The Haunting of Pear Tree Cottage

Christmas came and went with barely a whisper, a very quiet one with just me and Mum at lunch time, and a visit to Mabel (who would have been on her own) for tea, and now we were in that weird time between the big day and the New Year. That lonely time of the year with no work because the offices were closed and, for me, bad thoughts and serious misgivings were running around in my head from the last encounter with my boss, Richard Curtis. The only good thing about that meeting was that I was in control now, in the driver’s seat so to speak, and not Rick, as I’d expected to be the case, because for all he’d said to me at the Christmas do I had the feeling that he was still in love with his ex, and no way did I want to lay myself open to a broken heart again. Trying a different tactic in a situation can sometimes work wonders. Although how long I could keep up this charade remained to be seen.

The smile that greeted me was both warm and charming, which threw me a little as, because of all the baggage he’d let slip on our night out, I’d been prepared for the cold shoulder treatment, the gradual pushing away. But there was no ice whatsoever in his manner, as there so definitely was outside. The whole ambience in the office was just as warm and welcoming as ever, and coupled with the smell of his musky cologne I could have been in seventh heaven, if I’d wanted to be. I was pleased to see the Stetson hat and the loud checked overcoat hanging serenely from the coat stand.

“Chrissie.” He padded across the room lithe as a panther and, taking my elbow in his cupped hand, escorted me to the chair opposite his desk. The chair that I always sat in when taking dictation, my pad balanced on my knee, or first thing in the morning while planning the day over coffee and biscuits. He was dressed smartly as usual in a dark grey suit and white shirt and grey tie. I thanked God that there was no chest hair on display to distract me and make me more aware than ever of his many charms. He pushed his floppy blond hair out of his green eyes as they fastened onto my blue ones. “Thanks for taking the time to see me.”

I inclined my head gracefully as a queen.

The snow was falling thicker and faster now, and I could see from the window, people hurrying past on the busy High Street, heads lowered as they battled against the chilly wind, their winter coats and hats flecked with thick white flakes.

“Coffee, Chrissie?” he asked, nodding towards the percolator he’d brought in from the kitchen and put on his desk, together with a bowl of sugar and milk in a jug. I nodded yes and he handed me a mug just as I liked it, thick and black, the aroma comforting as I inhaled it deeply and took a gulp.

He sat down with his own mug in his hand and, thoughtfully stirring it, said, “I think I have some explaining to do to you, Chrissie.”

“And I to you, perhaps?” I said. I felt powerful and unafraid, and suddenly knew how I was going to play this situation.

Frowning, he said, “Why? Why would that be the case?”

“Well,” I said carefully, “I’m sworn off men for the duration, so no way should I have been kissing you on Saturday night, Christmas or not. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” he replied. He looked bewildered. I didn’t think for one minute he’d expected the conversation to go this way. He’d probably expected explanations as to what he’d said to me. Oh, and tears too.

“Is that because of the two-timing rogue that your mum—I mean Zandra—mentioned?” He put his mug down on the desk and, picking up a pen, began to fiddle absentmindedly with it.

Smiling as I took another sip of coffee, I said, “Yes. Mum shouldn’t have said anything about that, but, until I’ve come to terms with it, I’m really not interested in anybody else.” I leaned forward slightly and whispered, “The things we do when we’ve had a few drinks, eh?”

Oh, liar, liar, pants on fire, I thought to myself. I didn’t give a hoot about Stuart now, but of course, Rick didn’t know that, and the need to push him away before he pushed me was too overwhelming.

He grinned, his beautiful strawberry mouth turning up deliciously at the corners. The thought that I had kissed that mouth, that my lips had touched those lips, flew rapidly through my mind. “Yes I suppose you’re right. But I did let slip a couple of things about my personal life that perhaps, from what you’re saying, I shouldn’t have. Do you remember what I said, Chrissie?”

“Mm, vaguely,” I said airily. “You said something about having been married at some point. I got the impression that it was all over though.” I took another sip of coffee, which was so thick it had the consistency of treacle. I didn’t know about drinking it—I thought I needed a spoon so I could eat it.

He sat forward, his forearms on the desk. “Yes, it is over,” he said gravely, and regretfully perhaps? “And has been for a long time. Did I say anything else?”

I wasn’t going to tell him what he’d said about love, that he adored me, that there was nobody else in the world like me. He was worried that I would remember, so it was pretty obvious he didn’t really feel that way. As Mum had always told me, “It’s the drink talking, Chrissie, always the drink.”

