by Dana Cameron
“How do you know about that?” Jane said. She slowed but didn’t stop coming toward us. “No one—”
“Oh, I’ve got my little ways. Now let me see.” She bent over, back to Jane, reaching a hand for one of my brushes.
Before I could move, Jane had reached the unit. She didn’t stop when she drew up to Morag, but grabbed her around the waist, as though they were fond schoolmates, swung her around, and all but scooped the other woman up, rushing her off the site. It was efficient, well timed, and a fatal mistake. I could barely tear my eyes from the scene, but felt compelled to turn around and see whether the reporter had picked up on any of this. He had, and was staring as shocked and excited as the rest. The entire crew gasped, astonished by Morag’s daring and scandalized by Jane’s response.
Let it stop here, I prayed. Jane, just calm down, Morag, just go away. Jane, just calm down—
I almost passed out with shock when it happened just like that. Almost.
Jane made it as far as the gate when for some reason she stopped dead, as if all her momentum had immediately been expended. Morag, on the other hand, seemed to swell with her outrage. You could almost see her skirts and peasant blouse expand like a balloon as she sputtered incoherently. I could only pick out the occasional word—assault, rights, police—from the verbal torrent. Jane stood there and took it, a still look of horror on her face.
I started to walk over, but Greg beat me to it. “Morag, it’s time to go.”
She drew away from him. “Don’t you touch me! I’ll press charges!”
Greg hadn’t touched her, hadn’t even raised his voice. “And then we’ll press charges for trespass and nuisance and anything else we can think of, so let’s call it quits, shall we? We don’t let other visitors behind the barrier unaccompanied, so you shouldn’t feel slighted, though I will say you’ve done your best to assure that you’ll never be invited back. Just go back to work, cool off, go have some lunch.”
“You’ll be sorry for this,” I saw her mouth. “No matter what else happens, you’re your own punishment, you two.”
“That’s fine, Morag.” Greg nodded. “It keeps it simple for Jane and me. Time to go.”
With that, Greg walked Jane away. Morag stared a few more moments, then turned and left. Slowly, the crew returned to their work, and although their murmuring was indistinct, I knew that they were all comparing versions of what they’d just seen.
Jane took Greg’s hand from her arm, but gently, and she went over to the reporter, who hadn’t moved a whit. I watched them talk for some time, Jane’s hands clenching behind her back. It seemed to be an argument, perhaps a negotiation, for after a long period of exchange, I saw them shake hands and the reporter left. Jane, looking purely white now, came over to my unit. Her dark hair was plastered to her cheek and her gait was unsure.
“Jane, I didn’t mean to—”
“You didn’t,” Jane said, sweating more from emotion than effort, I believed. “You didn’t even say a word, remember? It was all bloody Morag.”
I rubbed my forehead, then shifted uncomfortably. “What’s the reporter going to do?”
“He’d just come back to check on some details; the article should be out tonight or tomorrow, I guess. I got him to promise he wouldn’t write anything about the bones or the fight, unless it came up later, somehow, say if Morag makes a big noise about it. I expect we’ll be picketed, perhaps, by flocks of druids or leprechauns or what-have-you. I told him he could say that we are closing in on the burial and he gets first dibs on it, after we’ve removed the bones. I just don’t want that kind of press right now, not when the skeleton’s just been uncovered. I’ve also made a lot of other promises, some involving my firstborn, etc. I really don’t want this to get out yet.”
She paused and collected herself. “So that’s she, is it?” Jane nodded her head toward the small bit of exposed bone that had just caused so much trouble.
“Yes, I think so. Bit of occipital ridge showing, I guess.”
“Well, good, then. Excellent. Well done.”
Jane’s words were hollow and brittle. I looked up at her. She wasn’t looking at the bones but over at the gate.
“Jane—?”
“Jesus, Emma, did you see what I just did? When did I become so fucking awful?” She pushed her hair off her face and left a smear of dirt on her cheek.
