Sorry.
Never mind. Start again. With his mind a blank, Jack waited again. It was a couple of minutes before a hazy picture of fog bound trees, cast in the mauveish half light of dusk, flashed by.
She's walking around the room. That's Monet’s painting of Giverny. There's a print of it hanging on the wall. Give me more. Words ran through his mind with the cadence of a murmured prayer. She's reciting the lines of a poem. Do it again. I didn't quite catch it all.
And nearer to the river’s trembling edge, There grew broad flag-flowers, purple, pranked with white, And starry river buds among the sedge, And floating water-lilies, broad and bright.’
Jack repeated the words out loud and then smiled. Shelley’s poem about Monet’s garden. I would have thought that was a bit high-brow for you?
You’d be surprised what I know. I went there last summer.
Really, Brigitte? Then take me there now. Remember it.
Jack saw dappled sunlight on placid water. The heavy perfume of a summer garden in full bloom toyed at his nostrils. In a swirl of long, white cotton skirts, a sandalled foot stepped into a flat bottomed boat. A pale hand brushed over royal blue, padded upholstery. Jack’s palm itched. Unbalanced, by the rocking off the boat as it floated from its mooring out and onto tranquil water, he gripped the armrests of the chair. Nausea mounted in his stomach. He swallowed and tried to concentrate.
An arm lolled from the side of the punt and with a lazy, languid sweep, a hand trailed over the brackish waters of the pond. The ripple of the wake mirrored broken reflections of submerged greenery until the imagery was shattered by the scales of a golden carp as it rose to the surface, rolling, to bask in the warmth of the sun. Be careful the fish don’t bite.
The girlish laughter flowed through his senses, gripping him like vines of creeping ivy. A soft heady scent assailed his senses as if she were there in the room with him. Out-stretched fingers caressed a giant lily, lingering to brush against the waxy, white petals. The boat rocked then drifted in slow motion toward the curved timbers of the bridge. Don’t forget to duck.
Quack!
She's getting tired. The bow of the boat drifted towards the shore and bumped against a grassy bank. The last picture she sent showed the punt shrouded by the low-hanging branches of a weeping willow.Beautiful.
Did you get it?
Of course. Let’s call it a day. Jack swung himself out of the chair and headed for Al's office.
“It’s OK, Jack, but I’m still not taking it as scientific evidence. That picture was in the room when you were and has been for the last twenty years. You probably discussed it over tea and cake while I was in the john.” Brigitte giggled. “You know I don’t doubt your integrity, but I can’t write the result in any report and you know it. There are too many loose ends. They’ll throw me off the research program for heaven’s sake.” He stomped away in a huff.
“Ah, Brigitte.” Jack realised she was standing behind them. “That was an enjoyable experience.” She blushed. “I’ve an idea. Let’s hot things up a bit before I disappear off to Cumbria. See how good you are. We’ll do a trial run. Get a bit of field practice. The business up north can wait a bit.” He winked at her and walked to the door, glanced outside and then closed it.
She wondered just what he had in mind, but it was only a phone call.
“Graham? Jack here...Sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. Yes, I’ve been delayed a day. Yes, something has come up. No, you’re probably right. One more day isn’t going to make that much difference in the long run.” He listened to the man on the other end, said a curt goodbye and hung up before looking at her and saying,“Life’s about to get exciting,”
About time too.
Chapter 17
“This road’s seen better days.” Jack scowled.
Brigitte cringed and looked out of the side window at the landscape to avoid looking at him. Even though he’d slowed to a practical crawl the top of his head smacked twice more against the plush, low roof of the Mercedes as it bounced over another bump. “You said you wanted to go the back way.” The lumps in the asphalt of the tree-lined road which stretched out straight before them were clearly visible.
“I thought it would be a good idea to get the lay of the land. It might help me later on.”
“The lay of the land? That’s easy enough.” She couldn’t help but laugh. “This is the Fens, Jack. It’s flat or flatter than flat with no variation.”
