The Haunting of Harriet (28 page)

“Wow!” screamed Jenny.

“Double wow!” echoed James.

Liz looked at Edward and deposited the wriggling Pote onto the decking as she announced, “I think it’s a success!”

“Told you,” he replied, looking a little too smug.

The dinghy was Edward’s idea from the start. He had persuaded Liz that ten was the perfect age to start messing about in boats. Both children were good little swimmers and they would learn new skills, how to take responsibility, and have a whale of a time into the bargain. He had learned to sail at a similar age, out with his father on the high seas, not on a tame little lake, and what was good enough for him was good enough for his kids. The twins needed no such assurance. They were already clambering on board as their mother yelled out:

“Hey, hang on a mo. You’ve forgotten something. The rest of your present is over there.”

She ran to collect a parcel which lay beside the boathouse. In it were life-jackets the colour of daffodils. “Now, listen to me, you two, you are never, ever to go on the water without those on. Do you hear me?” As she tightened and tested the straps her voice sounded uncannily like Aunty Sue’s, but the children were hardly listening. They were already scrambling off the jetty answering her, rather too glibly, as they dropped down into a new world of adventure:

“Cool.”

“Yeah, cool.”

The dinghy wobbled and bobbed beneath them and for a moment their exuberance turned to trepidation. Once settled, their father gave them a few basic instructions then launched them into open water, calling out further instructions from the bank.

They ran aground twice, hit the jetty several times and put the fear of God into the water fowl which fled to the safety of the willow, keeping a sidewise eye open for the dog. Fortunately for them he was more interested in the mariners than any stray ducks. The unwieldy oars went in all directions, jumping out of their hoops and hitting the gunwales with frustrating regularity. Slowly, painfully but always accompanied by great hoots of laughter the little dinghy was manoeuvred around the lake with a modicum of seamanship and a great deal of luck.

Feeling prematurely competent and showing off to his sister, James stood up. “Look at me! I’m able seaman Jessop!” The boat lurched, throwing him backwards, his bottom hitting the seat hard as he landed. The
Olly Ro
lurched again, more heavily this time. Then she rolled and lurched again, taking in a fair amount of water each time. He had let go of the oars and one of them slid out and disappeared into the water. Leaning precariously over the side he made the little boat dip at a crazy angle as he fought successfully to retrieve it. Liz turned ashen. She was sure they would capsize. She screamed, her voice trembling, as for a fleeting moment she thought she saw a tall figure standing on the far bank. That wretched card could still turn her blood to ice.

“You’ll be a disabled seaman if you don’t sit down at once, you idiot.” Jenny grabbed the loose oar and climbed into the centre of the vessel. Pushing her brother to one side, she took both oars firmly in hand and settled the craft on a straight course as if she had been doing this all her life. Liz smiled a watery smile and tried to look relaxed. But she knew she could not be there to watch them every time they were out in that wretched boat.

Harriet had positioned herself by the willow and she too was icy cold. She had watched until it seemed inevitable that James was going overboard. Unwilling to witness any more she had covered her eyes and leant against the tree to steady herself. Images flashed on her inner eye. They came rapidly and relentlessly, making her giddy. She could see the boat spinning, caught in an imagined whirlpool as it was sucked deeper and deeper into the cold dark water. Someone was calling to her but she could not make out their voice above the sound of swirling water and the blood rushing in her ears. She was drowning; her lungs were filling; and then she heard it. Laughter, carefree childish laughter. The unexpected sound broke her dream and she opened her eyes to see James and Jenny safe and well, rowing side by side, taking one oar each. Their laughter rang out across the lake and brought back those few happy memories of childhood. The old woman placed her hand on her heart, patting it to calm its beating. She sighed and rebuked herself for being stupid, yet as she looked across the lake at Liz she knew they were both gripped by similar doubts and fears. Whether these came from the past or the future was immaterial.

The
Olly Ro
was a great success as a present. By Saturday’s party the twins were ferrying their friends around with confidence. It gave them enormous kudos and they readily showed off their newly-acquired skills. Liz kept her uneasiness to herself. It would be unforgivable to spoil such delight with her unfounded fears. She did not want to seem an over-protective mother obsessed with health and safety. She had, however, bought several life-jackets and insisted that anyone entering the
Olly Ro
without one would be keel-hauled. This allayed her fears to an extent, but secretly she hated the boat and the dangers it exposed her children to. She did not confide these fears even to Mel, not wanting to cast a shadow on her friend’s recaptured exuberance. Mel approved of the boat and was a good rower, but since her operation had restricted the use of her arm she declined a turn at the oars, conceding, reluctantly, that she was not yet completely fit.

Facing death had increased Mel’s love of life, regenerated her belief in the psychic world of spirit that surrounded and entwined itself in her earthly existence. Her wretched illness might have given her greater insight but it had denied her the chance to explore her friend’s capabilities when it came to all things psychic. However, Liz’s ability to access this hidden world had not been forgotten by Mel. That amazing evening before Liz’s birthday remained unexplored and, not one to leave a stone unturned, Mel wanted to explore it now. For Liz, the whole experience had been shelved and she hoped it had been forgotten. Mel had her own plans; with the sainted Brenda not present this was an ideal opportunity to pursue them.

Once the party was over and the last of the stragglers had been collected the four friends settled down for the evening. The men took themselves off to watch a recording of the cricket, armed with copious bottles of ale and a large plate of bacon sandwiches, leaving the two girls free to amuse themselves. Liz lit a fire in the Fourth Room, intending to play some soothing music and chill out, as James and Jenny would say.

