Eloise (20 page)

This was not welcome news, though I could see that Juliana was perfectly entitled to be there. For a moment, I longed for Chris to be here, to put his arms around me. I longed for comfort and affection. But I was all alone in a sea of hostility.

*

I had a very bad night. Eloise didn’t come through to me, but I had horrible dreams; my mother, telling me how wicked I was to even think about bringing Eloise back from the dead. I tried to tell her I wasn’t, that I was trying to give us both peace from what was obviously torment for her and terror for me, but she wouldn’t hear of it.

‘You’re a wicked, selfish girl, Catherine. Always were. And always a bit soft in the head, coming up with stupid ideas like this. Look at all those ridiculous dreams you had when your father died. You know, the whole family’s always thought your ideas about ghosts and suchlike showed you weren’t quite right. I don’t know why Christopher married you. He deserves better than you. You’ll come to a bad end, you know. I’ve always said that.’

I woke up, tears streaming down my cheeks. I felt completely friendless. Everything was my own fault. My mother was right. She had always told me I was strange. ‘You pick the worst thoughts out of your head, pin them to the wall and watch them wriggle, like worms,’ she told me one day in the kitchen of our family home in Manchester. She had been proud I’d turned out to be clever and gone to university – after all, it reflected well on her – but we had never really got on. The love she had for me was conditional. I had to do well, to work hard, to earn her approval. If I didn’t, she withheld it. As a result, I had been very soft with my own
children. I told them I loved them totally, for ever, and always would no matter what they did. Chris was the disciplinarian in our family. He sometimes told me off for being too lax, but he also knew why. He knew my mother. Sometimes, when we talked about her after her death, he would cuddle me and laugh. ‘Christ almighty, no wonder you’re a loony.’ And he’d kiss me, and make me feel good about myself.

Thinking about Chris made me cry even more. Should I phone him? I longed to hear his voice, but not the cold one he’d used to me of late. If I told him I would come home today, get the train to Paddington with the kids, would he be sweet to me again? Could we get over all this, would he love me again?

But I knew absolutely what his conditions would be. No more nonsense about Eloise. And that could only mean no more Cornwall. Because here I couldn’t escape her. And that would mean selling the cottage I had loved for so many years. It would mean my Cornwall, my clear green mornings, my beautiful blue crashing surf, would be denied me for ever.

A small price to pay to save my marriage? Perhaps. But I would always resent him for it. Talland Bay had become everything to me. A small piece of paradise, where, until Eloise’s unwelcome visits, I was happier than anywhere else.

I felt a surge of defiance, even confidence. I could have both, I thought. I could have Chris and keep Cornwall, if
only I could be released from Ellie’s spirit. And that was what Father Pete had promised me. I just needed courage, just for one more day. And then everything would be okay, back to normal. I was sure of it.

Next morning I kissed Tom and Evie goodbye. Sam was driving them to Liskeard Station, and then, he promised, taking me out to lunch. Evie was furious. ‘Why do you two get to go out to lunch, when Tom and I have to go home?’ she hissed.

Of course, I knew why she was so cross. It was because she was leaving Arthur here, the boy she was sure was going to be the love of her life.

I hugged her, told her that a few days rest would really help me and that she could come back next weekend, and
whispered, so her brothers wouldn’t hear it, that Arthur was staying with Juliana for quite a long time. So she would definitely see him again.

Mollified, she kissed me and climbed into the car with Tom and Sam. Lots of extravagant waves later, they were gone.

I didn’t know what to do with myself. I felt like the young student in the film
An American Werewolf in London
, as he, not knowing he has been bitten by a werewolf and is about to turn into one himself, pads restlessly around Jenny Agutter’s flat as the new moon heralds his transformation. I hoped I wasn’t going to turn into anything other than a woman relieved of the burden of a ghost, but I felt strange, nervous and apprehensive. Something very peculiar indeed was going to happen tonight. That much was obvious. Even if the whole proceedings turned out to be nothing more than a risible failure, I had committed myself to a course of action that was alien, not only to my beliefs, but to all twenty-first century philosophy as I understood it. And as Chris understood it. And Juliana.

What in God’s name was I doing?

Sam came back, and we went next door to the hotel for lunch. Needless to say he wasn’t ‘taking’ me out. Mum, as always, paid the bill. But I was grateful to him for staying with me, for his gentleness, and refusal to acknowledge that something terrifying was going to happen tonight.

After lunch, he went back to the cottage while I walked down to the beach and, after wandering around the rocks, sat down at the pretty little café for a cup of tea. Staring out at our beautiful cove, I found myself relaxing. The sea was calm, the sun was bright, and as so often in our small, magical environment, nature’s warm benevolence was almost tangible. It was impossible to imagine a threat here on our beach, to think that evil had any place in our peaceful hamlet.

‘Yoo-hoo, Cathy!’ came a voice from the cliff path. I looked up. It was Winnie and her husband Wilf, accompanied by their ancient Labrador, Jasper. I stood up and waved, and they headed towards my picnic table. I asked Neil to bring us more tea, and they sat down with the satisfied glow of an elderly couple who had gone for a brisk walk and felt the benefit.

I hadn’t seen Winnie since the Sunday when she had told me that she’d seen Eloise in the churchyard. That had been hugely disquieting. But today, of all days, when I was due to face up to my dead friend in a macabre ritual aimed at removing her from my life, I felt the hairs rise on the back of my neck.

Winnie brought Eloise up straight away. ‘I was really hoping I’d bump into you again soon, dear,’ she said as she fussed with Jasper’s lead. ‘Because Wilf and I saw Eloise again this morning, didn’t we, Wilf?’

Wilf, always a man of few words, nodded.

