The House of Susan Lulham (Kindle Single) (3 page)

Ethel padded in and curled into her basket. Merrily closed her eyes to the sound of soft purring and the climbing rose tapping the window in the night breeze. She thought about the concept of an unquiet spirit, restless essence of someone who’d died not peacefully.

Zoe didn’t call back. Nor did Jane till the following day.

* * *

After Midweek Mass, this was. She’d been doing the Wednesday Eucharist for a while now, never really liking the word Eucharist but worried about simplifying it in case anyone thought she’d picked up the Catholic virus. But as Anglo-Catholic priests tended still to disapprove of female clerics, how likely was that, anyway?

‘Mahonie?’ Jane said. ‘He’s not moved into the village, has he?’

‘He lives in Hereford. I ran into his wife, that’s all.’

‘Poor cow.’

‘Sorry?’

‘He only arrived a few weeks before I left, so I rang Rhiannon for you. Rhiannon Hughes? Who’s still serving time at Moorfield, so please don’t stitch her up. Bottom line, Mahonie’s a slimeball? Leans over you to make a point on your laptop, and his hands… you know?’

‘Nobody report it?’

‘It always could’ve been accidental, apparently. Rhiannon says he thinks - inexplicably - that he’s God’s gift.’

Hell, what did you do in this situation? Merrily reached for a cigarette - should
she
report it to somebody? Just quietly tip someone off to keep an eye on Mahonie?

‘He doesn’t seem to be a paedophile,’ Jane said. ‘It was only big girls.’

‘
Only
.’

‘Anyway, he was at this school in the Forest of Dean before, so Rhiannon put his name into the system for me.’

‘What?’

‘Facebook. It’s mostly sad old people on there now, but she found some former students, and Mahonie’s famous for like… well, for shagging a dinner lady. She sponged soup from his trousers after he broke up a fight in the sixth-form restaurant. Something like that. He was married at the time.’

‘So she was the other woman.’

‘Who was?’

‘Sorry. Talking to myself.’ Merrily was staring through the scullery window at the glittery lichen on the churchyard wall. ‘Thank you, flower. Good of you to take the time. Everything OK?’

‘Yeah. It’s interesting…’

‘But?’

‘Bit of a shoestring operation. They might have to wind up before Christmas. Could even be back in a few weeks.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Though it’ll be good to… have you home.’

‘Yeah, I bet,’ Jane said.

Several times that day, Merrily rang Zoe, getting the voicemail. As an early autumn evening dimmed the scullery and she was thinking about maybe driving over there, Sophie called.

‘Merrily, you might want to turn on your computer. I’ve sent you a link. Call me back when you’ve read it.’

* * *

The Facebook picture was very like the wedding photo, with Zoe looking slim and tanning-centre gorgeous. She listed her favourite singer as Adele and her fave TV shows as
Strictly Come Dancing, The X Factor, EastEnders
and
Celebrity Big Brother
. Her latest posting said, in reply to a Facebook friend called Lou,

I was very dissapointed. she didnt even look like a proper priest. She said o yes it was definately an evil spirit but she wasnt up 2 exercising it on her own. She said i shouldnt be alone here at night. She said I should go 2 the church and lock myself in. I said I was frightened of churches but she didnt get it. I dont know what 2 do. Im 4king shitting myself.

Lou:
Vicars dont believe in nothing these days. U want to try one of these ghostbusting groups. Id still get out of there tonite tho.

Lou’s picture was of a navel with something rubyesque in it.

Zoe:
Nowhere 2 go have I? Im trying sleeping pills.

Merrily scrolled down to where one of Zoe’s Facebook friends had chipped in. She was called Nattie. Her picture was one eye peering between fronds of dark hair.

Sleeping pills R bad news. U hv shit dreams.

Then Lou was back.

I had 2 go 2 a funeral about a year ago done by this woman Watkins.
Only time Lloyd was ever interested in church. It was a month or so b4 we split and I was starting 2 realise what kind of Rs hole he was by then.
Couldnt take his eyes off of her. Shes quite little not his usual type he liked them with big tits usually. I shouldve known.
Take him 2 a funeral and all the bastard can think of is shagging the vicar. (lol)

Merrily called Sophie back.

‘Who told you about this?’

‘Somebody told Grace Lulham Mrs Mahonie was making a big thing about Susan’s house, on the Internet. One of her friends, as you know, put your phone number online for her and they were all demanding she call you. As they would. To find out what you’d do.’

