Love In The Wrong Dimension (Romantic Ghost Story) (21 page)

“
Look!” Susie was pointing toward the fireplace, which still had a few glowing embers left in it. A large, high backed armchair stood facing the fire, and in it sat an old woman.

Jemma walked over to the woman and stared at her in disbelief. “Is that her?”

“
Yep,” Susie said, as she threw herself onto the old sofa. “That’s definitely her. She’s not quite what you expected, is she?”

Jemma stared in surprise at Tom’s mother. She had been expecting a proud, immaculate woman, with not a hair out of place, perfectly manicured hands and expensive designer clothes, but the woman sitting here was nothing like that at all. Her long, unbrushed grey hair was hanging down in thin straggly wisps
, and her pale face was drawn and hollow, deep lines aging her more than she probably was. Her cheeks were stained with what looked like dried tears, and her head was bowed suggesting that she was asleep. In her frail, thin hands, she was clutching a picture frame tightly. Jemma gasped as she leaned over to take a closer look.

“
What?” asked Susie, who had been busily snooping around the room.

“
Susie, look! The picture she’s holding is of her and Tom.” It looked like it had been taken when Tom was in his mid-twenties and they were at the beach in Norfolk. She recognised the tall sand dunes in the background. Tom was laughing, his eyes alive and sparkling, with his arms affectionately draped round his mother’s shoulder. But the thing that moved Jemma most was the look of total unconditional love on his mother’s face, as she smiled back up at her youngest son.

“
Come on, Susie,” said Jemma, quietly. “I think we’ve seen all we need to see here.” She looked again at the frail old woman, who must have fallen asleep in her armchair every night, crying tears of love and regret over her dead son, completely absorbed in her tragic lament. Tom was so wrong about his mother. She may have been angry and unforgiving once, but that was a long time ago.

“
Susie, do you think there’s a way we can convince her to move Tom’s ashes so he can lie next to his dad? She must know where he’s buried.”

“
Dunno. How? We can’t talk to her.”

“
I know. But there must be a way. Can you imagine what it would mean to Tom if his mother finally granted him his dying wish?”

“
Yeah, but it wouldn’t change anything. He’d still be here because of me.”

“
Yes, but it means that when you both go, he can leave with peace of mind, knowing that his mum did love him, and that she did the right thing in the end.”

When they got back to the house, Susie immediately disappeared next door to catch the latest episode of Tracy Beaker, leaving Jemma alone with her thoughts. She couldn’t get the image of the old woman out of her head. The happy, smiling woman in the picture, bore no resemblance to the sad, rather pathetic, woman she had seen today. She felt a strong urge to do something and she knew just the person to help her. Claire had been around for a very long time, and she had seen and learnt many things about this dimension. It had been her who had shown her how to leave the tulip for Alice, and she had hinted then that she had a few more tricks up her sleeve. When they had first met, her impression of Claire had been that she was a bit naive and unrealistic, considering that she had waited so long for a husband who was obviously not going to come. But as she had gotten to know her better, Jemma realised that she was, in fact, a strong and intelligent woman who knew a lot more than she let on. It was as if she was hiding behind this gullible innocence to block out something dark and painful from her past. Not deliberately, she really did believe that Robert was going to come for her one day, but that didn’t fit with the Claire that she was getting to know.

Walking through the wall into the living room, she saw that Claire was still talking to Max. Shit.

“
Hello again, dear.” Claire smiled, as Jemma hesitated in front of them. “Are you alright?”

“
Well, actually, I was wondering if I could have a word with you before you leave. In private,” she added, noticing Max’s eyebrow twitch.

“
Of course. I was just about to leave anyway, I need to get back to see if Robert’s turned up, so why don’t you come back to the forest with me and we can talk then?”

“
Okay. Thanks.” Jemma shifted uncomfortably under Max’s glare. Oh shit, had she just pissed him off even more now?

“
That was good timing, dear,” grinned Claire, as they arrived back at the deserted clearing and made their way to the bench. “Max is very sweet, but he can get quite intense at times.”

“
Sweet
?” Jemma could think of many words to describe Max, but sweet was definitely not one of them.

“
Now, dear, what was it you wanted to talk about?”

