Chapter Seven
SEVEN
It’s a squeeze around the small dining table. Two folding chairs have been brought in from the garden to accommodate everyone. The children are eating fish-and-chips straight from the wrapping, Billy smeared with ketchup, barely chewing, grabbing fistfuls of chips with both hands, much to his mother’s dismay. The room is high with the smell of vinegar and salt, the heat of so many bodies packed around the table. Paul, Lisa’s husband, is short and dark and stocky, with a tanned, weathered face like scrunched-up brown paper. His hair is curly, coiling long at the back of his neck. With that and his mustache he reminds me of that boxer my father likes, Barry McGuigan. He is watchful, taking big gulps from a can of Coke between mouthfuls. The other Webbers, Lisa and the children, have been interested in me, even curious, but accepting of my presence. I don’t get that feeling with Paul. There is a challenge in his eyes as he folds the paper back over the remains of his dinner and lights a cigarette, blowing the smoke out through flared nostrils. His gaze fixes on me.
“You’re a psychologist?”
“That’s right.”
“You’ve just graduated, Sam said.”
I nod. It feels as though his gaze is pinning me to my seat and I resist the urge to squirm.
“Yes.”
He points his fork at Alice.
“Well? What’s wrong with her?”
Alice flushes uncomfortably.
“That’s not something I’m willing to discuss over dinner,” I say. I try to give Alice a small, reassuring smile. Even though her headphones are looped around her neck, I can still hear the soft percussion of the music.
“She’s good, is she?” Paul asks Sam as if I’ve suddenly left the room. “Knows what she’s on about?”
“She does, Paul. Yes.”
“You know the Sunday Mirror have been in touch?” Paul leans his chair back against the wall, watching Sam slowly chew his food. “They’ve said they think it’ll make a great story. Maybe even front page.”
“Good money, too, I’ll bet,” Sam answers. “You should consider it.”
I feel a slight throb of tension and sense there’s a power struggle going on, although I can’t seem to work out the depth of it, not yet. Paul turns his gaze back to me.
“So. Mina. You’re the one he’s brought to try to catch us out, huh?”
I look from him to Sam, raising my eyebrows.
“He thinks you’re trying to discredit their story,” Sam says.
“Well, I wouldn’t do so without reason,” I tell Paul, smiling. I think of Lisa saying “It’s like already you’ve decided there’s something wrong with her.”
Paul snorts, tipping his chair back onto two legs and scratching his underarm. He is skinny and leathery with muscle.
“You think it’s tricks.”
“I think it needs verifying.”
“What’s ‘verifying’?” Tamsin asks.
“It means she doesn’t believe us,” Paul responds, eyes fixed on me.
“Give her a chance,” Sam says, laughingly. “She’s only been here two minutes.”
“She’s got a photo of her brother!” Tamsin says suddenly, bouncing in her chair. “I’ve seen it. You were looking at it earlier.”
“I hope he’s not as annoying as our brother,” Alice sneers.
“Hey!” Billy protests.
“You got a picture of that fiancé of yours, Mina?” Lisa asks me, voice barely audible over the sound of Tamsin squealing as Billy kicks at her under the table.
“Not with me.”
“How comes you carry a picture of your brother around with you but not your fiancé?” That’s Alice, spearing a chip on her fork. “That’s weird.”
“I know it must be hard for you to believe, Alice, but in some families brothers and sisters can actually like each other,” Lisa chides, putting an arm over Billy to stop him squirming out of his chair. It’s so noisy in here I feel like covering my ears.
“Ewww, imagine carrying a picture of Billy around! Gross!” Tamsin singsongs and Alice sniggers, even as Billy turns beet-red and starts yelling in protest.
“Are you going to marry your brother, Mina?”
“Do you put the picture under your pillow at night?”
That heat in me kindles, flames.
“I wouldn’t even wipe my arse with Billy’s photo.”
“Hey!”
“He’s dead,” I say, flatly. The words fall out of my mouth like old stones. Silence falls heavily, and all eyes turn on me. I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t mean to shock them. I’m just flustered. I’m not used to this noise, this press of bodies so close together, the smell of them, sour sweat and hot breath, suntan lotion. There’s something else, too, a darker odor. Riper. It has a tang like old pennies. I’m not used to people talking over each other, biting off the ends of each other’s sentences. It’s just me and Oscar at home. “He died a long time ago. Nearly six years now.”
“How old was he?” Tamsin says.
“Fourteen.”
Gazes swivel toward Alice. It’s jarring when you realize death doesn’t just come for the aged or the sick. Alice shifts in her seat but doesn’t look up. Her shoulders are sunburned, her nose and forehead turning a raw, burnished red. There is a ringing in my ears like static.
“I’m sorry, Mina. Your parents must have been heartbroken,” Lisa says.
“They were. They are. Still, I mean.” I notice Billy looking up at me with sad, round eyes. I force myself to smile. “Long time ago now. All in the past.”
Paul’s eyes are bright, hot coals sunk into snow. He points at Alice.
“She’s had to leave that school, you know. We couldn’t keep sending her in, not how she was. Talking gibberish, fainting in the toilets. That’s not right, is it? She needs to be out with her friends, like I was at that age.”
“Paul—” Lisa begins gently, but he shrugs her off, turning back to me.
“You reckon you can help her, then, do you?”
“I’ll do my best,” I tell him. He snorts, balling the fish-and-chip paper up in his hands.
“Well, I hope so. You look clever. Doesn’t she look clever, Lisa? Could’ve sent us someone with a bit more on top, Sam, though, eh?”
As he cups his hands at the front of his chest and laughs, I flush, heat staining my skin a bright pink. Lisa tuts and glares at Paul.
“Ignore him,” she tells me. “He was hoping you’d look like Sam Fox.”
“She knows I’m only joking. Don’t you?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. He crosses his arms and looks at Sam. “Do you think we’re lying an’ all?”
“It’s irrelevant what I think. The Herald have sent me to find proof of a haunting, they don’t want my opinion.”
“But you must think it’s a possibility, or you wouldn’t have come back,” Lisa says, her voice tremulous, hopeful. The room suddenly seems very quiet, very hot. Suffocating, almost. Through the back door the yard is dusky with a shimmering heat.
“I’m trying to keep an open mind, Lisa.”
Paul looks at me, then back to Sam again, his lip slightly curled as if in distaste.
“You know I remember a while back reading about that poltergeist in Enfield. That family had a whole team of ghost-hunters and experts come in to investigate the story. It was national news.”
Sam laughs again. “Well, I’m afraid you’re just stuck with me and Mina for now. If we find real evidence—that is, if we can establish an active haunting—you’ll be in a better position to get the help you need.”
Paul leans forward hungrily, elbows on the table. “What kind of help?”
Sam shrugs. “In the very worst case scenario, I’ve heard of people having the place exorcised or being moved from their homes.”
“Dad—” Alice says, but Paul holds up his hand.
“What’ll it take? For a worst case scenario?”
“We’re a long way from that, Paul, don’t worry.” Sam brushes his hands together. He looks relaxed, almost insolent. He’s still smiling, revealing those crooked teeth, slightly discolored.
I look over at Alice. Her hands hold the sides of her plate so tightly her knuckles turn white. She does not lift her head. Paul pitches his cigarette out in the sink. It hisses.
“Well, welcome to Beacon Terrace, Mina. Hope you brought your bell, book, and candle.”