“Do you want a cup of tea? The kettle’s on.”
“Please. Have you got any biscuits hidden away? I wouldn’t say no to a couple of digestives either.”
He followed her through to the alcove and leaned against the wall.
“So tell me, how did you get on with Mr Ghostbuster?”
“His name’s Jack, in case you’d forgotten.”
Brigitte took the sugar and another mug out of the cupboard. “Where’s the bloody spoon gone?” Puzzled, she pointed at the spot next to the mug. ‘I know I put it there and now it’s not... there.” She lifted the tea-towel and then searched the floor thinking she’d dropped it. “That’s strange. I know I left it right just there.”
“One of your spooks has probably pinched it.”
“Behave, will you, Paul.” She pulled the drawer open to get another and with it fished the soggy bags out of the steaming water, squeezing them almost dry before she threw them in the bin. “So which is it, digestives or Hob-Nobs?” She picked up the two packets of biscuits and waved them at him.
“If I have to choose then... I’ll have both.”
“Don’t be such a greedy git! Grab the spare stool and bring it through.” She picked the mugs up. “We’ll sit at the counter. There’s more room in there.” Brigitte carried the teas into the shop, and there, smack bang in the middle of the counter was the spoon. “I didn’t put that there.”
“Don’t be daft Brig, you must have done.”
“I didn’t. I left it next to the mug. I’m sure.”
“Be rational, there’s a love, or is that asking too much of a woman?”
“For your cheek, you’re not getting any biscuits until you take that back.”
“You know I’d do anything for a Hob-Nob. So, go on then, tell me how did you get on with Jack?” She really didn’t like the way he emphasised Jack’s name, but let it pass without comment. “He’s amazing.”
“Really?” He looked cynical and dubious all at the same time or it might even have been jealous.
“Yes really, it was very enlightening. He told me to write everything down and we’ll go through it together when he comes back. Look I’ve done loads.” She held up the empty page for him to see.
“You are productive, aren’t you?”
“Well, I have just started. He made out it would be quite easy, but it’s not. Nothing happens.” Brigitte threw the notepad to one side. “Though he did mention it would be a good idea to watch the video all the way through to help me get, what was the word he used… orientated.”
“What’s that mean? Watch it while you’re eating a Chinese take-away? Shall I bring one round to yours then and we’ll watch it on the tele?”
“No chance. I don’t even want it in the house. I wouldn’t want the girls to see it.”
“We could do it when they’re with their father…”
“No, and I mean no, Paul. I’ll pass by the office after closing one day this week. Unless, that is, you’ve got major plans to do something else.”
“No. I’ve just about worn out my welcome at the Roses and still got nowhere…”
“So you were after Stan’s waitress then?”
“You know me, Brig. I can’t resist a challenge especially when it’s staring me in the face.”
“I’ll just ignore that shall I?” She smiled at him and made a grab for the packet of biscuits. “Leave some for tomorrow, will you, you’ve nearly finished the packet.”
Paul stood up and stretched.
“Best be going. I’ve an appointment scheduled soon. Are you coming over this afternoon?”
“I don’t know. I’ll wait and see if I feel up to it when I’ve finished here.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
“Well, you know where I am. Thanks for the tea. I’ll see you later, Brig.”
With only one customer in the morning and a tea-break with Paul to break the monotony, it’d been another long, drawn out day in the shop. The note book still sat on the counter, its virgin pages glaring at her. Fed up, Brigitte started talking to herself. “Come on then, Mr Myrddin. If you’ve got something to say, get on and say it.” At first nothing happened, so she said it again and again. A cool breeze blew through the shop and wafted the loose strands of her hair. Brigitte shivered. The hairs on her forearms tingled and stood on end. An unusual calmness settled in her insides. It feels as if my guardian angel is hovering by my shoulder. “I take it you’re here?” Still nothing happened.
I'm talking to fresh air. “If you don’t say something soon, I’ll give up and you can go and talk to Jack.” The answer came as quite a shock.
