The Haunting of Harriet (17 page)

All three women closed their eyes. Their breath was regular and deep, the only sound in the room. Liz had no thoughts and no memory. She was entering a place without time and where self no longer existed; a place she would never describe and would not remember. She was poised on the brink of somewhere she had never been before, but a place that she knew intimately. She was entering a trance and Harriet was her guide. Together they went back through those happy early childhood days, days destroyed by the loss of a brother and a father. They felt the absence of a mother’s love, the isolation of a child cut off from all warmth and security until, abandoned, it is forced to create a world in which it can survive. Harriet showed her the pain of being exposed to the cold, the enduring pain of a long life lived alone and the bitterness this left in one’s soul. Then she shared the redemptive joy that came from being welcomed into a new family. The warmth that filled her now and her determination to repay their generosity was laid bare as Harriet poured out her heart and soul. By the time she had finished she was weeping and kneeling on the floor, too drained to speak or stand.

The trance began to lift. Physically Liz had remained unaltered but her spirit had travelled from child to adolescent through adulthood to old age. The strange thing was that none of it came as a revelation to her. With each new twist and turn of the story she was ahead of the narrator, she had seen it all before; lived it all before, but without any conscious knowledge of it. She was a long way away, far away in time and space, in a place where no one lived but everyone had lived and would live again. It was a place where now did not exist. It was neither the future nor the past, it just was, and while she was there it was familiar.

Liz heard a voice calling her. It came from far away. As it drew nearer, the space she had been occupying sped backward, sucked down a long light shaft. Cold air carried her back along the duct until the tunnel itself began to recede. The air around her grew still and the temperature returned to normal. Once more silence became the strongest presence in the room… the room? Yes, of course, she was in the Fourth Room. She heard her own breath entering and leaving her body. Then she heard Mel exhale a laborious sigh. Mel looked anxiously at Liz, willing her to open her eyes. Harriet had already opened hers and was staring at Mel with disbelief.

Reluctantly Liz returned to the room. She had been a long way off, out of her own body, drifting in an ethereal world where she did not need weight or substance. Lifting her head, she opened her eyes and the shock of reality hit her hard.

“OK?” asked Mel.

“Yeah, I think so… a bit spaced out. I feel as though… I don’t know what I feel… actually I don’t feel too good.” Liz was shaking violently and tears streamed down her face. Taking a hanky from her pocket she blew her nose loudly.

“Well done. That was quite amazing.” Mel had opened the door enough to let a crack of light in. She peered at her watch. “How long would you say we’ve been here?”

“I’ve no idea… five, maybe ten minutes,” Liz said.

“It’s nine o’clock,” said Mel triumphantly.

“You’re joking! Did I fall asleep? Good grief, it’s dark already!”

“You have just experienced your very first trance, Mrs Jessop!” Mel was excited. This was her friend’s spiritual awakening and could cement the already strong bond they shared. Liz had never totally accepted this “other” world. Without actually denying it she dismissed it as fascinating and rather scary. Mel was desperate to question Liz: to discover how much she could remember of the séance, but she had to approach it carefully. It was highly likely that Liz would recall nothing of the experience. Mel’s experience told her to tread cautiously.

Harriet had little or no respect for Mel and her so-called psychic powers. If that previous fiasco with those ridiculous picture cards was anything to go by, Liz needed to be protected from this woman. She had just poured out her inner-most secrets to her friend, a task she found both difficult and painful. She did not want them relayed to this idiot. It had been no mean feat on Harriet’s part to share her very private past with another, so her resentment of it being passed on to yet another was justified. However, more than a little jealousy was at play. Sharing Liz’s friendship did not come easily to Harriet, having being starved of intimacy all her life. Their relationship was based on mutual trust and she did not appreciate this interfering drama queen stealing her thunder. Besides, Mel was filling Liz’s head with nonsense and scaring her to boot. Harriet determined not to let Mel gain the upper hand.

“What happened? I can’t remember a thing. Is it that late? Tell me what happened, was it good?” Liz was talking quickly and excitedly; she was as high as a kite. Mel realized she ought to bring her back down slowly, so she spoke in a calm professional voice:

“We’ll have a post-mortem later. Let’s get some water first. I don’t know about you, but I’m thirsty. Are you all right, kiddo? OK, let’s find the others. They’ll have given up on us.”

