The sceptic, p.4
The Sceptic, page 4
“Cheers.” Jem takes a sip before putting the mug down and fiddling with the little paper label.
“You okay?”
He smiles. “Just working out what to say.”
“Don’t think. Just say what’s in your head, Jem.” I look around. “I had some biscuits somewhere. Biscuits always help.”
With a rustle of paper, the packet of chocolate bourbons slides slowly across the counter, coming to rest in front of me. Jem’s mouth falls open.
“Thanks, Rosalind,” I call. I kick his ankle, and he jerks.
“Oh. Okay, thank you, Rosalind,” he says, obeying my silent urging.
I smile at him and push the packet towards him. “Take one.”
He reaches out his hand, and we both stare as the packet is moved very firmly away from him.
“Erm,” I say.
He tries again, but once more, the packet moves until it settles by my side.
He bites his lip. “Either she thinks I need to go on a diet, or she doesn’t like me.”
“Why wouldn’t she like you?” I ask in amazement.
He smiles. There’s a breath of cold air and the smell of lily of the valley, then we both watch as his cup is pushed away from him, and his bag is lifted from the chair and set at his feet.
“Rosalind,” I sigh. I hesitate and then look imploringly at Jem. “I’m going to do something now. Can we please forget what is about to happen and never mention it to another living soul?”
“I don’t think I can promise that,” he says solemnly. “This has the feel of something good.”
I take a breath. “Rosalind, this is Jem. He’s a friend, and he means well. He’s very nice, and you’ll like him. I promise.”
An invisible hand runs through my hair, and I shiver at the cold blast of air.
Jem stares at me, his eyes wide. “She just ruffled your hair. Wasn’t she a famous murderess?” he whispers.
“Yes. But it’s rude to mention it,” I say firmly. “Say hello.”
“This isn’t a prank, is it? There aren’t any cameras in here, are there?”
“At least thirty recording your every move. Say hello.”
“H-Hello,” he finally stutters. “Lovely to meet you, R-Rosalind.”
The cold wind eddies around us, sending the biscuits rolling off the table. Then, the cupboard doors fly open one by one before the kitchen door slams shut. Footsteps thump loudly on the stairs. The warmth slowly returns to the kitchen, and I get up and close the cupboard doors. When I settle back into my chair, I find him staring at me.
“You okay?” I ask.
He nods, his eyes wide. “You have a ghost girlfriend,” he whispers. “And she’s in a proper strop.”
I try not to laugh. “She’s scary.” I shrug. “Not that anger management issues have ever deterred me in the past.”
He laughs and takes a sip of his tea before grimacing. “God, this tastes like socks.”
“That’s because it’s good for you.” He puts the cup down, and I eye him. “I think you’d better tell me before Blue dies of impatience in London.”
“It’s maybe nothing.” He taps his fingers on the table, a gentle rhythm that still displays agitation. “You know I’ve been filling in time before the next job by working for Exspiravit?” I nod. “They’ve been doing really well on YouTube and they’ve just sold the rights to the next programme to a terrestrial channel.”
“That’s brilliant.” I hesitate. “Are they any good?”
He bites his lip. “Define good.”
“Oh god.”
He laughs and then reins himself in. “They’re alright. They’ve recorded some genuine phenomenon at times but mostly they just get very excited and loud about not much as far as I can see. Lots of shouting and nearly wetting themselves over a floorboard creaking, but it makes for good TV, which is why this channel is interested.”
I chuckle. “So what’s the problem? There are thousands of those programmes around. Blue was addicted to Most Haunted at one point. Whenever we were around a mate who had a telly, he put it on. I have to say Yvette Fielding has an excellent set of lungs on her.” My smile slowly dies at the seriousness on his face.
He says, “I’ve gone along with it all because the job is a laugh, and they’re a good group of people. But I think they’ve got themselves into something that could be potentially more problematic than squeaky floorboards and shouting that they’ve got a bad feeling.” He hesitates. “Something real.”
