Life In Parks

Life In Parks

  By P R Johnson

  Copyright © 2012 P R Johnson

  Cover photo acquired through Getty Images – Licensed to I Rogerson on behalf of Pro-germinal.

  Photo by: Digital Vision

  Photographer: Yagi Studio

  The ownership/copyright of the written work is held by the author/publisher. In this digital age people tend to do whatever the hell they want; remember, however, that it is illegal to copy/share/sell/redistribute this work without the consent of the owners.

  Thanks.

  As in life, all people/places/events depicted in this novel are fictional.

  If you would like to contact either the author or publisher, be creative, we’re sure you’ll find a way.

  First published Feb 2012.

  Table of contents

  Part One: Witch

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Part Two: Freefall

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Part Three: Resurrection

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Part Four: Devil

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  For friends – past, present and future.

  PART ONE: Witch

  Chapter 1

  She came in the summer of ’91. It was the third Tuesday of the school holidays, and Matthew lay on the sofa, not allowing the images on the television to distract his meandering thoughts. The doorbell sounded sharply, however, and his daydream was snatched away. At first, he refused to budge, but the doorbell rang twice more in quick succession and eventually he got to his feet.

  ‘All right, for God’s sake, all right.’

  When he swung open the front door, he found on the doorstep an elderly woman whose clothes sparkled like a disco glitter-ball. Upon her head she wore a sun hat made of golden sequins that shone with reflected light. The silver thread of her knee-length dress added to the effect, shimmering with the slightest movement of her body. Despite the glistening attire, he noticed around her neck a beaded necklace complete with wooden crucifix, and his mind was momentarily filled with reverence. Then she spoke in a harsh, gravelly voice and the holy illusion was destroyed.

  ‘Bugger me! You took your time. Were you going to leave me standing here all day?’

  Matthew stood motionless, trying to recognise the old lady’s face. Yet, with most of her features obscured in the shadow of the sun hat, all he could see clearly was her ruby-red lips. Peering down, his eyes fixed on the brown leather suitcase by her side, and only then did he address her.

  ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘I should hope so. I am your grandmother, after all.’ She bent and lifted the suitcase. ‘And if you don’t mind, I could do with getting inside, before my legs give way completely.’

  Matthew inched backwards, his hand seeking the door handle. ‘I’m sorry, but I think you may have the wrong address.’

  ‘You are Matthew, aren’t you? Debbie and Robert’s boy?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Well, then, there’s no mistake. And are we going to stand here like a couple of lemons, or are you going to invite me inside? Like I said, I really need to sit down.’

  As the old lady moved past him into the hallway, Matthew caught the terrific odour that emanated from her small frame. He recognised the scent immediately: that of cheap aftershave, musty and sour, like the kind he would buy his father for Christmas but would ultimately never be worn.

  He followed the lady into the lounge, where she set down the suitcase and collapsed onto the sofa with a theatrical moan of exhaustion.

  ‘That’s better. My legs are aching like you wouldn’t believe. Now, let’s have a proper look at you.’ From beneath the deep-brimmed hat she gazed. ‘You could certainly do with a haircut, but you’re a nice-looking boy on the whole. I’m glad you’ve inherited something worthwhile from my side of the family. Tell me, how old are you? Fourteen, fifteen?’

  His eyes widened at the affront. ‘I’ll be seventeen in a few days.’

  ‘As old as that? Time certainly flies when you look the other way. You still seem pretty innocent to me; not a lot different from the last time I saw you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I wasn’t aware that we had met.’

  ‘Of course we’ve met; how could we not have? I guess it’s hardly surprising you don’t remember, though, you were only a few hours old at the time.’ Her gaze drifted towards the door. ‘I take it your mother’s not here at the moment.’

  ‘Mum? Yes, she’s out the back. I think she’s gardening.’

  ‘Gardening, you say. It seems as though my Deborah has become quite the merry homemaker. Don’t you think it would be a good idea to let her know I’m here?’

  ‘Right, I’ll go and fetch her.’

  ‘I think perhaps you should.’

  His mother was mowing the lawn when he stepped outside. She failed to notice him approach, deafened by the mechanical roar of the mower, until he tapped her on the shoulder. Recoiling with a start, she released the trigger and the motor ceased whirring.

  ‘Christ, you shouldn’t go creeping up on people like that, especially when they’ve got a lawn-mower in their hands. That’s how toes get lost.’ A warm smile spread across her lips. ‘What’s up, sweetheart?’

