The Haunting of Harriet (13 page)

Mel rubbed her ear again. “Well, I can’t change what the cards tell me. We can’t always choose what we want in life. This is telling me you need to stand on your own two feet. You are not using your talent. Don’t be afraid to follow your star, and I’m convinced it involves singing.”

Harriet pressed her mouth right up against Mel’s ear, so close she could have bitten the long crystal pendant that dangled from it. This time she shouted her message loud and clear.

“Yes, that’s Jenny. Liz is going to PAINT! Are you deaf as well as stupid?”

Exasperation got the better of Harriet. Resorting to a less orthodox method of communication, she pushed Mel so hard that she pitched forward, hands splaying out on the carpet in a vain effort to save herself. The entire pack of cards shot up in the air, landing in a confused heap beneath an equally confused Mel. When she righted herself it was obvious that the reading was ruined. Mel rubbed her back. “I’m getting too old for this scrabbling about on the floor. Oh, well; not to worry. We can start again if you like. There must be a reason for this. Everything has a reason.” She rubbed at her sore back. It felt as if she had been kicked by a mule.

The mood was broken and the group decided to call it a day; all but Liz, who sat rigidly holding onto the only card to have survived the tumble. People were chatting about the cards and the evening, but all these words meant nothing to Liz. She saw only a tall figure dressed in a long black cloak, standing beside a stretch of water. On the ground were five cups. Two stood upright but the nearest three were spilled over at the foot of the tall figure. It was the last card Mel had turned over and something had compelled her to stretch out and save it. The colour drained from her already-pale face and her voice shook with emotion as she demanded: “What does this card mean? No, don’t tell me. Oh, my God! Someone’s going to die. It’s the death card, isn’t it?”

The group froze. They were staring at Liz. She had flipped, turning from the cool, calm creature who was always in control to a demented fury scrabbling about on the floor, scraping up the fallen cards as though her life depended on it. Having gathered them she hurled them across the room, letting out a loud scream as she did so: “Stupid bloody things!” She was shouting and literally spitting as she spoke. She paused to wipe the spittle from her chin then continued in a quieter but still ferocious mumble, “How the hell can bits of card tell anything about anything? It’s a load of rubbish. They’re probably made in bloody China or somewhere, factories of them, churned out by the thousands by poor bloody peasants paid in peanuts. And we’re meant to believe they can tell the future. Crap!” She sat back on her heels and took a large swig of wine. “Crap!” she repeated loudly and with conviction.

“Feel better now?” Mel was calmly collecting her precious cards. She put all but one back in their box and placed the box in her bag. “There,” she said, “they’ve gone. And for your information the Five of Cups is not a death card. It’s the mourning card, an emotional card, a card for reflection, a card that demands time be granted to adjust to whatever changes are to take place. The whole sequence of cards was good. They were exciting, promising fresh challenges; a clearing out of the redundant past to make way for the new….”

Liz cut her off. “How can you believe in such…?” she searched for the right word.

“Crap?” Mel offered. “Listen, if it is only crap, then why get so aerated? Yes, you’re right the cards are just that – cards, bits of paper, so relax. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

Liz crawled on all-fours until she was beside Mel. She knew she had been out of order. Mel was a respected psychic and a close friend; it was unkind and unfair to insult her in such a cruel way. She attempted an apology: “I didn’t mean to undermine your work, Mel. I know you believe in what you do. I’ve no right to put it down….”

Mel jumped in before Liz could finish: “You can’t undermine what I do. I know what I know, so say what you like it won’t affect that. No, Liz, what you won’t do is accept what’s staring you in your beautiful, blinkered face. It was all there in the cards but you couldn’t take it. Great when they’re telling you what you want to hear. But woe betide anyone who dares to rock your boat. You, Liz Jessop, you have the power. The sword is in your hand. OK, there are a few challenges ahead of you and some may not be that pleasant. Goodness, your life has been pretty plain sailing up to now. None of us gets off Scot-free in this life. Just don’t let any traumas that are coming wreck what you’ve built with Edward. You can crumble and give in to what you saw in those crappy bits of card or you can use your bloody sword to protect your kids and your home. I’m telling you, it’s in your hands. Your fate is yours to mould. The Tarot can only show you the likely outcome. It’s up to you whether you choose to continue on the same path. Pick a path, any path, have an affair, shoot someone, jump off a cliff; it’s your choice. Life isn’t wonderfully easy. Nothing is written, only the possibilities. The rest is a blank page. I suggest you grow up, Liz. Take responsibility for your own action – or inaction. I’m going to bed.”

