Please Release Me

by Rhoda Baxter

For a moment, Grace wasn’t sure, but then she had nothing to lose. Sally was there anyway. She turned the DVD off and set off to show Sally around.

  ‘I can’t go into the garden, you know,’ said Sally conversationally. ‘I didn’t go out there when I came to view the house. It was raining, remember.’

  ‘So it was,’ said Grace, looking at the rectangle of darkness that was the back window. ‘So, you can only go to places where you’ve been when you were … walking.’

  ‘When I was properly alive,’ Sally supplied. ‘Yes. It’s really weird. I think about a place I want to be and … I’m there. Here. Watch.’

  She disappeared. One minute she was there, the next, she wasn’t. Grace stared at the empty spot. She waved a hand in it and immediately felt silly. Just as she withdrew her hand and shook her head, Sally reappeared.

  ‘Not a lot happening in the hospital,’ said Sally. ‘I’ve just been there. All quiet.’

  If Sally really could travel like that, it was incredible. ‘How did you do that?’

  ‘I don’t know how it works. It just does. I think about a place, picture it … and I’m there.’

  ‘What if something’s changed since you saw it?’

  ‘Doesn’t make a difference. I can see the small changes you’ve made here, can’t I?’

  ‘What if it’s a big change? Like a wall being taken down or an extension or something.’

  ‘Why are you so interested?’

  ‘Because it’s amazing,’ said Grace. ‘You’re a ghost, but you’ve got a connection to the living world. The questions you could answer …’

  ‘I’m not someone’s guinea pig,’ said Sally. ‘Anyway, I haven’t come across anything that’s changed in any major way.’

  Grace wondered if that was true or because Sally just couldn’t see the new bit, but she refrained from saying so. ‘Sorry.’

  They went around the whole house, Sally pointing out features and furniture worth highlighting and suggesting ways that the rooms could be improved. When she got to Grace’s room, she said, ‘Why do you sleep in here? What’s wrong with the main bedroom?’

  Grace laughed. ‘It’s just habit. That’s all. I think of the main bedroom as my mum and dad’s.’

  Sally looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Sounds like you need to have a more dramatic change for that room. Something that will make it look completely different.’

  The words were eerily similar to what Margaret had said about her life. Making a dramatic change there hadn’t been such a great move.

  They went back into the main bedroom. Sally stared thoughtfully at it for a moment. Grace sat on the bed. She wondered what Sally saw. With that changed perspective, the room looked hopelessly old-fashioned. Everything was decades old. Including the mattress, she realised. She needed to add that to the list of things to replace.

  Sally started talking. Grace had intended to just get on with painting and not do much else, but Sally’s enthusiasm was catching. Sally had a good eye for colour and light. In fact, the advice she’d dispensed so far would probably cost a fortune coming from an interior designer.

  ‘You’re really good at this,’ Grace said, admiringly.

  Sally looked surprised. Her forehead creased as she considered it, her head to one side. ‘I suppose I am, really,’ she said. She sat on the bed, beside Grace. ‘I love this kind of thing. I used to read decorating magazines all the time. When Peter bought our house, it was terribly old and flaky. I had a brilliant time redecorating it.’

  ‘I bet you did,’ said Grace. ‘I’ve not seen it, but I’m sure it’s lovely.’

  Sally shot her a quick glance. ‘It is lovely,’ she said. ‘A great improvement, even if I do say so myself.’

  ‘I remember you gave me advice when you came to view the house.’ Not that she’d appreciated it at the time.

  ‘Yeah. I do that. A lot of the clients take up my ideas and it does make a difference. People underestimate how much difference a good first impression can make.’ She sounded more like an estate agent now.

  Grace smiled. ‘Is that why you’re an estate agent? Do you like seeing places?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that, but yes. I guess it is. When I see a house, I can see it’s potential. D’you know what I mean? People live in their houses and mould it to themselves. They get so used to it, they can’t see it any other way. When I show people round, I like to paint a picture of how the place could be. You know, show them the dream.’ Sally’s eyes sparkled, her expression intense.