“Where are we any way?” Jack braved a glance around and then grimaced as the car’s exhaust pipe grated on another mound of bloated tarmac. “How far is the river?”
“The river’s a couple of off miles yet. This is called Thorney Dyke. Anyway it serves you right for wanting to sight-see when there are no sights to see.”
“Thorney Dyke. Such elegant names you British have for places.”
Brigitte decided the only form of retaliation for his bad mood was attack. “You think that’s bad? There’s a river in Ireland called Muck. What’s sort of names that?”
“Realistic? Where do we go now?” Jack slowed the car as they came to a t-junction.
“Turn left at the end of here, then there’s a sort of right turning next to the old Dog in a Doublet pub.”
“It’s easy to tell this wasn’t built by my native countrymen. A team of Paddy’s would have done a decent job.”
“Do you think so?” She was starting to enjoy the caustic tit-for-tat. “I’ve a feeling it’s supposed to have originally been laid by the Romans.”
“So was everything that moved. Trust them to do a job that didn’t last. Left you said?”
“I did. Can you remember which it is?”
“As there’s only two to choose from, I’ll make an educated guess.”
Brigitte crossed her fingers and hoped he’d get it wrong so they ended up back on the road to the village. Bit by bit she was going off the whole idea of being stuck in the middle of nowhere with him and trying to do something she really didn’t understand. He made the right choice and a few minutes later she pointed and told him, “Take a right there.” Jack indicated and swung the car in the direction she’d said. Her stomach somersaulted as the road climbed and then dipped over the bank of the river. They drove along on a level with the water.
“I wouldn’t want to drive along here in the dark. One slip and you’d been in for a midnight swim.”
Brigitte agreed. “It has been known to happen. I love coming up here in the winter when it’s flooded and full of wild birds. Sometimes it freezes over and they have speed skating competitions. Doesn’t happen as often now as when I was young.”
“You can remember that far back then can you?”
Enough was enough. She slapped his leg with the palm of her hand. It made a satisfying smacking sound. Jack gasped, then drew a deep breath and slouched forward against the steering wheel. “I didn’t hit you that hard.”
“What? No it wasn’t that, we just drove through a major line...”
“I didn’t feel a thing.”
“Lucky for you you’re not tuned in enough for that yet. If you’re not ready and it catches you by surprise it’s like getting thumped in the liver. It takes your breath away.”
“And I thought it was my scintillating company which had left you breathless.”
“You pack quite a punch, but I wouldn’t be admitting to that, now would I?” He pulled the car into a small lay-by and pulled the handbrake on.
“Why are we stopping here?”
“Seems as good a place as any,” He was out of the car and climbing up the steep bank before she’d had time to unclasp her seatbelt. It took her a few minutes of scrabbling and grabbing at the twitchy grass before she was at his side. He stood, hand shading his eyes against the sun, like a land owner surveying his territory. “I’d forgotten this was so close to the Broads.” He pointed to two long boats moored together on the opposite bank. “Can they sail straight through from here?”
“I haven’t go
t a clue. I always wanted a holiday on one of those, but I don’t think the Norfolk wildlife would survive two weeks of my girls in a floating caravan.” A woman emerged onto the deck of one of the barges, red plastic washing-up bowl in hand and flung the sudsy contents into the river. Brigitte decided it probably wasn’t as much fun as she imagined it to be.
“Have you got everything?”he asked.
“What am I supposed to have?”
“Well, a notebook and pen would help.”
“It’s in the bag in the boot.”
“Okay, I’ll go and get it.” He slid down the incline and opened the car boot. “’Is everything in here?’” He held up a canvas holdall. She nodded and he closed the car and locked it. In two, effortless strides he was back by her side. “Let’s go.” He said and set off down the bank. She traipsed along behind him, a watchful eye on the ground in case of any stray cow pats. The two scruffy looking piebald ponies in the next field carried on cropping the grass and didn’t even look up as they climbed the five-bar gate and entered. “I want you to stay here. Sit on the grass and pretend you’re an artist or whatever if someone comes asking questions.”
