The Chrysalid Conspiracy (8 page)

“It’s what’s in that greenhouse that’s amazing. Stuff I’ve never seen before. It’s incredible, even fountains and waterfalls as well. Mind you, I could only see from the outside, I wasn’t allowed in. But there’s an area in the centre that looks like a rain forest.”

“Surely, not a rain forest in an English greenhouse? Don’t you mean just tall trees?”

“No, I’ve been in enough of ’em to know the difference. This was the real deal. But it was too hot, much too hot. Mind you, they did say it was for the hydroponics, whatever they are.”

He had finished his sandwich and was looking at the frying pan. Amelia smiled and put on some more bacon.
Here’s a man who always gets his priorities right,
she thought.

“You’d better get going, Nigel,” she said, after he had eaten. “It’s five-thirty already.”

“You’re right; I’ve got to get over to Grabsum Moore industrial estate, pick up a load of stuff and get back to the hall to unload it. I’m supposed to be shifting furniture right now, but it’ll have to wait.”

“Will they be open up on the Moore? Or will you have to hang around?” asked Amelia.

“No,” he replied. “G-Dad’s been on the phone. You know him. No problem. The stuff will be ready when I get there.” He grinned.

“Yes, I can imagine,” she said as she followed him out to lock up. “See you on Monday, on the road,” called Amelia.

As she closed the heavy coach house gates, she noticed for the first time that the storm had completely blown itself out. There was no wind and the stars were out.

***

Her mother looked tired and seemed edgy when Amelia woke her. She drank her tea but said she wasn’t hungry and would have something later, maybe, which worried Amelia intensely, especially during physio when her mother seemed to be in more discomfort that usual.

“Am I hurting you, Mum?” asked Amelia.

“No my love,” Lucy said. “You’re nice and gentle and very effective thank you.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Amelia was determined to find the cause of her mother’s distress.

“It’s nothing really,” her mother said, evasively. “I think Mrs Orugo was a bit heavy last night. That’s all.”

Amelia knew instinctively that her mother’s problem was not physical. Something wasn’t right.

“Come on Mum, you can’t fool me that easily. What is it? The truth mother, remember, always the truth.” Lucy relaxed back into her pillows.

“It’s hard to explain, really. Anyway, you’d only laugh,” she said.

“Try me,” insisted Amelia.

Lucy knew she was on thin ice, so thin in fact she was almost trying to walk on water. One mistake and she’d be floundering.

“Well, how can I explain it?” she said, looking for some kind of metaphor. “You know in films, when you see a nice country scene? Trees, sunshine, flowers, someone walking, that sort of thing. They always play nice bright music. It lulls you into a feeling of peace and tranquillity.”

“Yes Mum, I get the picture. Where are you going with this?”

“Well, if you see the same scene and the music is a sustained, ascending cello, you know that something awful is going to happen.”

“Yes Mum. So what’s your point?”

“All right, I’m getting there,” she answered shortly. “Don’t get me wrong, but I have to ask, did you put any music on yesterday? About the time the Vicar was leaving?”

Amelia’s mind did a quick circuit of the universe. “What on earth?” she exclaimed, what are you talking about mother?”

“I’m sorry my love, but I need to know. Was it perhaps the Elgar cello concerto?”

“Of course not mum.” replied her daughter. “If I had done I would have used my earphones, I don’t think Bridie and Rayn are too keen on our type of music and…” Amelia froze as an unbelievable thought came at her like an express train. With a fragile voice she asked, “Have you been hearing a cello?”

Amelia felt sick, and nausea wasn’t her preferred state. That part of her dream had been such a small part of a weird sequence of impossible events she had all but forgotten about it and she had never mentioned anything about a cello to her mother, describing her dreams as just ‘nightmares’.

Her mother had always denied that the voice Amelia heard calling for help was just a trick of the subconscious, and claimed there was no possibility of any ‘psychic connection’ between them, calling it ludicrous. She needed to think but her mind had turned to jelly. “What do you mean, Mum? I didn’t hear anything,” was all she could say.

“I’m not surprised,” answered Lucy, grateful that her daughter wasn’t laughing at her, but not realising the impact she made. “It was in my mind.”

