The Haunting of Harriet (40 page)

By the end of the day the four diverse individuals had bonded into a homogeneous group. Their differences had been displayed and respected, shared and admired. Mel was pleased to find that she kept up with most of the reasoning without difficulty. Mark’s knowledge of history was phenomenal and Robert had a firm grasp of theology. Never did they make her feel inadequate or inferior. They admired her work, despite approaching it from a completely different perspective. She had learned a great deal and although she had not radically changed her beliefs she had revised her thinking about the validity of certain other points of view. They agreed to differ as to what affected the ability to see or converse with a spirit, recognizing the degree of influence semantics played in one’s rationale. No one claimed certainty about sentient life after death and they might have reached an agreement that at some point in the future they would find out, but Mark, being a confirmed atheist, argued that one needed to exist to realize that one didn’t. At that point Jenny’s brain began to hurt.

When they emerged from their conclave, they were starving. Liz had prepared a vast bowl of pasta and another of salad and the day ended as it had begun, with feasting and good company. Jenny went to bed too tired to dream. The young lovers went to bed to do what young lovers do and James was nursing his first hangover. Mel slept the sleep of the dead, feeling vindicated and reassured of her psychic gifts, while Edward and Bob shrugged off the day, agreeing not to discuss their findings and glad to rest their tired bodies. Only Liz was left in limbo. Inside her was a new life, forward-looking and full of promise. Outside was the nagging call of the past, ominous and threatening. She hardly closed her eyes all night, trying to decide when, how and to whom she should tell her news.

The boys left in the morning, Mel and Bob left after lunch. Liz had still not revealed her secret and was feeling miffed that the curiosity her visit aroused yesterday had vanished. One other person knew and that was Harriet. She had listened to some of the debate but got bored with the endless search for a non-existent answer. She had visited the salvage work, but could not stand by and watch what she considered an act of grave robbery. So when Liz returned, Harriet attached herself to her and resolved to spend a quiet domestic day free from any more startling revelations. She was therefore the only member of the house, apart from the house itself, to have heard the announcement. A new baby at Beckmans: now, that was surely a cause for celebration. She calculated that the baby was due in early September; Virgo, the sixth sign of the Zodiac, lying between Leo and Libra, bringing the ability to judge and a sense of fair play. And yes, the baby would be a girl, despite what those idiot doctors said. She persuaded Liz to tell Edward quietly once they were alone, sensing that a little private sharing between the two would not go amiss.

By the end of the month, the pregnancy had begun to show and Edward actually accused Liz of getting fat. He was exhibiting signs of stress again. This time work was to blame. The market had become a harsh environment in which it was necessary to swim like crazy just to keep one’s head above water. They were not in financial difficulty, but even Edward could not remain unaffected by the global downturn. Liz was showing signs of restlessness; she was looking for another project, which would no doubt involve large sums of money. His spiritual vows, taken at a time of abject crisis, had been long forgotten and he prepared to tighten his belt. So it knocked him for six when he learned he was to become a father again.

By the summer, everyone knew. Pregnancy suited Liz. It was eleven years since she had had the twins and it had not escaped her that, at thirty-seven, things might prove more hazardous. The doctors assured her she would have a normal confinement and produce a healthy bouncing boy at the end of it. Her
laissez faire
attitude returned and Beckmans became an open house for the summer. The relaxed ambiance rubbed off on Edward, who talked himself out of his personal depression and resolved to let the global economy worry about itself. Life was back on an even keel again. The summer holidays stretched ahead, a seemingly endless span of carefree bliss.

David had not returned to France, confiding in Edward that the life of a semi-hippy author was not all it was cracked up to be. He was made welcome at Beckmans, at least until he managed to find a teaching job and a small flat near his new school. He assured Liz that he would finish his novel one day, and she believed him. Whether he ever mentioned it to Edward was debatable. Liz didn’t mention it herself, knowing that Edward would be unable to resist crowing, which would do their newly rekindled friendship no good.

