Chapter 10: Ten - A London Haunting: A Christmas Ghost Story

“There… Are you there? Long ago now…wasn’t it? So long ago. But…could you…there? Truly? Angry. Yes. Yes. I know. I do. I…I know.”

This voice – where was it coming from? Distant, yet close. A trembling voice. Low. Questioning. Heavy with sorrow…and something else besides. Trepidation.

Lottie listened more intently, straining to catch each word, though some seemed to fade before they’d even begun. It was like listening to a jigsaw puzzle, she decided, fragments scattered, demanding effort to piece them together.

“Times, though…good. Remember? Before… Before…”

Was she dreaming? Not quite. If she’d been asleep, she wasn’t now, rather it felt like she was caught somewhere in between. She’d been reading beforehand, that was it. David Copperfield. And, as with Great Expectations, she’d been thoroughly enjoying it, meeting a new cast of characters.

There was David, of course – recently banished by his cruel stepfather to a boarding school. Oh, he was miserable there! A harsh place, gloomy and oppressive, the headmaster fond of punishments, not least shaming David by hanging a placard around his neck, falsely accusing him of biting his stepfather.

David was so frightened, so lonely, and…and…perhaps that was what Lottie had needed some respite from – the weight of his feelings, raw despite the beauty of the prose. She must have closed her eyes for a moment and drifted off.

The irony. She’d been waiting for Reggie to fall asleep, not the other way round!

So many times, while reading, she would lower her voice, flatten it to a soft monotone meant to lull him, keeping watch for the moment his eyes would close, when she could tiptoe to his side and gently, ever so gently, lay her hand over his. Try to fathom him, the way she was fathoming Dickens’s characters.

He wouldn’t want her to do any such thing, she knew that, and the inevitable guilt would follow. But if she could understand him, even just a little bit, she might be able to help him better. Perhaps uncover what was really happening in this house.

It was all part of her job: helping others. That was her justification – that it was for the greater good. She couldn’t stay in this post forever. In truth, she was already stagnating, and so was Reggie – the pair of them taking Dickens along for the ride.

All was not lost, though. While she slept, he’d relaxed enough to talk to someone, though she sensed no other presence in the room, nothing to disturb the stillness there. No, he simply believed he was speaking to another, lost in memory, conjuring a figure in his mind’s eye rather than before him in the flesh.

This – this – was how she could connect with him, perhaps, just feign sleep, and make it convincing enough that Reggie would unburden himself, just as he might in the solitary hours of the night when he thought no one was watching.

“When…met. Remember?” There was slight laughter from him as he continued. “Rain…cold…so cold. There you were. Smiling. Sweet smile. Heart…my heart…”

He was talking about meeting someone, then – a first meeting. A woman, from the way he described her. Who was she? Would he say her name?

Ouch – her leg! It was cramping, and she longed to move it, just a little. Could she do that and still keep up the illusion? Or would any twitch or shift give her away, prove she wasn’t as deeply asleep as she seemed?

No way to risk it. And now that she knew she couldn’t, her leg ached all the more, joined by an itch right in the middle of her back that quickly became maddening.

She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, nor when he’d started talking, what she might have missed beforehand. She just had to ignore every niggling discomfort, no matter how unbearable, and glean what she could, listen out for that name.

“Ran…café…coats…heads. Laughed. You…always…laughing…days.”

A slight shuffle followed those last words. Was he moving? Standing up? Going where? Not out of the room, surely? She needed to hear him!

No…no, he wasn’t going anywhere, just shifting his feet against the floor where he sat, maybe his legs irritating him too, and he was shaking them out – enviably.

Then came a sigh – deep, ragged – one that tore at Lottie’s heart.

Come on, Reggie, say something more!

As though her silent plea reached him, words began again, filling the gap between them, still mumbled, though, still barely audible.

“Quick…us…all so quick. That…thing…wasn’t it? …couldn’t wait. …bear…wait. Flat…small…ours. …all ours. World at…feet. Together always.”

Together always?

This was a love story he was reliving – a first encounter that had blossomed into something more, something precious. And yet, in all her time there, Lottie had seen no sign that anyone else had ever lived in the house with him. Not in the single room he occupied. No wedding ring on his finger or a tell-tale indent where one had been.

Did he have children? She’d never asked, and he’d never offered that kind of information either. With other clients, it came naturally. With Reggie…never.

Do you, Reggie?

