Eloise Read online

  ‘Mum’s going with me,’ I assured Dad, who made a funny noise at the other end of the line.

  ‘I knew it,’ he said. ‘So it was her idea?’

  ‘No. It was my idea.’

  ‘Is she there? Can I talk to her?’

  ‘No. She’s out with Bethan.’

  ‘And she’s left you there on your own?’

  ‘No. Ray’s here.’

  ‘Oh.’ I think he must have forgotten about Ray. ‘Well, get her to call me, will you? When she gets back?’

  ‘All right.’ I cleared my throat, and repeated my former suggestion. ‘Can Matoaka cook us dinner on Sunday, Dad?’

  ‘I’ll ask her.’ He sniffed. ‘She’s doing us both a favour, Alethea, I hope you realise that.’

  ‘Yes. I do.’

  ‘If she can’t do it on Sunday, I suppose we’ll have to put it off a week. Or Bethan can come by himself. How would you feel about that?’

  I was feeling a bit cross, actually – I’m not sure why. But I didn’t want to appear impolite, or ungenerous. ‘That’s fine,’ I said.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’

  I was expecting that he would approve of my unselfishness, but his voice was cranky when he said goodbye. I thought: Well, you said Friday. ‘Probably Friday’ – that’s what you said. And I reflected glumly that this séance business seemed to be creating a lot of friction in the family.

  First there had been the discussion with Mum. Then, after she had agreed to let me go to Bettina’s – as long as she accompanied me – Bethan had wanted to come with us. When I’d said ‘no’, Bethan had sulked. Now Dad was sulking. No wonder I had decided to wait before telling Mum about the Exorcists’ Club. She was bound to get worried about that, too.

  In the end, Matoaka agreed to cook dinner for Bethan and me on Sunday night. Dad rang to tell us this on Friday, and Mum answered the phone. They proceeded to have an enormous argument about the séance, before Mum finally hung up on him. Then, as if I didn’t feel guilty enough, Bettina called to tell me that her aunt was determined to pay Delora’s entire fee.

  ‘She’s so excited,’ Bettina faltered. ‘So happy, you know? Like – going around singing. I almost wish …’ A pause. ‘I almost wish we hadn’t started this. Because what happens if it doesn’t work? She’ll be very disappointed. Very disappointed.’

  ‘Did you warn her, though? Did you warn her it might not work?’

  ‘Oh, yes. But she thinks, because it costs forty dollars, it will work.’ Bettina sighed. ‘My mother’s not pleased, because Auntie doesn’t earn much money, and she always spends it on silly things like huge, enormous bunches of flowers for Michael’s grave, and this is another waste of money. My mum thinks.’

  ‘Oh.’ That didn’t sound good. ‘Is your mum very mad?’

  ‘No, not really.’ Another sigh. ‘Just worried. Worried about my auntie.’

  I was worried, too. But I had to stop worrying, because my research had cautioned me against it. Worried people, the books had said, could ruin a séance.

  That’s why I wasn’t sure that my own mother should be attending. On the way to Bettina’s house, Mum kept asking questions. Why had I got involved in this business? Was Bettina’s house haunted? What was Delora’s view on our chances – did she think that my friend’s cousin would really be accessible?

  ‘I don’t know how much use this is going to be,’ she fretted. ‘I don’t know if it’s a healthy way of dealing with grief, I really don’t.’

  ‘That’s what Dad said,’ I remarked, and Mum’s head whipped around.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s what Dad said. When I told him. He said it wasn’t healthy.’

  Mum snorted. ‘He should talk,’ she growled, but wouldn’t explain further. We reached Bettina’s house just after six. I knocked on the front door, which Bettina opened. She smiled at me anxiously.

  ‘You’re the first,’ she said. ‘Come in.’

  Behind Bettina stood her aunt, dressed in black, with a reddish tint in her dark hair. There was some confusion, at first, because Bettina’s aunt was under the impression that my mum was really Delora. Bettina had to sort that out before we could introduce ourselves properly.

