The Boy in the Olive Grove (11 page)

I went to Dad’s office. There was a pile of unopened mail and a string of emails to be dealt to. I couldn’t put it off any longer, though it felt wrong, intrusive somehow, to be opening mail meant for him. There were a couple of accounts to pay. I gulped at the size of the one from the wood supplier, but paid it once I’d checked it. That was what the loan was for, after all — though suddenly it seemed unwise to be taking on Jason. Well, it mightn’t be wise, but it was necessary.

By the end of the day, the bid on the table on Trade Me was up to $425, work was well on track in the workshop, and at 4.30 Bernie appeared with Jason skulking along behind him. ‘Bess, Jason’s going to come back tomorrow. He wants to have another go before he makes up his mind. Okay with you?’

‘Could you tell Bernie that’s okay with me, Jason. And can you ask him if he thinks $50 is fair pay for tomorrow?’

Jason stopped skulking. ‘Fifty bucks. For me?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘The wages for whoever takes the job will be more than that, of course. But can you ask him what he thinks?’

I suspected Bernie was a reasonably good lip reader, judging by the wink he gave me. Jason didn’t notice and repeated my questions, his voice especially loud for the money part.

‘Well now,’ said Bernie. ‘Fifty dollars. I’ll make you work for it, young man. Are you up for it?’

I thought I’d better get out of there a.s.a.p.

The other men were packing up, and their faces all asked the same questions. I kept my voice low. ‘Bernie likes him. He’s coming back tomorrow. Bait of $50 for work experience.’

‘He’ll be okay,’ Clint said.

‘Well, let’s not count our chickens. He for sure doesn’t react too well to me. I’m not going to be here tomorrow, but it’ll be good to leave him with just you guys. Clint, will you open up and lock up? And Eddy, if people start flooding us with orders, can you deal with those?’

‘Sure, boss. Enjoy your day off.’

If only! There wasn’t going to be a lot about Friday to enjoy with Gwennie taking me back to those sickening scenes. Already I could feel them at my back, waiting to break through, to pounce the moment I let down my guard.

I DROVE HOME
past the tennis courts. A tough game was what I needed before breaking the news to Mum that I was absconding for three days, but by the look of things there was a tournament about to begin. I went in to watch — anything to put off going home. Marion Symes came over. ‘Sorry there’s no slot for you tonight,’ she said. ‘How are you placed for Saturday?’

I shook my head. ‘I’ll be away. Maybe next week?’

She made no promises.

I spied Harriet sitting on the steps. She was lacing up her left shoe but kept stopping to argue with the boy beside her. ‘You’re a sentimental dork,’ she told him.

He leaned down, tweaked the lace undone again, and said, ‘Not me. Tough as adamantine. That’s me.’

She gave him a swift kick, then gave up on her shoe. ‘Hey, Bess,’ she called, ‘meet Solomon Drummond. Sol, she’s going to be at school with us, so be human. If you can.’ She pulled out her iPhone.

He said, ‘I’ve heard about you. Bess, the boss at Charlie Grey’s.’

‘Temporary only,’ I said. He was sizing me up, so I sized right back. Lanky, brown eyes and hair. A face that was a reasonably attractive assemblage of parts. There was no handy flash of recognition that he was mystery olive grove guy.

‘Ha!’ Harriet waved her phone. ‘Adamantine is an adjective. You can’t be as tough as a ruddy adjective.’

‘Poetic licence,’ he said. ‘Te Ana’s waiting for you.’

Harriet dealt to her shoe and ran onto the court with a parting shot. ‘Watch him, Bess. The blood supply doesn’t reach his brain.’

Sol had a killer smile. He leaned forward to beam it right at me. ‘What’s it like, Bess Grey? Being the big boss?’

I leaned forward too so that our noses almost touched. ‘I can’t think, Sol Drummond, with your charm oozing all over me from point-blank range.’

He gave a hoot of laughter and relaxed back against the step. ‘I was born in the wrong century. At heart, I’m a Byronic character. Attractive girls …’ a sly glance here in my direction ‘… react positively to my charm by swooning at my feet.’

‘You were probably a poet in the nineteenth century,’ I said, testing the water. ‘You could have been swanning around Greece with the Romantics.’

‘No such luck,’ he said. ‘Here and now is where it’s at.’ He stood up — as tall as Hadleigh, I guessed. ‘Gotta go. The umpire’s chair calls.’

I oughtagotta go too.

Gloom settled on me the second I got home. I put a smile on my face and a spring in my step. ‘Hi, Mum. Hey, I dropped in at the tennis club. Met a couple of kids I’ll be at school with next year.’

‘That is what I hoped you would do.’ She gave one of her regal nods.