“Listen and listen well.”
Brigitte shot off her stool. Where did that come from? There's nobody here. She poked her head in the alcove. There was nobody there either. When she turned round, a single white rose petal lay on the counter.
“Listen…”
She picked up the pencil and waited.
“Upon your shoulders weighs heavy the task of telling what has always been unwritten. You will hear stories of truth, stories of men of power and abuse, of executions and incarcerations and the story of my beloved Brigid. The tyrannies that befell us and obliterated our ways have never been told as you will tell them. Listen well. For it is only through my voice and hers, you will hear the truth.”
Brigitte sat staring at the few words she’d written or rather scrawled across the page. It didn’t even look like her handwriting. She just had time to wonder who Brigid was before the voice continued its soft monotone.
“She will come to be with you and you will listen. Listen hard and you will find the part of her you carry within you.”
Brigitte put the pencil down and stared across the shop. Jack had said not to think too much about what happened. Just go with the flow, was how he’d so casually put it if she remembered correctly. That was going to be a difficult thing to do. Radical action was what she needed, but nothing suitable came to mind, so she rang Paul instead. “Paul, it’s me.”
“Who? Oh yes, I remember. The biscuit-less mad woman from the shirt shop down the road. ”
“Very funny. Would it be alright if I popped round and saw the rest of the video after closing?”
“I’m glad you’ve decided to see the rest, Brig. One of my clients didn’t turn up and I’ve just watched it all the way through again. It’s fascinating. Don’t think it’s got much to do with past life regression, but it’s interesting all the same. Are you sure it’s not going to spook you?”
“I’m beyond spooking. In fact, I’m starting to enjoy it. One thing’s for sure, it beats sitting here being bored.”
“Has something else happened?”
“Well…” She didn’t really feel like going into too much detail, “Myrddin sort of popped in for a chat.”
“You’re having a laugh!”
“No, I just wrote down what came into my head, the way Jack said and they’re definitely not words I could have thought of. Even my imagination’s not quite that inventive.”
“You don’t think all of this might be going a bit far.”
“Why? It was quite nice. At least he didn’t leave digestive crumbs everywhere. Not like some I could mention.”
“I did that on purpose. Cleaning up after me keeps you busy. Do you want to make it a full time job?”
Here we go again. “No, I’ll skip that for a bit. I’ve got enough on my hands with two teenagers. I don’t really need a toddler to look after as well. But that’s changing the subject. What makes you say things are going too far?”
“Think about it, Brig. You’ve been through a lot lately and stress is a funny thing. Are you sure you’re not just latching onto this medium thing looking for an easy solution.”
“So what are you trying to say, Paul? Maybe I should consider seeing a psychiatrist after all?”
“It’s no good you losing your rag. I’m only trying to be helpful and see things from a neutral point of view. I might not be Jac
k Jamieson, but I've known you a long time, he hasn’t. I think he might be leading you up the garden path.”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at, Paul.” She started to wind the curly telephone cable around her finger. “Shit!”
“What’s the matter Brig? Has your ghost come back?”
“No. I've got my finger stuck in the phone cord and it’s cutting off my circulation. I’ll have to hang up or I’ll never get it out.” Well that's my excuse anyway. “See you in the clinic later.” she told him and put the phone down. Brigitte sat, waiting for closing time, thinking about Paul’s abrupt change of attitude. It worried her.
“Imagine a space, deep dark and blue, where there is peace, an infinity of peace...”
Paul and Brigitte were glued to the image on the screen. She scribbled notes while she listened to the words droning from her sleeping form. “What the hell am I on about?” She looked at Paul. There's no way, I'm telling him its the same voice I heard in the shop. It's freaking me out.
“You’re asking me? Though you’ve said the same thing a couple of times when you’ve been under, I haven’t got a clue what it means.”
“Maybe Jack will make some sense out of it when he comes back.”
“Perhaps he’ll take you out to dinner again while you discuss it.”
