In A Dark, Dark Wood Part 14

'I don't know,' Nina said. 'I just ... Didn't you think lunch was painful?'

Lunch had been painful. It had been exclusively wedding talk: where the reception was to be held, what Clare was wearing, what the bridesmaids were wearing, whether smoked salmon was overdone as a starter, and why the vegetarian option always contained goats' cheese. It had been made worse by the realisation that I'd crossed an invisible line and gone past the point where I could have admitted I wasn't invited. I should have said something straight away, fessed up, made a joke out of it on the first night. Now it had gone too far to look like anything other than deception, and I was trapped in a lie by omission. Clare's sympathetic glances hadn't helped.

'I'm not going to say "bridezilla",' Nina continued, 'because actually here I think it's more like a bridesmaidzilla. But if I have to hear one more time about wedding favours, or leg waxes, or best-man speeches ... Can you imagine James in the middle of all this?'

I had been purposely avoiding thinking about James and the wedding, like a sore bit of skin you can't bear to have touched. But now, as I tried, I realised that I couldn't. The James I remembered, with his head shaved at the back and a sc.r.a.ped-up top-knot, his ripped school tie, the James who'd got drunk on his dad's whiskey and climbed on the school war memorial at midnight to shout Wilfred Owen poems to the night sky, the James who wrote Pink Floyd lyrics on the head teacher's car in lipstick on the last day of the summer term ... That James, I couldn't imagine in a dinner jacket, kissing Clare's mother and laughing dutifully at the best-man speech.

The whole thing had been painful to the point of nausea, made worse by covert sympathetic looks from Nina. If there's one thing I dislike more than being hurt, it's being seen to be hurt. I've always preferred to creep away and lick my wounds in private. But Nina was right. It wasn't a case of bridezillitis. In fact Clare had been uncharacteristically quiet all through lunch. The conversation had been driven by Flo, egged on by Tom. At one point Clare had even suggested they change the subject. It was not likely that she had lost her love of the limelight since leaving school. More likely, she was thinking of me.

'If I had more b.a.l.l.s, I'd have said no,' Nina said glumly. 'To the wedding, I mean. But Jess would've killed me. She loves weddings. It's like some obsessive-compulsive disorder with her. She's already bought a new fascinator for this one. I ask you. A f.u.c.king fascinator.'

'She'd have forgiven you,' I said lightly. 'Though you might have had to propose to make it up to her.'

'It may yet come to that. Would you come?'

'Of course.' I gave her a punch on the arm. 'I'd even come to your hen. If you had one.'

'Sod that,' Nina said. 'If and I repeat if I ever get married, I'm having a night out clubbing and that's that. None of this prancing about in cottages in the a.r.s.e-end of beyond.' She sighed and dragged herself upright. 'Do you know what Flo's got sorted for us tonight?'

'What?'

'Only a f.u.c.king ouija board. I'm telling you, if she's got one with "s.e.xy" answers on the board I'm pulling that gun down off the mantelpiece and shoving it up somewhere painful blanks or no blanks.'

'OK, this,' Flo said, spreading out sheets of paper on the coffee table, 'should be fun.'

'Magic eight ball says don't count on it,' Nina muttered. Clare shot her a look, but either Flo hadn't heard, or chose to ignore the dig. She carried on busily setting up the table, dotting candles among the half-empty wine bottles.

'Anyone got a lighter?'

Nina dug in the pocket of her denim mini-skirt and produced a Zippo, and Flo lit the candles with an air of ceremonial reverence. As each candle on the table caught, a corresponding flame kindled in the reflected view in the window. Flo had turned off the outside security lights, and the forest was dark apart from a little light from the moon. The room was dimly lit so that we could see the ma.s.sing shapes of the trees, the pale snow, and the silhouette of the forest canopy against the slightly luminous sky. Now, it looked as if little will-o'-the-wisps were dancing in the trees, fragile ghostly flames, twice reflected in the double glazing.

I walked to the window, huffing on the gla.s.s and cupping my hands to see out into the night. It was perfectly still. But I thought again of the footsteps leading out to the barn, and the broken phone line, and I couldn't stop myself from surrept.i.tiously checking the latch of the French windows. It was fastened.

'Mel would have hated this,' Clare said thoughtfully as I rejoined the table and Flo lit the last candle. 'I'm pretty sure she's even more Christian than she was at uni.'

'I really can't see that communing with one imaginary friend is any different to communing with a bunch of them,' Nina said spikily.

'Look, it's her faith, all right? There's no need to be offensive.'

'I'm not being offensive. You cannot, by definition, offend someone who's not here. Offence has to be taken, not just given.'

