Secrets and Shadows

Chapter 5-1

He wasn’t looking forward to the evening at all, but his wife was insistent.

Newcastle United were playing Real Madrid in the Champions League, the game showing live on Sky Sports and he’d far rather be watching that than going through this purgatory again, but Janet wouldn’t listen. They’d already had one row about it before leaving the house.

Donald Jarrett drive slowly down Chapel Street, in the Easedale district of West Garside, looking for a space to park

‘There’ pointed Janet, ‘behind that blue Golf.’

‘Yeah, I see.’

He signalled and expertly reversed the silver Volvo S90 into the space.

‘Are you sure we have to go through this again?’ he asked again.

‘Yes, we do,’ Janet snapped in annoyance and got out of the car before Donald could say anything else. .With a heavy sigh of resignation, he waited for a car to pass before getting out, catching her up as she strode away.

‘Listen Janet, I told you, Newcastle are playing tonight. Big important game. Real Madrid. I don’t really want to miss it, you know? Can’t we just go back home and forget about this nonsense?’

‘Football’s more important to you than your daughter, is that what you’re telling me?

‘No. No, it’s not that. You know it’s not that,’ he said as he tried to take her arm. ‘But she’s gone, Janet. Gone. And we have to move on. You know that. And you know you’ll only get upset all over again.’

The heels on Janet’s shoe clacked angrily as she pushed past his arm.

‘No, you’re wrong. I do get comfort, Donald. Solace. There are often other people who’ve been through the same thing, who’ve had similar tragedies. I can talk to them.’ She stopped, a tear rolling down her face, angrily she wiped it away.

‘You won’t ever talk about it, Donald. Ever. And I’m always thinking about it. She’s on my mind all day, every single day and I have to understand what happened. I need to know why. What did we do so wrong, so very wrong that she ended up like that? Didn’t we love her enough? I need to know and it’s killing me, and this is the only way I’ll ever find out.’

‘Spiritualism? Communing with the dead? It’s bollocks, Janet. All bollocks. You know it and I know it, but you just won’t admit it to yourself.’

.’Well I’m going. Don’t come if you don’t want to. Take the car and go home, watch your stupid bloody football. I’ll walk home,’ and at that Janet strode away again.

Donald caught up with her. ‘No, no, don’t be like that. I’ll come, of course I’ll come, but this is the last time, OK? The very last one. The very last time we waste our time and money on rubbish like this.

‘No Donald, I’ll go whenever I want to, but you don’t have to come anymore. You don’t believe in it anyway.’

‘No, no I don’t. I think they’re all con-men, preying on the emotionally distressed. If you want my opinion, these so called spiritualists, whatever you want to call them, are frauds and con-men.’

‘But you miss the point, don’t you, if bereaved people find some comfort, some solace, what’s the harm?’

‘It means that they’re taking money under false presences. It’s fraud however you look at it’.

’Fine! You’ve made your point. Can we go in now?’

The Easedale Community Hall had been built in the 1950’s; flat-roofed with a pebble dash and paint exterior, it looked shabby, unwanted and it was only the dedication of volunteer workers that kept it open, with bingo nights, children’s parties, ballet lessons, art, yoga, tai chi and activities such as this evenings event.

It began to rain again as Donald and Janet hurried up to the doorway of the hall. A flyer mounted in a glass fronted outdoor notice board proclaimed:

AN EVENING OF SPIRITUALISM

Do you want to communicate with Your Dear Departed Loved-ones?

The renowned spiritualist and clairvoyant SEBASTION SERRANO will hold a meeting at the Easedale Community Centre, Chapel Street, West Garside

Wednesday 15 August at 7.30 pm.

All are Welcome.

Private Consultations are available by prior appointment.

Admission: Advance Tickets: £17.00 for purchase at: sales@spiritualism4U.com

At the door: £18.00. cash only.

Janet handed their tickets to a girl volunteer wearing a purple T shirt with Easedale Community Centre in yellow letters embroidered across the chest. She directed them into smaller side room rather than the main hall

‘Not many people have bought tickets for tonight,’ she told them, ‘so Sebastian thought it might be more intimate in the small room, more conducive for the spirits, he says,’ but the look on her face clearly showed what she thought of it all.

Red plastic chairs had been laid out in a shallow curving layout facing one end of the room. At most there were twenty people in the audience and so Donald and Janet could take seats in the second row as another half dozen people trickled into the room and took their seats.

Donald looked around him, curling his lip in disdain at the cheap, shoddy surroundings, grey vinyl tiles on the floor, off-white paint with a greenish tinge on the walls, fissured ceiling tiles laid on a white enamelled grid and suspended fluorescent strip lighting, ‘Jesus, this guy, whatever his name, Serrano, must be at the bottom of the spiritualist’s league if this is the best venue he can get.’.