‘She was supposed to be keeping it quiet so it didn’t get back to her husband. Doesn’t make sense, Sophie. Also, I didn’t say any of that stuff. Evil spirits? Or that I wasn’t up to exorcising it on my own. It’s… lies, or…’

Silence. Who would know she hadn’t said any of that? Who in the wide world?

She’d been given a part in a reality show.

‘I think it’s accepted that social networking sites are largely held together by lies and fantasy,’ Sophie said eventually. Sophie who didn’t gossip, Sophie who worked for the cathedral. ‘I hate all this. Hate the way if people have a problem they type it into their computers, and scream it out to the world and wait for the world to give them stupid, dangerous advice.’

‘Am I really supposed to let her get away with making things up and publicly attributing them to me?’

‘At this stage,’ Sophie said, ‘I rather think you have to. If it was in a newspaper, that would be altogether different. But social media… Ultimately, I suppose, you may have to consider legal action, but…’

‘Hell, no. I used to be married to a lawyer. I know what a long trail of heartache and penury that would involve. That’s not what I meant. I need to go and see her.’

‘I think that would be
very
stupid,’ Sophie said.

‘What’s the alternative?’

‘To do absolutely nothing except write out a report, email it to me, and I’ll copy it to the Bishop. Not that he’ll read it, now.’

‘Is Bernie even in town?’

The Bishop was as good as gone. Due to leave at the end of the year, but in the dog days of August he’d had a slight stroke.

‘So you’re saying just cover my back?’

‘Just accept that your initial feelings might not have been so far from the truth,’ Sophie said. ‘And that you don’t have to do penance for them.’

‘Mmm,’ Merrily said.

But, by the following afternoon, it had become harder to ignore.

Oh God, yes.

5. Fifty-three hits

Jane had left a message that sent Merrily to the computer again. She called Jane back at once, waited for her daughter to climb a hill.

‘You found this yourself?’

Turning the computer screen to face her. At the centre of it, the YouTube screen, ready to re-run.

‘Are you kidding?’ Jane said. ‘I had to walk halfway to Milford Haven just to bring it up on the mobile. No, it was Rhiannon. Her curiosity was like piqued by the possibility of Mahonie-linked gossip. She just followed Zoe around cyberspace for a while. Mum…’ Exasperation. ‘I mean, Christ, how could you let her
do
this to you?’

‘I’m an idiot.’

‘You bloody are.’

‘Yeah well, you don’t think, do you? She was just standing in the doorway, holding her phone… You just don’t
think
.’

She recalled Zoe with her smartphone held in both hands at waist level, as if she thought she might need to call her husband or the police, or just to give her hands something to do.

The clip lasted less than two minutes. She ran it again. A small woman in black moving around the Mahonies’ front garden, head down, hands raised periodically, muttering like the people you saw in town centres, in the care of the community.

‘…and defend from harm all who enter…’

Fortunately, the sound was mostly weak and at least she wasn’t wearing the kit. The clip ended with a slice of sky. Its title was
Merilly Watkins exercises the ghost of Susan Lulham
. To the right of it, a number.

Merrily jerked back in her chair.

‘
Fifty three hits?
Already?’

‘Minimal,’ Jane said. ‘Could be thousands by the end of the day. But, you know… by YouTube standards, it’s fairly innocuous. I mean, there must be more sensational exorcisms on vid—’

‘Jane, it was a
blessing
. Basic. Ground floor.’

‘Yeah, well, I wouldn’t worry about it too much. I mean your face isn’t
very
clear.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Just tell the slag to sod off,’ Jane said. ‘I would.’

* * *

She reported it to Sophie. Sophie said she’d tell the Bishop. An hour later she called back.

‘He didn’t really have time to say a great deal. Medical appointment. I don’t think he’s overly worried at this stage, but, like me, he thinks you should avoid Mrs Mahonie.’

‘I left a card. What if she calls me?’

‘After this? Is that likely?’

‘After this it’s very likely. You think she’s going to be embarrassed? I had to promise to make it discreet, OK? She hadn’t even told her husband she was getting us involved. How many other lies? However…’ Merrily sighed unhappily. ‘…that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a… problem.’

