Parliament of Rooks

by Karen Perkins

  Lara took a moment to gather her thoughts, then asked, ‘Did you live here?’

  One knock.

  ‘No. Did you work here?’

  Two knocks. Yes.

  ‘Are you the Grey Lady?’

  Nothing.

  ‘Are you a woman?’

  Silence.

  ‘Are you a man?’

  Two knocks.

  I gasped and pulled my hands away.

  ‘Oh calm down, Verity, that’s hardly conclusive,’ Jayne said.

  I couldn’t speak; an image of the man in my dream last night filled my head. I knew it was him; just knew it. The thought crossed my mind that this was the time to tell my friends about my dream, and how much it was affecting my thoughts, but I stayed silent. I wanted to keep him for myself; I was not yet ready to share him.

  ‘Jayne’s right,’ Lara said. ‘We need to be careful not to get carried away.’

  Jayne raised her eyebrows at her and Lara smiled, then became serious once again.

  ‘Spirits can lie, just as people can. We need to keep in mind the Law of Three. Ask the same question in three different ways and only trust the answers if they concur.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ Jayne said, albeit reluctantly. ‘And those answers didn’t meet that criteria.’

  ‘No,’ said Lara.

  ‘But the temperature,’ I said slowly, ready now to face the truth of it. ‘I could see your breath – I know it’s winter, but it isn’t that cold in here, despite what I said about the heating not working. Anyway, we’ve had the new portable heater going.’

  ‘I didn’t say nobody was here,’ Lara said. ‘I just said we shouldn’t blindly trust what they’re saying.’

  I shivered when I noticed she was picking the nail varnish off her nails, something she only did when very stressed or nervous. Grasper barked and chased his tail for a couple of circuits.

  ‘I think we’re done,’ Jayne said. ‘Grasper needs his night walk, we’re all spooked, and to be honest, I’m ready for my bed.’

  Lara looked as if she would protest, then said, ‘Yes, time to call it a night.’ She stood. ‘Sorry, Verity, I feel I’ve given you more questions than answers.’

  I hugged her. ‘Well, I’ll be here for quite a while – plenty of time to find those answers.’

  ‘Goodnight, Verity, hope you sleep well.’

  I jumped. For all the world, it had felt like somebody had blown a breath on the nape of my neck. I put my hand there but felt nothing.

  ‘What’s wrong, Verity?’

  ‘Nothing. Goodnight, sleep tight.’

  8.

  I put the rubbish out before the whole Rookery took on the smell of fish and chips, then climbed back upstairs to my bathroom, below my kitchen. It didn’t feel quite right down there, as if I hadn’t moved in on that floor yet, and I was glad to get back upstairs and climb into my sleeping bag and camp bed, despite the dog hairs Grasper had so kindly left both on and somehow inside the sleeping bag.

  As I thought this, he made a chuffing sound and I stroked his head; he’d stretched out alongside the camp bed, putting himself between me and the rest of the room.

  I wondered briefly if Jayne would mind leaving him here when she went home. Somehow he just fitted in here at The Rookery, and I felt safer for his presence. I knew there was no way she’d go without him though.

  ***

  Antony rolled away from me and I reached out to him, imploring him to stay in bed just a little while longer, even though I knew he was on the breakfast shift.

  I let him go, reluctantly, and he walked naked to the bathroom to shower.

  I stretched out in the bed, luxuriating in Egyptian cotton sheets, wondering if he’d have time to bring me a coffee before he had to leave for the hotel and its hungry guests.

  A flashing light caught my eye and I realised Antony had left his phone on silent. I rolled over, grabbed it and dropped it in shock as my eyes focused on an intimate picture of a stranger that had just been sent to my husband via WhatsApp.

  I scrolled through, and saw picture after picture, some of her, some of him.

  The images sliced though my brain, preventing coherent thought, and dropping a depth charge straight into my heart.

  I knew I could not hide from the truth any longer; no matter what I wanted the truth to be, it was time to face the reality of my life and my marriage.

