Siren Spirit (9 page)

“Is this about that telephone argument a few days ago?”

Emma couldn’t believe the bravado in her own voice and gasped, putting her hand over her mouth.

Lewis glanced back at her, then at the floor. There was something about his demeanour which made all this feel wrong. Something had happened.

She let him in and they moved towards the sofa in silence. Lewis fell almost deadweight into the fabric, as if the life from him had vanished.

“You heard it then?” Lewis cleared his throat. “I guess I owe you an explanation.”

“Lewis, it’s fine. We’re just friends now, remember?”

“No, it’s not fine. I need to tell you what’s been going on. Will you let me explain?”

Emma nodded. His face looked tortured. Gone was the charisma she had adored from the start, replaced by a vulnerability that in other men would have been a deal-breaker. In Lewis though, it melted a place in her heart she had thought long dead. Her nurturing instinct kicked in and she laid a hand on his thigh. He looked up at her and into her eyes, searching for reassurance.

“Go on, I’m listening.”

“I wanted you from the first time I laid eyes on you. Normally, I get what I want, but then it turns out to be nothing like I imagined. I knew you would be different.

“I had hoped to woo you properly, but that night at the pub, you looked so beautifully helpless, I couldn’t hold myself back. I knew you would run away emotionally afterwards, and you did exactly that. I’m sorry for scaring you like that.”

Emma held her breath for the next statement but nothing came from Lewis. He bit his lip and stared at the floor.

“Lewis, that’s lovely, but I don’t see what your feelings for me have to do with that argument. Who’s Annabelle?”

“Emma, I’m not who you think I am. I need to come clean.”

***

Emma stood outside the corporate-grey building and peered in through the door, mulling over whether she should walk in and greet her colleagues or run away.

She had taken two weeks off to move house, but so much had happened that it felt like a lifetime. Most of it she couldn’t possibly explain to any of the rabble in here anyway; they would never understand.

She took a deep breath and pulled open the door.

“Hey, Em! Great to see you, lovely!” Oh, no. Maxine had spotted her already and came running over to hug her. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re back. Steve’s been struggling while you’ve been away and tried to throw a load of your work onto me but, oh, you know how it is, I barely have the time to do my own thing. Oh, and then the second week, Josh was ill with chicken pox, would you believe, so I had to stay home and look after him.”

Emma recalled Maxine’s endless tales of woe about her only son. Maxine mollycoddled the poor child so much, Emma dreaded to think what kind of man he would grow up to become.

“Then, Gerard’s wife went into labour the other day, so we won’t see him for another week or so. It’s a girl, by the way, seven pound something. Mum and baby all okay. So you’ve missed all sorts really. How was your house move?”

Emma stared back at Maxine, wondering whether she had always had verbal diarrhoea or if she was just really excited to see her. She had no idea how to respond to the onslaught of information, so she chose to keep it simple. “It was good, thanks.”

Maxine took the cue and moved out of the way while Emma scuttled over to her desk.

“Anyway, I’ll let you get settled back in. There’s a team meeting at eleven, so you’ll have a chance to catch up then.”

Emma thought it would take more than a team meeting to catch up on everything, but she smiled back nonetheless.

***

The next few days proved busy enough, giving Emma plenty to distract her from both Grace’s predicament and her own feelings of emptiness whenever she thought about Lewis.

His revelations had given her much cause for reflection. Lewis’s wealthy but estranged father, had been found dead in his office. Turned out their last argument had exacerbated his existing heart condition. The final straw had been a falling out with his PA, the infamous Annabelle, and she had taken to throwing things at him, setting off the final, massive heart attack.

Lewis’s solicitor had called to let him know that his father’s will had been redrafted to include him after all, which made him the sole beneficiary. Annabelle was nowhere to be found, but it was thought that she had discovered the details of the will, hence the argument.

It was an awful lot to take in, and her head told her it would be wise to steer clear until the dust had settled.

As far as her other concern, the council had promised a response to the application for reburial within seven days, and Emma was not a patient person. When she woke on Saturday morning to the squeaky letterbox and a loud splat on the doormat, she was relieved they’d stuck to their word. She rushed downstairs and tore it open. The word “Granted” was stamped across the photocopied application form.

She texted Meredith immediately.

“It’s arrived. We’re on.”

“I’ll be round in an hour.”

***

The coffin seemed to take an age to lower into the ground. Emma took a moment to glance around at the attendees. Anthony and Claire had both dressed head to toe in black. Even Claire’s delicate handkerchief, which she used to gently dab her cheeks, was black.

Rob Thornton looked relieved more than anything. Emma cast her mind back to their exchange at his site office. The man staring at the grave looked weather-beaten, but she had a feeling he would sleep better at night from now on. Their eyes met. His smile was weak but genuine and she smiled back.

He stood next to the council representative, who wore an expression of utter boredom. Clearly this was a non-event for him, a formality to make sure the job was done.

As seemed appropriate for such an occasion, the sky was a dull grey. Meredith stood next to Emma, holding her hand and trying not to cry too much. She wore her spiritual robes, in a mixture of blue and purple. It was to cover both tranquillity and transformation, she said, which would assist Grace’s spirit in passing on to be reconciled with her father.

Lewis looked every part the dashing suitor in a sharp black suit and tie, and her stomach lurched as he glanced back at her and smiled. It would be his father’s funeral too the following day. What a week for him. She mused over what would happen between them next.

But today wasn’t about her relationship with Lewis; today was all about Grace. Poor dead, restless Grace, whose spirit had been unsettled for over two hundred years, waiting for someone who felt the depth of emotion that she felt, to solve her story and finally lay her to rest.

