Page 3 of A Curious Ending

‘Yep, that’s Mum.’ There was a slight constraint in Lara’s reply, and Abigail left a not unhopeful silence that after a while Lara filled. ‘She doesn’t really approve of me and, well, how I’m living.’ She waved her hand vaguely around the room. ‘I can’t seem to get anything right with her at the moment. I sometimes wonder if she even likes me very much.’

Abigail kept her own counsel, but it was clear to her from the look on Lara’s mother’s face that she did a lot more than like her daughter. There was a second thing that Abigail noticed about the photograph. She decided that this was something she would also keep to herself. For the time being at least.

‘Is this a dream?’ Lara suddenly asked, leaning back on her heels in front of the now glowing wood burner.

‘Does it feel like one?’ Abigail enquired.

‘Yes… No… I don’t know. Nothing seems quite real. It’s just I have that light-headed feeling you get when you’ve been up all night, or if you’ve drunk way too much. Which I suppose I have,’ Lara said ruefully, as she reached for the red wine that she had left on a table by the sofa. ‘So if this is a dream it sort of fits.’ She poured herself a glass of wine. ‘On the other hand, if this is really happening, I have a very annoying woman in my house—’

Abigail gave an audible sniff.

‘…who has stalked me, broken into my home, made me cry and knows things about me that I haven’t told anyone.’

‘Ah, that is interesting, and significant, I feel. You have not mentioned your thoughts about Lady Porter’s death to others?’ Abigail asked, picking up on the last thing Lara mentioned.

‘There aren’t many people around here I could talk to about it,’ Lara replied huffily.

Abigail ignored this, but shot her a look that reminded Lara of her old games teacher, who would not accept excuses for missing matches (unless you had lost a limb). Miss Potts certainly had no time for self-pity.

‘You have not contacted the police, for example, about your concerns?’ Abigail pressed her.

‘Hardly,’ Lara responded, feeling very much on the defensive. ‘What was I going to say? The inquest didn’t raise anything suspicious. They kept referring to “a woman of her age”.’ She paused, then added in a more hesitant voice, ‘About a month after Lady Porter died, I did stand outside the police station for what felt like hours, but I knew I had nothing concrete to tell them, so in the end I just walked away.’

‘Yes, I can appreciate your dilemma. That was quite understandable,’ Abigail nodded.

This small bit of empathy made Lara feel more hospitable to her uninvited visitor and she held out the bottle towards Abigail in mute enquiry, nodding at a second wine glass that stood on a cupboard nearby. She continued more quietly, as if talking to herself – which she reflected, she might well be, ‘It’s strange that I’m not feeling particularly worried about you turning up here. And what is really weird is that I don’t mind having you here. I don’t like many people, you see, and I rarely let anyone into my cottage,’ she finished.

Glancing at the proffered bottle, Abigail decided to mix her metaphors and kill two birds with one stone while at the same time grabbing the bull by the horns. ‘I would love a glass of wine,’ she said in reply, ‘but sadly I can’t drink. It is one of the things I most regret about being a ghost.’

Lara stopped drinking and gazed at her in horror.

‘Now that really would be crap,’ she said and started to laugh. Once Lara started laughing she found she could not stop.

Abigail watched her appreciatively. ‘I do believe that my generation underestimated the curative power of laughter. Much more beneficial I believe than bloodletting. A thoroughly horrid practice.’

Lara looked back at her in disbelief. ‘You really are something else, you know that?’ she said. ‘Okay,’ Lara continued, ‘so you’re a ghost. Prove it. For example, can I touch you?’

Abigail moved over to the sofa where Lara was now sitting, unbuttoning her glove as she did so. ‘This is going to feel rather strange so please prepare yourself for it. Now reach out and try and take my hand.’

These words did much to sober Lara up. She put out her hand hesitantly towards Abigail’s, her eyes flicking between her hand and Abigail’s face. Instead of meeting the smoothness of cool flesh as she had been sure she would do, Lara felt as if her hand had been dipped into lukewarm flowing water, until her fingers found the textured surface of the sofa cushion underneath. The room was completely silent. Lara let out a long breath. It occurred to her as she exhaled that she was beyond swearing or shouting. She literally had no words left.

Which was fortunate, for this was the moment that Abigail Rossmore (deceased) had been waiting for. And she had plenty.

Chapter 4

‘I would like to talk to you about Lady Porter. Or rather,’ Abigail corrected, ‘I would like you to tell me about her. But first I will explain why I am here.’ She stood up and moved back a few steps and cast Lara an appraising look as if to reassure herself that she was able to absorb what she was about to say, then she took the seat opposite her.

‘I am here because I am a Kindred Spirit. In this instance, your Kindred Spirit. Ghosts like myself do not haunt particular places or buildings. Instead we are drawn to a very specific combination of powerful emotions that resonate deep within us. For me, it is the pain and anguish that you feel at your friend’s death. I understand your state of mind as you question this, in the same way that I know my own mind. Those circles that you follow as you consider the impossible thought – was she murdered? – are as familiar to me as the blood that once flowed in my veins. What resonates with me is the isolation you feel, as the only person who believes this. This I comprehend, like few could. I said that you sent for me. In a way I was speaking the truth. Part of you called out to me. It was a silent, unconscious message that touched a particular part of my spirit. You could not help but call. I could not help but answer.’ Abigail stopped for a moment and looked longingly at the glass of wine that now stood untouched in front of Lara. At moments like these she would have done much for a fortifying glass of Madeira. ‘Like you, I know what it is to believe someone close to you has been murdered. I understand that unique position of contemplating murder, when others don’t or won’t. It is this that binds us together. This is why you do not fear me.’ Abigail continued with great emphasis, ‘I could never do you any harm. But what I can do, while you need me, is help you.’

Lara at last seemed to come to life and said quietly, ‘While you need me but don’t want me, I must stay. When you want me but no longer need me, I must go.’ She brushed her hair back from her face and looked at Abigail. ‘Nanny McPhee,’ she added, as if this explained it all.

‘Is Nanny McPhee a member of your domestic staff?’ Abigail asked, frowning, looking doubtfully around at the messy sitting room. Standards, she thought, had clearly changed since the days when she had commanded a household.

‘No,’ Lara managed a smile. ‘She’s a character in a film. It’s what she says.’

‘I do love films.’ Abigail said rather wistfully, thinking back to another investigation which had included several visits to a cinema. ‘And yes,’ she continued, pulling herself back to the matter at hand, ‘there does seem to be some truth in what Miss McPhee says. You will doubtless be pleased to hear that I will not be with you forever.’

‘What you said earlier, you were right, you know,’ Lara said to her, ‘I have been talking to myself a bit. Well, a lot actually. It would be wonderful to be able to talk to someone else about Lady Porter.’ She half smiled. ‘Even to a ghost.’