A Cuckoo in Candle Lane (15 page)

Ruth shook her head worriedly. ‘I’m just so confused about it all, Elsie. Some people say it’s wrong to use psychic powers, and I’m frightened.’

‘Look, all I can tell you is what I believe. You must make up your own mind.’ Elsie stood up, walking slowly over to the window as if to gather her thoughts. ‘Ruth, I believe that God created us, and that He endowed us with psychic abilities, or what some people call spiritual gifts. Why would He give us these abilities if we weren’t meant to use them?’

‘Well, yes, I see what you’re getting at, but why does the Church say it’s wrong?’

‘I don’t know, Ruth, it has never made sense to me. When they say it’s wrong to use spiritual gifts, it’s like saying God made a mistake in giving them to us in the first place.’ She sighed deeply, adding, ‘All I know is that Jesus could prophesy, and heal the sick, sending His disciples out to do the same. He taught that anything He could do, we could do also, and that’s good enough for me.’

Ruth sat quietly mulling over her friend’s words, and had to admit they made a lot of sense. She thought about her mum and the constant pain she was in. If Sally could help her, surely that couldn’t be wrong. ‘Elsie, do you think Sally is ready to develop her healing powers?’

‘Yes, I think so, but I won’t help her without your agreement.’

‘All right then, if she really wants to try, I won’t stand in her way.’

The following week, Sally held her hands over her gran’s body, raising her head in a silent prayer. Could she really help by doing this? Was she imagining the tingling sensation radiating from her palms? She allowed her mind to drift as Elsie had taught her, finding that her hands moved unconsciously, hovering over Sadie as if led by an unseen force.

‘I think fifteen minutes is enough,’ Elsie said, interrupting her concentration.

‘How do you feel, Gran?’ she asked, surprised that the time had passed so quickly.

Standing up, Sadie began to walk tentatively across the room, an expression of amazement suddenly crossing her face. ‘The pain’s almost gone – I can’t believe it,’ she cried.

Sally stared. Her gran’s limp was barely visible. Surely it’s not possible, she thought, unable to believe her eyes.

‘I don’t know where you get this power from, love, but to me it’s like a miracle,’ her gran said excitedly.

‘Perhaps my real father’s psychic,’ Sally mused, remembering when at the age of thirteen she had finally found out what a cuckoo in the nest meant. It had been a shock to find out that Ken wasn’t her father, yet somehow it was a relief too. So many things that had happened in the past had fallen into place, and she finally understood why he had always rejected her.

She shivered, remembering his violence, glad that he had gone out of their lives. After a shaky start, her mum was so much happier now. Oh, she bickered now and then with gran, which wasn’t surprising, the old lady being such a dominant character. When gran had first moved in with them it must have driven her mum mad when she had played them off, one against the other. Sally smiled; it had taken them a long time to work that one out. What a horrible little brat I must have been, she thought.

‘Yes, perhaps your father was psychic too,’ Elsie said, breaking into her thoughts.

Sally smiled distantly, still thinking about her father. She had tried many times to imagine what he looked like, but all her mum could tell her was that his name was Andy, he came from Scotland and that she’d inherited his red hair. For a long time she had dreamed of finding him, fantasising about how wonderful it would be to have a father who loved her. Eventually of course she had come to realise that with so little information, it was impossible.

She shook her head, berating herself for woolgathering, and turned to her gran, saying, ‘Are you sure you’re not imagining it? Do you really feel better?’

‘Of course I’m not imagining it, Sally. I’m telling you … the pain’s almost gone.’

Ruth, who had been sitting quietly while all this had been taking place, suddenly spoke. ‘Elsie, can you inherit psychic powers?’ she asked.

‘It does tend to run through families. But I’ve met many gifted mediums where it doesn’t, so who knows,’ she said, shrugging her shoulders.

Sally yawned, suddenly feeling exhausted. Her limbs ached and her head was beginning to thump.

‘Sit down, Sally,’ Elsie advised. ‘You look worn out, and I think I know why.’