I wiped some stray crumbs of soil from the edge of my trowel. “Jane, you’ve had a bad time, Morag was behaving badly—”
“Never mind Morag. I’m talking about me. I manhandled her, all but punched her on the nose. I hauled her off the site—”
As fine an example of frog-marching as I’ve ever seen, I thought. “She’d been repeatedly told to stay out of the area, she was endangering herself and the site. I’ve had the urge myself.”
Jane spun around to face me, her face ashy, her eyes filled with fright. “Yes, but the difference is, you never acted on it. You don’t give in to your baser instincts; I just did. In a horrible, public display of physical aggression. This is a civilized place, I’ve always thought of myself as civilized. I’m well aware that I’m bossy, a bit competitive perhaps, but I’ve never just…I mean, for God’s sake, Emma, I’m Labour.”
I really shouldn’t have. Jane’s face had gone from blank almost to the point of tears, and it was just plain inappropriate of me, but I couldn’t help myself. Maybe it was nerves, maybe it was just the way she said it.
I began to giggle.
Jane scowled. “Well, it’s true.”
The giggles got worse, turned into chuckles. She stomped her foot, very angry now, but mostly because she knew just how stupid she sounded. That just made me laugh all the harder.
Jane tried one last time, a feeble sop to her pride. “Good socialists just don’t—”
The tears were running down my cheeks now. I was nearly doubled over and could barely catch my breath. “They don’t…what? Don’t…assault the…masses?”
By this time, Jane had given up and now shrugged, a little abashed. “Okay, okay. That was a little pompous, perhaps…”
I straightened and wiped my eyes. “Jane, that was world-class.”
She grinned, still embarrassed. “It was hoped at one time that I would pompous for England, finally take the gold away from the Germans at the Olympics.”
“What happened?”
Jane shrugged again, this time tiredly, not bothering with the game anymore. “Oh, I don’t know. Lost my focus, I guess, or developed too much focus, perhaps. Emma, I don’t know what you’ve been thinking, how you’ve been getting through the past week or so, I’ve been so determined to just face this whole mess out. I’ve been so wrapped up that I haven’t been—”
“Don’t worry about it, Jane. It’s understandable.”
She shook her head. “Emma, let me finish, okay? I’ve been trying to make it go away by dint of will and that’s not going to happen. So I just have to get through it somehow. And I hate it but…I can’t do it alone.”
We stood quietly for a moment, almost as if out of respect for what Jane had just admitted.
“There’s always Greg,” I said. “If you still want him.”
Jane looked even more tired now. “I know, I know. We’ve got to have a long talk, as soon as possible. Something’s not right between us now—”
Wondering what the “something” might be sent a chill through me.
“—And I’m going to fix it.” She paused, thought about what she’d said. “We’re going to fix it.”
And then there came the moment that is never easily traversed, hanging between a momentous event and everyday life. We didn’t hug, we didn’t share a moment, we didn’t punch each other in the shoulder. Being who we were, we both looked away and then got right back to business.
Jane squatted by the grave shaft. “Well, the head’s in the right place, pointed toward the west, to see the second coming.”
“If it is in fact articulated.” I hated playing the devil’s
advocate, but it came as second nature to me.
“Oh, don’t worry, the rest of the postcranial skeleton will be there. And it’s your job to find it before lunch.”
I checked my watch. “That’s about ten minutes.”
“Okay, all right then, you slacker, you. You can have until the end of the day. Get to it.”
By the end of the day, I hadn’t exposed the rest of the skeleton—that was just too big a job—but I had uncovered the rest of the skull and what might yet turn out to be a clavicle and a couple of ribs, and took the measurements and a preliminary photo. The jaw hung, as if dropped in shock or embarrassment or horror, and even though I knew it had to do with the muscles deteriorating and letting go of the mandible after death, I wished it looked a little less dramatic. Dean Avery hovered around just beyond my peripheral vision, waiting till he was summoned to take more detailed photos. I was hard pressed to keep my attention where it needed to be and keep from bending over with him behind me. Finally, as much as I hated realizing how much I was letting him control my movements with his camera, I let him take a few shots of the skeleton at the close of the day.