For a fleeting moment Amelia was back in her dream, staring down into the abyss, then something totally unexpected and completely beyond her sphere of reference happened. Her mind switched gear, rejecting both fantasy and reality at the same time as she watched her childhood vanish into the darkness, leaving her with nothing but cold, emotionless logic for company.

“I need to know what triggered the reaction mother.” Her voice felt cold and disembodied. “And have you heard this before?”

Lucy, shocked at this sudden change in her daughter realised that in her search for a comforting resolution to her dilemma had opened the wrong door.
Oh no,
she thought.
What have I done? It’s too much too early.
She had left herself no choice but to continue and try to exert some damage control.

She told Amelia the events leading up to her ‘day dream’, as she described it, and about the expression on the Vicar’s face but added. “I’m sure it was because he was pleased about my support for his Halloween service, Bridie was laughing, after all.” She claimed.

Unfamiliar thought patterns in Amelia’s mind trapped her mother’s bluff, and she tried a shot in the dark. “And when did you first hear the ghost of Elgar, and how often?”

“What?” Lucy was confused by her daughter’s lack of compassion and began to feel she was being interrogated. “I’m not sure,” she responded. “I can’t remember. I haven’t heard that sound since…” Lucy’s voice trailed off. “Since the night of the accident, when your father died. I can’t get it out of my mind. I’m afraid I haven’t slept much.”

“One more question Mother, Did you hear the sound before or after the accident?”

“I must have heard it before.” Said Lucy, “I was unconscious for three days afterward.”

“So it
was
a warning then.” Amelia confirmed her worst suspicions.

Noticing her mother’s distress her mind snapped back from wherever it had been and tried to offer some comfort. “I don’t find it funny, Mum. Would you like to stay in bed for a while longer this morning? Some breakfast?”

“No thanks, I’m really not hungry yet. I’ll have something later.”

“More tea then? That always sorts you out.”

Her mother nodded, smiled a thank you and Amelia made her way to the kitchen.

As she waited for the kettle to boil, she noticed that the washing-up from the previous night had been done. A quick look in the dishwasher revealed everything was glistening and shiny.
This is where Rayn had disappeared to last night, bless her
, she thought. It was then she spotted Rayn’s note.

“To my good friend Amelia. I hope you like the kitchen. It was my first domestic battle with a dishwasher. Hope I didn’t ruin it.

PS. How much will you pay me to shut up about the state of your room?

(Gotcha) LOL PS. S.Y.T.

It was just what she needed to change the mood. The child in her resurfaced and Amelia had a broad grin on her face when she gave her mother her tea.

“What’s got you going then?” enquired Lucy. Amelia showed her the note and they both cheered up.

“What does S.Y.T. mean?” asked Lucy.

‘See You Tomorrow’. LOL is ‘Laugh Out Loud’. Text ‘newspeak’. Now there’s an example of a lazy mind.”

“Sounds frighteningly Orwellian.” laughed her mother.

When Lucy was up and dressed, Amelia dived upstairs to change.
I really must wash this tracksuit one day, or at least give it a decent burial
she thought as she kicked it under the bed. Downstairs again in her familiar jeans and jumper, she made a mental note to keep an eye on her mother during the day. The conversation had unnerved her, but she worried more about her mum than herself. They met up in the utility room and Amelia moved the baskets while Lucy checked the quantity and quality of the delivery.

“That can go back,” she said, pointing out a box of ‘Handy Pack’ weed-killer sprays. “They know we don’t sell that stuff.”

“I put your special delivery package in your workshop mum.” Amelia told her.

“Thank you my love. You didn’t break the seal, did you?” Lucy asked.

“Of course not, and if you don’t stop asking me that you can lug them in there yourself.” Amelia distributed everything to either the shop or the workshop. Not for the first time she was tempted to ask her Mother about those mysterious packages which had been coming and going as long as she could remember. Deciding against it she stacked the bread trays outside in the yard and opened up the shop.

After having shifted some of the heavier potted shrubs around she was beginning to wish she’d joined Nigel in his bacon sandwiches.

Rayn arrived just after nine. She’d jumped at Lucy’s invitation to take a Saturday job helping Amelia in the shop. And she was actually getting paid! Apologising for being late, she explained that she had to feed the animals.

“There’s Dexter and Daisy the rabbits,” she said, “and Jude and Gypsy the dogs, and Horace. He’s a horse.”

