Chapter 2

As I gazed on the contents, a female voice spoke to me.

“You’re back!”

I laughed, nervously.

“What’s wrong with my back?”

There was a sound like tinkling bells.

“Most would have screamed or fainted. You did neither. You’re not normal.”

“You’re absolutely right. I’m not normal and I have a doctors’ certificate to prove it!”

This time it sounded more like a giggle.

“Have you come to take away my precious things, the only things that make my time here bearable?”

“In truth, that’s what I’ve planned. However, while I do so, I may be living here to redecorate. The house really needs it. My name is Marcello, but most call me Marcie. Am I speaking to the ghost of Geraldine?”

“Yes, young man. You have no idea how boring it’s been, stuck up here for eternity.”

I laughed.

“Five minutes talking to a ghost, and it tells me I’ve no idea. That’s the story of my life. Since I was tiny, I’ve been told that I have no idea. They can’t understand that I just think differently!”

“You remind me of Pablo when you talk like that. He thought in different ways. Tell me that you’re a starving artist and that will really make my century.”

“I’m an artist, but not starving.”

“You’ll have to show me some of your paintings then. You’ll have to bring them up, I can’t leave here while all my belongings are with me.”

“I’ll do that. I’ll be right back.”

I climbed down and went to the kitchen where I had put my backpack. I pulled out the laptop and took it back to the attic. I put it on one of the small chests and opened it up, finding my picture file and bringing up the pictures as a slide show. I stood back and waited as the pictures appeared, one by one. Finally, they reached the end. I stood, wondering what she would say, this woman who knew Picasso.

“They are very good. What is this wonderful machine?”

“It’s a computer. When you were alive, they were still large and almost stupid, but in the years since, they have got smaller and a lot brainier. We even have the web now.”

“I see no spiders, young Marcello. You’re pulling my leg.”

I took my telco USB out of my pocket and plugged it in, finding the Wikipedia site for Jacqueline and standing back again, then scrolling down when she asked for more.

“Oh! Poor Jacquie. She was depressed after Pablo died. She wrote me very sad letters. Shooting herself is very drastic. I wonder if she is also condemned to haunt their house. Your pictures, you have not painted them? I am reminded of my own. They should still be in the house if my husband didn’t burn them.”

“I spoke to Albert last night. He said he used to do your garden. He spoke kindly of you but wasn’t so kind about your husband. He wondered if your husband had murdered you, with his friend, the doctor covering it up.”

“He’s right. He smothered me as I was in bed. I haunted him for a while, talking to him in his dreams. He ended up getting the doctor to help him put my things up here. After that, I was trapped. Albert was a nice man. If he’s still alive, it can’t be that long since I died.”

“It’s just over forty years. He must be close to eighty. If your things keep you here, would me taking them downstairs allow you to leave the attic?”

“That’s possible.”

“The agent is coming around tomorrow. I won’t move anything until he’s been. I asked him if I could live here and redecorate the house for him. I expect that it could take up to six months if I have work to go to as well. When he’s gone, I’ll take your things down and we’ll see if you can be released.”

“That would be wonderful! I could tell you what the house used to look like if others have made alterations.”

“There is one which must be recent; there’s a conservatory off the kitchen. It looks like there had been a small casual dining room there.”

“That’s where I used to paint. The window had the best light. A conservatory would make a wonderful place for you to recreate those pictures on canvas.”

I thanked her for being such a nice ghost, and she thanked me for speaking to her so normally. We decided that it was because I knew her name allowed me to hear her, as she had spoken to me the last time I was there, but I hadn’t heard her. Before I went back down, she told me that there were photos under the hats. I had a look and saw what she looked like.

There was a picture of her in the garden, wearing a summer dress and looking lovely. The garden was much tidier than it was now. The tenants had done some work to keep it tidy, but it must have been glorious fifty years ago. I took the picture with me as I put the lights out, hearing her tell me that she was looking forward to my next visit.

I lowered the ladder a bit and went back up, closing the trapdoor onto the upright, then easing the ladder away and shortening it so I could store it in the box room, behind the rubbish. I took my computer back down to the conservatory and sat in one of the tattered wicker chairs that were there. I made myself a cup of tea and thought long and hard.

