‘Maybe,’ Flo said. She opened her eyes. They were wide and green in the darkness. She looked very pale, her pink crossness of before quite gone. She closed them again and said in a hushed, reverent tone. ‘Is there anyone here you wish to speak to, Maxwell?’
Y.
‘Do you have a message for one of the group?’
Y.
‘Who of the group?’
F … fl … f …
‘Me?’ Flo’s eyes flew open. She looked startled to the point of alarm. In fact, she looked like she was regretting this idea already. ‘Do you have a message for me?’
Y.
Flo gulped. I saw that her free hand was gripping the edge of the coffee table so hard her knuckles were white.
‘OK,’ she said bravely. But the planchette was already moving.
B … U … it traced slowly, and then in a sudden, skittering rush: Y coffee.
There was a moment’s silence, and then Nina broke it with a short, barking laugh.
‘Fuck OFF!’ Flo shouted. We all jumped, and I realised it was the first time I could remember her swearing. She jumped up and sent the planchette skittering across the table. Wine glasses and candles crashed to the floor, spattering wax on the carpet. ‘Who was that? This isn’t a joke, guys! I am fed up. Nina? Tom?’
‘It wasn’t me!’ Nina said, but she was laughing so hard there were tears coming from her eyes. Tom was trying harder to hide his mirth, but he was snickering too, behind his hand.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, trying hopelessly to straighten his expression. ‘I’m sorry. It’s n-not f-f —’ But he couldn’t complete the sentence.
Flo swung accusingly round at me. I was dabbing up wine from the rug.
‘You’re very quiet, Lee, sitting there pretending butter wouldn’t melt!’
‘What?’ I looked up, genuinely surprised. ‘I beg your p-pardon?’
‘You heard me! I’m fed up of you sitting there like a malignant little mouse, laughing behind my back.’
‘I’m not,’ I said uncomfortably, remembering the way I had succumbed to laughing at Nina’s teasing when we first arrived. ‘I mean … I didn’t mean —’
‘You all think you’re so perfect.’ Flo was breathing heavily, in great sobbing gasps. I thought she was about to burst into tears. ‘You all think you’re so great, with your degrees and your jobs and your flats in London.’
‘Flo —’ Clare said. She put her hand on Flo’s arm again, but Flo shook it off.
‘Come on,’ Tom said soothingly. ‘Look, I don’t know who did that but I promise it’s the last time anyone will mess around, right?’ He looked around the group. ‘Right, everyone? We promise, OK? This time it’s for real.’
He was trying to help, but I felt my stomach twist uncomfortably. We should have packed up when Flo blew up the first time – pushing on like this was asking for trouble, with Flo in her furious, heightened state.
‘Don’t you th-think—’ I said nervously.
‘I th-think you should just shut up,’ Flo said furiously, imitating my stutter with an uncanny precision. I was so shocked I didn’t say anything, just sat with my mouth open, staring at her. It was as if a Tellytubby had spat in my face.
‘Hey, come on, now,’ Clare said. ‘One more chance, OK, Flops? And I promise everyone will take it seriously this time. They’ll have me to answer to if not.’
Flo downed her glass of wine with a hand that shook. Then she sat heavily down at the table and put her hand on the planchette. ‘Last chance,’ she said savagely.
Everyone nodded and, reluctantly, I put my fingers back on the board.
‘Let’s ask it a question this time,’ Tom said soothingly. ‘Help keep it on track. How about … will Clare and James have a long and happy life?’
‘No!’ Clare said loudly. We all turned, shocked by the vehemence of her response. ‘No – look, I’m just … I don’t want to start dragging James into this, OK? It feels wrong. This is a bit of fun, but I don’t want some pen telling me I’ll be divorced before the age of thirty.’
‘All right,’ Tom said mildly, but I felt his surprise. ‘How about me then. What wedding anniversary will Bruce and I celebrate?’
We all rested our fingertips on the board, and, very slowly, I felt it begin to move.
This time it was quite different to before. Not the stuttering push and tug, but a long, languid flowing script that looped in spirals around the page.
‘P … a … p … a …’ Flo spelled out. ‘Papa? What does that mean? That’s not a wedding anniversary.’
‘Paper, maybe?’ Tom was frowning at the sheet. ‘That makes no sense though. Paper’s like … year two or something. We celebrated that last year. Maybe it means opal. That first P could be an O.’
‘Maybe it’s telling us its name,’ Flo said breathlessly. Her rage of a moment before was gone, and she looked excited – almost hyper with it. She refilled and then drained her glass with three reckless gulps and then set it unsteadily back on the floor. I saw that her silvery-grey top, the twin of one Clare was wearing, had a red-wine stain down one sleeve. ‘They don’t always perform to order you know. Let’s ask it. What is your name, spirit?’
The pen started again, looping swiftly over the page in large, quickly formed letters that ate up the space, scribbling over the other writing from before.
Pa … I saw and then … by further across the page. Then it slowed to a halt and Flo craned her head to read out the text.
‘Papa Begby. Wow. Who on earth is that?’
She looked around the circle of shrugging shoulders and shaking heads.
‘Nora?’ Flo said suddenly. ‘Do you know who that is?’
‘Christ, no!’ I said, reflexively. To tell the truth, I was more than a little creeped out. The other stuff had been fairly obvious joking around. This felt distinctly odd. The others looked as unnerved as I felt. Clare was chewing the end of a piece of hair. Nina was looking elaborately unconcerned but I could see her fingers playing with her lighter in her pocket, nervously twisting it around beneath the cloth. Tom looked frankly shocked, his face pale even in the dim light. Only Flo looked genuinely thrilled.
‘Wow,’ she breathed. ‘A real spirit. Papa Begby. Maybe he’s the guy who owned this croft? Papa Begby,’ she spoke respectfully into the space above our heads. ‘Papa Begby, do you have a message for us here tonight?’
The pen started moving again, more jerkily this time.
M … I read. For a moment my heart sank. Not more jokes about coffee.
M … m … m …
The script went faster and faster and then there was a sudden crunch and the planchette grated to a juddering halt. Clare lifted it up and put her hand to her mouth.
‘Oh Flops, I’m so sorry.’
I looked down at the table. The biro had gone clean through the page, and into the polished wood beneath.
‘Your aunt—’
‘Oh never mind,’ Flo said impatiently. She pushed the planchette away and lifted up the sheet. ‘What does it say?’
We all looked, reading over her shoulder as she turned the page slowly this way and that, reading the curving spiral of writing.
M m mmmmuurderrrrrrrrrrrrrer
‘Oh my God.’ Tom put his hand to his mouth.
‘That’s not funny,’ Nina said. Her face was pale and she took a step back from the group, scanning our faces. ‘Who wrote that?’
‘Look,’ Tom said, ‘hands up, I did the coffee one. But I didn’t say that – I wouldn’t!’
We all looked at each other, searching for guilt in each other’s eyes.
‘Maybe you’re barking up the wrong tree,’ Flo said. Her flush was back, but this time I thought it had an edge of triumph rather than anger. ‘Maybe it was a real message. After all, I know some things about you, about you all.’
‘What do you mean?’ Tom said. His voice was wary. ‘Clare, what’s she on about?’