‘And the funny thing is,’ continued his wife, ‘we saw her at the exact same spot as last time. In the churchyard. But this time,’ and she glared at me pointedly, ‘Wilf was with me and he saw her too, didn’t you, Wilf?’

He nodded again.

I remembered how cross she had been with me when I told her she could not possibly have seen Eloise. She thought I was implying she had memory problems, and elderly folk hate that. With good reason, I thought. Chris had told me my mind was unreliable when I talked about seeing Ellie’s ghost. It’s horrible to be so completely dismissed as mad, or in Winnie’s case, senile. I felt apologetic, but still could not think what to say.

‘It’s funny, though,’ the old lady went on. ‘I tried to speak to her just like last time, but she didn’t seem to know we were there. And then she just walked away, but I didn’t see where she went. One minute she was there and the next she’d disappeared. It seemed a bit rude, and I never thought Eloise was rude. She was so well brought up, and she’s always had such lovely manners. Always happy to stop for a chat if we bumped into each other at the shops in Polperro. Anyway, I was a bit miffed, wasn’t I, Wilf?’

A wary expression crossed Wilf’s face. He nodded again.

‘So I thought I’d try to find her and give her a piece of my
mind. She couldn’t have got far, not with the graveyard being so hilly and steep. I thought maybe she’d gone into the church, so I marched in after her. She wasn’t in there, but that bossy old so-and-so from the ice-cream shop in Looe was. What’s her name, Wilf?’

Wilf, still wary, now looked hunted as well.

‘Clara Boot,’ he said glumly.

‘Boot by name and Boot by nature, if you ask me,’ his wife huffed. ‘Anyway, she was doing the flowers, although what right she thinks she’s got to do that I’ve no idea. She doesn’t even live in the parish. So I asked her if she’d seen Eloise, because she’d just been in the graveyard, and then disappeared without saying hello. I told Clara Boot that it seemed to me that manners in this part of Cornwall seem to be on the wane. Too many incomers, if you ask me, and I wanted to have a word about it.’

She paused dramatically, then leaned towards me and lowered her voice.

‘And do you know what that old Boot said then? I’ve never heard anything so wicked in my life. She said “But Mrs Wharton, whatever do you mean? You can’t have seen Eloise Trelawney. The poor girl’s dead, didn’t you know?” Well, I was so shocked I had to sit down. Clara Boot asked if I was all right. Of course I was, but what was she playing at, telling me evil nonsense like that? I needed to get some fresh air, so
I went outside, and she followed me. “Look over there, Mrs Wharton,” she said, pointing towards the spot where we’d seen Eloise. “That’s the poor girl’s grave there. She was only buried in January, so there’s no headstone yet. You have to let the earth settle first.” Well, I knew that of course. Did she take me for a fool? “She died of cancer, you know,” the silly woman said. ‘Such a tragedy, her so young and those gorgeous little girls of hers left motherless. Her husband was beside himself with grief.” Well, I’d had enough. Why was she telling me such nasty lies? I’ve lived here all my life. Does she think I wouldn’t know if a local girl had died? And then she said, “But of course, you’ve been poorly, Mrs Wharton. You were in the hospital, and since you came out you haven’t been out and about much. That’s probably why you didn’t know she’d died.” Well, how dare she patronise me like that? I’ve got lots of friends round here. Of course I’d have known if something like that had happened and I told her so. Then she said, with that false look of sympathy she has, “Oh well, dear. It’s because you were so poorly. They probably didn’t want to worry you.” Well, I turned round to her and told her what I thought of her. I told her she should be ashamed of peddling such, vicious, nasty lies. And right there on holy ground. It was blasphemy, I said. Didn’t I, Wilf?’

‘Yes, dear,’ said a wretched-looking Wilf.

Winnie was silent for a minute. Then she looked at me
with tears in her eyes. ‘We saw her, you see. Both of us. She can’t be dead, can she? Of course not.’

I didn’t know what to say. She was pleading with me to tell her everything was right with her world, that Ellie was still alive, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t further upset or shock her either, by telling her Mrs Boot was right. She looked as if another revelation might kill her. I knew it was cowardly of me, but I would ask Father Pete to drop in on her and tell her. Somehow, he would make it all right. So I just smiled, took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

‘Everything’s fine, Winnie. Everything’s fine. Go home and put your feet up. You’ve had a busy day. Hey, we’ll have that sherry soon, OK?’

I looked at Wilf. He stared at me meaningfully, just for a moment. Wilf knew what was going on, I thought. He knew the truth, but he wanted to protect his wife. They both got up from the picnic table. Poor Winnie hadn’t touched her tea. Shakily, she reached for her husband’s arm. I kissed her cheek.

‘Look after her, Wilf.’

He nodded, and as they walked away with a docile Jasper on his lead, he turned his head around and mouthed, ‘Thank you.’

After they’d gone, I looked up from the beach to the church, perched so peacefully on the cliff, protecting our
little hamlet, serenely gazing out to sea. It looked so comforting, so strong, as if nothing could disturb its centuries-old role of keeping watch over us, keeping us safe. I walked up the hill and through the lychgate. And there, to my right, was Eloise’s grave. Quiet now. Still covered with fresh flowers. Who put them there, I wondered? I couldn’t imagine Ted tending her burial site, choosing the beautiful white and pink roses she loved so much. Not with such anger in his heart. It must have been Juliana. And suddenly I was seized with guilt. I should have offered to look after Ellie’s grave. I only lived up the lane, far closer than Juliana, who at seventy-five must find it tiring to come here from Roseland so often. But then, she probably found comfort in looking after her daughter, even in death.

I sighed, stared at the grave, willing Eloise to appear to me as she had to Winnie Wharton. But the air was still, the graveyard deserted and full of tranquillity, the smell of the roses irresistible to the senses. In spite of myself, I felt calm.