While I was in her good books I told her about Auckland. Her good book crashed shut.

‘How typically selfish of you to disappear for three days. Doesn’t it ever occur to you that I might like some company? That I might require your help too?’

‘I’m sorry. I really am. Save the chores and I’ll do them next week. I promise.’

She didn’t look at me. ‘Next week will be too late. I’ll attend to them myself.’

‘Look, I’m sorry, all right. I’ll make it up to you.’

‘Kindly don’t make promises you have no intention of keeping.’ She left me stewing in a mix of guilt, fury and impotent frustration.

I went to my room and sent Clo a message:
ETA early afternoon. Can’t wait to see you.

There was the usual silence from Hadleigh. I wrote him a huge spit about Mum, then deleted it and wrote:
Dad doing well. I might be hiring a sulky teenage boy to do the finishing. Funny, eh! Seeing Iris’s pet shrink tomorrow. Good, I think. Can’t get whatever it was out of my head. Getting into my dreams now. Not fun. Write to me, Hads. Love you.

In the morning, Mum piled on the guilt by getting up early to make me breakfast — all in silence. Her vibes were icy, toxic and stronger than a battering ram. I said goodbye. I told her where I was staying, and when I expected to be back. She ignored me with glacial splendour.

If Gwennie help me avoid commit ting matricide, it’d be a freaking miracle. Oh yes, and there was also the small matter of wife-burning to deal to. It should be a fun old day.

 

GWENNIE’S HOUSE TURNED
out to be easy to find. The path to the front door had mosaic tiles set into the concrete pavers. Herbs grew in the cracks. The whole garden was a messy scatter of trees, vines and stone sculptures. I rang the bell and admired the stained glass in the door.

It was time to face my demons past and present.

A woman completely unlike the Gwennie of my imagination greeted me. ‘Come in, Bess. Through here.’

‘Huh, are you Gwennie? Iris’s friend?’ I felt dumb asking, but she didn’t look as if she matched the garden, the path, or Iris for that matter. She was tall, sleekly groomed, and dressed in quiet shades of beige and umber.

‘I am indeed,’ she said. ‘Take a seat.’

I chose the upright one next to her desk rather than the armchair.

She studied me for around ten seconds before she said, ‘This is a rather unusual situation, and normally I wouldn’t agree to see two members of the same family. I know a lot about you, Bess, so you must say now if you’re not comfortable with me treating you.’

‘I don’t want to risk being locked up by people in white coats if I tell somebody else this stuff,’ I said. ‘Truthfully, it’s a relief that you know all about it. About me, too.’

She had a warm smile. ‘Very well. Did Iris explain the procedure I use?’

I shook my head, still finding it hard to credit I was about to dive into a past existence.

‘I can go into it more fully if you wish, but in summary the goal is to put you in touch with your subconscious mind. I use deep relaxation to do that. You won’t be asleep. You’ll remember everything that happens, and you can come out of the state at will.’ She waited for questions, but when I didn’t ask any she went on, ‘I’m assuming you want to access the lifetime where you and Iris were together as husband and wife?’

The words landed in my gut with a clunk.

‘I want to get the pictures out of my head. Did Iris tell you what happened?’

‘You’ve had two episodes, both with the same images?’

I nodded, feeling sick all over again.

‘Unusual. Normally when people have those flashbacks to a past life it’s because they’re visiting somewhere they’ve lived before. Let’s make a start, shall we? Turn off your cellphone and make yourself comfortable in that armchair. Good. Now close your eyes and let us begin.’

I had to begin by breathing deeply, then she told me to visualise all my muscles relaxing. I’d been to a yoga class a couple of times — this felt like yoga, and it was never going to put me in touch with my subconscious.

Yes, it would — it had to. I did not want those pictures in my head. I wanted to be free of memories of what I’d apparently done to Iris. I had to trust her.

Gwennie’s voice flowed calmly on. I breathed deeply again five more times, all the while keeping my mind focused on her. I stopped thinking about time, about how long this would take, about whether or not it would work.

At some point, she said, ‘I’m going to count backwards from five to one. When we reach one, you will be deeply relaxed. Your mind will be free to explore other times.’ There were more instructions, I think, but they were obliterated from my mind when I found myself looking at the man I knew to be me.

Gwennie’s voice said, ‘Look around you. What do you see?’

‘I’m tall and I’m proud of my strength. I have a wife. She is wilful and disobeys me. I am a leader, but she shames me.’

‘How does she shame you?’

‘People come to her for healing. She is headstrong. I forbid her to use herbs and chants. I forbid her to use the touch of her hands. She waits until I am working and she goes against my orders.’

‘Do you have children?’

