangles with absolutely no character at all. The opposite of Talgarth really. There was no heady school atmosphere here, no pictures of teams or flyers for plays, just corridors and classrooms, identifiable only by letters and numbers. As I signed at reception I watched a group of students slouch past. They looked so grown-up, as if far more than a few months separated them from the blue sweatshirts at Talgarth. Two of the boys had beards and the girls exuded the type of sophisticated glamour that I would have thought unobtainable at eighteen — or at any age, come to that. I wondered what they’d think of me in my non-uniform uniform of dark trousers and jacket and my name badge saying ‘DS Kaur, Sussex Police’, but I needn’t have worried. Not one of them even registered my existence.
I was directed up to the English office. No student guide in this place, just a badly photocopied floor plan. Eventually I found the room on the second floor, knocked and was told to come in. Miss Hughes was on her own, sitting at a desk in a room whose walls were entirely papered in playbills and Shakespeare quotes. Immediately, as if it had been highlighted by an eager student, I saw the line from The Tempest: Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
Bryony Hughes was probably in her late-fifties — nearing retirement age, anyway — but she didn’t have the harried look of most older teachers. She sat serenely in her chair waiting for me to explain why I was there. I remembered Clare’s description — ’long, grey hair, lots of silver jewellery’ — but that didn’t really do Bryony justice. Her hair was silvery but it was contained in a neat bun and she didn’t have any jewellery that I could see. She wore a cream polo-neck jumper and — a quick glance under the desk told me — black trousers with flat black shoes of the type favoured by nurses or nuns. She had pale blue eyes and she didn’t blink enough.
Bryony didn’t ask me to sit down but I did so anyway. I moved my chair back so that I didn’t look like a pupil who had been called in to discuss missing coursework. ‘I’m DS Harbinder Kaur,’ I said. ‘I’m investigating the deaths of Ella Elphick and Rick Lewis.’
She nodded as if acknowledging this.
‘Did you know Ella and Rick?’
‘Ella was a dear friend.’ She had a low voice with a hint of a Welsh accent.
‘And Rick Lewis?’
‘I knew Richard a little.’
‘He wasn’t a dear friend then?’
‘Richard was a dedicated teacher,’ said Bryony, with dignity. ‘He was a valued colleague.’
‘When did you last see Ella?’
‘A few weeks before she died. We went for a walk and some spiritual sustenance.’ She was the sort of person who would never admit to going out for a meal.
‘Spiritual sustenance?’
‘We went for a walk by the sea. There is something so healing about being near water.’
‘Why did Ella need healing?’
Was it my imagination or was the gentle voice becoming a little strained? ‘Teaching can be exhausting work. You give all the time and sometimes you get little in return.’
‘I heard that you had fallen out with Ella.’
‘Who told you that?’ Serenity definitely ruffled now.
‘Is it true?’
‘Good friends sometimes disagree.’
‘What did you disagree about?’
She hesitated and rearranged the papers on the desk. They looked like essays. I’ve never understood how you can write so much about books.
‘We disagreed on teaching methods,’ she said at last.
‘Was it a serious argument?’
‘No, just a debate about pedagogy. We both cared so much about our students that sometimes emotions were heightened.’
‘Do you teach a student called Patrick O’Leary?’
‘He comes to my creative writing class.’
‘The after-school group? He doesn’t seem the type.’
‘He’s a talented writer,’ said Bryony. ‘I’ve learned not to judge by appearances.’
That was a definite dig at me. I smiled at her blandly. ‘Who else comes to this class?’
‘Just a few students. A small and select group.’
I didn’t like the way she said this. ‘Who’s in this select group?’ I asked.
‘Patrick and three girls. Natasha White, Venetia Sherbourne and Georgia Newton.’
‘Georgia? Clare’s daughter?’
‘Clare Cassidy? Yes, I believe so.’
‘Do you know Clare?’
‘I’ve met her at various teacher training days.’
‘Were you on the course at Hythe in July?’
‘Yes.’ She fixed me with that blue stare again.
‘Do you remember anything about Ella on that course? Anything between Ella and Rick?’
‘I never listen to gossip.’
That seemed to answer the question. ‘When did you last see Rick Lewis?’ I asked.
‘I really can’t remember.’ She looked at her watch. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a class in a few minutes.’
I stood up but she remained seated. ‘You’ve got an angry aura,’ she told me.
‘Thanks very much.’
‘But then again,’ her voice was very soft now, ‘it must be hard coming back here.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I remember you as a student,’ she said.
‘I didn’t do English A-Level.’
‘No, but I remember you all the same.’
‘I don’t remember you, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, I think you do,’ said Bryony Hughes. ‘I think you do.’
I thought about this gnomic remark (I’d looked the word up) all the way back to the station. I also thought about the objects on the bookshelf behind Miss Hughes: a KitKat mug full of pens, a Collins dictionary and thesaurus, and a black stone, very like the one found on R.M. Holland’s desk, beside Rick Lewis’ dead body.
