Every Touch (26 page)

   “I know,” Denny said.  “Every day I know more and more.  Hey, maybe you’re heading for that vestal virgin filled nirvana.”  He tried to sound cheerful.

   Oliver smiled.  “Wouldn’t that be something else?”  Denny caught his breath as his entire body flickered for a few seconds, then stabilised.  Oliver’s face filled with fear.

   “So,” Denny said, trying to distract him, “who have you got waiting for you in heaven?”

   “My grandma,” he smiled, “dad’s mum.  She died when I was twenty-six.  She always, and I mean always, had freshly baked cookies.  And she always made me feel like what I was doing was the most important thing in the world, whatever it was.  She would listen to me for hours when I was a kid, when I needed someone to talk to.  When I’d grown up too.  I’d like to see her again...” 

   The three of them stayed there, talking and writing and even laughing sometimes.  Until, almost an hour later, Oliver began to phase in and out again, this time not stabilising.  He stopped talking, looking down at himself. 

   “This is it,” he said quietly, “I can feel it happening.”

   Denny’s chest constricted.  The threat of tears burned his eyes.  “Are you in pain?”

   Oliver shook his head.  “It just feels strange, almost like I’m floating.”  He smiled.   “Thank you, Denny, for being a good friend these last five years. And for being here now.” 

   He scribbled on the paper. 
This is it.  Thank you for everything.  Knowing you has brought me so much happiness.

   Laila read and nodded, her eyes shining with tears.  She reached up and her hand found Oliver’s flickering face.  “I have loved every second I spent with you,” she said, smiling.

   He took her hand and kissed it, then reached out his other hand, pressing it to the barrier between them.  Denny flattened his hand against it on the other side.

   “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” Denny said, his voice breaking.  “I wouldn’t have made it without you.”

   Oliver smiled.  “Goodbye, my friend.” The flickering slowed as he faded.

   “Goodbye, Oliver.”

   Then he was gone. 

   Laila gasped as she felt Oliver’s hand disappear from hers and looked towards Denny.  His tears finally began to fall.  She got up and came back inside and he caught her in his arms, holding onto her and burying his face in her shoulder as they both cried. 

   They went back to the flat and lay down together on the bed, fully dressed, wound their arms around each other and grieved.

***

The next morning when Denny woke he reached for Laila, as he always did, to find her side of the bed empty.  Opening his eyes, he looked around and saw her curled in the big armchair by the window, looking out.   He climbed out of the bed and walked over to her, standing behind the chair, reaching his arms around her and bending down to kiss her neck.  She turned her head and smiled, rubbing her hands along his arms and kissing the inside of his elbow.

   “Good morning,” she said.

   “Good morning,” he replied, even though she couldn’t hear him.

   He walked around the chair and carefully picked her up slightly so he could sit down, settling her in his lap.  She snuggled into him and found his face with her hand, bringing her lips to his.  Nothing made him happier to wake up every morning than being with her.

   “I love you,” he whispered against her lips.

   She smiled.  “I love you too.”  She took hold of his hand.  “I need to ask you something.”

   He tapped the inside of her wrist with his fingertip, fairly sure he knew what she was going to say.

   “Is what happened to Olly going to happen to you?”

   He paused for a few seconds then tapped once.  His own possibly imminent fade was something he’d wanted to keep from Laila, even though he knew she must have guessed it.  The thought that he would one day have to leave her broke his heart and imagining her go through what Trish had when he died was more than he could bear.

   “Do you know when?”

   He tapped her wrist twice.

   “But it could be any time?”

   Yes.

   She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.  “No.”

   No?  He took her hand and drew a question mark on her palm.

   “I’ve been thinking about this,” she said, “and there has got to be someone somewhere who knows something about it.  I am going to find that person and I am going to stop it.  I can’t just let you go.  I am going to do anything it takes.”

   She sounded so determined.  He had no idea if any of that was possible, but he felt such an upsurge of pride at her words he couldn’t help but smile.  He kissed her cheek and she turned her face towards him, touching her fingers to his jaw and kissing him on the lips, then laying her head on his shoulder.

   “I miss Olly,” she said after a while.

   He nodded so she could feel it.  “Me too.”

***

When Laila left the library later that day, instead of going straight home she drove to the local cemetery.  Despite living in the area her whole life, she’d never actually been inside the place, but today her maiden visit had a dual purpose.  She left her car in the small car park and walked towards the cremations section in the far corner. 

   She carried with her two roses, one white and one red.

   Her lunch break had been used to do some research, so she knew more or less where she was going, but it still took a few minutes of reading the small gravestones to find her first reason for coming.

   She knelt on the grass by the plain, unassuming grey square stone marker, set flat into the grass.  Her fingertips ran over the inscription as she read.

OLIVER CARRINGTON

1972  –  2008

always remembered

   Tears ran unchecked down Laila’s face as she laid the white rose on the stone then lay her hand flat onto the ground beside it.

   “We will always remember you, Olly,” she said softly.  “I miss you.”

   After staying by Oliver’s grave for a few minutes, she stood and began to search again.  It wasn’t long before she found what she was looking for.

   A rose marble headstone, a foot high and rounded at the top, was set into the ground.  Laila knelt again and read the words carved into the surface and highlighted in gold.