  ‘I see what you mean, I think.’ Grace was starting to understand what drew Peter to this woman. When she talked about her passions, she changed. Her whole body seemed to vibrate with energy. It was fascinating to see.

  Her gaze fell on her mother’s clock, with the big digital display so that her mother could read it without her glasses. ‘Oh my goodness, is that the time? I’m sorry, Sally. I’m going to have to go to bed. I’ve got work in the morning.’

  ‘I didn’t realise it had got so late. No body clock,’ said Sally. ‘I guess I’ll head off. Thanks for … letting me hang out here.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ said Grace.

  ‘Night,’ said Sally. She vanished.

  Grace stared at the space that Sally has vacated. That evening had been more interesting and eventful than an evening spent by herself. If she wasn’t careful, she might actually get to enjoy spending time with Sally. That would be so very wrong.

  Peter got to his front door and realised that he’d left his briefcase in the car. Having retrieved it, he looked up as he closed the car door. A woman in a blue coat and sort of peculiar hat was standing by the streetlight on the corner, watching him. There was something familiar about that hat and coat combination. Where had he seen it before? Was it near work? He took a step towards the woman, but she turned and walked away. Odd. He must try and catch her the next time he saw her.

  As he walked into the house, he checked the thermostat. After all the chills and shivers last night, he was convinced he was coming down with something, but he was feeling fine today. He’d even forced himself to go climbing after visiting Sally. If he really was ill, he’d be aching more than this by now. He shrugged. There was a post-it note with Val’s number on. He still had to ring her. There was no point putting it off.

  ‘Get a grip Peter,’ he said out loud. It was past nine now, so his sister’s children would be in bed. Hopefully, she hadn’t fallen asleep on the sofa yet. The phone rang, far away in Val’s comfortable suburban home.

  ‘Hello?’ She sounded tired.

  ‘Val. It’s me.’ When she didn’t respond immediately, he added, ‘Peter.’

  ‘I know. To what do I owe the pleasure?’ Her answers were too curt and polite. She was annoyed with him.

  ‘I’m just phoning to see how you are.’

  ‘I’m okay thank you. We got your card and the gift voucher. Thanks for that.’

  ‘Look, Val, I know I haven’t come to see you. I’m really sorry, but time ran away with me, you know how it is.’

  ‘Yes, Peter. I understand how it is.’

  He could see her in his mind’s eye, frowning while she fiddled with a lock of hair. Val had come to visit a couple of times while he was in hospital. He’d barely registered her presence, he’d been so worried about Sally. With a start, he realised he hadn’t spoken to her since she and the premature baby came home.

  ‘Val. I know I’ve been a crap brother and an even worse uncle. Can I come visit? I haven’t seen you guys in ages. And I’d like to meet the new one, obviously.’

  ‘Um … okay. When did you have in mind?’

  ‘This weekend? Sunday?’

  ‘Okay.’ Her tone lightened a little bit. ‘It would be … It will be nice to see you Peter. It’s been a while and we’ve both had some tough times.
’

  Peter let out a breath. She was softening. That was Val all over – prickly but not able to hold a grudge for long. ‘Yes. I’m sorry. It’s been so long.’

  Val sighed. ‘It’s my fault too. What with the kids and all.’

  ‘There just aren’t enough hours in the day, right?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Val’s voice lightened again, as though she was smiling. ‘How are you anyway?’

  ‘I’m okay. Muddling along.’

  ‘And Sally?’

  ‘No change.’ What else was there to say? He added conversationally, ‘It’s our wedding anniversary in a couple of weeks.’

  There was a pause from the other end while Val thought of something suitable to say.

  ‘We don’t really have plans to celebrate,’ said Peter. ‘I might get a takeaway. I asked Sally what she wanted to do, but she’s giving me the silent treatment.’