‘What happened next?’ Ah, the perennial, unanswered question. That is the very essence of narrative, is it not? ‘Please read another page’, begs the child at bedtime. Anything to ward off the horrors of the dark. And you have not long left childhood behind yourself, my dear young friend. It is only natural that you should want to know what happens in the next chapter.
Another year passed. I became engaged to Ada, the daughter of my tutor. I started work on my thesis, which dealt with the Albigensian heresy. I also taught undergraduates, though, in truth, I was a solid and uninspiring lecturer. I heard them whispering about me sometimes, caught the words ‘Hell Club’ and ‘murder’. But I chose to dwell in the light that year. And I acquired a companion. Yes, the very animal that you see before you in this train carriage. What a friend dear Herbert has been to me in my trials. Truer and more steadfast than any human acolyte.
Autumn passed and with it Halloween. I confess I breathed a sigh of relief when the dread day passed without incident. But then, several weeks later, I heard the bedders talking in the corridor and caught the name ‘Collins’ and the word ‘killed’.
I burst out of my room and demanded, with a passion that surprised them, ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Mr Collins, from King’s, as was, sir,’ came the reply. ‘We were talking about the way he died. So unnatural.’
‘What happened?’ I said, aware that a coldness had swept over me
. Collins, the companion of Lord Bastian, had been a student at King’s.
‘He was killed, sir. He was driving his own carriage across the fens. He set off from Ely, as right as rain, heading for Cambridge. No one knows what happened but his horse was found a day later, running wild, still harnessed to the carriage. A search party was sent out and Mr Collins was found in a ditch. His throat had been cut, sir.’
‘When was this?’
The older of the two bedders answered me. ‘It was on Halloween night, sir. I remember because Bert, who was one of the searchers, said it fair chilled the blood to see the horse galloping on his own as if the hounds of hell were after him.’
It was another week before the newspaper cutting reached me. ‘Cambridge man found murdered on the fens.’ And scrawled across the headline the handwritten words, ‘Hell is empty.’
Part the sixth
Georgia
Chapter 34
We invoked Miss Elphick’s spirit on the night of her funeral. It felt right somehow. Mum was going out with Debra so Tash and Vee came round and made all the right ‘Hi, Clare’ noises as if we were preparing for a jolly girls’ night in. I can tell Mum thinks that they are suitable friends despite Vee probably being too posh and Tash too flaky. Patrick cycled over and waited around the corner until Mum was out of sight.
I was a bit worried about seeing Patrick again in case it was awkward. I mean, after he’d told me about Mr Lewis and I’d sworn on the circle and everything. But it was fine. When we’re all together, I kind of take the lead. It’s funny because I’m not like this in any other aspect of my life. No teacher has ever singled me out for my leadership qualities and I’ve never even been on a team, let alone captained one. But in the circle, I seem to know what to do. Tash always backs me up. She’s the supporter, Patrick the doubter, Vee the nervous one. That night was no exception.
I had prepared the room. I’d taken out anything with negative connotations: the newspaper (worldly concerns), the suede cushions (dead animals), the picture of my dead great-grandfather (the auras might get confused). The coffee table was clear except for three candles on a black saucer and a bowl of herbs. Miss Hughes said that it should be thyme but the best I could do was some mixed herbs and one of Mum’s packets of potpourri (she always gets this sort of thing as an end-of-term present). I put a picture of Miss Elphick next to the candles. I’d printed it out from her Facebook page and it showed her at some sort of Christmas party, wearing a paper hat. I’d chosen it because she looked happy and because she herself must have liked it if she’d chosen it as her profile picture.
Venetia immediately started making difficulties.
‘What if her ghost appears?’ she said. ‘It’ll be so scary.’
‘There is no such thing as ghosts,’ I reminded her. ‘Simply the spirits of those who have gone before.’
‘We’re sending Miss Elphick towards the light,’ said Tash, eating one of the crisps I’d put out. It’s important to fulfil our physical needs, too.
‘Her spirit won’t appear,’ said Patrick, leaning over and grabbing a handful. ‘We don’t have that sort of power.’
‘We do if we’re together in the circle,’ I said. ‘You just have to believe.’
‘What about Herbert?’ said Tash. ‘Poor little darling.’ Tash loves Herbert and so does Vee, despite being allergic to dogs. Even Patrick thinks he’s cute. Herbert was looking up meltingly. Tash thinks that he loves her back but really he just wanted a crisp.
‘Can he stay with us?’ said Tash.
‘He’ll make me sneeze,’ said Venetia. Which isn’t really true because even genuinely allergic people aren’t allergic to poodles.
‘I think we’d better lock him out,’ I said. ‘He’ll be a distraction. He’ll be quite happy in the kitchen if I feed him.’
I tempted Herbert into the kitchen with a Pringle, then I put some dog food in his bowl. Mum watches his weight even more carefully than she watches her own but I didn’t think she’d notice if I gave him an extra meal. He always licks the plate clean.
Back in the sitting room I lit the candles, scattered some herbs on the table and turned out the lights. We held hands; Tash’s was sweaty but Patrick’s was dry and his grip was extremely strong.
I began the invocation taught to me by Miss Hughes.
