Veiled Dreams Chapter 1

 

 

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Chapter One

Christina

For some reason she never did find out, her friends didn’t turn up that night just after Christmas. She waited for them for almost an hour at the outdoor rink. She cursed them for thinking it was too cold. And she cursed the ‘flu’ bug that was doing the rounds.

But I’m here now, she thought, so I might as well get on with it.

Christina pulled on her boots and tightened up the laces. Soon she was whirling round the ice making her skimpy little skirt twirl out prettily. She smiled to herself as she moved. She knew her legs looked good even in these thick granny tights. Those dance skating lessons had certainly been worth it. She had the small rink almost to herself. And, as always, people stopped to watch. Some actually clapped. People came and went. But the group of bikers stayed put.  

‘Pretty, pretty,’ called one of them. ‘Do us a twirl.’ Their English sounded funny. How did they know she was English, though? 

She got hot and breathless and had to stop. Then she began to feel cold.

The hot chocolate stall looked inviting. Her teeth began to chatter as she queued.

‘Wouldn’t you rather have a beer?’ called one of the bikers.

It seemed to take forever to get served.

‘Met slagroom?’ asked the ugly man who was serving.   

Christina nodded. Cream would be nice, but she didn’t know enough yet to ask for marshmallows.    

She drank her chocolate. It was good. It warmed her up.

‘Will you dance with me?’ called one of the bikers.

Will you leave me alone? she thought. She looked at her watch. She’d better get going. It was getting quite near the time she said she should be back. She didn’t want another argument.

As she stepped off the ice, another of the bikers came up to her. He stank of cigarette smoke and beer. He put an arm around her waist. Then his face was leering into hers. He said something in Dutch which she could not understand. Now she wished she’d gone straight home when the others hadn’t shown up. She tried to free herself from him. He said something else. She could smell the beer on his breath even more strongly now.  The others began to cheer and laugh. Her mouth went dry and her heart began to race.

‘Let go!’ she screamed. She looked round frantically for someone to help her.

There was no help. No one seemed to think they were doing any harm.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed another motor-bike arrive with its tall leather-clad rider. He shouted something to the biker who was drunk. She could understand the Dutch this time.

‘Let her go, idiot!’ he shouted clearly and slowly. He got off his machine. He removed his helmet. Silky blond hair tumbled to his shoulders. The drunkard stepped back. There was a rapid conversation between the tall blond one and the others. The blond one waved them away. They began to move.

A white light pulsated from one of the bars beside the rink. Christina tried to focus on the one who was trying to help her. But the light dazzled her and she had to shut her eyes. Suddenly the world was spinning round and she felt slightly sick. She felt as if she was losing control, as if her brain was seizing up.

Not that. Please not that. Not here. She shouldn’t have looked at that light.

Everything went black. She was trapped in a narrow room and couldn't get out. There was a tight band around her head and she was suffocating. Then nothing at all. But it was a nothingness that seemed to go on for hours.

She didn’t know where she’d been. She never did. 

Now, though, there was a strong smell of leather. The guy with the long blond hair was standing very close to her. She could see the other bikers still hanging around. The biker who had grabbed her was looking worried.

‘How are you, little one?’ asked the tall blond one in Dutch. She could not muster any words together in this language which was still so new for her.

‘I, er , I'm English,’ she stuttered.

The drunken biker wobbled forward. ‘Sorry,.... sorry,’ holding up his hands.

‘Where were you then?’ asked the tall blond biker. ‘You seemed a long way away.’

‘No,’ stammered Christina. She’d just been dazzled by the lights, hadn’t she?

‘You’re all right?’ he said.  

What was he saying? She hadn’t had a fit, had she? Perhaps it had just been a petit mal this time.  

‘You look pale. Do you want me to call someone for you?’

‘No! I’m fine,’ cried Christina. She really felt fine now. And this man was really very interesting. He was gorgeous. She just felt too ill to appreciate him properly. She started to shake.  

‘Oh, dear. You’re shivering. You will catch cold. You must get home. Do you live far?’ The slight Dutch accent was cheerful and friendly and his eyes twinkled.

‘I'll be all right. Honest I will,’ she managed to say.

‘I could give you a lift on my bike.’

‘No better not!’ She thought of all those warnings about not going off with strangers. How her parents didn't like motor-bikes. And then there was the question of whether she could handle anyone as sophisticated as this. He was obviously quite a bit older than her.

‘I don't drink or smoke,’ he said. ‘Or do drugs. And I'm a very safe driver.’

Then he touched her very lightly on the shoulder. He looked straight into her eyes.

Thank goodness it hadn’t been a full blown fit.

‘You shouldn't go home on your own.’

She shrugged.