The vicar finished up and the three of them murmured some acknowledgement. In her heart, Emma felt more at ease than she had in several weeks. “I vote we go to the pub and raise a glass to dear Grace,” she said as they walked out of the churchyard.

“Sounds good to me.” Lewis smiled, clearly more comfortable with the idea of a log fire than the dank sky, which was growing darker by the minute.

“I need to be off, darling, I’m sorry.” Meredith kissed her on the cheek and winked. “I’m sure I can trust you two to make sure she has a good wake though!”

Weekday evenings in the pub weren’t quite so busy as weekends but there was still a lively crowd, and the hubbub meant they could chat easily about nothing too important. Emma felt the conversation come to her much more easily every time she spoke with Lewis.

“I think you will sleep better tonight than you have done in some time,
”
Lewis announced.

“I think you’re right, I will. It’s been a rollercoaster, that’s for sure.”

Lewis laid an arm on hers and smiled. “I have a favour to ask, and I have a question. I don’t know which to start with.”

Emma thought for a moment and smirked. “How about you start with the question? Depending on what it is, then I can decide whether I feel like doing any favours for you.”

He laughed. “Okay, the question is: have you thought about what I said the other day, about my feelings for you? I want us to be together, Emma, and I think it will be great. I can’t promise you it’ll be perfect, but I won’t leave you, I promise.”

Time stood still. She had been well aware of this man’s impact on her life so far, and how attracted she was to him. Living next door, she had been reticent to acknowledge that the arrangement couldn’t be more perfect, in case it all went wrong and she was left with an acrimonious neighbour.

She allowed herself to agree that they were in fact very well suited. He had been frank with her about his past at last, which had opened her heart enough for her to trust him.

She gazed into his eyes, took his hand and squeezed.

“I think we could be great too.”

***

Emma didn’t know what time it was, or even if she was properly awake rather than dreaming again, but there was a familiar coldness in her bedroom. Her heart sank. Grace had been reburied so what was the reason for this?

As Grace materialised in front of her eyes, though, she felt her emotions taken over once again. Instead of sadness, however, this time there was joy and peace, and another figure stood next to her. Emma had to squint a little to see properly. It was another girl with very long dark hair. She was smaller than Grace, her head laying easily on the taller girl’s shoulder. She had such a beautiful face, Emma held her hand to her mouth and gasped.

On the other side of Grace, there was a third person. In the darkness, Emma screwed her eyes together, trying to focus. It gradually became more defined, and eventually she could see it clearly.

It was a man in a collarless shirt worn by years of use, his breeches almost entirely covered by a garment fastened around his waist, rather like an apron. On his feet were heavy black boots.

Emma’s eyes drifted back to his face, expecting to encounter a harsh-looking man with a steely expression, but what she saw was a kind smile. He lifted a hand to doff his cap to her. He looked every bit the proud father and a tear came to Emma’s eye.

The scene took on a surreal quality as the family began to shimmer, merging together and turning as if to walk away. Just before they disappeared, Grace looked over her shoulder and blew Emma a kiss. The last thing she felt was a feathery touch on her lips, and she closed her eyes to savour the sensation. When she opened them again, the family had vanished, leaving only an immense feeling of calm. She knew then that Grace was truly at peace, reunited with both her lover and her father.

***

“You’ve probably opened up a gateway now. You know that, don’t you?” Meredith said when Emma spoke to her the following day.

“What on earth are you talking about? I don’t want to be haunted by a stream of these things!”

“You may not get any say in the matter, I’m afraid, honey. Don’t worry, though. I’ll be on hand to help you out when you need me.”

“Gee, thanks.”

The ironic tone did nothing to dispel Meredith’s enthusiasm.

“Whichever way you look at it, Grace chose you, probably because of your own heartbreak, she felt you would understand her loneliness and sadness in a way that others would not. Maybe other lost spirits will find their way to you too.”

“Well, I’m in no great hurry for that, you know. So, don’t go sending any advertisements into the astral plane, okay? I could use some rest now, if it’s all the same to you.”

Meredith chuckled. “I think you need to concentrate on your own romantic life, anyway.”

Emma nudged her friend playfully. This was exactly how they had been as college friends, sorting out each other’s love lives, sharing their deepest and darkest secrets. Suddenly, it felt like she had turned a corner, and life was a whole lot brighter when seen from this angle.

THE END

This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

First and foremost, my thanks must go to my editor, Robert Doran. Your insights and encouragement alone have formed a critical part of my writing journey. Without you, this book would never have been what it has become. Thank you.

Heartfelt gratitude must also go to Katherine Bolton at The Write Retreat in Brittany, France, for granting me the solace and sanctuary to write a large part of this book. Your friendship is the sort which nourishes and sustains the soul, and it continues to humble and inspire me.

I must also mention Birdy Blacksmith in Oxfordshire for allowing me to spend a fascinating morning with him, learning about his trade and watching him work. His forge has been in existence for over four hundred years and as soon as I entered the building, I could imagine Grace's father hammering away at horseshoes on his anvil. It was the perfect inspiration.

Having the confidence to pick up my pen and write has been down, in no small part, to the Swanwick Writers Summer School which meets each August. This diverse community of writers, young and old, feels like an extended family to me. Courses on all sorts of writing-related matters, delivered by some of the most talented writers I have met, and those wonderfully cosy chats by the bar, mean that this event is now a permanent feature in my calendar. Long may this continue.

Finally, I must thank the person who, many years ago, bestowed upon me a love and appreciation of books. A lady who introduced an eager toddler to that most wonderful of institutions: the library. Before I started school, my mother took me by the hand and showed me the wonder and delight of stories, and it has never, ever left me. I hope this modest achievement goes some way towards repaying the greatest of gifts.