When Mac woke, she felt refreshed. She slept throughout the entire night, not waking once.
She rolled over, expecting to still see Crab next to her, sleeping, but the bed was empty. Closing her eyes, and straining to hear, she listened out for any noise that suggested whether Crab was in the house or if he had already gone to work.
On hearing a few bangs, possibly from the kitchen, Mac jumped out of bed, wrapped herself in her dressing gown, donned her giant cat slippers and exited the bedroom. As she was coming down the stairs, she found Crab in the hall, putting on his coat.
'Good morning. Sleep well?' he asked, doing up the zip, before walking over to Mac and kissing her on the cheek.
'Very well, thank you.'
'So you're feeling better today?'
'Yes, I would definitely say that I am feeling a bit better.'
'That's good news.'
'It is, isn't it? Do you know what time you'll be home today?'
'Not sure. When I know, I'll send you a text or something. OK?' he asked, again kissing her on the cheek.
'OK. Have a good day,' Mac wished him, as he opened the front door, but just before he walked through, he turned around and paused, looking at her sheepishly.
'And...umm...Jean Pottersworth is in the reading room. Bye.' Then the front door closed and Mac was left standing in the hall in her pyjamas, with her purple-streaked hair in disarray and a client whom she didn't think she could help, waiting for her in her work room. Mac ran her fingers through her hair, trying her best to tame it. Although she felt better, she didn't think she was well enough to work yet. But it seemed that the decision had been taken out of her hands. She had been ambushed.
Well, destiny comes to us in ways we cannot see, she silently quoted one of her favourite New Age authors, Ruby Clifton-Sparks.
Mac sighed, before heading to her work room. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror hanging on the wall by the door and shuddered slightly. Well, there was nothing she could do about it now.
'Good morning, Ms Pottersworth. Please forgive my attire, I wasn't expecting any clients this morning and have not been awake long.'
'I am sorry to turn up like this...unannounced, it's not like me...I would never do it...usually,' the slightly plump, nervous woman sitting on the sofa by the window, claimed.
'And yet here we are. What can I do for you? Or rather, what is it you think I can help with, Ms Pottersworth?'
'Jean, please call me Jean. You see, Miss Jones, I have this problem...it's not easy to explain and I am not entirely sure where to start.'
Mac went and sat next to her on the sofa, turning slightly to face her. As she did so, the woman caught sight of Mac's hands, and the bandages that were wrapped around the tips of her fingers.
'My! What has happened to you?'
Instinctively, Mac splayed her hands out in front of her and then tucked them into the pockets of her thick dressing gown. 'It's nothing serious.'
'Was it to do with what was said in the papers?' Jean asked her, quietly.
Mac didn't read the papers. She read magazines dedicated to witchcraft and paganism, to divination and natural healing, but newspapers, she never often read. That being said, she knew that what had happened to her had made the front page of the papers, both local and national, much to her horror.
'Yes,' was all Mac would say in response.
'Absolutely terrible, that was. Absolutely. The Steping on Sunday said-'
'Ms Pottersworth. Jean. I am sure you didn't come here to discuss a news story, did you?'
'Of course not. I'm sorry. I can get a little...sidetracked, now and then. The reason I am here, well, it's a rather long...complicated...strange story, and as I said, I am not sure exactly where to begin.'
'In that case, why don't you think it over while I go and put the kettle on and make some toast. Would you like any?'
Mac retreated to the kitchen and set about constructing a breakfast. She wasn't at all pleased at having a client in the house when she wasn't dressed in day-time clothes and she hadn't been afforded the opportunity to properly wake up yet, but she would make do. She would have to.
When a tray laden with a teapot, nestled under a hand-knitted purple tea cosy, two cups and saucers, a milk jug, a large plate of toast, a selection of jams and marmalades and of course, butter, was ready, Mac carried it through to the reading room and placed it on the large, round wooden table where she usually did her tarot readings.
'Jean, come and sit at the table and help yourself to the toast,' Andromache instructed. Once they had each taken a slice of the toast, Mac continued. 'So, you were saying you had some kind of problem but you didn't know where to begin in it's telling?'