I feel a shiver work its way down my spine. Another person would laugh, but I’ve been Blue’s friend for many years and seen a lot of crazy shit. Plus, Jem is a cool person. He’s worked in many wild areas of the world and has a highly developed sense of danger. He doesn’t jump and fuss. He reacts to everything quickly and decisively. He’d impressed Blue, Levi, and Tom at Ingram Hall last year when the shit went down.
“Tell me,” I say.
The room seems to lean in as he talks in a low voice. “Have you read about the Didsbury Poltergeist?”
“It doesn’t ring a bell.” I pause, pulling at a memory. “Hang on. Isn’t that the family in Manchester who were being haunted by a poltergeist?”
He nods. “It’s the most famous case since the Enfield Haunting.”
“I read about it in Tom’s paper the other day.” I look at him and double take. “No way. Exspiravit are involved in that. Why? The paper said that a big psychic society had investigated it and proved it was all a hoax.” I rack my brain for more information. “Didn’t the daughter have something to do with it?”
He nods. “So it seems. The psychic society were at the house recording the activity when scraps of paper started to appear with random words scrawled on them. But then they got one with a proper message that predicted everyone in the house was going to die. The society were very excited about this as it’s apparently a rare phenomenon, but then they gave the messages to their handwriting expert and his verdict was that the eldest daughter had written the letter. The society were very angry about the waste of time and resources which is probably why they leaked the hoax information to the press.”
“So why are Exspiravit involved?”
“The family rang Ben, the head of the group, asking for his help. He’s got bad history with the society. I don’t know why. Anyway, he’s now going in all guns blazing, convinced that the society are being idiots and missing out on the biggest case in the last century. He’s convinced the family to clear out and stay with someone while Exspiravit will move into the house and lockdown for three days.”
I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean lockdown? The only time that word is good is when it’s used at a pub.”
He grimaces. “It’s the big thing at the moment. Ghost hunting groups get locked into haunted places for a few days. Apparently, it gives them a better chance of recording psychic phenomenon.”
“And you do that along with Exspiravit?”
“Fuck no. I go to a bed and breakfast nearby at night, and they film themselves. Psychic phenomenon doesn’t have a comfy bed and a tea tray. It just isn’t as crucial to me as filming wildlife would be.”
I bite my lip to stop a smile breaking free. “I can understand that because of the baby penguins.”
“You do know they’re not the only thing I film?”
“Would your attitude change if they were ghost baby penguins?”
He points his fingers at me in a gun shape. "That's the motherlode right there."
I laugh. “So basically, they all get their sleeping bags out, and you’re down the road eating a three-course meal.”
“Did I happen to mention that I’m an award-wining natural-world photographer?” he says in a haughty voice that’s slightly spoilt by the laughter in his eyes.
“Only a few thousand times.” He gasps and loses the battle against laughter. When he’s calmed down, I fasten him with a gaze. “So, what’s got you worried, Jem? You’ve done a few ghost hunts with this group and never seemed bothered before.”
He bites his lip. “We visited the house last week to do a run-through. It’s common practice. The group get to meet the family and then Ben interviews them while I sit back, cynically wondering what they’re getting out of it. Then I get to do a walkthrough to see what kit we need and map out the house in my head.”
“What possible kit could you want?”
“You have no idea. Heat-sensing thermal cameras, spirit boxes, motion sensors—and that’s just the immediate stuff.”
I blink. “I usually just take Blue.”
“I wish I could.”
“Why?”
His brow is furrowed, his nervous fingers pleating the serving mat on the counter in front of him. I wait him out and finally he looks up at me. “Because, unlike the other places they’ve visited, there’s actually something wrong with this house.”
“In what way?”
