Heart

CHAPTER THREE

  Bulldog, Palomino and Bowie

  An uncomfortable silence snuck into the room and Dylan was anxious to shoo it away. “Who is this Alice Cooper?” he asked to no one in particular.

  “You know … Nights with Alice Cooper … he is a tragic old dude on the radio late at night,” replied Jacqui, doubting Anna would be tuning into fm in the wee hours.

  “Never heard of him,” sighed Anna.

  In the short lull that followed, Dylan had downloaded the Alice Cooper song, synched it and let it warble through his tablet.

  “Welcome to my nightmare, I think you’re gonna like it

  I think you’re gonna feel like you belong.

  A nocturnal vacation, unnecessary sedation …”

  Alice croaked on and on.

  Dylan found his image and showed the girls, he licked his hands and rubbed his palms downward over his eyes smearing his makeup. Jacqui giggled, “You look like an underweight panda, not a Seventies rock legend.” She pointed to Alice, “He sure is creepy, but not very scary or ghostly,” said Jacqui. “I’m sure we could find a more appropriate song to wake up Kevin at three am,” she smiled hopefully at Anna. Anna prickled before she realised Jacqui was joking.

  “He is certainly no David Bowie. David Bowie is the Master of Music.” Dylan proceeded to hum a Bowie medley, “Mmmmmm … Not sure if you’re a boy or a girl … Ground control to Major Tom … Ch, Ch, Ch, Changes … mmm.”

  “You do realise you are slightly obsessive Dyl … mostly about yourself!”

  “No doll, I’m just an intense young man.”

  Jacqui sighed and tried to catch Anna’s eye. The pair of them had spent hours listening to Dylan talk about his ‘identity’ issues. It was beyond boring. Dylan stopped his rock tribute and was now searching for supernatural atmospheric music. “How about this dolls?” Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata twinkled hauntingly in the room.

  “Perfect,” whispered Jacqui.

  The three of them sat at the table and let the music wash over them and finally started to relax. Jacqui downloaded her mobile photos onto her tablet. Anna laughed as she saw Liam squatting in the chook house drawing deeply on a cigarette.

  The next snap was a picture of Corinne, Jacqui’s artist mother. She was standing back from a canvas with a paintbrush between her teeth, reflecting on her work. It was a silhouette of a lamp illuminating a bowl of roses. The roses and Corinne were breathtakingly beautiful.

  “You are so talented,” murmured Anna in awe.

  The next photo was of Beth, Anna’s older sister lying on the couch. She had pulled up her oversized shirt to reveal a pregnant bump. Jacqui had drawn a question mark on her belly. Beth didn’t want to know the sex of the baby. She wanted it to be a surprise. Anna thought that was ridiculous. They already had the surprise of Third Year Law student Beth coming home and telling them she was pregnant. Oh and by the way, Blake and she had broken up. They were no longer in the same headspace. They no longer wanted the same things in life. Oh and by the way, he was a cheating dickhead. Jacqui had captured Beth looking lovingly down at her growing bump. At that moment, Kevin had walked in and looked down at Beth on the couch. His face softened. Anna knew the baby had been a terrible shock to him, he still thought of Beth as his little girl. He took a while to process change. Jacqui had captured a moment of extra tenderness.

  The next one was of Anna in class. She had no knowledge or recollection of it being taken. She was arguing with Mr Trigwell over the finer points of the Treaty of Versailles. She looked like a bulldog pulling a chew toy to bits. Mr Trigwell was standing near her desk with an embarrassed look on his face, a goldfish plopping breathlessly on the laminated counter of life. “Well I was right,” said Anna. She felt her blood start to boil. “He didn’t even know who William Morris Hughes was.”

  “Of course you were right Annakins, but he had conceded defeat three minutes ago. And you were still quoting Prime Minister Billy Hughes at him … loudly,” said Jacqui, eager to look at the next photo of the city’s night lights in panorama but Anna continued to stare at her own picture. “Do I really look like that?” she asked shocked. The blood rose to her cheeks.