Then I got my sketchbook out of my backpack and went around every room in the house with a tape measure. Getting the sizes and calculating the amount of paint needed came easily to me. Making notes on the repairs needed, as well as the changes I would make if the house was mine, I spent the rest of the day there, only leaving to go and get a take-away on the way back to my flat.

While I ate, I thought about what I felt, talking to a woman who had been dead more than forty years. I agreed with Albert; she was very nice, a gentle soul who needed company. I hoped that I would be able to give her the company she craved. I put my laptop on charge and sat looking at the pictures I had shown her, thinking about any changes I would make if I painted them on canvas.

The next morning, I had my sketchbook handy for when the agent came around, and spent some time in the front garden, pulling weeds and pruning. When I had looked at the back, it resembled a jungle that could wait a while longer. The agent parked outside and came in. We shook hands and I gave him the tour of the house, with my suggestions for colours and estimates of the paint needed. Some walls had old wallpaper, which we both agreed had to go.

He had a pocket recorder which he spoke into with each room as we agreed on a plan. I told him that I would transfer my things from the flat if he was happy with what we had talked about.

“Marcie, I’m very happy with what you are planning to do. If you vacate your flat and live here, I’ll refund you the bond and relet it, but promise that I’ll have another for you when you have finished here. I don’t know if I’ll relet this place or just sell it.”

“What do you think it’ll be worth?”

“At the moment, about six-fifty as a doer-upper. If you do a good job, I think I could ask eight, and settle for seven-fifty for a cash or bank cheque sale. I’ve estimated that what you’ll need to do the work will come to about twenty thousand. I’ll organise a bin with a lid and the first lot of paints. Have you decided which rooms you’ll do first?”

“I would like to do the kitchen and the main bedroom first. That will give me a place to sleep as I do the rest.”

“All right, I’ll order those colours to be delivered, along with brushes and rollers. I suppose that you’ll be spending some time with your paying job.”

“If I can, I’ll ask to be only called on container filling. If I’m not paying rent, I’ll be able to live on a bit less income. That conservatory looks good to paint in. You never know, I might sell a painting or two.”

“That would be brilliant, Marcie. You seem a lot more confident in yourself these days. Maybe this project will help. The only thing I ask is that you take pictures of each room as you work, before and after shots, so I can keep track of your progress.”

We shook hands and he left. I was now living in a haunted house and looking forward to it. I knew that Geraldine couldn’t haunt me until we had her things downstairs, so that would be the first thing to do. After I had moved in, that is.

I rode the bike to the flat and started shifting things. The first load was the things I had taken there only a couple of days ago. After that was my clothes and the bed linen, followed by the contents of my fridge and all the kitchen things, including my microwave and toaster. There was a bed in one of the rooms that was the same size as the one in the flat, so I would be able to spend the night in the house.

That evening, I went back to the Duke of Wellington for my meal. When I had the chance, I would start cooking proper meals for myself. It was strange, I was feeling as if I was more settled in the house. Albert wasn’t there and the barmaid told me that he had to go into hospital for minor surgery. It was if I was a local, already, and she called me love and smiled a lot. Back a year or two, I had gone out with a few girls, getting quite serious with one until she told me that I had no idea how to treat a lady. I found that very funny, as she certainly wasn’t a lady, just another girl who thought that I might be the heir to the family business.

Back at the house, I made up my bed, used the bathroom, now with all my things in it. I had a very restful sleep, with no dreams, and only an insistent bladder about three. I made sure that I turned on the bedside light so I wouldn’t walk into a wall.

In the morning, I made breakfast and then went to see my employer, to tell him about the arrangements and ask if I could have use of the van again, with one of the guys to help me move. He was amazed at what I had organised, telling me that it could be a good earner if I got this one right. We took the van to my flat and moved the only things I had bought since I had been there, a comfy recliner and a big TV screen. I used that screen as a monitor when I worked on the laptop.

We stopped at the Duke when we had unloaded and I bought us lunch and a pint, then we went back to the yard, and I retrieved the bike. The boss had my number if he needed me, and promised to give me a day or two notice when I was needed. I took the flat keys to the agent and told them it was clear, then went back to the house. Now, the serious time had arrived.

I went upstairs and pushed the trapdoor open with the ladder, then climbed up and swung it fully open. I turned on the lights.

“Are you there, Geraldine?”

“Where do you think I would be, Marcie, lounging by a pool in the south of France?”