“Somebody’s waitress friend been gossiping, have they?” Brigitte kept her eyes on the video and used her own, newly invented, system of speed writing to keep up with the voice.
“This spacious place is the freedom of your soul. But before you enter you must understand that this is no ordinary world, this is another. This is my realm. A world within a world.”
“Listen to this bit, Brig,” Paul said, turning the volume up just in time to avoid answering her.
“For I am Myrddin, Myrddin of the legends and I will look upon you as I will. Only I, Myrddin, travel through the ions of eternity, alone. For you I have searched, my Brigid. And I will not be without you. No matter where ever this eternal life has sent you, I will be forever by your side.”
“What was that eternal or infernal life?”
“Do you want to listen to it again? Make sure you’ve got it right for Jack.” Paul said. Brigitte ignored him.
“Strange though it may seem, Jack did mention,” Brigitte made sure she emphasised Jack’s name. “That the spirits quite often repeat themselves when they’re trying to get their point across. Did you notice how many times that name popped up?”
“Which one? Myrddin or Jack?”
Brigitte batted him round the head with her notebook and realised they were getting nowhere. “I’m giving up on you and I’m going home.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” He said, and ejected the disc. “Do you want to take this with you? I don’t think there’s anything I can do with it, but I’ve kept a copy on my hard drive just in case.”
“Just in case of what?”
“Nothing in particular, just in case.” Paul shrugged and slotted the disc into a protective cover and handed it to her.
Chapter 13
“Told you I’d be wasting my time.” Jack was in a foul mood. “We’ve been sat in this bloody lab for three days solid and there’s not been a flicker. If I hadn’t invited Brigitte up on Friday, I’d have buggered off back to Ireland.” He stared out of the lab window and down onto the river where a team of eight glided under the arched framework of Mathematical Bridge. They rowed in perfect precision as the Cox shouted them on. The punts moored along the far side of the riverbank bobbed in the wake of the oarsmen as they sped past. Jack turned his back on the scene and faced Al. “I seem to recall the offer of a pint of Guinness. Now might be a good time...”
Al wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed on the monitors. He held his hand up and without taking his eyes of the quivering needle, beckoned Jack over. In two long strides Jack was by his side and peering over his shoulder.
“Oh you little beauty.” Jack whispered. “Which branch monitor is that?” The bank of dials was marked by stuck on labels each with a grid-reference written in blue ink.
“Not sure, I’ll have to check. Pass me the folder from the work-top over there The one with the red cover.” Jack did as he was bid. Al flicked through the loose sheets of paper in the ring-binder looking for the corresponding number. Flag Fen. It’s a run-off of the one which was buzzing the other week. We’ve never had a reading off this one. Look at it now.” Al’s voice rose with excitement. “It’s going ballistic.” They both watched the needle as it trembled and rose higher on the scale. As quick as it had started, it stopped. They both stood watching, but it stayed static and didn’t move again.
“Where did you say it was?”
Al checked again. “Flag Fen to Thorney,” he replied and he scribbled some notes. He scratched the top of his head with the pen and then stuck it behind his ear before he stood up and walked over to an ordnance survey map pinned on the wall. “Can’t for the life of me imagine what could be triggering it off. It’s in the middle of nowhere.”
“If you want to be colloquially correct, out in the sticks.” Jack looked at Al as realization dawned. “Thorney’s where Brigitte lives. She’s the trigger. They’re coming to her. Why I don’t know, but that’s what’s happening. I wonder if she’s alright. That was some pretty hefty activity.”
Jack pulled his mobile from his pocket and dialled Brigitte’s number.
It was the guttural coo of the pigeons settling down to roost which dragged her back to reality. Shit. She glanced at her wrist watch. How long have I been sitting here? The Yew cast a cold shadow over the bench and Brigitte shivered. Her back was stiff from inaction and her spine sore where the wooden slats had pressed against it. She’d had the sensation she’d been somewhere else, somewhere sunnier. The impression of laying in long grass and watching the clouds sail by overhead was strong. So was the feeling of contentment. Day-dreaming again when I should have been doing paperwork.