  ‘Mum, there’s someone here to see you.’

  ‘And … Are you going to tell me who it is, or do I have to guess?’

  ‘A woman.’

  ‘That narrows things down. What does she want, this woman?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Mum, I think it’s best if you come and see for yourself.’

  ‘She’s not a bloody Jehovah’s Witness, is she? I was trapped by one last week; kept me talking for nearly an hour.’

  ‘No, I don’t think she’s one of them.’

  ‘OK, just give me a second and I’ll be with you.’ She took off her gardening gloves and fitted them over the handles of the mower before together they walked to the house. ‘And you have no idea what she wants?’

  ‘She didn’t say.’ Matthew smiled, unable to resist. ‘To be honest, the only thing I know is that she says she’s my nan.’

  The mood changed instantly, and as she mopped her brow with her sleeve she succeeded in wiping all trace of good humour from her face.

  ‘Is this some kind of joke?’

  ‘I have no idea. All I know is there’s some old woman in our lounge who reckons she’s my grandmother.’

  Proceeding inside, they passed through the dining room, along the hallway and into the pungent-smelling lounge. There, as promised, the visitor was waiting.

  ‘So, it’s true what they say about old pennies. Hello, mother. It’s been a long time. I thought you might be dead by now.’

  The old lady reacted with a cool smile. ‘Surely you didn’t think I’d die without telling you first.’

  While his mother moved to the fireside, Matthew lingered in the doorway. By now the old lady had removed the sun hat, allowing him to see clearly the powder-white colour of her skin. Against flesh drawn tightly against high, prominent cheek-bones, the pallid colour was accentuated by the bright red gloss on her lips. Her hair, though dark and abundant, hung untidily to narrow shoulders, greying roots visible near the scalp. Beneath eyebrows blackened and defined, her crystal blue irises sparkled amid yellowing corneas, yet with an intensity that made them seem out of place on an otherwise ghostly face.

  ‘How did you manage to find us? Who told you where we live?’

  ‘It’s a small world, Deborah. It’s not diffic
ult to find things if you look for them in the right places.’

  She took a deep breath of the musty air, as if to steady her calm.

  ‘OK, mum, let’s not beat about the bush. Why have you come? What is it you want?’

  ‘Nothing for you to worry your head about. There are just a few things that need arranging. We’ve got to start making plans for the future, before it’s too late.’

  Matthew was languishing beneath a cloud of apprehension when his mother retrieved her handbag from beside the fireplace.

  ‘Listen, son, I want you to do me a favour.’ She took some money from her purse. ‘I want you to pop to the shops and buy a carton of milk. We’re clean out, and no doubt your grandmother will be wanting a cup of tea.’

  ‘I definitely wouldn’t say no,’ the old lady responded. ‘Only don’t get any of that low-fat rubbish. A cup of tea isn’t worth the bother unless it’s made with proper milk.’

  Matthew nodded.

  Although he understood that it was a ploy to get him away from the house, he agreed to go anyway, if only to flee the stench of cologne and escape the old lady’s piercing gaze. He pocketed the money and bade a sheepish farewell to both women, to which the old lady winked at him in response. Hastened by unease, he grabbed the front-door key from the hook, put on his shoes and finally made his escape.

  The instant he was outside he inhaled a pocket of air, in part to clear his nasal passage and partly to settle his disoriented mind. Immediately he felt better. Almost at once, the cool air returned equilibrium to his senses, diluting his thoughts and emptying his head; so much so, that by the time he had reached the end of the street, a sense of abandonment had overcome him.

  It was only the third time in two weeks that he had been out of the house, and during the ten-minute walk to the shopping precinct his muscles and joints ached through recent inactivity. He proceeded without haste to the mini-mart and bought a large carton of milk.

  When he emerged, instead of heading directly home, he made a detour to a street that held a fascination like no other: Park Avenue.

  Ambling up that street, his pulse rate increased the closer he drew to number thirty-eight. When at last he came level with the front window, he cast a casual glance sideways, hoping to pick out the silhouette of a girl inside. Nevertheless, like the majority of times he had performed this ritual, he saw no sign of life from within. Frustrated, he quickened his pace and proceeded on his way.

  He dawdled the rest of the way home and arrived almost an hour after he had left, finding his father’s car parked in the driveway. As he stepped inside the house, he immediately caught the scent of cologne that lingered. This time, however, the scent failed to overpower his senses: this time he was prepared.

  Hearing voices in the dining room, he poked his head round the door and found his mother and father sat to the dinner table.