By the end of July Liz was enormous. The rumours abounded. It was obviously another set of twins. The thought of double trouble was daunting and Liz clung to the fact that her obstetrician knew more than the Circus did. Secretly Edward was praying for another son, preferably just one. Much as he adored James he longed for a son who would shine on the sports field, someone he could teach how to bend a football so that it swerved into the net, someone he could school in the art of throwing the perfect googly. James was a fabulous child and was growing into a brilliant young man, but shine as he might in the realm of quadratic equations it was on the games field that Edward sought his reflected glory and that was not going to happen. Jenny wanted a sister more than anything, and James himself wanted an Alsatian. Liz was content that whatever she was carrying would please one of them, so anything healthy was OK with her.

It was a gloriously sunny day and the Circus was sprawled on garden chairs around the long cloth-covered table that bore the remnants of a lazy lunch. The cheeseboard was still providing nibbles, and another bottle of Shiraz was being uncorked. Liz watched as the others fell under the influence. She felt rather superior in her enforced abstemiousness. The children had taken their food to eat as a picnic in the refurbished
Olly Ro
and were drifting effortlessly on the placid lake, leaving the adults free to talk. They had any topic under the sun to choose from and yet, to Liz’s dismay, the business of the accident was paraded out yet again. It was Brenda who started it with an innocent enough remark:

“It was a blessed miracle no one was hurt.”

That word “miracle” set the cat among the pigeons. The idea of heavenly intervention was introduced and the group were a couple of bottles too far down the line to skirt the unavoidable pitfalls. David prided himself on his atheism, which excluded any adherence to a superior power, and the Catholic camp would have no truck with any psychic nonsense. Edward saw it as an opportunity for some fun and mischief and Mel was more than up for it. Bob slipped into his role of peacemaker and Liz tried in vain to change the subject. The thought of that dreadful day being re-examined and dissected left Liz feeling her head would burst. She considered pretending to go into labour, but decided to keep that ploy up her sleeve in case of an emergency.

The discussion moved from the specific to the general, until the boundless question of the existence of the supernatural was left facing them. Like a bull at a red rag Brenda charged at the word. To her, “supernatural” meant one thing: spiritualism. That was enough to make her cross herself and utter a few Hail Marys. And spiritualism was a short hair away from Satanism, which literally put the fear of God in her. Like a reflex action Mel felt obliged to defend her beliefs and expound on the natural everyday intervention of unseen forces, citing the accident once more as a case in point. Some outside influence had definitely been at work, guiding Jenny in the rescue.

“Let’s see what everyone else thinks, shall we?” A groan went round the table, followed by a series of deep sighs and a shuffling of chairs. “Just to see where we stand, that’s all.” Bob was doing his best to calm things. The group shuffled their chairs on the lawn and nodded or shook their heads but they did not leave or refuse to take part. “Right, those who believe in the existence of supernatural forces raise their hands.”

“I’m out of this.” David was too apathetic to physically abstain, so he pointedly pushed his chair away from the main fray and settled back to enjoy the show.

Liz’s hand shot up, while Mel’s hovered.

“Mel!” Liz’s indignation was patently obvious. “You started this; don’t back out now.”

“Hang on a minute, I started nothing. You all know what my beliefs are. It’s just that word ‘supernatural’. I believe everything is natural.” She was stopped almost mid-sentence by her husband’s exasperated voice.

“Splitting hairs isn’t going to help. I’ll rephrase the question for you. Do you think that something… oh, God, I don’t know what to call it now… let’s get straight to the point. Do you believe something spooky happened with the kids or not?”

“If you want my opinion as to whether I think spirits were involved, then, yes, I do. And I don’t think it, I know it.” Mel looked defiantly around the table, daring anyone to challenge her. Then she put her hand in the air.

“Now who’s being dogmatic? Ha!” Brenda folded her arms and turned her body away. It was a hostile gesture, indicative of a battle to come. Before Mel could retaliate Bob jumped in.

“So, that’s two for the spooks. Now, who thinks everything has a logical and rational explanation?” He raised his own hand and, seeing that the abstainer had also raised his, he retorted: “Oh, no, you’re either in or out. You wanted out and out you stay.”

“Does that exclude divine intervention?” Brenda asked before being shouted down by her husband. She raised her arm, waiting impatiently for Donald to do the same, which he did slowly and deliberately. Edward took a wry look at Liz but then raised his hand.

