Chapter 23: Twenty-Three - A London Haunting: A Christmas Ghost Story

It was cold. It was raining – the greyest of days – but there she was, the woman, standing on a London street, having taken shelter from a sudden downpour in a shop doorway. The same doorway he’d dashed into for refuge. He had run so fast, desperate to protect the suit he’d spent months saving for – the one he was certain had just helped him land the job he’d been offered – that he collided with her.

She hadn’t been angry. She’d laughed.

And in that moment Reggie swore he fell in love – deeply, hopelessly, endlessly in love. He’d held on to her to steady her, to steady them both, his gaze caught in the cobalt depths of her eyes.

Rebecca.

Her name was Rebecca.

It was the sixties – the swinging sixties, they called it. A glorious rebellion against the recent harshness of war, and all the heartache it had left behind – the rationing, the restraint, the anger of it all. People could only endure so much. The young especially wanted to live, to cast off the shackles that had bound society for so long.

Such was the human spirit: meant for joy, not heartache.

Never had Reggie understood that more than when he stood in that doorway on a rainy afternoon at the dawn of a bright new year.

That Rebecca felt the same amazed him. Her eyes met his with equal intensity, and later she told him she’d felt herself falling – even as his arms went around her.

Rebecca was beautiful – those eyes, the blonde hair that fell straight and glossy down her back like a waterfall, the delicate nose dusted with freckles, her slim waist, and the long legs she showed off beneath her miniskirt, the fashion of the time.

She was twenty-five; he was a couple of years older; she a secretary, and he a clerk at a firm of accountants. Ordinary jobs. Ordinary people. Yet from the moment they met, it was as though they’d become something else – extraordinary. As if God Himself had looked down and singled them out for something special.

A whirlwind romance, some might call it. They barely spent a day apart from that first meeting – and when they did, it hurt. It actually hurt.

She’d been the first to say it.

“I can’t bear to be without you, Reggie. It’s like…there’s no sunshine without you.”

He’d laughed at that. “Maybe because we’re in the depths of winter, and there is no sunshine, Becca.” That’s what he called her – Becca.

She’d thumped him, playfully. “You know what I mean.”

He’d pulled her closer. “I do. And I agree.”

“Seriously, Reggie, how did we ever exist apart?”

He’d thought about that. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t.”

She’d squealed then, full of happiness – his Becca. “We’re so lucky, aren’t we? I mean, look around, just look around. So many people are on their own, and yet here we are, we’ve found each other. What we have is something to cherish, okay? It’s precious, and we treat it that way. Always.”

“Always,” he’d murmured.

“Just…hold me, Reggie. Hold me so I can feel alive.”

All this – everything Lottie had seen so far – was delightful. A love like theirs was rare, and though she couldn’t say she loved Cam, not yet, that feeling Rebecca described – that sense of falling – she understood it.

She and Cam, though, were doing things differently. They were taking it slower. Cultivating the ground with care. After all, it took time to truly know someone. And with Lottie, there was something else: she could tune in – as Cam knew. Another reason she’d hesitated to tell him. Who wanted to be read all the time?

But doing so required focus – as she was doing now with Reggie – and it drained her, left her depleted, so it was obvious when she did. She would never intrude without reason. Cam had to trust her on that, and it seemed he did.

She wouldn’t betray him.

But Reggie, he might think she was doing exactly that. But if that was the case, he wasn’t fighting anymore. Instead, more and more of his memories poured into her.

A whirlwind of picture-postcard memories – Reggie and Rebecca’s first year together unfolding in a vivid cascade of snapshots. The dances they went to, the music they played. The soundtracks of the time, so iconic that Lottie recognised most of them. The Beatles with All You Need is Love, The Doors’ Light My Fire, and I’m a Believer by The Monkees. She could almost feel the energy of it all, the pulse of the era, aching to join in – twirling this way and that on the dancefloor beside them, swept up in an atmosphere that shimmered with such…promise.

They’d had such a perfect first year, ending with Christmas in their very own flat – just one bedroom above a grocery store, with a living room, a kitchenette, and a bathroom – but it was theirs. All theirs.

The fuss Rebecca made that Christmas! She was every bit as enthusiastic as Lottie’s mum could be, the place strewn with decorations, paper chains hanging from corner to corner, tinsel draped over everything, and the windowpanes stencilled with snow spray. And the tree – oh, the tree – it was decked with baubles and even more tinsel, though without an angel or fairy on top. She seemed to have forgotten that.

