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SNAFU Part 9

by Angharad

This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.

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I was pleased to see my parents and glad that they had stuck around. For a short time, I wasn’t sure if I was glad that my father had burst into the hospital bathroom as he did because part of me wanted to die. I also know if he hadn’t done so, I would have seriously injured myself, I might even have died. So my suffering might have eased but my parents’ would have just started and on reflection, I couldn’t do that to them. For all our collective shortcomings they loved me and I loved them. So on balance, it was probably better that they didn’t find me lying on the floor with most of my blood doing likewise. I had a quick vision of this happening and it was not at all nice, in fact, it was horrid. There is no future in suicide, I thought to myself. Then realised my unconscious pun. I chuckled to myself, and the look my mother gave me, probably meant she thought I was more than just a little bonkers.

The nurses home is a bit like some student accommodation, a bedroom with its own shower, toilet and washbasin. It is possible to have one’s own fridge and a kettle, but anything else is in a shared kitchenette, one of which graces each floor. Some of the rooms are doubles and obviously shared, some are singles. I had a single.

I have customised it a bit, with posters and pictures of various sorts. I do have a fridge and my own kettle and teapot. I’m possibly a little odd, but I prefer tea made in a pot, although I do drink it from a mug, albeit a bone china one. I’m not really a tea snob, although I do tend to buy the more expensive brands, I just know what I like. And that is, my tea poured from a pot into a thin cup or mug. I loathe drinking from a thick cup or mug, so bone china feels good.

We got back to my room, and although my mum offered to make us tea, I insisted that I should do it. It was after all my place, courtesy of the MOD or would that be DoH ? Dunno, but it hardly affects my story in any case. I made us all a nice cup of tea, thankfully the milk in the fridge was still drinkable. Mum fussed about getting under my feet, finally busying herself with washing some of my smalls in the washbasin. My dad just mooched about, looking at the piles of books on my shelves. Several were related to the course, but many were novels or general reading ones, like biographies.

“I wondered where my Tolkien had gone,” he muttered, “and my Kafka. Catherine Cookson. Jee-zus, you are not reading this crap are you?”

“It was given to me by one of the girls. I have not yet read it, nor decided if I shall read it. Don’t worry, I hid my Jeffrey Archers before you came.”

“What!” he exclaimed almost turning puce in the face.

“Joke, Daddy, just a joke.”

“Thank God for that.” He said. Then he laughed at a cartoon card I had bought. I showed a man shouting at a beautiful young woman, with a caption, ‘If you go through with this sex-change, you’ll be no son of mine!’ A bit corny but it amused me given my predicament. “Bit of a giveaway, isn’t it?”

“No one has said anything yet,” I replied, it was after all amidst many other cartoons, most of which had no gender reference at all. Lots were nurse or doctor jokes or related to the army. I had an area of wall about nine square feet, or one square yard covered in cartoons of one sort or another, mostly postcards or greetings cards, but sometimes photocopied from papers or magazines. They were my bit of fun and perhaps a bit more adult in some ways than the posters of kittens and puppies I’d seen in other girls’ rooms.

I had posters of favourite paintings. I especially liked the picture of ‘The Lady of Shalott’ by Waterhouse, having seen the original in the Tate Britain Gallery. No matter how often I saw it, I spotted something new each time, so wonderful is the detail of the pre-Raphaelites. I had a copy of a Turner and a Canaletto too, which just about filled up the space available. The wardrobe area wasn’t very big, so clothes got hung over doors and furniture as well. Whoever the architect was, he, because it was certainly a man, had never lived with a woman or had any concept of just how many clothes we need to have. My situation was made worse by the fact that every time I saw my mother, she presented me with a little ‘something’ to wear. Despite my protests, she carried on doing it. Usually, it was something really nice. Today’s offering was a beautiful silk nightdress in a pale green colour, it was exquisite. Last time it was a new leather handbag.