  ‘All right, son,’ his father said with a nod of acknowledgement. ‘Your mum was just telling me about your eventful afternoon. It seems we’ve had a visitation.’

  ‘I know,’ Matthew replied, placing the carton of milk on the table. ‘I was here when she came.’ He looked intently at both in turn. ‘So, does someone want to tell me who she is?’

  ‘She’s your nan,’ his mother replied. ‘But I thought you’d gathered that already.’

  For a moment he was perturbed by the casualness of her response.

  ‘And that’s all you have to say?’

  ‘What else do you want me to say?’

  He waited, expecting her to continue, until it became apparent that she had nothing to add. The awkward silence was broken by the sound of a creaking floor-board overhead.

  Lowering his voice, he signalled towards the ceiling.

  ‘She’s still here, then. I presume that’s her upstairs.’

  His mother nodded and smiled insincerely. ‘I hope so. If it isn’t, then it sounds like we’ve got burglars … or ghosts, more likely. Yes, son, that’s her upstairs. And if you’re interested, she’s probably in the bathroom freshening up. She says she’s had a long journey.’

  ‘Any idea why she’s come?’ his father asked. ‘It’s a bit out of the blue.’

  ‘To pour salt into old wounds?’ the woman scoffed. ‘To be honest, I long ago stopped trying to second-guess what goes on in her mind.’

  ‘I’m surprised you agreed to let her stay with us, considering we don’t have much space.’

  ‘When all is said and done, she is my mother and I’m not going to let her sleep on the streets.’

  ‘You mean she’s staying here with us?’ Matthew interjected.

  ‘That’s right. I’ve told her to put her things in your room. You’ll have to make do with the sofa. You spend enough time there as it is, so it shouldn’t be much of a disruption.’

  ‘Fantastic. So, I lose my room again.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll survive. Anyway, it’ll only be for a couple of days; she’s assured me of that.’

  Matthew eyed his mother suspiciously and shook his head in resignation. ‘To be honest, mum, I’m not bothered where I sleep. All I want to know is: where has she been all this time?’

  On this occasion, however, his mother did not get the chance to reply, because from behind came the sound of a cough. Matthew swivelled and found the stranger, still wearing the shimmering, silver dress, standing in the doorway.

  ‘Matthew, Matthew, Matthew,’ she croaked in a gruff, yet surprisingly soothing, voice. ‘Why are you so wrapped up in the past? You can learn nothing worthwhile from history. The future has all the answers.’

  The moment she entered the room, her daughter rose to her feet and brought to a close a discourse that had barely begun.

  ‘I’m going to check on dinner,’ she said, moving through to the kitchen and ignoring the old lady as she went. ‘It’ll be ready in ten minutes.’

  Matthew’s father, in stark contrast to the coldness of his wife, had also stood and was advancing towards the stranger with arms open wide and a welcoming smile. He embraced the woman and kissed her on either cheek.

  ‘Mom. It’s been a long time.’

  ‘Yes, Robert, I suppose it has. But I’ve never been one for counting years.’

  The embrace was clumsily broken.

  ‘Well, mom … I don’t mind admitting that you’re the last person I expected to find when I came home from work today. Are you planning on being around long?’

  ‘Why, are you anxious to see the back of me already?’

  ‘No, not at all. You know you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.’

  ‘That’s nice to hear. But you needn’t worry. As soon as I’ve settled a few outstanding issues, I’ll be out of your hair for good.’

  ‘And what issues are those?’

  ‘Nothing for you to concern yourself with, Robert. No doubt they’ll get sorted in due time.’

  The man nodded. ‘So, how have you been keeping? I must say, you’re looking well.’

  ‘I’m as well as can be expected. It’s best not to complain. Nobody would pay attention if I did. I see you haven’t changed much.’

  ‘A few more inches round the waist. But basically it’s the same old me.’

  From the kitchen came the sound of his wife’s harassed voice. ‘Would you give me a hand, please, Rob. This blinking microwave is playing up again.’

  ‘Yes, love, I’m on my way.’

  With a subservient shrug to the old lady, he passed through the connecting door to the kitchen and closed it behind him.

  Alone now, the old lady turned to Matthew. ‘You were a long time buying that milk, young man. I never did get my cup of tea.’

  ‘Sorry. I got a bit side-tracked.’

  ‘Pretty, was she?’

  ‘Pardon me?’ His eyes widened.

