Secrets and Seashells at Rainbow Bay

by Ali McNamara

Over the last ninety minutes or so, the small pool room has become more and more crammed with people all intrigued by the exploits of the lady of the manor.

  I’ve been challenged by those that thought they could beat me, bought drinks by those that had lost to me, and applauded by those that were pleasantly surprised by what they were seeing.

  ‘Perhaps you’d better take a break?’ Tom whispers into my ear as I chalk my cue up for the next game.

  ‘Why? I’m on a roll!’ I cry happily, as someone again high-fives me as they squeeze past in the small room.

  ‘All the more reason to go out on top, then,’ Tom says. ‘Plus you’ve had quite a bit to drink now.’

  It was true, I had had quite a few alcoholic beverages. Apparently, the house rules are that the loser of the game has to offer to buy the winner a drink, and even though I’d politely begun refusing drinks after my second win, my opponents seem to take offence if I don’t allow them to buy me a drink, and even more so if I appear to not be drinking it. Therefore, I’d had to down a fair few more glasses of alcohol than I’m used to, in a relatively short space of time.

  ‘You know something,’ I say, my speech slurring a little, ‘it is getting harder to see the balls. I thought it was the light.’ I gesticulate with my cue to the long low light that hangs over the pool table.

  ‘Careful,’ Tom says, grabbing my hand, ‘or you will have a problem with the light if you break it.’

  He gently prises the cue from my hand.

  ‘I think the champ has had enough for one night,’ he tells the assembled room. ‘She retires unbeaten.’

  I take a long slow bow as the room applauds. But I seem to have difficulty getting back up again as the floor starts to swim in front of my eyes.

  ‘Need a hand?’ Tom asks, taking hold of my shoulders and helping me back up again.

  ‘No, I is fine,’ I say, waving him away as I wobble on the spot.

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ Tom says, taking hold of my shoulders again, but this time he guides me out of the room, past more handshakes and high-fives along the way.

  ‘Night, Rachel!’ Tom calls, to a tired-looking Rachel behind the bar. ‘Some evening, eh?’

  ‘Looks like you’ve got your hands full there, Tom,’ Rachel says, smiling sympathetically at him.

  ‘He said he didn’t want to get me drunk!’ I tell Rachel, pulling away from Tom and heaving myself up to the bar where I hold on for dear life. ‘But . . . shush,’ I say putting my finger to my lips and whispering now. ‘Guess what?’

  ‘What?’ Rachel asks, now grinning at me.

  ‘He did!’

  ‘Come on, you; we’ve got a long walk home,’ Tom says, taking me by the shoulders again and guiding me towards the door.

  ‘Why, it’s not far to the castle?’

  ‘With you like this, that is gonna be one long hill we’ve got to climb – believe me!’

  The walk back up to the castle does indeed seem to take longer than usual, and I’m glad of Tom to steady me as we make our way home.

  ‘Did you ever think you’d be living in a castle?’ I ask him as we make our way slowly towards the main gates. ‘I didn’t,’ I continue, not waiting for his answer. ‘It really is like something from a fairy tale, isn’t it?’

  ‘A bit, I guess,’ Tom says, steadying me once again as I veer towards some flower beds. I feel him tighten his hold on me where our arms are linked together. ‘Only with less goblins and fairy godmothers.’

  ‘Indeed!’ I say, waggling my finger at him. ‘That is very true regarding the goblins, but we do have a fairy godmother in our midst, you know?’

  ‘Do we?’

  ‘Yes, we do! Can you guess who it is? It’s your friend and mine,’ I continue without a break, ‘Benji!’

  ‘Why is Benji a fairy godmother?’ Tom asks with interest as he guides me up the hill.

  ‘Because . . . ’ I say slowly, trying to form my words correctly. ‘One of the reasons he sent you here to Chesterford was so we,’ I wave my hand madly between the two of us, ‘could meet!’

  Tom looks surprised to hear this.

  ‘But shush . . . ’ I say, holding my finger up in front of my mouth. ‘It’s a secret.’

  ‘Right . . . ’ Tom nods. ‘Did Benji tell you this?’

  ‘He did. I think he wanted to tell me something else as well . . . ’ My brow furrows. ‘But he didn’t in the end.’