“I don’t know.” He shoves his chair back, looking exasperated. “I honestly don't know, Will. It’s an ordinary thirties semi on an ordinary street. There’s no history of any violent death there at all or any record of ghostly activity until the Preston family moved in but—”
He pauses, and I stare at him. “What?”
“It felt wrong.” He leans forward, talking quickly as if he thinks I’m going to laugh at him. I’m not. “I always rely on my intuition. After all these years of working in some rather dangerous countries with unpredictable climates and animals, I have fucking good instincts. When I feel uncomfortable, I know there’s usually a reason for it. And I felt it there. When I walked through, it was sunny and warm. There’s kids' artwork on the walls and family photos, and it’s nicely messy, but—” He spreads his hands. “I wanted out of there so badly, I could feel it in my belly. I was shaking by the time we left.”
I stare at him. “That doesn’t sound like you. What did Ben think?”
He shrugs. “He thinks it’s a poltergeist who’s probably feeding off the energy of the eldest girl who’s a teenager.”
I cock my head to one side examining his face. “And?”
He looks startled. “And what?”
“There’s something else. You’re hiding something. There’s no way that just a bad feeling got you worried.”
He sighs. “It’s probably stupid.”
“Tell me anyway. It’ll make a nice change to hear you say something idiotic.”
He laughs, and his face lightens. “Okay, but don’t tell anyone. It might be nothing.”
“Cross my heart.”
“We went into the youngest kid’s room. He’s four, so he’s really into Lego. I walked around, looking at the angles and the light in the room. It was the last stop, and I was rushing because, as I said, I wanted to leave. Once I’d got what I wanted, we said goodbye. We got outside, and I put my hand into my pocket to get my car keys. I found the keys, but I also found a little something else.”
“What?”
“A little cameraman Lego figure.” He grimaces. “It had a line drawn around its neck like it’d had its throat slashed.”
“What?”
He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls something out. He sets it on the counter between us, and I stare at the little Lego miniature. It sits there holding its camera and smiling with that familiar rictus grin. Around its neck is a jagged red line drawn in felt tip that looks horribly like blood. I feel a shiver work through me.
Jem runs his hand through his hair agitatedly, making the strands stand up. “I told you it was stupid. The kid probably drew on the toy and the Lego was everywhere. I more than likely picked it up without thinking and put it in my pocket.”
“But you don’t really believe that?”
He hesitates and then shakes his head. “No. I know kids can be rough with their toys but that line around its throat seems really weird.” I nod because the more I look at it, the creepier the figure looks. “I’m a very experienced cameraman, Will,” Jem carries on. “I don't lose focus. With the places I go to, I can’t afford to. Finding something on the ground and putting it in my pocket in the Amazon would more than likely get me dead or something valuable bitten off. I’m not bragging, but all my bits are priceless.” I repress a smile, and his mouth quirks. “I don’t do things on autopilot. I know you think I can’t possibly say that, and I can’t know what I’m doing all the time.”
“I’m unsure why you need me to have a conversation. You’re taking both parts very ably.”
He laughs, seeming relieved. “Sorry. It’s just that I know I didn’t pocket that figure, which leaves the question of who did.”
The silence is deep for a second. “One of the children?” I offer.
He shakes his head. “No. I was nowhere near them. When the interview happened, I stood at the back of the kitchen and never lost sight of them, and they stayed with their parents when we walked through the house.”
“One of the group, then? Is anyone desperate enough to fake stuff for the programme?” He hesitates, and my gaze sharpens. “Oh, there is. Who?”
“It’s Mia. She’s the best friend of Lottie, the girl in the group, and tags along with her a lot. Unfortunately, there are a few problems in Exspiravit, and one of them is that she constantly competes against Lottie for Ben’s attention.”
“Could she have done it?”
“Maybe.”
I like the speed with which he considers it. Some people want so badly to believe in spooks, that they’re prepared to accept anything as spectral activity. Jem has the curiosity of the uninvolved. It’s intellectual curiosity. I eye his vivid face. And probably a fair bit of searching for a thrill. It can’t be easy going from travelling through the Amazon to driving into York to flirt with a bookshop employee.
