Marked

Book 1: The Soulseer Chronicles

by Sue Tingey

Genres: Fantasy; Fantasy Romance; Urban Fantasy

Synopsis

Team Jamie or Team Jinx? Which handsome hunk will Lucky choose - once she's dealt with the demon assassin on her trail, that is? Lucky's always known about her own psychic powers - after all, her closest friend is a ghost - but she knows nothing of her long-dead family . . . until a daemonic assassin brings a message that drags both Kayla and Lucky down to the Underlands - and into the political fight for the daemon king's throne. Lucky's determined to find her way home, but Jinx and Jamie have both marked her - and now she's not sure she even wants to escape the loving attentions of her handsome winged Guardian and her devilishly charming horned Deathbringer. And if she stays, she might just find out who she really is . . . 'Reads like the Sookie Stackhouse series combined with the sinister undertones of Neil Gaiman' Neverwhere ' says Booklist

Release date: May 7, 2015

Publisher: Jo Fletcher Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

One

The school’s entrance hall was smaller than I remembered, but then, the last time I had been there, more than fifteen years ago, I’d been only ten and easily intimidated – I had changed since. But even so, I wasn’t looking forward to this visit.

My heels announced my progress as I walked across the tiled expanse of the lobby towards the woman waiting to greet me.

Miss Mitchell was everything one would expect of the headmistress of an all-girls’ private school: tall and buxom with a ruddy complexion and short, wild, wavy hair. The expression ‘jolly hockey sticks’ could have been made for her, although from the tightness at the corners of her mouth I could see that any jollity she had this afternoon was forced.

‘Miss de Salle,’ she said, crossing the lobby to greet me, her hand extended, ‘I have heard so much about you.’

‘Lucky, please,’ I said.

‘Then you must call me Lydia,’ she replied, briskly shaking my hand. ‘Can I offer you a cup of tea or coffee?’

‘I think I’d rather get on with it,’ I told her.

‘Of course.’ She gave me an odd, twisted smile, as though she was embarrassed. ‘I really appreciate you coming. I would have understood if you hadn’t wanted to assist.’

‘Water under the bridge.’ My eyes shifted upwards and I shivered. ‘But I’m not sure I can help you.’ I couldn’t see any point in playing games.

‘I was told that if anyone could, it would be you.’

I’d read that this woman had been headmistress for only three years, so she didn’t know me – not Lucky de Salle the person. She almost certainly knew of me as Lucinda de Salle, the disgraced ex-pupil; she might have even heard of Lucky de Salle, a very minor celebrity, but she didn’t know me. And I liked to tell things as they were.

‘Look,’ I said, as we approached the stairs I had hoped I would never have to climb again, ‘last time I was here I tried to help and was scared half to death and then expelled for my trouble. I couldn’t help then and I’m not sure I can help now. The only reason I agreed to come here at all is because of the Ouija board. If your three boarders were playing with it and didn’t perform the final ritual, you could well end up with a problem far worse than the spirits of two young girls.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, glancing my way.

‘The twins are nasty, vindictive little things, but there are far more vicious creatures out there.’ Which was true: I myself had faced some deeply malevolent spirits. But fifteen years ago the twins had frightened me more than any spirit had before or since, and today I was confronting my demons. It didn’t help that my best friend Kayla had refused point-blank to come with me. Kayla was never scared of anything, so if she was scared of whatever was up in the attic, I was pretty certain I had good reason to be.

Lydia walked with me through the silent corridors and up the first two flights of stairs, but when we reached the third she hesitated. This last climb led up to the sixth form common room and the attic beyond.

‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘You don’t have to come.’

She managed a small smile. ‘Thank you.’

I returned her smile, but I had to force the corners of my mouth to curl upwards. I took the first step up, and that’s when the girls began to call to me.

‘Lucky, Lucky,’ they whispered. ‘Lucky’s coming; Lucky, Lucky, Lucky.’

I hesitated. My legs felt leaden, but I gripped the banister and forced my feet to move upwards, slowly, one step at a time.

By the time I reached the common room I was shivering. The last time I’d been there I had been running through it, running to get help, running to get away.

I crossed the room, the sound of my heels cushioned by the carpeted floor. When I reached the door at the other end I lifted my hand to grip the doorknob, but before my fingers even brushed the cold brass the door swung open. Shocked, I stepped backwards.