  In fact there was quite a lot of confusion, because Bettina had to keep explaining things to Astra in Croatian. (Croatia is where Bettina’s family originally came from, I found out.) Bettina’s mum spoke better English than her sister did, but was a lot less chatty than Astra, remaining in the kitchen while Astra fluttered around the living room. I sensed that Bettina’s mum was displeased about something, though she served up coffee, cake and lemon drink politely enough. It was Bettina herself who alerted me to her mother’s state of mind, because she was always glancing nervously at Mrs Berich, and offering to help with the washing-up, or make the coffee, or wipe down the table, or answer the phone.

  ‘No, no,’ Bettina’s mother would say. ‘You look after your guests. They are your guests, Bettina.’

  Josie wasn’t around. I decided that she was probably out at the movies with her friends, or something. She wasn’t the sort of teenager you’d expect to see hanging around the house on a Saturday night.

  ‘My oldest daughter is at a party,’ Bettina’s mum explained, when my mum commented on the big photograph in the living room. ‘She goes to a lot of parties, but what can you do? You can’t lock them inside.’

  ‘That is Michael,’ Astra said eagerly, pointing at the only male in the picture. ‘My son, Michael. He was seventeen years old.’

  ‘Oh.’ My mum cleared her throat, uneasily. I had told her about Michael. ‘I’m so sorry. I was so sorry to hear.’

  ‘Maybe he is with his father,’ Astra continued. Her voice was pretty, but her face was worn, and full of dark lines. She was much thinner than her sister. ‘I want to talk to him. Find out …’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Mum already looked upset, because Astra’s eyes were bright with tears. ‘I understand.’

  Then Michelle arrived, with Peter. (I guess Michelle’s mum must have picked him up.) Michelle was dressed in one of the fancy outfits that her mother is always buying her: a kind of furry jacket thing over copper-coloured pants, with gold earrings. She had brought a tin of Italian chocolate wafers.

  Peter had brought nothing but his backpack, which he pretty much takes everywhere. It’s usually full of books and computer games.

  ‘So everyone’s here except Delora, is that right?’ Mum queried, accepting a cup of coffee. I hoped very much that she had noticed the absence of any other parents at this gathering – except, of course, for the parents who actually lived in Bettina’s house. Then it occurred to me that neither Michelle’s mum nor Peter’s mum probably believed in the paranormal, so they wouldn’t have been worried. Not like my own mum. She’s seen what ghosts can do.

  Perhaps Michelle was so keen about the Exorcists’ Club, and summoning up spirits, because she hasn’t seen what ghosts can do. Not really. I’m the only one in the club who’s actually had to live in a haunted house.

  ‘We probably ought to go to the toilet before Delora arrives,’ I suggested. ‘Just in case we have to sit still for a long time.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ said Mum, and we all took it in turns to empty our bladders. By the time we’d finished, Delora was teetering down the driveway on very high heels. Bettina spotted her through the living-room window, and rushed to let her in. As soon as the front door opened, the smell of Delora’s perfume swirled into the house.

  ‘Hello, sweetie. Oh – you’re Bettina, are you? Allie told me about you. Hello Judy – Allie, darl – ah! Now, I remember you two, but I can’t remember your names …’

  ‘Michelle.’

  ‘Peter.’

  ‘Michelle and Peter, that’s right.’ Delora beamed at my friends. She was wearing a lacy, see-through shirt over a pink lycra tank top, and stretch jeans trimmed with lace on the cuffs and pockets. Her hair was blonde again (it had been reddish, at one stage),
except where there were dark bits showing at the roots. Her false fingernails were a silvery colour, and her lipstick was purple.

  Bettina’s mum, who had emerged from the kitchen, said something in Croatian to her stunned-looking sister. Her sister stammered something back.

  Delora smiled at both of them, revealing teeth stained yellow by cigarettes.

  ‘Delora Starburn,’ she supplied. ‘How do you do?’

  ‘My sister is the one you want to talk to,’ Bettina’s mum said, gesturing. ‘I am not involved.’

  And don’t want to be, her tone seemed to imply.

  Delora studied her intently for a moment, a smile still plastered across her tanned face.

  ‘But you intend to stay in the house?’ she asked Mrs Berich.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then if you don’t mind, sweetie, I need you out of the room where we’ll be engaged. Nothing personal, but you’re going to disrupt things, otherwise.’

  Bettina’s mum snorted, and withdrew. Delora turned to Astra, who was still looking dazed.

  ‘Astra, is it? Good. And you’re the bereaved in this case, are you?’