  ‘What sort of something?’ Tom asks calmly as I struggle to walk and talk at the same time.

  ‘Dunno!’ I hold up both my hands, and regret it as I nearly fall over.

  Tom grabs me, we straighten up and begin to walk again.

  ‘Are you glad Benji asked me to come here to Chesterford?’ Tom asks so quietly I can barely hear him in my intoxicated state.

  ‘Of course I am!’ I reply in a loud voice. ‘You’re my mate now, aren’t you?’ I pat Tom’s arm that’s linked with mine.

  ‘I am indeed,’ Tom says. ‘A good mate.’

  ‘A very good mate,’ I agree, nodding. ‘The best.’

  ‘Do you think there might ever be more to it than that?’ Tom asks softly.

  ‘More to life?’ I ask, mishearing him. ‘You know I was going to ask you the same thing. I think we might have ghosts at the castle, what do you reckon to that?’

  Tom sighs and his grip on me weakens slightly. ‘Ghosts – really? Have you seen some?’

  ‘Nooo! But I’ve heard things.’

  ‘What sort of things?’ Tom asks, his voice returning to its normal pitch.

  I tell Tom as much as I can currently remember about my peculiar experiences.

  ‘Old buildings make a lot of strange noises,’ he says as I sway a little on the path once more and he quickly straightens me up again. ‘Are you sure it isn’t just that?’

  I shake my head vehemently. And quickly regret it, when for the next few seconds I can’t actually see properly as the world of Chesterford spins before me.

  ‘Definitely not. Charlie speaks to them, you know.’

  ‘Yes, you told me. But I thought we agreed it could just be an imaginary friend he’s speaking to.’

  ‘I thought that, but now I’ve started hearing things too . . . strange things.’

  ‘I know,’ Tom reminds me patiently. ‘You just told me about those.’

  ‘Ah, yes, so I did.’ I nod slowly, comprehending this fact. ‘Anyway, Charlie says if I believe in them properly, then they’ll show themselves to me.’

  ‘The ghosts will?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘And you want that, do you?’

  I think about this. ‘Not sure.’

  ‘Hmm, well I know I wouldn’t want a load of ghosts suddenly turning up at the foot of my bed one night,’ Tom says, propping me against one of the castle gate posts while he proceeds to open up the side gate for us.

  ‘They wouldn’t do that – would they?’ I ask him apprehensively. ‘Well, maybe Percy might, I suppose.’

  ‘Who’s Percy?’

  I tell him what Arthur had told Tiffany and me about the ghost that supposedly haunts the Blue Bedroom, while Tom manoeuvres us both through the gate and then locks it up again behind us.

  When I get to the bit about Arthur describing the way Percy died, Tom laughs.

  ‘You have a nice laugh,’ I tell him, my usual inhibitions completely dulled by the amount of alcohol I’ve ingested tonight.

  ‘Thank you,’ Tom says, turning to look at me as he links arms with me again. ‘So do you.’

  ‘You’re only saying that because I just did!’

  Tom shakes his head. ‘On the contrary, I saw you laugh an awful lot tonight, and smile – you should smile more, you know.’

  I grin inanely at Tom.

  ‘Perhaps not quite like that.’

  ‘I guess I got out of the habit,’ I tell him after we’ve walked on in silence for a bit, under the great portcullis, and into the main courtyard – lit prettily tonight with the new up-lighters that Joey had
fitted a few days ago, so that now all the castle walls, both outside and in, are lit with a soft yellowy glow as soon as dusk falls.

  ‘Out of the habit of what?’

  ‘Smiling. Until I came here life wasn’t that great. I didn’t have much to smile about.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘How do you know? I’ve never told you.’

  ‘Benji.’

  ‘Ah, Benji again . . . I should have known. But Benji only met me a little while before I moved here. He doesn’t know everything.’

  ‘I never said he did.’

  ‘Do you want me to tell you about it?’

  ‘Do you want to tell me?’ Tom asks in that same soft voice he had before, as we stand in front of the door that leads up to the top of my tower.