‘Lucky, Lucky, come and play, come and play our games.’

‘I don’t like your games,’ I said as I stepped through the door and onto the first step up to the attic. ‘And if you don’t promise to play nicely I won’t play at all.’

The door slammed shut behind me. I grimaced and continued up. They were children, for Christ’s sake, dead children at that, and although they were vicious, they couldn’t hurt me. Spirits have very little physical power.

The door at the top of the stairs opened as I climbed the last step. Were they stronger than before? Or had I just forgotten what tricks they could play?

The attic wasn’t in total darkness. A dirty skylight halfway along the roof let in enough of the grey afternoon light for me to see piled-up desks and chairs at the far end. There were a few boxes stacked next to them, their dark bulk reminiscent of a beast ready to pounce. There was a lot of storage space up there, and very little stored. I guessed it had been a long time since this room had been used for that purpose.

The abandoned Ouija board was lying on the floor in the middle of the long room, just below the skylight. The planchette was upside down a few feet away. I took a pace forward and then another, the floorboards creaking at each step.

‘Lucky’s come to see us. Lucky’s come to play.’ Their whispers filled my head. ‘Where’s Kayla? We want to play with Kayla.’

‘Kayla doesn’t want to play with you,’ I said.

‘We want Kayla, we want Kayla, we want Kayla!’

Their chanting was loud and strident, aggressive, even: not a good sign. I wasn’t sure whether only I could hear the voices or not, but if others could, I was pretty certain they would hear the words reverberating through the school’s long corridors.

I walked across the room and reached down to pick up the board. My fingers had barely skimmed the surface when it was snatched away and sent skidding across the floor to crash into the wall. I followed it across the room. Could the twins have become this powerful? I frowned. Something wasn’t right.

Once more I reached for it, and once more it skidded away.

‘KAYLA.’ This time the word came out as a deep growl. Not the voice of children at all. The hairs at the nape of my neck bristled.

I spun around. Dark gloom surrounded me.

‘Who are you?’ I asked, my voice coming out as a shaky whisper.

Silence.

I went to retrieve the board again. I bent down and picked it up, gripping it tight – and it was wrenched from my grasp with such force I stumbled forward and fell to one knee.

I stayed there for a moment, my eyes scanning the shadows. My ragged breathing was forming small clouds of mist in the air and I was shivering. It had suddenly become very cold. Goosebumps pimpled my arms and legs, but I wasn’t sure the chill had anything to do with that. I clambered to my feet, my eyes still searching the darkness.

‘Lucky, help us.’ Soft whispers floated across the room. ‘Please’ – a tremulous cry – ‘help us.’

I turned towards the stacked furniture and there they were: two girls in long, white nightgowns. Today they were huddled together, crouched down between the old desks and the stacked boxes, making themselves small.

I swallowed hard. Last time we had met they had been reaching out toward me, their greedy eyes glowing with malicious glee. Now they were just frightened little girls. Fear bloomed in my chest. It wasn’t the girls who had been called forth by the Ouija board, nor had they been the ones calling out to me. It was something far worse.

They looked up at me and even in the dark I could see the fear on their sad, little faces.

‘Help us and we promise to be good. We promise. Make him go away. Please make him go away.’

‘Who?’ I whispered.

Their eyes grew wide and they turned their heads, burying their faces against each other’s necks. I stood stock-still.

There was definitely something else in the room.

My breath was now white smoke and the air around me could have been made of syrup, it felt so thick. I tried to turn but it was hard, like I was swimming against the tide. Slowly I forced my body around.

It was dark – too dark for the time of day. I took a couple of steps backwards until I was standing beneath the skylight and the pale autumn light formed a rectangular patch on the dusty floor around me. Darkness so dense I could no longer see the door rose up to fill the other end of the room. It blocked my way out. I took another step back and heard whimpering behind me.

The darkness began to swirl in thick, soupy swathes, drawing in on itself, pulling together, solidifying and taking shape.

The girls behind me were crying. I could hear their hiccoughing little sobs, and it was then I realised they had never really been evil, they were just children, acting up the way kids sometimes do. Now they were afraid themselves and unfortunately I had the feeling they had good reason to be. I caught a sudden waft of a familiar sweet smell that reminded me of old ladies, but then it was gone as quickly as it had come.