“That would be nice.”

“Actually, it was Cannes.”

I heard the giggle again. She was playing with me.

“What are you doing, today?”

“I’ve made the arrangements to stay here, so I’ll be taking your things down to the bedroom. I’m in one, and I think I know which was yours, by the amount of wardrobe space. I’ll be redecorating the main bedroom first.”

“I hope that we’re right. It would be good to be able to look outside again.”

The easiest things to lower were the suitcases. One by one, I used the rope to put them on the landing and took them into the second bedroom. Then I carried the boxes to the edge of the trapdoor. They were lighter, allowing me to stand on the ladder and take each one down. The individual drawers of the bedside chests went down the same way, followed by the much lighter chests with the aid of the rope again.

I vacuumed the bedroom and made up the bed with linen from the linen cupboard, adding a couple of pillows with frilly pillowslips. Then the bedside cupboards went in place with the drawers back where they should be. Finally, I opened the suitcases and hung all her clothes in the two big wardrobes, putting the shoes where they should be and the hats on the upper shelf. The pictures were set out on the window ledge, as there wasn’t anywhere else for them. I remembered the one I had taken the previous time and went to get it and put it on a bedside chest. That’s when a very happy voice spoke.

“Thank you, Marcie. I’m free again to look out the window. The garden needs work, I see.”

“I started on the front and will work through to the back as I can. Can you go into any of the other rooms?”

“No. Perhaps I can if there is something of mine in there. If you look in one of the upper drawers, there’s a box with my rings and things. Maybe we can experiment by putting one somewhere else.”

I went to the drawers, finding the box. Inside were several rings, one which stood out. It was gold, with a stone that was a miniature Picasso face.

“That one was given to me by Pablo, just before I left France to come to England. I had a job at the Embassy to come to. It was an exciting day for me, but I was sad to be leaving home. Why don’t you try it on?”

I picked up the ring, an item made by the master, and slipped it on my ring finger of my right hand. It wasn’t a good fit, so I transferred it to my left hand. That’s when I saw her appear in front of me.

“I can see you!”

“Can you? That’s wonderful. Go to another room and we can see if I can follow you.”

I picked out another ring and carried it down to the kitchen, where I put it on the top of the fridge. I turned around and saw her looking at the conservatory.

“This is wonderful. I can spend hours looking at the outside. That big dresser on the wall; that was never there before. That’s where the door to the cellar is.”

The dresser that she spoke about looked about six feet wide, so wasn’t too hard to move as it was mainly ply and empty. Behind it was the door. I made enough space to open the door and felt around for a switch. When I flicked it on, I looked down a set of stairs to see a large room. I went down the stairs and looked at the easel and the paintings leaning against the wall, with a cover over them. There was a large painting bag and three big cylinders.

“So, this was where he hid them! I hope they haven’t rotted down here. It does feel warm enough, though. The central heating unit is in the corner, by the coal shute. This was where the coal would be delivered before the heating was changed. The biggest worry is if they’ve dried out.”

“What are we looking at, Geraldine?”

“The ones leaning against the wall will be my offerings. The big bag should be an original that Pablo gave me after my twenty-first birthday, and the cylinders are drawings that he had done of all sorts of things. When I admired something, he would give it to me.”

I went and looked at her paintings. I was amazed. They looked a lot like something I would paint. When I looked, she had signed them ‘Rogue’.

“I didn’t want to use the family name; in case they weren’t accepted, so I used ‘Rogue’ as I admired Jacquie and her devotion to Pablo. Now I look at them again, you could sign yours with ‘Rogue’ and add them to the collection. I don’t know if abstracts are popular right now, they were a bit off the wall in the seventies, with all those pop pictures using similar effects.”

“I know a gallery in London that sells abstracts. They seem to turn over well. I could take a few there and see what they think.”

I carried the easel up first, then went back and brought up the tubes. I took several trips to bring up the Rogue paintings. The last was the original, that I was looking forward to seeing. We looked at her works, seeing a couple of places that needed repair. It put the worst one on the easel in the conservatory and put a cloth over it. All the rest went into her room, out of the way. I held my desires in check, promising that I wouldn’t look at it until we had dealt with the repairs. That way, it wouldn’t make me think that I had no idea.