Once seated, Elsie sat opposite her, resting her forearms on the table as she spoke. ‘One of the most important things you have to learn, Sally, is how to act as a channel. If you’re tired it’s because you’re giving out your own energy, but don’t worry, you did marvellously well for your first attempt and I’m amazed at the results. All you’ve got to do now is to learn how to let the energy flow through you, and not from you.’

‘Why don’t you get yourself off to bed,’ her mum urged, looking at her worriedly.

Glancing at the clock, Sally saw that it was only nine-thirty, but she didn’t argue. Her headache was worsening and all she wanted was to sleep. Standing up, she rubbed her forehead. ‘Yes, I think I will go up. Night, all,’ she added as she made her way upstairs.

She lay in bed, her face turned towards the window, watching the clouds scudding across the face of a full moon, still unable to believe the sight of her gran walking across the room with hardly a limp showing.

Her eyelids then began to droop, but she was still aware of her aching limbs as she snuggled further down in the bed. It was as she slowly drifted off to sleep that she became aware of a presence, smiling softly when she felt a light, almost gossamer touch on her cheek.

‘I
can’t believe we’ve already been at work for four months,’ Ann said as she and Sally made their way home from the store one evening. ‘How are you getting along with your manageress now? Is she any better?’

‘Oh, all right I suppose, but she’s still so stiff and formal. It’s “Miss Marchant do this, Miss Marchant do that”.’ Sally grimaced; she was a little in awe of Miss French, who always looked so elegant and sophisticated. She wore her dark, sleek hair combed back from her face into a neat chignon, emphasising her beautiful bone structure and perfectly applied make-up. Her white blouse was always crisp, and there was never so much as a speck of fluff on her black pencil skirt.

Sally looked critically at her own uniform; the blouse was going slightly grey after so many washes, and her flared black felt skirt, that she had thought so grown-up when she bought it, now hung unevenly at the hemline. She smiled ruefully at Ann. ‘I got told off for saying
ain’t
again today. “Miss Marchant,” she said. “How many times have I got to tell you, there is no such word in the dictionary.”’

Her friend’s mimicry made Ann giggle. ‘She sounds awful. My manager isn’t too bad; he only gets angry if I don’t sweep up as soon as he’s finished a cut. Here, Sal, do you fancy coming to the pictures tonight?
Cast A Dark Shadow
is on at the Odeon, starring Margaret Lockwood.’

‘I can’t, I’m absolutely skint. We can go on Friday when I get paid if you like.’

Ann shook her head. ‘I can’t make it then. Some of the stylists have entered a hairdressing competition, and when they said they needed a junior to assist them, I jumped at the chance.’ She gave a little skip, grinning with delight. ‘I’m so excited, I’ve never been to a competition before.’

Sally remembered how Ann had hated the thought of hairdressing, but now she had taken to it like a duck to water. She fingered her fringe. ‘I’ve been thinking about having me hair cut short.’

Ann gazed at Sally’s face. ‘It would probably suit you, but I hope you’re not asking me to do it. I wouldn’t have the nerve.’

‘Oh go on, Ann. I can’t afford to go to the hairdresser’s. I must get my club money paid off so I can buy another skirt and blouse for work, and that only leaves me five bob a week.’

‘I just couldn’t, Sally. Your hair’s too long and I wouldn’t know where to start. A trim, yes, but not a full cut.’ She raked her fingers through her own short hair. ‘Here, I tell you what, I could ask the stylists if they need a model for the competition.’

‘Thanks, Ann, that would be great.’ Sally suddenly winced in pain. ‘I’m glad we’re nearly home, my feet are absolutely killing me.’

‘Mine too. My soles feel like I’ve been walking on hot coals.’

They smiled at each other in sympathy, parting outside Sally’s door.

Later, when Sally and her family were sitting round the table having just finished their dinner, there was a light knock on the back door. ‘Can I come in for a minute?’ Elsie asked, poking her head inside.

‘Of course you can. What can we do for you?’ Ruth asked, gesturing her friend to a seat and reaching across the table to stack the empty plates.