Liz began to ease back into reality. The bright light of the hall made her pause until her eyes grew accustomed to the glare. Three hours had been lost. What possible explanation could she give? Her only recollection was of having been away somewhere very different and exciting. A delicious smell of bacon and eggs guided her across the hall to the breakfast-room.

Harriet remained behind, smarting from what felt like rejection. No recognition as to her contribution had been given.
A thank-you would have been nice
, she thought as she sat in the armchair. The Pote crept in and settled himself noisily on her lap. She stroked his cold, silky ears. “Well, at least you appreciate me,” she said, and they both fell asleep.

Edward, Bob and the children were sitting around the table. The children were unwashed but relaxed about it.

“Where have you two been? We looked everywhere. I was beginning to think about getting worried.” Edward’s forced frown brought Liz back to earth with a bang. She had no idea what to say. Mel was less reticent.

“We were in the Fourth Room. Poor Liz had a nasty attack of hay-fever so I gave her some healing. It was so deliciously cool in there we just sat on that old sofa and we were goners. Too many gins and all that sun. She’s been telling me her plans for that room. I hadn’t realized it was so lovely. I’ve not actually been in there before.” Mel lied beautifully. Liz was impressed and grateful to have such a clever accomplice. She smiled across at her and Mel winked back.

Bob had been quietly munching on his food while looking intently at Liz.

“That thing I found buried in the mud. It was a boat hook, but how the heck did you know? You couldn’t possibly have seen. Even a blooming giraffe couldn’t have spotted it from where you were.” He shovelled another forkful into his mouth and waited for Liz’s answer.

“What boat hook?”

“How many boat hooks are there round here? The one you told me to leave alone.”

“I don’t remember any boat hooks, sorry. So what did you do with it?”

“Left it alone, mate, I recognize an order when I hear one! I’m married to her, remember.” Bob nodded towards his wife and laughed his relaxed down-to-earth laugh. For the first time that day Liz felt completely normal. The mention of a boat hook rang no bells and it hardly seemed worth pursuing so late in the day. Soon the twins would be bathed and in bed, stories read, books put away. The men would have retired to the lounge with full bellies and large whiskies, settling down to watch some sport, leaving Mel and her alone to indulge themselves. Maybe at last she would begin to understand what had happened to her. It was not a day she wanted to repeat but she needed to make sense of it.

At eleven the men went off to bed, worn out by the combination of hard labour, fresh air, children and whisky. Glad that her friend was staying the night, Liz took another bottle of Pinot from the fridge and the two women sat down at the breakfast table ready for a long session. Mel, who was shuffling her beloved Tarot cards, began by asking questions of a frustrated Liz, who was bursting with questions of her own. She needed answers, not more damned questions.

“So, what happened to you down by the lake?” Mel asked.

“I’ve no idea.”

“Think. Take it step by step. Not why, just what.”

Casting her mind back, Liz tried to recapture her feelings. “I knew something important was going to happen.”

“How?”

“I just knew.”

“When you first woke up?”

“Yes, the day felt special.”

“Nice special or nasty special?”

“Nasty. I had butterflies in my stomach. More like anticipation, dread, definitely not nice. I’d been dreading today for a long time.”

“Why?”

“That wretched boat… I can’t explain.” Liz knew it was all connected to that card – the Five of Cups. She shuddered at the thought of it. Part of her wanted Mel to know. Maybe another reading was what she needed, but it was the last thing she wanted.

“Close your eyes, Liz, let yourself go back to the lake.”

Liz was not sure she wanted to go back over everything that had happened. This had not been one of her better days. She laughed a small hollow laugh, trying to understate her feeling of foreboding. “It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, you know? Frightening, dangerous, somewhere you really don’t want to be… but riveting.”

Mel nodded. “Now think, when did you first feel frightened?”