 

  “No,” chipped in Dylan. “You have surprisingly fine bones and with a bit of make up, you are quite passable. But when you get a bee in your bonnet, the bit between your teeth and your finger on the trigger and all those other sayings, you morph into well … her.” Dylan pointed at the picture on the screen. She cringed.

  The next photo was of Miss Scott, their Lit teacher. It was taken through the smudgy staffroom window, which gave it a motley old-fashioned tint. The effect highlighted her green eyes looking up at Mr Trigwell, full of admiration. He was making a coffee. He took sugar.

  “How did you get this one?” Anna asked.

  “I pressed my phone to the glass,” Jacqui sighed dreamily. “I do so love young things in lurve. I think we should review Trigwell’s current song.”

  “Love songs for losers, it is,” answered Dylan as he scrolled up and down.

  “Leave the pair of them alone.” Anna could feel her inner bulldog growl. “It’s bad enough you posted that lonely guy’s meme on his wall but you nearly got expelled with that hand cramp comment. You are soooo lucky Mr Trigwell stepped in and said you were his top history student, which was really nice of him. So can you stop the Justin Beiber rip off every time you see one of them? I know Trigwell is an idiot but Miss Scott is nice.” And I am sure I am the top History student, even it it’s only by one point seven four percent. Trigwell can be too nice.

  “No way,” laughed Dylan as he swaggered into his Beiber pose, smoking his imaginary bong and giving a cheesy glassy eyed smile for his pretend police mug shot.

  “I just wished they would get it together, they would make such a cute couple,” mused Jacqui.

  “You really shouldn’t be taking photos without people’s permission. I’m sure there is a law against it. Or there should be. It’s voyeurism or something like that.” Anna continued to look at herself on the screen. She could see the veins in her temple. Were they photo shopped in?

  “Bollocks,” said Jacqui. “Everyone has his or her clothes on. It’s just a bit of fun. Whoops I’ve dropped the ‘F’ bomb again.” Her brilliant smile looked a little skewiff.

  “Okay doll faces, let’s get this little puppy freaked!” Dylan patted Lottie and allowed her to lick a large spoon covered in fondue.

  “How are we doing this peeps and who are we doing it to? I’ve got a little sparkly gem of an idea.” Jacqui fished out a few pieces of crumpled paper from her knapsack and smoothed them out.

  “Firstly, we need a prospective ghost to be decided on in a moment or two,” she pulled out a few more loose pieces of paper and a magazine.

  Dylan smirked, “Prospective? Sounds like a dating site.” Jacqui ignored him.

  “Secondly, choose a medium.” She glanced at the other two. “I thought I might do the honours if there is no objection. My mother saw a ghost back in South Africa. It was after her twenty-first birthday party. As they were leaving the hall, she saw the ghost of her dearly departed cat ‘Snoodle’ that had passed over the week before. It wrapped itself around her legs and purred supernaturally loudly obviously wishing her a happy birthday. So I am quite sure that I have the capacity to be a portal to the Underworld.”

  Of course you do Princess Kerazee!

  “Snoodle … sounds like doodle,” sniggered Dylan.

  The stodgy fondue was making Anna sleepy but she rallied as she realised this séance was her ‘Get out of make up and prosthetic boobs’ wild card. “You are very sensitive and artistic Jacqui, I think that is a great combination to be our medium.” Anna attempted an encouraging smile while thinking and you ARE one SANDWICH short of a PICNIC.

  Jacqui beamed back with gratitude even though she knew Anna was onl
y being polite. Polite was progress.

  Dylan fell off his chair backwards. “Yes that is indeed a fine pedigree. Your mum had probably had too much champers and a stray cat morphed into a dead cat.” Dylan rolled around on the ground, wiping away the tears of laughter. “Oh Corinne, you are one gorgeous little kitty cat.”

  Anna managed to hide her smile.

