Writing for Fun
December 2020
The Big House (part 3) Piece Of Cake - Pete Norman
It is weird having a ghost in the house. Now, I know what you are thinking, how could it be anything but weird . . . and I know that I was the one who invited him here in the first place. However, sometimes that’s just the way life works out. I have always believed that the future is not pre-ordained and that we have the free will to make our own decisions but the cold hard fact is that circumstances can materially influence any decisions that we make – so called ‘freely’ – and the situation I found myself in that day was no different.
When I first went inside the ruins of The Big House I was appalled that such a beautiful, majestic and imposing building should be allowed to decay – it was now just a lifeless hulk, it had lost its soul. That was the overriding thought in my mind when I first encountered Thomas. He had suffered the savage fury of the fire and then, over the course of decades, had watched as his home had gradually died around him. Bizarre as it sounds, the ghost of a long dead servant was soul enough for me. I could not just stand back while he watched what remained of his home being torn down, to be replaced with ‘50 QUALITY HOMES’. That was simply unthinkable. At that moment my decision was already made and I have never once regretted it, weird though it most definitely is.
One of the weirdest things about having a ghost in your house is that, because you cannot see him, you never know quite where he is. On the occasions when I cannot actually sense his presence then I can only speculate on whether he might be rummaging around in the loft or maybe out exploring his new territory. However, on other occasions I can definitely sense him nearby – as I eat my meals or while I am doing the washing up. Of course my use of the bathroom or the bedroom does become somewhat of a concern but at least I live alone, so that does make the situation somewhat easier to cope with.
My main problem, however, right from the start, was communication. In the beginning this could only be achieved by way of questions which invite a ‘two taps for yes’ response and that can be extremely limiting. However, before long, it seems that technology came to my rescue.
I knew that he always seemed to take an interest in the Gazette that I read over a cup of coffee each evening, because I could sense his presence right behind me, reading over my shoulder. With this in mind I thought that I might conjure up something of more personal interest to him. I fired up the laptop and Googled ‘Crossmore House’. Surprisingly the search found hundreds of people called Crossmore and it found two Crossmore Houses . . . just not the actual one that I was looking for. Despite trying many different variations of the search parameters I still came up with nothing. I was stumped. I had nowhere else to go . . . but then the brainwave hit me. I said to the air around me, ‘I’m going to the library. I won’t be too long.’
The library has always been one of my favourite haunts. Even though I do so much electronically nowadays I still enjoy the feel of a good, solid paper book and I borrowed books on a regular basis . . . and, even though I am a dab hand at navigating the shelves all by myself, I often seek the assistance of the beautiful Caroline to ‘help me out’.
I guess that Caroline is about my age and, most importantly, she does not wear a wedding ring, although there is a faint mark on her ring finger that might suggest that this was not always the case. I have tried several times, quite casually, to suggest that it might be nice to go out for a coffee but she has always treated it as if I was merely flirting and she has never treated any of my suggestions seriously. However, I do occasionally sneak covert peeks around the bookshelves at her, sat behind her desk, working away, looking beautiful and important and I am certain that there have been times when I have seen her do exactly the same. I just wish that I had the nerve to ask her out without any ambiguity.
However, today was probably not the day. I walked up to her desk and was greeted by a warm smile. ‘Hello, Caroline, I’m trying to get some information on The Big House before they pull it down but I can’t find anything whatsoever on the Net. Is there any way you could possibly help me out . . . as usual.’ I grinned sheepishly. ‘Why break the habit of a lifetime, eh?’
Another warm smile and ‘I would suggest perhaps the Gazette is probably the best place to start,’ and she guided me over to a row of computers. With a practised hand she navigated through screen after screen until there, to my amazement, on the screen was a page of a century old newspaper reporting on the catastrophic fire on the 14th of November 1897. I soaked up the words avidly, wondering if Thomas had followed me out here, whether he could actually see what I could see. I could not sense him, however . . . but I could most definitely sense Caroline’s exquisite presence as she leaned closer to read the article with me.
‘If you like I could do some research to see if there are any follow-up articles and then we can download a copy of the newsprint pages for you.’
‘You are a sweetheart,’ I said, giving her my very best smile. How could I ever begin to repay your endless kindness.’ I paused and then asked, shyly, ‘Don’t suppose you would be prepared to accept dinner tonight? I do a really mean Mousaka.’
I could hear the hesitation in her voice as she said, ‘That might be a little difficult . . . you see . . . there’s my son, Jonathon and I can’t leave him on his own.’
Relief flooded over me. Was that the only reason she has been turning me down all this time? No problemo. I smiled and said, ‘I’m sure we can find a way to work around that, Caroline – does Jonathon like Mousaka?’
Back at home I fired up the laptop and inserted the memory stick. Within seconds the article filled the screen. A draught swirled back and forth across my face until I put up a hand to stop it. He would just have to calm down and watch and learn. It was then that I had the brainwave. I carefully pressed the key to scroll down the screen and then scrolled it back up again. I repeated the process a couple of times and then sat back with my arms folded.
For a few moments the screen remained static and then, very slowly, the screen scrolled down. I grinned. ‘You clever, clever man, Thomas, we’ll have you computer literate if it kills me.’