Gradually the figure of a man grew out of the blackness. At first I thought he was exceptionally tall, then I noticed the high grey hat perched at an angle on top of his head. His close-fitting coat and breeches were also grey and his waistcoat and cravat a pale primrose. He wore white stockings, black shoes and looked very much like an eighteenth-century gentleman caught out of time. He even had a beauty spot near his top lip. I was surprised; he didn’t look at all frightening – but then his mouth curled into a cruel, supercilious smile.

‘Well, hello,’ he said.

I remained silent. It’s never wise to engage those from the other side in conversation unless you know what you’re dealing with; some delight in telling lies, twisting everything you say and generally playing with your head.

He took a step towards me and it took all of my self-control not to take a step back. The girls whimpered. I glanced around, trying to locate the Ouija board. He followed my eyes and chuckled – a low, menacing sound.

‘Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here? Aren’t you going to ask me what I want . . . Miss de Salle?’

‘Why don’t you tell me?’

He moved a step closer. Three more and he would be within touching distance. I really didn’t want him that close.

He smiled again, and this time he was near enough for me to see his very white, pointed teeth. I had been right to be afraid.

‘You have something we want.’

‘Kayla, he wants Kayla,’ the girls whispered from behind me.

His face twisted into an expression as close to madness as I would ever want to see. His lips pulled back into a snarl, exposing more of those vicious teeth.

‘Be quiet, you little wretches. Hell will be too good a place for you if you do not hold your tongues.’

I risked glancing over my shoulder. The two girls were still wrapped together in a small, quivering ball. When I turned back he had closed the distance to an arm’s length. Too close. I needed to get to that Ouija board.

He plucked at the lace cuffs of his shirt that flounced out from beneath the sleeves of his jacket, drawing my attention to long ivory fingernails that would have been more at home on a big cat. He noticed the direction of my gaze and the smile returned to his face. He looked solid, almost human, but it was obviously nothing more than a veneer; malevolence oozed from his pores, tainting the air. I was finding it very hard to breathe.

‘Where is Kayla?’ he asked at last.

‘Who wants to know?’

He raised an aristocratic eyebrow at me, then chuckled. ‘Forgive me,’ he said, sweeping into a low bow. ‘I am Henri le Dent.’

French name, terribly English accent. He was lying, but then, they usually did. This one was a comedian: le Dent – the Tooth. I didn’t find it particularly amusing.

‘Well, Henri, I would like you to leave now. Goodbye.’

He chuckled again. ‘Come now, Miss de Salle – you’re far too experienced to expect that to work.’

I gritted my teeth. It had been worth a try, though I’d begun to realise I wasn’t dealing with a spiteful, restless spirit this time. Henri was something else altogether. Miss Mitchell’s three students had managed to call up a demon.

‘Okay, Henri, so what do you want?’

He flashed those pointy teeth again. ‘I have a message for your friend.’

He took a step closer and this time I couldn’t help but recoil. His smile grew broader. He knew I was afraid of him.

‘Tell Kayla you have a message for her from the other side.’

He moved so fast I didn’t have time to react. In an instant he was beside me and his slender fingers were closing around my throat. I clawed at his very solid hand, but it was futile. He lifted me up so my toes were barely touching the floor and pulled my face so close to his we were eye to eye.

He grinned. His teeth seemed to fill his face and I was quite sure I was about to die.

He saw the realisation dawn in my eyes and laughed out loud. ‘Yes, Miss de Salle – or may I call you Lucky?’ He contemplated my face for a moment and then very slowly licked his lips. ‘I think so. Death is such an intimate thing. Yes, Lucky, you are going to die – but not today, for you have a message to deliver. Tell Kayla she has been away far too long and we want her back.’

He leaned even closer and breathed in, closing his eyes for a moment as though savouring the bouquet of a fine wine, but when they sprang open they were black coals. His tongue flicked out and he licked the side of my face, tracing its pointed tip down from the corner of my eye and across my cheek. I tried to turn my head away, but his fingers were locked beneath my jaw. He was obviously enjoying himself, enjoying my fear. I caught a waft of his breath and the sickly-sweet scent I had smelled earlier returned full force. This time I knew what it smelled like: Parma Violets.

‘I’m hoping she will resist,’ he murmured, ‘for if she defies us, I will visit again, and when I do I will get to take another taste of you.’ He stroked my hair with his free hand. ‘I can hardly wait. I know you will be so sweet, like nectar. Oh yes, Miss Lucky de Salle, I am very much looking forward to meeting you again. I might even make a special visit – or two.’

