“Well, we can’t go on like this, can we? It’s been the best part of a year, and nothing’s worked. She’s just not right, is she? And we’re broke, Pete – I have to get some work. That plastic sheet covering the wall isn’t safe, and come winter it’ll be bloody freezing. I can’t sit home all day every day doing bloody nothing.”
“I agree. It’d be better if you could work, then I’d ’ave time to try and brick it up meself. As it is, I’m on double shifts.”
“Chicken and the bloody egg, though, isn’t it? I can’t get out for interviews and leave her, can I?”
“Well, do you think she’s well enough to go to school, then?”
“You know she isn’t. Anyway, the doctors all say she’s perfectly normal. No, I think what we need here is a priest.”
“You what? You mean a bloody vicar? Are you joking? It’s mental illness—”
Silence hissed.
“This isn’t something a doctor can fix, though, is it? All they’ve done is zonk her out with drugs that’ve given her hallucinations and made it so she can barely get herself to the bathroom. Listen to me, there’s something unnatural about this. There’s an energy here even you can’t deny. You must have noticed how many lightbulbs keep blowing? That one in Eva’s room won’t work at all. Replace it and it sparks out instantly. And how when I come down in the morning, the television’s on? We switch it off at night, yet there it is – buzzing with static the next day! And then there are drawers left open when I know I shut them. I’ve had glasses leap out of the kitchen cupboards and smash on the floor. Even the cat won’t come inside anymore.”
“What are you saying? That we’ve got a poltergeist?”
“I don’t know—”
“Well, I don’t think we can blame all that on Eva.”
“Children pick up these things, though, don’t they? I mean, she had that horrible experience, followed by strong medication. Then we bring her to an old house that’s fed her imagination. It’s no wonder she’s disturbed. She told me the house is haunted, by the way – by the old lady who died here, apparently – and that Baba Lenka lives in the wardrobe. I think there’s something really wrong, and I think it’s supernatural—”
“You’re a superstitious lot, where you come from—”
“What do you mean, ‘a superstitious lot’? I was brought up in the same country as you.”
I could feel my dad squirming. “I just meant your history. You knew all that stuff when we were in Bavaria about Slavic customs—”
“Well, of course I did. My mother told me things when I was a child, before she died. And I’ve read about the place; I wanted to know where my family came from. It’s natural!”
“Don’t take on, love. I didn’t mean anything by it, only that we don’t believe in all that mumbo-jumbo in our family, that’s all.”
Whoa! He was on dangerous territory there. My mother’s eyes must have been flashing a storm. He’d stopped short of calling her a Russian harpy like he’d done before, which was something I’d never understood. She was hardly Russian. Although she did have high cheekbones, as I did, along with flame hair. And she sure as hell had a temper.
“Right, well thanks for that. So ’ave you got a better suggestion, then, fucking Einstein? Isn’t it at least worth trying? I take it you do agree there’s a problem?”
“Of course I do. We both want what’s best for Eva.”
She sighed heavily. “Right. Good. Well then, that’s something.”
There was another long pause.
Then she said, “Okay, well, can we at least get the house blessed? Let’s say Eva’s right and the house is haunted? I mean, when push comes to shove, you’ve got to admit she’s not getting any better, is she? She used to be a lively little girl, and now she walks around in a trance. Her eyes are unfocused, and she’s hearing and seeing things that no one else can. So I vote we ask someone at the church for help, at least get someone to come and talk to her.”
The church…
I slammed a hand to my mouth. They were going to bring someone from the church to sprinkle holy water around. Didn’t they know it was far too late for that?
When the vicar arrived, a rotund man of around forty, with a mass of thick chestnut-coloured hair and a matching beard, he sat in the lounge drinking tea with my mother. For a while they exchanged pleasantries and a few lies, while I sat on the stairs with my ears pressed against the bannisters.
First, Mum told him exactly the same story she’d told all the doctors – that I’d been upset at a funeral, had unfortunately looked into the coffin, seen a dead body and had nightmares ever since. I’d been picked on at my last school, and there had been a fight. Following that, we’d come here to what I was convinced was a haunted house. She told him about the smashed glasses, the television coming on in the middle of the night, and my screaming conviction that the wardrobe door was opening. I was a frightened little girl, she told him. Terrified. And, as such, was now under sedation and unable to go to school. She was half out of her mind with worry, couldn’t leave me to go to work, and, well… look, she told him, we needed to fix up the house and were broke. “We really are at our wits’ end, Father.”
“I’m Church of England, Mrs Hart,” he corrected her. “And please, call me Colin.”
There was an awkward silence. My parents had never been to his church.
After a moment, during which he let that mutual knowledge sit uncomfortably between them, he said, “All right, let’s start at the beginning, shall we? So when exactly did the disturbances begin – the wardrobe door opening, television set coming on of its own accord and so on?”
Quickly she brought him up to speed, her voice somewhat sharper following the rebuke. “Any road,” she finished. “We were wondering if you’d bless the house? My husband thinks it’s a poltergeist we’ve got.”
Their voices murmured on, with him assuring her there was no such thing. Then, finally, a cup clattered onto a saucer, and the big man’s shadow filled the gap in the lounge doorway. “However, I will of course bless the house, Mrs Hart. I did actually know the old lady who lived here very well, you know. Marlene was a regular attendee, never missed a service and often did the flowers. If ever you feel you would like to be on our roster, we’d be delighted to welcome you. And your husband and daughter.”
“Thank you, Vicar. I’ll bear it in mind. I’ve a bit on at the minute, though, like I said.”
“Of course, well, whenever you’re ready. God’s house is always open.”
“Right.” She pushed open the lounge door. “Have you brought the holy water? To do the blessing with?”
“Of course.”
They stepped into the hallway, and I shrank back, scrambled back into bed and pulled up the covers.
He did my room last, murmuring words he did not believe. He might as well have been sprinkling vodka onto concrete for all the good it was doing. Then, when he’d completed the task, he sat on the edge of my bed, his weight causing the mattress to seesaw alarmingly. He slid almost to the floor.
Adopting a cheery ‘let’s talk to a child’ voice, he said, “Hello, Eva? I’m Colin. How are you feeling today?”