A metallic rendition of Happy Birthday to You sounded from the depths of her handbag. She swore as she rummaged through the accumulated rubbish covering it and wished her daughters would leave her phone alone. The incoming caller’s number put a smile on her face. “Hello, Jack.”
“Brigitte, this may seem a strange question, but are you alright?”
“I’m fine. Why?”
“Where exactly are you?”
“I’m in the dead centre of Thorney.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“Not really. Why?”
“Is there a street name or anything?”
“Jack, for goodness sake, I’m in the old cemetery. It’s part of the Abbey grounds.”
All he said was ‘ah’ as the penny dropped. Brigitte heard him say, “She’s in the Abbey cemetery.” There was another man's voice in the background, but the reply was indistinct. “Anything strange happen?”
“No. I was just sitting here day-dreaming. It’s really peaceful. The occupants don’t have a lot to say. Why, is there something wrong?”
“No, no, not at all. Just wanted to check we’re still on for Friday.”
“Of course. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Me to, I’ll see you then. Bye.”
Jack slipped the phone back in his pocket and turned to Al. “That’s strange, she says there was nothing happening. I can’t believe that.”
“Me neither and not with those readings. Maybe you’re wrong and it’s not centred on her at all. Though it’s not exactly a scientific term the only thing I can say is it’s a bit of a coincidence.”
“I’m sure I’m on the right track, but I didn’t want to push her over the phone she’s too easily spooked.”
Al laughed. “Nice choice of word, Jack.”
“We’ll have to wait and I’ll see if I can get anything else out of her when she comes down.”
Jack replayed the brief conversation in his mind. Day-dreaming? He was sure she hadn’t been. He’d lay money on it she’d had som
e sort of visitation.
Brigitte groaned. There was no putting it off any longer. The paperwork on her desk had accumulated out of all proportion. She forced herself to sit down and start filing bills into some semblance of order. The room was stuffy and stifling a yawn, she got up and propped the patio door open to let in some fresh air. There wasn’t a breeze. It was one of those hot and humid, late summer, afternoons which made her drowsy.
After an hour of typing numbers onto the spreadsheet, she was bored brainless. It didn’t matter what order she put the figures in the calculations came out the same, depressing. She had the bright idea of inventing a few variations and wondered if the accountant would notice when he checked the books. She decided he probably would. Bit by bit her brain stopped functioning. Mathematics, especially minus, was not her idea of fun.
A gentle, whispering draught blew through the open door and disturbed the hem of the floor-length curtains. It teased the fine, white folds to sway like waving fronds of underwater weeds. There's a dampness in the air. It smells like slow-moving river water. Brigitte's calves prickled and goosebumps rose on her skin. She reached down to scratch her leg. Her skin was cool and damp to the touch. She shivered. The river. I must go in. It got colder and the sensation of wetness crept higher until it reached her knees.
Still, I must go in. Yuck. Across the water’s surface there are small black bugs flitting in dancing circles. Their shiny bodies glide with swift ease over the thick, green weed clogging the river’s edge. I need the weed for a remedy for father. There's a rider drawing close. I must hide before he sees me. It is Patrick. My stomach turns. Voices. So many voices. The murmuring whisper of voices is turning into a wailing lament.
Brigitte squealed with fright when the patio door banged shut in the wind. Who is Patrick?
Chapter 14
For rural businesses, Wednesday was half-day closing. It was a custom Brigitte was sure had been invented to maintain her sanity. It also gave her a chance to get to one of the big hyper-markets while the girls were in school. Groceries cost far less if she went shopping without them. On the way into town, driving through the village where Paul lived, Brigitte almost missed seeing him standing at the bus stop. He was huddled inside his jacket trying to stay undercover out of reach of the light rain. Her car tyres screeched on the damp tarmac as she pulled to a swift stop. “Come on Paul, get in.” She leant over and opened the passenger door. “Where’s your car?”