I couldn’t breathe and my eyes were beginning to water. A tear overflowed and trickled down the side of my face.

He caught the teardrop on the tip of one of his viciously sharp nails and raised it up as if to study it. His nostrils flared as he took a flamboyant sniff, then with a reptilian flick of the tongue, he tasted it.

‘A woman’s tears, so fragrant, so delicious, so – endearing.’

He let go of me and I fell to the floor, gasping. When I looked up he was stepping into the thick black shadow cloaking the door.

He glanced back at me. ‘Au revoir, Miss de Salle. I shall be seeing you again very soon. In fact, I will be keeping a close eye on you.’

The darkness wrapped itself around him until all that remained was a black stain in front of the door, and then it was gone and the room was once again full of autumn gloom.

Somehow I managed to pull myself up onto my knees, though I was shaking so hard I had to clench my mouth shut to stop my teeth from chattering.

‘You must close the door or he’ll be back,’ a voice said from beside me, making me jump.

I looked around. The girls were standing there. The Ouija board slithered shakily across the floor and came to a faltering stop in front of me. The planchette followed. I reached out towards the board and then stopped, my fingers outstretched, but not quite touching it. I had a feeling it was too late for any of this.

‘What about you two?’ I asked. ‘Don’t you want to move on to where you belong?’

They glided around to stand in front of me, on the other side of the board.

‘We belong here.’

‘It’s been almost two hundred years. You need to leave this place,’ I said.

‘Why?’

‘You’ve been frightening the girls.’

They both smiled, the sweet, sunny smiles of children. ‘We haven’t, not for a long, long time.’

I frowned at them. I knew spirits didn’t have the same sense of time as we did, but even so, barely a few days had passed since their last escapade. ‘What about the three girls the other day?’

It was their turn to frown. ‘That wasn’t us,’ one said with a pout. ‘It was him, and when they’d gone he started being mean to us.’

‘Did they call him with the board?’

They both nodded, their faces solemn.

With a sigh I dug in my pocket and pulled out a sealed plastic bag. I emptied the contents – a candle and matches – onto the floor, then set the candle upright. My fingers were trembling so badly that I managed to spill half the matches onto the floor, then had trouble picking them up. Eventually I managed to grasp one between shaking fingers, but I didn’t have the strength to light it.

I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths, then tried again, and this time a small flame flickered, faltered, almost went out, then bloomed. The girls watched me as I lit the candle.

I picked up the planchette, placed it on the board and pushed it to where it read ‘Goodbye’.

‘Goodbye,’ I said as firmly as I could.

I lifted the planchette and passed it through the candle flame, then did the same with the board, then, murmuring the Lord’s Prayer, I whacked it three times on the floor.

The girls drifted away.

‘Wait!’ I said, and they turned back to me. ‘Remember, you promised to be good.’

‘We will,’ they whispered, and then they were gone.

Still shaking, I gathered the candle and matches together and dropped them back in the plastic bag. I didn’t imagine for one minute that they would keep their promise – although if this was the first time the school had experienced any trouble in the fifteen years since I’d left, they hadn’t exactly been going out of their way to be nasty to the pupils. I would suggest to Lydia Mitchell that she arrange for the door to the attic be locked and bolted. It wouldn’t keep the two little spirits confined, though they had never really strayed far from the attic room, probably because it was where they had died. It would, however, keep her pupils out and hopefully away from this sort of mischief.

I climbed to my feet and started towards the door, but after a few steps I hesitated. There was no thick darkness blocking my exit now, but even so I was wary. I took another step, and another, then scampered across the room as fast as my heels would let me, threw open the door and bounded down the stairs into the upper sixth common room.

Any relief I might have felt immediately washed away when I looked back up the stairs. The doorframe at the top was filled with solid black darkness.

‘Remember my message,’ a voice whispered with a hint of laughter, then the door slammed shut with enough force to shake the doorframe and rattle the coffee mugs littered around the common room.

By the time I reached the entrance lobby I had managed to control the shaking, but my throat felt raw and bruised. I could have done with a hot drink, or preferably something stronger, but if I tried to hold a cup or glass, I thought my trembling fingers would give away my fear.

It was very tempting to leave without seeing the headmistress, but I had to warn her to get that bloody room locked up tight. If it had been up to me, I’d relocate the common room too. I would suggest it, but it was up to her; she might not want to risk upsetting the girls – and more importantly the parents – anymore than they were already.