“No, I don’t think so. Why?” And here I made sure I looked wide eyed and innocent. “What have you done? Served time in prison? Murdered somebody?” I cupped my mouth with my hands as if in desperate shock. “You didn’t kill your ex-wife, did you?”

He let out a great bark of laughter. His teeth looked very straight and very white. “No, no way. Gee, Chrissie. Whatever you think I am, I’m definitely not a murderer. Hey, that’s the second time lately that I’ve been accused of that!” referring obviously to the questioning by Detective Inspector Charlie Lawson. Standing up, he moved over to the window and gazed outside, his hands bunched deep into the pockets of his trousers. “Oh my,” he said. “Look at the snow. I didn’t realize. I’ve definitely seen nothing like this in Arizona. Now this is a novelty.”

I giggled a bit and said, “Yes, I suppose it must be. It’s far too hot for snow in Arizona. Maybe you’ll want to leave early so you can make a snowman in your garden. Layla was wondering if she could go home if the buses stop running.”

He turned around to face me. “Yeah, of course she can, if it gets any worse. Wow, yeah, I’ve never made a snowman!” He leaned forward, his hands on his desk. “Maybe you’d like to make one with me?” And when I didn’t reply, he continued, “Chrissie, I—”

I didn’t want to hear any more at the moment, so I butted in. “Okay then, Mr. Curtis,” I said pointedly. “Maybe I could go now and get on with my work?”

With a disappointed sigh he said, “Yes, of course, Chrissie. There’s a tape with accompanying files on top of the filing cabinet if you could do that. Don’t worry, it’s not urgent. I know the Christmas holidays are coming up fast.” And then as if he had just heard what I’d said, he put out a hand and roughly clasped my arm. “Holy cow, Chrissie, don’t call me Mr. Curtis. It’s Rick!”

Ah, I thought. Is this where the big boss man gets angry with his helpless secretary and pulls her close, and ravishes her against the office door? Isn’t that what happens in all the romantic novels? I shrank back as a spark of anger flared in his green eyes and stayed for just a moment, but then was gone as, reluctantly it seemed, he let go of my arm.

“Okay,” I said lightly as, picking up the tape and files, I wandered nonchalantly from the office without once looking back.

I hadn’t seen him since that day, as the office had closed for Christmas and, even though we had swapped mobile numbers at the Christmas do, there had been no contact from him, and I would certainly not be getting in touch. Without really wanting to, I’d warned Rick off, blaming my broken heart over Stuart for preventing me from any further involvement. I should feel victorious at not letting him see me as the poor little hurt girl, but how long I could carry on working for him now was hard to predict. He probably thought me cunning and conniving, playing with his emotions. Oh, why was everything such a sham?

Had I done wrong, though, in putting Rick off? After all, why was I there, in Whitby? I’d always thought it was meant to be—the job and the house had seemed to fall into place. Was Rick supposed to fall into place too? And Morgan and Seth Bloom? Was it all meant to happen? Was there a message here that I couldn’t see?

Wishing I had the answers, restlessly I moved around the house, Moses following at my heels. I didn’t know about him being Morgan Bloom’s familiar, but I thought he was definitely mine now. Peering from the window, I saw that without even realizing it, the day had brightened considerably and the rain that had washed all the past week’s snow and ice away had stopped, and the sun, albeit very weak, was shining a muted yellow. Thin clouds streaked the blue, and to my delight a rainbow appeared, its colors deep and glowing. If I could somehow get to the end of that rainbow, would I find my pot of gold?

Mum had gone out again (it must be love love love) with “round the corner” Pete Horner so, after grabbing a coat and hat and pulling on a pair of gloves, I decided to go for a walk. The garden path sparkled in the sunlight and, gazing up at the beautiful rainbow, I took a deep breath of fresh air. As I walked to the gate I heard a tinkling sound and, looking behind me, saw that my bracelet, a little silver one that Mum had bought me for Christmas, had come off my wrist. Bending down, I picked it up and, relieved it wasn’t broken, refastened it, which was when I noticed something different in the flower border.

Peering closer and pushing away weeds and dirt with my bare hands, I saw a branch about six inches tall poking up through the earth. Shuddering, I was creeped out because it looked so much like a finger, a dead person’s finger, that it put me in mind of people who had been called the “dead ringers.” People who had accidentally been buried alive and, on waking up six feet under, had hurriedly rung a bell inside the coffin in the hope that somebody would hear it ringing and come and save them. Once recovered and out and about again, these people would be accused of being a “dead ringer” of the person who had died. Of course I knew this wasn’t a “dead ringer,” but just a budding branch pushing its way through the earth, but I did have a peculiar feeling of what it could be. Right or wrong, before I knew what I was doing I was running up next door’s garden path and knocking excitedly on Mabel’s door.