“You have a horse? Why didn’t you tell me? Do you ride?” pestered Amelia.

“Not really, he’s a bit too big for that,” said Rayn.

“Too big? What do you mean?”

“He’s a shire horse. You know, one of those really large ones. He pulls the caravan we live in.”

“Wow, him I’ve got to see,” said Amelia, excitedly.

“You can meet him tomorrow, but just watch your feet. He sometimes has a nasty streak with strangers,” warned Rayn.

Just at that moment big, shiny 4x4 pulled up outside and a portly, middle aged man struggled out.

“Huh oh,” said Amelia. “Talk about nasty streaks, here’s the original.”

“Who he?” asked Rayn.

“It’s Mrs Atkinson’s son for the wedding flowers. Would you mind helping him load please, Rayn? And remember – he’s a customer.”

The man entered the shop full of his own portly importance in his green oilcloth coat and a flat corduroy hat, under which a large, red, clean-shaven face peered. There were no pleasantries

“Is that it then?” he barked, glancing at the carefully laid-out bouquets and bunches of loose flowers at the other end of the shop. His piggy eyes settled on Rayn. “Come on then girl, get loading. I’m in a hurry.”

Rayn looked at Amelia who, with a pleading grin, gently shook her head. Rayn hid her smile of rebellion and did as she was told.

The job took several minutes and Rayn suffered in silence at his words of ‘encouragement’. As she carried the last of the flowers out, he again barked at her. “Come on girl, get a move on! I’m late for golf.”

Rayn, who’d reached the point where she either had to hit him or say something, chose the latter option. She turned to him and Amelia’s heart folded in on itself.

“I’m sure you can make up the time, sir. Your elderly mother shouldn’t take too long to unload at the church, even with her arthritis.”

Amelia had told her about Mrs Wing Commander Atkinson, whose husband had apparently won the Second World War single-handed, and her obnoxious son.

He glared at her. “Don’t be cheeky, girl. Is that everything?” he growled.

“I don’t really know, sir,” she said, enjoying the skirmish.

“Well, make up your mind then,” he demanded.

“Yes sir. I used to be very indecisive, but now I’m not so sure.”

It was the first time Amelia had ever seen someone’s whole face grind to a halt. The poor man was completely unable to cope with being confronted with such innocent insolence.

Amelia watched as Mr Atkinson, keys in hand, turned to a smiling Rayn, pointed a finger, opened his mouth to speak, and thought better of it and drove quickly away.

“RAYN!” shouted Lucy, her voice taking on a life of its own as she powered her way from her workshop. She was furious. “We get a lot of business through the church. I’d hate to lose it. Now I’ll have to ring up and apologise for my immature staff not understanding the delicate nature of Mr Atkinson Junior’s sensitive intellect.”

“What intellect?” retorted Rayn. “I bet he thinks Plato is something you put Italian food on!”

“I’m sure you are right,” said Lucy, “but I would be grateful if you would confine your remarks to an empty shop!”

“I’m sorry, Lucy,” said Rayn, rather subdued. As Lucy turned away the girls heard her muttering. “‘Now I’m not so sure’. God I wish I’d said that. That man is the most…” The door closed cutting off the more colourful aspects of her mind.

The morning continued in fits and starts. Most of the customers were pleasant and Rayn soon learned to cope. Lucy didn’t even remark when she heard Rayn explain to a woman who was complaining about the lack of choice in the village that, to those who believed the world was flat, Tether’s end was very near the edge.

The afternoon slowed with the weather and it gave the girls time to clean up so they could finish when they closed the shop for the day.

After a quick phone call, Bridie arrived laden with a selection of Chinese food from the takeaway. Lucy paid her from the till and they sat around the table and enjoyed their meal.

Amelia lay in bed that night, wondering about her mother’s phantom cello. She dismissed the idea that there was some psychic connection between them and put it down to coincidence.

But as she drifted off to sleep, she remembered that when her mother had mentioned hearing a cello, she’d had the sudden urge to reach for her sword. But what sword? “Oh Turdles,” she muttered and fell asleep.

Her little green digital clock was sniggering at her this morning. It was as if she’d been the victim of some elaborate practical joke and it was enjoying the moment.