I had made the point earlier to her that although she appeared to listen, she didn’t hear what I was saying. It seems that old habits die hard. My dad was learning new ones, he hadn’t repossessed his books, which surprised me. Mind you, he has a house full at home. I used to joke that he could earn a few quid by lending books to the British Library because we probably had more than they did. He liked that one. Very proud of his collection, is my dad and his greatest pride is in his half a dozen first editions of Dickens and locked in a glass case, part of a manuscript in Shakespeare’s own hand. The insurance alone on it is a fortune and one of the reasons we have a burglar alarm on the house.

Every year on St George’s day, a bunch of flowers is set by the case and my father wishes the Bard a happy birthday. If I am crazy, it is probably obvious as to where it may come from.

As we sat drinking our tea, my mother asked,” How did you get on with the psychiatrist?”

“Dr Fellowes, yeah he was okay.”

“What did he say to you?”

“He asked me if I was mad. I said no, so he said I could go.”

“He didn’t, did he?” My mother’s eyes were almost out on stalks.

“Jamie stop winding your mother up and tell her what happened.”

“Okay, Daddy.” I smiled at him as I paused. “He asked me if I wanted to kill myself, and I said no. I then told him his wife had just had a car smash, only I didn’t know it was his wife, and he sort of freaked.”

“You did what?” my father demanded.

“Like I said, I saw a picture in my mind of this woman in a white Volvo crashing into a tree or something, and I got the name Beryl. It turns out it was his wife. How was I to know, I’d never met him or his wife before.”

“What was the purpose of seeing this ‘vision’?” asked my dad.

“I don’t know. He asked me why they called me ‘Spooky’ on the wards.”

“Like ‘Spooky Mulder’?” said Dad.

“Who?”

“Fox Mulder in the X-Files. It was a TV series a few years ago, maybe you are too young.” Seeing my blank look, he continued. “It was a science fiction series where these two FBI agents, Mulder and Scully, investigated various paranormal activities, UFOs, hauntings and hundreds of horrible happenings.” He smirked at his alliteration.

“I see, so Mulder was called ‘Spooky’?”

“Yes. He was trying to find his sister whom he believed to have been abducted by aliens but it was really a conspiracy with the US government and some extraterrestrials. Although there was a parallel storyline going on…”

“Tom, I don’t think Jamie needs a lecture on the X-Files, not today at any rate.”

“Yes, dear,” He meekly replied to my mother’s reprimand.

“Do they really call you ‘Spooky’? asked my mum.

“Yes. Well some of them do.”

“Why sweetheart, there’s nothing spooky about you. You’re a perfectly normal girl.” Then seeing the error in her statement, she adjusted it,” almost perfectly normal.”

“I see dead people. It’s perfectly normal like you said.”

“Wow, that’s almost a perfect line from, ‘The Sixth Sense’. Do you remember when the kid says to his mother, ‘I see dead people’.”

“Tom, will you please concentrate on the matter in hand without reference to science fiction or horror films. This is our daughter we’re talking about not some Hollywood star. This is real life, not some celluloid confection.”

“I’m sorry dear, it’s just that in one conversation we have two examples of life imitating art. I just find it fascinating.”

“That’s as maybe, Tom, but we are talking about our daughter and this is serious. She is saying that she sees dead people Tom. How many people do you know who can claim that?”

“I don’t know, love, I mean it’s hardly an ice-breaker is it, ‘Oh, by the way, can you see dead people. No? Oh that’s a pity there’s one standing behind you’.”

My mother nearly threw a pink fit, they were proceeding on parallel conversations with little opportunity to meet along the way. I was used to it they did it all the time. My dad lived in his ivory tower, my mother in a tartan one and rarely did the twain meet. But it wasn’t this which almost caused me to have convulsions, it was my father, having said about dead people standing behind someone, there was one standing behind him. Then I recognised who it was.

“Oh my God.” I felt myself go very cold.

“What is it, Jamie?” My mother rushed to my side. “What’s happened?”

“Dr Fellowes’ wife has just died.”