If she thought she could force this connection further, she was wrong. He hadn’t heard her latest thought, it had just been coincidence before.

She shifted slightly, unable to help it, her skin crawling.

Together always.

Yes, this was love – real love. Whoever the woman was, and however long ago, Reggie had been smitten. But how seriously had he taken that vow? And she?

A faint, wet sniff from Reggie this time. He was crying.

Lottie swallowed. She shouldn’t do this. It was tantamount to eavesdropping. She ought to yawn, stretch, pretend to wake, slowly, slowly, thus giving him the time to compose himself, to sweep all trace of emotion from his proud face.

She should. But…what would help him more?

This would. Remaining still, with eyes closed, continuing to listen.

Ultimately, it would.

“Didn’t know…young…selfish. Yes…admit it. Just not…equipped.”

Equipped for what, Reggie?

His infernal mumbling denied her answers, his tears persisting. She could picture them falling thick and fast, his chest heaving as he whispered, over and over: sorry.

It was as if he’d forgotten about her completely. He was so lost in memory that the surrounding room had as good as disappeared, taking her with it – the present gone, only the past remaining. A fractured past, when once it had brimmed with promise.

“Make…right. Can…did. Remember…tried. Better. Calm. Sunshine again. You…sunshine. Golden girl. My…girl. Because… Because… When…shone…outshone. So much light… Too good…knew it. Too good…me.”

This girl – who was she? She sounded perfect. Beautiful.

Lottie could be entirely wrong, but if she had to give flesh to those bones, she imagined someone tall and slender, with hair that rippled like a waterfall, skin flawless, eyes either a dazzling green or liquid brown. And her smile – yes, she could see that too – the kind that could capture anyone, making you feel so special.

He’d been at her mercy.

And seemed to be still.

He’d…let her down. Or feared he had. Either way, guilt consumed him.

So, beautiful girl, are you alive? If not, is it you that’s haunting him?

You should never say ‘together always’ lightly.

“…Ca…Ca.”

What was that now? What did ‘Ca’ mean?

“Oh…Ca… Ca. Sorry. Why won’t…believe…? What happened…fault…was. …want…pay…it. Want to! Deserve… But…Ca…what…do? Tell me! What…do?”

There was more of this Ca. Reggie was clinging to the sound as though drowning and it were a piece of driftwood, his voice rising and breaking with each repetition.

More movement. He was on his feet now, and heading somewhere – the mantelpiece? The window? Which? If it was the mantelpiece, perhaps he meant to reach the empty photo frame – the one that should have held a picture of him and the woman he loved. Would he pick it up only to stare at something blank instead?

Lottie had been reading him a book when she’d fallen asleep, but now it felt as though she’d stepped into a book – she and Reggie the main characters.

The only characters.

Or were they?

She’d presumed the woman he was speaking to lived only in his mind’s eye. But what if that wasn’t the case? What if she did exist – just not in the flesh?

A ghost.

Reggie’s house could truly be haunted. That had to be it – the reason he’d shut himself away. An angry ghost, though? A violent one? He was trying to protect himself, but walls and doors…how effective a barrier were they?

Not very – the door to his bedroom was creaking, being pushed open.

Her own chest tightened, her breath quickening to match his. The ghost hadn’t been in the room – but now…now she was entering?

Footsteps?

Footsteps!

Did a ghost have footsteps? Weren’t they weightless, ethereal?

She wasn’t mistaken. There were definitely footsteps coming into the room.

They were no longer alone, she and Reggie, and only she seemed to realise it. He was still by the mantelpiece or the window, murmuring softly, oblivious.

Lost deep inside.

Vulnerable.

He was her charge, and it fell to her to protect him. Whatever was here, she had to open her eyes and confront it – no matter that she longed to lose herself too.

Again, she fretted. Just how violent was this ghost? How furious, if it felt betrayed? Would it cut down anyone in its path – her included – to reach its target?

They could both be in danger.

With a sharp intake of breath, she sprang to her feet, eyelids snapping open, mouth wide as she unleashed a warrior’s cry – raw and defiant – meant to frighten.

And it did.

A figure shrieked back at her – high-pitched, startled, every bit as fierce.

Not a woman at all, but a man. Flesh and blood. Black jeans, grey hoodie.

And as he cried out, the brown paper bag in his hand – Chicken Cottage stamped boldly across it – went spinning into the air.