‘You who lived yesterday. I call you from my mind to yours. Come back from the shadows into the light and show yourself here.’
We waited. The candles flickered.
‘I’m scared,’ whispered Vee.
‘Shh!’
At first I thought Patrick was right and it hadn’t worked. But we didn’t break the circle. We just stood there, holding hands, and I repeated the invocation. Come back from the shadows into the light and show yourself here. Then, suddenly, there was a cold chill. I could feel Tash shivering next to me. The room grew colder and colder. The door opened and shut. The candles blew out and we were in darkness.
‘I don’t like it,’ said Vee. ‘Make it stop.’
‘Don’t break the circle,’ I said.
I waited for a full minute before saying the spell to free Miss Elphick’s spirit.
Ella. You who lived yesterday. Thank you. Now fly away from this earth and join the world of spirits.
Immediately, the room felt warmer. I could hear us all breathing in the darkness, Herbert whining softly from the kitchen. I waited for a couple of beats and then let go of the hands to light the candles again.
We looked at each other. We were all somewhere between shock, tears and laughter.
‘Wow,’ said Tash. ‘That was . . . intense.’
Patrick laughed out loud.
‘I guess she’s gone now. Ella, I mean.’
‘I think so,’ I said. I went to turn on the overhead lights and let Herbert in. He went straight up to the table and tried to eat the leaves. I picked him up and cuddled him. He felt warm and very alive.
Venetia was still shaking. ‘Was that it? Was that her ghost?’
‘Of course it bloody was,’ said Patrick. ‘Didn’t you see the candles blow out?’
‘It’s all good, babe,’ Tash put her arm round Vee. I felt a momentary twitch of jealousy, as I always do if those two get too close. ‘We freed her spirit. She’s at peace. We won’t be troubled again.’
Patrick looked at me across the table.
‘What do we do now, Georgie?’
I picked up the photo of Ella, folded it and put it in my pocket. ‘Let’s put the TV on,’ I said. ‘Watch something comforting like Friends. I’ll order the pizzas.’
Patrick left after the pizzas. He had to cycle home and it was getting cold. Tash’s mum came to collect the girls at ten thirty.
‘Will you be all right on your own?’ Tash whispered but, to tell you the truth, I was looking forward to it. As soon as they’d gone, I switched off the sitting room lights and went upstairs. Herbert stayed in the hall because he was waiting for Mum. I washed, did my teeth, got into my pyjamas and into bed. Then I got out my laptop and started to write on MySecretDiary.
Tonight we summoned a spirit. It sounds almost mundane put like that. Part of a ‘to do’ list. Do homework, put recycling out, summon a spirit. But, in truth, it was the most extraordinary thing that has ever happened to me. Epic. Life-changing.
I prepared meticulously. I cleansed the room, lit candles and strewed herbs. Then we formed a circle, held hands and spoke the invocation. At first I thought it hadn’t worked but then I felt a supernatural chill filling the room. The door opened and shut. Heaven and hell were roaring in fiery splendour. The realm of the dead lay open and gaping. All the angels and devils were here, in the room with us. I knew that, if I let myself, I would become utterly consumed by the fire. I spoke the words of release and, as quickly as it came, the spirit left us. The atoms rearranged themselves and we were just four teenagers holding h
ands. But I know that I, for one, will never be the same again.
I read through this piece. I thought it was good. I liked the juxtaposition of the ‘to do’ list and the realm of the dead. Perhaps it was a bit melodramatic but what had happened was melodramatic. We had opened the portal to another world, after all. I pressed ‘publish’.
Shortly afterwards I heard Mum come in and take Herbert out for his last walk. I shut my laptop and picked up the Harry Potter book that is always beside my bed. I was about a chapter in when Mum knocked on my door. I asked if she’d had a good time. She said that they’d talked about Ella. I wanted to tell her that Ella was at peace but that would involve too much explanation. I said something soothing and she kissed me goodnight.
I waited until the hall light was off and then I got out my laptop again.
Chapter 35
We honestly thought it would be all right after that. We’d sent Ella towards the light and there would be no more deaths. Mum continued to seem stressed though. On the day after the summoning, she disappeared all morning and came back behaving very oddly. Ty and I cooked her Sunday lunch and she didn’t seem all that grateful. Afterwards she was really weird, saying that Ella’s killer might be ‘interested’ in her too and that we had to be very careful. I wanted to tell her that there was nothing to fear but fear itself but I just ended up saying that I was sure everything was going to be OK. She agreed, but without much conviction. She was distracted anyway because it was fireworks night and Herbert was having fifty fits.
I promised Mum that I wouldn’t come home on my own, etc., etc. I had to miss the creative writing class that week but I gave Patrick one of my short stories to show to Miss Hughes. Patrick walked me to the library to meet Mum and I could see that she wasn’t best pleased to see us together. It was a claustrophobic week all round and I was glad when Dad came to collect me for the weekend. Even then, he had to take Friday afternoon off and drive to the school to collect me. Mum wasn’t going to risk me going on the train as usual. What harm could possibly come to me on a train?
The Stranger Diaries Page 23