“Oh, by the lake, before they even started to raise the boat. It was anxiety at first, then it turned to pure fear. My hair stood on end, I was bitterly cold and my heart was pounding so hard I thought you could all hear it. I wanted to scream…or cry…or both, but I was paralysed. My body did not seem to be in my control. That sounds so stupid.” Liz’s eyes pleaded with her friend. Hopefully this madness would prove to be temporary. Normally calm and in control as she was, to have been overtaken by some unknown force terrified her. “It was as if I wasn’t actually there. No… It was more as if I’d stopped being me. Help me out here I’m talking rubbish.”

Mel responded with yet another question. “Who were you?”

Liz sighed. “I don’t know. I was under the willow. It was so odd because I could see everything, which isn’t possible, not from there. I must have imagined it.”

Mel shook her head, “Now you’re being rational. Don’t. You said it wasn’t you. What made you say that?”

Harriet had been woken abruptly by the dog scrabbling at the door to get out. Her ears were burning hot; someone was talking about her. She found the two women in the breakfast-room and was horrified to hear Mel’s line of questioning. Standing directly behind Mel she began tapping her foot impatiently on the floor. She was getting very angry indeed. How could Liz be so disloyal? Everything she had told her had been in confidence and here was her friend betraying her by telling tales to this awful woman. She listened to Mel’s constant questioning. How typical of a damned psychic to keep nibbling away until she got the answer she wanted: the one that fitted her theory. Harriet was convinced the woman was a charlatan.

“I was watching me. I was outside my body watching myself.” Liz frowned and shook her head while holding out her glass for Mel to refill it. “I’m so confused. Maybe it’s the menopause, I am thirty-five tomorrow.” She attempted to laugh but could not quite manage it, so she took a large swig and thumped the glass down onto the table. “Have you ever felt like that, Mel?”

“What? That I’m getting old, or have I had an out-of-body experience? Listen, ducky, this is par for the course for me,” retorted Mel with a sly wink.

“So which me was on the bank, the real me or another one?” Poor Liz was looking straight into Mel’s eyes as she asked her question. Surely the answer would be reflected in those purple pools of mystery.

“Spirits sometimes use our bodies, take us over. They have to. They have no physical power of their own. I think that might be what happened to you.”

“Utter claptrap!” Harriet was incensed. “There is only one you, Liz. No one took you over. That’s ridiculous. I was there, I should know, I was right there with you.” It was time to explain a few things. Filling her powerful lungs with a deep breath Harriet faced her foe and took her position, centre-stage. “Why don’t you ask me what I was feeling, eh? If you had asked me I might have told you too, but you don’t listen, do you? You don’t even acknowledge my existence. Well, madam, this is just for you; Liz has heard it all before, but for you I’ll take it from the top, as young Jenny says. But you’d better listen because I shall never say it again.”

Mel paused. She knew there was a presence in the room and it did not feel friendly. It was addressing her, but for some reason she could not tune in to it. This was taking her way out of her comfort zone and it was more than a little alarming.

“Liz, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but shall we just go with the flow?”

Liz nodded. Mel sat back and Harriet punched the air emphatically just as she had seen the Jessop twins do in a moment of triumph.

Harriet began to pour out her story. It came in an often obscure stream of consciousness. Much of it made little sense. It was so personal and had been lost in the twists and turns of time, but the essence was there. Talking to Liz had been so natural. It was as if their souls could meet and share experiences. There was no need to externalize everything into words. Words had always proved inadequate. The sad little girl who still lived in Harriet was ready to release her pain, but she only had a child’s vocabulary. How could she describe the horrid scene in the boathouse that had scarred her early life? Who but Liz would understand the awfulness of not knowing what had happened to her brother David? Only Liz need know the wonderful potential contained in her daughter. It was all so private. But Harriet had started and once the floodgates were open, the flow could not be staunched; not until the last drop of emotion had poured out. It was harrowing for them all. When she finally drew breath and fell silent, they were totally spent.

The three of them sat in silence for a long time. Eventually Harriet gave Liz a hug before she slipped away back to her sanctuary where she collapsed into her chair by the fire. Back in the breakfast-room the atmosphere was so intense one could have cut it with a knife. It wove itself around the room holding the two women in its grip, unable to move or speak.