The others, whether for reasons of diplomacy or out of sheer embarrassment, had quietly taken themselves off, leaving Liz all alone, stunned and hurt. Her future lay scattered around her like so many pieces of paper. Maybe Mel had got it wrong. All that rubbish about singing was way off. Anyway, how dare Mel talk to her like that? What did she know about her life and her frustrations? What could betrayal mean other than Edward proving to be unfaithful? There was no way he would be so cruel. Anyway they were very happy. There was no need for him to look at another woman. They were the ideal team. He liked the fact that she needed him, leant on him. It flattered his manhood. He was after all an old-fashioned man who liked to be the breadwinner. Maybe she did rely on him a bit too much, but why not? Suddenly the cold realization of a truth she had never before been brave enough to face dawned on her. She was nothing on her own. But her future was in her hands. She could control it. She resolved to face her fears and wield her sword. She wrote an apology to Mel and thanked her for being a friend. On her way up she slipped the note under Mel and Bob’s door and took herself off to bed.

She did not sleep. That last card was always staring at her; she could not shake it from her mind. Was the figure in the foreground male or female? What on earth could it mean? Was someone going to die; Edward, the children or possibly even herself? Mel had said no. Well, she could hardly have said:
yes, death is staring you in the face. Tough, just get on with it.
Liz closed her eyes so tightly that they hurt but the image on the card remained burned into her brain. A tall figure dressed in a long black cloak, that was all she had seen, but its presence was around her. This long dark spectre was vivid in her mind’s eye but try as she would she could not see its face. Mentally she turned the card over again and again, trying to see it afresh. Slowly the figure turned its back on her. Her body shuddered. She was so cold. She was drifting in a fragment of a boat. The children came and went until they were rowed out to sea by a faceless boatman. She was left on the shore, her cloak offering no warmth from the cold mist rising from the sea. On the far bank stood a tall figure, silently calling to her from the jetty by the old boathouse. Edward grunted as she pulled the duvet from him and wrapped it closely around her thin nightdress.

At four o’clock she awoke and walked back downstairs. She went to the Fourth Room. Opening the door she peered in and looked around. It was peaceful and dark: a junk room. Whatever had been present earlier was gone. Liz closed the door as carefully as if on a sleeping child and, despising herself as she did so, turned the key in the lock before replacing it on the secret ledge in the kitchen. As her fingers withdrew from the now familiar-shaped key she knew she could not contain it. She was too late; something significant had happened that night. She also knew The Five of Cups was an image that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

T
he incident with the Tarot was not revisited. Convincing herself that it was just superstitious nonsense, Liz told Mel in no uncertain terms that the whole thing was a load of crap. After an exhausting night of tossing and turning she had woken with a closed throat and swollen eyes. A stubborn virus that was doing the rounds put an abrupt end to the celebrations; the merry season had fizzled out. Liz’s continued poor health made the New Year a subdued affair and it was not until late spring that Liz felt her spirits lifting. She was still suffering nights of broken sleep and although she never said anything it was the face on that wretched card that she saw as she closed her eyes, and again when she woke. It was haunting her.

But by summer Liz announced to Edward that she was out of the doldrums and raring to go. It was the night of the summer solstice and they had been enjoying a quiet dinner for two. Edward had braved Marks & Spencer’s and prepared a surprisingly professional meal. The sight of his slender wife steadily reducing to an anorexic waif had really scared him. Tonight she had eaten well and drunk a considerable amount of alcohol. So, when after dinner Liz suggested that they took their brandies down to the lake, he was confident that she was fully recovered.

The silence of the water was hypnotic. When its surface was broken for a second by a lazy trout gulping a late-night snack, they both jumped. They raised their glasses to each other. The old boathouse was directly beneath the moon, the dovecote and tower silhouetted against it.