‘I’m Jan by the way,’ he said.

‘And I’m Christina,’ she replied. 

 

Spooking Chapter Four

 

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Tom gradually got used to being in the Between Place and the strange things that happened. Marcus took him to all sorts of places at all sorts of times

“You can go wherever you like, whenever you like,” explained Zeboth. “You just think about it.”

Somehow, Marcus explained it better. “You mustn’t go too far forward, though,” he said. “Or you won’t be any good when you go back. And you might spend weeks and weeks here, but you can still go back to seconds after you left a particular time thread,” he said.

Zeboth and Rema didn’t really seem to be much help any more. Rema checked him over occasionally. She hardly ever had to make “adjustments”, as she called them.

“You really are the most remarkable ethereal specimen,” she said. “I have never come across a body so easy to maintain.”

It was quite amusing seeing some of the ways they appeared: judge and barrister one time, two of Tom’s High School teachers another time, and even as clowns. He found he had more and more control over their appearance, but resisted some of the really funny things he might have done to them. On the whole, though, the two guardians spent most of their time chasing Marcus out of the way. Just occasionally Zeboth would ask the inevitable question.

“Are you any nearer finding out what needs to be done?” he would say.

Tom would just shrug his shoulders. Zeboth would look vaguely annoyed, but then that would be the end of the matter. Time in the Between Place went on. Tom showed Marcus round his world and Marcus took Tom back a couple of hundred years and taught him how to fish. Marcus carried on his monkey tricks and just every so often, Tom enjoyed the thrill of rolling a barrel off a ramp into the water in the small fishing village in the North of England where Marcus had grown up, or, in his own world, he would stick his foot out and trip up someone he knew but didn’t like all that much. 

One hot sunny day they dangled their feet in the muddy water of an estuary at low tide. Tom felt very peaceful, even though it did remind him a bit of where he’d crashed his car. He was just a little disturbed, though, because Marcus was very quiet and was frowning.

“What’s up?” asked Tom.

“It’s about time you made a start,” said Marcus. “You don’t want to end up like me.”

“But it’s all right, isn’t it?” asked Tom. “I mean you think it’s okay, don’t you?”

“Gets a bit boring sometimes,” said Marcus. “Anyway, they won’t let a mistake like me happen again. You know, they might think about sending you to the Bad Place.”

Oh, thought Tom.

“So, you’d better get on with it,” said Marcus. “I’ll come with you, if that helps.”   

“Will they allow that?” asked Tom.

“Course not,” said Marcus, grinning again now. “But they can’t stop me. They don’t know how to.”

“So what should I do?” asked Tom.

“You reckon as it might be something you need to sort out with your girlfriend?” said Marcus. “Well, just think about her, as usual, and you’ll be there.”

Tom knew he had to go and visit Amanda. But he didn’t want to. Either she’d be really upset and he couldn’t bear that. Or she maybe wouldn’t be too bothered. He didn’t know whether he could bear that either. He didn’t know which would be worse.

“Go on then,” whispered Marcus.

Tom tried to think about Amanda. That soft hair, her delicate little body he always thought was going to break and that he wanted to protect, even when they were sleeping together, and those cute green eyes. Where should he try to go to her? In her room? No, that seemed too private. Just at her house. Try and catch her in the lounge, perhaps watching TV.

He concentrated really hard. The riverbank faded. He could almost see her house. He began to feel inside air rather than outside air. But it wasn’t becoming real. It was just as if he was only dreaming about it.

Then the river bank was completely back in focus. He could feel the wetness of the water on his feet.

“No good?” said Marcus. “Try somewhere where you liked going with her. People go back to places like that after somebody dies. They like to remember them there. I remember when –“ Marcus stopped and stared into space.

“What?” asked Tom.           

“Doesn’t matter,” said Marcus. “So where did you like to go?”

Tom smiled. “Along the river bank, would you believe?”

All at once, they were on another river bank, walking along a path. Tom knew exactly where they were. “This goes down to the sea,” he said. “The river’s tidal here. We often used to walk into the next village this way and go for a drink. Sometimes she takes one of the neighbour’s dogs for a walk along here.”

“It’s nice,” said Marcus. “Blimey, who owns all them posh boats?”

Tom looked to where Marcus was pointing. He got what he meant. They must be worth thousands, if not millions. All of them, smartly painted hulls and shiny bits of metal.  

“Oh, it’s a bit like that here,” said Tom “Lots of money around.”

“I can see that,” said Marcus.

This wasn’t right. Tom suddenly knew that he had to be with her as soon as she got the news about his death.

“Who’d tell her the news?” asked Marcus, again knowing exactly what Tom was thinking.

“My dad, I guess,” said Tom.