Wondering now if Zoe was planning to use her as evidence that the house really was haunted. Were the Mahonies planning to take some kind of legal action against the seller? Was the fortuitously-absent husband pulling Zoe’s strings?

‘If you do ever find it necessary to visit Mrs Mahonie again,’ Sophie said, ‘shouldn’t you be accompanied by a psychiatrist? As there’s now explicit mention of an evil spirit?’

‘Not from me..’

‘I realise that. But
her
use of the word surely takes the situation on to a different level.’

‘Not nec—’

‘And gives you an excuse to take a psychiatrist. Do you see what I mean?’

‘I suppose.’

‘I could send a copy of your report to someone on the psychiatrist list, just in case.’

So far this year, two psychiatrists had volunteered their assistance, a woman and a man; neither of them seemed as toxic as Nigel Saltash, who’d been dumped on her a while back. And at least a visit from a shrink wouldn’t be a development Zoe was likely to share on Facebook.

‘Meanwhile, if I just talk to her on the phone…’

‘Merrily…’

‘I know—’

‘No, listen to me. If you go to the house again and she doesn’t answer the door, she’ll probably be filming you from a window, on her phone. Then she’ll be telling Facebook that… I don’t know, that you’re stalking her or something. And providing proof. Equally, if you phone her, you don’t know if it’s being recorded.’

She was right, of course. Merrily felt numb, useless. Maybe a peripheral victim of Zoe and Jonno’s fury at being sold a notorious suicide house. Collateral damage.

* * *

‘It’s not as if you have to be any kind of believer,’ she said, ‘to experience a… a visceral revulsion at the thought of something that horrible having taken place in your sitting room. Every time you’re watching something violent on the great big TV on your wall, it’s going to come to mind, isn’t it? I mean, even if it was my house—’

‘Stop there,’ Huw Owen said.

‘Sorry?’

‘It’s not your house. Don’t project personal feelings.’ Huw’s voice was like a drab day in Sheffield, where he’d grown up. ‘Let’s go through the possibilities,’ he said. ‘Points out of five:
a
,
basket-case
.’

‘Nothing to suggest it, but then I’m not qualified to give an opinion. Let’s say two points.’

‘And, to return to the point you’ve just made,
b: over-imaginative
?’

‘Almost certainly not. One.’

‘
C: volatile?

Huw’s word for a poltergeist. An energy often activated by uncontrolled human emotions.

‘Can’t be ruled out, though I don’t like the lipstick.
Three
.’

‘
D
,
insomniac
.’

The remains of a person. Someone who couldn’t rest. Tied to a former life by anxiety, guilt, unfinished-business, human passions, addictions.

‘Hmm. On a paranormal basis, it’s the most likely… I’m going to say
three
again. Maybe four. All the elements are there.’

‘We’ll carry on.
E
:
lying
.’

‘Four-and-a-half.’

‘Interesting.’

She pictured him in his fireside chair, stuffing leaking out. Hair like sun-bleached straw. Jeans and a dog collar the colour of old bone. She imagined him nodding in the silence of his rectory in the Brecon Beacons.

‘The lies have it, then,’ he said. ‘Why?’

‘Well… because some of the things she said on Facebook went beyond exaggeration. And she’s not exactly the jokey kind. At times she’d appear scared and upset, but in an angry way - she and Jonno, the ambitious high-school teacher, getting taken in by a ruthless vendor. Estate agent’s particulars admit to four bedrooms, ensuites, triple-glazed conservatory, etcetera… but fail to mention the former owner who sat on the living room floor with the phone and slashed every accessible vein.’

‘So they’re planning to sue either the vendor or the agents. And they want the background out in the open and evidence of psychological damage, the wife’s desperation. Someone who doesn’t believe in ghosts but is so distressed she calls in a priest anyway.’

‘You ever known a case where an exorcist has been called to give evidence in court?’

‘Not personally, but it’s happened. If she’s lying and they lose the case it’s not going to do us any good, either in the eyes of the public or our masters. And if she wins, that could be even worse.’

‘The Church gets bombarded with similar cases.’

‘And then we’ll be rubbished by all the bloody Dawkins-ites as the naive suckers they always said we were.’

Silence. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been talking about packing in, tired of the apathy and the scorn.
Taking the shit for militant Islam and kiddie-fiddling Catholic priests. We’re either naive or laughable or we’re part of a sinister old conspiracy to control folks’ minds and have sex with their children
.