I’m getting pretty anxious, thought Henry. Perhaps this is a message for me. The woman looked confused and turned to the red-haired girl next to her.
‘I do get anxious sometimes don’t I?’ she said doubtfully.
‘I’m quite anxious with all that’s been happening,’ said Henry. ‘This is certainly a message for me.’
The psychic nodded.
‘She went quickly didn’t she?’ he said. ‘One two three and that was it?’
‘Who did?’ asked Henry.
‘Oh yes, Aunty Mabel had a heart attack. Very sudden,’ said the woman nodding emphatically. ‘It was one two three and gone.’
I know all about one two three and gone thought Henry. He didn’t know anything about Aunty Mabel though.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ cried Henry. ‘Can any of you see me? I’m a real dead person. At least I think I am.’
The psychic looked straight through him. Well, this is rich, thought Henry. Here am I, a dead person, wanting to pass on messages and the psychic who is supposed to be an expert on seeing dead people probably wouldn’t see me even if I sat on him.
‘Can you tell my wife Imogen I’m okay?’ said Henry urgently, making one final attempt. He could now see from a label on the man’s jacket that his name was Phil.
‘Hello Phil. You’re supposed to see me. I’m dead and I want to give someone a message.’
Phil continued talking to the woman at the back. Henry, now frustrated, wondered what other dead people did to make contact with psychics.
‘Hello,’ he said again.
Phil continued talking to the woman at the back of the hall. Henry’s blood began to boil. What kind of caper was this? If there was someone to complain to then Henry most certainly would. A psychic who couldn’t see dead people? Whatever next, thought Henry.
‘I’m getting to the end of my tether with this now. Can you please get someone to sort out this business,’ Henry yelled.
‘There’s a celebration coming up,’ said Phil to the woman. ‘She’s showing me the 3rdor the 5th.’
‘I’m going to the dentist on the 5th,’ said the woman.
‘Ooh, that’s right you are,’ agreed the redhead.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ sighed Henry.
‘Is that Aunty Mabel?’ asked the woman.
‘She’s a strong presence,’ said Phil shakily.
‘You’re a charlatan,’ said Henry, making for the door, forsaking his slice of Battenberg cake.
He’d have to ask Rita to speak to Imogen. There was nothing else for it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rita washed away her tears and pulled back the patchwork bedspread. Then, realising it was far too early for bed, flattened it back into place. She’d make a hot chocolate, she decided, and read more of her romance novel. By the time she’d drunk the hot chocolate and washed up her mug it would almost certainly be time for bed. She thought of Henry and wondered what he was doing. Were he and Imogen now in bed? Satiated from their dinner of sausages and talking about the strange happenings of the past twenty-four hours? Or, had Imogen not been able to see him? Could Henry really be dead? Perhaps this is exactly what happens when you die. At least, until someone comes to take you to wherever you have to go. Rita hoped she would go to a good place. She tried very hard to do everything that would make sure she did. Each night she asked God’s forgiveness for any wrongs she may have done. The devil was artful. Rita knew that. Sometimes she would forget to pray and then she’d spend longer the next night to make up for it. She took the milk from the fridge with shaking hands. She’d been very careful not to do anything with Billy that would be considered a sin. She’d never stolen or lied. Not lies that really mattered. Surely she would go to a good place. Perhaps she shouldn’t see Henry any more. People might start to think she was mad. She didn’t want to lose her job at the supermarket. She knew it wasn’t the best job in the world, but she rather liked it. If she kept talking to invisible people then they would most certainly have to let her go. The milk bubbled to the top of the pan and Rita rescued it just in time. Poor Henry, she thought. What an awful situation to be in. The room had now turned chilly and she shivered. She considered turning the heater on again. She didn’t like to keep it on for too long. It cost far too much money. But she hadn’t wanted to turn it off when Henry had been there. He seemed to feel the cold quite keenly, but I suppose he would, thought Rita, if he was dead.
The Mills and Boon novel lay on the bedside cabinet. She picked it up and began to read. The story about an everyday shop assistant who finds herself whisked off to a palace in the desert by a rich Arab sheik was really quite fantastic, rather like her and Henry’s story. No one would believe it if you told them. She thought back to Henry’s kiss and a little tremor of desire ran through. She wondered what he was doing right at that very moment. Most likely he had been right, and the business had now been sorted. He’s probably sleeping off all that food. I hope his dyspepsia isn’t too bad, she thought kindly. She imagined that after the sausages he and Imogen had talked and sorted everything out.
‘What a strange day,’ she said aloud.
The hot chocolate mug was washed up and Rita was about to take off her clothes and put on her nightie when the front door buzzer startled her. It was almost nine thirty. No one ever rang her doorbell that late. Sometimes she would get people selling dusters and pegs or peddling religion, however, they nearly always came before seven. If it was Billy then he would knock on her door, not ring the main bell.
She clicked the buzzer nervously.
