Making Sense (18 page)

“I know. Ash has told me most of it.”

“I can’t talk to him about it. I’m not going to be the one who tries to restrict him again, Grace. He’ll fly, I’m sure of it. I’ve just got to accept, for now anyway, that the little pieces of him he’s willing to give me will have to be enough.”

Grace studied her. She nodded, as if she was giving in. Then her lips started to curve. “It didn’t look like a little piece from where I was standing.”

“Grace!”

“I’m just saying. No wonder you were blushing.”

“Right, I’m leaving now…”

Grace laughed and got up to give her a hug. “I’m sorry. You’re such fun to tease. I won’t mention it again.”

“Don’t tell Ash.”

“I won’t, honey, don’t worry. He doesn’t have to know all my secrets. A girl likes to keep some things to herself.”

“Really?” said Ash. “In my kitchen?”

Freya stared at him, horrified. “Grace,” she hissed. “I’m going to kill you.”

Ash chuckled and leaned back on the sofa. It was Saturday evening, and he and Freya sat in the room where he carried out his readings.
 

It was a surprisingly ordinary room, Freya had thought when she first walked in. The warm peach colour on two of the walls complemented the beige carpet, and the evening sun streamed through the sliding doors and huge windows that made up the majority of the other two walls. Paintings of gentle seascapes provided a relaxing atmosphere. The cream, plush leather sofa and armchairs made it seem informal, taking away some of the tension that had taken root in her spine at the thought of the coming reading.

“No,” Ash said now, “Grace didn’t drop you in it. Let’s just say a little birdie told me.” His eyes were full of amusement.

Freya realised he was talking about a little bird
from the other side
and went all tingly. She’d been desperate for a reading ever since she found out he and Grace were dating, but somehow the months had slipped by and she’d never managed to get around to making a booking. Also, Ash slightly intimidated her. He was probably the nicest man she’d ever met, but the knowledge that he had a direct line to people who no longer inhabited the earthly plane tended to make her tongue tied around him. However, the tangled events of the past few weeks had finally prompted her to make a date, and now here she was, getting all embarrassed at the thought that he knew she and Nate had gotten down and dirty on his terracotta tiles.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said with a smile.

“I can’t help it,” she admitted. “It’s like you can read my mind sometimes.”

“Freya, a person doesn’t need to be psychic to see you’re nervous. You’re twisting your hands and your back looks like it has a broom handle tied to it. Relax.”

She laughed and let out a shaky breath, trying to relax back into the soft cushion of the sofa. “Sorry.”

“No worries—I just want you to enjoy this, that’s all.” He sipped from his glass of water. “Okay. So I’m sure you know how this works as you’ve been to one of my shows, but I’ll give you the spiel anyway. I’m a medium—which means I can contact people who’ve crossed over to the other side, and I’m also clairvoyant—which means sometimes I receive pictures of things that have happened or are going to happen. I’m also clairaudient, and can hear spirits speak too. Okay?”

“Okay.” Her mouth had gone dry.

“Now when I start talking, I tend to speed up and gabble a bit, and sometimes I’ll give you lots of information in one go, but don’t agree with anything just to please me—if you don’t understand something, say ‘I don’t understand’ or ‘No’, okay? It’s important you don’t lead me because we’re friends. Don’t be nice to me.” He smiled.

“Okay.”

“It is difficult to read for people I know because, for example, I have a vague idea of who is around in your family, but if I make a mistake, be sure to tell me.”

Freya nodded.

“I’ve found that most of what they tend to communicate to me is for verification—to let you know that they really are there, watching over you. But occasionally they’ll transmit advice or details of upcoming events. I’ll translate these as best I can.”

“Sure.”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, smiling again. “Okay, let’s get started.”

Chapter Fifteen

Freya’s heart thudded. She watched as he looked at the carpet a few feet in front of him, but his eyes were unfocussed, and she realised he wasn’t really looking at the carpet—he was seeing something else, something not in the physical world.

He nodded and looked back up at her. “I’ve got a woman here who’s represented as being above you—” he gestured with his hand as if indicating someone taller than Freya, “—which means she’s a mother or a grandmother, and as I know your mother’s alive, I’m assuming it’s your grandmother.”

“Yes.”

“On your father’s side.”

“Yes.”

He listened for a moment. “She’s showing me the actress Liza Minelli.”

“Her name was Liza,” said Freya, a shiver running down her spine.

“My chest feels tight—did she have something wrong with her lungs at the end?”

“Yes,” Freya whispered. “She had pneumonia.”

“Now she’s showing me Robert Redford.”

“My grandfather’s name is Robert.”

Ash nodded. “What’s the significance of the numbers eight and six? Was she eighty-six when she died?”

“Um, no…”

“The eighth of June maybe?”

“Oh! That was her birthday.” Freya laughed.

“Good.” He concentrated on the ground again. He glanced up then and gave her a peculiar look. “She’s showing me Da Vinci’s
The Last Supper
. Do you have any idea why?”

She thought frantically. “Um… She was quite religious, I suppose.”

“No, that’s not it. Don’t reach. What about the number thirteen?”

“Oh, I know what it is—she was one of thirteen children! That’s right—she used to say that suppertime when she was young was like the Last Supper. Gosh, Ash, you’re terrific.”

He laughed. “Grace doesn’t like it when people say things like that. She things I’m going to get big-headed.” He widened his eyes. “Thirteen children, eh?”

“I know. They were Catholics.”

“That makes sense.” He unfocussed his gaze again. “She’s telling me four. Did she have four children herself?”

“Yes.”

“And now she’s showing me the number three. Was your father the third child?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. Stared at the carpet. “Who’s Tahu?”

Freya smiled. “Their dog. He died a long time ago.”