  ‘Sometime . . . ’ I say, looking up to the window behind which my bedroom, and more importantly right now my comfortable bed, is waiting. ‘Right now I think bed is calling. For me!’ I add hurriedly when Tom doesn’t speak. ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Tom says, smiling at me. ‘I know what you meant. However, I think getting you up those spiral stairs isn’t going to be easy.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Stand on one leg,’ Tom suggests.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Stand on one leg. Let’s see what your balance is like. Even if I can get you up the stairs, there is no way I’m leaving you. If you need to come down in the night – you’ll fall to your death.’

  ‘Pah! Fall to my death. I’m perfectly fine,’ I say, lifting my right leg off the ground and immediately toppling to the side. Luckily Tom is prepared, and deftly catches me.

  ‘See,’ he says. ‘Dangerous. Who’s babysitting Charlie?’

  ‘Dorothy.’

  ‘Right, let’s see if we can at least get you up the stairs, then I’ll relieve Dorothy and bed down on your sofa for the night.’

  ‘Really, Tom, stop fussing; I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Let’s try the stairs first, then we can re-evaluate the situation if need be, okay?’

  With much grumbling – from me – Tom and I attempt to navigate the narrow stone staircase. I go first, and Tom follows up the rear – literally one at a time, when he has to put his hand on my bum to stop me falling back down on top of him.

  ‘Sorry,’ we both say at once. Then we go on in an embarrassed silence for a few steps – until finally we reach the floor that holds Charlie’s and my bedroom.

  I move towards the next flight of stairs, but Tom stops me.

  ‘Whoa, lady, where do you think you’re going?’ he whispers so as not to wake Charlie.

  ‘To see Dorothy, and check everything is all right,’ I reply in an equally hushed tone.

  ‘Your journey stops right here.’ Tom barricades himself across the entrance to the next set of steps. ‘If you go up there, you’ve got to come back down again to go to bed. Going up with you has been bad enough; I don’t want to think what will happen if we try to attempt going down.’

  ‘But . . . ’ I say quietly, looking up again.

  ‘Is everything all right down there?’ I hear a low voice ask. ‘I thought I heard you coming back in.’

  ‘Benji, what are you doing here?’ I ask, recognising his voice at once. ‘Where’s Dorothy?’

  ‘Don’t worry, everything is fine.’ I hear Benji’s footsteps on the stairs and Tom stands aside to let him through. ‘Dorothy had a headache so she called me and asked if I’d take over. I’ve been writing all night. I haven’t heard a peep from Charlie. Are you all right?’ he asks, looking at me. ‘You don’t look too good.’

  ‘I’m just fine,’ I say, trying to stand up proudly, but failing miserably when I begin swaying immediately.

  ‘Amelia has had a very good night,’ Tom says, winking at Benji. ‘But she needs to get to bed and sleep it off.’

  Benji nods with immediate understanding. ‘That sounds like a good plan. Shall we help you to your bed?’

  ‘I am quite capable, thank you,’ I reply stoutly, but again, to my annoyance, my legs fail me. ‘Perhaps one of you could escort me?’

  ‘Probably best if you take her, Benj,’ Tom says, winking at Benji.

  ‘Why do you two keep winking at each other?’ I ask as Benji comes over and takes my arm. ‘It’s most disconcerting.’

  ‘Goodnight, Amelia,’ Tom whispers, ignoring my question. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well.’

  *

  I have an erratic night’s sleep.

  The first time I awake, I can’t have been asleep that long because I can hear Benji and Tom talking upstairs as I make my way across the tiny hexagonal hallway towards the bathroom.

  As I sit on the toilet rocking to and fro deciding whether I’m going to throw up or something else, I can hear them discussing who will stay with me tonight.

  ‘Look, I know you like to be the hero,’ Benji says to Tom, ‘but I’m perfectly capable of looking after her.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ Tom says, ‘but I feel partially responsible for letting her get in the state she’s in. I think I should stay.’

  ‘Tom,’ Benji says now, ‘I can assure you that when Amelia wakes up the last person in the world she’s going to want to see is you – she’ll feel and look as rough as a badger’s arse; she really won’t want to be worrying how her hair is or whether she’s got any make-up on – you must know she’s keen on you?’

