Life Shift (3 page)

“Doing what? Where’s your mother?”

“Mum stop it!” The girl was laughing harder now. “Dad told you not to do that anymore. I’ll tell him.”

Christine felt her head grow dizzy. There was something strangely familiar about the girl. She had grey blue eyes. Her face was small and pointed. Her dark hair gleamed in the winter sun.

The girl went to grab her hand again but Christine pulled back. From the corner of her eye she saw a car pull up beside them and a figure get out. She looked to see who it was but the sun was in her eyes. And suddenly it was back, the piercing pain that had seized her on the doorstep less than a week ago. She put her hand to her head as she tried to steady herself. She closed her eyes for a second to see if it would pass. Mercifully it did. She opened her eyes. She was alone on the pavement, no sign of the girl, the car or the shadowy man. She leant against a wall taking breaths. What had just happened?

“What are you doing?”

The front door of the house she was leaning against had opened and an elderly woman was looking at her with a mix of fear and concern on her face.

“Sorry,” said Christine, “I just felt a little faint.”

The woman’s face relaxed a little.
 

“Can I bring you a glass of water?”

“No I’m… I’m… fine. I’ll get going.”

Christine felt the woman looking as she picked up her gym bag and resumed walking down the road.

By the time she got to her house she felt sick. Unlocking the door she entered the house and ran up the stairs, just reaching the toilet in time before the nausea overwhelmed her.

Afterwards exhausted she lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. What had happened? Who was that girl?
 

She thought again about what had happened when she came home Tuesday evening. And then that incident with Matt on Wednesday. What had he said? “Are you seeing her yet?” Was this connected?

No don’t be stupid, she said to herself. Some strange child comes up to you on the street to play a practical joke that’s all. And on Tuesday
 
your eyes just played tricks on you. And Matt… well that was just something random and odd, maybe he’d been feeling unwell or something that day.

There is no connection, she said to herself again, more firmly this time. Apart from maybe her own tiredness – tiredness today from the gym, tiredness in the week from work. Her mind was doing strange things because she was exhausted.

But what if it was something else? What if she was seeing things because she was unwell? Christine tried to ignore that thought but it refused to go. Damien's grandmother had once started to see things and to have strange conversations with people who were not there. They had taken her to the hospital for tests and a tumour had been discovered. What if what was happening to her was the same?

She turned over and buried her head in her pillow. Not now. She couldn’t be ill.
 

Should she tell Damien?
 

No. I’ll see if anything else happens, she said to herself. She didn’t want to worry him. In fact he would be terrified. He had loved his grandmother. The thought of something like that happening to someone else he loved was already one of his worse fears. It would be too much for him.

I won’t tell him, she decided. But she would talk to her mother about it and see what she thought.

Having decided on the next course of action Christine began to feel a little better. She got up from the bed and began to run the bath for a post-gym soak. But unbidden the image of the little girl looking up at her came into mind. That face. Where had she seen it before? It was so familiar.

 
CHAPTER FOUR

She managed to arrange to see her mother the next day by getting herself and Damien invited for Sunday lunch. In the car on the way over she thought about how she was going to broach the subject and, more importantly, how she was going to broach it without Damien knowing.

As it happened her mother gave her the perfect opportunity. When she opened the door Christine and Damien could both see that she had been crying.

“Mum what’s wrong?” asked Christine at once.

“I need to speak to you,” whispered her mother, darting a glance at Damien.

“Damien, can you go in the living room?” said Christine, taking her mother by the arm, “We’ll go in the bedroom.”

“Sure,” said Damien, looking relieved not to have to get involved. He walked into the living room and Christine heard her father say hello.

She and her mother walked into her parent’s bedroom, across the hall from the living room. Her parents had moved into the bungalow three years ago. Christine still found it strange visiting her parents here. She missed her old childhood home. This house was too new and had no associations with her childhood.
 
Her old house, in contrast, had resonated with them. But her parents had grown tired of the old house when the children had moved out. Every room had seemed empty without the children’s voices.
 