“Renaissance, Classic, in the style of Constable or just plain eccentric?” The strange expression on his face was unnerving.
“I’ve a feeling Lowry is more your style. Brigitte...” The sudden note of seriousness in his voice scared her. “There’s no way I can prepare you for what might, and I say might, happen today. You know you can hear me telepathically. We’ve had enough practise now to be tuned into each other one hundred percent. Cambridge was a bit of fun, but this time we’re not playing games, okay? Even I don’t know if this is going to work. We have to be prepared for failure. I might not even be able to get through. It might be unconnected to what’s been happening to you. Till I try, we won’t know.”
“What time’s Al turning up?
“He’s not.”
“What?” She didn’t like the sound of that.
“He doesn’t know we’re here. I thought you’d be more comfortable on your own the first time.”
“Of course, I’ve had a thing about sitting alone in fields in the middle of nowhere since I was a child. What if something goes wrong?”
“Nothing can go wrong... well....”
“What do you mean, well?”
“There’s a possibility I won’t come back.”
“What?”
“Well not straight away.”
“You’re having me on?”
“No, sometimes it’s hard to come back along the same route. The current might not be flowing in the right direction or I’ll miss the change because the situations too interesting to leave. Last time I went through on an experimental run with Al monitoring. We tried one of the Cambridge Leys. I started walking down from Wandlebury and came back out in Magdalene College which was fortunate for a first try. The most successful expedition was when we went in at Castle Ditches and a week later I surfaced right in the middle of Stonehenge.”
Shock registered on Brigitte’s face. “A week later! Where did you go?”
Jack went very quiet and gazed over the top of her head at the flatlands stretching out behind her.
“I’ll tell you about that another time. Now’s not quite the moment.”
She suddenly remembered the scar on his chest. “Couldn’t you have told me all of this before?”
“Would you have been sitting there?”
“Probably not.”
“Exactly.” He handed her his mobile and the car keys. “I need you for this, Brigitte.” He’d said it in a whisper and she thought he was going to say more. He didn’t, but it was enough. He’d taken a small packet from his pocket and she watched, curious, as he tipped some powder onto the back of his hand, lifted it to his nose and sniffed hard. She didn’t comment, but she did think snuff was well out of fashion.
“Won’t the farmers mind you walking all over their fields?”
“With a bit of luck, they’ll think I’m a scarecrow.”
“If I’ve not reappeared by sunset go home, but don’t stop listening.” Jack, wiping the flat of his palm across his face, had turned toward her again. “If you hear me and you’re driving, then tell me. You know how.” It was a hesitant gesture, but he bent down and planted a light kiss on her forehead before he started walking across the field.
Half an hour later Brigitte thought she could still see him as a black speck in the distance. Strange, but the flaps of his ankle-length jacket flapped at his sides like the wings of a black crow. She couldn’t remember it being that long or black, and decided maybe it was time for a visit to the optician. She blinked and looked again. He was gone.
Lost for something to do, she doodled matchstick men on the pad to keep herself occupied and waited. Drink coffee, Jack had said, it’ll help stimulate the telepathic connection. She wasn’t too sure about that, but it’d stop her from falling asleep. It had stewed in the flask and poured out thick and black. She took one sip, tipped it away on the grass and wished she had a cigarette. Her phone started ringing. “Hello, Paul. You must be developing your own strain of physic power. I was just thinking about lighting up.”
“Then I caught you right on time. Where are you?”
“Doing something with Jack.”
“Oh sorry, have I interrupted a crucial moment?”
“No, he’s not here.”
“How can you be doing something with him if he’s not there?”
“We’re having long distance telepathy practice.”
“You’re not serious...”
“I am.. well sometimes.”
“Where are you?”