I hesitated outside her door, then knocked. A voice called out for me to enter. Lydia was not alone; she was sitting at a rectangular coffee table with a man who, upon seeing me, put down his cup and stood, offering me his hand.

‘Lucky,’ Lydia said, with a worried glance towards the man, ‘this is Philip Conrad. It was he who sent the car for you this afternoon.

I took his outstretched hand. ‘Thank you,’ I said, when all I wanted to do was tell the headmistress her problem hadn’t gone away and get the hell out of there. I wasn’t in the mood for small talk; I needed to have a much more pressing conversation with my friend Kayla, waiting outside in Philip’s car.

‘Your hand is icy,’ he said, holding onto it for a bit too long.

I withdrew it from his grasp as delicately as I could. ‘No heating in the attic,’ I said, and then wondered if my visit up there was something I should be sharing with him.

Philip gestured for me to sit as though he was now the one in charge and the headmistress had been relegated to the sidelines. He sat down so that he was facing me, then leaned back and deliberately put an arm along the back of the sofa and crossed his ankles. The creases in his elegant charcoal-grey trousers could have cut cheese. His suit alone probably cost more than Lydia earned in a month. His shirt was a very pale blue, his silk tie charcoal and sapphire stripes. His skin was lightly tanned and his black hair was professionally tousled. His smile looked speculative to me, and his dark eyes were alert. I was instantly on my guard. All my senses told me that he was another problem I didn’t want to be dealing with.

‘Was your trip . . . successful?’ he asked.

I looked at the headmistress. Her eyes were on him and there was certain grimness to her expression which gave me the distinct impression she didn’t much want him there either.

‘Not very,’ I said.

‘I thought you could make it go away?’ Lydia said.

‘I’m a psychic, not an exorcist. I can help someone to move on, but I can’t force them to go.’

‘This is terrible,’ she said.

‘It’s actually far worse than either of us thought,’ I admitted. ‘Your girls managed to conjure up something very dangerous. I doubt he’ll be coming back here, but I suggest you lock that room up tight. It won’t keep the spirits in, necessarily, but it would be a very good idea to keep your pupils out. As for the sixth form common room . . .’

Her fingers tapped a rapid tattoo on the arm of her chair. ‘Yes, yes, of course. We’ve never had a problem with them before – at least since I’ve been here.’

‘It was the room where they died,’ I said. ‘Most spirits either hang around the place they spent their last moments, or somewhere that held a special or emotional meaning for them.’

‘They died in the attic?’ Philip asked.

After I’d been expelled I’d researched the history of the building. ‘Before this was a school it was an orphanage,’ I said, ‘and apparently not a very nice one. The twins had been locked in the attic for the night as a punishment and there was a fire. The orphanage tried to cover it up – they said the girls hadn’t been locked in, that they’d just been overcome by the fumes and died in their sleep.’

‘But they didn’t?’ Lydia asked, reading my expression.

‘Sadly, no – they couldn’t get out. When their bodies were found they were huddled together by the door.’

‘Oh my,’ she said.

‘The scandal closed the orphanage and after the building had been repaired it became a school.’

‘Miss de Salle, you said my pupils had “conjured” something up – what was that?’ Philip flashed perfect white teeth that were horribly reminiscent of the dreadful Henri: two sharks, two different ponds. He didn’t sound at all worried, just curious.

‘A demon, Mr Conrad.’ I waited for the curl of the lips, the derisive sneer, but he surprised me.

‘Is this common?’ he asked.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ve heard it can happen and I’ve read documented cases, but I’ve never before had the misfortune for it to happen to me.’

‘But then, you’re a professional,’ he said.

‘I’d hardly say that.’

‘Come now: you’re quite well known within the’ – he made quotation marks signs with his fingers – ‘circle.’

‘What “circle”?’ I said.

‘Psychics, clairvoyants, experts in the paranormal – they all know of you.’

I gave a rueful smile. ‘In which case, Mr Conrad, you’ll also know that most of them hate me with a passion.’

‘Only the charlatans.’

I studied him for a moment. He had certainly taken the trouble to research me. ‘That would be most of them, I’m afraid,’ I said. ‘True psychics are few and far between.’

‘But there are some out there?’

‘Most of those with a real ability try to hide it. To some it’s almost a curse.’