He sighs. “So, really, it sounds silly. A bad feeling and a piece of Lego.”
“With its throat slashed.” He groans and I hesitate. “It doesn’t sound silly at all,” I say finally.
“Really?”
“You forget that I lived with Blue for years. I’ve seen shit that I can never explain. And you’ve probably got better instincts than a large part of the population. Don’t dismiss them. I believe you didn’t pick up something unconsciously.”
“Why?”
“Because you always seem alert. You’re also incredibly curious, and it makes you very focused.”
“That’s the nicest way of describing nosiness that I’ve ever heard.”
“What can I say? I’m a ray of sunshine.” He laughs, and I reluctantly say, “Well, you obviously need Blue. I can’t help you with any of this. It’s way outside my area of expertise.”
I’m surprised by how disappointed I am. Usually, I’d be ecstatic that I wouldn’t have to be bothered.
“What is your area of expertise?”
“At the moment, it appears to be shelving books and pouring Madame Hecate her first gin of the day.”
He laughs and then taps his finger against his lower lip. It’s a thoughtful pose, but it draws my attention to the fullness of his mouth and the sheen of moisture when he slicks his tongue over it.
I shift in my chair. “What are you planning?” I ask in a low voice.
“What do you think of a job as a sceptic for a few days, Will?”
“What?”
“A lot of ghost hunters take a sceptic with them. It settles the audience to have a resident cynic ask the hard questions. You could do that with Exspiravit.”
“But I’m not a sceptic. My best friend is a psychic medium.”
Jem waves a careless hand. “You’ll be fine. Just tut a few times, frown a bit, and question Ben. He loves that shit.” He looks at me searchingly. “I don’t care what he says or wants anyway. I need you there.”
“Why? How can I possibly help?”
“If anything, you can help me watch over the group. You’ve got more experience than any of us with genuine psychic phenomenon after all those years with Blue.”
I feel a sense of revelation. “You like the group?”
“Why is that so surprising? I like most people. These are a nice bunch of people, and they’ve got good intentions. They might be too enthusiastic but they’re also kind, and I think this time they’ve bitten off more than they can chew.”
And you too, I think, looking at his passionate, eager face. I bet you need watching too. He’s too eager, too interested, and teems with far too much life to be cautious like me. Sylvia was right when she read his cards.
He smiles at me, showing that gap between his teeth. It gives him a slightly mischievous air while his brown hair tumbles around his face.
“Can you get a few days off from the shop?” he asks.
“I think the problem with that is stopping Lord Ingram from coming with us. This is right up his fucking street.” I hesitate, not wanting to say the next bit, but I do anyway. “I don’t think I can stretch to a bed and breakfast, though.” He smiles at me kindly, and I hasten to explain. “I’m staying here, but I’m giving Blue and Levi some rent whether they like it or not. And university courses are expensive, so I haven’t got much cash at the moment.”
I don’t know why I said that like it was a surprise to me. I never have much cash.
He holds his hand up. “I think I can help with that. There won’t be any bed and breakfast for either of us. We’ll both be staying in the house.”
“It’s haunted by something that slashes a little toy cameraman’s throat, and you’ve chosen now to change your routine. Why?”
He grins. “It’ll be a tale to tell the grandchildren.”
Which I will not be having. I will never have children. But that’s not a conversation for here.
“Well?” he says, seeming to hold his breath. “Can you come back with me? I’d feel so much better if you do, Will.”
I shrug, powerless against this man for some reason. “Okay,” I say. He grins, and I make haste to add, “I can’t do anything useful, though.”
“You can be there. That’s worth more than anything. Besides, I’m a good teacher. I can show you how to operate a camera so you can stand in if needed. Plus, you’re going as a sceptic, so Ben will pay you.”