“How can you know that?”

“She just appeared behind Daddy”.

“What!”, he exclaimed spinning around so quickly he spilt his tea.

“She just appeared? Just like that? Did she say anything?”

“No, she just seemed lost or bemused. I just told her to go towards the light, like Gran used to say when she saw these people.”

“Has she gone?” asked my father, who had practically leapt across the room.

“Yes, Daddy. She’s gone, you’re quite safe.”

“It was you I was concerned about.” He lied very badly to us.

“Didn’t you feel anything?” I asked my mother.

“Not really dear, it might have got a bit colder, but I didn’t feel anything much at all.”

I wondered how this would complicate my return to work, did I need to continue to see Dr Fellowes, if so should I tell him what I saw. If I did would he hold it against me? I looked at my watch and noted the time. It was nearly four o clock, I would check the facts, but I was certain she had died at about that time.

An hour after we got back the phone rang. When I answered it, the voice I listened to made my heart melt. “Jamie, where have you been? I came by the hospital and you were gone, I phoned your room and there was no answer. The ward nurses wouldn’t tell me anything, but their demeanour tended to suggest something less than positive. I was beginning to get quite worried.”

“I’m flattered by your concern.” My heart was fluttering, but for the nicest of reasons. I could see him in my mind’s eye, those grey eyes. I could drown in those grey pools. What a lovely way to go, I mused. For the moment my concerns about my imperfections were lost to my mind. Exactly the same had happened when he was with me, I was so distracted by his good looks and sparkling personality that I stopped thinking altogether, just enjoying the moment.

“Tonight I’m free, are you.”

“No I’m always very expensive, but I could be on special offer to the right person.”

“Look, princess, I don’t have a lot of time, so are you available tonight or not?”

“Ooh, I do like a masterful man!” I joked. “I was going out with my parents, as they’re going home tomorrow.”

“Oh well, some other time then.” As he was saying this my father was saying something in my other ear.

“John, hang on, my father’s trying to tell me something.” My father gave me a message. “He says why don’t you come as well, make up a foursome. They’d love to see you again. Personally, I think Daddy is just looking for someone intelligent to chat to.” He ummed and aahed for a minute or two but my insistence eventually made him say yes.

As soon as I put the phone down, I realised what I’d done. “What am I going to wear? Am I leading him on? What happens when he finds out about me?” I spouted these questions out loud to myself.

My mother picked me up on them. “While I understand that you want to make the right impression on him, he has seen you at your worst, and unconscious too. I don’t think you are leading him on, as he’s doing all the chasing. However, it might be a good idea not to wear anything too exciting to the male physiology. They’re more affected by their hormones than we are.”

“Objection.” Quipped my dad.

“Objection overruled, ” continued my mother. “As for telling him about your little secret, let him get to know you first, then if the relationship develops pick your time and tell him. You are only just out of school, you don’t have to sacrifice your virginity yet.”

“Mum I’m eighteen for goodness sake, I’m a grown-up in case you hadn’t noticed. Half the girls in school had lost their virginity by the age of fifteen, two from my year had babies by then.”

“I think your mother’s quite correct.” My father added his weight to her argument. I thought if he quotes Shakespeare at me once more, I shall scream.

“I didn’t say she wasn’t.” I protested, “all I meant was… Oh forget it, I need to think about what I shall wear and I need to shower. Where are we going to eat?”

“That pub on the outskirts, we passed it on the way in, not far from the river.”

“No, I’m not going there, Daddy.”

“It looks ever so nice.”

“I’m not going.”

“What about John? He thinks you are.”

“I am not going anywhere near the river.” I began to shout at him.

“Just calm down, girl, what ever’s the matter?”

“I’m not going, I’m not, I’m not.” I was verging on hysterical by now.

My mother put her arm around me and I cried on her shoulder. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” she hugged me and rubbed my back.

I tried to speak but the words just stuck in my throat. “You don’t want to go near the river, is that it?” I nodded my response.