She came outside with me, wrapped up warm in her long furry coat, looking like a little fluffy chick now instead of a robin and, peering down, said, “You could be right, Chrissie. If it is the pear tree, it will grow really quickly. Well, at any rate, it did when it appeared in my back yard.”

“Wow.” I shook my head. “Things are getting weirder than ever around here. And just to think, I wouldn’t have noticed it if my bracelet hadn’t fallen off.”

“You’ll notice it soon,” said Mabel with a shudder. “If it grows as big as mine did. How extraordinary!” She shook her head as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. “We’ll keep an eye on it,” she said, waving goodbye as I set off on my walk.

I was determined to do as I’d intended on the day I’d seen that awful baying mob drown Morgan Bloom. So, setting off at a brisk pace, I made my way to the bottom of the 199 steps. Whitby Abbey here I come.

***

“Is it really you?” And when there was no reply, I heard, “Morgan?” Seth Bloom’s voice sounded panicky and afraid.

“Yes,” came a whispered reply. “I’m here, Seth. A little bedraggled and cold—so very, very cold. Have you seen Moses, my heart, my familiar?”

Whispered voices alerted me to the fact that somebody was there. I glanced around uneasily as I reached the top. I’d climbed the 199 steps easily, not even needing to stop and sit on the benches to catch the view. I wasn’t worried, for I would be able to see the beautiful vista once I was at the top, although, surprisingly, it was growing dark now, so I’d have to be quick before it was too late. Uneasily I glanced behind me, sure that somebody was there hiding in the shadows. I could almost feel somebody breathing, gasping, a pulsing in the air, a pulsing all around me.

I stood and gazed at the magnificent view at the top. The great expanse of the sea, all the trees, houses, gardens, and street lights coming on, lighting up the roads and paths like a galaxy, so tiny from up here, like a toy town. A soft breeze tugged at my hair as if with a baby’s fingers. Turning around to face the abbey, I saw that the ruin looked tall and forbidding in the half-light. But all at once, the sky darkened and a bright moon shone and millions of stars began to twinkle.

The air turned colder and a chill ran through me as I saw that the abbey was a ruin no longer. It rose up in front of me as handsome and complete as it would have been many centuries before. The great doors stood wide open and, with a weird compulsion as though a hand pushed me from behind, I walked inside. The air felt even colder, icy and damp.

The whispers began again. “I have warm blankets and spiced ale. I will make you well again, Morgan. Where are you?” A figure appeared just in front of me and I knew just by the shape of him, his breadth and his height, even without seeing his handsome face, that it was Seth Bloom. With no surprise that I was here again, back in time, I followed him down steep stone steps and long dark twisting corridors, the ceilings so low that I had to crouch. He walked slowly, burdened down as he was by thick blankets and a jug from which liquid splashed onto the stone floor as he moved from side to side.

Morgan’s voice was nearer although still weak, and Seth turned into a room small as a dungeon, the walls misshapen and the floor covered in straw, where she lay curled as a fetus, shivering and shaking in her sodden clothes.

“Quick, quick,” said Seth as, keeping her modesty, he helped to remove her wet skirt and top, and then tucked the warm blankets around her. Raising her up into his arms, he put the jug to her lips.

She swallowed and said, “Ah, that’s good. Thank you, Seth.” She lay down again and I could see her heart jumping crazily beneath the thin material of her shift as she struggled to breathe. Her lips were parched and bloodless, as white as a clown’s face, and the chattering of her teeth shook her body.

“Who brought you here?” he asked, “When I arrived at the beach, you’d already gone under the water and disappeared. I thought it was hopeless. Oh my God, Morgan, I thought you were dead!”

“Oh, Seth, I sank, so quickly and so easily. But as soon as the mob had gone from the beach, that laughing and heckling mob,” she said with disgust, “I made myself swim, even though my skirts dragged me down deeper and deeper.” She took a deep breath. “I managed to drag myself onto the beach again and a monk found me and brought me here, an old monk dressed in a brown cloth robe with a long dark beard.” Her gaze seemed hazy and far away as she spoke. “I think he’s afraid of me—he’s heard the rumors. Anyhow, he didn’t return.”

“I told you, didn’t I? I told you to get rid of the cat!”