'If a tree falls in an empty forest, does it make a noise?' Tom said, with a dry smile. He lay back on the sofa, and took a long gulp of wine. 'Blimey, it's years since I've done this. My aunt was very into all this communing with the spirits. I used to go round to her house after school and she'd make me do the traditional ouija board, you know, the one with the letters on it.'

I knew what he meant those were the kind of ouija boards I'd seen in films. The one Flo was setting up was a bit different, a heart-shaped piece of wood more like a biro on wheels.

'It's easier this way,' Flo said, her tongue between her teeth as she tried to fix the pen in the holder. 'I've tried it before and the problem with the pointer is that unless you're very quick, you can miss loads of letters. This way there's a permanent record.'

'Did you get anything?' Clare asked. 'When you tried it before, I mean?'

Flo nodded seriously. 'Oh yes. I usually get some kind of message. My mum says I've got a natural resonance with the beyond.'

'Uh-huh,' Nina said. Her face was deadpan, but I could tell some kind of sarcastic remark was building up.

'What did it say?' I put in hastily, trying to head her off at the pa.s.s. 'Last time, I mean?'

'It was about my grandfather,' Flo said. 'He wanted to tell Granny that he was happy and that she should remarry if she wanted. Anyway, there, all set up. Are we ready?'

'As ready as I'll ever be,' Clare said. She downed the rest of her wine and set down her gla.s.s. 'Right. What do we do?'

Flo motioned to us all to come closer.

'Right put your fingers on the planchette. Just gently you're not trying to guide it, just be the conduit for any impulses you receive from the beyond.'

Nina rolled her eyes, but put her fingertips on the planchette. Tom and I followed suit. Clare was the last.

'Ready?' Flo asked.

'Ready,' Clare said.

Flo took a deep breath and shut her eyes. Her face in the candlelight was glowing, as if lit from within. I saw her eyes move beneath her lids, darting from side to side, seeking something she could not see.

'Is there a spirit there who wants to speak to us?' she intoned.

The planchette swirled uneasily in loops and spirals, not forming any shapes that made sense. No one was pushing it, I was pretty sure.

'Is there a spirit here tonight?' Flo repeated seriously. I saw Nina hide a smile. The planchette began to move in a more purposeful way.

Y.

'Oh wow!' Flo breathed. She looked up, her face alight. 'Did you see that? It was like it was being pulled by a magnet. Did everyone feel that?'

I had felt something. It felt more like it was being pushed by someone else in the circle, but I said nothing.

'What is the name of the spirit?' Flo said eagerly.

The planchette began to move again: te ... qui ... long pause ... te ... qui ...

'"Qui" means "who" in French,' Flo breathed. 'Maybe we've got a French spirit guide?'

... l ... Both Tom and Nina began to laugh as the last 'a' trailed out from beneath the planchette. Even Clare gave a smothered snort and the planchette veered off towards the edge of the paper and then clattered to the floor as we all began to giggle.

Flo looked at the page for a moment, frowning, not getting the joke. Then she saw it. She knelt back from the table, her arms crossed.

'Right.' She looked from Clare, to Tom, and then to me. I tried to straighten my face. 'Who did that? This is not a joke! I mean, yes, it's a bit of fun, but we're never going to find anything out if you keep playing around! Tom?'

'It wasn't me!' Tom threw up his hands. Nina was wearing her most innocent expression and I strongly suspected it had been her.

'Well, whoever it was,' Flo's face was pink and annoyed, 'I'm not impressed. I've gone to a lot of trouble and you're ruining-'

'Hey, hey, Flops.' Clare put out a hand. 'Chill, OK? It was just a joke. They won't do it again. Will you?' She looked sternly round the circle of faces. We all put on our most contrite expressions.

'All right,' Flo said sulkily. 'But last chance! If you mess around again, I'm putting this away and we'll all play ... we'll all play Trivial Pursuit!'

'What a threat,' Tom said seriously, though the corner of his mouth was twitching. 'I promise I for one will behave like an angel. Don't threaten me with the pink Camembert.'

'OK,' Flo said. She drew a deep breath and waited as we all rested our fingers on the planchette again. It twitched, and I saw Nina's shoulders were still shaking with suppressed giggles, but she bit her lip and subsided with an effort as Clare stared at her.

'We are sorry for the levity of some of our circle,' Flo said meaningfully. 'Is there a spirit here who would like to speak to us?'

This time the planchette moved more slowly, more as if it were drifting of its own accord. But, unmistakeably, it was forming another Y, and then it stopped.

'Are you a friend of someone here?' Flo breathed.

? said the planchette.

This time I didn't think anyone else was pushing and I could see the others felt the same way. They had stopped laughing. Clare even looked slightly uneasy.

'Do you know, Flops, I'm not sure ...' she said.