DENNIS CARPENTER

30
th
June 1976  to  16
th
September 2009

Loving brother, uncle and friend.

Always in our hearts.

   She placed the red rose in front of Denny’s gravestone.

   “I won’t come back here,” she whispered.  “I will not come here to cry for you when you’ve gone, because I won’t let it happen.  Whatever I have to do, I will not let you go.  I promise, I will find a way.”

   She laid her hand on the stone, feeling the cold hard surface press against her palm as she read the inscription once more.  Then she stood and walked back to her car without a glance back.

It came as a surprise to Denny that there were some things you really couldn’t find out from the internet.  After endless hours of searching, he and Laila turned up exactly nothing about saving a ghost, although there were plenty of instructions on how to get rid of one.  He doubted any of them would work, but it made him uncomfortable nevertheless. 

   Plan B was to take a more direct approach and try to find someone who could help them. It turned out there was no shortage of so called professional mediums who, for a fee, were willing to do house calls.  They decided that the best way to ascertain if they were genuine or not was to just bring them in to see if they could talk to Denny.  He was sceptical, but then he’d never believed in the existence of ghosts before he became one, so he was determined to remain open minded.

   The first person Laila made an appointment with was a woman called Angela Appleby.  She had an impressive and very professional looking website with a long list of credentials and many testimonials from delighted customers.  In spite of his doubts, Denny felt hopeful when Laila opened the door to the middle-aged woman with a neat blonde bob and a light blue dress and matching jacket.  She looked professional.  She looked like she knew what she was doing.

   “She’s here,” she said as soon as she walked into the flat.

   “Who’s here?” Laila said.

   “Your grandmother, Madeleine.  She’s here.” 

   Angela was gazing around the living room, eyes half closed as if she were sensing mysterious things.  Denny caught himself looking around, just in case.

   She smiled benevolently.  “She says she loves you very much.”

   Laila wasn’t stupid and neither was he.  He knew it wouldn’t take much research to find out that her grandmother had died a year before and her name was Madeleine. 

   “Really?” Laila said.  “Well, that’s nice, but I didn’t ask you here for her.”

   A brief moment of uncertainty flashed across Angela’s perfectly made up face.  Apparently, Laila’s mother’s mother was as far as her research had gone.

   “Of course,” she said, “so what can I help you with today?”

   “Are there any other ghosts here?”

   “It’s possible,” she said slowly, “although it’s mostly Madeleine I’m getting. Her presence is very strong.  Would you like to speak with her?”

   “I’d rather not,” Laila said, “we weren’t that close.”

   Denny grinned.  Laila had spoken a lot about her beloved Nana who she adored.  It was a clever move to throw the medium off her game.

   “Oh,” Angela said, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

   “I bet you are,” Denny said. 

   “So, about other ghosts?” Laila said.

   “Of course.  I will attempt to see past your grandmother’s overwhelming presence.”  She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath in.  Her hands raised to either side.  “Those in the hidden realms, reveal your presence,” she commanded.

   Denny glanced around again, despite knowing nothing would happen.  She had such an air of confidence about her it was hard not to believe her. 

   “Right here,” he said, wafting a hand through one of hers as it hovered near her shoulder.  “Ghost in the room.”

   “No,” she said finally, opening her eyes again and smiling, “there are no other spirits present.”

   “Okay, well, thanks for coming...”

   “I could do you a reading...”

   According to her website, readings were charged as extras on top of her useless ghost whispering.

   “No, thank you.”

   “Perhaps you would like...”

   “
No
.  Thank you.”

   “Just take the hint and leave,” Denny said, mildly annoyed.

   When she was finally out and Laila had closed the door behind her, Denny slipped his arms around her waist from behind.  She laid her head back against his shoulder.

   “I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised,” she said, “but I was hoping.”

   He tapped her wrist once.  “So was I.”

***

Over the following two weeks, an assortment of mediums, psychics and pseudo-scientific researchers came to the flat.    

   A tall, thin man who called himself a ‘seer into the beyond’ announced that the bath contained a portal into the realm of the dead and for a very reasonable fee he could close it.

   A short woman with an orange perma-tan swept into the room with histrionic exaggeration and said dramatically, “Spirit, I command you to expose yourself.”  Denny erupted into laughter as Laila clamped her hand over her mouth, her eyes sparkling with mirth.  Laila used the same line to him when they went to bed that night.  It was more than ten minutes before they could stop laughing.

   A “spirit scientist” peered at a gadget covered with flashing red lights, watching the screen intently as he moved around the flat.  Eventually, he wandered back to Laila, unknowingly pointing the beeping box straight at Denny beside her.  It had no reaction whatsoever.

   “No,” he said firmly, “you have no ghosts here at all.  I’m absolutely positive on that.  I’d stake my reputation on it.” 

   A man dressed like an accountant gave them a spark of hope, (“I’m feeling a presence.  Yes, a very strong presence.  There is undoubtedly an apparition roaming within these walls.  Yes, it’s coming through now.  It’s...”) before snuffing it out (“...a little old Scottish woman called Enid.”).  Denny closed his eyes and dropped his head onto Laila’s shoulder.