“
I went to visit Tom’s mother today. Oh, it was so sad, Claire, she was nothing like I thought she would be. I went expecting to hate her for the way she’s treated Tom, but she’s heartbroken. Tom thinks she doesn’t love him, but it’s obvious that she does, and I really believe that she regrets the way she treated him.” Jemma paused briefly, recalling the overwhelming sadness she had seen earlier. “The thing is, Claire, I want to try and make her move Tom’s ashes so that he’s buried next to his dad. It was his dying wish, but I don’t know what to do and I was hoping that you might know of a way.”

“
Why, that’s obvious, dear,” said Claire.

“
Is it?”

“
Does he smell?”

“
Pardon?”

“
I mean, is there a smell that you associate with him? When people die, the scent they were wearing stays with them forever, just as their clothes do. Smell is far easier to manifest into the living world than solid, material things. If you can manifest a tulip, you can definitely do it with a smell. Find out what smell his mother would associate with him, and then make sure she smells it when she’s visiting her husband’s grave. She would probably think of Tom and hopefully realise what she has to do.”

“
But Tom doesn’t smell of anything. He was in prison when he died and didn’t have the luxury of scents or aftershave.”

“
Well, find out what smell his mother would have associated with him before he went to prison. Did he paint? Or might there be a smelly food that he was partial to? There must be something. What about tobacco, did he smoke?”

Jemma shook her head as she struggled to recall something Tom had told her a while back. “There could be something, come to think of it. Tom said that he bought Grace, that’s his mum, a honeysuckle bush once because she loved the smell of them so much, and, apparently, every time she caught a smell of the bush in the summer, it would remind her of him. That’s it, Claire. Honeysuckle. I’ll manifest some honeysuckle next time she goes to his dad’s grave. Thank you!” She leaned over and gave Claire a quick peck on the cheek, a natural, typically impulsive gesture on Jemma’s part, but to Claire, it was a sign of affection that she hadn’t seen in many years.

Brushing away a sneaky tear, Claire smiled. “Anytime, dear.”

The following day, Jemma waited impatiently for Grace to go to the cemetery. She followed her to the shops to buy some milk, and then home again. As it started to get dark, Jemma finally admitted defeat and returned to the house realising that Grace probably wasn’t going anywhere for the rest of the day. The following day Grace didn’t even leave the house at all, but on the third day, as Jemma was idly studying some dusty antiques on an equally dusty shelf, Grace got slowly up from her chair, shuffled into the hallway and put her coat on.

“
Goodbye, my love. I’m off to see your father.” Grace spoke to a photo that was hanging on the wall in the hallway. Jemma walked up to it and studied it closely. It was of Tom, and had been taken when he was a lot younger, probably a student judging by his long unkempt hair and Pink Floyd t-shirt. Next to the photo, hung another of an attractive man with the same striking green eyes as Tom’s. That must be his brother, thought Jemma, noticing that Grace didn’t give that one quite as much attention as the one of Tom.

Jemma watched as Grace climbed into her car, an old BMW that had seen better days, and she then went directly to the cemetery to wait for Grace to arrive. After about half an hour, she saw the slow, lonely figure of Grace appear round the bend, now carrying a bunch of colourful flowers in her arms. As she approached the grave, she knelt carefully down and placed the flowers on her husband’s grave. She stayed there for some time, removing dead leaves from the grave, and rubbing some bird droppings off the gravestone with a bit of tissue. Then she closed her eyes, maybe to say a prayer, and that’s when Jemma focused all her attention on some honeysuckle and, using immense concentration, manifested the honeysuckle to the grave in front of her. All she could do now, was wait for Grace to open her eyes and spot, or smell, the honeysuckle. She studied Grace’s face, waiting for what seemed an eternity, and then, slowly, her nose twitched slightly, followed by a puzzled frown. Her eyes shot open and went straight to the honeysuckle lying in front of her, and she let out a little cry of disbelief. For a few seconds, she just remained there, perfectly still, staring silently at the sweet smelling sprig, before tears welled up in her eyes, and with a shaky voice said, “Tom?”