I left him to read the article and went off to make a coffee. When I came back there was an absolute silence but you could have cut the silence with a knife. I could sense his distress. I opened up a Word document and typed: That must have been dreadful.
Moments later, slowly and meticulously, a second line of type began to appear: Yes.
This must have been traumatic for him but it was a game changer. It was so simple. A piece of cake, I thought, with icing on the top!
I explained to him carefully about Caroline and Jonathon coming round and gave Thomas very specific instructions that he must go off and do something else – anything else – there must definitely be no interference with this special evening. A simple two taps confirmed his compliance. I hurried off to the kitchen – I had a lot to do.
Caroline arrived punctually at 7 o’clock and with her was a tall and lanky 11 year old with shoulder length blonde hair just like his mum. He was very quiet, very polite and appeared to be perfectly comfortable with this unusual situation. I poured a glass of red for Caroline and a smaller watered down glass for a very happy young boy.
All in all the meal went very well. It might not have been the best Mousaka I had ever made but it appeared to pass muster and after demolishing a huge slice of Black Forest Gateaux Jonathon picked up his bag and disappeared into the lounge, leaving us free to talk and to get to know each other better.
The next hour has to count as one of the very best moments of my life and I knew that this was the start of something really special.
I asked if she would like a coffee and if she would prefer to sit somewhere more comfortable. I showed her into the lounge where Jonathon was sitting cross legged on the floor with his tablet on the coffee table, tapping away at the screen, seemingly oblivious to our presence. With Caroline perched on the edge of the settee as well it completed a wonderful picture of comfortable domestic normality.
When I returned from the kitchen I put the coffee down beside her but before I could sit down myself Jonathon lifted his head from his portable electronic world and looked up at me with somewhat expectant dark brown eyes.
‘Uncle Matthew . . . is it right that you’re going to get a model railway?’
Wham!
What in God’s name was going on?
My brain spun wildly out of control.
Had I left Thomas’ diary out where he could find it? No, I was certain that I had carefully tidied everything away before they came.
Had I said anything to Caroline at the Library about my reasons for wanting to research the Big House? No, I was certain that I had kept my interest somewhat vague.
I had absolutely no answer so I asked, as innocently as I could manage, ‘What on earth makes you think that, Jonathon?’
The boy shrugged. ‘Tommy told me.’
My blood ran cold.
‘How did he . . .’
Jonathon held up his tablet and pointed to the screen, packed full with lines of writing. ‘He’s my friend and he’s very good.’
If Thomas was not already dead then I would most certainly choke him to death with my bare hands!
Caroline was staring at her son, embarrassment flooding her face. ‘Jonathon, stop messing about, right now, do you hear me? This isn’t like you at all.’
Jonathon’s lip began to quiver. ‘But I’m not messing about, mum, honest.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘I can prove it . . .’
Jonathon called out, ‘Tommy? Tommy, if you can hear me I want you to come and say hello to my mum – let her see you, just like you did for me.’
The evening was turning into an unmitigated disaster. I knew that after this debacle tonight Caroline would not come within a mile of me ever again.
The air in the room shimmered; a gentle breeze wafted across my face; very slowly a faint emanation coalesced . . . into the hazy likeness of a boy about Jonathon’s age.
I was frozen to the spot as I watched – transfixed but helpless. ‘Thomas? Is that really you? I thought you were much older.’
Jonathon turned back towards me. ‘Oh, no, uncle Matthew. This is Tommy. You see, Thomas is his dad. And his mum’s name is Florence.’ He scanned the rest of the room without success and added, ‘Tommy, do you think we could see them too?’
After a few moments the air began to shimmer violently, a maelstrom swirled around the room. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the figure of an attractive, statuesque woman materialized. Behind her, almost hiding himself behind her, was a slightly shorter man. His hand was pressed to the side of his face and he looked extremely uncomfortable. The woman turned and gently eased him forward and then pulled his hand away. I gasped as I saw the burn marks covering most of the right side of his face.
I could feel my eyes filling up. The whole story now began to make sense. From the snippets I had read in the Gazette and from what I could see, I knew now why Thomas had always been so reluctant to reveal himself to me.
‘You have no reason to hide yourself, Thomas. Heroes stand proud,’ I said, ‘You went back into the fire to rescue your family, didn’t you? . . . but it was too late . . . Those are battle scars, Thomas. Don’t you ever hide them.’
I suddenly realised that during all this weirdness I had totally ignored Caroline and that she had been confronted with the fact that not only were there were three ghosts living here in my house but that her son was having a perfectly rational conversation with them.
Up until this moment I had thought the evening had gone extremely well and I had been quite optimistic that the future was looking quite rosy but now my world was collapsing around me.
Jonathon broke into my reverie. ‘Uncle Matthew, when you get the railway, do you think I can come and play with it? Please?’
This question was simple but heavily loaded and it was one I could not possibly answer . . . but from behind me came a soft reply, ‘Sweetheart, I’m sure we can find a way to work around that.’
Jonathon smiled. ‘Epic! Now, please can I have another piece of cake?’