The last thing in the cellar was a painting box, which I took up to the kitchen. When I turned the light off and closed the door, I managed to work the dresser out into the conservatory, along one outside wall. It would make a good place to put my laptop when I started transferring my own work to canvas. It would also be somewhere for my pictures of my works so I can remember any that I sell. I was starting to believe that I could actually be somebody. That was strange and a little bit frightening. I often looked around and saw Geraldine moving around. It was almost like having a companion.

We looked in the painting box and I squeezed every tube to find that they were all solid. I got my sketchbook and wrote a list of every colour and made a note of the brushes she had used. I would buy new when I could. My phone rang and I pulled it out of my pocket to answer it, putting it on speaker. My employer told me that I would be needed the next day and would send me a text with the address. I told him that I would be there and pressed the end call button.

“The world has moved on a lot since I was around!”

“It has, Geraldine. Phones had been getting smaller until you could carry them in your top pocket. Now they’ve grown again but have as much in them as that computer. This phone has ten times the power of the computers that went to the moon. When did you come to England?”

“In nineteen sixty-one. I had a knack of languages and spoke Spanish as well as English. The Spanish was what made me a favourite with Pablo, and the English got me the job. I was doing part-time secretarial work for an ex-pat diplomat. He recommended me for the job at the Embassy. I worked there until I fell sick.”

“I couldn’t find any links to your husband.”

“That’s because it wasn’t his name. If you look up Jules Roquefort, you’ll find him. He was in Vallauris when I was small. He was a collaborator during the war and went off to work with the Vichy. He came into the Embassy in sixty-four, with the false papers. I pretended I didn’t know him. He was very handsome, and we did have a good life until I was sick, and his nasty side came to the fore. What he didn’t know was that I had made a note in his file with his real name and history. When I died, they would have reviewed all of my files. I expect that he was invited to some reunion from his false life and was eliminated quietly.”

So, she wasn’t as fragile as she appeared. Talking about appearances, in all the time I had seen her, she was wearing a long nightdress.

“Geraldine, were you wearing that nightdress when he killed you?”

She looked down.

“Yes. I suppose that my ghost looks like I did at the moment of my death.”

“I thought that ghosts could alter their looks. There’s a wardrobe full of your things upstairs. Don’t you have something that made you feel happy?”

She looked down at herself and closed her eyes. Suddenly, she was in the summer dress of the picture, and looking some years younger.

“That’s wonderful, Geraldine. Now I won’t feel like a voyeur when I see you.”

“You silly but lovely boy. This makes me feel healthy again. They say that inside, you are every age you’ve ever been. As a ghost I could experiment in private; I was a real babe in my teens.”

I went up to her room and picked up another ring, taking it down and putting it in the lounge, so she could go in. She commented on the big TV, so I told her that as computers got small televisions grew to huge proportions, and that the one I had was now considered small. We had put it on an old buffet, but not set it up. I plugged it into the power and found an outlet. When I turned it on, I found that the house had a satellite dish, so I could scroll through dozens of stations, even European ones. I found a popular French station and left her sitting in my recliner as I went into the kitchen to nuke an easy meal for a late lunch. After that, I told her that I was going out to an artist supply shop to replenish the paints.

When I got back, there was a lidded bin at the end of the driveway, and a load of paint tins at the front door, with a box of brushes and rollers, along with a pack of sandpaper. When I opened up, I carried the kitchen paint and the brushes into the kitchen, and the bedroom paint upstairs. The new artists’ supplies went into the conservatory. She was nowhere to be seen but the TV was still on, with the sound low as I had left it. I turned it off. She would appear when she was ready.

For the rest of the afternoon, I emptied the box room, putting all the rubbish in the bin. All that was left was the ladder. I wasn’t ready to bring down the contents of the chest, they’d been there for a long time and weren’t going anywhere. I went down to the kitchen to find her in the conservatory, now looking like a teenager in a short skirt and low-cut top.

“I’ve been in my room, experimenting. What do you think?”

“If you were real, I’d want to kiss you. In fact, I want to kiss you despite you being a ghost.”

“Marcie, you really are a true gentleman. Every woman likes to be appreciated. Keep this up and you’ll find a lovely girl who will be happy to be your wife.”

“Actually, there’s a lovely girl at the pub. How about we experiment some more and see if you can leave this house. Have you ever ridden in a sidecar?”

Marianne Gregory © 2024