I could tell that Jane was serious about what she’d said that morning, because instead of stopping at the pub, she suggested that we pick up Indian take-away and eat early. Even though I got the mildest thing that could be found on the menu and even though I loved the layered spices and textures of the food, by the end of the meal I was sweating and my face had gone red. Jane and Greg, each having ordered a vindaloo with three little red peppers next to the name on the menu, ate it with practiced and careless rapidity, with no apparent side effect other than both of them blowing their noses just once.
Greg shoved his plate away saying, “Good, that.”
“Do you mind if we leave you to your own devices again this evening?” Jane said after they cleared up. She continued confidentially, “I need to have a good long talk with Greg. There’s a lot I need to find out about where his head is at, lately.”
“Well, why don’t you stay here, then? I’ll go down to the pub, or a movie, or the library, or something.”
“No, we’ll go out. It helps me to think, if I’m outside. Besides,” she confided, “I want to keep an eye on the site. I don’t want that nutter Morag coming back and messing about.”
I shook my head. “She was rude this morning, but I think that was just excitement. I’m sure she wouldn’t—”
“I’m not so sure. Someone who can’t stay where she’s told…besides, I’m sure I made matters worse today and I just don’t want to take the risk. And it’s dried out nicely since yesterday. We’ll sit by the river and talk and see what we can’t sort out. You’ll be all right?”
“Oh, yes. Don’t worry about me,” I said, following them to the door. “I’ve plenty to keep me occupied for the evening. Take care.”
“Cheers, Emma,” Greg said, and shut the door behind them.
I figured I had an hour or two, at the least. I ran up the stairs to my room, grabbed the cassette tape that had been in Julia’s bag, a notebook, and pen, and ran back downstairs to the living room stereo. It took me a minute to sort out the controls, and I finally realized I had to flip the switch on the wall outlet before the stereo would power up, but then I shut the cassette into the stereo and settled back to listen to Julia’s card reading.
Chapter 17
THE TAPE WAS CHEAP AND THE MACHINE THAT HAD been used to record the session was probably only one generation away from reel-to-reel; the clatter of the plastic as the buttons were pushed and recording started was very clear, but the voices were fainter and it was difficult to catch all of what was being said over the mechanical hiss and vibrations so faithfully recorded along with Julia’s voice. Although I was alone in the house, I had turned the volume so low that I could barely hear it; merely listening to this private moment was intrusive enough, a discourtesy that made me feel like the worst kind of voyeur, but the possibility of broadcasting it for others was unthinkable. But I was in this for good or ill, so I got up, turned up the volume, rewound the tape to the beginning so that I could hear it properly, and retreated into the couch cushions. Curiosity and embarrassment, whether for me or Julia, I could not have said, mingled with the hope that I might get some kind of lead; I didn’t believe in anything the psychic might have predicted, but I did hope that Julia herself might give me a clue, a voice beyond the grave. The reading began.
“This is a card reading for…” There was a pause and a ruffling of paper. “Julia, done by Alicia at Tealeaves and Broomsticks on June__.” The psychic’s voice was high and firm, convincing, reassuring. Professional. “Julia, although I see you’ve had two other readings here before with Erin, we’ve never worked together, so I’ll begin by telling you about myself.”
A loud, rapid flapping noise filled the parlor at 98 Liverpool Road, and I realized that Alicia was shuffling cards repeatedly, very close to the microphone in the recorder.
“In addition to being gifted with the sight—I’m clairvoyant and empathic, I read from the heart—I also read auras and I do connect with the spirit world. My family has always read in this form to create balance, inside and outside you. If a spirit is walking with you on the other side and makes him-or herself known to me, I will take their messages for you.”