Tom patted her hand. 'It's fine, darling. It's not really spirits just the subconscious of the group making words. Sometimes the results are quite illuminating.'

'Who is here?' Flo had shut her eyes. Her fingers rested very lightly on the planchette. If anyone were controlling it, I was sure it wasn't her. The planchette moved again, forming letters in a looping, free-form hand. Tom read them aloud as they appeared.

'M ... A, maybe? Or was that N? ... X ... W ... E ... L ... L ... OK, well that's a word. Maxwell. Anyone know a Maxwell?'

We all shook our heads.

'Maybe it's the spirit of one of the former crofters,' Nina said seriously. 'Come to warn us against trampling on their sacred sheep bones.'

'Maybe,' Flo said. She opened her eyes. They were wide and green in the darkness. She looked very pale, her pink crossness of before quite gone. She closed them again and said in a hushed, reverent tone. 'Is there anyone here you wish to speak to, Maxwell?'

Y.

'Do you have a message for one of the group?'

Y.

'Who of the group?'

F ... fl ... f ...

'Me?' Flo's eyes flew open. She looked startled to the point of alarm. In fact, she looked like she was regretting this idea already. 'Do you have a message for me?'

Y.

Flo gulped. I saw that her free hand was gripping the edge of the coffee table so hard her knuckles were white.

'OK,' she said bravely. But the planchette was already moving.

B ... U ... it traced slowly, and then in a sudden, skittering rush: Y coffee.

There was a moment's silence, and then Nina broke it with a short, barking laugh.

'f.u.c.k OFF!' Flo shouted. We all jumped, and I realised it was the first time I could remember her swearing. She jumped up and sent the planchette skittering across the table. Wine gla.s.ses and candles crashed to the floor, spattering wax on the carpet. 'Who was that? This isn't a joke, guys! I am fed up. Nina? Tom?'

'It wasn't me!' Nina said, but she was laughing so hard there were tears coming from her eyes. Tom was trying harder to hide his mirth, but he was snickering too, behind his hand.

'I'm sorry,' he said, trying hopelessly to straighten his expression. 'I'm sorry. It's n-not f-f -' But he couldn't complete the sentence.

Flo swung accusingly round at me. I was dabbing up wine from the rug.

'You're very quiet, Lee, sitting there pretending b.u.t.ter wouldn't melt!'

'What?' I looked up, genuinely surprised. 'I beg your p-pardon?'

'You heard me! I'm fed up of you sitting there like a malignant little mouse, laughing behind my back.'

'I'm not,' I said uncomfortably, remembering the way I had succ.u.mbed to laughing at Nina's teasing when we first arrived. 'I mean ... I didn't mean -'

'You all think you're so perfect.' Flo was breathing heavily, in great sobbing gasps. I thought she was about to burst into tears. 'You all think you're so great, with your degrees and your jobs and your flats in London.'

'Flo -' Clare said. She put her hand on Flo's arm again, but Flo shook it off.

'Come on,' Tom said soothingly. 'Look, I don't know who did that but I promise it's the last time anyone will mess around, right?' He looked around the group. 'Right, everyone? We promise, OK? This time it's for real.'

He was trying to help, but I felt my stomach twist uncomfortably. We should have packed up when Flo blew up the first time pushing on like this was asking for trouble, with Flo in her furious, heightened state.

'Don't you th-think-' I said nervously.

'I th-think you should just shut up,' Flo said furiously, imitating my stutter with an uncanny precision. I was so shocked I didn't say anything, just sat with my mouth open, staring at her. It was as if a Tellytubby had spat in my face.

'Hey, come on, now,' Clare said. 'One more chance, OK, Flops? And I promise everyone will take it seriously this time. They'll have me to answer to if not.'

Flo downed her gla.s.s of wine with a hand that shook. Then she sat heavily down at the table and put her hand on the planchette. 'Last chance,' she said savagely.

Everyone nodded and, reluctantly, I put my fingers back on the board.

'Let's ask it a question this time,' Tom said soothingly. 'Help keep it on track. How about ... will Clare and James have a long and happy life?'

'No!' Clare said loudly. We all turned, shocked by the vehemence of her response. 'No look, I'm just ... I don't want to start dragging James into this, OK? It feels wrong. This is a bit of fun, but I don't want some pen telling me I'll be divorced before the age of thirty.'

'All right,' Tom said mildly, but I felt his surprise. 'How about me then. What wedding anniversary will Bruce and I celebrate?'

We all rested our fingertips on the board, and, very slowly, I felt it begin to move.

This time it was quite different to before. Not the stuttering push and tug, but a long, languid flowing script that looped in spirals around the page.

'P ... a ... p ... a ...' Flo spelled out. 'Papa? What does that mean? That's not a wedding anniversary.'