“Is that where this horrible thing happened?” she asked me calmly, and I again nodded my reply. “Okay, sweetheart, don’t let it upset you, we’ll go somewhere else. So come on, just try and let it go, think about something nicer. Remember too, that your father and I will be there, so will John, so nothing short of an army would be able to hurt you.”

“I’m sorry.” Said my dad as he hugged the two of us. “I didn’t think.” Thankfully, my mother chose not to berate my father as she often did.

The moment of anxiety over, I busied myself with the practicalities of showering and dressing for the evening, my parents had gone back to their hotel to change. I had just got out of the shower when I heard the phone ring. Wrapping a towel around myself I went to answer it. I expected it to be my Mum or Dad, perhaps even John asking if we needed to go out with the ‘oldies’. However, I had quite a shock when the caller spoke.

“Jamie?” said a half-familiar male voice.

“Yes,” I answered.

“It’s Dr Fellowes.”

“Oh, hello, doctor.”

“My wife has just died.” His voice was full of sadness.

“I’m very sorry to hear that. Please accept my condolences.” What do you say to someone who is so recently bereaved? I felt awful.

“You knew already didn’t you.” His tone was mildly accusatory, but not aggressively so.

“How would I know?” I threw back at him. “What happened, she only had a broken leg?”

“Pulmonary embolism following surgery. She had just come round from the surgery and recognised me. She was a bit woozy. I just held her hand and talked to her, like you do with someone who isn’t quite with it. Then in mid-sentence,k she opened her eyes wide, said ‘she loved me and that she had to see Jamie’ she smiled and died.

“I am so sorry.”

“Thank you. I need to get my head around this. I can’t believe…… You know, what I mean.”

“Of course I do.” I felt tears welling up in my own eyes just listening to this man dealing with the first stages of his loss. His distress was almost palpable.

“I need to speak to you.”

“How do you think I can help?”

“You knew she had gone, didn’t you?” A little more emphatic this time.

“I don’t know what you mean.” I really didn’t want into this conversation at this time. I looked at my watch, I had just about an hour to dry my hair and get ready, and I hadn’t chosen my outfit. I needed to get rid of him.

“She came to you, didn’t she?” He was quite insistent.

“How could she, she was with you in a hospital bed.” I felt a bit anxious now and tried to keep off the spooky stuff.

“She said she was coming to you.”

“Dr Fellowes, you know very well that people in extremis say and do very strange things. It could have been caused by the anaesthetic, or…”

“Please don’t patronise me, young lady. I know plenty about near-death experiences, endorphins and other things.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t talking down to you.”

“I know what science says. I spent goodness knows how many years training. I know all that. What I don’t know is how a patient I am talking to sees my wife being carted off in an ambulance at a distance of several miles, without any direct line of sight. How can that happen?”

“I don’t know,” I responded weakly.

“But you do know, don’t you? Because these things happen to you regularly don’t they?”

“Dr Fellowes, you are making enormous assumptions about me. I have to go because my parents are due in a moment. I’m sorry about your wife, but I have to go.” With that, I put down the phone and hoped he would leave me in peace, although I knew he wouldn’t.

I glanced at my watch, oh no, only forty minutes left! I scrambled back to the bathroom and had just reached it when the phone rang again. On answering it I discovered it to be Dr Fellowes again. He sounded a little slurred in his speech, I politely told him to leave me alone.

Back to the bathroom, drying my hair with one hand and applying an underarm deodorant with t’other when the phone rang again. I ignored it and carried on but it’s ringing was insistent and just went on and on. I ignored it some more but it was beginning to get to me, eventually, I picked it up and screeched down the handset, “Go away Dr Fellowes, I don’t want to speak to you now.”

“Hey there!” It wasn’t the aforesaid trick cyclist, it was John. Oh, bugger.
“What’s happening, princess? Who’s this Dr Fellowes? Why is he bothering you?”