‘I wanted to have a word with you about Nelly’s husband, George. He’s in a terrible state and I wondered if Sally could help him with some healing?’

‘Oh Elsie, I don’t know. Helping her gran is one thing, but I don’t know about anyone else …’ Ruth shook her head doubtfully.

‘Mum, please let me try,’ Sally urged. ‘I’d like to find out if I really can do healing.’

‘But you know you can. Look at the difference you’ve made to your gran. She’s in hardly any pain these days.’ Turning to Sadie she added, ‘Isn’t that right, Mum?’

‘Yeah. It’s worked a treat,’ Sadie agreed.

‘Please, it can’t do any harm,’ Sally begged.

She watched as her mother drummed her fingers on the table, a sure sign she was agitated, relieved when she finally said, ‘Oh, all right then, but just this once, and no more. I mean it, Sal, so don’t bother to argue with me.’

The following evening Sally watched George Cox as he struggled across the kitchen, his back bent and breathing laboured. She focused her eyes on his aura, feeling a prickle of tears behind her eyes as she realised that there was nothing she could do to help him, except perhaps to ease his pain. ‘Please, take a seat,’ she gulped, hurrying out of the room. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

‘What’s the matter?’ Elsie asked, scurrying out of the room behind her.

Sally sat on the stairs, her head in her hands and fighting back the tears. ‘He’s dying, Elsie. I can sense that he’s dying.’

Elsie lowered herself onto the stair beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close.

‘He probably came here thinking that I can cure him, Elsie, but I can’t. Oh God, I wish I had never started this now.’ Her thoughts then flew to Nelly and she was unable to stop the tears from falling. She was such a lovely old lady, and so popular in the Lane – the first to offer help to anyone who needed it. But now that she needed help herself … oh, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t.

‘It’s all my fault, Sally.’ Elsie cried. ‘I didn’t realise you’d be able to foresee terminal illness. This is awful for you – would you like me to send him home?’

‘No, I can’t just turn him away.’ She hadn’t had much to do with Nelly’s husband. George Cox was a quiet man who mostly kept himself to himself, but when she did bump into him he always gave her a kindly smile. Drawing in a deep breath and gathering her strength, she dashed the tears from her eyes, saying with a tremor in her voice, ‘Come on, let’s go back in there.’

As she entered the room, the old man’s rheumy eyes met hers and she was surprised at their depth of wisdom and compassion.

‘Come here, ducks,’ he beckoned, and as she reached him he took her hand, squeezing it gently. ‘Don’t worry, I know there’s nothing you can do for me.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Nelly insisted that I came to see you, but I know me number’s up, love, so don’t upset yerself.’

‘Will you at least let me try to ease your pain?’ Sally urged.

‘Yes, of course, though I don’t think you’ll be able to do much.’

She stood behind him, closed her eyes, and offered up a silent prayer. Moving her hands slowly over his body, she was aware of being led to his lung area. The familiar feeling radiated from her palms and she prayed it was giving him some relief. ‘How’s that?’ she asked, after about fifteen minutes.

He inhaled, a look of surprise crossing his wrinkled face. ‘Why, that’s wonderful, duck. It really has eased the pain and I can breathe a little easier.’

Sally smiled sadly, knowing that all she had achieved was a temporary respite. ‘I’m glad it’s given you a little relief, Mr Cox, but I don’t know how long it will last. Me gran’s arthritis plays her up again unless I give her regular healing.’

‘Listen to me, gel, anything that makes my going a bit easier is enough for me. Can I come to see you again?’

It wasn’t far to walk, but she knew what a huge effort it must have taken for him to get here. ‘I tell you what,’ she suggested. ‘How do you feel about me popping into your house on my way home from work, perhaps a couple of times a week?’

‘That’s very good of you. Just one thing though – don’t let on to me missus how bad I am. She doesn’t need to know yet.’

On Friday evening the hall buzzed with the sound of voices as Sally stared at her reflection in the mirror, fingering her short hair that fell in wisps around her face.

‘I can’t believe it, Sally, it looks absolutely fantastic,’ Ann said, standing behind her. ‘Do you like it?’