‘But not you?’

‘Mr Conrad, if you knew anything about me beyond my reputation you’d know my ability almost destroyed my life. My mother abandoned me; I was expelled from this school, and I was constantly bullied everywhere I went afterwards.’

‘You’ve turned your life around.’

‘I’ve had help.’

His knowing smile suggested he knew something I didn’t, or something he shouldn’t. I wasn’t sure which it was, but I was pretty certain I would soon be finding out.

Two

Philip, as he had invited me to call him, wasn’t about to let me go so easily. When I stood to leave he told me he would be joining me in the car. I could hardly complain; it was, after all his.

His driver opened the door for me and I slid inside. Kayla was curled up on the far side of the back seat, her knees drawn up to her chin. She was defensive, and I had the distinct impression she knew there had been something in the school other than the spirits of two mischievous children. While Philip was walking around to the other door I made the most of the few seconds I had with her.

‘I’ve a message for you,’ I hissed, ‘from someone very unpleasant with teeth like a piranha.’

Before she had a chance to respond the other door opened and she had to scrabble across the seat to sit next to me while Philip climbed in.

‘Would you like to go somewhere to eat?’ he asked.

For a moment I was completely thrown. I hadn’t seen that coming.

‘A very kind offer, but I’m feeling a little tired.’

‘Of course you are – but I really would like to hear more about this demon.’

Kayla glanced at me, her eyes wide. I ignored her. ‘There’s nothing much to say other than that he’s dangerous and I really wouldn’t want to meet him again.’

‘It was a “him”? Not some creature?’

‘He was in human form. I think he’d styled himself on an eighteenth-century gentleman by the way he was dressed, but my history isn’t particularly good.’

‘Did he have a name?’

‘I doubt the one he gave me was his.’

‘Which was?’

‘Why are you so interested? Why do you even care?’

He stared at me for a moment then turned away to look out of the window at the passing scenery, but not before I saw his face cloud over.

Kayla shifted in her seat and reached out to put her hand on his shoulder, but then drew back. ‘He’s in pain,’ she said. ‘His life has been touched by something from the other world.’

‘What happened, Philip?’ I asked.

He was silent for a very long time. He gave a shiver and glanced across at me, his expression bleak. ‘Come to dinner with me and I’ll tell you.’

Kayla twisted around to look at me. Two sets of eyes waited for my answer: one pair filled with hope, the other with an expression I couldn’t quite define. Kayla and I had been friends for a very long time, but for the last few minutes I had started to wonder whether I knew her at all.

‘All right, I’ll have dinner with you tomorrow night.’

He gave me a sad smile and in it there was an air of vulnerability I would never have expected from a man like him – but then, a sharp suit and expensive tastes didn’t mean he had no feelings, did it? Just that someone like Philip probably knew how to hide them.

He dropped us off at my cottage and walked me to the door. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said. ‘About eight?’

‘That’s good for me.’

He raised a hand and strode off down the path, stopping to give me a parting smile as he closed the gate behind him.

I watched the car pull away, then started rummaging for my keys

‘He’s troubled,’ Kayla said, as I let us in.

‘Not as troubled as you’re going to be if you don’t tell me what this is all about.’

‘Don’t be like that.’

‘Kayla, this demon had teeth that would make Dracula look like a pussycat and he was drooling over me like I was his packed lunch, so I think I’m entitled to be a little pissed off.’

‘That’s not my fault.’

‘Really?’ I said, as I threw my jacket down on the sofa and slumped down beside it. ‘Well, he said to give you a message.’

She sat down on the chair opposite me, knees together and hands clenched as if praying. Maybe she was. She looked at me from beneath lowered lashes.

‘What did he say?’

‘He said: “Tell Kayla” – that’s you, I believe – “that I have a message for her from the other side.” He said, “Tell her she’s been away far too long and we want her back.” ’

‘Oh,’ she said.

‘Is that all you’ve got to say? What does he mean?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘He seemed to think you would.’

‘So, you’re going out to dinner with this Philip guy?’ she said, changing the subject.

It was clear that she didn’t want to continue our previous conversation and I knew better than to push her, she often just disappeared if she wasn’t getting her own way. I gritted my teeth and counted to ten. As frustrating as it was I was going to have to tease it out of her.

‘I’m not sure I want to, but he is in pain, as you yourself pointed out. Either that or he’s