I began to sniff, I’d blown it again. Once John realised how cookie I was he’d be off like a rocket. Why do I always blow it? I very much like him, yet part of me was frightened about him learning of my secret and how he would react. That part of me would feel real relief if he did clear off.

“You alright?”

I sort of sniffed and snorted a response that I was, I also managed to divert him away from any more questions about the good doctor. “What did you ring for?”

“Oh that, where are your parents staying or where are we meeting?”

“This is going to sound really silly, but I don’t know.”

“Okay, so just tell me where to meet you all?” He sounded a little irritated by my answer.

“Are you on your mobile?”

“Yeah.”

“Give me the number and I’ll call them and phone you back.” He did and I managed to get hold of my father, who told me where he had made reservations. I also asked him to give me a few more minutes to get ready, his response was simply a sighed “women”. I informed John of the arrangements and told him we’d meet him at the restaurant.

My head was buzzing as I slapped on some makeup. I don’t use much anyway, just some lippie and mascara, and tonight a little bit of blue eye crayon as eyeliner, and some definition for my eyebrows with a ‘blonde’ eyebrow pencil.

I kept my hair simple, rubbed in some gel and dried it sort of shaggy. Once upon a time I’d have thought it looked like something the cat had dragged through a hedge, but now I quite liked the casual look. Especially as I didn’t have time to do anything else! I was ready, well I was apart from the fact that I was wearing a bath towel and nothing else.

I threw on a peach coloured bra and pants, that was the easy bit, now what to wear. Of course, when I have all day to think about it, I can usually make my mind up despite the inadequacies of my wardrobe. Although I remembered one Sunday when I lay in bed trying to decide what to wear, and it took me two hours to decide, then a further hour and a half of trying on and rejecting stuff. Sounds fanciful doesn’t it, but it’s true and I was only going down the pub with a few of the girls. Some days I just can’t decide what I want to wear except to say that I know what I don’t want to wear and that’s pretty well everything I have in my wardrobe.

The matter is made worse by the time available or the options. It is possible to have too much choice or too much time. Tonight, expediency was the major factor. I had about fifteen minutes max to decide and wear it. With this in mind, I went to the wardrobe and pulled out a lacy green top with a lining and a pair of green corduroy trousers, which were decorated around the seams with green satiny material. The green of both was a sage colour and I slipped on a pair of black loafer shoes.

So I wasn’t dressed to the nines, but I was comfortable and I’d be warm enough. I was so fed up with crazy psychiatrists and the questions which would ensue from John finding out about my earlier calls, that I didn’t care. Part of me would have preferred an evening in with a good book or video and on my own. But I couldn’t let down any of the three people I was going to be with, so that was end to it. I was spritzing some perfume when my dad knocked on my door, so I grabbed my black leather ‘bum-freezer’ jacket and bag and we left.

Mum was in the car and she smiled and greeted me. I sat in the back thinking that I’d better tell them about Dr Fellowes’ calls. As we drove I brought them up to date. My mother was a bit concerned about what might happen in the future, I told her I hoped the good doctor would eventually get over his grief and get on with his life. But I had something of a foreboding that she could be right. How do I get into these situations?

We arrived at the ‘John Bull’ hotel and restaurant, John was already there and offered to buy a round of drinks. I wasn’t driving so I had a glass of wine as did Mum. Unusually my father had a soft drink, while John had a shandy. As everyone knew each other at least I could forgo the introductions, and within a couple of minutes, Dad and John were talking sport while Mum and I were into clothes.

“I like that top Jamie.” Said my mum, “it goes nicely with those trousers.”

“You don’t think I under-dressed, do you?” Mum shook her head in response to my query. She was wearing a skirt and cardigan which suited her very well. The skirt was a paisley pattern of reds and black, and her cardi was black. I glanced at the boys, my dad was in a beige sweater and trousers. I knew the sweater well, I bought for him for the previous Christmas. It was easy to see why he was wearing it. John was in a blue checked shirt and best jeans. He could look good wearing almost anything, including just a smile! And part of me quite fancied seeing him wearing just that.