‘No. She takes herbs to prevent a child from quickening in her womb.’

‘You sound angry.’

‘I am angry. Men mock me. They say there are no arrows in my quiver.’

‘Go forward in time to an event of importance in that life.’

‘I’m happy. I’ve found a girl who loves me. She looks up to me. She does what I ask. I want to wed her.’

‘Are you still married to your wife?’

‘She will die soon. She’s a witch. Villagers are talking. I have fed the flames of suspicion. Sheep have died. It happens in springtime, but I said my wife had cast a spell.’

‘Do you want her to die?’

‘Yes. She deserves to die. She doesn’t love me. She won’t obey me.’

‘Go forward in time. Now what do you see? Remember that you are safe. The scenes you see are not of this life. It’s important to understand them, that’s all.’

‘She is burning. She struggles, but the flames devour her. I am happy to be rid of her. She curses me as she dies.’

I knew I was crying. I watched the flames burn my stepmother. The man I was then felt no remorse, no sorrow for the pain, no guilt at taking an innocent life. He felt the sting of her curse but shrugged it off.

Gwennie’s calm voice anchored me, reminding me I was looking at scenes from the past, not the present. ‘Go forward in that life. What is happening now?’

‘I marry the girl. We are happy for a short time, but she is a nag. We have three children. They are always whining. I stay away from the house.’

‘Go forward in time. What do you see now?’

‘I have a fever. I am dying. My children are caring for me but they are afraid of me. They fight over who must tend me. They don’t want to come near me. My wife has already died. The children wept for her. They cared for her lovingly. I die unloved.’

I watched that life unroll in front of me, and I felt all the remorse and all the shame I should have felt then.

‘Do you recognise anyone from your current life?’

‘Just Iris.’

‘That life is over. Visualise letting it go. See it as a cloak you can take off. You can bury it deep in the ground if you wish.’

I did as she instructed and I felt the weight of it fall from my shoulders. ‘Oh! It’s burning!’ These flames were cleansing, burning away the horror.

‘I will count to five,’ Gwennie said. ‘When I reach five, you will be back in the present. You will be rested and you will remember everything.’

I was almost afraid to open my eyes, fearing I’d still see remnants of that other world, but Gwennie was right. This was the present, the here and now, alive and kicking in her office.

She handed me a glass of water. ‘What lessons are there for you in those memories, Bess?’

‘I was always angry. I didn’t care about what anyone else felt. I was the important one. They had to do what I wanted or suffer the consequences. I was strong and I used my strength to make them obey me.’ Less than a month ago, I’d have laughed at the suggestion that I’d be sitting in a shrink’s office talking about my life as a man who burned his wife to death. Now, I said, ‘I died alone, unloved and bitter.’

Gwennie, with her expression as bland as paste, asked, ‘Do you see any parallels with your
present-day
relationships?’

‘No!’

She went on being bland and silent.

‘With Iris, do you mean?’ I was stalling for time.
Oh, get real, Bess
. ‘You’re talking about Mum, aren’t you? I’m always angry with her. She’s the important one. Everything’s all about her.’

‘You sound bitter,’ Gwennie said. ‘What do you want from her?’

‘I want her to love me.’ There. As simple as that, yet I’d never seen it until now. I felt winded, and wounded too.

‘What did your children and your wives want from you in the life you’ve just reviewed?’

‘Yeah. I get it.’ I spent a long time examining the pattern on her carpet. This whole business seemed just too neat and tidy. Bad person in one life meets same sort of baddie in a different family, a different time. ‘Is it karma? Is Mum my punishment for what I did?’

Gwennie got brisk. ‘No. It’s about learning and growing through each of your lifetimes. If you refuse to learn something, then after that body dies, you might choose to repeat the lesson in your next life.’

I said through gritted teeth, ‘I did not choose to be born to my mother.’

‘You don’t know that.’ An unarguable statement, so all I did was snort. She went on, ‘It mightn’t have been anything to do with being born to your mother. It might have been about you and Iris. Or both.’

‘But according to that theory, if I keep being furious with Mum, if I don’t love her and have compassion for her, then I’m stuffed?’ I could not imagine feeling a gram of compassion for her, not in this life or the next few hundred.

‘From what I’ve observed over many regressions, it’s all to do with the strength of emotion you invest,’ Gwennie said. ‘If you still feel bitterness and anger towards your mother when you die, for example, then you will often be together again in subsequent lives, repeating the patterns of this one.’

I let that sink in, witchy, new-agey and just plain daft as it sounded. My main thought, though, was that I’d better not take myself out on the motorway on the way home. ‘I’m screwed for eternity then. No matter if I bust my butt trying to be nice, it never works.’