“And I’m guessing Rangi is another dog? An Alsatian, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Yes, spot on.”

“I’m seeing the South Island—Kaikoura, I think it is—I can see the mountains in the background. Was that place important to her?”

Freya nodded. “Yes, that’s where her mother was from.”

He thought again. Then he laughed. “She’s showing me Sherbet Lemons. Did she used to like those?”

“Oh my God!” Freya’s eyes nearly fell out of her head. Up until then, although she’d been impressed with some of the things Ash had told her, she was aware many of them were details he could have found out from the Records Office, or by researching her family on the internet. But this was such a personal detail, there was no way he could have found out about it. “Yes, she loved them. She used to go through them by the bagful.”

He took a breath, let it out again. “Okay.” It seemed to Freya that he felt he’d verified her grandmother’s presence enough, and now he could get onto the real reason for her coming through. “She wants to talk about Harry. Is that your father?”

Her heart in her mouth, Freya nodded. She desperately wanted to know what her grandmother had to say about her father, but part of her also didn’t want to know. Aware it might not be pleasant, Freya forced herself to be aware of her clenched fists and stiff back, and tried to relax again in the chair.

Ash sat forward, elbows on knees, looking at the floor as he listened, nodding occasionally. Grace had told Freya before that he asked the spirits questions in his head and listened to their replies or watched the images they gave him, and it was odd now to see him having a silent conversation with her dead grandmother.

He looked up at her then, and Freya was surprised—and touched—to see pity in his eyes. “She’s telling me what a difficult time you’ve had because of your father’s addiction.”

Freya nodded. She wondered how much Grace had told him about Harry’s gambling.

“She’s showing me the horses, and the dogs, and…well…pretty much anything goes where he’s concerned, I think.”

“Yes.”

He listened for a moment. “She’s showing me a time when you were younger—you look, maybe, seven or eight, and you had a family holiday booked. She’s showing me the Sydney Opera House. But he spent the money.”

Freya blinked, staring at him. “Yes. That’s exactly what happened—and it
was
Sydney we were supposed to go to.”

“And there was another time—you were a bit older. It was Christmas. He’d been doing quite well, and you’d had new clothes and things were more comfortable at home. You’d asked for something for Christmas…” He closed his eyes for a moment. Shook his head. “I can’t get it. It looks like…” Shook his head again. Then, finally, he laughed. “Oh, I see it now. I thought she was showing me the dishes, but it’s not, they’re test tubes. It was a chemistry set.”

Icy fingers ran down Freya’s spine. “Yes.”

His smile faded. “You’d picked out a huge set. You were thinking about being a pharmacist, I think. And he went and spent all the present money.”

Her throat tightened. “Yes.”

He listened for a bit before glancing up at her. “Your grandmother’s angry about that.”

“She was livid at the time.”

“She still is. I mean now she’s crossed over she realises Harry can’t help it, that it’s an addiction like alcoholism and he can’t help himself, but she’s still mad.” He thought for a moment and then gave Freya a sad smile. “She’s angry because he hurt you. She’s incredibly fond of you, Freya. I think you were her favourite.”

Freya’s breath caught in her throat, and for a moment she couldn’t swallow as her feelings overwhelmed her. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over before she could stop them, and she pressed her fingers to her mouth, embarrassed.

Ash took a couple of tissues out of the box on the table and handed them to her, completely unembarrassed by her display of emotion. “She’s saying you’ve had a lot to cope with,” he continued as if she’d done nothing more than sneeze. “She’s so proud of you. She’s showing you holding certificates—I think she’s talking about you getting your nurse’s degree.”

Freya nodded as she wiped her eyes. “She died just before I got it. I always wished she was there to see it.”

“She was.” He smiled. “And she wasn’t the only one. She’s bringing through someone else now. It’s another female, older than you again, but to the side—I’m thinking an aunt or a cousin, on your mother’s side this time. She’s showing me Vanessa Redgrave, and the number forty-six.” He was speaking quickly now. “I think she died of some problem here.” He indicated his lower stomach. “I’m seeing black there, which usually means cancer. She’s tall and slim, and she’s saying ‘Same hair, same hair’, so I think maybe she was blonde, like you? Does this mean anything to you?”

Freya laughed. “You’re spot on with everything. Vanessa was my mum’s sister, and she died from bowel cancer. I’m not sure about the number forty-six—that would have been around her age when she died. And yes, we had the same hair colour. Everyone used to remark on it, because my mum’s dark.”

He nodded. “What’s the connection with Napier? I’m seeing the Art Deco buildings.”

“She lived there.”

“Who’s Robert? No, sorry, Robin?”

“Her husband—my uncle.”

“Who’s Max?”

“Her son.”

“And Emma? Emily?”

“Emily, her daughter.”

He listened for a moment. “She’s showing me the actor Elijah Wood. Any ideas?”

“No. We’re not related or anything. As far as I know.”

“Hmm. He’s dressed as Frodo, from
The Lord of the Rings
.”

Suddenly it came to her. “Oh! She took me to see
The Two Towers
at the cinema with Robin. I went and stayed with her when I was fifteen, and the film had just come out.”

“Okay. I’m getting it was more than that, though. When you stayed with her, was it a normal holiday, or a special visit?”

Freya studied Ash and then looked at her hands. “I suppose you could call it a special visit. I was having a tough time at home. Mum and Dad were going through a bad patch, and Mum sent us three girls away for a while so they could sort things out. My sisters hated being away, but I loved it.”

“And it made you feel guilty.”

She looked up, wondering why Ash continued to surprise her when she knew how insightful he was. “Yes.”

He nodded. His gaze dipped to the carpet for about ten seconds and then rose back up to survey Freya again. “She’s showing you separate from the rest of your family. Different, apart.” He paused again. “She says you’ve been lonely.”