The men were still deep in their conversation about the teams at the top of the football league, which surprised me a little. After all, my dad was a rugby supporter so all he knew about football was gained via the newspapers or one in particular. But then perhaps most sports discussion was a combination of speculation and bullshit. Secretly, I was hoping that John was not a fervent sports fan, because the idea of standing on touchlines or even sitting in grandstands on weekend afternoons, was not my idea of fun. Long walks in the country or even cycle rides, but football held no appeal for me.

Finally, we were called to go into the restaurant, and seated around a table the conversation became more general and open to we women.

We discussed the menu, which was nothing too exciting. Dad opted for a curry with a soup starter. Mum went for a chicken casserole and prawns for her starter. John decided he would have pate followed by steak pie. When it came to me, I suddenly didn’t feel that hungry. I knew the matter of the phone calls was bound to arise and it had a suppressant effect upon my appetite. After much thought, and urging from my parents, I eventually settled for a melon starter with a tuna jacket potato for my main course.

“Is that all you want Jamie?” asked my dad looking a bit concerned.

“Yeah, I’m really not that hungry, and I could do with losing a spot of weight.” I replied.

“From where?” said John eyeing me up. “From where I’m sitting, I can’t see anything that needs improving.” Of course, I blushed like a radioactive beetroot. My mother seeing my embarrassment smiled kindly at me.

We started our meals. When John began his probing. “Who is this Dr Fellowes?”

“Someone I saw after the attack, reckoned I had PTSD.”

“Post-traumatic..” he struggled with the syndrome’s name.

“Stress disorder” I finished for him.

“Not surprising. Coppers get it too from some of the things we see and hear.” There was general agreement around the table. “So why was he calling you at home and why were you upset with him.” I could feel his eyes boring straight through me, he was in policeman mode and it was the first time I felt uncomfortable with him.

“It’s not important.” I tried to shrug off his question.

“Yes, it is, princess. Or let me rephrase that. It’s important to me to understand why a doctor should have a bad effect upon one of his patients and why he should be ringing out of hours upsetting her.”

I shrugged my shoulders and thought, I am beginning to like this bloke a lot but I have several foibles which might put him off, let’s see what happens when I let drop one of the more acceptable ones.

“His wife died, he got drunk and called me a few times.”

“Why call you? Doesn’t he have any friends or colleagues?”

“Not with my qualifications.”

“Pray what are those. Forgive my lack of understanding, but I thought you were a student nurse.”

“I am.”

“Surely he knows all sorts of psychiatrists and mental nurses and doctors and counsellors. Why you? What can you do they can’t.” I could sense my parents growing uneasy and uncomfortable. I also knew my father was seconds away from intervening despite the looks my mother was aiming at him.

“Jamie sees dead people.” Dad had decided we would beat around this bush no longer.

“Right.” Said John looking bemused. “So you see dead people, like ghosts and things?” It was patently not his normal sphere of reference and he was now looking a bit uncomfortable.

“Yes.” Replied my dad.

“So what’s it got to do with Dr Whatshisname?”

“Jamie saw his wife as she died.” Continued my dad.

“Were you at her bedside or something?” John was really out of his comfort zone.

“We were actually in her room having a pot of tea when Jamie saw her in the room.”

“Did the rest of you see her?” John was trying to act like a sceptic, trying to keep it in his sense of reality, in his world.

“No we didn’t.” asserted my father, “but we did note the time.”

“And…” queried John.

“She died at or about that time.”

“So why was this doctor chap interested in you?” he addressed the question to me.

I decided that I’d had enough of his playing the cop with me and came out fighting. Good looking or not, I’d had enough. “See this hand.” I lifted my still bandaged limb in the air. John nodded. “Well the reason it’s bandaged is because I cut it while trying to kill myself. Dad here managed to prevent me.”

“Because of the attack?”

“Yes, no, maybe. I don’t know. But I certainly seemed to know at the time. So I got referred to see Dr Fellowes.”