  ‘Peter …’

  ‘You have to laugh,’ said Peter. ‘Otherwise you can’t carry on.’

  To his surprise, Val laughed. ‘I feel like that about my life too, sometimes.’ When she continued, she sounded less weary and more like the sister he remembered. ‘You should come for tea on Sunday. We can eat the same time as the kids then and we might even get a chance to chat after we’ve got them to bed.’

  ‘That sounds great. I’ll bring wine, then.’

  ‘You read my mind.’

  ‘I’ll see you Sunday,’ he said. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

  There was a sound in the background. ‘Shit. One of the kids is awake. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Bye. Give the kids a kiss from me.’

  ‘Will do. And Peter …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Thanks for calling. I really appreciate it.’

  When he hung up, Peter felt better. He hadn’t realised quite how guilty he’d felt about not visiting. Now that he was doing something about it, he felt happier already. He and Val were very different people, but they got on fairly well considering they were siblings. As for his nephews, he loved them more than he’d thought possible.

  He let himself into the front room and poured himself a whiskey. He stood in the light of the standing lamp and examined a photo of himself and Sally. He had hoped to have children one day. His future as he’d imagined it had always involved a house, a wife and a family. He’d had a few girlfriends, but by the time he met Sally, he’d been single for so long that he’d lost hope of settling down for long enough to have a family. Sally had swept into his linear, database centred world and thrown it into a breathless whirl of light and colour. She had made him feel like anything was possible. And now she wasn’t there anymore.

  He had to make sure he bought something suitable for his nephews. Sally would have been able to help him with that. She was an excellent shopper.

  ‘I wish you were here,’ he said. ‘I need help with some shopping.’ He thought about Sally, arms laden with bags from clothes shops. Would she really know what to get for his baby nephew? He tried to remember how she’d responded to his nephews when she’d met them. He realised she’d only met his family once before the wedding and it had been an awkward affair. He’d apologised to her for the volume and pace of the kids as they ran around the house.

  ‘Maybe not,’ he said to the picture. ‘I’m sure I can think of something.’ He gulped down the rest of the drink, relishing the burn of it. ‘It’ll be nice to see Val again. Now that I’ve spoken to her, I’ve realised how much I missed her.’ He remembered that Val didn’t approve of Sally. How would they have got on eventually? Val would have made an effort to get on with his wife. Wouldn’t she?

  The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He turned round. There was no one there. He turned the main light on. Still nothing. He looked at his glass.

  He shouldn’t have any more, especially as he wasn’t feeling very well. He reached for the bottle to put it away and felt a chill so intense that he almost dropped it. He gasped. Once the bottle was back in its place, he waved his hand, trying to find the draught. Nothing. Strange.

  He turned out the lights and left the living room, trying not to look behind him. Even in the kitchen, he felt as though someone were watching him. ‘Get a grip, Peter. You’re just getting paranoid.’ Nevertheless, he dumped his glass in the sink and hurried upstairs.

  In his room, the feeling of being watched vanished. He took a couple of painkillers and went to bed. After a few minutes, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. He climbed out of bed to pull on a pair of socks and a T-shirt. He burrowed into the bed until only his face was exposed to the chilly room. The feeling of being watched was there again. He clamped his eyes shut and tried to sleep.

  Eventually, he dreamed of being stalked by something he couldn’t see.

  Sally was bored. She’d never visited Peter at work, so she couldn’t go watch him. Grace was at work too. The nurse’s station was too busy for them to gossip and the TV in Mr Wright’s room was off. There was one place where something was always going on. Sally whisked herself away.

  There was no natural light in the inside of the casino. The bright lights looked the same day or night. Sally tried to breathe in the smell of the place before she remembered she couldn’t. It always smelled the same. Carpet cleaner, air freshener at the start of the night, then alcohol, perfume and sweat by the evening.