“You’re right,” Edward said, “it is quite beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever really noticed it before. It’s very dramatic, isn’t it?”

“It’s perfect!” Liz replied. They stood watching the shadows change as the clouds obscured the enormous moon, only to make it seem brighter than ever when it reappeared. This was the summer solstice, when at noon the sun reaches its highest point in the sky giving the longest day: a day when magical things can happen.

“Darling,” Liz spoke softly, using the spell of the scene as a prop. As she only used the “D” word when she wanted something, Edward braced himself. “Do you remember what you said the first time you saw Beckmans?”

“No, but I’m sure you are going to tell me.”

“You hated it. You said it smelt of rot and was totally uninhabitable.”

“Did I?”

“Yes. You called it a money-pit and said the agent must have seen me coming.”

“Really!”

“Yes. Then you said there must be a good reason why it had been empty for thirty years and that you wouldn’t touch it with a barge pole.”

“Did I?”

“Then you said that if I really wanted it I could have it, and anyway there was nothing that throwing money at couldn’t solve.”

“And I’ve been throwing money at it ever since!”

“You don’t regret it though, do you, darling?”

There it was again, the dreaded “D” word. “Not yet, but why do I think I might any minute now?”

“Well, I just wanted to thank you for trusting me. I love this house and I love you and I know you’ll love the new boathouse too.”

Edward swallowed hard. He had enjoyed teasing Liz. He liked hearing how selfless and generous he was. And he had to admit he had grown to love the old house nearly as much as Liz did. It suited them well. It was probably the perfect home for them and Liz had done a great job restoring it. But it had cost a lot of money and the money market was getting pretty tough with all the indicators pointing to a worse drop before they recovered. Now was not a good time to start spending vast sums of money rebuilding a useless folly. That itself would be folly. The school fees were the next major expense and would take a considerable outlay. No, he had to be firm.

“Hang on – you just said it was perfect. Now you want to pull it down. Anyway, I like it just as it is, all Romantic and Gothic and in ruins.”

“You did say we should do it up.”

“I did not. When did I say that?”

“Just now… It was your idea. Anyway, we have to do something, and soon, it’s an accident waiting to happen. I mean, just suppose, God forbid, that something happened to the twins…. I mean, it’s completely rotten. It could collapse at any moment. I dread to think what might happen if their little school friends come round and, well… Their parents could sue us for millions. Anyway, it’ll look fabulous. I can see it…” She was weaving her magic, casting her spells. He felt doomed. He knew he did not stand a chance. “Say something, darling.”

“You’re obviously feeling much better.” This was not the reply she wanted. Edward looked at her standing there in the moonlight. She was quite lovely once she got the bit between her teeth. She was right, of course. The building in front of them was extremely dangerous. A rush of guilt shot through him. Something stronger than his conscience dared him to refuse her.

“Listen, I’ll think about it. OK? No promises. And I never agreed to anything before; I simply said it was beautiful. It is beautiful. I like it just as it is.”

Liz was disappointed but not defeated. She had thought the argument was won. Now she realized she had more work to do. The first thing was to lighten the tone. If they rowed about it the cause could be set back for months.

“Of course it’s beautiful, it’s in the bloody dark! Even I look good in the dark!”

“Ah, but only from the left. Your right side’s a bit dodgy and your bum looks… ouch!”

Liz’s slap hit home, catching him sharply across his upper arm.

He raised his hands to ward off any more blows. “Convince me, and I may… I said
may
just make some enquiries. But can we please go in now? It’s getting bloody cold and I feel a lengthy debate coming on. You are going to have to be pretty convincing, young lady. Of course, you could resort to other means of persuasion.”

Grabbing his wife he drew her to him, kissing her passionately and fully on the lips. They still had the ability to excite each other and were it not for the small, aggressive dog pulling jealously at his left trouser leg he might well have taken Liz there and then. Leaving their glasses, they ran back to the house together, with the tenacious hound snapping at Edward’s heels. Taking the stairs two at a time he closed the door on the disgruntled animal, threw his wife on the bed and the subject of the boathouse was forgotten… for the moment.