“Okay, so he was the shrink trying to sort this suicide attempt.”

“Yes. He then asked me about my working relationships and I told him. He, however, had done some research and learned that some of my colleagues call me ‘Spooky’.”

“As in spooks meaning ghost.”

“Yes. Is there another meaning?”

“Yes, the secret intelligence services have operatives, or spies called spooks.”

“Yes, of course, they do. It wasn’t the latter. I saw the odd person who had just died walking about the ward and when I mentioned it, some of them got a bit scared. It seems to push buttons for some of them.”

“So where does Dr Fellowes come into this?”

“I saw his wife’s accident.”

“Really or ‘spookily’ for want of a better word.”

“I was in the hospital being interviewed by Dr Fellowes when I saw it in my mind’s eye, or at least got bits of it.”

“So she died in the accident?”

“No, she broke her leg quite badly and died later from an embolism post-surgically. She appeared to me, and according to Fellowes, said she was going to see me. Then I saw her in my room as she died.”

“So you saw her or thought you did at the time she died? “

“I saw her and spoke to her.”

“Right.” Although he was accepting politely what I was saying, it was easy to tell what he was thinking, and that wasn’t acceptance.

Watching him struggle with his understanding of what had happened was painful but I knew it was a barrier we needed to cross if we had a future of any sort. Just then I saw a uniformed military policeman walk up behind John. He said nothing but came close enough for me to read his name badge. It read, ’Barnes G.’ I saw my mother shiver and she looked at me.

“John who is Lance Corporal George Barnes?” I asked, quickly glancing at my mum.

John went pale, then said, “Have you been poking about in my past?”

“No. I just saw a tall man in military police uniform come up behind you look at you with some affection and then leave. He came close enough for me to read his badge.”

“You just saw that.” He asked shaking his head.

“I have no reason to lie about this or anything else. I should like you to do the same.”

“Of course, princess.” He nodded, then after a sigh, he told us about George. “We were on a mission in the middle east, I can’t tell you much detail, but it went wrong and George got killed. Well, I managed to get him back to friendly territory but he died while they were preparing to operate.”

“He got stabbed.” I offered.

“Yes. How do you know that it wasn’t common knowledge.”

“Jamie knows these things,” said my father.

“He told me. Caught his spleen.”

“Jesus! No one knew that except me and the doctor who examined him. He bled to death.”

“He said, ‘he appreciated your efforts to save him’.”

“He’d have done the same for me.”

“Yes, he just said so.”

“You mean he’s still here?”

“No, he’s done what he wanted, to thank you.”

“Bloody hell, I feel all goose-bumps,” he shuddered as he said it. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I believe what you just said, but I know you believe it was real.”

“George was real alright.” I countered. “He also asked what you did with the watch he gave you.”

“Fu…Oops. That is really clever. How in God’s name did you find out about the watch? No one knew about that watch.” He was very confused now and desperate to protect his reality.

“I think that’s enough, Jamie.” Said my mother. I was about to say another thing when she gave me one of her looks, so I let it wither on the vine.

“Can you honestly see these people? I mean has anyone else seen them too?” John was desperately trying to keep at least one foot in his own world where these things don’t happen.

“I don’t know, I’ve never asked anyone else when I’ve seen them. No that’s not quite true. I remember asking Captain Brice if she’d seen the same things I saw when we laid some flowers on Lisa’s grave.” My mind drifted back to that day and for a moment I felt sad, then I recalled how cheerful Lisa had been when I’d ‘visited’ her and that felt better.

“Did she see the same things?”

“No, but she saw something I didn’t. She saw my grandmother standing near me.”

“So do you reckon these ghosts haunt people rather than places?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a psychic investigator just a bit psychic.”

“More than a bit, from what I’ve seen and heard,” said John. “I reckon you’re better than most of these mediumistic types who do these stage shows.”

“No, I’m not.” I protested. “Oh my goodness!” I exclaimed.

“What’s happening?” asked John.