Their lives seemed emptier too. Maybe if there had been grandchildren it would have been different for them. But that hadn’t happened and so the two of them had decided to move on, have a fresh start in a new home. Christine still passed the old house each day and had to restrain herself from asking Damien to stop the car so that she could get out, knock on the door and ask to go in. She dreamt of revisiting the old rooms - the bathroom, her bedroom, the kitchen. She yearned to touch the walls and the doors and to feel all the same feelings she had felt when living in that house.

But what were those feelings? They weren't happiness. It hadn’t really been the happiest of childhoods. Money was tight, both her parents worked long hours, she barely saw them and when she did they were arguing, always arguing, about money. But for much of the time it was just Christine and her brother Paul. And then Paul started staying out too, leaving Christine alone. All she could do to fill the time was study. And so she did. And eventually she no longer noticed how lonely she was. The house and her text books were her company. And now as an adult she missed the comfort they had given her.
 
These days she couldn’t seem to find that same comfort anywhere else.

Her parents had separated once too. She remembered them gathering Christine and Paul in the living room one Saturday morning. Her father began to talk in a broken voice. He was going to get help. He had hurt their mother too much. He had a problem with alcohol. He had lost his job. But no more. He would get help. He would change.

Christine’s mother had just stared at the floor. It was difficult to tell whether she believed him or not, whether she even cared anymore. But they got through it. Somehow. Christine's father moved out for a few months, managed to get another job and cut down on his drinking. Eventually he moved back home. There was no fanfare, no big announcement. One morning Christine got up and he was there, downstairs, eating his breakfast. No one said anything so she kept quiet too. Sometimes that was best.

There were far less arguments from that time on. Her father was quieter though – more prone to reflection. Where previously he had been the life and soul of the party, now he preferred to sit quietly on the sidelines, just observing. And Christine’s mother seemed to welcome this – the quietness, the stillness. The arguments had worn her out. Worn them both out.
 

And that was why her mother's tears this morning alarmed Christine. That wasn't how things were these days. Things hadn't been like that for a very long time.

“What’s wrong Mum?” she asked again.

“Your father’s had a letter,” said her mother, her lip trembling and her eyes looking ready to cry some more. “They’re finishing him in work.”

Her father had worked on the buses since the time of the separation. Indeed it was that job that had marked the turning point in her parents’ lives- brought the separation to an end. He had been there years and had only just turned sixty. He wasn't ready to retire.

“Why, what’s happening?”

“Cut backs, cut backs,” said her mother angrily, “They’ve been threatening it for ages. But he won’t get his full pension. He wasn’t going to finish for another five years yet.”

Christine didn’t know what to say. Her mother had always worried about money. But her father’s job had made things much easier for them.“How many years have you got left on the mortgage?” she asked.

“Five. I’m going to need to find another job.” Her mother was pacing now and pulling anxiously at her sleeve.

“Hold on. Hold on. You don’t know that yet. There’ll be an early retirement package won’t there? You don’t even know what that is yet.”

“I know it won’t be enough. I’m sure of that.”

“You don’t know that Mum. What does Dad say?”

“He says we’ll cope and I’ve just got to stop buying nonsense. But what about Christmas?” Her mother started to cry again.

“Christmas will be fine. Find out about the retirement package first and then see what you can do. Dad could always get another job I’m sure.”

“Who will take him on at sixty?”

“You don’t know Mum, you’re just fearing the worst. You have to be strong now.”

Her mother took a breath and looked at her.

“But remember what it was like before. I can't face that again.”

“You won't Mum, you won't. Wait and see what happens. Dad was going to retire in a few years anyway. It might be better for his health to do it sooner.”

“Maybe.” Her mother sounded unconvinced, but she had stopped pacing so that was a start. “I'm sorry Chris. Come on. Let’s get started on lunch. Might as well eat some food while we can still afford it.”