  ‘The reason you were side-tracked. A pretty girl, by any chance?’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve been around long enough to know the things th
at distract impressionable young men. In fact, if I could give you one piece of advice, it’s to be wary of pretty girls. On second thoughts, avoid them all together; they’ll only bring you grief in the long run.’

  ‘Right, I’ll bear it in mind,’ he said. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’d better wash my hands before dinner.’

  ‘What’s the hurry? Have you never tasted your mother’s cooking before?’

  Fighting to suppress a smile, Matthew took his leave and walked upstairs to the bathroom. He opened the basin tap and doused his face with cold water, hoping to wash the chaos from his thoughts. Afterwards, drying himself in front of the cabinet mirror, he ran his fingers through his untidy brown hair and across the unblemished skin on his jaw, all the while trying to judge whether the old lady was being sarcastic when she had praised his good looks.

  He was lingering in front of the mirror when his mother shouted that dinner was ready. Reluctantly, he went downstairs and returned to the dining room, where the others were already sitting to the table.

  As soon as he entered, the old lady beckoned him to the seat next to hers. It was the last thing Matthew had wanted, to sit next to her; but he quickly realised that sitting so close meant that he could avoid her piercing, yellow eyes. Once he was seated, and before anyone had started to eat, the old lady clasped her hands together, closed her eyes and said:

  ‘Let us say Grace.’

  Her daughter followed the lead, sombrely bowing her head and closing her eyes, while Matthew and his father looked bemusedly at one another.

  ‘As head of the household, I’ll leave the honours to you, Robert,’ the old lady said, eyes remaining closed.

  ‘We’re not really accustomed to saying prayers,’ he answered, ending a short but uncomfortable silence.

  ‘Robert, my dear, I don’t care if you’re an atheist or a Devil-worshipper. There is no reason not to praise God at supper-time. And seeing as though you appear stumped for words, I’ll lead the prayer myself: For what we are about to receive, may The Lord make us truly thankful. Amen.’ The old lady opened her eyes. ‘That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?’ She looked down at the burnt mess of lasagne on her plate and addressed her daughter. ‘I see you’ve not spent the passing years learning how to cook, my dear.’

  ‘We think she cooks just fine, don’t we, son?’ The man nodded at Matthew. ‘So, mom, tell us what you’ve been up to. It must be, what, twenty years since we last saw you.’

  ‘More like seventeen, or so I’m led to believe.’ She raised a forkful of lasagne to her mouth and took a tentative nibble.

  ‘Where have you been living, for a start?’

  ‘That’s rather difficult to say. I’ve been moving around rather a lot, going from one place to another.’

  ‘What, like a Gypsy?’ He let out a chuckle.

  ‘Gypsy is such an old-fashioned, crude word. We prefer to be known as Travellers nowadays.’

  His eyes widened. ‘Are you being serious?’

  ‘Of course. There are thousands who live on the open road, and live very well. In fact, tonight will be something of a novelty. I can’t remember the last time I slept in a house with brick walls.’

  The smirk spread wider across his lips. ‘You’re not with that lot camped out on the golf course, are you? They’ve completely ruined the fifteenth green. The members are up in arms.’

  ‘Serves them right. It makes my blood boil to think of so much land going to waste, just so that a handful of rich idiots can hit a ball around with a stick.’

  ‘I’m a member of the golf club,’ he replied amiably. ‘I may be an idiot, but I’m certainly not rich.’

  ‘Half right is close enough.’ The old woman poured herself a glass of water from the jug on the table. ‘Anyway, they’re nothing to do with me. I’d possibly recognise a few of them if I saw them. But this time I came alone.’

  Turning to the others as if seeking support, nobody seemed willing to help with the questioning.

  ‘You know, mom, back home in Forest Wake, when you left, everyone joked that you’d run off to join the circus. It seems they were pretty near the mark.’

  ‘Is that what they said?’ She smiled. ‘I’ve worked a couple of fairgrounds in my time, but never a circus; although, at times, it feels as though my whole life has been a circus.’

  ‘How did you hook up with Travellers in the first place? The last time we saw you, you were thinking about heading to the capital.’

  ‘Yes, I did go back briefly. I quickly realised there was nothing down there for me; just ghosts with long memories, ghosts that didn’t need reawakening. The travelling happened by accident after I bumped into an old Traveller friend I knew from Forest Wake. Tony Trojan. You probably remember him, Deborah. He often came to see me whenever he was in town.’

  ‘The name means nothing to me,’ she mumbled in response.