'Yes.'
'Why not start at the beginning then?'
'It all started last year when I met Harold. We were on a six week cruise around the Caribbean. We set sail from Southampton and met on the first night. By the time we reached Aruba we had decided to get married.'
What sort of problem does this woman have that she thinks I can help with? Mac wondered as Jean started her explanation.
'Harold thought we might as well do it there and then, so along with the help of the crew we got it organised and got married on the beach...lots of sand and flowers...the photos were beautiful.'
'OK, I am not sure exactly where this is going, Jean. I don't understand the problem.'
'That's because we haven't got to it yet. You said to start at the beginning.'
'I know, but the beginning of the story usually is related to the end part.'
'It is. Just let me finish, Miss Jones. Then you'll understand. So Harold and I got married and continued with our Caribbean cruise as a honeymoon. And I was very happy. I thought he was too, but I should have known three weeks was not long enough to get to know a stranger and then marry him. When we returned to England, he suggested that I sell my antique jewellery business - I ran a little stall on the Tuesday and Saturday markets in Hillsbury. So I did.'
'Antique jewellery? I love antique and vintage jewellery!' Mac exclaimed, side-tracked for a moment. Mac noticed that Jean was wearing a number of exquisite pieces. 'Are these personal pieces or left over stock?' Mac enquired pointing at a number of bracelets, constructed of various materials, including gold, silver, copper and beads, showing on Jean's arm.
'These belonged to my mother.'
'What about that engraved silver locket? Isn't it lovely?'
'I acquired this from a house clearance about ten years ago and fell in love with it in a heartbeat.'
'I can see why. And that is a beautiful ring!'
'This I found in the process of moving home. It's a delightful little thing, don't you think?' Jean held up her right hand, showing off the ring that was displayed on her middle finger; it was predominately silver filigree and set in the centre, in a rather dainty fashion was a blue sapphire. However, it didn't take her long to get bored with the discussion, and return to her tale. 'So I sold my business that I loved dearly. It broke my heart but I thought it was for the best at the time. Then Harold sold his house, and I my house and we bought a property together. He took care of everything. Then I found out, that he had only been divorced for a matter of days before boarding the ship at Southampton. That he had a family – sons and daughters and a grandchild – that I didn't even know existed. When I asked him about it, he refused to talk.'
'Oh, Jean, I think there has been some kind of misunderstanding. I don't do much relationship-based work.'
'I haven't finished, Miss Jones,' Jean Pottersworth said smiling thought gritted teeth, obviously annoyed at the interruptions. 'A few days later, his first wife turned up on our doorstep and told me that her ex-husband, my Harold, had been seeing her ever since we returned from the Caribbean. Of course, I left him and started divorce proceedings immediately, only to find out that he had pinched most of my money and the house we had bought together had belonged to his friend. They had infla
ted the price above and beyond that which was excessive, let alone reasonable, and after the sale they split the cash.
'A few months ago, with the divorce concluded and what was left of the money returned to me, which wasn't a great amount, I had to look for somewhere else to live. But my resources were limited, and I no longer wished to stay in Hillsbury. I was very embarrassed, truth be told. So I was forced to look at property in Steping Town. I finally found one that I could both afford and liked the look of. You got a lot of house for your money. It was an old Victorian double-fronted Gothic building, you know the type and I fell in love with it instantly.'
'Please get to the point, Ms Pottersworth,' Mac groaned. Now that the teapot was empty and there was no more toast to eat, her patience at having to hear Jean's life story was wearing thin. Mac could not see how she could possibly help this woman. She couldn't see where the problem lay.
'Almost there. So I put in a offer, below the asking price and it was instantly accepted. Apparently the owners had had a hard time trying to sell. In fact the place had been empty for years, but my surveyor claimed it wasn't in too bad a condition for it.'
'Please, Ms Pottersworth! Jean...what is this problem you have?'
'The house is haunted, Miss Jones. Haunted. There is an evil ghost in my home and I want it gone!' Jean shouted, finally at the end of her tale.
'Oh,' was all Mac could say in response.
Chapter Four: The Haunted House