Christine smiled. “I won't let you go hungry Mum,” she said. Her mother smiled back. She looked calmer now. Standing up Christine caught a glimpse of one of the photos on her mother's dressing table - she and Paul as children. Immediately the memory of the dark-haired girl flashed into her mind. She remembered why she had come over to see her mother today. But how could she talk to her mother about that now when she was so worried about other things.

But Christine’s mother could read her daughter well.

“What’s wrong?” she said. “I knew when you rang me something was wrong and now I’ve gone and taken over with my troubles. Tell me.”

“It’s nothing Mum, don’t worry.”

But her mother would not be deterred.
 

“It is something. Tell me what it is.”

Christine knew she had no choice. Her mother would never give up now. So she told her about the Tuesday night when her entrance hall had changed and then the walk back from the gym and the encounter with the little girl. She did not tell her about Matt. She couldn’t say why she kept that bit to herself - it just felt like something she shouldn't share.
 

When she had finished speaking she looked at her mother. Her mother was staring at her, a concerned and anxious expression on her face.

“What do you think Mum? Do you think it’s just tiredness?” she asked.

“I don’t know love. But you need to go to the doctors.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yes. It could be chemical. Maybe your body chemistry is out of whack. You don’t eat properly. But only a doctor can find out. You can have a blood test.”

“Really?”
 

“Yes you have to go Christine. I’ll worry myself sick otherwise. What does Damien say?”

Christine looked sheepish. “I haven’t told him. You know what he’s like.”

“Well he’ll worry obviously,” said her mother, “But you can’t go keeping things like this from him.”

“I’ll see the doctor first and then tell him if it’s anything,” said Christine.

Her mother looked at her for a moment and then said, “Okay, if that’s the way you want to do it. But honestly Christine, secrets are never a good thing in a marriage.”

Another image of Matt and the way he had looked at her flashed into her mind.
 

“It’s not a secret. I’m just not telling him anything until I know what's going on.”

“Okay,” said her mother, “But promise me that you’ll go to the doctors.”

“I promise,” said Christine, “But I was hoping you’d tell me it was just stress.”

Her mother hugged her in reply and then turned to open the bedroom door. But just as she was about to leave she turned around and, with a strange expression on her face, said “Chris, are you hearing the buzzing again?”

“What buzzing?” said Christine, confused.

“Don’t you remember?” said her mother. “When you were about nine you had it.”

“No, no buzzing,” she said, “Nothing like that. Why would there be
 
buzzing? What happened when I was nine?”

“Oh it was nothing,” said her mother quickly. “You had problems with your ears. You started hearing a buzzing that's all. We sorted it out with drops. I just wondered if this could be something to do with your ears – knocking your balance out, making you dizzy? Ask the doctor to take a look anyway. Ok?”

“Ok,” replied Christine.

“Promise?” pushed her mother.

“I promise.”

Satisfied her mother left the bedroom.

Christine remained sitting on the bed. Problems with her ears. That didn’t seem right. Buzzing? What had that been about when she was nine?

And then she remembered it. She felt a wave of nausea pass over her again. Quickly she stood up. She couldn’t think of all that now.
 
But her mother was wrong. It was important. Or at least had been then. Very important indeed.

 
CHAPTER FIVE

It was only later when back home pretending to watch TV that Christine allowed herself to think about it. It hadn't been buzzing. Her mother was wrong about that. She had just told her parents it was a buzzing because telling them the truth was unthinkable. It had been voices that she had heard, not buzzing. Voices that had chattered in her head and made her fear for her sanity.
 

It had first started one night in bed. Her father had been downstairs watching TV. The theme music of The Rockford Files had drifted up the stairs. She had been trying to get to sleep but was feeling hot and uncomfortable. And then suddenly she had heard whispering in her ears. Not a voice as such, not to begin with. But a whisper, then a chatter, then a whisper again, tone and rhythm changing, varying, disconcerting. Her head felt displaced, her mind almost dislocated from her body. She had sat up. What was happening? It continued. It was now clearly voices. Talking, jumbled voices. She could not identify any words, could not hear anything that made sense, but still it continued in her ears.