“Ah, but Seth, it is said that a witch floats, but I sank! What does that tell you, eh Seth? I’m no witch! Where is he? Where is my Moses, my familiar?” Her voice was very weak now, reedy and thin.

“I don’t know, Morgan,” said Seth, a catch in his voice. “I really don’t know.” He shook his head wordlessly.

She began to sob, heart rending sobs that saddened me so. Tears, salty and burning, right at the back of my eyes, threatened to spill. I moved closer and tried to tell her that Moses was safe with me and that I loved him, but they couldn’t see me. We were too far apart, centuries apart, they in the past and me in the future.

“Well, all I can suggest, love, is that you have a word with Moses, whoever he is, ’cos I’ve got a wife!”

A small man with a pot belly and a rather large walrus moustache that drooped alarmingly around his mouth stared indignantly at me whilst pointing to a woman who sat, red faced and breathless, on the bench at the top of the 199 steps. She glared suspiciously. Amidst my confusion I noticed that it wasn’t nighttime any more, and the sun shone weakly from behind scattered clouds.. Seagulls shrieked as they wheeled overhead.

“Oh,” I stammered. “I’m so sorry. I—”

“It’s all right, love.” He put his hand up, palm forward. “But as I said before, go and see this Moses and get your love life sorted, but don’t involve me. My wife’s over there, and she don’t look too pleased, you know what I mean?” He turned to the lady who was still sitting on the bench and still glaring. He inclined his head at her. “Come on, Lydia, get a move on!”

I made a hasty retreat, dodging through groups of people standing idly by the steps and, annoyingly, on the steps. I carefully made my way down, my heart thumping at the encounter with Morgan and Seth Bloom and the fact that I wanted to go back so I could find out what was happening to them, especially Morgan. And on the other hand, trying to quell the laughter that threatened to bubble up at my interaction with the little man. How strange it was that I was back in time but visible here as well. My first thought was that I must tell Rick such a brilliant story when, with a sickening feeling in my stomach, I realized I couldn’t now. Not while I was having to play an “I don’t care about you” game.

I’d reached the beach and strolled along, my boots sinking into the soft sand as I walked. I went closer to the sea and stood watching it, that great breadth of grey mirroring the sky tipped with a foamy white as it ebbed and flowed, pulling and pushing at pebbles and seaweed, and almost wetting my boots. The sea made me think of Morgan and her lucky escape after the drowning. But would she still live? I felt so sorry for her and the way she had been treated throughout her life. Her beauty and her liking for strange potions and spells, and even black cats, had gone so far against her.

Moses is my cat, I suddenly thought. And that man thought he was my boyfriend or my husband! Oh my God, how funny. I recalled what he’d said, “Get your love life sorted!” He obviously didn’t realize he’d hit the nail right on the head. Oh yes, I did need to get my love life sorted.

How I wished I could tell somebody the tale, though. Maybe I could tell Mum? No, she was going back to Leeming soon, and might not visit again if I told her anything about ghostly happenings, or indeed time travel. I knew what a scaredy cat she could be. I could tell Mabel though. Why didn’t I think of her straight away? She knew what had been going on. Yes, I’d call on her later this evening with a bottle of wine and tell all.

My spirits higher than they’d been for a while, I power walked home with long bracing steps, arms pumping at my sides like pistons. As I neared the garden gate, I saw Mum and Pete Horner standing on the path looking up at something. My mood was so good that I felt as though I could welcome Pete Horner into my house with open arms. Yes, and I’d even put the kettle on.

“Hey Mum, Pete, what are you doing?”

Mum looked at me over her shoulder, a frown on her face, “Where did this come from, Chrissie? It wasn’t here when we went out a couple of hours ago, was it, Pete?” She turned back again to look up, her neck stretched tight.

“No, you’re right there, Zandra. What is this, Jack and the bloomin’ beanstalk?” He stood there, his head tipped back, hands on his hips, an expression of awe on his face. Laughter bubbled up once again as I looked up and up. And my God, it had grown quickly. The pear tree, although very thin and willowy and bending slightly in the breeze, had grown to at least six feet tall. Just in a couple of hours. Was this some sort of record?

“Um, it’s a pear tree,” I told them. “A particularly fast-growing strain, I think.”

“Oh.” Mum still looked puzzled. “A pear tree, eh?”

“After all,” I told them, pointing at the house, “This is Pear Tree Cottage.”

“Well,” said Pete Horner, seemingly lost for words as he and Mum, shaking their heads, continued to stare at the tree. “Can you Adam and Eve it then, Zandra?”