  I scrolled to the main menu, and saw a list of names I didn’t know. Gina, Isa, Patsy, Sindi. I tapped on one and dropped the phone when I read the words written there amidst naked pictures of another woman. I love you so much, I can’t wait to marry you.

  ‘What?’ I whispered, amazed at how calm I was as I struggled to grasp what was happening. I guessed I was in shock; my voice hadn’t caught up with the emotions racing through my body. Whoever these women were, I wanted to leap through the phone, shove my arm down their throats, rip out their hearts and drive a stiletto heel through them. Then spit on them, chuck them on a fire, and feed them to the pigs. Then do something else that I wasn’t yet capable of thinking of at that moment.

  I dropped the phone, then belatedly realised I hadn’t cleared the screen and could still see the evidence of Antony’s betrayal, but I could not – would not – bend to his mistress, no, mistresses. Had he really proposed to someone? How many women was he swapping intimate pictures with? When and how had he met her – them? He was a chef in a five-star hotel and when he wasn’t working, he was with me. And even when he was working, I was at the reception desk; most of the time, anyway.

  When had he found the time and opportunity for one affair, never mind multiple betrayals? It certainly wasn’t at work. Yes, okay, hotels were notoriously incestuous, but I had my ear very definitely plugged into the gossip grapevine. He was not doing the dirty at work, I was sure of that. Anyway, everybody there knew we were husband and wife.

  Antony walked back into the bedroom, mostly dry and still naked after his shower. I glared at him, stared at his groin. I’d trusted him. Had he really stuck that elsewhere? Did I need to get tested? I looked away in disgust.

  My practical side crumbled, the emotion overtook me, and I scowled at him, pouring my hatred through my eyes until I found my voice.

  ‘Babes, what’s wrong?’ Antony rushed over, full of concern, and took me in his arms.

  ‘Get off me!’ I screamed. ‘Don’t touch me! You bastard, you cheating scum bastard!’ Too late, I thought about playing it cool, then dismissed my own recrimination. There was no way I could handle this coolly – my heart had just broken. If I didn’t take my anger out on him, I would take it out on myself.

  ‘What? What the hell’s wrong with you?’

  In silence, I pointed at the phone on the floor, still displaying his proposal to another woman.

  ‘Babes, babes, I’m so sorry. I can explain. I love you, I do, honestly. I’ve never even met her—’ he picked up and brandished the phone at me ‘—not in person, just playing online.’

  His words stabbed me and I lost the tenuous control I had over my temper. I grabbed his phone, opened the window and got ready to throw it on to the patio below.

  I was too slow. He caught me; grabbed hold of my arm – hard enough to make me scream in pain – but I did not care. I flicked the phone up, caught it with my left hand and launched it through the window. Not as hard as I’d have managed to do with my right arm, but it was still somewhat satisfying.

  Antony ran to retrieve it.

  I followed as far as the top of the stairs and thought I should have gone after him and locked him out as soon as he went into the garden, but I didn’t think of it in time. Instead I stood there, numb, unable to comprehend what had happened.

  We’d been married for thirteen years, and we’d never tired of each other. Our sex life was still healthy; we had no shortage of conversation or laughter. I’d thought we were happy; solid; soul mates. What a fool I was.

  He came back insi
de and climbed the stairs. Stood in front of me.

  ‘She’s nothing, it was just a game,’ he said. ‘It’s you I love, we can fix this.’

  I stared at him. Is he for real?

  My fists clenched at my sides and it took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to raise them. I wanted – so desperately – to lift them; to launch them at him; to push him; to thrust him back down those stairs; to kill him.

  I forced them to stay by my sides. I stared at my husband and his face changed. He wasn’t Antony any more, his features morphed to those of the man in my dream the previous night, and I relaxed. Heathcliff. Heathcliff was here.

  He held out his hand and took mine, then led me back to the bedroom, I climbed into the bed and he sat on the mattress next to me and stroked my hair; calming me, soothing me, sending me deep into sleep.

  Except I wasn’t falling into sleep, I was falling out of it.

  Slowly, awareness coalesced. I wasn’t snuggled in Egyptian cotton on a soft mattress; once again I was in a sleeping bag, on a flimsy canvas camp bed.