“Four!” Bob exclaimed, holding his own arm aloft. “I declare the non-spooks have it.” He rubbed his hands together, pleased with his achievement. Then he caught sight of Mel’s scowl.

“We should at least have a discussion, an opportunity to sway opinions or something; just taking a vote isn’t fair. I’m not even sure what we were voting for. I think we should each have an opportunity to put our case.” She looked at Liz and smiled. Liz slid down in her chair as far as her bump would allow, wishing she could disappear beneath the table. This was not what she had wanted when she had invited them for lunch. This was supposed to be a celebration of “closure” or whatever the Americans call it. A fresh start, or just a nice lunch, not another post-mortem; it was time to forget it all. Why couldn’t they see that?

Meanwhile Bob was trying to assuage Mel. “What’s the point?” he said.

“There’s every point. Too many questions have been left unanswered. I take it we’re talking about the accident, not just our general beliefs? In which case, we need to think it through before jumping to conclusions. That’s all.” Mel had turned back to face the table, every fibre of her being raring to take on the unbelievers along with the saints.

She was in her element. Bob recognized the signs and knew he had no chance of deflecting her. Too much wine had flowed.

“Yes, but you don’t have a case.” As he said it, he knew it was the wrong thing to say.

“Of course I do. How dare you say that! Explain yourself.”

Bob sighed. How many times had he found himself in a similar situation? Knowing that whatever he said would sound patronizing, he added, “Because, my sweet little medium psychic, one cannot prove a negative.”

“And arguing from a point of faith isn’t valid. Well, not in my book.” David, who was seriously slurring now, put in his tuppence worth.

“You keep out of this. You haven’t even got a book,” Bob snapped.

Mel grinned at him. She adored his sardonic wit and as far as proving negatives went he had a point. She did not intend to keep quiet, but he did have a point. And it certainly kicked the Catholic argument into touch.

The seeds of dissension were watered with yet more wine. Mel was placated and more than happy to let the summit continue. Arguments were batted to and fro, punctuated by hungry children drifting back for food, then beating a hasty retreat, not wishing to be part of any drunken row. More bottles were opened to further lubricate the proceedings and the debate continued.

When at last Bob stood up to put the case for the disbelievers, it proved a turning point for Liz. Bob was a persuasive advocate. He made his claims clearly and dispassionately. His exposition on coincidence was masterful and hard to dismiss. Liz found herself convinced that accidents of chance, or flukes, happen all the time and need no explanation. Had she not always believed in the forces of luck? It is only when they happen to collide with matters of vital importance to oneself that they mischievously get interpreted as “fate” or “destiny”? What happened on that dreadful night and with those wretched Tarot cards could be explained away as chance. When it came to the baffling question about the actual existence of Jenny’s mysterious woman, Edward made some succinct points that she found could not be dismissed either. In fact, the more she listened to him the more she found herself agreeing with him.

He described his daughter as an original thinker; her innovative brain constantly experimenting with new ideas, words and emotions. Liz agreed. He described her as a natural visionary; choosing to see the whole in microcosms, each to be dissected and interpreted in her own fertile imaginative way. Liz agreed again. He felt that a mind so ahead of its peers might easily need to create or invent a mentor; a person whose cleverness was beyond question; someone who could be confidante and therapist; a sounding board; someone to dispense advice and guidance: an imaginary older friend. Liz was in total agreement.

Mel also saw the logic in Edward’s argument, except for the fundamental question about the source of this guiding light. Why need this woman be a creature of Jenny’s imagination? Why not an actual being, a spirit guide, a guardian angel? At this point Bob brought the meeting to order again. Mel was asked to provide proof as to the existence of such beings. When she refused to put her spirits to the test, her evidence was declared inadmissible. No one rose to her defence, so her argument was thrown out. Liz could not help feeling she had let her friend down, left her feeling betrayed and abandoned. She had forgotten of what stern stuff Mel was made. Mel had been on the receiving end of far worse than this many, many times. Being in a minority of one held no fears for her. Anyway, she was not alone. She had a legion of unseen helpers to call on should she need them. Proselytizer she was not, so she sat back, content to know what she knew.