  ‘I’m sure you met him. Anyway, he was always trying to convince me to go travelling; he said that you never knew what life was about until you’d spent time on the road. It seemed like the ideal solution, and so I took up his offer. Once the travelling bug is in you, it’s kind of difficult to stop.’

  ‘Tony Trojan. The name rings a bell.’

  ‘Quite likely, Robert. He got around, knew lots of people. He was a big, tough man, and had a reputation to back it up. I was going to bring him to see you a couple of times, but with one thing and another we never got round to it.’

  ‘I take it Trojan is a nickname.’

  The old lady nodded. ‘Most people think he earned it because of his liking for horses. But those in the know understand that it was more because he was hung like a stallion.’ She winked conspiratorially at Matthew.

  He remained silent.

  ‘And where’s he now, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  Her eyes flashed to the ceiling. ‘Up there, sitting with God. It’s been five months since he passed away.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘What’s to be sorry about? You weren’t to blame for his death. Anyway, he had a good life, and I had a good life with him. As I’m always saying: You have to make the most of the cards life deals you. There’s no point complaining, no point making a fuss.’

  ‘You may have a point,’ the man said ruefully. ‘And they accepted you, did they, the Gypsies? I didn’t think they liked outsiders.’

  ‘Travellers, Robert, Travellers. As a rule, they don’t like outsiders, but it wasn’t a problem for me. I’ve always believed I had Romany blood in my veins.’

  ‘Gypsy water on your brain, more like,’ her daughter said with a forlorn shake of the head.

  As Matthew sat listening, impassive and incredulous, he noticed that she had remained ashen-faced throughout, scarcely touching her food. His father, on the other hand, seemed to lap up the old lady’s every word, and his constant laughter bore testament to her good humour.

  ‘Something I’ve always wondered about you Travellers,’ the man said, pushing his now-empty plate to the centre of the table. ‘How on earth do you make ends meet?’

  ‘Various ways and means. To be honest, it’s never a problem for the men. They can always find work digging up roads and laying driveways. As for me, well, there’s never been a shortage of people willing to pay for a glimpse of the future.’

  He smiled again. ‘So, you’re still a fortune-teller at heart.’

  ‘What do you mean, still a fortune-teller? I have always been a clairvoyant and I always shall be. But I suppose there’s no shame in admitting that, while I’ve always had the talent, it was only during my travels that I learned how to use it properly.’

  That was the point when her daughter reacted.

  ‘Well, mum, it’s good to see that you’re full of the same old bullshit as ever.’

  With that, she stood, clattered together the plates and cutlery and made her way brusquely to the kitchen.

  No sooner had she left than her husband also stood, raising a hand in apology.
<
br />   ‘You’ll have to forgive her; she’s a little stressed at the moment. Anyway, I’d better give her a hand.’

  He, too, exited the room.

  The moment they were alone, the old lady turned to Matthew. ‘She always did have a fiery temper, that mother of yours.’

  From through the kitchen door Matthew could hear the sound of his mother’s angry voice and the consoling voice of his father. He sat for a moment not knowing what to do. Quickly gathering his wits, he looked at the old lady and said: ‘Maybe we should go to the lounge. It’s more comfortable there.’

  ‘You go ahead and I’ll come through in a minute. I want to let my dinner go down first. If not, I’ll have terrible heartburn for the rest of the evening.’

  Doing as suggested, Matthew went into the lounge, where he settled on the sofa. He turned on the television set with the remote and changed channel several times, finally plumping for a general-knowledge quiz show. Around ten minutes had passed when the old lady appeared in the doorway.

  ‘You know, you should be very careful with that thing.’ She nodded towards the screen. ‘It’s not much better than inviting The Devil into your living room and asking for his opinions on life.’

  Matthew tried not to stare as she advanced to the mantelpiece, upon which rested a photograph of his parents on their wedding day. She took the photograph and examined it for several seconds, before replacing it where she had found it. Her attention was then drawn to the picture that hung over the fireplace. The water-colour scene depicted a classic steam train, smoke billowing from its funnel. The train driver was visible leaning from the locomotive, holding a white piece of cloth in a raised hand.

  ‘That’s a nice picture,’ the old lady said with a nod of appreciation.

  ‘My dad found it at a jumble sale a few years ago.’

  The old lady moved her face closer. ‘If I’m not very mistaken, it’s The Flying Dragon locomotive. I take it you know the story.’

  Matthew shrugged nonchalantly.