  “She still regularly sees the cat Dylan,” said Jacqui without expression.

  Dylan stopped laughing, stood up and straightened his chair. Anna managed to hide her surprise. Jacqui continued reading her list out loud. Her voice was tightly cheerful as she tried to swallow down the lump in her throat. Dylan stood behind her and mouthed at Anna, “Corinne’s gone cuckoo,” then went cross-eyed with his tongue slackly splayed out of his mouth.

  “What’s wrong Jacqui?” asked Dylan. “Is everything okay … at home … you know … since the … divorce and stuff.”

  “Shut up. Nothing is wrong. Now let’s get on with choosing or all the good ghosts will be taken. We will be stuck with Dylan’s grandmother, dead Dida,” she said briskly.

  Dylan’s face fell into a hurt heap.

  Jacqui stood up abruptly and started stuffing the papers and her tablet into the knapsack. She busied herself with moving all the things around in her bag over and over again with feigned concentration.

  “Say something,” mouthed Dylan to Anna. He nodded his head towards Anna and then to Jacqui.

  Anna ignored him. She knew exactly what she wanted to say but was tired of her advice being ignored. Sometimes it was hard being the best friend of a skittish long legged palomino. She had written a very informative and helpful email to Jacqui. It sat in her draft box. Some days, her finger itched to press ‘SEND’.

  Jacqui continued on, “Right, number three includes preparing the séance in a conducive atmospheric atmosphere, let’s adjourn to the green room. I do love what your mother has done with the room, so homely and stately. A magnificent feat of interior design.” Her words ran together.

  The restoration of the room had been kick started by the victory of the verge table. It was a massive oak table that accommodated eight. It was an exquisite and historic piece of furniture and now resided in a room of equal beauty and elegance.

  “Yeah,” said Dylan anxiously. “It used to look like a swap meet.”

  The room had formerly been a resting place for broken television sets and computer monitors. Magazines were stacked in the fireplace. Unused gym gear and ill conceived Christmas presents were set to one side in topsy turvy piles. The room was transformed now. The clutter, the dodgy gifts and the exhausting memories had made Natalie some money on Gum Tree. There was enough left over to buy a small buffet and a chaise lounge.

  Dylan shrugged and packed up. The three of them made the short journey across the hall into their favourite room which was calming and still after the mayhem of the kitchen with a sobering chill in the air. The table glowed under the low light of the lamps as Jacqui regained her composure and prepared the table with the Ouija board, a glass and the three candles. She lit some sandalwood incense and put it on the mantle piece. “It’s a pity it’s not a full moon,” she sniffed sadly.

  Anna yawned loudly, “The only thing the moon affects is the tides, Jacqui. I sent you that article by Doctor Karl.”

  Dylan played with his scarf fascinated by the way the glittering thread caught the light. He exhaled, “This room inspires me to buy a smoking jacket. I really think I would look dashing in a smoking jacket. It would go with my cravat, don’t you think gals?” He paraded around puffing on an imaginary pipe, strutting like a stretched peacock.

  After setting up, Jacqui announced, “I think we are about ready to begin, peeps.”

  “No we are not, who is our prospective ghost?” asked Anna. “We haven’t decided.”

  Jacqui blushed, “Of course, so sorry. Anyone have any suggestions? Remember the next bit on my list is that we need an object that belonged to or was touched by the dearly departed.”

  Now she tells us!

  “That is a mite limiting,” said Dylan pouting with eyebrows raised, “I had my heart set on Christian Dior.”

  “Well unless you have a lipstick he used, we won’t have much success,” said Jacqui brightly. “Any ideas Anna?”

  “I have an idea—we could watch television.” Anna stood up and opened up the sideboard to reveal a tiny little plasma television.

  Dylan gasped as he crumpled, “Oh dear, Kevin has been here, hasn’t he. I feel the energy of the room changing. Shut the cabinet doors Anna, I’m shrinking, I’m melting, help me.” Dylan collapsed onto the floor in a puddle.