  I tried to roll over, but couldn’t. My mind was awake, I knew where I was, what had happened, the challenges that lay ahead; but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even twitch.

  But I wasn’t scared; I just watched myself sleeping in that bed.

  His hand stroked my hair. I knew I should be terrified, but I also knew I was asleep so I was not frightened; I was just aware, observing, fascinated.

  I grew more cognisant; realised my mind was awake even if my body was not. I enjoyed the feeling of relaxation and peace that I had rarely known before.

  I grunted as my body tilted, but I did not have the capacity to fend off whomever was there.

  My awareness grew and I understood the camp bed was sloped and skewed as if someone were sitting on one side of it. But there was no one there. I could no longer see my dream man.

  The bed lifted and I felt a hand in my hair again, smoothing it.

  My heart pounded, jerking me awake, and I stared wildly around the room.

  No one was visible. But I knew somebody was there. I stretched my hand down to find solace in the fur of Grasper’s head. He didn’t need any more encouragement and jumped up to join me on the bed.

  I realised he was just as confused as I was.

  9.

  ‘Blimey, that lad in the old Hovis ad had some legs, didn’t he? He almost ran up this hill,’ Jayne said, stopping for breath yet again.

  I didn’t need any persuasion to rest with her. ‘It gives new meaning to the words “high street”, that’s for sure. I feel more like Ronnie Barker than the Hovis lad – do you remember that TV sketch?’

  ‘Hill? More like mountain,’ Lara complained from behind us before Jayne could answer. ‘And these bloody cobbles will be the death of me.’

  ‘Well, they might be the death of one of your ankles,’ Jayne said. ‘Why on earth wouldn’t you just borrow a pair of Verity’s trainers?’

  ‘Heels, darling, heels,’ Lara said. ‘When they make a pair of trainers with heels, then I’ll try them. Until then, not a chance.’

  She caught us up, bags flung over each shoulder – she’d stopped at almost every shop on Main Street as an excuse to have a rest from the climb – and I took pity on her. ‘We’re nearly there, Lara. The pub at the top is just there – see?’

  ‘Pub?’ Lara said, hope in her voice. ‘Pub? Why didn’t you say so? Come on, Hans, help me up this last bit – it must be lunchtime and it’s definitely wine time.’

  ***

  Recovered, refreshed and replete, we left the Black Bull and made our way up the lane, past the church, and towards the parsonage for a gentler afternoon exploring the home of the Brontë sisters.

  ‘Oh wow, look at that graveyard,’ Lara said. ‘That is seriously spooky.’

  ‘It’s definitely atmospheric,’ Jayne agreed. ‘Shall we have a look around?’

  Lara was already halfway down the path, Hannah and Grasper in her wake, and Jayne grinned at our friend’s enthusiasm for a cemetery.

  ‘Are you all right, Verity? You’re very quiet today.’

  I squished my lips together in a pathetic attempt at a reassuring smile, then gave up. ‘Bad dreams,’ I said.

  ‘Antony?’

  I nodded. ‘That morning I found his phone and found out about those women. I know it was months ago, but it still hurts.’

  ‘Of course it does.’ Jayne put her arm around me and squeezed. ‘It devastated you – Lara and I have been really worried. But it’s a good sign you’re dreaming about it, it means you’re processing it, starting to deal with it, deep down.’

  ‘You sound like Lara.’ I attempted a laugh and faltered.

  ‘Well, I spend enough time with her.’ Jayne’s smile was genuine. ‘But seriously, Verity, dreams are how we deal with what life throws at us. You’ve not stopped since it happened; the divorce has only just been finalised, and you completed on the guesthouse two days ago. The past is now the past, and you’ve embarked on a different future; it’s no wonder you’re dreaming about him – you’re getting him out of your system.’

  ‘I hope so.’ I shuddered. I hadn’t told anybody just how close I’d come to pushing Antony down the stairs. Did the fact I dreamt about that moment mean I still wanted to kill him?

  ‘What? There’s something else,’ Jayne said, as astute as ever.