I frowned and tucked my foot underneath me; what was Alicia, some sort of answering service?
There was an indistinct childish murmur from someone; it must be Julia. I strained to hear her, and was a little surprised when I realized how much I’d assumed about her, that her voice would be loud or aggressive.
Alicia responded, “No, not ghosts, but spirits. These are all around us, they are always looking out for us, and they are benign. What you see on television and the movies is mostly nonsense made up to scare people and that…well, let’s not go into how that makes me feel. Anger clouds one’s gifts.” The shuffling of cards resumed, followed by three slaps of thin cardboard on table.
“I see here that you are a very grounded person, you feel at your best outside, and you need to be near nature to connect with the other side. Do you garden? No? When you are outside in your dreams, that’s when the spirits will find it easiest to guide you. Right now, I see you’re making transitions in your life, your career, and these are where your heart area lies, this is where you are truly you, and this is definitely where you will stay and be happiest.
“Do you have a particular area you’d like me to focus on today? Money, love, job—”
The small, girlish voice said, “Relationships.”
“All right then, relationships. If you ask me about a particular person, I will try and read what their intent is for you.” I heard Alicia take several deep breaths. “I am focusing on relationships for Julia now, focusing on Julia now, I am clearing my mind and making myself open, focusing on Julia.”
I heard more cards being laid briskly and murmurs from Alicia that were oddly reassuring, almost lulling. “You in the past, you in the present, you in the future, what surrounds you now—there’s a lot of energy around you at the moment and things are very unclear to you. A lot of energy. There’s so much activity on many fronts; you’re at the center of many, many things, some of which are known to you, some of which are not—”
Oh, lordy, I thought. That leaves just about everything in the world open to Alicia. Isn’t everyone at the center of a lot of things they don’t know about?
“—And I see that you’re just recovering from a financial setback, you are struggling at your job—no, you’re at university—”
“I’m doing a graduate course,” Julia corrected her in a near whisper.
“Yes, I see you struggling there, it’s harder than you thought, but you will eventually triumph there and in your chosen career. I see that you are a very creative person, someone who is involved in the arts in some way, the visual arts, painting, photography—?”
My ears pricked up at that last, thinking of Avery.
“No,
not really,” came the indistinct reply.
“Well, then that is something you will discover in the future.”
Well, none of that was very helpful, I thought. Anyone looking at a young woman with bags under her eyes and a bump on her middle finger from writing might tell that she was a student, and doesn’t everyone in graduate school struggle and worry about money? Although, from what I understood, things didn’t seem all that tough for Julia, academics-wise.
I heard Alicia slap more cards down. “People around you are confusing to you now, they are making demands of you and you’re not sure whether they have your best interests at heart.”
“Yes.” A sigh followed here.
“Well, I see that some do and some do not, but only you can decide that. You need to step outside yourself, clear your mind of the surrounding noise, static, all the confusion, and see how you need to respond here. With regards to your work, you carry a lot of stress with you. You tend to worry quite a lot, but what I can suggest to you is that you let things go, don’t focus on the negative or be judgmental, and everything will be made right.”
I yawned and looked down at my notepad. I had written nothing down yet.
Alicia continued, “You are on the cusp of many changes, new beginnings are manifested around you, and I find that you need to let go of what is valuable to receive what is valuable. It will be hard to walk away from what you know best, people will say that you are acting out of character, acting foolish in their eyes, but by doing so, you’ll become freer, in every way.”
“Could you possibly be a little more specific?” I noticed a note of impatience in Julia’s voice. “I’m really having a hard time with my boyfriend, my instructors, my family, and I don’t know what to make of it. I don’t know how to begin to fix any of it.”
“Part of the reason that things are so unclear for me is that they are so complicated for you,” Alicia chided. “Let me concentrate and I’ll tell you what I see.”