  It’s always surprised me that Delora can’t tell these things at a glance, being psychic. Astra was wearing black, after all. But then again, so was her sister.

  ‘My aunt wants to speak to her son,’ Bettina announced. ‘Her son was Michael. That’s his picture.’

  ‘Ah.’ Delora studied it. ‘What a lovely boy, Astra, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Astra. ‘He was my lovely son.’

  ‘And do you have anything personal of his? Something he used to wear, perhaps?’

  ‘The hat,’ I broke in. ‘The baseball cap. Over there.’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Delora. She picked up the cap, glancing around the room as she did so. ‘Are we going to sit in here?’ she inquired. ‘We’ll need a few chairs, and a table.’

  ‘There’s a table in the kitchen,’ said Bettina. ‘We can sit in the kitchen.’

  ‘All right, then. Lead the way.’

  We all trooped into the kitchen. It smelled spicy, as if someone had recently been cooking. Freshly washed dishes were piled up on the draining board. It looked less dreary at night than it did during the day.

  ‘How many people?’ Delora wondered, and began to count. ‘One, two, three, four … seven. We’ll need one extra chair.’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ said Bettina, scooting out.

  ‘Now, Astra,’ Delora went on, ‘I have to warn you that this might not work. Do you understand? Sometimes the spirits just aren’t accessible.’ Seeing Astra’s blank expression, Delora began to speak more slowly and deliberately. ‘Sometimes, when people die, their spirits don’t remain within reach of this world,’ she explained. ‘And that’s generally a good thing, because when there’s still a connection, it means that the deceased is not at peace. If we do manage to contact your son, it’s because he’s been held to this reality by some sense of disquiet, some feeling that he’s left something unfinished or unsaid. Do you understand?’

  It didn’t appear so. Astra was frowning, concentrating fiercely, but she still looked confused. Then Bettina returned, with an old cane-bottomed chair, and Delora had to repeat herself, after which Bettina was able to translate everything for her aunt’s benefit.

  ‘Okay,’ said Delora finally, satisfied that Astra’s enthusiastic nod signified understanding. ‘Let’s all sit down, and join hands, and touch feet. Michelle, sweetie, would you turn off the light for me? That’s a good girl.’ With the light off, it was quite dark, though a faint glow still filtered through from the living room, where Mrs Berich was moving around.

  There was a clicking noise, and the sound of gunfire.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Berich?’ Delora pleaded, raising her voice. ‘Could you not watch the television, please? It’s very distracting.’

  Astra suddenly called out sharply, in Croatian, and the television clicked off again. Heavy footsteps faded down the hallway. A door slammed.

  ‘My sister does not believe,’ Astra remarked apologetically.

  ‘That’s all right,’ Delora responded. ‘As long as she keeps out of the way. Now. I want you next to me, Astra, and … let’s see, now.’ Her thoughtful gaze travelled from me to Bettina, and back again. ‘And Allie, I think. Yes, Allie on my other side. Right here, Allie.’

  I wondered why I had been chosen to hold Delora’s hand. My ‘dark aura’, perhaps? Sitting close to Delora, I could smell smoke on her breath, and realised with a start that she hadn’t lit a cigarette since her arrival.

  Maybe she didn’t smoke while she was ‘channelling’.

  ‘All right,’ she sighed, when we were all in our chairs. ‘Everyone comfortable? Yes? Then I want you all to close your eyes. Those of you who knew Michael, I want you to think about him. Those of you who didn’t, I want you to focus on the hands that you’re holding. Just that.’

  ‘Don’t we have to sing?’ Peter piped up. ‘Sing and recite prayers?’

  ‘Well, if you want to.’ Delora didn’t sound fussed, one way or another. ‘I’ve never really found it necessary, though if you have that wonderful CD, Astra – that one with Gregorian chants on – that’s a terrific conduit.’

  ‘We don’t have any chants,’ Bettina apologised, answering for her aunt. ‘Just pop music.’

  ‘Then there’s not much point,’ said Delora. ‘Unless you all know one song that you can sing. If you’re all concentrating on one song, it will transform your breathing and focus your energies. But only if you all know one song.’