  “Please Anna, try and get into the spirit of it.” Jacqui stifled a giggle at her own unintended pun.

  Anna patted her tummy and hoped her appendix was covered in pus. Twitch appendix twitch. She was over the afterlife. It was hard enough being alive. “What about Shulamith Firestone?” she suggested, inserting a crack in the conversation to get in a few points on sexual equality.

  “Wasn’t she a Professor from Harry Potter?” asked Dylan.

  “No, she was a real person. She was a feminist who reckoned we couldn’t create equality between the sexes while women still carried and gave birth to babies. She wanted science to create a pregnancy out of the body. You know, like a little gender free snug. I agree. It’s not fair. Look at poor Beth; she is stuck in our granny flat with a difficult pregnancy while Blake does whatever he wants. It sickens me.”

  “And everyone thinks I am the weird one,” said Dylan serenely.

  “Blake and Beth will get back together, it’s true love,” whispered Jacqui.

  “True love,” spat out Anna. “Whatever.”

  “Do you have anything that belongs to the forementioned Ms Firestone?” asked Jacqui in a voice that was starting to turn dangerous.

  “I forgot to return her book to the library, I still have it but it doesn’t have a signature or anything like that,” sulked Anna.

  Jacqui instantly brightened and quickly cantered on. “Well, then it is indeed lucky I have this.” She scrambled around in her bag and pulled out a New Idea magazine and waved it around like an Olympic torch, with a victorious look in her eye.

  “Ooh let’s read our horoscopes,” said Dylan, snatching at it. Jacqui withdrew it quickly and held it to her heart. Dylan caught the date, ‘2006.’

  “I don’t want to burst your bubble but isn’t it a tad out of date.”

  “It’s not the magazine we are interested in, this New Idea is no ordinary New Idea. It contains the signature of one of our favourite dead people.”

  “But I love so many dead people, pray tell us who?” quizzed Dylan.

  Anna sat back and sighed—more Jacqui speak. The code to Jacqui was substituting ‘our fav’ to ‘my fav’. Anna thought back over the last few weeks and tried to recall her latest fad love affair. There were so many, until the penny dropped. They had watched three Heath Ledger movies back to back on the first rainy day of the school holidays. Then Jacqui had drawn him in charcoal. It was a very good likeness. Of course.

  “The signature belongs to Heath Ledger,” boasted Anna.

  “Oh Miss Anna, you are psychic,” gushed Jacqui. “You know me so well, we are all so interconnected it’s like we are of one mind.”

  “Yes, like a Siamese triplet in a freak show,” retorted Anna. You planned this about ten days ago thought Anna. The machinations were in motion long before tonight. Stitched up again. Dylan and she were like baby wombats caught in the headlights. Tonight it was pumpkin and vanilla scented tea lights.

  “You didn’t pay for the signature did you?” Her inner bulldog was raring to get off the chain.

  Jacqui’s eyes twinkled mysteriously as she whispered, “You know I have my sources, Unk is very good to me.”

  “Oh yeah, where is your uncle now?” asked Anna a
bruptly.

  Jacqui lifted her shoulders and pouted her bottom lip, “Who knows, I know it has something to do with Nicole Kidman’s new movie but that’s all I can say.”

  “I love Heath Ledger, I really love him,” burst out Dylan like a time controlled sprinkler.

  “Any objections Anna?” smiled Jacqui now daring Anna to speak.

  “Consensus wins,” said Anna smiling sweetly and wondering if her pulsating temple vein was giving her away.

  Jacqui clapped her hands in delight and proclaimed, “Now we must gather around the table and I think we hold hands. The glass sits on the board for Heath to use … I will summon Heath by placing the magazine near the candles. Then we will have an in depth interview with him and … hopefully, a photo shoot to conclude with. Any questions? No? Good! Oh I almost forgot, it is very important not to break the bond until we have sent Heath back to Paradise. So hold on tight.”