A tree so like the one downstairs, now rotting.

Back then, though, it had been something beautiful too.

If only things could stay the same – some things. When you had something perfect, you wanted to capture it somehow, hold it for eternity. But would that be too much like imprisoning it? Caging something that, by its very nature, should be free?

For true beauty lay in that freedom, in the giving and receiving of it.

Ah, those images of Rebecca – laughing, always laughing – her head thrown back, mouth open, life bursting out of her. The way she loved too: completely, ferociously, possessively. She gave her all to Reggie, and he gave as much back.

Their first Christmas had been the sort dreams were made of. No one else around but them. No one else needed. A time to seal their love, to ensure its longevity – the Christmas No.1 playing in the background, The Beatles again: Hello, Goodbye.

“There’ll be no goodbyes between us,” Rebecca whispered one night as they lay in each other’s arms. “Promise. You have to promise.”

Willingly, he had. “I promise.”

Another year followed. Another Christmas. But this second one…was it as perfect as before?

Lottie saw their flat again – a clock on the mantelpiece, this one working, ticking away the minutes, the hours. And…a photo frame? Not silver but wooden. Not empty either, a photograph of them both, standing beneath umbrellas, smiling. It had a faint yellowish tinge, though, as though time had seeped into it early.

The previous year, the flat had been strewn with tinsel – thrown into the air just to see where it would land. Joyfully thrown. Now there wasn’t so much, and what there was seemed more artful than haphazard – something lost because of it. An innocence, perhaps. A freshness. No stencils on the windows either.

And the tree…? Ah, the tree was there. The same as before.

The one constant.

A different song played – the month’s top hit. Not particularly festive, but jolly enough: Lily the Pink, its chorus looping over and over. Yet beneath it, faint but insistent, Hello, Goodbye lingered, its notes and lyrics pushing their way through.

Lottie strained to listen. The words were faint, like mumblings – the same kind Reggie had made that one time his guard had slipped. Yes. No. Stop. Go. Go. Go. Goodbye. Hello. Hello. Hello. Why…say…goodbye? Why?

Words that resonated. Struck a chord.

But with whom?

Come on, Reggie. Show me more.

Her vision shifted to a snapshot of the tree – its lights faltering.

Again, she addressed him. Who was faltering? You…or her?

More snapshots. More feelings.

An intense love – enviable. The kind written about in books, classic and modern – an everlasting theme, because it was what so many longed for.

A gift. Most of the time.

Rebecca loved Reggie, and he loved her. But something was wrong – cracks beginning to appear.

Christmas was over – their second – another year about to begin. After the brightness and bustle of December, January could feel almost unbearable. It was a dark time of year still, so why, oh why, couldn’t people leave their lights up until the end of the month – into February even? Just until the first hopeful signs of spring appeared, when natural light could finally lift the gloom that had held dominion for so long.

When Lottie finally moved out of home, she would set her own rules about that. The darkness Dot had warned her about…it was good to keep it at bay. In all ways.

Reggie and Rebecca were well into the year now, and something else was in the mix. A pregnancy? Rebecca was pregnant? More happiness, surely – something else to celebrate. But in the snapshots Lottie saw, the cracks only widened, each one opening into an abyss of its own.

A love so fine. An intense love. Too intense?

Rows erupted, despite the news. Accusations hurled. Fights picked.

Physical fights.

Lottie braced herself.

“I saw it – how you looked at her! You couldn’t take your eyes off her!”

“Becca, you know that’s not true. All I see is you. Us. Our family.”

“Liar!”

“Becca, what’s wrong with you? Why don’t you trust me anymore?”

“Because I saw it, that’s why! Aren’t you listening? Don’t you ever listen? Us, a family? You won’t even marry me!”

“Yes! I will! I just…I want to do it properly, not rush it. Just give me a few more months so I can save for a bigger place. For a ring – a good ring. One you’ll be proud to wear for the rest of your life. That’s all I’m asking, Bec––”

She flew at him.

This beautiful girl who’d once been so in love was beautiful no longer. Hatred flashed across her face – raw, unguarded. Not just for Reggie, perhaps, but others too, though Lottie didn’t know her history. Did Reggie? Had Rebecca ever told him?