“Go to him then,” said Marcus. 

They were now at a third river bank. Marcus didn’t remark on the poshness of the boats this time. They seemed to be looking down at Tom’s dad’s quayside house. The police car was parked outside. It was as if someone was pushing a fast-forward button, because without walking through a doorway or even through a wall, seconds later they were inside the house and they could see the policewoman talking to Tom’s dad. They couldn’t hear what she was saying, but they saw him go white and put a hand in front of his mouth.

Then they fast forwarded again, and Tom’s dad was on his own. He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. He went over to the drinks cabinet, took out a glass  and opened a bottle of whisky and went to pour some.

Don’t, Dad, thought Tom.

His dad seemed to change his mind and went into the kitchen and put the kettle on.

They fast-forwarded again. The mug was empty. Tom’s dad still looked pale. He was sitting in his armchair, staring into space, the phone on his lap.

No, Dad, thought Tom, you can’t tell either of them that way. You’ve got to go to them.

Next they were in the car. Tom’s dad’s driving seemed erratic at times and he actually swerved quite badly at one point. Please, Dad, thought Tom. Don’t you have an accident as well.

He plunged for the steering wheel and tried to grab it. But his hand just floated through it. He really did seem like a ghost now. 

“Help, Marcus,” he called. “Help him to keep this wheel straight.” Marcus drifted forward and took the wheel. He managed to hold it firmly and straighten out the car.

What’s the matter with me? thought Tom. He was physical enough, judging by the lump in his throat. And how come Marcus knew how to steer a car? They hadn’t been invented when he was alive. 

“Blimey,” said Marcus. “And there was me thinking how well you was doing with your spook body.”  Then he grinned.  “Still, it gave me a chance to try working one of these things, didn’t it? Clever, ain’t they? Who’d have thought it?”

Next, they stood facing the door to Amanda’s house with Tom’s dad. This was almost unbearable.

Amanda opened the door. She smiled so sweetly at them, her beautiful green eyes round with pleasure and surprise. Tom knew that if he hadn’t been dead already, he would have passed out with the dread of how that look was about to change.   

“Oh, Mr Grant, how nice to see you,” she chirped.

Tom couldn’t see his dad, but something changed in Amanda’s eyes, so he guessed she had seen something in his father’s face.

Get inside, Dad, thought Tom. Make sure there’s somewhere soft for her to sit down.

“Can I come in love?” Tom’s father said. “It’s better if we talk inside.”

It went quiet again. In the lounge he could see them talking, but he was up above them again and he couldn’t hear the words. Tom could see Marcus hovering in the corner, his gaze fixed on the conversation going on below.

Amanda screamed. It was unearthly. He thought that any second now she was going to join him. Would that be cool? Probably not. There was something he’d got to sort out first.

“Go to her! Help her!” Marcus was screaming.

Amanda’s mum rushed into the living room. Amanda was shaking and tearing at her hair, and making balls with her fists. Her mother took Amanda into her arms, held her and rocked her. She reached out one hand and held Tom’s dad’s arm also. The lump in Tom’s throat got bigger. He couldn’t move.

“Go on!” screeched Marcus. “Go to her. What you waiting for?”

Suddenly, Tom found some strength from somewhere. He swooped down to her and hovered when his face was level with hers. He could smell the perfume of her. Not any perfume that she was wearing, but just the normal light fragrance about her that matched her general delicacy. But there was something else, as well. Raw pain. He could feel her raw pain.   

She was staring right at him but she couldn’t see him. She seemed to look right through him. He put his hand out to touch her face. He could feel her smooth skin beneath his fingers. It was good to be near her again. He tried to hold her, but his arms still seemed weak.  

It’s all right, he whispered. Death isn’t the end. I’m still here.

But she couldn’t sense him at all. He couldn’t give her any comfort.

What can I do? What can I do? he thought.  He couldn’t move any further. It was as if he was frozen.  He wanted to hug her, but he just couldn’t move. He could only watch her sinking deeper and deeper into her state of shock.

Marcus turned his back on him and drifted away.

This was it. He was a complete failure. He couldn’t do what he’d been brought here to do.

Tom felt as if he was falling heavily. Down, down, down. The whole room lightened up. Zeboth and Rema swooped down, now fully fledged angels, complete with wings and everything, and carried him up and up. They were high above his dad’s house, now looking down on the Hampshire countryside, then high amongst the cotton wool clouds floating in the deep blue, feathers raining from the sky.

Tom felt incredibly sleepy. The fluffy clouds looked inviting. He felt the warmth of a soft duvet and the comfort of his cotton and silk mix pyjamas. He was in bed and drifting into a refreshing sleep. Just before he lost consciousness, he realised he had not slept for months.