“Sitting in a field of ponies in the Fens,”
Paul’s laugh bordered on the maniacal. “That’s amazing. One up, at least, from leading you up the garden path. He’s got you sitting in a field.” He laughed again. It was forced and very loud. “I don’t believe it. And where would he be?”
Brigitte decided some things were better left unsaid. “My phones beeping, I think the battery’s almost out. I’ll call you later.” She hung up before the conversation could go any further. Jack’s mobile was burning a hole in her pocket. She pulled it out, tempted to scroll through his messages then thought better of it. She nearly dropped it when it started to ring.
If it’s Mrs Murphy don’t answer it.
Hearing Jack’s voice startled her more than the ringing of the phone. Across the illuminated dial was the word Mrs Murphy. She threw the phone in her bag, clipped it shut and tried to ignore the insistent buzz.
Listen to me, Brigitte... I’m somewhere in the past, but I don’t know where. I’m in a sort of settlement, but the place is abandoned. There are fires burning and cooking pots upturned. I don’t like the atmosphere and I’m coming back.
She couldn’t help but vocalise an ‘oh’ of disappointment. They’d just started and what she’d written on the blank folio amounted to less than ten words. There was silence from the other side and bored, she started munching her way through a packet of biscuits. To her left there was a soft rustling in the grass. Wide-eyed she watched the soil accumulate in a small mound. It was a mole tunnelling and leaving the debris from the disturbed earth behind in its characteristic hill.
Leave one for me.
The voice was so close to her ear she screamed and almost choked on a mouthful of crumbs. She looked behind her expecting Jack to be there. He wasn’t.
“Where are you?”
On the other side.
“The other side of where? I can’t see you.”
He blew in her ear. Well, I’m right behind you.
“You better not do that when I’m on the loo.”
Close your eyes.
She did as she was told.
Now open them.
“Where did you come from?”
“Right just there.” He pointed to a spot on the ground next to the molehill.
“Why couldn’t I see you before?” r />
“Shall I blind you with science or just give you the basic idea?”
“Whichever I’m more likely to understand.”
“I’ll go for the simple one then.” In her imagination, Brigitte grew a snake adorned head and turned him to stone. Jack laughed while he picked up the Thermos and poured some of the strong liquid into the top. Brigitte smiled at the face he made when he took a sip of the stewed coffee. “Soon fix that.” He fished a silver flask from the inside breast pocket of his jacket, unscrewed the cap and poured a shot of whiskey into the coffee. The second sip made him smile. “That’s better, now where were we? “
“Well, I was here. It was where you were I wanted to know.”
“It’s a strange thing, but when I cross the line I turn into a sort of...” Jack appeared to be searching for the right words. “...ethereal presence. A bit like being a ghost really, but without being dead. It’s like existing, but not existing.”
Brigitte wondered if it was the whiskey making him philosophical. “Can they see you on the other side or are they ethe-reeal too?”
“Ah, that’s where it’s starts to get complicated. They can’t see me. I don’t exist in their time. The same as a ghost doesn’t exist in ours.”
“I think I’ve got the general idea.’ She hadn’t, but she wasn’t letting on. “What was wrong wherever you were?”
“It looked as though there’d been some sort of trouble, don’t know. I just didn’t like it.” His hand ran over his ribcage. “Making mistakes can be painful. I prefer to be cautious.”
“What happened?” She nodded at his midriff.
He stared across the field for a few seconds before he answered her. “Walked straight into the swing of someone’s sword and it hurt, quite a lot.” She winced in sympathy. “It took quite a bit of explaining in Accident and Emergency. They thought Al had tried to do me in.” Jack flicked back the cuff of his jacket sleeve and looked at his watch. “That’s why you’re so important. When I’m back there, I’ve no way of communicating with anyone. Can’t relate what I’m seeing either. Al, for his sins, isn’t telepathic. It’ll be much better if you record what I’m seeing as and when I’m seeing it. Plus, if we’re lucky, it’ll give us more viable proof...