Beneath that dazzling veneer lay something wounded. Something broken. And Reggie had become her target – had been for months before the pregnancy, though in subtler ways, ever since the first bloom of love had faded.

Now, there was no subtlety left.

Oh, the damage she could inflict! But what could Reggie do but take it? A barrage as ferocious as the love she’d once shown him. It made him afraid to come home at night, to see what mood she’d be in, to have to endure it again and again.

Afraid…and something else, something more potent: ashamed.

How – how – could something perfect turn into this?

And who could he tell about it? Who could he possibly admit it to?

Oh, Reggie.

Lottie had such a tight hold of his arms, but her grip softened in sympathy. She wanted to hug him instead – to hug all those who’d ever suffered at the hands of another like this. To find some way to make it better.

I don’t pretend to understand. I’ve been so fortunate. But…oh, Reggie. You were trapped. Entirely trapped. You couldn’t leave her. Leave your child.

And yet no one would’ve guessed what was happening behind closed doors. Reggie did what he’d always done so well – kept everything inside, presenting a calm, agreeable, professional face to the world. And if someone should happen to ask, question a bruise, perhaps, one that he couldn’t quite conceal, there was always an excuse ready: ‘I was putting up some shelves, and wouldn’t you know it, banged a nail into one of them so hard it shot back and hit me in the face.’

As Rebecca was beautiful, Reggie was handsome. The first time she’d met him, Lottie could tell he’d been a striking man. Bad things didn’t happen to people like that. Not to him – the head of the household. A man. Not in that era.

How practised he’d become at fulfilling people’s expectations – adept at convincing himself as well. It will be all right. It’ll be different soon. This pregnancy – it’s hard for her. It takes its toll. But when the baby’s here, she won’t act like this in front of it. So yes, it’ll be all right. I just have to be…patient.

There he was – Reggie – sitting at his desk at work, surrounded by ledgers and papers, a window behind him, repeating it, that mantra: It’ll be all right.

The months flew by, and Rebecca grew bigger. And still, it wasn’t all right. She’d been so sweet when he’d met her – so loving, so full of fun and hope for their future – and he’d been blinded by her. By her certainty that they would have a future. That he was hers. Hers. Hers. Hers. To do with as she pleased.

And what she seemed to want was this: to vent her rage on him. Happy about nothing anymore – not even the baby. Hating it all.

She should see a doctor. She needed help. They both did. But to suggest such a thing – what a beating that had brought.

Oh, this was hard to watch. Lottie was faltering, crying – she knew she was.

I don’t want to see!

But it wouldn’t end unless she did. And never had she wanted anything to end as much as this – the destruction of one soul by another.

Oh, Rebecca. Why?

The images sped up, as if Reggie himself couldn’t bear them either, then stopped so abruptly she gasped.

“Lottie?” Cam was behind her. Dear, sweet Cam. As sweet as Rebecca had once been – as Reggie had thought she was. “Look, come on, if this is too much…”

Too much?

Of course it was too much!

But it had happened. More than this had. Worse.

Before her, Reggie was shaking his head, murmuring the same words as before. “No, no, no. I can’t. I just…can’t.”

She’d loosened her grip earlier, and now he seized his chance, flinging her arms aside and sinking back into the chair, as though trying to disappear into its folds.

To hide. And keep hiding. For how many years now? How many long years?

No. They’d started – they had to finish.

She lunged forwards, catching his arms again. Meanwhile, Cam kept hold of her, and as they clung to one another – all three of them – she knew it would happen: the door to Reggie’s room, the doors to every room in the house no doubt, flew open. Drawers, cupboards, and windows – all raging against restraint.

“Tell me all of it, Reggie.”

“Lottie,” Cam said, his voice tight with worry, and rightly so. Reggie was an old man. But sometimes, the truth drags itself into the light.

“I can’t…” Reggie babbled on. “Rebecca… Look! Look how angry she is after what I did. What I did. Not her. And I’m sorry…I am! But…she’s so angry.”

Lottie was crying still, just as much as Reggie, but she held firm.

“She’s not,” she told him. “Reggie, Rebecca isn’t angry at all anymore.”

It was as Bobby had whispered earlier on the stairs.

The only ghost here is me.