‘Jesus, this guy, whatever his name, Serrano, must be at the bottom of the spiritualist’s league if this is the best venue he can get.’Donald Jarrett was 58 years old, a shade under 6’0’’ tall with a full head of greying blonde hair. He was successful, well-respected in the business community, liked in his neighbourhood but as with his wife Janet, his world had been turned upside down with the death of his daughter. Julia’s death had ripped his heart to shreds, he thought about her every day. He lay in bed at night unable to sleep for the pain of it and so found Janet’s accusations that he did not care intensely hurtful.

All right, he knew that he internalised his grief, held it inside of him and maybe did not express it as openly as others might. But it did not mean that he did not care. That he was not torn apart and hurting but life goes on, must go on, and to his mind, these seances and spiritualist meetings, far from being a healing process as Janet claimed, simply kept the wounds open and raw, bringing a fresh injection of grief that every failed attempt to contact Julia from beyond the shades of death brought with it.

.They had journeyed across Yorkshire and Derbyshire to countless seances and spiritualist meetings in search of the answers Janet craved; to Sheffield, Huddersfield, Leeds, Scarborough Chesterfield, Derby and Buxton. Janet scoured the internet for details of forthcoming meetings, hundreds of miles driven, hundreds of pounds in entrance fees, And all of it for nothing.

Janet’s life was on hold and tonight’s miserable offering was not going to be any different.

He checked his watch again, almost 7.30. ‘Maybe this farce’ll be over soon, and I can get back for the second half’ but to his annoyance Serrano did not enter until 7.40, as a smattering of applause greeted his arrival. ‘About bloody time,’ Donald thought.

Maybe this farce’ll be over soon, and I can get back for the second half’About bloody timeHe was younger than Janet expected, mid-thirties possibly, quite short, short brown hair that had already retreated to the top of his head, he was wearing a blue denim jacket, pale blue open-necked shirt, cream linen trousers and tan Timberland loafers without socks and held a microphone in his right hand. He spread his arms out in welcome and gave his audience a beaming smile, any disappointment he felt at the meagre numbers well hidden.

‘Good evening and welcome, ladies and gentlemen, especially gentlemen, as I do know there are some important football matches this evening. Unfortunately, even though I am clairvoyant I cannot tell you what the scores will be.’

‘Tosser!’ thought Donald, determined to be scornful about the entire event.

‘Tosser!‘Firstly, a word of caution’, Serrano continued, ‘the spirit world is not at our beck and call. It is not like picking up a telephone or texting on your mobile to make contact and receive a message. Now I am hopeful, nay confident, that we shall contact loved ones who have passed but of course this cannot be guaranteed.’

Donald leaned over to whisper in Janet’s ear, ‘See, he’s making his excuses already if he can’t communicate with anybody. Like I told you, a fraud.’

‘Shushhhhhh,’ she hissed back at him.

Serrano spread his arms out again. ‘Now, if I can have some quiet and we’ll begin. And please turn off your mobiles, there is nothing more distressing than a mobile phone going off when we are in middle of a communication. Thank you.’

There a rustling of clothes as mobiles were pulled out from pockets or from the depths of handbags and turned off. Donald pretended turn his off also, but only put it onto silent, he fully intended to check on the Newcastle/Real Madrid score as often as he could.

Serrano took in deep theatrical breath, closed his eyes and steepled his hands together as if in prayer, resting his chin on his fingertips. For a minute or two he stood like that, the silence broken only by a discreet cough. He opened his eyes, stared up at the ceiling before taking another deep breath.

‘I’m getting…getting…a William? Do we have a William with us tonight?’

An elderly man seated four seats away from Janet and Donald raised his hand and as Janet looked around, another slightly younger man towards the rear also raised his hand.

‘Oh, there are two of you. I’m getting William’s wife. Have either of you gentlemen lost a wife, a wife who passed over recently?’

Both men raised their arms, although the man seated close to Janet and Donald stood up and glared angrily at the other, as if accusing him of deliberately interfering with the contact with his departed wife.

‘Hey, once again, the both of you, Right. Well I’m sorry to say that it is not coming through very clearly, just now. Whoever it was seems to have gone for the moment, but we’ll try again later. Please sit down, sir, I can feel your black aura and it is disturbing the spirit world. Please sit.’

With another furious glare at the other bereaved man, he sat down with as much of a display of disgust as he could muster. Sebastian Serrano took a deep breath, desperate to bring the meeting back under control.

‘Sorry gents’ he said soothingly, ‘I know that you are anxious to hear from your loved ones, but a hostile atmosphere is not forthcoming, not welcoming for the spirits. As I say, the spirit world can be fickle at times, but I am getting something through now.’

He let the anticipation rise, if nothing else he knew how to work an audience. After a stretched out pause he finally said, ’Doris, I’m getting the name Doris. Is there a Doris with us tonight?’

A rather large elderly lady with blue tinted hair, wearing a yellow flowered dress raised her hand, and then stood up.

‘I’m Doris. Doris Parsons. Is it for me?’

‘Hello Doris. Doris love, I’m hearing Henry, Does the name Henry mean anything to you?’

‘Henry? Henry, yes, my husband.’

‘Doris, I have Henry with me now. You lost him recently, is that right?’