  ‘A sad tale indeed,’ the woman said. ‘The Flying Dragon was one of the finest trains during the golden age of steam travel. Anyway, a couple of months after it came into service, it was crossing a bridge – I forget which one – when the whole thing gave way and collapsed. The driver could do nothing, and so the train, carriages and all, went crashing to the ground. Over two hundred souls were lost.’ She motioned towards the locomotive driver. ‘And that chap leaning out the side, maybe he knows what lies ahead and that’s why he’s waving his white flag of surrender.’

  Matthew looked on. ‘That’s a morbid interpretation.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. As long as he had time to offer a final prayer, he probably had little to fear.’ She turned to him. ‘A nice picture, though. It wouldn’t surprise me if it’s worth a fair bit of money. Anyway, I only came to bid you goodnight. It’s been a long, hard day and my bones are wearing me down. There will be plenty of time for us to talk tomorrow. I’m sure you’ve got lots to tell. Oh, before I forget, thank you for letting me have your bedroom. I doubt I’d last the night on the sofa.’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘Well, goodnight, and I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Once the lady had gone, he looked at the clock on the video recorder; it was twenty past seven and the sun was still high in the evening sky.

  His father entered the living room presently and assumed his customary position on the armchair. Ignoring Matthew, he picked up the newspaper and began turning its pages.

  ‘She’s gone to bed,’ Matthew said, trying to force a conversation.

  ‘I know. She came and said goodnight to us, as well.’

  His father continued to scan the tabloid.

  ‘Is mum all right?’ Matthew asked. ‘She seemed pretty annoyed.’

  ‘I think so. It’s just been a bit of a shock, the old girl turning up like that. A shock for us all, but especially your mum.’

  ‘And you don’t mind her staying with us.’

  ‘It’ll be awkward, no doubt, but I have no axe to grind with the old girl. She never did me any harm.’ He peered above the pages of the newspaper. ‘While we’re on the subject, it’s probably best that you don’t go bothering your mum with questions. Not tonight. Let the dust settle a bit.’

  Matthew gave a non-committal nod just as his mother walked into the room.

  Although it was evident her annoyance had placated, when she sat to watch the twice-weekly soap opera, she still had a distracted, almost haunted, look on her face. Nothing was said while the programme lasted and Matthew was largely unconcerned. Indeed, it was not until much later, after his father had gone to bed and he found himself alone with his mother, that the subject was finally broached. Yet, in keeping with the rest of the day, what she said offered no comfort.

  ‘Listen, Matthew, I want you to do me a big favour. I want you to look after your grandmother tomorrow.’

  Dragged from his torpor, he sat upright and tense. ‘And do what?’

  ‘I don’t know. It would just be nice if you could get her from under my feet for a couple of hours. I think I’ll go crazy if I have to put up with her all day on my own. Maybe you could take her out. Show her the town, perhaps.’

  ‘What if I’ve got plans?’

  ‘Come on, Matty, you haven’t done anything for the past three weeks. I don’t see why you’d suddenly have plans for tomorrow.’

  ‘Maybe I’ve been saving myself. Anyway, why do I have to look after her?’

  ‘Well, you are the reason she’s here.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘She hasn’t come all this way for my benefit, that’s for sure. We burned our bridges long ago. Have no doubts about it, son, it’s you she’s come to see.’

  Matthew shook his head as the apprehension increased. ‘She hasn’t bothered with us all these years, why the sudden interest now?’

  ‘I’m not going to put words into her mouth. You can ask her yourself tomorrow.’ She got to her feet. ‘You’ll do that for me, will you?’

  ‘Do I have a choice?’

  ‘I would be very thankful. Just think of all the times you’ve asked about her in the past. Now’s your chance to find out.’ She leaned and kissed the side of his face. ‘Right, son, as we’ve got that sorted, I’m going to bed. You’ll find a duvet and a pillow behind the sofa. Sleep well. And don’t stay up all night.’

  Despite her pleas, Matthew spent a further two hours watching a programme about lunar exploration. At just after one o’clock he turned off the set, switched off the light and curled on the sofa beneath a quilt, still fully clothed. The moment he closed his eyes, however, his mind drifted to visions of that old lady and the strangeness that she had brought to his day. He tried to think of other things, but before long his thoughts would always turn to his grandmother and those eyes that haunted him even in the darkness. If the images in his head were not enough, his condition was made worse by a whirring in his belly. It was the same whirring that he had felt during dinner and had remained with him ever since. It was a whirring that he had first experienced when the old lady had uttered the word ‘fortune-teller’ in her tired, croaky voice.