“Can you use your official channels to find Dr Fellowes? I think he has just overdosed or something similar.”

“I don’t know. If you’re wrong, I’m in deep cack.”

“If I’m right, then Dr Fellowes is in exactly that position now.”

“Just for you, princess.” He got out his mobile and speed-dialled his office. “Hi Barry it’s John. Can you do me a favour? Can you do an urgent check on a Dr Fellowes, a local shrink. Yeah, a tip-off has just told me he may be in serious trouble. Yeah get the local plod, but make it snappy or we’re gonna have a DOA on our hands. Yeah, it’s that serious. Good man. Thanks, mate. Bye.” He paused looking at me. ”If you’re wrong, I am in deep doo-doo.”

“What did you see, Jamie?” asked Mum.

“I had this funny pain and suddenly saw Dr Fellowes lying down on the floor somewhere. It felt like his home, but I’m not sure.” Then to John, I added, “Thanks for believing in me and for sticking your neck out.”

“For you, princess, I’d say ‘anytime’, but please don’t do it to me again.”

“I’ll try not to.” I blushed at him, he had taken quite a risk if I was wrong. “But you do have this habit of saving my bacon.”

“Yeah, well the first time was pure coincidence. I just happened on the scene. I was just driving along when I thought I saw a lioness walk across the road and into the bushes.”

At this point I felt myself trying to grow physically smaller, my father noticing me squirm said, ”Jamie, what does this mean?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Daddy,” I responded as innocently as I could whilst thinking, now John will really know how strange I am and we haven’t got on to my medical history yet.

“What are you suggesting here, Tom?” asked my rescuer.

“Jamie has some strange link with lionesses.” Suggested my father and my mother fired him a withering glance, while I wanted nothing more than the ground to swallow me up.

“What do you mean? How can someone in this country call up some big cat from a country thousands of miles away, unless you count zoos.” John seemed bewildered.

“What if the lions aren’t real?” postulated my dad.

“You trying to tell me that I hallucinated a lioness while driving?”

“In a sense yes, but if I put it that, what happened was Jamie is in real danger and her guardian angel or this Eye of Re thing intervenes by producing something which will make you stop and save her. Which in this case is the lion crossing the road.”

“You trying to tell me that I was set up by some ghost?”

“Tell him, Jamie, about your little Egyptian friend, and how it shook me out of bed one night.” My dad continued despite my mother looking daggers at him.

“What Egyptian friend is this, princess?”

“I don’t know, perhaps it’s something to do with a past life as a priestess in the temple of Sekhmet, the lioness goddess. I honestly don’t know if it’s real or imaginary or what. But when I was attacked and unable to save myself, I did call for help from the goddess, I don’t know why, and you appeared shortly after. Coincidence or what I don’t know, but she is not someone to mess with.”

“So if she’s so bloody powerful, why didn’t she save you herself?”

“She did, but used you as her agent.” I felt a little apprehensive about where this was going. I certainly didn’t want any further demonstrations of her power and John seemed intent on provoking something the way he was going.

“Why?” he asked, “Why me?”

“Perhaps we were destined to meet.” I didn’t know and said so.

“Well I’m glad we did, but I don’t for one second believe all that stuff about ancient goddesses. Can you call her up now and give us a demo.” He almost belittled me in his jest.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.” My mother had at last joined the conversation having ceased trying to cause my father to disappear with a glance. “We experienced what can happen one night at home when the whole house shook like some earth tremor. It is not one bit humorous.”

John was about to come back at her but decided against it, instead, saying he accepted what she said but that it was beyond his experience, so he found it hard to believe. At the same time, I knew he would do some research as soon as he could.

The meal ended without much more incident, except one. As we were finishing, John’s mobile rang. It was his colleague to say the local police had visited Dr Fellowes and he was critically ill with a suspected OD, so he had been rushed to hospital. John became a little less ebullient after that, he also didn’t see the lioness walk across the dining room just before we left, but I did and I suspect my mother did too.