She started crying then, her whole body wracking with uncontrollable sobs as she let out her years of pent up grief and guilt, and Jemma felt so sorry for her that she went up to her and put her arm around the old woman. Although Jemma knew she wouldn’t have felt it, Grace did seem to calm down a bit, and as she wiped her tears away with her coat sleeve, she picked up the honeysuckle and stared at it as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. Jemma wished she had brought Tom along so he could see this, but she had been worried that it might not work, and then he would have been furious, and left even more hurt.

“
Tom, was that you? Did you leave this for me? Are you really here? Oh Tom, I’m so sorry. If you can hear me, then please
, please believe me. I love you so much, and I miss you and ....” she paused, as she rose awkwardly to stand up. “Can you forgive me, Tom? What I did was unforgivable, and I’m so sorry, my love.” Grace fell silent then, and stood quietly staring at the honeysuckle for a few more minutes, shifting uncomfortably on her frail legs. Suddenly she straightened up, and her face brightened as she cried out, “Oh goodness me, Tom. How could I not have thought of this before? You should be here, with your father, of course you should. Tom, if you can hear me, I’m going to make sure you’re moved here, where you belong. Do you hear me, Tom?”

“
Yes, Mother, I hear you.” Tom’s voice was just a whisper, but Jemma jumped as if he’d just shouted in her ear. She turned round and found Tom standing behind her, with an expression on his face that she couldn’t quite read.

“
Tom! How long have you been standing there?” asked Jemma, with a mixture of guilt and surprise.

“
I saw what you did,” he said, quietly.

“
You’re not cross, are you? I just wanted your mum to acknowledge that she loved you, and hoped that she would then think to move your ashes.”

Tom walked over to her and wrapped his arms tightly around her. “God, Jemma, how could I be cross with you? Look what you’ve done for me. Did she really just say those things?”

“
Yes, she did. She loves you, Tom. Really loves you. I went to visit her and she’s been mourning you all these years.”

Tom walked over to his mother and reached out to touch her cheek gently. Grace sighed, as if acknowledging the gesture, bent down and picked up the sprig of honeysuckle, staring at it in wonderment. Jemma wanted to stay and watch, but, reluctantly, she knew that she should leave them alone. Slowly she walked away, leaving mother and son to their emotional reconciliation.

*****

“
Where the hell is she?” grumbled Alice, snapping her phone shut for the fourth time and staring in frustration at the small purple card in her hand.

“
Who?” asked Jack, glancing briefly up from his laptop.

“
Maggie. I’ve been trying to call her for ages, but she never picks up. She must be back from that retreat thing by now.”

“
Maggie is a law onto herself,” chuckled Jack, as he closed the laptop and stood up. “She’ll be back when she’s ready. Come on, we need to leave in ten minutes for the gig. Where are we meeting Oscar and Dean?”

“
By the main doors. How do I look?” she asked, giving a little twirl.

“
Gorgeous, as always.” Jack planted a quick kiss on her lips and disappeared upstairs to get ready. Alice, who had started getting ready an hour ago, marvelled at how a man could get ready to go out in less than ten minutes, and still look good. “God, it’s so unfair,” she muttered to herself. Sure enough, ten minutes later, Jack was waiting by the front door, clean shaven, smartly dressed, and looking as if he had spent at least forty five minutes getting ready. Not wanting to be outdone, Alice decided to have one last check of her make-up and ran quickly upstairs to the bathroom, leaving Jack by the front door with his coat on and ready to go.

“
Come on, Alice. We need to leave now,” he called.

“
Won’t be long,” she called back. She finished applying her lipstick, and smiled at herself in the mirror, she didn’t scrub up too badly, she thought, happily. She was about to turn the light off and go back downstairs, when something made her stop and turn back to the mirror. At first, she wasn’t sure if it was just the light playing tricks, but when she looked into the mirror again, her eyes were drawn to a little cloud of mist to the right of her reflection. Slowly, the image of a face started forming in the mist, blurry and undefined at first, but becoming more distinct until she recognised the face staring back at her. She gasped when she saw the reflection of the ghost-boy standing behind her, his pale face hovering just over her right shoulder. She swung around quickly to face him, but the bathroom was empty, she was completely alone. Slowly, holding her breath, she turned back to look at the mirror again, but the boy was gone, all that was left was a tiny patch of mist. With a cry of relief she leant against the sink and shut her eyes. This wasn’t happening, it was all in her imagination, she told herself sternly. And yet he had looked so real.