  There’s silence, which I can only assume is Tom nodding, because Benji then says, ‘Good, now let me do the babysitting for both of them. You know Amelia will be safe with me – you’ve no worries on that score. You can come and check on her when she’s all lady of the manor again, okay?’

  ‘Sure, thanks, Benj – I owe you.’

  ‘Nonsense, we both know that is not true.’

  The next time I awake, the tower is in silence. Tom must have left, and Benji presumably has bedded down on my sofa.

  I have some random thoughts about whether he’s found spare blankets and a pillow, before I feel myself drifting off to sleep again.

  The third time I awake, I wonder for a few moments whether it’s time to get up yet – but then I realise the little bit of light that’s filtering through my curtains is only dawn breaking, so I turn over in my bed. Oh Lord, my head is already starting to pound.

  I reach for the water that I vaguely remember Benji leaving on my bedside table last night. Then I try to take a sip without sitting up fully, but that doesn’t work, so I have no choice but to sit up.

  But as I take my first thirst-quenching sip, I very nearly drop the glass – because suddenly I’m aware of someone standing at the end of my bed.

  I blink a couple of times, wondering if I’m still asleep – but the figure doesn’t move. She just stares at me.

  ‘Who are you?’ I ask, my brain not really computing the absurdity that someone should be in my room in the early hours of the morning.

  But the young girl is silent.

  ‘Are you lost?’ I ask calmly, noting as I stare back at her that the girl is wearing a long white smock over her shabby-looking dress, and heavy leather lace-up boots.

  The girl shakes her head.

  ‘Are you Ruby?’ I suddenly ask, not really knowing where that question has come from. My brain still feels drenched with alcohol, and my head is pounding with dehydration.

  To my surprise, she nods. Then she smiles at me and waves her hand before disappearing in front of my eyes.

  ‘Amelia,’ I say to myself as I place my glass of water back down on the table, and my head back down on to my cool pillow, ‘you must never drink this much alcohol again – do you hear? Never.’

  Twenty-five

  The next time I open my eyes, the sunlight is much stronger through my curtains, and I know this time it’s time to wake up.

  I try to sit up, but my head is still pounding, and so I reach for the water again. I gulp down what’s left in the glass, and then I pull myself into a proper sitting position – and try to recall the nigh
t’s events.

  There had been the pub . . . yes, I remember most of that. I smile as I recall my victories at the pool table, and how no one had expected it of the lady of the manor. And then there was the walk home with Tom . . . It’s a little hazy, but I remember bits and bobs of our journey together. Then we’d climbed the spiral staircase – ooh, that cheeky monkey had had his hand on my bum – I feel my cheeks redden at the memory.

  Then Benji had been here when we’d got back . . . I wonder if he’s still here. I glance at my watch – golly, it’s 11 a.m. already, I have slept in. I’d better check on Charlie.

  I take another sip from the glass. Damn, it’s empty; I’ve gulped that down quickly, and it’s as I stare at the empty glass that I remember . . . Ruby.

  That must have been a dream – surely? Yes, I had an awful lot to drink last night – my mind must have been playing tricks on me. Perhaps I was still dreaming and never even awoke to have that drink of water . . .

  But then why had my glass been half empty just now when I’d gone to take a drink from it? If I had been dreaming, then my glass would have been full.

  I shake my head. Gah, why won’t my brain work properly? It feels all fuzzy.

  I decide to get up and see what’s going on upstairs. I look down at what I’m wearing – pyjamas, great; at least I’m decent if anyone is still in the tower.

  Wait, how had I got into my PJs last night? I don’t remember putting them on. But then I don’t remember quite a few things about the last part of yesterday.

  I check on Charlie’s room, which as I expect at this time of the morning is empty. He’s probably taking advantage of the fact I’m late up and is upstairs watching TV. So I quickly freshen myself up in the bathroom and then head slowly downstairs to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Then I climb just as carefully back up two flights of steps to the sitting room.

  It’s funny – the awkwardness of this multi-storey living hasn’t bothered me at all before. Now that I’m feeling under par, all this up and down stairs seems such hard work.

  ‘Morning,’ Benji says from my sofa as I enter the top floor of the tower. ‘I thought I heard you up. Making tea, are we?’

  ‘Yeah – well, trying to. Where’s Charlie?’