She manoeuvred the conversation around to Mel’s health, determined not to be fobbed off with platitudes this time.

“I’m fine now. I promise you. The cancer’s gone. I’ve to put it all behind me.”

“But you must have thought about dying? Did it change what you believe?”

Mel laughed. She had no doubts as to her own beliefs. This life was a continuation of a spiritual path that we would join up with once we pass on through death. It was Liz who needed to examine her own philosophy or lack of it.

“But you must have been scared of dying.” Liz betrayed her own fears by persisting with this line of enquiry.

“Of course I was. I’m psychic, not stupid. Dying can be a nasty business. But death is pretty natural. We all manage to do it and all have to face it at some time. Don’t get me wrong: I love life and don’t want to go just yet. I can’t bear the thought of leaving Bob even though I know it wouldn’t be for ever. But I get quite excited at the thought of what’s waiting over there. Don’t you? I can’t imagine not believing in anything. It must feel very empty and pointless.”

Liz had never thought of herself as being without a faith, but now that Mel mentioned it, she realized she had none. She was one of those predictable middle-Englanders, Church of England without thinking about it. Did it matter? Where did she think her parents were? What would she believe if God forbid, anything should happen to Edward or the twins? And was there a god who could forbid it? Mel’s resolve was enviable and Liz decided she wanted some of it for herself. She would go to church, lots of churches, mosques, temples whatever, until she discovered where her own path lay. Mel’s reaction was to laugh at her friend. This was so typical of Liz. To jump in at the deep end before dipping her shell-pink painted toenail in to test the water. Liz was about to defend herself, but before she could find the right words Mel had taken her Tarot cards from her bag and had begun to shuffle them.

Mel’s illness had forced her to “close down” for a while and Liz had never fully explained the effect the last reading had had on her. She was in no doubt that her own bout of poor health was a direct result of dabbling with the occult. That last encounter had put the fear of God in her. This fear lived on in her subconscious, as her experience by the lake this very morning had illustrated. The occult carried so many connotations of witchcraft and black magic that, although she knew Mel was in no way associated with such dark arts, Brenda’s warnings resonated in her ears. No, she decided, the cards were absolutely not for her. Anyway a believer in luck had no need for psychic intervention.

The unexpectedly eerie chill of the room was at odds with this warm summer evening. This had become her favourite room and no longer held any of the gloomy vibrations it had given out when she first discovered it. So when they entered on this particular evening it came as a shock to feel they were not welcome. She had assumed that funny business with this room was in the past. She knew that the turmoil she had felt watching the children in that blessed boat had something to do with it. That old rowing boat was still nagging at her to solve its mystery. It was far more than any natural maternal instinct that was urging caution. Part of her said,
“Leave it alone,”
but another, stronger part was urging her to finally unravel the mystery.

Harriet was also reconciling herself to the fact that the time had come to sort things out. She had little faith in those awful cards but recognized that they might have some significance. If they could unlock her memory, then she could be reconciled with her past. She needed to find out exactly how David had died and whether she could have prevented it. But, like Liz, she was in two minds. Knowing was one thing, being strong enough to face the truth and the consequences of such knowledge was another. A moment as propitious as this might not present itself again. All three of them were in tune, even the room seemed to be waiting for something. Harriet decided to put an end to the waiting.

“Doesn’t it scare you?” They were seated on the sofa by the window. The fire was dull, refusing to burst into flame. It barely took the chill out of the air. Liz poked at it, trying to get it to liven up a bit. Mel was concentrating on the cards. She stopped shuffling and began to spread them face down in a long fan. She heard the question and replied without looking up.

“Doesn’t what scare me?”

“All this,” Liz indicated the cards but she meant much more.

“What’s to be afraid of?” Mel said. “They’re only bits of paper; or do you mean our spirit friends? Spirits are only people who have moved a little further along the same path we’re on. I treat them exactly the same as I do anyone else. Anyway, some people are a damn sight more spooky than most spirits.” Her eyes never left the cards, which she was tweaking at with the long silvery nail on her index finger. Liz was pleased to see Mel had begun to paint them again. It was a sign that things were returning to normality.

“What if you don’t like them?”

“The cards?”

“No, what they might conjure up… the spirits.”

“I tell them to get lost.”

“What if they don’t go?”

“Then I tell them to piss off! They soon get the message. Spirits can’t hurt you unless you let them. Let’s see if we can find out what’s going on around you right now, shall we?”

Maybe this was what they both needed. Something was telling Liz to go for it.

The women looked at the face-down cards, then at each other. Liz nodded and Mel told her to take three. Liz chose one from each end and one from the middle. She placed them face upwards in a line and studied the pictures for clues. Was it possible that these painted bits of card could hold information about her innermost thoughts, even those that were locked away in her subconscious? Could they probe into the past or even predict the future? The first card showed a handsome young man in a romantic, somewhat over-dramatic pose. He stood high on a hill, almost in the clouds, and held his great sword in both hands. He looked like a bit of a poser to Liz. His head was turned away as he stared down and away from the king who filled the second card. This king was dark and complicated. He was seated on a throne, the corners of which were decorated with the heads of bulls. His elaborate coat was embroidered with vines and he held a sceptre and a pentacle. Liz felt sorry for him. He seemed tired and worried, a man who carried a heavy burden, in complete contrast to the third card, who looked like a joker. This man was dressed all in red, balancing two pentacles much as a juggler would. He wore a ridiculously tall red hat on his head and he was dancing. Then she noticed two tiny ships in the distance both tossed on huge waves; one riding on the crest the other half-hidden behind the great wall of sea.