  I decided on the lesser of two evils. ‘Well, it was weird – I relived the phone call, the arguments, the emotion, everything—’ I broke off before I said too much. ‘But right in the middle of it, Antony changed.’

  ‘What do you mean, changed?’ Jayne sounded guarded.

  ‘He became ... well ... someone else.’

  ‘Did he look like Antony?’

  ‘No – nothing like.’

  ‘Well that’s a relief! I thought for a moment you’d changed the way you think about him, but it sounds like you might be getting ready to meet someone else.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Jayne. No one’s ever getting the opportunity to hurt me like that again.’

  ‘I know, honey,’ she said. ‘But don’t tell Lara or she’ll be signing you up to all the dating sites.’

  This time my laugh was genuine. ‘Not a bloody chance,’ I said. ‘Don’t you dare say anything to her!’

  ‘Anything about what?’ Lara said. ‘What’s up with you two? Come on and have a look at this place, it’s amazing.’

  We followed her into the graveyard, and I understood why she was so enthralled. Six-foot-by-three-foot stone slabs lay so close together not a blade of grass could grow between them. Just like my dream. If not for the names etched on them, it would look like a patio.

  ‘There must be ten names on that one,’ Lara said, pointing. ‘How deep would the grave need to be for ten coffins?’

  I shook my head, unwilling even to think about it.

  ‘Oh God, they’re so young!’ Jayne said. ‘Look – aged two, four, six, twenty six. I haven’t seen any age above thirty yet.’

  ‘Not a great place to live in Victorian times,’ I remarked, then jumped as a flock of birds took off as one from the nearby trees.

  ‘A parliament of rooks,’ Lara said. ‘How fitting.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘That’s what a flock of rooks is called, a parliament. They were believed to be the souls of the dead. It’s quite profound to see them in a graveyard.’

  We walked on in silence, all of us a little overawed by our surroundings.

  ‘Is that the parsonage?’ Jayne asked, pointing between the trees.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. After my dream it looked strange with the extension, although the addition now looked as aged as the rest of the building.

  ‘What a place to grow up, looking at this through your windows every day,’ Lara said. ‘Those poor children.’

  ‘I don’t think there were trees then, either,’ I said, then shrugged at
Jayne’s enquiring glance. ‘I did a bit of reading up on the village and its famous residents before I moved in.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. At least this bit has more character than the patio down there.’

  The graves here were still flat, but some were raised – either a couple of inches or a foot – resembling altars of death. I wondered what it would have been like as a child, growing up with intimate knowledge of a working graveyard like this, surrounded by death every day.

  ‘Apparently at the time of the Brontës, life expectancy was about twenty two,’ I said, falling into the defence mechanism of tour guide to avoid the emotion of it. ‘Patrick Brontë performed about three hundred baptisms a year, and then did the funerals for most of them, often only a few years later.’

  Jayne shivered and hugged herself. ‘Goodness, and think how many babies would have died even before baptism. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

  ‘It wasn’t a healthy time to be alive, that’s for sure,’ Lara said, staring at a stone filled with names. ‘Where’s Hannah?’

  I started at the panic in her voice, then spotted her. ‘Over there, look, by the upright stones.’

  Lara hurried off and I glanced at Jayne, both of us fully understanding of Lara’s sudden protective instincts. It was humbling to see so many children’s deaths recorded in stone.

  ‘Mummy, Mummy, stop it, I’m playing with Grasper.’ Hannah squirmed out of her mother’s arms and chased after the Irish terrier.

  ‘Grasper!’ Jayne called, and I glanced up at the sharpness in her voice. She was more spooked than I’d realised. ‘Here boy!’ The terrier ran to his mistress and she took hold of his lead then passed it to the child. ‘Keep hold of him, Hans. He shouldn’t be running around the graves, it’s disrespectful.’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Jayne,’ she said solemnly and clenched the leather leash with both fists.

  I looked up at the hillside, dotted with six-foot-high engraved monoliths to celebrate and mourn the dead. ‘They look like sentinels,’ I said. ‘Guarding the village below from the moors above.’ I realised I was lapsing into my first dream and quietened.