  It was still early for the punters, but there were a few people already at the slot machines. Sally spotted a woman who looked familiar from before. She was a tallish brunette dressed in Marks and Spencer’s clothing who fed token after token to the garish machine, trying to work out the system. Sally stood behind the woman, a small distance away. The woman looked around, pulled her collar closed and went back to what she was doing. Soon she was preoccupied again, hypnotised by the machine.

  Sally watched idly for a few minutes, then she too became interested. ‘No, not that one,’ she shouted. ‘Green. Green.’

  The woman’s finger, which had been about to press the orange, stopped. After a moment’s hesitation, she changed her mind and stabbed green. The lights whirred. Ding. One of the stars on the winner panel lit up. Ding, ding, ding. The woman’s hands flew to her mouth and she watched for the last one. No, that was it. There was a cacophony of noise and coins crashed into the tray below. It wasn’t the torrent of coins you saw in the movies, but it was enough to make the woman squeal with delight and scoop it all up. As she stood up to take the pile of tokens to the booth, she whispered ‘Thank you,’ her eyes looking upwards as though talking to a guardian angel.

  ‘You’re welcome.’ Sally herself was jumping up and down with excitement. Okay, it wasn’t her win, but she’d helped. Without her the stupid woman would have pressed the wrong button and messed it all up. Next time … well next time they’d do better. They could get that last star. There had to be a pattern to this. How had she missed these machines before? She’d always gone for the roulette table. Why? When this was so much more fun?

  She looked around and noted that the carpet had been changed and there were new pictures on the walls. It had only been a year and they were already updating the place. Nice. She wondered if her favourite croupier was still there. She was always lucky when he was around.

  She turned her attention back to the slot machine and tried to peer inside, but it remained solid to her. Never mind, she would just go look at the other players for a while, until her friend came back.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Peter checked through his bags. One present for each of the kids. A bunch of mixed flowers and a box of Guylian shell shapes for his sister. Nothing for the brother in law. He got out a bottle of red wine and added it to the pile. Hopefully that would be enough to buy his way back into Val’s good books. He checked the time. Another half hour or so before he needed to set off. Time for a coffee.
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  He’d just poured his drink when the doorbell rang. Peter frowned. He wasn’t expecting anyone and his mother didn’t usually bother with the doorbell. Leaving his coffee, he answered the door.

  The woman in a blue mac and feathery hat stood outside. So she had been looking for him. What did she want? Why was she following him? He kept the door open just a crack, ready to shut it at the first hint of trouble. ‘Yes?’

  ‘You’re Peter, aren’t you? Sally’s husband.’

  ‘Ye-es.’

  ‘Can I speak to Sally please?’ The woman’s face, which would once have been beautiful, was red and weathered. There were blue thread veins and creases around her eyes. Yet there was something vaguely familiar about her. Something about the mouth and the flyaway grey hair.

  ‘You are?’

  The woman smiled. Again the tug of familiarity. ‘I’m Glenda. Sally’s mother.’

  But Sally’s mother was dead. The mention of Sally sent a stab of pain through him. It had hurt Sally when she lost her mother, so soon after her father’s suicide. Whoever this woman was, she was playing a cruel game. He stepped back to shut the door.

  Glenda stuck out a hand. ‘I know she pretends I don’t exist, but I worry. I’m her mother.’ Her face was against the crack of the door now. ‘Please. I just want to know she’s okay.’

  Peter hesitated. He had no reason to believe this was true, and every reason to slam the door in this woman’s face. But there was something about her that made him pause. Either she was lying or Sally had been. He believed Sally, without question, but yet …

  Seeing his hesitation, the woman carried on talking. ‘I haven’t seen her since her wedding and I’ve been watching out for her. She hasn’t been to work. She hasn’t walked by here. Her mobile is turned off … please? Tell her I won’t be any bother. I … just …’ There was fear in her eyes. And tears.

  She didn’t know. Peter took in the worried, aged face. She was just an old lady, who seemed to genuinely know and care about Sally. He should at least tell her what had happened. Maybe try and clear up this confusion. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You’d better come in.’