  We didn’t. At least, we couldn’t think of any – not that Astra knew. She wasn’t even familiar with ‘Silent night’, or ‘Waltzing Matilda’, or ‘Row, row, row your boat’. So we scrapped the idea of a song.

  Instead we just sat there in silence, concentrating on our neighbours’ hands. I was holding Mum’s hand on one side, and Delora’s on the other. Mum’s hand was fidgety, but Delora’s was odd. Really odd. At first, it was perfectly relaxed, so relaxed that it almost seemed boneless. It wasn’t sweating or twitching or even pulsing with the flow of her blood. It just hung there limply, and would have slid out of my grasp if I hadn’t applied any pressure.

  Then gradually, after what seemed a very long while, I became aware that Delora’s hand was beginning to vibrate. The sensation was so peculiar that I opened my eyes and glanced at Delora, and gasped. She looked awful. She looked dead. Her mouth hung ajar, her head had rolled to one side, her eyelids were partly open, displaying only the whites of her eyes.

  When Michelle squeaked, l realised that she, too, must be looking at Delora.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Mum breathed, and leaned forward. I immediately jerked her back.

  ‘No!’ I hissed. ‘You mustn’t interfere! It’s dangerous!’ I remembered having read about that in a book. ‘Don’t ever grab a medium, or you might stop her from returning to consciousness!’

  Suddenly Delora shuddered; I could feel the force of it right up my own arm. A weird sound issued from her throat – a kind of rattling sound. Everybody at the table jumped.

  Delora started panting harshly.

  ‘Michael!’ Astra cried, in a high, urgent voice, and let fall a string of Croatian words. She was gazing around wildly, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of her dead son. Bettina was whimpering. The panting continued.

  A loud crack nearly gave me a heart attack.

  ‘What was that?’ Mum demanded.

  ‘Shh! Mum!’

  ‘It’s like something broke,’ Peter whispered uneasily. Delora had slumped forward. Her hand gave a shudder as her body convulsed. By this time, I have to admit, I was terrified. I thought she was having a fit, or something.

  Astra began to cry.

  ‘Michael,’ she sobbed. ‘Michael!’

  My feet were getting cold.

  CHAPTER # six

  Then, quite abruptly, it was all over.

  Delora uttered a great, cawing gasp, and threw herself backwards, rel
easing my hand. She coughed and coughed. Finally she looked up, chest heaving, eyes streaming, and groaned.

  ‘Delora?’ said Mum. ‘Are you all right?’

  Delora nodded. She was coughing again.

  ‘Are we finished?’ asked Peter, in bewilderment. But no one answered.

  ‘Ohh,’ said Delora. ‘Oh, dear. Oh, my.’ Her voice was very hoarse. ‘Could I have a glass of water?’

  Bettina got up, went to the tap, and filled a coffee cup with water. Meanwhile, Delora looked around the table.

  ‘What happened?’ she rasped.

  Heads turned as we all exchanged glances.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Mum. ‘Don’t you remember?’

  ‘No. Never do.’

  ‘You never do?’

  ‘No.’ Delora sounded a little cross. ‘I told you that before, didn’t I?’ She accepted the cup of water with a murmur of thanks, and drained it in four swallows as we all watched her. At last she lowered her head and wiped her mouth, smearing lipstick all over the place. ‘So,’ she went on, blinking wearily. ‘Did we get anything? Anything at all?’

  ‘Uh …’ No one wanted to tell her. Once more, we all looked at each other.

  ‘There was a noise,’ Peter said at last. ‘Sort of a cracking noise. Like something broke.’

  ‘Did anything break?’ asked Delora.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘This house makes a lot of funny noises,’ Bettina offered. ‘It’s always creaking and banging.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Delora was rubbing her eyes. ‘Did I say anything?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘You just sort of grunted.’

  Delora checked her watch. So did I. It was ten to seven.

  ‘Mmmph,’ she said. ‘Not very long.’

  ‘Where is Michael?’ Astra suddenly demanded. She was glaring at Delora. ‘Where is my son?’

  ‘Ah.’ Delora looked very tired. ‘Your son. Yes. Well, I don’t know, sweetie, I’m sorry. I don’t know where he is. Except that he’s not here.’

  ‘Eh?’ said Astra, and turned to her niece. They swapped a few Croatian remarks, at which Astra flushed. She spluttered and scowled.